“If you are interested in joining the Forces, with your height, when you turn 21, come and see me,” he insisted.
“Thank you, Mr Price,” I answered. I thought, at least a door was being opened for me.
Then I said, “I did not know that Miss Price was married.” She laughed as she said,
“We have a son and a grand-daughter, Aubrey our son is working in Mackenzie in the Bauxite Mine Industry.”
She handed me one glass, my mother always told me not to eat and drink from strangers, but Miss Price was not a complete stranger. I took the glass out of respect for her.
And I ate from the old woman when she gave me food, but I still remembered my mothers’ word.
Then she handed one to her husband, and she sat on a chair next to her husband holding the third glass in her right hand.
“I made this myself,” she said looking at me.
I took a sip from my glass and said, “It tastes good Miss Price.”
“What do you want to see me about,” she questioned.
I told her how I met Ismael and what he said to me and that I was meeting him in a few days time and I wanted her opinion on the matter.
Ronald then said, “I would go if I were you, follow your dream, everyone talks about the American dream. Now is your chance, you got nothing here to hold you back.”
He sounded optimistic and positive and I was waiting for Miss Price’s reaction.
She drank from her glass, and said, “I would advise you to go, like Ronald said, I know Ismael and his family; he has got a sister in America, and one in Britain.
They both got married before they left here; we were invited to Zaitun’s wedding,” she said looking at her husband; “When you were the district policeman.”
“Oh that Baccus family,” he answered, “the older brother, Yunus; safe guy.”
People along the West Coast, seem to know one another as well as most villagers.
They told me to see Ismael again and let them know what he had said. We chatted on various other issues before I left.
On my way out, I asked Miss Price, why she called herself Miss when she was a married woman.
She told me, everyone knew her as Miss Price, before she got married and she kept it that way.
Two days later, I rode my bicycle, which had once belonged to my father, to Cotton Tree village to meet Ismael and his family, with the direction he had given me.
He had a large white painted house, with a downstairs kitchen in a similar style to my parent’s house. There was no front gate so I rode in and rang the bell on my bicycle.
Two hammocks made from rice bag materials threaded through with ropes, were tied securely to the house beam.
As I braced my bicycle on one of the beams away from the hammock, Ismael came out and greeted me and took me upstairs to his house.
Where there was a large seating area with sofas and chairs with all the bedrooms facing the other side.
The layout was similar to my own home, except we had a few rocking chairs that my father had made himself.
He had photographs on three walls, one of a black cube in the middle of the desert, and a few with large Arabic writings.
He told me to sit down and then said I looked like my father, tall, slim, and good-looking. No one ever paid me any compliment before.
I smiled and replied, “Thank you, uncle.”
His son Harun came in, I saw that face before, but did not know the person.
He wore a white knitted hat on his head; he said Salam, and his father answered. I did not know what it meant so I said hello.
After being introduced, Ismael told me that Harun was training to do electrical work, as they were expecting electricity in that area in the near future.
“It will come in handy when we get to New York,” he said, Harun was six months younger than I was.
While we were talking, his wife Maymun, the woman I saw with him at the ferry crossing, came in with a tray of four glasses of cold drinks.
She passed the tray around; when she came in front of me she asked me how I was, like everyone else does. As I answered my hand was shaking as I took the glass from the tray.
She left the tray on a small table, with the remaining glass of cream soda and went downstairs.
Shortly afterwards, an older man came in wearing a white knitted hat on his head. He said, “Assalamu Walaykum,” and the other two replied “Walaykum Salam.”
He came over and shook my hand and I said, “Hello uncle”. He told me that his name was Yunus, the elder brother.
He then walked over and took the other glass from the tray and started drinking from it.
Out of curiosity I asked them, what was the meaning of their greetings to each other?
Yunus said it meant “Peace be upon you,” and the reply was ‘’Peace be upon you also.’’
“That is so beautiful,’’ I remarked.
“What do you practice Ravi,” Ismael asked.
“Nothing uncle, I replied and then I asked them about their religion, Yunus told me, that they believe in One God, and that they should pray five times each day, but they are still trying their best.
Their Grand-father who came from India would walk for 20minutes every morning and 20 minutes back for the Dawn prayer at the Sunni Mosque at Number 3 Village.
He never missed his five daily prayers. He and your great grand-father arrived on these shores on the same ship. They were best friends, and they would meet up and chat in Hindi.
Your Great grand-father died first. Our grand-dad Abdul Qadir used to say Mohana was a good man and he missed him.
They became good friends on the long voyage across the dangerous seas and oceans, and they kept that friendship till death parted them.
I asked them how well they knew my father and grand-father. Yunus told me, that they bought 20 acres of rice field land in the Abbary Creek from him.
He was getting old and could not work the land. What price they offered him he sold it to them for; he did not make a fuss, he was a good and generous man.
