Dear Editor,

I JOIN with Buxton and Guyana in mourning the passing of Kwame Apata, fellow Buxtonian and WPA member.

As an educator and cultural activist, Kwame was among the most accomplished of his generation. Because of his political affiliation, he was not properly recognized in the country of his birth — a country to which he had given so much, and for which he had sacrificed so much. He was one of many Buxtonians and Guyanese who had been influenced by the teachings and example of Eusi Kwayana: “Kwayana People dem”, as we are called in Buxton.

Kwame would, until his death, remain loyal to that Kwayana tradition of education, mixed with culture, independent politics, humanism and humility. Kwame Apata was one of those rare individuals: humble to the bone, despite his personal achievements and fame. He was an early mentor to me and my generation of young Buxtonians. When he returned to Buxton in the 1970s, he was my neighbour for several years. His house and books were open and available to me and others.

Personally, he helped to refine my appreciation of African culture in both theoretical and concrete ways.
If the village folks schooled my generation on the value and cultural authenticity of Queh and Nancy Story, Kwame Apata helped us to understand those traditions in intellectual terms.

Kwame was a drummer, dramatist, dancer, Queh-Queh singer and cultural activist. He took leadership of County High School’s Tutashinda Culture group — Kwayana School — where we did drama and dance and sing and dance Queh-Queh. I remember the Friday nights when we would pile into Kwame’s Mini-Minor (a car) and go up and down the coast dancing Queh-Queh.

Kwame was the consummate educator. As a lecturer at the Cyril Potter College of Education, he taught teachers how to teach, and from all accounts, he was among the very best. As an English teacher, he followed in the tradition of his mentor, Eusi Kwayana, by teaching the mechanics of the language as part of the people’s experience. And his linking of English to our resistance language, Creolese, gave the latter authenticity at a time when it was frowned upon.

Kwame migrated to Suriname after being prosecuted and persecuted because of his politics. We, neighbours in Buxton, were neighbours in the Camp Street Prison in 1980. As a teenage political prisoner, the presence of a big brother helped the then little boy to weather the storm. We forged an even stronger bond in that strange land.

I had the opportunity, a few years back, to hang out for a week with Kwame and fellow Buxtonian Rennie Parris — in Antigua, where Kwame had moved from Suriname. We talked about education, cricket and politics, and lashed up lime swank and conky in reckless abundance.

I last saw him in New York two years ago, at his daughter’s 50th birthday. I couldn’t know then that it was the last time I was seeing him. As usual, we talked and talked in the limited time. We were the last to leave the venue, along with his family; we hugged as villagers and comrades.

Farewell Kwame; another Congo Creole has swum back to Africaland to be with the ‘ancestors’.

Regards,
DAVID HINDS