Reflections of Silence

Recently, someone in Skeldon initiated a private conversation with me about a public posting being discussed in the Facebook Group, Skeldon Conversation. The posting is, “This Sex Worker Thing”……how is public prostitution an accepted thing in Guyana?” The response was twofold, an on the ground assessment of the current crisis and a case of silence.

 “Hey Eric, I just saw the post on sex workers and found it to be interesting in some parts but, seems misinformed in others. As it relates to the trafficking in persons for the purpose of sex trades that was an issue of several years ago. It has reduced drastically. Continuous work is being done with all stakeholders including the Ministry of Human Services..... most bars you guys are referring to are a thing of the past sex workers are more wise these days hence not associating much with bars and brothels.... yes there are young girls in the sex work profession but they are independent workers both school age and older.... One challenge for NGOs working with these sex workers is they are able to work with the older population but are restricted to provide said services to minors. Although there are adequate evidence to prove these children are in sex work the laws of the land ties their hands. The law enforcers are blind to the part of the constitution that states sex work and buggering are illegal.”

The above excerpt was very surprising to me. Why does this person feel that they cannot post this response in a public forum? So I posed this question. Here was the response.  

“There are senior government officials who are a part of this group. Hence could compromise a lot of what I could say. I don't have a problem to speak. The thing with the situation here is that with everything there is politics at work. So, speaking is one thing, the way it affect the organization I represent will be another. I worry about the staff that has to provide for themselves and families more than myself..... It complicates things a lot there.”

Wow....things are still the same in Guyana even two decades later. No wonder I can't get anyone to participate from Skeldon. Is this the reality?

Note: I will not divulge the person at the other end of this conversation. Don’t ask and don’t assume you know who it is. Let’s look at the issue at hand. 

Finally Reunited - RIP Aji.

As immigrants to the US, we all try to carve out our own destiny. When we arrive here with family, sometimes that destiny separates us. Mine took me away from my beloved grandmother. There comes a time when we seek to reconnect and cement our love and affection, before the end.



My journey settled in Orlando, Florida. Far away from Newark, New Jersey where my grandmother stayed with aunts and uncles. There was always a burning desire to spend quality time with my grandmother. Mid summer 2010, I did just that. It was just a time to sit reflect, eat meals, laugh, walk downstairs and just be in her presence. A few days were sheer joy for both of us. Many times we just sat there without saying anything, or she just sleep quietly.

After my dad passed in 1977, my grandmother was the driving force ensuring that I had the best our humble surroundings could offer. I hinted a replacement for her beloved son, Mickie, in me. Or as some of my beloved cousins would say, “I was her favorite.” Maybe they were just jealous that I got a larger share of the goodies. Needless to say aji took special interest in her grandchildren. At our old house in Line Path Sunday brunches was a must.

Our church service started at 7:30 am and finished at 8 – 9 ish, depending on which long winded elder or preacher was conducting service. After services, the entire clan would gather at our home for a day long frenzy of activities. Before services finished, Uncle Adam Hussain, came to our house to halaal the duck or chicken. Then the cooking started. Kids played, older ones helped out. My grandma pretended to conduct operations but she never really did. She rather spend time with us kids than be a slave to the fireside. It is this joyous time that cemented a bond between grandchildren and grandmother.

Naturally, I was not going to be in the vicinity of New York and not visit my cousins. So after a couple of days eating, talking, giving her tablets, making tea and biscuits, laughing uncontrollably about nothing in particular I was itching for a drive. My grandmother got wind that I was driving to New York. Mind you, this old lady had not leave Newark, for that matter her home, other than her frequent trips to the hospital, in years. Now she wanted to take the one hour, or two hours depending on traffic, drive to Queens! My aunts and uncles were stunned. She always refused when anyone offered to take her to Queens. Here she was determined to go. She reminded us every morning, “Abe a guh today?”

After much deliberating and consulting at the caution of some family members, we decided that she would make the drive. I personally do not think that she would let me go without her. It was like moving her entire room into the car. But she settled in and was ready to go. As the journey began, my 80 something year old grandmother keep pointing out various landmarks. She had not taken this trip in years, yet she remembered certain places. No one recalled telling her exactly whose house we were going to. As we pulled up to Aunty Patricia’s home she immediately announced, “This a Dolly new house.” How did she know?

