IN a land where beauty, uniqueness and magnificence enthrall the mind and captivate the heart to fall in love with this little country, on the edge of the South American continent from the Pakaraima to the coastland.Aarti read with deep interest, the tourist magazines as the plane neared its destination to the land of many waters, people by six races, a land that had been home, twenty five years ago.
“Such a long time,” she mused, “I wonder what it’s like now? Would my friends remember me?”
Her family had migrated to England when she was just ten and she had never returned, with Europe for her becoming home. But deep within her heart as she grew from a child to an adult in a culture and society that was different in many ways from where she came, a connection to the home she had left stayed unbroken.
Her career as a journalist had taken her to many countries across the globe but uppermost in her mind was the hope that one day she would return to walk again on the green grass of the land of her birth.
The turbulent days of the past, unkind to many when the future seemed bleak, were gone, washed away down the rivers and creeks and a rainbow in the sky was the new beginning that opened the eyes of the world to a little unknown paradise, untouched rainforest, exotic flora and fauna, majestic waterfalls and rivers and a rich multi-cultural society.
It was night when the plane landed and as Aarti stepped through the door, a cool wisp of wind, like a soft kiss, touched her face and she smiled, her heart beating with the rhythm of a song, soft and sweet.
“I’m home, dear Guyana!” she announced in exaltation.
From a distance she seemed to hear the sounds of the tassa drums, welcoming her, the music a reflection of her ancestry, golden memories that rode the waves of the dark water.
As she walked out the airport, the refreshing breeze sent a warm thrill through her body and she stopped, closing her eyes and inhaled deeply the pure freshness. Opening her eyes she smiled and whispered, “Nice.”
The hotel, by request, had sent a cab for her and on the drive to the Princess Hotel on the East Bank, the taxi cab driver asked curiously, in a friendly tone, “Your first time home?”
“Yes,” she answered, amazed by the smooth double lane roadway, streetlights and endless traffic.
“Why did you choose to visit now?”
“Is it not the right time?” she asked, in a deep British accent.
“Not really,” he answered, a bit hesitantly, “It’s just there is tension right now because of election campaigning.”
“Oh that?” she shrouded off casually, “It shouldn’t be a bother to me, I’m just a visitor.”
The cab driver nodded his head and smiled, “I hope you enjoy your stay, madam.”
It was late in the night and after a leisure bath, tired from the long journey, Aarti went to bed, a little smile on her lips as her eyes closed in sleep.
Tomorrow, a vacation here, that was her number one desire for the New Year would begin and friends from her old school and neighbourhood she had lost touch with for over two decades, she hoped she could see again. She had bought special gifts for her girlhood friends and the one friend she was deeply anxious to see was her old classmate, Diana. They had been best friends, two pretty little girls from nursery to primary school, never mind they were from different ethnic backgrounds and culture.
Aarti awoke late in the morning, had a light West Indian breakfast and hurried down to the lounge where her two younger cousins from the city were waiting to drive her to her old home in the ancient county of Berbice. Arvin was a supervisor at a commercial bank and Devina, a high school teacher, both having met Aarti once at a wedding a few years ago in New York City. It was a happy moment seeing each other again and Devina asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Aarti said, excited, “The long wait is over.”
The long drive was a journey to cherish, awed she was by the green lush landscapes, the grandeur of modern architectural buildings and impressive housing schemes.
“New chapters of economics that have opened, new frontiers of development,” she observed, “It all seems like a dream.”
But what she loved better, just like any tourist would, were the food stalls along the roadway selling tasty Guyanese delicacies, the fresh fruits, the sweet sugar cane juice and thirst quenching coconut water.
“This is marvelous,” she exuded, sitting on a bench under the shade of a huge flamboyant tree, relaxing in the ambience on the scenic, peaceful countryside.
They had stopped at a roadside stall and she was enjoying the tasty cassava ball with the hot mango sauce that brought tears to her eyes, whilst marveling at the artistry of the coconut vendor as he cut the coconut.
“This place has changed so much, it’s wonderful.”
The smile on the coconut vendor’s face faded and he said, “That’s not so.”
“Oh?” Aarti looked at him perplexed but before she could say anything else, Devina touched her arm and shook her head, not to say anything.
She finished drinking the delicious coconut water in silence and after paying the vendor, she smiled and said nicely, “Thank you.”
The journey continued and after a short moment, Aarti asked, “What was that?”
“There are some citizens,” Arvin explained, “Who are reluctant to acknowledge the good things that have happened over the years.”
“That is strange,” Aarti said, still perplexed, “Because for me who left here a long time, I can see the changes.”
“In the vaults of history,” Devina said, “There are texts of the lives and times of the people, the good and the bad and from such backgrounds, everyone is left with their own loyalties and legacies.”
