Dave Martins

I love mutton curry. From the first time I sampled it at an Indian wedding on the East Coast donkey years ago, I was hooked; you can keep your chicken and even your hassar.

Ignore all the corny Confucius jokes in fractured English; this was really a man with a startlingly brilliant mind about the human condition. 

Most of the time, people appear in your life almost as in a passing parade, they come and they go. 

Visitors getting into a car in Guyana for the first time are often left shocked, perhaps even stunned, by our driving habits.

Ideas for ‘So It Go’ columns come from anywhere and everywhere.

It’s probably impossible to start with a digression – a digression means you’re departing from something that has already begun – but allow me to infuriate somebody by starting with a digression anyway (creative licence), and here it is: I hate the term ‘remigrant’; it sounds like a concept in a sociology paper, or some species of wandering fish.

Last week, in a column entitled ‘Knowing the Fine Fine,’ I made the point that to know any society, including this one, you had to remain imbedded in it for a long time, and that therefore when resident Guyanese tell expatriate Guyanese that they “don’t understand Guyana,” the comment is accurate.

Usually it’s clear where I’m going when I start off one of these columns, but sometimes I start out one place which leads to somewhere else; today is one of the latter.

Sometimes you meet a person, and you mesh instantly.  It was like that with a man named Ormand Panton I met in Grand Cayman many years ago.