A short story by Francis Quamina Farrier

WE all had a wonderful day visiting with the good people at the Amerindian village of Sand Creek, located in the South Rupununi, and were ready to leave. It was a time when the country was still known as British Guiana, and the principal tour organiser was Miss Marge Rockliffe, a school teacher and Guides Leader. The community of Sand Creek is located over 300 miles south of the city of Georgetown on Guyana’s northern coast. Sand Creek is poised at the base of the majestic Kanuku Mountain Range, which stretches over 100 miles from Suriname in the east to Brazil in the west. It is the home of the endangered giant harpy eagle.

The group of 25, included 21 Guyanese, two Canadians and two Americans. We had first made the one-hour flight by a British Guiana Airways aircraft from Atkinson Field – now known as Timehri airport – to Lethem, a small town of about two thousand inhabitants at that time. Lethem, which is named after a British colonial governor of the country, is the capital of the Rupununi, the southern savannah region of Guyana. It is located on the eastern bank of the Takutu River, which forms the boundary between Guyana and Brazil. In more recent times, a bridge has been constructed, linking the two countries and making it possible for vehicles to cross at all times.

We were on an Easter weekend tour of the Rupununi Savannahs – cattle country, with a population of mainly Indigenous peoples. The region is also over 80 percent catholic. On this visit to Sand Creek village, we found out that about a thousand Wapishana Indigenous Guyanese inhabit it; a strong and resolute people. We also found out that almost everyone at Sand Creek is Catholic. At the centre of the village was a small thatched-roof church with dirt floors and rough wooden benches. The resident priest at that time was an English Jesuit, Fr. McKinnon; tall, lean, with long grey shaggy hair and a beard which hung down to his waist.

Our journey from Lethem around the western end of the Kanuku Mountain Range was by truck. This mountain range divides the Rupununi savannahs into North and South. The old Bedford truck took a little over two hours to complete the journey along the bumpy unpaved trail across the savannahs. Immediately upon arriving at Sand Creek, we paid a courtesy call on Fr. McKinnon and the Toshao of the village. Both were awaiting our arrival at the Presbytery building adjacent to the small church. They both warmly welcomed us and wished us an enjoyable stay in their village.

During our two-hour stay at Sand Creek, we were treated with the hospitality of which the people of the Rupununi are well known. We in turn supported their cottage industries by purchasing their art and craft, including their popular hand-made cotton hammocks. We also purchased cashew nuts, cassava bread, casareep and their very potent brew, Parakari; generally referred to as “kari”. Two young men of our group could not wait until our return to Lethem to imbibe. The “kari”, they said, was too tempting. “It went down well.” They chuckled after every gulp, which was done with a measure of decorum. Fortunately, Parakari, though very potent, takes a little while to give what usually is a knockout punch, and so our two imbibers were not the worst for their indiscretion at the very beginning.
Many of the villagers surrounded the truck to say a fond farewell as we climbed into the tray of the vehicle. The two young imbibers, young though they were, found it much more difficult to climb in than the older men and women in the group. It was already over an hour since they had taken gulp after gulp of the drink. Some villagers, especially the children who had observed them, were giggling at their condition.

The driver was already comfortably seated behind the wheel in the cab of the old Bedford truck, ready for the journey around the Kanuku Mountain Range, back to Lethem. “Everybody on board?” he shouted. The reply came in a chorus. “Yeeees”. The sound of the engine of the old Bedford truck, followed. Then the shouts of the villagers filled the air. “Bye! Come again. We love you!” and an equally loud response from a happy group of holiday-makers, “Bye. We love you too. See you next time!” Then the somber voice of a male elder as he raised his right hand. “Thanks for coming. Have a safe trip back to Lethem.” Then, making the sign of the cross with his out-stretched arm, “And may the good Lord bless you in abundance.”

The head of the touring party, with a broad smile said. “And may the good Lord bless you and everyone here at Sand Creek.” “Hold tight”, the driver shouted as he put the vehicle into gear. It shook a little as it began its two-hour-plus journey out of Sand Creek, back to Lethem. Everyone was waving to the villagers, and all the villagers were waving back. About a dozen pre-teen and young teenage boys ran behind the truck for about a minute but gave up after the heavy dust churned up from the truck as the wheels picked up speed, began to choke them, and they could hardly see the vehicle.

A moment later, the sight of Fr. McKinnon at full gallop on his horse made the boys dash to either side of the dusty road. Fr. McKinnon, with hair blowing in the wind, beard dancing from side to side of his slim body, was shouting at the top of his lungs. “You have left something!” “You have left something!” The head of the group shouted over the sound of the truck. “Anybody forgot something in the village?” We were all checking to see if we had all our belongings: cameras, lunch baskets, backpacks, items purchased, whatever, as Fr. McKinnon was getting closer on his horse. “You have left something!” “You have left something!” he continued to shout. Someone gave three loud thumps on the roof of the truck’s cab. The driver brought it to a quick stop.

Fr. McKinnon, still at full gallop, continued his shouts. “You have left something!” “You have left something!” No one could find any missing item. Then, circling the vehicle, still at full gallop, and with his long white hair blowing in the breeze and a long wake of dust behind him, the priest began heading back into the village. “You have left something!” we heard him shout yet again. Then, with his head slightly turned towards us, and shouting even louder, “You have left something! A GOOD IMPRESSION!” as the dust churned up from the horse’s hoofs, masking him from our view.
(Copyright July 2010)