It was thrilling to see her walking in and inspecting the house. After about half an hour of sitting in the living room and conversing with everyone, she retired to the bedroom. She said she was tired. She stopped breathing! We called the paramedics, they came and took her away, we followed. She was in the emergency room for awhile. All of the family gathered. She came out of the emergency room and was placed in a critical care room. There was no brain activity. After a couple of days, the doctors saw no improvement, we all conferred. It was her time to go.

After it was decided, everyone went home. Although the doctors would not let me stay in the room, they could not stop me from walking by and peeking in. They also could not stop me from sitting with her in silence when no one was around. That faithful August 27, 2010 night was peaceful and silent. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning I went to my aunt’s house to freshen up and came back before daybreak. Aji was still there. A couple hours later she went to be with her husband Philip, her daughter Juliet, her son Mickie, and her son-in-law Adam. I went in kissed her, walked around the ward, and came back, the doctors surrounded her, she was gone.

Aji lived a long and happy life. She got to spend those years with loving and caring children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. For a young village girl, from Williamsburg, Berbice who married into a farming family in #35 Village, Berbice to a housewife of a Sugar Factory driver in Line Path, Berbice to an immigrant of the United States, Evelyn Joseph, later Khidaroo had a fulfilling life.

I am at peace that my grandmother departed. How long does one stay on this earth for our comforts? When is it time? It was her time. No more pain and suffering, no more doctors and tablets, no more people assisting her to do everything physically, no more depending on anyone, no more being lonely. She is with the people she loved and cherished, but still smiling down on those of us who were in her gracious folds. I miss you aji, but I understand your journey. Rest in Peace old lady, RIP.

I Remember You, Mickie Khadaroo

Friday 4 pm Aug 19, 1977 - A happy, vibrant man strode into Skeldon Sugar Estate Payroll office to pick up his pay check. After that he went to Skeldon Market, opposite the Skeldon Hospital and bought beef. He made a rounds to Narine Datt bar to say hello and what we now know is goodbye to his friends. He went home to his wife, son, and family. His wife made a special beef curry.

Friday 8 pm Aug 19, 1977 - Mickie Khadaroo took his favorite sports section of the newspaper and went to the out house. He never came back out. After a prolonged period, my mom checked on her husband. No answer. She screamed for help. As neighbors gathered the Skeldon Sugar Estate ambulance arrived. They took him to Skeldon Hospital. Later that night they took him to New Amsterdam Hospital.

Mon 6 am Aug 22, 1977 my father stopped breathing.


Prior to Aug 19, 1977 my dad spent the last month or more at the New Amsterdam Hospital for what sparse recollection and recounts amount to a brain injury. Throughout his youth up to the ripe age of 29, my father lived to the fullest. Reckless, maybe. He was a sucker for speed and motorcycles. After all he was a mechanic. Trained by his father from a very young age and later formally at the Guysuco Training Center in Rose Hall, Mickie excelled with all things mechanical. In those days and probably still so, the manly and approved thing to do was work at the Sugar Estate, drink with your buddies, and ride motorcycles drunk. After several accidents and head injuries, his tender skull had enough.

As a father, son, brother, and grandson Mickie never forsake his family. My fading memory, I was 6 when he passed, was always among many family members. Our one on one time was a slow drive from Line Path to either Crabwood Creek Road End or Springlands Stelling. I don’t quite remember what was said to me. I just remember a couple of events, birthdays, family gatherings, and trips to other family in Rose Hall and #35 Village.

His early demise left me listless. My grandfather, Uncle Phil, and his brothers Jerry, Ralph and Eddy did a great job filling the void. His mother, Eva, sisters Juliet, Patricia, Esther, and Loney made sure I was comfortable. His wife, Asha, my mom has been and continues to be my rock. She sacrificed her own opportunities in life for my comforts. Mickie is smiling on his darling Asha. Over the years at various times, I had the honor of meeting and reminiscing with many of my dad’s friends. I don’t recall anyone whom he knew or knew him that he did not touch personally. Many call him their brother…..or as they say in Guyana “Dem buddy friend”.

It has been over three decades since you left this world, dad. I feel your presence everyday. Your caring and loving ways still touch this family. In family times, there is still talks about your big heart. Rest assured you are missed. We thank you for touching our lives and somehow instilling your love and compassion. Rest in Peace dear father, RIP.

