Flag of British Guiana.
My life began in a British Colony in South America known at that time as British Guiana. The name was changed to Guyana when it gained its Independence in 1966. Guyana was heavily influenced by color and class system, with Afro-Guyanese descendants at the bottom of the class status. After its independence, it became known as the “Land of Six Races.” ⸺The national anthem of Guyana, Dear Land of Guyana, of Rivers and Plains, was historically considered to be made up of African, Indian, Chinese, Portuguese, European, and Amerindian people. Today the most prominent nationalities are the East Indian and the Afro-Guyanese.
At midnight on May 25, 1966, the National British Flag of the United Kingdom, known as the “Union Jack'' lowered for the last time, and the Guyana flag was hoisted simultaneously.
This picture shows the inside of St. George's Cathedral Anglican Church, where my parents married in 1942, and my grandmother’s funeral was held in 1967. And this same church is also the location where Queen Elizabeth the 1st and the 2nd, along with members of the Royal Family, would worship when they visited British Guiana.
Flag of Guyana May 26, 1966.
My parents had been married for fourteen years, and after numerous stillbirths and miscarriages, they received me and called me a “Blessing.” “Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.” (Psalms 127:3 KJV).
We had a home that our parents always filled with incredible people. Since they had no children previously, the house was the hospital for sick children, a daycare, and a summer camp for other parents and their children, and of course, it was free. Children also received a bag of goodies depending on the time of the year: uniforms and school supplies, Easter or Christmas gifts with clothes. I remember my mother cutting material from big bolts of fabric for girls and boys, as I learned to spell the children's names by writing them on brown shop paper and putting it on the cloth parcels. Later as an adult, I understood that a home without children was a curse. My dad got injured on the job where he worked as a “Stevedore,” ⸺a dock loader and unloader. The Bible states that if you don’t work, there is no pay (you don’t eat). So my dad worked hard at the dock until he could no longer.
There was no medical insurance to cover illness or injury. Both of my parents utilized their skills to make ends meet. From his sick bed, he would sit up and make door mats from a rope on a frame. My mother was a homemaker with some crafting skills, like caning chairs, catering, and creating artificial flowers from crepe paper. Visitors began to withdraw since my parents could not provide the things they once did. Unquestionably, because of my arrival, rumors spread that I was the one receiving all my parent's love and money.
I had no one to play with, so dad and mom became my playmates: racing, bike riding, jump rope, cricket hopscotch, doll house, and marble. I could never beat my mother at any of the games or outshine her at Chinese Checkers. However, I know now that my father probably lost the games we played so that I could win. My parents were strong runners even in their forties. Family worship was essential and was held every evening at 6 pm like clockwork.
My grandparents separated in 1948, and my grandmother lived with us various times after that and following my birth. Although my grandmother only had a 6th-grade education, she spent time teaching me how to read and write in my early childhood. She also taught me about British money, pounds, shilling, and pence. My grandmother eventually migrated to London, England, when I was six. She returned in April of 1966 in poor health and died in February 1967 when I was ten years old. As a teenager, I was involved in several organizations, such as Girl Scouts, Land Ranger, and other youth ministries.
After his recovery, dad worked in the Meat Department of the Guyana Marketing Corporation. He was allowed to study for his meat handling certification and the process of curing ham and making bacon at the Guyana Technical Institute. Instructors were brought in from Canada. Thus the test was administered in Guyana and sent to Canada to be marked and certified. Two employees were studying for the certification. My dad was black, and the other person was white. My dad was successful in his studies, and the other person failed. Yet, the white general manager declared the white co-worker the successor and promoted him to supervisor. One Saturday, as the store was closing, my dad returned the meat to the freezer.
My father was locked inside the freezer that Saturday, while his co-worker and the General Manager assumed he would die by Monday morning. The thermostat control was set outside along the freezer door with a set timer. The timer would shut down about three hours before the freezer was scheduled to be opened on Monday mornings. My father always carried an iron bar and freed himself sometime on Sunday evening. He was then accused of damaging the property and had to pay for the spoiled meat and repairs to the freezer. His weekly wages were $35 per week. From that amount, $25 was deducted to compensate for the damages caused by him to save his life. As I wrote about the “Tulsa Race Riot,” I reflected on my dad’s story. And as a child, I could not understand this level of racism.