When the Savannah flooded and Ismael’s son Hasan was drowning, your grand-father tried to save him.
He left his cattle and ran shouting for help. He pulled him out of the water and tried to revive him, but there was nothing anyone could do.
Ismael then said, “I will never forget that day, when they brought Hasan’s body home. He was my first child and seven years old,” he remarked with sadness in his voice.
I told them about the ten acres of land belonging to my father. “If I were to leave for America; I would like uncle Yunus to plant the rice field, instead of grass taking it over.
I would get a contract drawn up stating everything clearly, and all I would like from that field, if uncle Yunus decided to take it on, would be, could he please give my teacher Miss Price a bag of rice every harvest.”
“No problem, Yunus answered, Miss Price seems an important lady to you,” he remarked.
“Uncle, she helped me with my O levels in three subjects, and for the other three I went to the Government Technical Institute.
Her husband encouraged me to join the Forces, but that would be three years from now. I liked to leave here while I am still young.” I answered.
Ismael told me, his sister Zaitun had invited them over I did not know much about the system and how it worked.
They were allowed to bring their family and I would be going as a member of his family.
He also told me that we would all travel together to the capital to get our Visas when my passport arrived.
Shortly afterwards, they were all leaving for the sunset prayers, and I left with them. We all rode our bicycles avoiding the ditches on the road.
As we parted, I said, “Remember me in your prayers,” they answered InshaAllah [If Allah wills].
Muslims in my country do not speak about their religion to anyone, even to an enquiring mind like mine.
Next morning I looked in the mirror and saw my ref
lexions looking back at me. I thought, who am I, where did I come from, where was I going, and what purpose was I here for on this earth?
There were so many unanswered questions; I was an orphan, no doubt about it, but not by choice.
I worked for my daily livelihood since I was ten years old; no extended family came forward since my parents had passed away. Sometimes it was better, that way I was left alone.
After the tidal wave that struck 13 years earlier, relatives came forward and took a few orphans away.
Their treatments were harsh; one boy returned to our village and told his story. He was put to work straight away in the rice field and never went to school again.
He ran away a few times and hid from his uncle, who used to beat him and the other children when he got drunk. I do not know what became of him.
I began to wonder why Ismael and his family were willing to help me. Was it because of my great grand-father and my grand-father’s generosity, or was there something in it for all of them; like the saying, one good turn deserves another.
If I couldn’t make it in America in 5 years, I would return home. By then I would be 23 years old, and could enter the Police force.
In the evening I would go down to my favourite place by the sea, walk through the wood-lands and on to the white unspoilt sandy beach, where wild and colourful plants grew.
The remnants of seeds were brought in by the tide and when they were emptied on the shore-line, some unusual plants would spring up, which no one had ever seen before.
It was my time for reflexion, at the awesome beauty that surrounded me. I was going to miss all of this when I left here, including the friendly sea-cow, but nothing lasts forever.
I was moving on and leaving my past behind me; but not forgotten. Somehow these sad and happy memories would always be with me.
The rain water from the Savannah brought down by the river, and emptied into the Atlantic Ocean could be seen clearly. They ran side by side with the sea-water, but somehow they never mixed.
It was remarkable to watch these two bodies of flowing water, one dark in colour and the other lighter, moving in the same direction.
On a clear day, Crab Island can be seen in the distance. It was given that name because of the different species of crabs that were found on that patch of land, at certain times of the year.
The waters around that Island were treacherous. It was where the Atlantic Ocean meets with the Berbice River. The oil tankers and cargo ships would avoid crossing that stretch of water.
One afternoon I was on the ferry crossing at New Amsterdam, two men were in a boat, they lost their paddle.
One of them jumped in to retrieve it, but could not swim against the dangerous tide; he went down a few times and never surfaced again. The ferry released a rescue boat for the other man.
That afternoon the tide was out and the sea was calm, with a gentle breeze blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean.
Sea birds were flying over head and some were busy feeding in the muddy waters at the outgoing tide.
By 3pm the tide would return again, and this whole process would continue as it has been since the beginning of time.
It remains a mystery to watch these daily phenomena which took place on a regular basis.
Two months later, and my passport arrived everything worked at a slower pace out-here.
The following week, Ismael, his wife Maymun, son Harun, daughter Asma and I left early one morning for Georgetown the capital for our Visa to America.
The taxi driver was a local man and we all knew him, he told us that recently many people he took for a visa were turned down.
They told him that there were a couple of people who were very difficult when interviewing them.
One was a white man and the other a mixed race woman. ‘Pray you don’t get them brother Ismael’ he remarked.
Our journey took us two hours, on arrival we had to wait in a queue to get a number.
The people who were sitting there were all seeking a Visa for America or to the United Kingdom.
