IN 1994, we had a small cake-shop (parlour) at the abandoned sugar estate at De Kinderen, West Coast Demerara, and often, retired gold and diamond miners would visit.
And while enjoying their chesters and lemonade, they would tell stories of life in the bush, the rapids, the wild towns and animals. One particular place, called Kurupung, was often the main subject.

These men were true pork-knockers. Those of you who visit our prestigious museum will see a typical pork-knocker from the good old days. That is a relic of the lonely country lad, going up the Potaro in search of riches.
Some made it; others ran out of luck. Some returned home; others couldn’t make it out because they were broke. The old-timers spoke of the weekends of fun: Loud music from gold dealers using electric generators brought in from Brazil, and wild dancers, booze and loose women. And the usual brawls. My imagination went amok. I began to dream of being a pork-knocker.

I’ll visit this mining settlement a decade later at age 25 (c. 1970) in an official capacity as the community development officer.

DREAM COME TRUE
I recall that on that memorable trip, my dream came true. It was a Saturday. Rain was pouring, but our amphibian Grumman aircraft touched down with a splash in the Kurupung River.

When I was 12 years of age, I’d stood on the deck of the ferry boat, the “MV Queriman” (an elegant model is in the museum) and saw one of these water planes coming in to land. I held on to my father’s leg and shouted: “Papa, look! A plane gone down in the river! All them people drown!”
He just smiled and said, “No. She will float up soon; keep looking.” And it did. Now I was in a similar craft with water rushing past my window. It was a bit scary, being in the darkness and submerged. But not for long. We eventually surfaced and throttled to shore, where ropes were thrown to the co-pilot and we were pulled in.

As I emerged, I got a first glimpse of the pork-knockers’ oasis. A few folks stood on the river bank. There were women and children, and grey-haired men.
One guy on a crutch yelled, “Welcome to Kurupung!” I was also greeted by the top gold dealer, one Mr. Da Silva, and the police, my security escort.
The plane would remain anchored to a post on the shore until the return trip. And there I was, on the soil of my dream, “TOWN” falling away, crudely built.
The ground was all sand and bush all around. And, yes, Mr. Da Saliva was blasting his music. But all the men were still in the bush.

NO ACTIVITY OF NOTE
As I walked around, I saw no social activity; except for the bars and eating houses. Children were there, but there was no school. Off to the police station I went for a rest and lunch, and a swim in the river. The water was cold and clear, with a hint of coffee colour. And my feet caressed the river bed, all pebbles and sand. As I swam around, a lady washing clothes by the river’s edge shouted: “Careful, officer! Electric eel!”

In the afternoon, I gazed at a colourful crimson sun set over the mountains that separate the Potaro from the Rupununi. Now music filled the air. The bar door blew open. The settlers were coming in, one by one, bogged down by fatigue, straight to the drinking hole.
As I wended my way to meet with them, I heard a whistle. I looked back. A lady beckoned me to come. “No,” said the police officer, she is a prostitute. I smiled. At the bar, I met a veteran gold-digger. He poured me a drink. Between trembling lips and warbled tongue, he sputtered: “Wha ya come fa, stranger?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “All ah you ah come, promise gane and farget us. Ah been hey over 50 year; notting.”
I said: “I will do something!”
He retorted: “Like straightening dem shacks? A school! Me too old fa dah; tek a drink.”
Just then, a hip-swinging lady showed up. She hugged the guy and said : “How you doing, Gilkes?”
He answered: “Ah deh, Shirley.”
Looking at me and smiling seductively, she said: “Me live at the end of First Street. Visit me tonight; I’ll make you happy.”

The policeman smirked and said: “Shirley, don’t put you eye on he! Can’t you see how young he is?”
A gaunt looking straggler, with one arm missing, sauntered up to the bar. “How t’ings today?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
He turned to me: “Buy me a food, nah.”
The constable looked over my shoulder and said sternly: “Stop begging, or else I will lock you up!”

It was time for me to leave and check into the guest house; but as I passed the buxom bar owner, she placed a note in my hand. Later, I read the note, and it said: “I like you. Come back to the bar after I close up.”

SUDDENLY COMES ALIVE
This sleepy town suddenly sprang to life. Music was everywhere. Revellers went wild. Eating, drinking, dancing, cursing and fighting. It was Saturday night in Kurupung. I tried to get a community meeting going, but the timing was bad.
One old geezer shouted: “We want a government shop hey; prices too high. Dem gold dealers ah rab we.”

I told them I would see what I could do.
“Another pramise, pramise, nutting doing?” This time, the comment was from an elderly woman with giant-sized curlers in reddish-brown hair.
I took a wad of money from my briefcase. “Look, I have cash here! I’ll pay any of you to cut wood to build a school!”
The next day, men ran into the jungle, and by afternoon the school was constructed. Next time, a health centre I promised.

I fell in love with this mining enclave since I was a boy. I was glad to develop her as a standard community. But I failed. People seemed only interested in money and a good time. Like old Gilkes, their lives, though marginal, hinged on existing day to day.
“DIS AH ME HOME”. No one fo me on de coast. Me live hey. Me dig hey like some of me pals over deh. He pointed to a burial ground overgrown with bush. Many died painlessly, but had a good time. Old Gilkes still kicking it up with the bar owner.

I left Kurupung, my boyhood dream come true; and in my pocket were gold nuggets and a blue diamond, courtesy of the “Mayor”, Mr. Da Silva.
The word pork-knocker is derived from the miners knocking the hard-salted pork on rocks to soften it. The physical image of the mining town remains the same; it’s a trading outpost, and people still drift in and out.