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One of the adventurers and explorers who believed in the existence of the golden city in Guyana was the Englishman Sir Walter Raleigh, a businessman and explorer with military experience, who was also a favourite of Queen Elizabeth I.
While one of his main aims was to search for the golden city, Raleigh also planned to set up a colony in Guyana, to be used as a base from where, with the help of Amerindian allies, the Spanish would be expelled from Peru and the treasures of that region sent to England.
He described Guyana as rich and beautiful, with glorious rivers and possessing several varieties of birds and plants and delicious fruits. He stated: “Whatever prince shall possess it, that prince shall be lord of more gold and of more cities and people than either the King of Spain or the great Turk.”
Regrettably, those grand predictions are yet to materialise!
On a more realistic basis, in the mid 19th century, there were reports of gold discoveries in the Essequibo region. This was confirmed in a later report by the Superintendent of Rivers and Creeks. The first recorded report of gold mining is that of B.V. Abraham, owner of a Jewellery establishment in Georgetown (I wonder if he was an ancestor of my old boss, Arthur Abraham, at the CSO).
In the early 1860s, having invested a substantial sum for those days, he found that he needed more capital, and sought same in England. His efforts were stymied by adverse geological reports, and discouraged by the British Government because of the current border dispute with Venezuela and their ban on mining in the disputed region.
Nevertheless, he teamed up with a Portuguese logger by the name of D’amil, and secretly continued mining. Both men are reported to have become very wealthy.
In 1863, a quartz crushing enterprise was started in the Cuyuni, but failed. Mining for gold, however, continued on a small scale by a few adventurous persons.
In 1879, after widespread reports that gold had been found in the Essequibo region, there commenced a movement of individuals and groups, mainly from the African population in the villages in the coastal region, into the interior to prospect for same. The primary focus was on the tributaries of the Essequibo River.
In October of that year, an African gold miner named Jules Caman, using primitive equipment, found relatively large quantities of gold in the Akiwanna and Konawaruk creeks of the Essequibo. There were also new findings in the Demerara region. This resulted in further movement of labour out of the coastal region.
When, in 1889, the then Governor announced that the British Government no longer recognised Venezuela’s territorial claim to the Essequibo, the resultant exodus of skilled workers out of the villages alarmed the sugar industry, and the Government was persuaded to introduce legislation to dissuade this, including a requirement for the completion of lengthy forms and fees for licenses as well as royalties. Body searches were also carried out when persons left the mining area. This did little to discourage the exodus of persons from the villages, and discovery of diamonds in the Mazaruni only served to intensify it.
The above, merely serves the historical background. What is more important, to my mind, is the contribution of these brave, adventurous, hard-working men to the broadening of Guyana’s landscape, and state of its economy. Their dependence on salted pork as a mainstay of their sustenance earned them the name of “pork-knockers”, more often than not used as a derogatory nomenclature.
They are highly underrated, and few recognise or acknowledge their contribution to the development and expansion of the remote areas of the country, at great sacrifice, albeit in the hope of rich rewards, which few have achieved.
How many have seen, or have the vaguest idea of their living conditions; the nature of their work; the loads they carry over long distances; the elements and perils they face, including traversing rivers and creeks and crossing dangerous rapids; the diseases to which they are exposed?
I remember the days when they were considered wastrels who spent months in the “bush”, only to blow their earnings — such as they were — on their return to “the city”, on rum and women, before returning to their “wild” existence.
Well, while some of this is undoubtedly true, moreso in the “old days”, my limited experience with them was different. We are all creatures of our environment, and are influenced by it; and there will always be a difference in the lifestyle and nature of those who venture into unknown territory and face its hazards.
As in every environment, there were, and I expect are, the ‘bad eggs’, but they were the rare exception; and I found them to be mostly hardy, honest men who looked out for each other, and were generous in their hospitality.
While I have spent periods of time in the interior in various environments, primitive and less so, I lay no claim, even remotely, to exposure to experience in any of the above. My contacts have been mainly as a pilot with British Guiana Airways on the old DC-3 and the Grumman Goose amphibian, and on brief stops on hunting trips. Some of the best labba and fresh boiled coffee – moreso in a home-made tin cup — I have ever had was at their campsites.
The only bad experience I ever had was on one occasion at Imbaimadai. We had boarded a full load of passengers on the DC-3. One of the guys, who could not be accommodated, boarded the aircraft and refused to leave. A police constable was called, and a struggle ensued, during which the constable drew his pistol. Fortunately, the sergeant in charge came aboard at that time, seized the offender by the collar and waist, and threw him out the door.
Unharmed, other than his pride being wounded, the guy took to his heels. Turning to his constable, the sergeant shouted “What you doing with that pistol in yuh hand? I tell you never draw yuh pistol unless yuh need it! Get off the plane!”
