Category: Uncategorized

          < Situations and Revelations Of Passing Notice in Guyana >

         Locket #3

         Fyzabad and I were classmates in secondary school. He had this thing about
         dogs and cats. You wouldn't catch me dead hugging a dog or petting a cat,
         but Fyzabad (that was our name for him) would get angry and shout at people
         throwing stones at animals.

         Years later he make this big turn, and now he is this big animal protector.

         I was in the gold fields trying my hand at shaking and sorting. (Actually I have big
         plans: setting up an employment Agency for the gold fields; with me as Chief of
         Operations; yes, man). On a trip back to the city I heard he was in trouble with
         his Village Council. And I want to believe this all started with late-night cinema
         shows.

         Late-night weekend cinema was our schoolboy passion. It look like he never
         really gave up the habit (electricity was not reliable where he lived). After
         the show, while people on the road drinking and arguing, or planning nefarious
         activities with guns in their cars, Fyzabad hurrying home on his bicycle, the
         orange reflectors flashing on the pedals; slowing down only when he pass
         animals on the public road; a stray cat, a stray dog.

             He started riding with a shovel, cause some cars and minivans blasting through
         the night does lick up anything that don't get out the way fast. Drivers leaving
         animal carcass like tire tread strips on the road. All of a sudden he is this burial
         man for hit-and-run animals.

         He would stop, lean up the bicycle; scoop up the dead animal, and bury it in a
         shallow grave off the road.

         If you driving home on the country road late at night, and you notice somebody
         digging and digging on an empty piece of land, like he find a map and he
         searching for buried treasure, that was Fyzabad.

         The property had to belong to the government or somebody; he never stop to
         find out; wasn't worried an officer might jump out the bush and arrest him. In 
         the heat of the moment, in the dead of the night, he there giving these animals
         a proper resting place.              

         Eventually he had to stop. Somebody sneak up one night and steal the bicycle;
         left him right there on the road with the shovel and a crocus bag, looking round
         in the dark, wondering how his bicycle could disappear just like that.

         He buy another bicycle but the same person or somebody else sneak up and steal
         that one too. That was how the whole late night burial business come to a halt.

         I hear next that Sanita, his wife, went back to her mother with the children,
         saying she tired staying in the house all day cooped up; couldn't even relax
         outside in her vegetable garden.

         What really distress her, and this is what start the problems with the Village
         Council, was her husband's new occupation. Fyzabad was now driving round in
         a van rescuing animals. In the middle of the night he out there in this van
         looking for stray dog and stray cat.

         He decide next to open an animal sanctuary. When I visited him he had 99
         stray dogs and 31 stray cats in his backyard.

         He started giving each of them names, but he had too many animals, or maybe
         he run out of names; so he stop with the names. But he kept correct count and
         'Date of Rescue' in an exercise book. 

         "These creatures are like family. Nobody want them. I taking care of them," he
         told me. Then pointing with owner's pride, he said: "You see these two?  
         Spartacus and Shane?"  He whistled, and they came over. "They show more faith
         in this country than most people I know, I'm telling you." (Spartacus and Shane
         were assigned front yard warning duty, to keep intruders off the property.)

         People in the village were up in arms: who in their right mind would drive
         around saving stray dogs? not missing pets with collars, mind you  ̶  stray
         dogs! This country could barely afford anything like a Dog Pound, and he 
         there playing big Dog Saviour.

         The backyard with the mango tree and with wire mesh fencing and food
         bowls and the galvanize shed was a living disgrace. It was hard to imagine a
         place like this anywhere in the world. 

         The next door neighbors condemn it as a big health hazard; the owner not
         even qualified or trained to look after animals. "He bringing these dogs from
         the public road into the village, which in turn bringing down property values,"
         the lady across the road was saying. "At least with chickens, they give you eggs
         you could eat or sell. All we getting from his backyard is noise and smell. And
         on hot windy days this place is real hell."