A Place of Relaxation

There are so many complains and frustration making the media circus out of Guyana, that you would think, what a total disaster.

Not so fast naysayer! I recently made friends with a very nice doctor from Skeldon Hospital, Dr. Vishalya Sharma, on Facebook. Being the nosy person I am, I clicked through her photos. To my utmost delight, I found some pictures which raised my curiosity to a very high level of excitement. Did you know that there was a park at #63 Beach? Okay, not the beach it self, but right before you get to the beach.

A park? Built by whom? For whom? Yes, there are good things happening in Guyana. I am told that "Uncle Joe" built this park by himself for the kids in the neighborhood. Apparently, this park was built at least before Dec, 2011. I consider myself very informed about the happenings in and around Skeldon all the way up the Corentyne and to some extent the other parts of Guyana. But a park built right under my nose and I had no idea?

Could it be that Uncle Joe saw the need and just did the right thing, without the hoopla of media and a big splash? I believe so. Not a single whisper on any social media. By chance I saw the pictures of the good doctor. Here is exactly what Guyana needs. I have always supported the notion that Guyana can be rebuilt and developed by the people living in Guyana.

Who knows better what is needed than people living in Guyana? Guyanese living day to day in Guyana! More people should follow suit and take up projects that benefits the community. I don't know Uncle Joe's background, but any person who can give of himself to the public without asking for anything in return is a person worth mentioning. This is how communities are built. This is a neighbor taking care of his neighbors' children. This is necessary in Guyana today.

Help from overseas in the "Hammock Raja" fashion is not the answer. There are tons of Guyanese willing to reach back into their village and render assistance. But it seems like a black hole to fill. People continue to give and nothing changes. The same hand outs happen year in, year out. Next year same thing, the other year same thing. Give a man a fish and he continues to ask, show that man how to fish and he eats everyday. Further, if that man learns to fish by himself, he eats all the time. Life is not easy anywhere. Times are changing in the diaspora. The money tree is getting dry and whittled.

Uncle Joe has shown that a little thought and generosity can go a long way. There was a Christmas party at this park last year. From the images, it is clear that these kids had a ball. This park serves as a sanctuary from everyday life. Like so many other parks in many other parts of the world, this is where people recharge their batteries and take things a little easier. More of this take charge of your own destiny is the key to Guyana's emergence out of this black hole.

I encourage more people to follow suit. Go to this park, take pictures, enjoy the peace, give back to your community. Share your thoughts and pictures. Thank you, Uncle Joe, for making a child's life fun again.

A Time To Remember

New Jersey Arya Samaj Mandir Humanitarian Mission, Guyana/Central Arya Samaj Mandir, Angels Entertainment Group, and Natraj Center for Performing Arts presents A Time to Remember. Proceeds will benefit the building of a Humanitarian Village in Babu John, Rose Hall, Berbice, Guyana. 

This ONE show only at Bath Settlement Community Center Ground will feature music and entertainment of Peace, Love, Unity, Strength, and Harmony.

Local and international artists will perform on the same stage. This is a Family Oriented Event.

The FATHER of Skeldon is gone.

Today, the father of Skeldon has passed on. I am sure there is, but I do not know many people in Skeldon who are 95 years young and still move about like Jamna Persaud Singh.

Showing the boys how it's done.

I remembered him as a high voice, loud, stalwart of a man. Walking into his work shop at the head of Kingston Rd, #79 Village, there was no doubt who was in charge. He made boys into men. There are stories that many of his apprentices would tell about accidents in their pants when he spoke to them. His complete knowledge of ANYTHING mechanical was impeccable.

Uncle Jamna and my grandfather, Uncle Phil, were buddy friends. During his time of many years as a hire car driver, my grandfather utilized the many functions of Uncle Jamna's workshop. I would take several pieces of work and Uncle Jamna, being the loving caring man he was would immediately pull me into his greasy arms with a hug. "Bai, a weh dah old man deh?" He would normally charge us a small fee or none at all. Of course in those days when the "Old bais" them get together was a whole 'nother story. During those times, Uncle Jamna was the owner of Ambassor Inn and Bar at Springlands. After hours of debate and gallons of liquor, the two old bais would come to our home. Pow, pow. He would let a few rounds off in the air, just to announce that they were home. Really, we could not hear the loud old cars and loud inebriated old mouths right in front of the house. But that was signature JPSingh.

