Most Guyanese know the name Baby Arthur. His given name was Hubert Headley.
Just around 7am last Sunday, the dreaded blackout arrived in parts of Georgetown.
Diwali is an opportunity for introspection–we must think about what we are doing for the betterment of our community and what part are we playing in the narrative of good over evil, light over darkness, knowledge over ignorance and hope over despair.
Last Sunday, I attended the Guyana Coconut Festival, which was organised by the Ministry of Business and held at the Arthur Chung Conference Centre.
A couple of months ago, I made a decision to limit my social media engagement.
She walks the streets pushing a trolley. The need for visibility—and with it, sales—propels her to leave the shelter where the vendors have been relocated.
We all know the saying “getting old is a privilege.” Experience shows that it can be a privilege but it can also be terrifying.
Guest column by Durwin Humphrey* In Guyana and across the Caribbean, many Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs) are dying because they cannot generate enough funds to support the work they do.
Sometimes it is difficult to be positive in a society where tragic events occur regularly.
A few months ago, I wrote about poor customer service. Not much has changed.
Some believe that children should only be born within the confines of conventional marriage.
“Thief! Thief!” As a child, you dreaded hearing those words, especially in the stillness of the night.
The thought that loved ones and ultimately each of us will one-day leave this life is unsettling for many people.
I had never known a Guyanese had won a medal at the Olympics until I learned that Michael Parris did it in 1980, when he won a bronze for Boxing.
The first time I was confronted with the reality of child sexual abuse was during my early teens.
While growing up, Emancipation Day was one of highlights of my life. Every July 31st, the anticipation for the libation and other cultural expressions, such as the music, dance, poetry and drama, made me wish that time would go faster.
For years, many Guyanese living at home have had the idea that migrating to places like the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom would catapult them into a position of ease, where all their struggles would disappear.
Most of us are locked into Instagram, Twitter, Facebook or other social media platforms.
I was accused of dancing with the devil a few days ago after a post on social Facebook: “My enlightenment began at age 17 when I started reading books written by scholars of African descent.
When I attended primary school, I remember those who were classified as the “dunce” children.
I was having a conversation with someone recently who relayed that a woman she knew was complaining about having “seven jumbies” attached to her.
I was dreading the process of getting my passport renewed since the beginning of this year.
Common sense tells us that the warmer the climate, less clothing is practical while the colder the climate the more.
I am one of those people who believe that once two people are adults and are drawn to each other, they have every right to be together.
I overheard an interesting conversation this week. One woman was relating to another that she had intentions to “juk up” another woman if the she did not leave her significant other alone.
I was waiting for the tears to flow as I watched the flag rise on Wednesday night.
Buried Voices Blood runs in the street Silent voices of my brothers sound Wailing mothers do weepGuns sing triumphant songs For the law no regard Justice, why do you sleep?
“Cuss wheh ya guh, nah wheh yuh come from.” That is a saying I grew up hearing.
In our lifetime, we will see thousands of faces. Facial expressions can give hints about what troubles the heart and what makes it happy.
I was in my teens when I made a vow that if I were ever in a relationship with a man and he hit me one time, there would be no forgiveness.
It is no secret that groups of elders in many societies are afflicted by a number of issues, such as health problems, financial woes and loneliness.
He had tears in his eyes and a look of desperation on his face; a boy I encountered on a street in Georgetown a few weeks ago.
Some of the streets to enter Annandale from Buxton, on the East Coast of Demerara, are blocked and bridges have been removed.
A few weeks ago, after eleven at night, on a street with hardly any light and no one in sight, I was asked to vacate a taxi from a popular service in the Ruimveldt area after an argument with the driver.
There are some images that have stuck in my head from the time I was about thirteen/fourteen-years-old.
Within the last year, we had a significant event happen in this country–a change of government after 23 years.
Mature women ‘cussing out’ in the street, using expletives of the most colourful kind.
“You wutless!” One of the latest phrases directed to me as I stood on Lamaha Street a few days ago.
Most of us have had days when we felt like giving up; when misery seemed to be wrapping its arms around us and whispering that there was no hope.
When I hear the word “independence,” I think self-determination. It sparks in me a certain pride at the ability to stand on one’s own, build and show the world that you are creator and custodian of your destiny.