Demerara Adventures

Demerara Adventures

Alford Khan


GBP 15,00

Format: 13.5 x 21.5 cm
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 978-3-99048-562-0
Release Date: 17.10.2016
Demerara adventures is just that, it’s an adventure, and you’re along for the ride. Allow yourself to be taken on the biggest adventure of your life with Andrew, a British journalist, as your guide. Follow him though his ups and downs, as he learns just what it’s like to live in the rain forest and be part of a tribe. Andrew jumps in with both feet and immerses himself in their way of life. So much so, he even begins to have feelings for one of the ladies. But will they allow an outsider to be with one of their own? Will he even survive their way of life? If he doesn’t show he can handle it, they’ll never take him seriously and he may lose his one chance of true happiness! Would you risk your life for true love?
CHAPTER 1
THE VISIT

I became interested in the life of a rare young British Guianese. His name is Peter D’Abrue. At twenty eight years of age he fought against all the odds to gain a degree in dentistry and in so doing, became one of the wealthiest men in the land. What was most extraordinary, he was also The Commissioner of the Hinterlands, an area of some fifty five thousand square miles of pristine forests. His job was the second most important in the land. Only the Governor held the most important post.
My name is Andrew Bowry; I was born in England of English parents. My father was a man of the cloth as they would describe him and he was sent to New Amsterdam to head the Mission Chapel Church in the aptly named, Chapel Street. I, being only six years old, was sent to school in the city of Georgetown. Later, I went to Queen’s College, the best school in the colony. Had I stayed in New Amsterdam I would have been sent to the Berbice High School, which was the best in Berbice. There, I would have met Peter and his friends and undoubtedly we would have been friends.
An Englishman was considered a leper if he was seen socialising too closely with the other races. My father on the other hand, being a priest, was allowed this leeway and that also gave me the opportunity to delve into the other races’ background. It was not enough for me to get a clear picture of their lives.
I was very excited when Peter agreed for me to come to Supenaam and interview him and the three others that made up the famous four. I was a journalist with the Chronicle and I had never done a biography of anyone.
Despite being a rainforest, it is also the home of many tribes who lived off the land, and at the same time protecting it from loggers, gold diggers and diamond seekers.
Peter’s job was to see that the villagers and their villages were protected from these intruders. He had the authority to make his own laws and to punish anyone found violating them.
After he accepted my proposal to interview him, he also offered to fly me out in one of his planes. I declined the offer and set about making the journey exactly as he did, as a sixteen year old. I took a taxi to Sproston’s wharf to board the river boat R.H. Carr to Mackenzie and then by locomotive to Ituni, there I went on board a truck that took me to the Demerara River and finally, by boat to Supenaam. It was the most arduous journey I have ever undertaken.
On arrival I was too tired to move so I watched the porters unloading their cargo. The owner of the boat was looking with great interest at the way they were handling the cargo. I could see he was annoyed, that the porters were treating his boat like a piece of junk. To be quite honest, his boat was no more than the bark of a giant greenheart tree, sturdily reinforced with tar and fibres from the numerous palm trees growing along the banks of the Demerara. His anger grew uncontrollable as he watched them drop an electrical generator that nearly went through the bottom of the boat.
He was a diminutive half Scot, half Amerindian with a Scottish name as long as the Demerara. Everyone that came to learn of his name ended up in hysterics. He was immune to their laughter, but he was proud to carry the name of his Scottish father. Duncan McGregor Stewart.
When the unloading was done, I followed him to the Commissioner’s office where he had to report and have the papers signed for payment. As the Commissioner was signing the document, Duncan kept his eyes on the bottle of malt whisky on the desk. As he was handed his papers he asked. “Is that very good whisky?”
“The finest” The Commissioner’s assistant replied.
“I want to taste it, if only to prove I still retain my sense of taste for the stuff” He said.
“You cannot have it you are a native. We are not allowed to give alcohol to the natives.” The clerk pointed out.
“Would you be allowed to give a half native half a drink? I am also half Scottish, So how about it?” He argued.
“I would not be able to answer that question. It’s up to the Commissioner.” The clerk turned to the Commissioner and asked if it was allowed.
“Let him have the dammed drink and get him out of here before I lose my concentration” The Commissioner relented.
Then the Commissioner turned and looked at me and politely asked “Are you the journalist Andrew Bowry?”
“I am your Excellency.” I replied.