“This shouldn’t have been,” Aarti sighed, a little worried, “For lost from the bosoms of our ancestral homes, all we had was each other.”
“Don’t worry about anything,” Devina said, squeezing her hand, “Just enjoy your vacation.”
The conservation changed to the old colonial churches and houses they saw along the way, priceless pieces of history.
“Do you know,” Aarti said, enlightening her cousins, “There’s an old family estate on the Corentyne with an old mansion style house that had been ruled by our authoritarian great grandmother?”
“Interesting,” Devina said, “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s sad though that after she died, the younger generation could not maintain the farmlands and they moved on but most intriguing is the family cemetery on a small plot of land with burial vaults where the old generation lies to this day.”
“Oh my gosh!” Devina exclaimed loudly causing Arvin to brake the car suddenly.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked annoyed.
“That is so interesting,” she said unable to control her excitement, “I’ll love to see it”
“Yeah and in the nights, you’ll see ghosts.”
“Shut up,” she said, punching him playfully.
After another short stop to buy some fruits, they reached Rosignol, a Community that had come a long way, boasting some fabulous houses that were real show-pieces and the Berbice river bridge like a rainbow in the sky.
They brought the tasty, crispy cassava and plantain chips from vendors who rushed to the car and as they drove across the bridge, Aarti said, “Okay, I’ll speak for myself here in saying this is a great convenience I truly appreciate.”
It was mid-afternoon as they drove along the Palmyra road and turned into Canje to Aarti’s old home in a sprawling settlement on the Western side. The streets seemed to be paved and she exclaimed in surprise, “This is unexpected,” and asking Arvin to stop the car, she stepped out to walk on the street that she remembered had always been bad.
“How often didn’t I fall down with my bicycle and hurt myself?” she mused.
She looked at all the houses she walked past but could recognise no one from her childhood days, “Where has everyone gone?” she wondered aloud.
But as she walked further down the street, she saw a few familiar faces who looked at her curiously, knowing from her outlook and accent, she was a foreigner. She introduced herself, recognised by her father’s name and soon the modest home she had lived in saw a steady flow of neighbours. It gave her such a wonderful feeling being home again, in the countryside amongst the people with warm, friendly personalities. There were no visible tensions, the way it had been as far back as she could remember that gave her a feeling of comfort.
Late that evening, two old classmates, now living on the Corentyne, came to see her and as they chatted, reminiscing about school days, Aarti asked about Diana.
“She and her family had left for the islands,” Alicia said, “The last time I heard about her, she was a hotel manageress in Antigua.”
“That’s wonderful,” Aarti said, happy her friend’s life was a success, “Do you know if she’s still there?”
“Not sure, but I can make some inquiries for you.”
“I think she came back and has been living in Georgetown,” Devin said, trying to remember.
That night as Aarti’s eyes closed in sleep, the last thought on her mind was for her friend.
“Where are you, Diana? I really want to see you.”
The next evening, Aarti invited all her friends who were living in Berbice for a social, a nice get-together, sharing stories of their lives as they grew up, girls and guys, the fun and laughter but one person was missing. Alicia had discovered Diana was indeed in Georgetown and had been there for some time but she had no phone number so she sent a personal message to her. The night wore on and a few friends were still there when Diana arrived. Aarti’s heart filled with happiness upon seeing her friend and they looked at each other for a long moment, smiling before embracing, two pretty little girls, now beautiful women. They were both crying and it was a little while before they could compose themselves.
“I never thought I would see you again.” Diana said.
“Our families both moved away,” Aarti said, “And being so young, life’s journey took us along different paths.”
They toasted to old friends, to their lives, careers, and guys. They were both married with one child and still looking slim and beautiful. They talked about old stories and Aarti said, “Remember when I was eight and our mothers went into town to shop for my birthday and they joined the wrong line?”
Diana nodded, the smile started to fade from her face, “The shoppers got unruly and a fight broke out before the two of them realised their mistake and ran two streets away,” Diana finished the story for her.
“That was so funny,” Aarti was laughing then stopped on noticing the sober look that crossed Diana’s face.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“That was the past,” Diana said.
“I know,” Aarti said, “But even though those were days of hardship, we always could have found something to laugh about.”
“It’s not funny anymore,” Diana said, finishing her glass of wine and getting up to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Aarti apologised, not wanting her to leave, “I didn’t know things of the past would offend you.”
“Things have changed, Aarti.”
“What caused that change?”
Diana didn’t answer for a long moment then looking at her friend, she said, “I have followed my husband into the arena of politics.”
“Oh,” was all Aarti could say and the two friends looked at each other, not little girls anymore but women in their own rights.
“I’m sorry,” Diana said, “It was nice seeing you after all these years.”
Aarti nodded, choked by the sad feeling in her heart and watching Diana leave, she whispered quietly, “Have I lost my best friend?”
-To be continued-

By Maureen Rampertab