As my Mr Long-legs opens the door to the Guyana Revenue Authority, we step from bright heat into the cool blue of a room full of people: sitting, milling-around, laughing, gossiping, liming, waiting. Long-legs has a driving-license to renew; and I, faces to enjoy, lips to read. A fine man leans against a counter, fumbles with some papers in his hands. He sucks his teeth, lets out a quick: "Oh skite man!"
His fingers are long, well-manicured. My eyes, following the line of his arm, stop at his face. His black hair close-cropped and curled as tight as a spring in a click pen. His eyes almond shaped: tight lids that meet in epicanthic fold. His nose, unremarkable: low bridge, with small, pointed, upturned tip. His high, broad cheek-bones combined with narrow jaw, pointed chin and full lips that puckered. It was the unexpected combination of features that held my interest. But most striking of all, was his ochre complexion, an earthy brown with unusual tint of yellow; a meld of colour that, as far as human skin goes, appeared new to me.
His being was an example of the Guyanese tendency, willing or otherwise, to defy ‘racial’ classification: the positive outcome of Guyana’s long and complex history. And it is exactly what the world needs. Amerindian? Maybe. A bit Chinese? Maybe. A bit African? Maybe. A bit of Portuguese? Maybe. What about Indian? Maybe. Combination of all. Yes. Maybe. It is the delight I experience on meeting an ‘African’ called Persaud, a ‘Chinese’ called Brathwaite, an ‘Indian’ called De Freitas, a ‘Portuguese’ called Hing and an ‘Amerindian’ called Van Lange. It powerfully reminds - in the way that the earth looks flat, but is actually round - that race is a construct. Guyana I cherish you for this.
No comments:
Post a Comment