A funeral service in the United States in early September, when signs of Fall, like mild chills, seep into the pores and linger for days. The words and songs replay in the mind like a broken record and you feel far from a state of resurrection. It was unlike most funeral services I attend in Guyana, where sometimes there are endless tributes in songs, poems and reminiscing, sudden outbursts, hymns and choruses in and out of tune, offerings for the servants under the spell of the doctrines and sermons of calling the living to salvation.
The Anglican Church in Maryland was packed with relatives and friends. My last grandparent to join the ancestors, my paternal grandmother, lay in the casket. She had walked the Earth for 93 years. The burial was like none I had ever witnessed. In less than an hour, the casket was lowered into the ground, sealed and covered. It felt so final; like the close of an important chapter; like warm tears falling on the grass hoping to fertilise it to instantly bloom fresh and beautiful life experiences to take away the feelings of sadness.
At funeral services in Guyana, my mind would often be occupied with thoughts about life realities outside the death ceremony – but many life realities are perhaps like death realities for even the living often experience death in various stages throughout life; sprinklings or showers on the seeds we have been given to bring new life over and over again until one day, the grass grows permanently over a resting place. But even in the places of worship, as the funeral rites are performed, there is so much about Guyana to think on…like, when will we have elections? Or, when will the women cease to die by the hands of men they love? Or when will we love each other? Or when will our politicians put country before self and selfishness? Or when will this death ritual that seeks to obliterate the Guyanese identity end and the unity that some have been trying too long to achieve come?
For a long while after my grandmother’s funeral, I thought about other relatives who had previously joined the village of ancestors. I thought of pouring libation and calling their names for it is comforting that they continue to be. For the days after in the silence I mused on finding the meaning of life like I have often done. And within those days I read and watched pictures and videos of the remnants of the tragedy in the Bahamas while the body count rose. Mercy and compassion said my feelings of grief could not compare to the grief for the lost ones, buried ones, maybe lucky ones because they have escaped this world which seems to grow more corrupt and perilous by the day.
This week World Suicide Prevention Day was also observed. Suicide is another harsh reality we continue to grapple with in Guyana. Many of our citizens, who are tormented and hurt and scorned and neglected, reject the messages to choose life and choose instead to lay still. Still and unburdened from the chapters that led to their epilogue. Chapters that often contain dysfunctional families, abuse, mental illness, rejection, feelings of inadequacy, and feelings that may be familiar to most of us at some point in our lives. Yet, “Guyana is a blessed country” we often say.
Unlike the Bahamas and other places, we do not experience natural disasters like earthquakes, volcanoes and hurricanes. But this blessed country does not escape the depression that hangs over the rest of the world. This blessed country is divided because of the folly of some of our leaders. This blessed country has many citizens who live in poverty. This blessed country still cannot get basic things right – like keeping the lights on. This blessed country is so blessed that others are now coming in droves. It is refuge for the survivors of the Bahamian hurricane; refuge for Venezuelans, Brazilians and Cubans; business for Asians; hope for Trinidadians; and transit for Haitians whose presence have managed to further unmask the racists. Is Guyana a blessed country for all others but Guyanese? Are we at risk of disappearing if mass immigration occurs? Are we witnessing the last of the Guyana we have always known? And if this Guyana passes away with all her wounds, to rise with a new identity where outsiders oil their hands and reap her fruits, would it mean that finally we, her children, will awake and embrace each other? Would it mean that those we put in leadership would work for the progression of all and not just for self and kin? Would it mean that we can stand up for our rights as a Guyanese people and not sell ourselves to the highest bidder? Or would it mean that slowly we would disappear as others lay our grass?
I often let my mind roam during funerals – I sometimes let the earphones transmit some other song to my soul, like a love song because years ago I stopped listening or paying attention to those who wish to ‘save my soul’ while in the same breath choose to condemn me. Guyana’s funerals are often long, even when he or she who lies in the box would have been considered a dreadful human being, as the living choose to chuckle at their indiscretions or excuse their immoral acts. But not all of Guyana’s funerals are like that.
Guyana’s death will not occur. Her road to healing has been long, but I cannot help but hold on to hope that even in the face of despair owed to the political atmosphere, she will continue to stand strong. There have been many tributes about where we used to be. Some who left in the 70s and 80s and even some who stayed have often told me she was standing much stronger back then—producing, a breadbasket, self-determined, resilient—but most millennials and post-millennials do not know about that good life. There are many songs about her pride, and poems about her greatness and some continue live in her past. But the ongoing songs of sorrows and the shouts of men from political platforms we have had to listen to are the reminders of how we have hurt and continue to slowly try to kill her.
Guyana is in me and in you; we are her and she is us. We are a part of this broken record, hurting and tormenting us over and over again, but as our tears hit the ground, we hope that new hope will bloom, and we will stand strong.