          Fyzabad was convinced he had the only human solution to the problem: "All
          they doing is complaining and complaining, they wouldn't lift a finger to take
          care of these creatures. You see the people I have to live with?  Hold their nose
          at corruption, everywhere is corruption. Smelling to high heaven. But you
          should hear how they address an honest working man like me."

          I wished him all the best. I told him to be careful; do what he think is right,
          what make his life start up and run every morning; but look outside every now
          and then just in case somebody sneak up in the dark and thief the van while he
          at the back with the dogs and the cats.

          T. Sennah
          Georgetown, Guyana

           < Situations and Revelations Of Passing Notice in Guyana >

          Locket #1
         
          This work getting seriously out of hand. People don't realize I am the sole and
         solitary porter employed at the Canal District 2 Mortuary. I can't do any better,
         otherwise I would seek to secure permanent employment elsewhere. I have a
         brother living in Trinidad. He write telling me how bodies piling up with all the
         killing over there.

         I here working twenty four hours per day. Receiving payment for just an eight
         hour period. Advantage is being taken of my situation.

         And seeing as how I living close by the mortuary parlour, contact is being made
         to me at any given time to provide service which includes (a) washing and
         cleaning of parlour (b) stitching and dressing deceased after postmortem
         examination (c) Pick up dead morning noon or night and deposit same dead in 
         freezer. (d) Operate emergency power in case of blackout (e) Remove body
         from freezer as per request of family midday or midnight.

         Sometimes is me they call upon to bathe and dress the dead for quick religious
         burial, but the money paid for performing "special tasks" goes straight in the
         biscuit tin of the parlour supervisor.

         Only the other day a dead fell out my hands which was under heavy strain to
         transport the body from one location to another. This is a clear indication that
         I alone cannot do the work with only two hands. More hands are needed and
         urgently for the dead to be properly taken care of.

         To add insult to injury the supervisor who drives the hearse is in the habit of
         going from abuse of privilege to abuse and cursing related to my job abilities.
         Bad enough I have to see and handle what temper or getting old does breed
         and do to people.

         This is clear indication of the action to come that is piling up. Advantage is being
         taken of my situation

         A. Sadhoo,
         Canal District, Guyana
                                                                 *
                                                                                                                                      

          Locket #2

          The Magistrate at the Canal District #2 Assize has his listening and sentencing
          ways. This is what I hear from the Clerk of Court Records (I am telling you in
          the strictest personal confidence. Your ears only.)

          Monday:    
          According to the prosecution, Defendant (name withheld) went to Lot 133
          where members of the Pentecostal Church situated at above address observed
          him during the service in a mango tree with a bag picking the fruit. An alarm
          was raised and the defendant was later arrested and charged. Quantity of
          mangoes found in bag: 32.

          Magistrate frowning: Praedial Larceny. Defendant given options (a) dedicate
          rest of his natural life to the Pentecostal faith or (b) 32 days in prison.
          Defendant chose Option (b).

          Tuesday:   
          Defendant in the court (bony fellow with scar across left cheek, name
          withheld).

          This lady open her shop doors but went to the back of her premises to do some
          washing. After fifteen minutes she hear a noise coming from the front of the
          shop. Came back to investigate only to find this fellow walking away with a
          bunch of bananas and a carton of cigarettes and cigarette lighters valued
          $2,000. Like he picking and choosing what he wanted that day with no intention
          to pay.

          Matter was reported to the police. Arrest was made. Defendant confessed to
          charges. Magistrate scowling : Simple Larceny: Defendant sentenced 50 days.

          Wednesday.
          Defendant claimed he picked the mangos from a loaded tree in the compound
          of the District Medical Office because no one else was picking them. Magistrate 
          glaring: Praedial Larceny: Defendant given 70 days.

          You see this country? People does grow like guava and turn hard, that is all
          I have to say.

          A. Sadhoo 
         Canal District, Guyana