was passing through Water Street recently, near Stabroek Market, when I stopped to snap a picture of a vendor, explaining that I was doing a series on One Guyana.
“When duh gun happen?” asked another vendor. “Maybe not in my lifetime,” I replied, “but it’s happening.”
“The last shall be first and the first shall be last,” another one quoted, and we all laughed, as I walked on.
Before that, in the mini-bus on the way from Golden Grove on the East Bank, the driver was playing Bob Marley songs and he followed this with Lucky Dube.

As I was singing along with these songs the passenger seated next to me commented that people like Bob Marley, Michael Jackson and Muhammed Ali were born once in a generation.
He also remarked that these men are often killed or discredited because of their message.
“Lucky Dube was the African Bob Marley,” he said, telling me that the man who killed Lucky Dube later said he was sorry. And the Filipino who talked about Michael Jackson with little boys confessed that he was told to say those things.

My travelling companion also disclosed that he could not remember the last time he had had such an edifying conversation. We continued chatting until we arrived in Georgetown.
I walked away smiling then turned back to tell the driver how much I enjoyed the music. As the passenger I had been gaffing with was paying the driver at the time, I left them both nodding and smiling.
Something that passenger said remained in my mind throughout the day.

“I don’t live in Guyana anymore,” he said, “but I have noticed something…the old-time racism isn’t around anymore…things are changing. There seems to be far more inter-racial mixing, especially among the young people.”
And then I received a call from an overseas-based Guyanese, on a spiritual journey – fasting and praying – who voiced her concern about the negativity she feels is pervading the world right now.

“People seem to be moving away from God…everything is money, money…and you can’t take it with you (when you die) all of this you have to leave behind.”
This was a sobering thought in the heavy materialist world in which we live, where we are urged to consume more and more.
On my way back home to Golden Grove in a mini-bus, I struck up a conversation with a man, employed by GRA (the Guyana Revenue Authority), who disclosed that he was a volunteer member of a group involved with helping the less fortunate.

“There are so many social issues that need our attention…suicide, for one, seems to be going up again,” he observed.
We then went on to talk about the loud, obnoxious music played in so many buses, whereas the music in our bus was pleasant and allowed us to hear one another.

My companion disembarked the bus before me after we exchanged phone numbers and resolved to continue our conversation. He offered to pay my fare and complimented the driver on both his choice of music and the muted volume at which it was played.
Most of the passengers nodded in agreement and once more I got off a mini-bus smiling and recalling the words on a wooden plaque that I discovered during my college days: It matters not how long we live, but how.

TO BE CONTINUED