The Architecture of the Good Life

by Kojo McPherson

I’M at ease in Guyana’s hinterland – the “bush” as we would say – so much so that some of my colleagues tease that “Kojo geh beena” and no protest, no matter how fervent, can deter this accusation. I feel so strongly about the hinterland, South Rupununi in particular, that it proved to be a large part of the inspiration for my latest film project, Adero, which is in part set in the South Rupununi village of Shea.

Kojo McPherson
Kojo McPherson

So what is it about The Rupununi that appeals to me so? Standing on a hillside in Shea, I couldn’t help but notice how clean the breeze was, how absent it was of the smells of urban existence that I had become too accustomed to: of slow to stagnant trench water, of the overripe garbage that ferments within congested markets, of vehicle exhaust and iron rotting in the heat and wet of a tropical climate; tired communities of neglected and neglectful people. And the sound too! No distressed neighbours, car stereos and push carts pelting out the manic rantings of DJs, car alarms pealing in protest from the near infrasonic rumblings of said car stereos, impatient horns, minibus drivers flooring it at a gear or two, too low. Just the tinkling of leaves and the scissoring of blades of grass in the breeze. Some people would call that serenity. In the evenings, you could see the arm of our Milky Way stretching across the sky, taking up one’s entire field of vision; and as you looked longer at the sky, countless stars became more and more innumerable as your eyes become attuned to the darkness. Sunrises and sunsets weren’t just an event on either compass point on the horizon, but a transformation of the dome of the sky, unencumbered in its viewing by concrete blocks, iron steeples, and glass and steel edifices.

In ‘The Architecture of Happiness,’ author Alain de Botton puts forward the proposition that we are attracted to the architecture of buildings not just because of aesthetics – their attractiveness, or conformity to a style – but also because, or indeed instead, because they suggest a way of living that we are desirous of emulating, even if briefly. Though de Botton is writing on the impact of how the design of constructed buildings, homes in particular, impacts the way in which we think and live, it doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to apply or turn some of his generalisations to thinking on how the natural spaces in which we live impact how we think and live. Could I live in The Rupununi? Most definitely. But maybe only for a time. For me it is an idyllic location to live, except for the absence of an electricity grid. Five watts of light every 500 metres or so makes a stroll after dark on a cloudy night a bit too adventurous for my own taste. Other than that…perfection. Except for the lack of flushing toilets outside of the occasional guest- house. If I had the lungs of a pearl diver, this wouldn’t be an issue for me, but I don’t. Other than that…paradise. Except for the complete lack of asphalted roads outside of Lethem…and the fact that outside of Lethem and Aishalton you’re not guaranteed to be able to make a phone call…and the drought situation…well you get the point.

The idea of all this is not to write a travelogue, but to help frame a question or two. Why do we live where we live? What sort of spaces do we ideally want to live in? What amenities are important to us? How is “development” defined? How can development be re-defined, if we even agree that this is necessary? How possible is it to merge the best aspects of living in isolated, environmentally intact communities with the convenience of living in urban centres? A short answer would be to create environmentally friendly, meaning low emissions urban development in our hinterland and introduce green spaces and reduce emissions in our current urban spaces. In discussing the Good Life, we must also entertain not just the mechanics of what the Good Life, as put forward by President Granger represents, but also what our values are, the utility of those values, and how the Good Life can fortify and promote the values that we hold to be true.

de Botton continues: “We seem divided between an urge to override our senses, numb ourselves to our settings, and a contradictory impulse to acknowledge the extent to which our identities are indelibly connected to and will shift along with our locations…we are for better or for worse different people in different places…it is the architecture’s task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be.”  How will we (particularly us “coastlanders”) re-identify ourselves in the greening of Guyana, on the path towards the Good Life?

And for the record, no I did not get ‘beena.”

(Comments can be sent to: towardsagoodlife@gmail.com)

[box type=”shadow” align=”aligncenter” ]Kojo McPherson is a writer, spoken word artist, photographer, an award-winning filmmaker and father of two.[/box]

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