Many were leaving disappointed, while others were smiling, the looks on their faces could tell their story.
I was wondering what our out-come might be, would we be leaving smiling, or despondent.
When it was lunch time and all the interviewing staff left, Ismael decided we should all go somewhere for lunch.
As we were not familiar with the city he asked an elderly passer-by where to find a good restaurant.
He gave us some directions to Aladdin’s Cave restaurant. He said good food, good host the best; Ismael thanked the old man.
As we all continued to walk, he told us that we should never asked a young person if ever we get lost or in a strange city.
They will most likely take you some-where and rob you. It happened to people he knew he told us.
We were country folks coming to town he said. They can spot us a mile away. Don’t trust anyone especially in this capital.
He was giving us good sound advice and I appreciated it, but we were all laughing at the way he came across with his words.
When we got to the restaurant he ordered, rice with baked and steamed fish and salad for all of us, the dessert and drinks we chose ourselves.
On the menu there was chicken and mutton, but he did not order those dishes. I had eaten so many fish they were coming out of my ears.
Out of curiosity I said, “Uncle Ismael why did you not order any meat dishes.”
He remarked, “We Muslims only eat Halal meat, our animal must be slaughtered in a different way, my son, and I did not want to ask any questions because they would not speak the truth.
They are only interested in our money, especially us country people; they can tell by the way we speak.”
Ismael seems a good and trustworthy man, from my limited knowledge of people.
During our meal, Harun said, that if he knew that Miss Price was giving private tuition to school leavers, he would have joined me.
Asma then asked, “How many of you were in her class, and how much did you had to pay?”
I wished she had not asked me that question, now I was compelled to answer her.
“There were two others and myself,” I answered “one boy and a girl, both black. I do not know what they paid, but I bartered with food for some of her text books.”
I had done most of the work myself. I only saw Miss Price when I could not fully understand an equation in mathematics.
After I had left school, one day I met Miss Price in the market place buying fish, she asked me what I was doing, and I told her that I was a fisherman as well as doing all sorts of jobs to survive.
My parents did not leave much money and six years on and I had spent it, although people still owed my father for tables and chairs he had made for them so I had to sell whatever the land produced and live on that income.
She told me about the Government funded Institute, which was in New Amsterdam, and if I was lucky to be admitted I would have to cross the ferry five days each week for the next two or three years, and I could not afford the ticket for that length of time.
She also said that she was giving private lessons on a few subjects. I asked her if I could join her class, doing only three subjects, which would at least enable me to get into the Army.
I told her I could not afford to pay her, but I could supply her with provision which the land produced, and fishes from the sea.
We agreed on those terms, and I joined her class in Mathematics, English, and History and I went three days to New Amsterdam.
“What grades did you get Ravi,” Maymun asked.
“Aunty, I got three A’s with Miss Price, one B and two A’s with the Institute.”
“You are clever as well as handsome,” she remarked.
“Thank you, aunty,” I answered.
“What profession would you like to take up,” Asma questioned.
“I like Mathematics and I think I would make a good teacher,” I replied.
“Everything we achieved in this world has been written down for us, for example like today, if all of us were to go to America, we would get that Visa without any problems,” he remarked.
“I did not know that,” I answered.
I had little knowledge of that family who had suddenly taken me under their wings.
Ismael was a tall and well-built man, around forty years old. He was a farmer and worked closely with his older brother Yunus.
They both owned their own home, a tractor and a herd of cattle, and some milking cows.
He seemed honest and trustworthy, from my limited knowledge of people. Maymun his wife was a soft spoken woman.
She told me that she was a typist for the Sugar Cane plantation export market, before she got married and that she came from the Canji district area another part of Berbice.
Their son, Harun was slim and slightly shorter than I was; he looked more like his father.
He was good with his hands, in making and assembling all sorts of things. He wants to learn Arabic and to memorise the Quran.
Asma the 15 year old, seemed bossy, liked asking questions, and to have a say in everything.
She was slightly overweight for her height and age, pretty and looked more like her mum.
I guess that if everything goes well, I would be living with this family, so I would have to get used to them.
At the end of our lunch I offered to pay my share of the meal, but Ismael said it was all right and that I was now their family.
After we left the restaurant we took our time going back to the Visa issuing office; they opened at 2pm until 4pm in the afternoon, and 9am to 12noon in the morning hours.
We missed the morning session and we were hoping to get an appointment for the afternoon.
When we arrived at the office, we sat together waiting. It was the only time Asma kept quiet.
At 2.30pm, a woman called us all into a room. Each one of us sat on a chair waiting our fate and the outcome of that meeting.
Shortly afterwards, a black woman came in and sat behind the desk, she was smartly dressed in a white shirt and navy blue skirt.
Ravi the Unknown Prince Page 2
