Here’s a coincidence: in 2016, as Guyana reaches 50 years as an independent country, the Tradewinds band is also 50 years old.
It’s the middle of the day on Alexander Street in Kitty; as I’m walking across the road a voice calls out from one of the parked cards I’ve just passed; “Dave.” I turn trying to identify which car it came from.
It happens sometimes that a singular occurrence, or a passage in something one reads, can open your mind to something that passed unnoticed before and you suddenly recognize multiple examples replicating that first light coming on.
Sometimes a pleasant surprise lands on your doorstep regarding someone else’s doings that connects strongly with you as it triggers memories in your own life or your own search.
Figuring out situations in life is often akin to watching a huge fire producing mountains of billowing smoke; you have to wait until the flames die down and, particularly, until the smoke blows away before you can get a clear picture of whatever destruction took place.
As opposed to just 20 years ago, news media these days is a hotbed of startling stories, bandied about almost simultaneously by the array of modern communication equipment operating in the media business but also readily available to private hands.
We speak about one nation in Guyana – we refer to it that way in our motto and some of us quote the motto as proof of our oneness.
We speak about one nation in Guyana; we refer to it that way in our motto and some of us quote the motto as proof of our oneness.
A long-time friend of mine, Tradewinds drummer Clive Rosteing, sent me an email this week concerning a news story about the American NFL star Cam Newton who had recently sent a very warm congratulatory note to retiring quarterback star Peyton Manning, publicly praising Peyton lavishly, and citing him as a role model for aspiring athletes.
For devoted sports watchers like me, it is often fascinating to see an athlete possessed with some singular ability in one area of his/her game that is so striking that it sets that individual apart; it puts him/her above the crowd.
Since living in Guyana again I have seen first-hand the need for us to hold up our own achievers, to shout about them, not only for the praise that is due but, more pivotally, for the powerful information about our worth that is passed on to the new Guyanese wending their way, here and abroad.
Following some recent local shows featuring popular imported artistes, we’re hearing some clamour again from the adult crowd complaining about the decline in popular music.
I’m a notes guy, and not only for songs. I keep little jottings about things I notice or read, conversations I overhear, comical signs on car windows, etc.
With Valentine’s Day in the air and personal relationships under the microscope, it’s appropriate to note (as my Bajan columnist friend Vic Fernandes did recently) that if you see no difference between the male and the female brain, either you haven’t spent much time around women or you haven’t been paying attention.
That’s right, 50 years ago or now: when would you rather be living?
Sometimes the social revolution lands on us seemingly out of the blue, but sometimes we can see it coming.
Living in Guyana makes one very aware (I have written about this, as have others) that we simply don’t know many aspects of our country’s history that are essential to propelling us to see it in terms of unity as opposed to division.
The litany of Guyana’s woes continue every day; we all know the instances, as we are regaled with examples coming from established columnists, various letter writers, and social media platforms.
The sudden transformations in societies – email, cell phones – are often the result of an equipment revolution, and we spot them quickly; the slower transformations occur so slowly that we don’t even notice the shift until some sudden circumstance makes us aware.
Sometimes, epiphanies come in pairs. A few months ago, for example, after a lovely evening with visiting poet John Agard and his wife Grace Nichols (plus a few local pals) I had this epiphany where I realized how lucky I am in the number of enchanting friends I have living abroad (Henry Muttoo, Vic Fernandes, Vibert Cambridge, Clive Rosteing, Terry Ferreira) plus, and almost simultaneously, I had the second epiphany – that I owe the friendship of those people to the music I’ve created over the years.
As West Indies cricket reels again from yet another debacle on the field, the clamours are naturally out again for the sacking of the present West Indies Cricket Board (WICB) and for the restructuring of the body governing the sport.
I’m a think-positive guy, not from some Pollyanna position, but largely because that’s how my mind works.
I grew up in West Demerara when, unless you owned a boat, the only way to cross the Demerara River was the various government ferryboats operating between Georgetown and Vreed-en-Hoop.
One of the shocks for people new to Guyana is the frenetic driving behaviours on our roads – drivers cutting in and out of traffic; driving in the opposing lane to get ahead of traffic; obviously intoxicated drivers; ignoring stop signs; running red lights – the list goes on.