Stuck behind a garbage truck late one morning this week, a driver exclaimed. Giving into his frustrations, expletives followed in a colourful fashion as he questioned the errors in our ways, “Why we can’t do anything right in this country?”
I thought, there are things that we do correctly, right? Guyana is not just a hopeless place where an ounce of morality or advancement does not exist, correct? But where is the evidence of our evolution? Are the children unscathed and therefore pure manifestations of what we are, can and will be?
The driver continued fretting. I am often amused by the raw and valid emotions of our people. Without pause and often without thought we are quick to express ourselves. But when one examines the stories that make the news, how the affairs of our country are managed and our daily interactions with our fellow Guyanese perhaps we are quicker on frivolous matters and many of the more serious ones we turn a blind eye to or quickly forget. Still, I am often amused. Often amused because to not be amused one may be filled with dread and completely immersed in reminders about the massive parts of us that are broken. And with that perhaps I should excuse the turning of the eye for those afraid of the consequences they may face for demanding better.
“Why we can’t learn from other countries?” the driver continued.
The issue with garbage is a constant one. Often, in the middle of the day, the garbage trucks sound, and unpleasant odours permeate the air. Leachate drips unto the streets already dirty – disturbing to think that it could cling to our skin and dreadful that the roads are not power washed after the garbage trucks would have passed. Rainfall is often a blessing.
In the middle of the day, the traffic often stops because the garbage trucks are being filled. We watch the hardworking men, drenched in sweat rolling the garbage bins and the truck swallowing the contents as the garbage juice escapes from its creases. Rodents are not seen sniffing after the garbage trucks in the middle of the day, but I am sure they crawl from their dark places under the veil of night because the smell of decay never really leaves our streets. The smell of decay is not only the aftermath of the garbage trucks, but the piles around the country. It seems like most of our people were not trained to keep the environment clean. From baby diapers to fast food boxes, furniture and old household appliances, clothes and shoes sometimes gathered by the homeless or mentally ill, there is no limit to what we see in the garbage piles. There are blocked waterways with plastic and other waste and wild bush growing where the water should flow freely.
But the smell of decay is also the people. Not only the ones deceased, but under the spell of the world where evil seems good and good seems evil, the principled ones are often prosecuted and silenced. The fires in our people are slowly extinguishing. How did we become like this? Were we always like this? Trained to disregard our environment? Trained to not care? Trained to accept things just the way they are and showing no spirit of fight? There are leaders we cannot even look to and have confidence that they will lead us to glory.
In the season of development for the ones whose dreams and hopes end with oil, the neglect of the once garden city and the inadequate measures around solid waste disposal, does not seem to concern enough of us.
I often ask myself whenever I am stuck behind a garbage truck if things must be the way they are. I dread it and every time it happens some small feeling of anxiety and disgust overcomes me. Disgust because the smell is nauseating. The need to escape is urgent and I question again if it must be the way it is. I have often asked – must the garbage be picked up in the middle of the day? Why not in the quiet of the morn before bird’s wife wakes so that the flow of traffic will not be disturbed, and people will not be polluted by the stench? But it must be noted that the garbage collectors are grappling with the stench all day. Strong men they are and perhaps immune to the odours. Is it impossible for our garbage collectors to do their work before dawn? Or are we asking too much by robbing hardworking men of a full night’s rest?
Sometime ago, early last year and a few years before that when garbage collection was regular, I recall hearing the garbage truck sometimes around 5am and sometimes even before that. But for perhaps a year now, not only is the garbage collection irregular, but I cannot recall the last time of an early morning. As I write this bins in my street have been sitting there since Tuesday with no garbage truck in sight.
The picking up of the garbage at any time of the day, traffic jams because the men must do their work reflects the mindset of the Guyanese people. A society in chaos. Disorder and “This is Guyana” excuses – like we are a bunch of degenerating humans incapable of competently managing our affairs.
Many seem not to care about demanding that we change the status quo so that life can be more tolerable for us. Are we truly living or simply existing when we are constantly faced with the pressures of living in Guyana? The garbage issue is one thing, but water, electricity, telephone, internet, and the general cost of living results in a significant amount of stress.
It was earlier this month when the Prime Minister Mark Phillips excused the frequent blackouts by saying that one of the main reasons for them are vehicles colliding with poles. I deduce that vehicles have been frequently colliding with poles since British Guiana became Guyana. Rats biting wires, vehicles colliding with poles, there is always something to laugh about in Guyana.
The driver was quiet. Holding his hand to his face. This can be called stress and high blood pressure country for to constantly be in the know and to be angry, is detrimental to one’s health. The lord and lady of death continue to take many of our people to meet their ancestors too soon.
The garbage truck eventually started moving and the driver sighed. Perhaps he resolved that nothing would change during his lifetime. Perhaps he was thinking of an escape. Perhaps he was grateful for the temporary glimpses of peace until the next thing would upset him.
