This is development?

“Jennie.”

“Inside?”

“JENNIE”

“INSIDE?”

“W’happen man?”

“I just go scraping scraping around the dirt in the yard-end. Yuh know how me does?”

“Yea, mad like fowl.”

***

“Aunty, yuh never guess what me man found in the dirt by we yard deh?”

“He found heself work?!”

“He find heself two pound gold gyal!”

*Suck teeth*

“Is how yuh go fuh carry yuself like that gyal. Is big news we have here yuh hear? This go really help we out and you go shout yuh mout like is gold we sharin?!”

***

Two years ago, Wauna started on the pork-knocking path. The gold rush hit. Faster than the boys and men could buy their long boots and scramble into Venezuala, the business owners were driving in 4x4s, dredges and excavators to get the gold out fast.

I spent the past week in Wauna and never saw a speck of gold but I saw the influence it had everywhere. The conversations with old friends. The new cars/buses/bikes. The community, disappearing.

Another huge thing has happened in that tiny village in the last two years. The village generator was finally transported 13 miles from where it had been left in storage for two years and now every house that could afford £20/month had electricity.

Imagine a place that has filled your mind for the past six years, all the people, the sounds, the smells and hundreds of memories that make you feel content on their thought alone. Wauna was a small village of about 300. There were two shops, no crime, and a handful of personal generators in the village. The kids I was teaching were most likely to grow up to dig sand or move lumber unless they left Wauna. This place has fascinated me for the past six years. I realised last week that this fascination is why I came back to Guyana (It took me a while and I never really had a proper answer when people asked).

Seeing the few extra houses on the drive in to Wauna didn’t upset me. I wasn’t upset at anything really. Some things just fuelled my fascination. The electricity has had a huge effect on the community. People don’t lime on the road any more. The boys and men don’t openly drink and smoke in the streets in the evening. People stay home watching pirate DVDs. There were no community events on in the evening this time. Normally there is a bingo or a pageant. This is development.

Whilst I was there, a seven-foot high corrugated zinc fence was just being constructed around the ball field. I remember long September evenings in 2007 watching the sunset over Wauna complete with 50 kids running around the ball field chasing an old leather ball. This didn’t happen once last week. This is development.

I met a student, Benedict, who I used to teach one evening. I asked him what he was doing.

“Wondering if this is Christmas Sir. Me dun think Christmas cancel this year.”

It was a joke but it was true. He was the ring-leader. The community man. Now he was with the rest of the boys I used to teach. Mining gold for weeks in the bush, coming out then getting smashed on high wine. This is development?