It’s a cloudy day. Not a very good day to go swimming. But who can stop us Guyanese when we’ve got a good holiday lime in mind?
By the time we’re halfway to one of the many black water creeks along the Linden/Soesdyke Highway the rain, in gentle drizzles, has escaped the sky. The air condition is blasting and my brother is playing some reggae tune or the other as we drive along.
I don’t mind the rain. At least I won’t be roasted from the sun after I get out of the water. We arrive and I’m not surprised to see Guyanese swarming the place at 11 am on a Wednesday. It’s a national holiday mind you; Arrival Day and I’m not at work because it’s my holiday off.
I’m a bit sentimental. I’ve been having random attacks of nostalgia. The last time I visited the black water was the last time I saw my father. It was almost ten years ago. I can’t remember. The creek we visited back then was clean, decent people and lots of space to play. I loved rolling down the sand hills back then.
Today, I smile as I look at all the people. The more the merrier. I hope to have a good time. We get to our benab. Don’t get your hopes up it’s not one of those tropical structures made of palm branches. This is all wood and zinc and it’s in a dilapidated state. I don’t mind. I’m often told I’m Guyanese. We’re supposed to accept the scraps we get.
I take a deep breath and I begin to look around. I begin to really look. All this time I’ve been seeing the white sand, green trees, the black water, the soft drizzle and of course the happy people. Now I see almost naked, very unattractive folks, consuming alcohol and “getting physical” in the water.
There’s a sign that tells patrons that they are entering the water at their own risk and management is not responsible for any drowning. Then a few feet up stream there is this large heap of garbage right at the water’s edge.
As I eat lunch and joke around with my relatives under our dilapidated shed, sorry benab, I see a woman bite the last chunk of meat off a drumstick and throw the bone into the water. She’s captured my attention and I spend the next few hours observing her.
The highlight of the afternoon? The moment she gets up. Oh my, do I get the wrong view! There is this humungous cellulite padded rear end staring back at me. A bright orange bikini is struggling to cover the area between those two bouncing mountains.
I swear every time I see a bikini I will remember her. It’s not just her appearance that gets to me so much. It’s what I hear her say next. She happily tells a member in her group to watch out for something warm cause she was about to urinate (not the word she used) right there in the water.
No one needs to tell me that she isn’t the only one not utilizing the outhouses available. I simply refuse to get in the water until my brother all but throws me in. After about 20 minutes of splashing around he offers to teach me how to swim. I can’t believe I fell for that!
He floats me right into that cellulite padded rear end! Spluttering an apology, after I realise what happened, I immediately leave the water. I am disgusted. The creek scene is disgusting. It is nothing like I remember. The beauty is there but not cared for.
(srh.midnight@gmail.com)