Segregation and discrimination are accurate. In addition to your nationality and education, where you went to school, worked, or lived were determining factors of what class fit you. Guyana indeed had a class system too. Whether you were fair or dark-skinned in color, walked, or took a bus. Have a bicycle or car. Have a radio or telephone in your home. Go to church in your work clothes to the evening mass because you did not have church clothes or you could read and write; the Guyana class system measured your status in society.
Guyana had no formal job applications. One was required to write an application letter in the presence of the Hiring Manager. That person was required to verify your comprehension ability and penmanship. Even our department stores and sales clerks could be black, but only a white or Portuguese person could become the cashier. Despite that, I got the opportunity to become a telephone operator because all the white British subjects had returned to England and Canada, and locals who could speak and write adequately were trained to fill vacant roles in the courts and government offices.
For many years after the country gained independence, the structure of the educational system remained the same. The exams were administered in the country, but the Principal Administrator sent the exam results overseas for marking. Heavy police and personnel escort escorted the exams to the post office. All tests, including our Ordinary and Advanced Level subjects, Shorthand, Typing, Key Punch Operator, Bookkeeping, and Business English, were all sent by certified “Air Mail” [transport service branded and sold based on at least one leg of its journey being by air] for examination in England. After markings, the exams would be returned to the institute that administered the test and released to the pupils. If the London Bureau of Examinations did not stamp your certifications, your exams were not considered valid. After independence, some seminars were allowed to certify for attendance, but not proficiency. Copy machines were not available, so duplication was also tricky. Copy certificates were invalid if an attorney or a magistrate notarized the certified copies. The wording had to be specific.
In 1973 my dad became ill again and was the only employed member of the family. I wanted to be skilled by sixteen to help support my parents. So, I asked to drop out of high school and began studying for my stenographer’s certification. Unlike in the United States, my studies were Shorthand, Transcription, Typing, and English. There were no Steno-machines or Dictaphones in Guyana at that time. Everything was manual, even the Hermes Typewriters. Sometime in 1974, my dad briefly returned to work. The change in management was different then, and his documentation allowed him to be promoted to Department Manager.
I landed my first job as a Switch-Board Operator/Receptionist/Typist in the Ministry of National Development when one day, I mustered the courage and took a chance to call my dad on his job. We were not allowed to make personal phone calls, and it was the first time he had answered a personal phone call. Dad was delighted and spoke of his experience often to anyone that would listen. He never forgot how surprised he felt when his name was called and told he had a phone call. The conversation was short but memorable for us both. In January 1977, my dad passed away, and my mother migrated to the United States of America in May 1977. In January 1978, I, too, got the chance to migrate to the USA. Well, I did, but things didn't work out as planned, and I became a migrant seeking a better economic opportunity here in the USA.
I, too, experience discrimination. That stated, I could certainly relate to a past blog post because I was once a discriminated immigrant. I did the cheap day work as a domestic/ babysitter and factory work in Secaucus, New Jersey factories. The lunch bell would ring for the 30-minute lunch break, then 15 minutes later, it would ring for us to return. But most times, you stuck with staying on the job because it was specific, and quitting was unfavorable when you had rent to pay and food to buy.
I got married at 19 years old and became the sole supporter of my mother and daughter once I discovered that I was pregnant upon my arrival in the USA. When I started to get sick on the airplane, I blamed it on air sickness since it was my first time flying. Thank God we survived healthily by His grace because I did not take the risk of seeking prenatal care. Fear can feel like a crippling monster. My child was born a United States Citizen, but I also could not take the chance to apply for assistance for either my mother or daughter without the ability to show the required papers I did not have. As a side note: I am somewhat disturbed when I look at the news and see people fighting over baby formula. Guyana had no formula, and my baby girl only received what I was able to purchase. “W.I.C.,” a unique supplemental nutrition program for women, infants, and children, what a luxury. If we were in my home country, my mother and I would have made homemade baby supplements is what we have done here in the USA, where the raw ingredients are abundant.
