Unless you’ve got your head stuck in a bucket, you’ve seen the seawall in Georgetown on Sunday evenings. Hundreds of cars and thousands of people blanket the area, and every kind of mankind imaginable is out there. To drive by and see this scene for the first time is to be amazed. When you mention this astonishing weekly turnout to people, you will almost invariably get the comment, “Well, people are starved for something to do.”

It may be true that people in GT are short of something to do, but Seawall Sundays are jampacked because it is a phenomenon. You may think “phenomenon” is a strong word, but hear me out:

First of all, if you go to any function with a lot of folks in Georgetown, parking can be a horror. On the Seawall, you’re in the longest single-file parking lot in the world and that’s a dream for the motorist, for several reasons.  Apart from the fact that it’s free, you park within a few yards of your seat on the Seawall, and motorists love that. Motorists hate to walk. They will drive around the block six times to get a parking spot in front of the store; on the Seawall Sunday, wherever you park, there is almost always a vacant seat on the wall or the grass waiting for you, and you didn’t phone ahead and reserve it. If you don’t think that’s a phenomenon, you must be riding a bicycle.

Also, at many public functions with large crowds, just getting to your car can take 10 minutes. Getting out of the parking area into traffic can take another 10. With the single-file Seawall parking lot, when you’re ready to leave, you simply put on your right-turn signal, and, as they say in America, you’re out of there.

Another plus: you don’t need to pay somebody to watch your car; it’s in your line of vision at all times. You can watchman your own property. Even if so much as a stray dog looking to pee on your tyre shows up, you’re there to shush it away.

And think about this: If you go to a restaurant in town, or, say, a game at Providence, you have to sit where they put you. On the Seawall, you decide where to sit. If somebody nearby is a little too noisy, or is short of deodorant, or if some baggy-pants dude is eyeing your daughter, you can move to a more benign location. No security guard tells you, “Hey buddy. Yuh gah fuh stay in yuh seat.” You know how sweet that is? You sit where you choose? Phenomenal is the word, pal.

Also, at many big public functions you go to, you end up fanning. On the Seawall, you get air conditioning produced by the East Coast breeze – no fossil fuels involved, Mister President – and you don’t have to worry about a GPL shutdown.

Examine the crowd carefully, and you will notice that every spectrum of Guyanese society is out there. There are families; groups of youngsters; young lovers cuddling, and even some old ones holding hands; every ethnic stripe. You will find people gaffing, some listening to music (they’ve turned down the boom boxes, mother), some hooking up with friends, some people just looking out to sea and enjoying the breeze. Okay, okay, we have to work on the litter, but no other function draws such a cross-section of the society; the sociologists will tell us that it has “multi-faceted appeal”. Such things are rare these days.

And since the Seawall Sunday party is really one long narrow line, whether you’re looking at the crowd or looking out to sea, there’s no tall gent sitting in front of you, or a lady with a big hat, blocking the view.

Here’s another reason this event is a phenomenon: it’s never sold out.  The single-file model means you can keep adding to it, so they never run out of space. We can stretch it out to Courida Park, if necessary, so even if your cousin from New Amsterdam gets delayed, and doesn’t get to town until after 10 o’clock, there’s still a parking spot for him; okay, perhaps not right next to you, but certainly not far away.

Then, consider the vendors selling food and drink. It’s a bonanza for them. They don’t have to line up at City Hall for a half day to get a licence. They don’t need a business plan from Christopher Ram. They just get to the Seawall on Sunday afternoon, pick a spot, and Bob’s your uncle. And they don’t have to advertise on NCN; and they don’t have to provide parking; and they don’t have to put up a banner, or pay for air-conditioning. They just sell the stuff and collect the money: if you don’t think that’s a phenomenon you need to go to your Oxford for the meaning of the word.

For the police, too, considering the huge crowds involved, the single-line set up is beautiful. Everybody is in the open air, enjoying the sea breeze and the lime, and the whole ambience is very relaxed. Nobody, as at a cricket match, is enraged because Shiv out for duck. Nobody, as at New Thriving, is rowing because he got the breaded shrimp “but wha happen to de fried rice”?. Nobody, as at Bourda Market, is looking to fight because “de blasted man mash me foot”. The Seawall is almost always love and harmony and wind down; you can’t even focus on work tomorrow. In that setting, the police have an easy time with patrons – laughing and joking – and controlling the occasional ruction character is very simple; they just drive the cruiser alongside his car, and he’s trapped.

Here’s another advantage you may not have thought of. This is no one-off event at Uitvlugt Sports Ground. Seawall Sundays is every Sunday, so if you missed one, no big deal; another one is just six days away. And here’s another selling point: the event is always the same. It never changes. So if you enjoyed it last week – and thousands clearly did – you can go back next week knowing exactly what you’ll be getting. No soca star not showing up; no chutney singer doing two songs and splitting; no PA system breaking down.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons we take it for granted – because it’s there every week – but it’s truly a phenomenon. If Seawall Sunday existed in North America, HBO would be doing a half-hour documentary on it, and it would win an Emmy.  That’s your cue, NCN.