No matter where I go, if my intended stay is one week or one year, if I'm excited or complacent about the journey, roughly 80% of the way into the trip I start preparing to return. I go though accumulated papers, throw things away, tidy souvenirs for me gifts for others, fold up clothes I know I won't wear... And, by the time the departure day arrives I'm ready for home. Or, the next leg of the trip.
The sole exception to this has always been Guyana. I never wanted to leave. When we were teens visiting with family mum had to extend our ticket because no one wanted to return. Even then, it was still not enough time but school called. Each time I leave Guyana it has only ever been because I have other obligations awaiting me, never because I wanted to. Never because I was ready to. This stay has been the exception.
National elections are coming, May 11. I returned to my Georgetown home one evening semi-surprised to find my uncle. He proceeded to scare me about the dangers of Guyana. Guyana, Georgetown in particular can be a dangerous place. Like most urban spaces, there are places where it's best to not go alone, or be in after dark, such as Stabroek "big" Market. It's better to not call attention to yourself by wearing flashy things or gold jewelry (the exception is in Berbice County where it's relatively safe and people love to display their gold). You may get "choke and robbed" a crime allegedly so ubiquitous there is a term for it. I've heard of incidents, in the recent past, of Indian weddings being crashed and a massive "choke and rob" ensuing, ensuring that women now largely wear costume jewelry to festive functions.
Growing up in Canada, family and friends who had lived through the riots and the violence of the 60s-70s drilled us in the discourses of fear. The memory of these periods and reflections of other moments of extreme violence, especially around election times persist. These memories, and others, were surely in the mind of my 70+ year old uncle. It also didn't help that in one week three women were found chopped into bits at Seawall (Kitty and Turkeyen) locations near to our place, and another spot, not too far down the road (Annandale). Never mind that these seemed to be part of the non-random violence that regularly occurs in Guyana. I enjoy my lovely am jaunts on the seawall. It's quite, cool, beautiful, clean, tranquil. Yet, I, as a young(ish), female, Indian, am seen as the ideal target of the unknown Guyanese villain.
Uncle spoke of violence, saying, "Guyana is a dangerous country. Guyana is a dangerous country and this is election time." When I asked what would be prudent behaviour on my part to ensure my physical safety, he replied, "I don't know what is safe and I don't know what is not safe." Then he talked about my body not being identified nor identifiable and for the first time I was afraid. Not afraid of dying, but of the image of my unidentified body parts spread across some unknown place, or perhaps worse, a place that I love and felt safe at, and the thought of what that would do to my poor mother.
The warnings of "be careful" "things happen" "that's dangerous" "you mustn't do that" and the other cautionary words that I'd always taken with a handful of salt raced through my head. This is election time, things are different. Especially if, as I always like to say, the best predictor of people's future behaviour is past behaviour. I began speaking with other people to get different perspectives and though most were of the younger generations, the responses were mixed. I was told I should leave (ideally two weeks before elections) and that many Guyanese do leave around the period especially because after votes were counted the likely hood for things acting up increased. I was also told I should stay and experience it for myself -- that as a researcher and anthropologist I would find it interesting. I was told that spontaneous riots and demonstrations are part of the politiricking. I was told that the violence was contained largely to Georgetown, and specific areas in Georgetown, to which I glibly replied, "violence doesn't cross the [Berbice and Essiquibo] rivers," to which I received the expected chuckle. But this year it did -- an elderly woman was raped and murdered, an abhorrent act some attribute to the actions of a lone madman, and others attributed to the beginning of the election janjat (problems).
I sought my mother's counsel and among other things she told me, "better safe than sorry." Heeding her words and mindful of my parents exile that was intended to protect their children from a life of precarious safety and freedom, I booked my ticked and stopped my seawall jaunts.
The things that happen in this period are not always blatantly political, and oftentimes election time is simply an excuse for wanton lawlessness. Last Sunday, a woman, one of the ilk who has suggested I stay for the election experience (a youngish Indian by the way), with her husband and kids when to the seawall during the day. While they enjoyed their lime (leisure time) the windshield of their car was broken and bandits made off with whatever they could get their hands on. In broad day light. With people around.
