Dear Editor,
I joined Bishops’ High School for girls (as it was then named) in 1967. Coming from a very economically challenged background, with little going for me except a hunger for education so that I could move myself and my core family forward, I sat in 1B meek and a tad lost. Our French teacher arrived and it was love at first sight. Elegant, poised and an amazing presence, my first sighting of Joyce Sinclair caused me to make a solemn promise to myself that I was going to excel at French. I headed to 2A and contracted pleurisy, a bronchial condition that caused me to be hospitalized, missing several weeks of school. I remember returning to school only to be stopped in the corridor by Joyce for a chat. She learned then that my single, loving Mom had to head out early in the AM and my slothfulness caused me to dash at the last minute each day, riding at top speed through Albouystown to get to Carmichael Street on time, in the process missing breakfast. Joyce elicited a promise from me to report to her on my habits. Tiny as it might seem, her genuine concern and her care, gave her prime status in my heart so when she announced in 5th form that she was heading to Canada for her Masters, my spirit fell like the Kaieteur Falls and my interest in French pivoted elsewhere.
She returned when I was in upper 6th and had become head girl. Later, she would enquire how I was doing with my head girl’s speech and I said “ok”. She told me to meet her at her hairdresser’s on Sunday afternoon to share my draft. I recall entering the salon and she was under that spaceship-like head piece of a dryer. I read my draft and she offered very effective edits. I thought I was done but as I turned to leave, she said “see you in the Oswald Parry in about half hour”. I was surprised but since she always had my best interest at heart I rode over to BHS, saw her pull in and we headed to the Assembly Hall. She asked me to head on stage to deliver my speech. She remained at the back and ever so often she would say “louder Jean, enunciate “. It was the start of my learning to stand with confidence and elocute. I recall on graduation day at QC (yes their hall was so much bigger, we had to humble ourselves and use it!) , when I had excelled in delivery and content judged by the constant clapping that went on and on, Mrs. Carmen Jarvis, our then headmistress, complimented me and asked if I had had help and I shared the truth – Miss Sinclair’s.
After my A levels, while my wonderful friends were heading to Canada and England for their Bachelors, my only way out was a Government Scholarship. I had looked at the scholarship categories and figured with Biology, Chemistry and Maths in my A levels bag, I could do Food Technology. I remembered discussing it with her and applying. I can remember that day, heading to the interview at Red House, every vein in my body about to pop with the pressure of my blood flow. I settled down and began to answer the questions. Then a very hard one came along and Joyce saw the fear in my eyes. She quickly rephrased it so I got what was needed as an answer!
I headed to the University of Wisconsin, staying in touch with her as though she was my aunt, my kith and kin. We (the scholars) came home to Guyana during the summer for National Service. While there, the food was awful, really very bad stuff. We collectively dispatched a request to meet with Joyce. She came quickly and we groaned to her in the Mess Hall. I recalled being very quiet. About 8 pm that evening an officer told me that Joyce Sinclair wanted to see me. My knees knocked but I accompanied him. I arrived where she was and she inquired more deeply about my welfare. I confessed about the food quietly but shared I could manage. She then pulled out a box and said – “this is from your mother.” I thanked her and went racing back to my barracks. I quietly woke my sisters and with flashlights we examined the spoils. I always knew I had an amazing mother but that night with Cadbury chocolate, cheese, crackers and other spirit lifting goodies I could share with my buds I knew I had the greatest mother on Earth!
I graduated summa cum laude from the University of Wisconsin – Madison and was quickly picked up by Gussie Lee to join Vic Oditt’s team to make Quality Foods successful. Make local and buy local was the mantra. After a year I was asked to consider going for an MBA so that I could support the leadership at GPC. I was interviewed by Joyce and the team at Red House again and went on to successfully complete my MBA at the University of Chicago with a specialization in marketing and honors. But life has a way of refashioning our path and yes, I fell in love and married Jayendu S Patel, completing his Ph.D. in Econometrics at University of Chicago. I woke up many nights sweating, not about life in the USA but about how to tell Joyce I was not coming home. I finally wrote to her and then called. As expected, she was not happy with me and correctly so, let me have it. I was told that I would need to repay for both scholarships promptly. My beloved brother Ray faced her fire getting the documents together and relentlessly helping me borrow from multiple sources to repay the sum. I was so happy when he called me to share that he had the Government of Guyana release letter from Joyce.
Joyce and I stayed apart for years. But our bond was not to be broken. I went to Guyana five years later and took Dr. Patel to meet her. She was gracious and kind. Then GPC was experiencing market share drops in several Caribbean countries due to stiff competition and sub-standard brand management. I thought I would appease and please her if I went home to conduct a market analysis. I did and she was very pleased. The insights from my field work helped GPC regain market points. I was back in Joyce’s good books and I was happy as a lark.
Whenever I would go to GT, I would make it a point of heading to her home to catch up. To me she never aged. We would chat for hours and my heart sang. She was so much and more to me.
When my niece called me to tell me the news on Sunday that Joyce was no more my soul became sad and I wept bitterly. I called her home and reached Nola, her devoted sister, and got the sad facts of her demise. I told her to keep me informed of the memorial service post-Covid.
Our meetings may not seem significant to anyone else. But to a young mind, struggling to emerge from an economically challenged background, of Guyana, Joyce Sinclair was my light through the tunnel. Thank you, Joyce. You changed my life. You gave me direction. You gave me self-confidence. You helped to shape who I would become. You taught me to weather any storm in life with self-wisdom. I love you Teach, with all my heart. God bless you. Journey on my dear mentor, until we meet again.
Yours faithfully,
Jean Patel Bushnell (Dookhoo)