“None of that Andrew; just call me Peter. We reserve that Excellency bit for the Governor,” Peter informed him informally, “and I want it to stay that way”. He then introduced me to Ben and told him that I would be sharing the smaller house. “Why don’t you let Ben take you to your quarters where you can freshen up and relax until I finish here.”
It is five years to the day since Peter D’Abrue took up his role as Commissioner of the Hinterlands. He was able to retain the respect and friendship of indigenous inhabitants, especially at Supenaam, his headquarters. The natives looked on him as a god and idolised him in the same manner as his predecessor.
Duncan went under a silk cotton tree to enjoy his drink and soon a number of Amerindian men came to watch him in the hope that he would offer them a sip. When they realized that a drop was not forthcoming, they sent their ladies to plead with him. Duncan was not having any of it. He stood up and protested and eventually declared, “My blood pressure always rises when ladies bother me. If it is not sexual, then it is always something aggravating. That is why they are called WOMEN. …Woe to men. Now get out of here or I will call the Commissioner.”
“You think you are clever Duncan McGregor Stewart because your drunken father is a Scotsman. You can keep your drink and go to hell.” They told him before departing.
Duncan was happy when they left. He knew he could not offer them a drink or he would have been in serious trouble with the Commissioner.
Diego and his family arrived just as Duncan was about to leave. They exchanged a few words of welcome and on leaving, he gave Diego the rest of the whisky. Diego took a swig and handed the bottle back to him. Diego is also of a mixed race, half Spanish and half Amerindian. His wife, Bell came over and joined them in their conversation.
“What is so amusing?” She asked.
“Nothing very important.” Diego replied.
“Stop messing around Diego. It must be of some importance for both of you to be laughing so heartily.” She insisted.
“The truth is we were merely pointing out the fact that, with the exception of Matthew Longhorn and the Commissioner, we are all of mixed race. Duncan is half Scot, You are half English half Chinese, Ben is English and Black, and I am half Spanish, we can have our own club of mixed races. Is that not funny enough to cause laughter?” Diego explained.
“I don’t think we should be laughing at who we are. You should be ashamed even to mention it” Bell told him, feeling a bit angry.
The Commissioner, being a dear friend of this band of mixed races soon joined them. Ben was not far away weaving his massive body from left to right, as he made his way through the bushes to join us. Eventually we all ambled down the river back to enjoy the cool breeze there. Ben had constructed some cosy seats for this very purpose. He told Peter that I looked sleepy and they thought it best to let me rest.
As they sat enjoying the coolness, the Commissioner told them there were some problems with the American pilot and the villagers, which needed his urgent attention. This was what had made him irritable. Now that Diego was there, perhaps he would be able to get some help in resolving the crisis.
The Commissioner was eager to hear what Diego had to offer.
“I think you should handle this matter personally Peter.” Matthew intervened.
“Normally I would. This is a tricky situation and I think the American is trying to bully the chief. Personally, I think the chief is right. We cannot be relocating these reptiles forever. They have a right, like everyone else, to survive in whatever conditions nature throws at them. Let us not be the ones to give them a hard time. I think Diego is my best envoy to deal with this situation.” Peter defended his decision.
“Since you put it that way, I must agree.” Matthew conceded.
The problem was, that Sebastian, the American pilot, was landing his amphibious aircraft too near the colony of the caimans that were relocated there some five years ago and further relocation would have an adverse effect on the reptiles. The villagers insisted they remain where they were and that Sebastian land his craft at least two kilometers away. Sebastian wasn’t going to be bullied where to land his plane. This impasse provoked a lot of hostility between the two parties.
Diego was only too pleased to help his friend. He suggested that Sebastian land his craft, as designated by the villagers and use one of the tractors or paddle boat to transport him to base. It took a lot of persuasion but eventually, Sebastian agreed. Diego had succeeded in averting a crisis.
They were joined by their old friend the vicar, to discuss the future of Margaret a confidant of Christine, the Commissioner’s wife. She was restless and approaching her twenty first birthday, the opportunity of finding a husband in this wilderness was nonexistent. She wanted to return to the city to enjoy herself and find a suitable partner. It was not too much to ask, by any standard. The problem needed careful consideration. Margaret felt obliged to be loyal to the family that saved her father from ruin and disgrace, and also gave her a golden opportunity to rebuild her life. It remains to be seen what decision would emerge.
It had been a long time since aircrafts ended the arduous journey from Mackenzie to Supenaam; A journey that could take days in treacherous terrain. Now the planes have made life so much easier.