Last year March I went back to Guyana after 20 yrs. I met Uncle Jamna at a funeral wake. He was playing dominoes. I slipped into the seat next to him and asked, "Do you remember me?" He looked at me and smiled. Slapped a domino on the table with the vigor of a 15 year old school boy. Then turned fully to face me. He took my shoulders in both of his bony hands and stared into my eyes. Under his bushy eyebrows his eyes softened, " You are old Khedaroo, grand son!" There was that old familiar hug, raspy old voice, and greasy smell. He remembered me.

This is the memory of Jamna Persaud Singh, that will forever itch into my brain, like it was a from his engraving machine. This is how he was to the entire community. Many times I saw this same embrace and hug, same raspy voice, same love for his community. While most of his children, grand, and great grand children are all overseas he choose to stay in Skeldon and work in his workshop until the day he passed. You, sir, distinguish gentleman of noble ancient being, straw hat off to you. I can hear the glasses click as you meet your old friend. Where ever you both are, Happy Father's Day to fathers of Skeldon pass.

Where is the pride in citizenship?

Diplomats launch community cleanup challenge | Latest:

'via Blog this'

I am appalled and dismayed that international diplomats living in Guyana have taken on this clean up initiative. Not that I am ungrateful for their efforts, more like I am embarrassed.

EU Ambassador Robert Kopecky and his expecting wife Eliska cleaning up Georgetown, Guyana.
Source Demerara Waves.

As humans and citizens of the world we are encouraged to keep our surroundings clean. Just like combing our hair, brushing our teeth, ironing our clothes, and stepping out in a presentable manner. Growing up in the rural parts of Berbice, it was a community effort to keep our surroundings clean. I clearly remembered in the late 70s and 80s when my entire street would participate in clean up activities. Some of these massive clean up were planned, like after heavy rains. We would all make sure our drains are cleaned and grass cut in front of our homes and our neighbor's homes if need be. There really was no line. If I was cutting the grass in front of my home, I would extend to both of my side neighbors. My neighbor might be trimming the trees that border both of our homes. It was a community activity that happened whenever it was needed. No one asked us, no one made a big media splash. It was our home and we kept it clean.

These images of foreigners cleaning  up the streets of Georgetown, Guyana troubles me. Where is the community spirit? Why are foreigners cleaning up our home? Rest assured that these people no matter how pristine their background is, being in the diplomatic core, are tired of looking at filthy streets. Since nothing is getting done, they take it upon themselves to initiate a clean up. I am all for community spirit and everyone no matter who they are pitching in to assist. But this is a little embarrassing, someone else cleaning our mess. This is like someone walking into your kitchen and taking a scrub brush to your sink. Or going into your toilet and scrubbing it before they can use it. What does that say about us as a nation?

We really don't care about the way our country is portrayed in the eyes of the international community? Why would a tourist choose Guyana over the other pristine Caribbean destinations? Who would want to do business in a filthy country? These are the images broadcasted to the world. The message is loud and clear. In order to dwell in Guyana you have to clean it up first.

Let's put aside the international spectacle for a second. What about internally? How can you live in this mess? Why are you waiting for someone else to clean up this mess? Obviously, the trash was put there by someone. That someone is you! You scatter and litter expecting someone to pick up after you? Do you think your mom or dad is going to clean your crap up? Wake up, people! It is your actions that is causing this dilemma . Don't blame the government. They put systems in place for you to execute. It is your responsibility to follow the littering law. The legal system is already overloaded, should they issue arrest for menial littering? Maybe, it is time to make examples of people who break the littering laws.

One of my first memories of Georgetown was as a little boy invited to perform at the National Cultural Center. Yes, I dabbled in poetry and acting in primary school. Coming from rural Skeldon, I was in total awe of the well kept lawns, drains, flowers, plants, and clean streets.  Guyana was once a clean, pristine, and beautiful country. What happened to all the people who took pride in keeping our country clean? Are we all scattered in the diaspora? Will we ever be able to reclaim our once pristine country? Or do we have to depend on foreigners to lead the way?