In the initial hours of entering Guyana, first time visitors and those travellers, including returning Guyanese, who have not been here in a while, are greeted with a high-level of energy permeating the society. The pulse is distinct and upbeat.
Those arriving at the international gateway at Timehri quickly discover that the ‘good ole laid back’ approach to life is receding in the distance. Everyone and everything move faster these days. Immigration officers, baggage handlers, taxi drivers. Once evicted from the airport, one is centrifuged in the tide of traffic, which ebbs and flows at varying speeds, from a snail’s crawl to qualifying lap time trials at the South Dakota racing circuit. The pace is dictated by vehicle density, quality of surface, road repairs – even at night –, the mood swings of mini-bus drivers who continue to parachute out of nowhere and stop on a dime, and the burgeoning population of trucks.
Like aroused sleeping giants, mini convoys of trucks amble along, in threes, fours, fives, sixes. At times squatting in the middle of the road, oversized trailers mandating their bullying antics as the payloads simultaneously plunder the inadequate surface. It’s the first warning flag waved at the visitors of the cost of our ‘progress.’ The second flutters in the mind’s eye, gaping cavities prevailing from the now exhausted bellies of the sand pits, whose contents have been trundled away on the beds of articulated trucks, for all manner of projects.
Unappealing, strikingly similar box-like concrete structures, their apertures framed in steel, resonate across the urban sprawl mushrooming away from the capital on the arable sugar cane land, once the lure of foreign investment. Construction is the game of the moment. One scours the landscape hoping for an elegantly designed residence incorporating our hardwoods. It’s an exercise in futility. Signs of the times, new tastes are in vogue. Trees are out too, concrete serves as an omnipresent sealant, covering the earth. The stark image is harsh on the soul. Square. Blunt. Dull. Unimaginative.
As one approaches the outskirts of Georgetown, one becomes enveloped in a swarm of moving metal; cars spew in every direction, minibuses and cars duel for dominance of the now outgrown thoroughfares, motorcyclists and the odd cyclist weave in and out of the bumper to bumper traffic. Horns blare, tempers flare, a cacophony of sounds floats in the breeze, as colourful language interrupts everything.
The indications of a budding metropolis are everywhere in the capital. Signs in foreign languages which have always been a part of the landscape are now popping up everywhere, with more languages appearing. The names of Chinese restaurants have always appeared in both English and Chinese on the facades of the premises, a trend that has continued as Chinese nationals invest in other areas of business, including supermarkets, hardware stores, window manufacturing, glass installation and general merchandising. The long-standing names of Indian nationals still occupy the facades of businesses along the Regent and Water streets corridors.
As the Brazilian enclave proliferates along Cummings and Robb streets in Bourda, signage in Portuguese has become common practice. Venezuelans, filled with smiles approach passers-by on pavements and in avenues, and in halting English politely proffer all forms of small merchandise. The prattle of Spanish heard along the sidewalks of the central corridors varies from gaggles of Cubans to bustling Venezuelans. The names of international and Caribbean conglomerates litter the landscape of the business sector. Surinamese licence plates on motor vehicles are a common sight in the city and its immediate environs, along with those of the numerous embassies, high commissions, consulates and international organisations.
Citizens frowning upon this apparent ‘invasion of foreigners’ need to be quickly reminded that when the going was very tough here in the 1970s and the 1980s, Guyanese flocked to many distant shores seeking greener pastures. Now we are in position to extend a helping hand the onus is on us to tweak our elephantine memories and to reciprocate the aid we gratefully accepted in those hard days. The more open-minded of us will quickly focus on the positive opportunities that these circumstances present such as the teaching of English as a second language and a chance for our children to be exposed to the languages of immediate neighbours, namely, Spanish, Portuguese and Dutch.
Whilst this budding metropolis is not destined to be a modern-day Constantinople, such as the megacities of New York, London, and Toronto, there are several aspects (too numerous for this column to delve into) of this blossoming hub in infrastructure development and culture which will require proper monitoring and regulatory control. A few that spring to mind immediately include the greening of the suburbs, the enforcement of building and zoning codes, the ever-growing problem of garbage disposal, the expanding population of motor vehicles on the roadways, parking in the city, road development and maintenance, licencing and oversight of oversize vehicles within Central Georgetown.
The trick question is, how do we, as a society, strike a balance between the current systems in place, the input of the private sector, civil society and the (obvious lure of) temptation of government – both current and future – to control this development whilst not bungling it in a sea of red tape? In a perfect scenario, the appointment of politically independent professionals to develop, implement and monitor a framework to oversee this evolving hub would be an ideal solution. However, our insecure politicians would probably have a fit at the mere mention of relinquishing control.