This has been an emotional period for me, and though I still love Guyana, for the first time I am sad that I am glad to leave.
The sole exception to this has always been Guyana. I never wanted to leave. When we were teens visiting with family mum had to extend our ticket because no one wanted to return. Even then, it was still not enough time but school called. Each time I leave Guyana it has only ever been because I have other obligations awaiting me, never because I wanted to. Never because I was ready to. This stay has been the exception.
National elections are coming, May 11. I returned to my Georgetown home one evening semi-surprised to find my uncle. He proceeded to scare me about the dangers of Guyana. Guyana, Georgetown in particular can be a dangerous place. Like most urban spaces, there are places where it's best to not go alone, or be in after dark, such as Stabroek "big" Market. It's better to not call attention to yourself by wearing flashy things or gold jewelry (the exception is in Berbice County where it's relatively safe and people love to display their gold). You may get "choke and robbed" a crime allegedly so ubiquitous there is a term for it. I've heard of incidents, in the recent past, of Indian weddings being crashed and a massive "choke and rob" ensuing, ensuring that women now largely wear costume jewelry to festive functions.
Growing up in Canada, family and friends who had lived through the riots and the violence of the 60s-70s drilled us in the discourses of fear. The memory of these periods and reflections of other moments of extreme violence, especially around election times persist. These memories, and others, were surely in the mind of my 70+ year old uncle. It also didn't help that in one week three women were found chopped into bits at Seawall (Kitty and Turkeyen) locations near to our place, and another spot, not too far down the road (Annandale). Never mind that these seemed to be part of the non-random violence that regularly occurs in Guyana. I enjoy my lovely am jaunts on the seawall. It's quite, cool, beautiful, clean, tranquil. Yet, I, as a young(ish), female, Indian, am seen as the ideal target of the unknown Guyanese villain.
Uncle spoke of violence, saying, "Guyana is a dangerous country. Guyana is a dangerous country and this is election time." When I asked what would be prudent behaviour on my part to ensure my physical safety, he replied, "I don't know what is safe and I don't know what is not safe." Then he talked about my body not being identified nor identifiable and for the first time I was afraid. Not afraid of dying, but of the image of my unidentified body parts spread across some unknown place, or perhaps worse, a place that I love and felt safe at, and the thought of what that would do to my poor mother.
The warnings of "be careful" "things happen" "that's dangerous" "you mustn't do that" and the other cautionary words that I'd always taken with a handful of salt raced through my head. This is election time, things are different. Especially if, as I always like to say, the best predictor of people's future behaviour is past behaviour. I began speaking with other people to get different perspectives and though most were of the younger generations, the responses were mixed. I was told I should leave (ideally two weeks before elections) and that many Guyanese do leave around the period especially because after votes were counted the likely hood for things acting up increased. I was also told I should stay and experience it for myself -- that as a researcher and anthropologist I would find it interesting. I was told that spontaneous riots and demonstrations are part of the politiricking. I was told that the violence was contained largely to Georgetown, and specific areas in Georgetown, to which I glibly replied, "violence doesn't cross the [Berbice and Essiquibo] rivers," to which I received the expected chuckle. But this year it did -- an elderly woman was raped and murdered, an abhorrent act some attribute to the actions of a lone madman, and others attributed to the beginning of the election janjat (problems).
I sought my mother's counsel and among other things she told me, "better safe than sorry." Heeding her words and mindful of my parents exile that was intended to protect their children from a life of precarious safety and freedom, I booked my ticked and stopped my seawall jaunts.
The things that happen in this period are not always blatantly political, and oftentimes election time is simply an excuse for wanton lawlessness. Last Sunday, a woman, one of the ilk who has suggested I stay for the election experience (a youngish Indian by the way), with her husband and kids when to the seawall during the day. While they enjoyed their lime (leisure time) the windshield of their car was broken and bandits made off with whatever they could get their hands on. In broad day light. With people around.
This has been an emotional period for me, and though I still love Guyana, for the first time I am sad that I am glad to leave.
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