The tradition of the supply boat bringing vital supplies for the villagers still continued. It was not surprising to find the villagers swarming around the boat to collect their supplies.
Diego, as usual, helped them take it to the village in his tractor. In the centre of the village square, Sebastian was arguing with the chief and threatened him with his pistol.
Diego was so irritated by this that he jumped out of the tractor and stood between the two warring parties.
The tractor was still moving with no one at the controls it went crashing into Sebastian’s newly built house. The villagers started laughing hysterically, which became infectious and even the chief forgot his worries temporarily and joined in the hysterics.
It was inevitable that the contagion got to Sebastian. It ended what could have been an ugly affair.
Later that evening, they all gathered at Peter’s residence to formally welcome me. I was thoroughly refreshed and ready for anything. The welcoming went in to the best part of the night, before it ended. At every introduction a drink was poured and when that ran out, they cheered Matthew, then Peter’s wife Christine and their daughter Elizabeth. Then came the time when they started wishing happy birthdays months ahead. When all avenues were exhausted, they decided to call a halt to the celebrations and we all went completely exhausted, to bed.
The next morning I woke up with a vice around my head. It took the best part of the day to shake it off, eventually I went about my task talking to the natives and gathering as much information about Peter as I could. In my interviews, I found I was also writing a biography of Matthew Longhorn. Everyone loved him and his niece Christine. She apparently went back to the city to look after her daughter who had started her second year at the privately run Jewish school. Margaret, her confidant stayed behind to look after Peter and Matthew. She found her task boring, especially since she was not allowed to participate in any of the drinking sessions. It would not look right, an unmarried catholic maiden tossing back drinks in the company of virile men, in the heart of the wilderness. She was longing for the arms of someone who would love and care for her. At twenty one, she was desperate for the company of a young unmarried man. Here in the wilderness that was a forlorn hope. Despite her frustration she plodded on, grateful that Peter had rescued her from disgrace and ruin and had given her the chance to avert a life of a prostitute, if all else had failed. Such was her gratitude that she resolved to put her frustration aside and serve the family well. Peter was aware of her dilemma and was working on a plan to make her happy. All this depended on Christine.
At dinner I began to question Matthew of the circumstances that brought great wealth to the fabulous four, as they were now known, the four being, Matthew, Peter, Ben and Diego. Matthew explained to me the reason why Peter got half of the diamonds and gold that they found. He told me that, because he became a believer in the Hindu philosophy, the Vedanta and mysticism, it had brought him the inner happiness he sought after years of fighting and killing. The happiness and peace of mind he found in his meditation forced him to give Peter all his share of the wealth. Matthew further explained that the main reason for doing so was because of Peter’s obedience to his father and enduring the frustration and hardship of jungle life, without any complaint.
“You said you found complete happiness in your new way of life. Yet I see you drinking and having as much fun as anyone here. I also notice you have a very beautiful and young female companion.”
“She is not my companion but my bonded wife.” Matthew enlightened him.
“I don’t understand. What is a bonded wife?” I asked.
“It is a system to give respectability to a woman who has formed a relationship with a man.” Matthew told him.
I was busy with my pencil jotting down every detail. Then I asked Peter “There is one intriguing feature I do not fully understand. Margaret, you said, is grateful to you for saving her family from ruin. How did that come about?”
“I’d rather leave that bit out. This story is about me and not anyone else. I am not prepared to talk about any of my close friends because we are not just friends, more like brothers. There is one thing I can talk about and that is Margaret’s dire position. In her earlier life, she was nearly forced to take a job as a hostess, in a night club. The scoundrel that owns the club expects the girls to be more than just hostesses. I am sure you understand my meaning. She remains untouched of any suspicion of immorality. That I can swear by.”
Peter was very serious in his comments and I sensed it. I was now put on a new alert, stick to my task and keep well away from Peter and his close friends. I so much wanted to be a part of this group, I told myself it was early days and little by little I would work my way in and win their confidences. It was difficult to imagine four men and two women of different races, harmonised in such a strong bond of friendship.
