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. The driver’s door opens on one of them: “Dave, hey. How you doin’? (Big wave) Pomeroon Man.” I shout a hello at him and continue on my mission, but I was reflecting later how that short episode is emblematic of a unique attitude that exists in Pomeroon 
people connected to the place they inhabit. People all over Guyana have strong feelings about their home turf or their village, but to spend even a short while in the Pomeroon area is to see that the affiliation there is more pronounced, and it is striking that while the linkage is to the place it is even more strongly seen in the bond that has grown up among those people on the banks of the river. That shout from the man on Alexander Street yelling “Pomeroon man” at me is an expression of that view of themselves as a particular people. Once you’ve lived in the Pomeroon you seem to acquire some sort of distinction to the people who live there, and even someone like me, who only spent the mid-year school breaks there on my father’s farm Martindale, somehow gets corralled into the Pomeroon family. Indeed, another Pomeroon man who introduced himself to me on the street a couple months earlier, had actually called me “Cos” and later pointed out, with a big grin, that it was a Pomeroon practice to address each other that way, as a cousin, or “Cos”.
