By Abdool A. Aziz

THE CALL OF THE NORTH
BEFORE the advent of World War II, our society was a simple one. People led contented lives and enjoyed our ‘paradise’ then the Yankees brought their rollicking culture and sparked widespread imaginations and dreams of a sparkling life out there. The Diaspora was born. Some folks found their ‘Dream Country’. Some were disappointed. Life for them was more eking out a living than comfort and joy. Here is one of many cases of the Diaspora in reverse.

He was the happiest traveller on that day of departure from our land. He got down on his knees on the tarmac and said: “Good bye Guyana, ah leaving for the good life.”
All went well with the trip to JFK. He marvelled at the high rises traffic and other architectural icons. A spectacular panoramic view! It was almost surreal. Then he headed to Liberty Avenue.

“Well Uncle, here is where I live,” said the nephew as he ushered him downstairs.
“Ah gat to go down dat hole?” asked the uncle in shock.
“Yes, I live down there, it’s called the basement.”
“My God, the step so steep and narrow.”

He went down sideways. Downstairs he looked around in shock “Dis place smell bad, and there is no fresh air. Man, I feel stifled. People walk on your heads?”
“Put down your bag Uncle, you’ll get to like it. I will take you to Cousin Ed. He lives in an apartment.”

Back up the stairs, he bolted out the front door.
“Oh boy, fresh air! That is not life down there.”
They headed to Manhattan.
Into an elevator they went. It was crowded. No one spoke, they were all like dummies. His shoulder bag touched a white lady. She gave him a nasty look. Finally, they headed to room 706 of the building.

“So this is the apartment. Man so small, why so dark? Pull those blinds and open the windows,” the man said.
‘No! No! Bugs will come in,” said cousin Ed.
The guest slumped on the sofa. In no time he fell asleep. When he got up he found a note: “Sorry Cuz, I’m at work. Check the fridge for food. Use the microwave. See you later.”
In the fridge was some rice, potatoes, macaroni, pizza and some KFC.
“Oh my God, Junk food!”

He went out the balcony. It was cold, he hurried back in. How beautiful the weather was back home. He looked across the complex, like bees out of a beehive they come and go. On the streets, they scurry like ants. It was a concrete jungle indeed. He raised his hand to the next door neighbour, but he did not even get back a smile. And then there was the cacophony of noise from vehicles and construction. This city does not sleep, it was so congested. In Guyana, there was so much space, so much fresh air and friendly folks living good with each other back home.

One day in his first trip to the public transit he asked, “Why that white guy got up and stood, as I sat next to him? Why do they look at me as though I am from another planet?”
His cousin said, “Over here, it is dog eat dog. Every man from himself, discrimination is everywhere. They do not like themselves, much less others. They feel superior so that’s life here. It hurts but it’s a white man’s land.”

“What you got there in your hand?” He asked later on.
“A portable heater to bring extra heat,” cousin Ed said.
“And in the other box?”
“An air freshener.”

“Boy, it’s not winter yet and all those gadgets?”
“Wait and see”
“Ah see enough. This is an artificial country. Robots live here. Ah going back to we ‘paradise’,” he said.
“Can’t blame you cuz,” Cousin Ed said. “I plan to go back soon. This cold weather kills! It’s the ‘Big Apple’ but it is not so sweet.”