A father’s veritable tribute to a virtual Guyana son

FROM Life to Death – and in between – hardly-anything has happened in my life without a Guyana-touch.
Indeed, my Guyana story spans poetry and prose, politics and religion, culture and media, featuring friends and frenemies – and also involving births and anniversaries, weddings and funerals, etc.

Between my family’s arrival in 1993 to our departure in 1999, from our homes at Station Street, Kitty to Atlantic Ville, East Coast Demerara (ECD), my life’s Guyana chapter is long — and lasting in memory.
My first son Samora is Grenadian and visited us annually before my last son, Amani, was born in 1996 at Mercy Hospital in Georgetown.

My daughter Charlene (Melida) and two other sons, Chad and Jeavaughn, all went to city schools, all-three attending St. Margaret’s Primary, Charlene continuing at St. John’s College and Chad at Richard Ishmael Secondary.
Going home after school was another daily adventure: they didn’t take ‘the bus’, instead gathering at the Sea Wall’s intersection with Sheriff Street to ‘walk the wall’ to Atlantic Ville.

My wedding was at Brickdam Cathedral in 1997, followed by the usual walk and photo-shoots across the Kissing Bridge at the Botanical Gardens and a reception at the (then) Ocean View Hotel at Liliendal, East Coast Demerara (ECD).
Jeavaughn grew-up in Guyana and was distinguished by his habit of sucking-his-thumb, leading to eventually being christened ‘Suck Finger’— a name he left no doubt that he absolutely abhorred.

He also stammered — another characteristic that attracted negative attention and easily angered him, especially when taunted by friends he could vent-off on.
The three children would happily share interesting ‘Guyana stories’ whenever they returned to Saint Lucia (every Christmas) about ‘Life in a country that is not an island is over 200-times the size of Saint Lucia…’

They shared bragging rights and rites on experiences shared with neighbouring friends their age ‘from the ville’ about: ‘fishing barefoot and by hand, walking backwards in a muddy gutter, for piranhas and little alligators’ and ‘Sunday cook-ups in the back-dam’, ‘seeing more kites in the air than all the people in Saint Lucia on Easter Mondays’, ‘Crossing nine Black Rivers from Timehri to Linden’, ‘Climbing and riding the pregnant belly of the Demerara Bridge’ and ‘Visiting Essequibo Islands in a van and a boat, without stepping-out of the vehicle, or into the water…’

Family friends all knew Jeavaughn by his first name, even if (like our surname) they also found it difficult to pronounce – from Presidents Cheddi and Janet Jagan, Prime Minister and Mrs Sam and Yvonne Hinds and to Information Minister Moses Nagamootoo to MPs Donald Ramotar, Clement Rohee, Shirley Edwards and Gail Teixeira, Office of the President (OP) senior functionary June Ward, Paul and Rohini Bonar of Alexander Village, members of the Guyana Relief Council (GRC) and others too numerous to mention.

These also include Doris Lewis, the lady behind our wedding, who convinced Marie and I that after ‘living together for 19 years with four children’, outside of Holy Matrimony, we were ‘living long in sin’…
Doris was sensitive enough to know how to pronounce Jeavaughn’s name flawlessly, unlike the likes of my Robb Street, Georgetown watering-hole PPP comrades like Mirror newspaper photographer George Lee, ‘Horse’, ‘Pank’ and ‘Haroon’, who always exercised their ‘adult prerogative’ to call him ‘Suck Finger’ – and dare him to say anything.
Jeavaughn’s acquired skills in Saint Lucia grew him into a marble-stone cutter, land surveyor, motorcycle riding instructor – and a Salsa dance teacher.

Earlier this year, his infliction by a deadly internal illness led to a visibly accelerated deterioration of his physical structure and prolongation of his suffering, resulting in several trips to-and-from hospital — until his last ride on the night of October 17.
Jeavaughn’s life on earth would expire on the morning of October 18 at the OKEU Hospital in Castries, aged 34.

After the expected but unavoidable call came, the seasoned father and grandpa in me, alongside my mother Ina’s oldest son, locked myself away from the world for the next 24 hours, if only to process the latest vibes and ‘consult my brain’ (as elder Guyanese would say) on how to ensure Jeavaughn gets a good final flight to the Land of No Return.
But his elder brother’s departure hit Amani the hardest, having once passed Jeavaughn twice at a KFC outlet without recognising him.

However, even though it ended his stifling pain and endless misery, every family member is still in grief.
Ditto our neighbours at Atlantic Ville, including Aunties Wendy and Margaret, Uncles David and Brian, as well as ‘Miss David’ — Jeavaughn and his siblings’ favorite teacher.
Me?

Like the rest of the family, I’m coping as best as anyone with the following track-record of forever losses can:
• Marie died on July 13, 2017 – Chad’s birth anniversary
• Marie’s Sister Julianna (Pinky) died seven months later on February 17, 2018 (Samora’s birthday)
• My youngest brother Charles died on December 21, 2018

• Our uncle ‘Clive’ (Ina’s brother, Michael Mondesir, ex-principal of St. Mary’s College) died in 2019
• My second-youngest brother Alex died on October 10, 2020 – one week ahead of his birthday
• Our Wedding Day and Marie’s Funeral Service were both on her birthday (August 2) — and on the same date in 2020, the PPP/C took its rightful place as the duly-elected government of Guyana

• The March 13, 2020 PPP/C election victory was on the 41st Anniversary of the Grenada Revolution, which I also served
• Amani’s first child (a girl) was born on October 13 – five days before the end of Jeavaughn’s slow death, ensuring his replacement arrived before his departure.
• And Jeavaughn will be buried November 9, his 35th birth-date
Thanks to the forced-ripe soldier and sailor in me, I’ve acquired an unenviable ability to cry dry tears and soak deep pain while caring for all others, before looking-out for me.

However, even as I wax between lukewarm-and-cold over my son’s last post and final flight, I cannot but hasten to make two final points.
Firstly, losing six family members in six nights is nowhere in comparison with Gaza residents today losing entire families to Israeli bombs.

And secondly, I’ve also developed the ability to remind us, at every opportunity, that we are all in Life’s departure launch, each with a one-way ticket, only awaiting our Final call and Gate Number.
All that said, I did get the opportunity to talk to Jeavaughn about his illness — and to say reaffirm that we will always remain us – father and son, ‘until death do us part…’