RECENTLY, the co-operative movement was in the air, mentioned fondly by the current Minister of Labour, and it raised memories, some of which I’ve written about in this column. I was part of a youth pioneer group that had volunteered to be trained towards an Agro-Industrial Co-op society. I’m not sure, but I think that it was a project between USAID and the young Guyana Government, which had just turned a Republic in 1972.

We were given a stipend and trained under the guidance of several professionals in the necessary skills. Of our senior guidance staff were Skipper Gordon, who was in charge overall, Rigby Dover, our manager, and Lakeram Persaud, who taught us book-keeping, among others, whose names I can’t remember at this time. Though we raised pigs and planted vegetables on the highway, vegetable-growing soil was accessed through brush clearing by hand rather than by heavy equipment, so as not to lose functional soil for our needs. Our bestseller was chickens. Our training covered livestock husbandry, accounts, and a basic relationship with the construction of necessary support buildings for livestock, as well as fostering an understanding between us and the animals that inhabited the forested areas that surrounded our spartan living quarters.

One of our first bad experiences with our forested neighbours was when the first chicken pen as built. The carpenter in charge bought some cheap wire fence to save from the budget he had applied for. The pens were built and the chickens were placed in them. Then, the ocelots had a field-day feast. The carpenter was sacked, and eventually, a new pen was built. The chickens came later. We had erected a guard hut watching our chicks. We requested a firearm, but Skipper Gordon sucked his teeth and gave us a portable power lamp and said,“Yuh come and live in ‘Tiger-Cat’ village now yuh want to murder he when he come fuh share?”

We had a guard hut watching over the new pen and chicks, and as the first watch was changed, there were two ocelots. They tried, but the new mesh was on top of the game. We did as was suggested and shone the power lights on them. We received about 20 minutes of Tiger-Cat “busing” then they retreated. We discussed it with Mr Glasow during the week, who was the only man we knew who was planting pineapples in that part of the highway. He smiled and told us, “Yuh boss is a wise man.’’

KAYS, or the KuruKuru Agro-Industrial Young Settlers Cooperative, was official by 1973. The policy was that we do as much business with fellow co-ops. We broke those rules within the same year (1973). The co-ops probably didn’t have our training. We had to ambush some of them to get paid, unlike dealing with the elder brother from Blair’s Delight, among other folks who would come in, place an order and return, pay and collect. We closed off the Co-op Complex based on how they handled our tomatoes upon delivery, though they paid. We got a better price at Bourda Market. Contextualising the co-op movement today with strict laws, including jail time for some violations, will empower unemployed citizens across the nation and offer services making right the term (charity, or rather, employment in this case, best begins at home.)