There was a steep decline in the country’s economy in Guyana in 1976. The choice to stay there was difficult as we faced the country’s crisis. The British had tripled the price on all imports, and sometimes, the tariff was higher than the goods. In retaliation, the new Guyana government banned imports and urged its citizens to plant and eat local food. We were no longer able to turn potatoes into french fries. Restaurants were forced to create fries from plantains, cassava, and yams. Many things, including food items and toiletries, were banned.
Guyana began to feel the stringency of the government's actions worse than the suffering people in Cuba. Police raided homes in the middle of the night if they thought you stashed contraband in your home. Overseas relatives sent barrels of food and necessities to Guyana for the survival of their family members. Radios and electrical equipment like blenders were even banned. Every day there were lines of people lined up to buy food items, cooking gas, or kerosene oil. Nationals were dying from starvation and lack of medicine. I feel for the migrants and hope that government agencies will be sympathetic to the plight of humanity. There was a big difference in how we were treated when fleeting to America. Sadly, our relatives who lived at our home in the past, now residing in the USA, mistreated us. They treated us like undesirables. It seemed to be all about their new status.
I became disabled in 2001 from my job as a Police Sergeant with the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. My last two children were 13 and 5 years old, respectively. My highest education during that time was an A.A.S Degree in Business Management. In 2015 I became an Ordained Non-Denominational Minister from the University of Sedona, Arizona. Received three non-accredited religious degrees. A Bachelor’s in 2015, a Master’s Degree in 2016, and a Doctor of Divinity in 2017. While simultaneously studying for a BA in Business Administration and Management at Pillar College (formerly known as Somerset Christian College).
All Me from Age 15 Years Old to 2022
As a requirement, I had to complete a business internship. Due to my disability status, being cleared by Social Security for that internship was an impossible task. Instead, I was allowed to enroll in the Rising Tide Capital Entrepreneurship Community Program. That fell under “Rehabilitation and Training.” The course taught me how to create and start my own business. My business model was to start a “Security Consultancy for Soft Targets''. However, due to no funding, my business idea is not completed as of yet. Unfortunately, I feel that the federal government and today’s society would agree that with the barrage of shootings occurring since 2017 in our supermarkets, churches, and schools, we should look at the vulnerabilities that still exist without change. Soft targets should include “Hate Crimes” ⸺crimes motivated by bias against the members of our Asian, East Indian, American Indian, LGBTQ, and senior citizens in our communities.
Many times, I ponder; are we living in a society where we live our lives from a place of integrity or an area of personal assessment? The answer is based on what has been our relationship with ourselves. Several might argue that— “I am simply me; I don’t have a relationship with myself,” but I would beg to differ. After the relationship with the supreme being, your relationship with “the self” —your reflective consciousness is your first relationship. Every one of us has been raised in an environment that shapes our thinking and behavior. Although, at times, we have become experts in the various masks we wear.
Conversely, we are all products of our upbringing. There will come a time, consciously or unconsciously, when the reveal will happen, and the real us behind the masks will be exposed. At some level in our maturity, we must assess to confirm if those values benefit our personal goals, aspirations, and well-being. Individual assessment should be an ongoing exercise as we walk through life. Moreover, either the false mask we hide behind or the adjustment of one’s thinking from time to time, it is crucial to evaluate our integrity standards to see if it still holds the same value.
There are no questions; blogging has been an incredible opportunity to participate in the Kean University School of English Studies Department Summer 2022 Internship. As mentioned in my previous blog posts, they have allowed me to reminisce on an era I hardly visit, explore new interests, and enhance my writing through this medium. Within our confined minds, we sometimes inflict stereotypes on innocent people because of cultural diversities. Too many have only existed in cocoons without the slightest notation about the struggles our neighbors are experiencing.
I also must recognize the Kean University School of Communication Studies for opening my mind during the CMJ's "Engaging in Difficult Conversations" DEI Certification (Diversity Equity and Inclusion) Conference.” It urged me to look within myself to recognize and address any biases I may or might not have known. We have inherited various modes of operation that formulate how we show up in society, revealing how much of our true self we expose, at what level, and to whom. Personalities and social skills have granted us the luxury to implement a “Mask System” (self-protection), the standards by which we live our lives and determine who fits in and whom we should avoid. Furthermore, I sincerely hope I have provided you with some level of enlightenment about our world. . . So Long, Farewell!
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