One of my memorable experiences of their humanity was on a DC-3 flight to Orinduik to take a group of East Indian school teachers from the Corentyne for a day’s outing. A group of them decided to cross the Ireng river in a corrial below the falls to the Brazilian side. Those who are familiar will know that this is not a good idea for the uninitiated. Tragically, the vessel overturned, and while some made it back to shore, two men were lost, while one was pulled unconscious out of the water. The latter was given up as dead by his friends. Not so by one of the pork-knockers, who proceed to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Of African descent, he was one of the quiet guys, tall, sturdy and well spoken; and he continued his efforts for what seemed to be ages, while the rest of the passengers sat around looking somewhat disinterested. He was sweating heavily from his efforts. Finally, a female member of the party, who said she was a doctor, came over, and after a brief examination, pronounced the victim dead.
His attempted rescuer seemed unwilling to accept this, but eventually walked slowly away from the scene, evidently in distress. I made a point of seeking him out and thanking him on my next flight there, and his response was a quiet expression of regret that he was unsuccessful in his efforts.
Those were the days!
Thankfully, there is a lighter note to this episode: the two missing bodies were found downriver the following day. Captain Hank Hicks of BG Airways, of whom I have written elsewhere, was chartered to pick them up in a light float plane. He could only accommodate one in the seat alongside him, and proceeded to strap the other on to the float on his side of the cockpit.
On arrival in Georgetown, having carried out his inspection circuit, he proceeded to land in the river and taxi to the BGA Grumman Ramp at Ruimveldt. His circuit with the body on the float had attracted a lot of attention on the ramp, and the staff gathered to witness the event.
Alerted by the activity, Captain Harry Wendt went down to see what it was all about. When he observed the aircraft approaching his precious hangar with its morbid load in full display, he just about had a seizure, and ran down the ramp, shouting and waving it away.
Hank hastily moved over to “Bungle” Clavier’s nearby Aeronca ramp, where he unloaded his “passengers”.
When I asked him later how he managed to cope with the long flight with his unusual passenger load, he replied, “Oh, I had a nice conversation with the guy next to me, and waved to the one outside from time to time to reassure him; that’s why I had him on my side.”
What a character!
Sorry I digressed, but I could not resist relating that sequel to a very tragic incident.
Then there was the Dominican guy located at Monkey Mountain, who was very dark-skinned but had the clearest white eyeballs. He was small built, and his friends dubbed him “snowball”, a name which he cheerfully adopted.
Early on, he introduced himself, giving me his real name, and asked if I could pick up his mail from Lethem when I passed through on the Friday “Mail Run”.
I was quite happy to do so, and he always expressed his gratitude. Even though on occasion it was a parcel from Dominica with perishables which had gone bad, it was from “home”. In 1967, I left the service of BGA for just over a year. On my first flight to Monkey Mountain after my return, I made my usual three-point landing on the DC-3, a type of landing for which I was known.
After taxiing to the parking area, I happened to look out and observe a familiar figure running out from the nearby “outhouse” adjoining the grocery store/”terminal” while pulling his pants up. He boarded the aircraft, pushing past disembarking passengers, and made his way to the cockpit. On arrival there, he stared at me with tears in his eyes. Finally he burst out, “I saw de airplane land, an know dat only one man does land like dat, an dat is you come back. Dem did tell me dat you bin ah Africa flyin mung all dem savages, and me heart bleed.” It was a humorous but very touching experience.
There have been so many small but meaningful incidents, but I will narrate just one more to give some diversity to the picture: Where we landed on the Kurupung River, on the mountain top above Tumereng, the miners were largely dependent on our flights for their supplies, since the trail up from the river below was often steep and their loads burdensome. We would be met at the mooring point, and often given packets of diamonds, no receipt asked for or given, to deliver to their agent at Tumereng. I recall one occasion when one of the guys, a ‘huge’ man, showed me his boots which were falling apart. They were size 14, and he had to have them made by a shoemaker in Georgetown.
He asked if I could help him, and he gave me an address in La Penitence. With some difficulty, I located the shoemaker, placed the order, and collected the boots.
I cannot describe the pleasure he showed when I delivered them. He did a jig on the river bank, and was waving them at his buddies. He offered me some diamonds at “bush” price, which I understood was a fraction of their true value, but not knowing the difference between a diamond and a “granny”, although I trusted him, I declined.
I regret that I have not been able to give a better picture of these men. And let us not forget the women who support them. I had great respect for them, especially those in the remote areas in which we provided essential support. Most had little or no communication.
Out of touch, I have no idea of the current environment or situation, but while there must inevitably have been improvements, I expect that much remains unchanged.
They deserve our gratitude and our respect.
