Dear Editor,
Returning to Guyana and entering my brother’s yard, I saw an old lady, about 100 years old, squatting between a bucket and broom. Without greeting my sister-in-law, I asked why they had such an old person working. She responded that I know the old lady; it was Miss Diane.
Miss Diane took care of me when I was a child, and my sister-in-law saw my anger and hurt. She then said that they gave Miss Diane food and money, but Miss Diane comes and does whatever she wants. I was moved looking at this little slouching old lady who was the epitome of dignity. She never took a handout. From where did she get her philosophy that the best food is the food she earns from her sweat? I looked at her old shabby hat reeking from years of sweat and dirt. I promised to get her the best hat I could buy if I should ever return to Guyana.
The next year, I returned and showed my sister-in-law the Panama hat I bought for Miss Diane. She told me that she would have to give the hat to Miss Diane because Miss Diane would not accept anything from a man.
The following day, my sister-in-law returned the hat to me. Miss Diane said the hat smelled of the Kabaka. I do not know that there is a definition of Kabaka, but I understood Miss Diane.
The hat’s smell was from another place – a place unknown to her and not grounded in the smell she recognized as her own. Its style, red silk ribbon, smoothly woven newness and suitcase sweetness were alien and synthetic, something unnatural that she did not want to encrust her. She refused to be transformed by an object of fancy. She would not compromise herself for anyone or anything. I was ashamed to have tempted her. She taught me a lot. She was an old woman who never betrayed her dignity. If only the thieves who prey on our people and our country would remember and emulate the Miss Diane(s) from their lives.
Yours faithfully,
Stanley Niamatali