This was the opening I was looking for. I always wanted to understand the deep feeling of racial division and what was the real cause of it. I was told that the British maintain their aloofness in order to show who is master of the colony. The Portuguese had their own circle, so did the East Indians and the Blacks. The people who fared worst were the Blacks. I could not see why. They were very sociable and would have embraced any social intercourse with any of the other races. The East Indians appears to guard against any pollution of their religion and especially their females. I also think, it was a bit of inferiority complex. Whatever the reason, they were determined to protect what they held dearly.
We, on the other hand, try desperately to disguise our own prejudices; the most unrealistic being classifying the Portuguese as non-white.
It was time for an evening sip on the river bank. The cool breeze was heaven on this very hot day. I could see the parrots f lying past the wind charger with its dummy harpy eagle. The birds, apparently apprehensive of its presence showed their anger by screeching at it as they f ly by. Even the monkeys showed their disgust, howling abuse at it without any results. I would have thought they would get used to its presence, after so many years. It was comical to a certain point, to a human but not to the creatures, it was a threat.
Sugar Bush, Matthew’s bonded wife and Ben arrived with all the necessaries for a light drink. I couldn’t help noticing Sugar Bush eyeing me suspiciously. I’m not sure she accepts me. Getting along with this lot was proving more difficult than I expected, but I was determined to make it my crusade to win them over. The big question was how. Then I thought of the magic formula, maybe their interest in keeping the rain forest in its pristine state was the answer. I will show them that I too care about the future of the forest and the people that live in it. As a journalist and a biographer, I can do a lot, to make the outside world understand what is going on in this world of mystery and show them that the inhabitants are not the savages they think they are, but cultural people, who are happy to live off the land and face the hazards, as a way of life. I must try and learn their language, by doing so, I can win their confidence and trust, and who knows, I might winkle out a few of their innermost secrets. This part of my programme will take time, lots of time, and that I have in abundance.
As we sipped our malt slowly, Ben asked me if I could write a book about him. That gave me a new idea. Why not write a biography of the Fabulous Four.
I asked the others and they all agreed. Even Sugar Bush seemed less suspicious of me and pointing at herself she asked. “Me too?”
I nodded and she gave the most beautiful smile I have seen since coming up here. Matthew was a bit apprehensive at first, but with a little persuasion from his bonded wife, he agreed.
I began thinking. Should I make it one huge biography or should I do it individually. I must think carefully on this. I also needed Peter’s permission, as he is the one whose biography I came up to do.
Peter hesitated for a minute and my heart sank briefly. Then he said. “What was the motto of the musketeers? All for one, and one for all. Andrew, it is a great idea, you have my permission to do it.”
So finally, my task was to cut out and have a definite program to work on. I was beginning to enjoy the atmosphere and the lovely malt on hand.’
Half way through our sundowner, Peter asked how I proposed to let the outside world understand the inhabitants of this wonderful wilderness.
I told him that I would create a weekly article exposing life here and the people that have lived here for tens of thousands of years. I also said I would take photographs with him and Matthew, surrounded by the chiefs and their people.
“Not in his Commissioner’s regalia. That will portray him in a different light.” Matthew advised.
“As a slave owner, Matthew?” Peter asked.
“Precisely.”
“And of course you will need to get the chiefs’ permission to photograph them.” Matthew advised.
“Of course, it goes without saying. I am aware of these people’s pride and I promise I’ll do everything with decorum. While we’re on the subject of Native Amerindians, can you tell me why Sugar Bush decided to bond with you? I mean no disrespect, but you are considerably older.”
“That will forever be my secret, and don’t you forget it.” Matthew replied.
“I think it is sheer charisma.” Peter teased.
It was getting dark and Margaret came to tell us that supper was ready. It was all quiet now. I awaited the noise from the insects and thanked God for the netting that kept them away.
Then I asked Matthew “How do the villagers managed without netting? Are they immune to their bites?”
“No one is immune to their bites. They use the sap from the leaves of the silk cotton and rub themselves with it before retiring. I warn you though, it has the most repugnant smell. That should give you an idea why we don’t use it.” Matthew informed me.
I wanted to ask if Sugar Bush used it, I hoped not. Matthew looked at me and asked “Is there anything else you wanted to know before supper?”
3 Stars
adventurous-funny - 02.12.2018
Augustus Albert

Appealing to the young who might have herd of the British presence in the then British Guiana

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