Each dazzling day, next to the muddy, grassy verges of the busy main road along the eastern bank of the murky Demerara River, a few families dry racks of freshly gutted, still bloody, thickly salted Atlantic fish openly spread out under the harsh, blinding sun. With the sulphurous stench discernible for miles, mobs of black buzzing flies gather in the heavy haze for the rank feast settling on the latest catch and the stale stretch of shrimps.
Surely a lot stinks in funky Guyana than just the oceanic bounty laid across these crudely cobbled together branches. The fetid fish traditionally selected by the industrious few is often the ubiquitous salmon or locally-termed “banga-mary” a white-flesh feast, best suited for serious seasonings and deep frying. It is also a constant courier of cheap choice for concealing cocaine, judging from the countless seizures of frozen seafood and compromised perishables, shamefully more out, than in, the beloved Cooperative Republic.