My Island Leguan Blog

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Happy Indian Arrival Day To my Guyanese brothers and sisters May 6, 2017

Filed under: Uncategorized — Leguanite @ 3:55 am
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indian arrivalday

Aunty Chalma, 89, is the oldest surviving worker of the Leonora Sugar Estate. Her parents were born in India and came to Guyana to work on the sugar plantations. Aunty Chalma cut the ribbon to open the open-air museum on Indian indentureship at the Indian Monument Gardens in Georgetown this afternoon. While today is Arrival Day in recognition of all the peoples who came to Guyana, it remains Indian Arrival Day in recognition of the first set of Indian workers who came to then British Guiana on May 5, 1838.
(This info is from FB) I thought it is so appropriate.
 

Humour October 15, 2016

Filed under: Guyanese-humour,Uncategorized — Leguanite @ 4:29 am
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Guyanese can’t find a job in Barbados so he opens a clinic and puts a sign outside ” GET TREATMENT FOR $20 – IF NOT CURED, GET BACK $100″
A Bajan lawyer thinks this is a great opportunity to earn $100 and goes to the clinic…
Lawyer: “I have lost my sense of taste”
GT: “Nurse, bring medicine from box no. 22 and put 3 drops in patient’s mouth”
Lawyer: “Ugh..this is kerosene”
GT: “Congrats, your sense of taste is restored. Give me $20”
The annoyed lawyer goes back after a few days to recover his money…
Lawyer: “I have lost my memory. I cannot remember anything”
GT: “Nurse, bring medicine from box no. 22 and put 3 drops in his mouth”
Lawyer (annoyed): “This is kerosene. You gave this to me last time for restoring my taste”
GT: “Congrats. You got your memory back. Give me $20”
The fuming lawyer pays him, and then comes back a week later determined to get back $100.
Lawyer: “My eyesight has become very weak”
GT “Well, I don’t have any medicine for that, so take this $100”
Lawyer (staring at the note): “But this is $20, not $100”
GT: “Congrats, your eyesight is restored. Give me $20”

You can’t beat a Guyanese….!

Source – Facebook

 

Whereva Guyanese goh dey carry de culcha September 29, 2016

Filed under: Guyanese culture,Uncategorized — Leguanite @ 6:58 pm
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Indo Guyanese have carved out their niche in New York and blazing the trail with tasty Guyanese foods and treats.  Other Guyanese do not have to feel homesick for their special foods and visitors get a chance to see how good Guyanese foods tastes.  Check it out when you visit Brooklyn.  Se article below

http://wapo.st/1vV1oUY?tid=ss_mail

 

What it means to be Guyanese March 24, 2016

Filed under: Ronald J Daniels,Uncategorized — Leguanite @ 1:34 am
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DO YOU REMEMBER BEING GUYANESE

Do you remember those days when we slept on the floor
On beddings made from clothes we wore no more
We used to block the creases and beneath the door
Or we would wake with ‘draff’ in our eyes for sure
Do you remember those days we rubbed our skin with coconut oil
And for your birthday you got your egg hard boiled
Those were the days we used strictly mosquito coils
Long before the mosquito zapper came into style
Do you remember when grandma used to drag us to church
When we sat through the whole session without learning one verse
Those days when we were so scared to curse
And were so terrified every time we saw a hearse
Do you remember those days we had no electric light
We had to use kerosene lamps in the night
We made such a big deal over the moonlight
We used to talk ‘jumbie stories’ to inspire fright
Can’t you remember being sent to buy quarter pint oil and half pound chicken
And if you sulk-up you would get a good licking
Those days we got skimmed milk from school and we got a good ‘shittins’
Those days we told visitors ‘mommy seh fuh seh she sleepin’
Do you remember pitching marbles for rubber bands
Do you remember playing ‘king pon de land’
You must have played ‘sal out’ and ‘kick in de pond’
Man it brought us so much joy waiting on ‘de ice cream van’
Do you remember hiding the belt and the guava or ‘tambrun’ whip
But even with the pot spoon we would get hit
Did you wet yours or use it hard like brick
I’m talking ‘bout the newspaper you took to the latrine to ‘buss ah *&^$

Do you remember your first tv was black and white
And you would want the battery charged especially for movies on Saturday nights
And when it jumping you would just tap it slight
When the knob broke you used a wire or pliers right
Remember when you used to pee your bed
Get up, change, and roll your cousin, brother or sister in it instead
Back in those days we used to toast stale bread
And whenever mommy bought cheese we’d make cheese spread
Ears were bored with needles and wrapped with thread
Bush medicine was the most common meds
Back in those days such a simple life we led
Oftentimes with mud on our feet we would go to bed
Do you remember when we used to dab the yard with cow dung
When grandma would give us a ‘toops’ of brown rum
Those days we’d go to sleep chewing gum
And it’s all over your head when the morning comes
You must remember the days we played dolly house
We would take turns playing the kids and the spouse
Remember when we would tease some of the kids ‘bout louse
But never meant it as a racial grouse
Remember when we cooked with the coal pot, fireside or the kero stove
And we made tea sometimes with spice, sometimes with clove
We pulled cane from the tractors and jumped on the horse carts the fellas drove
Yes I did all of these things growing up in Grove
Remember when we put our greens in the dew because we had no fridge
When we used two boards to make a bridge
The days we were big on flour and rice porridge
Almost every family had someone working around Matthews Ridge
Remember we bought food in paper bags from the Chinese
We’d ask for extra rice and extra red pork please
Back in those days you’d hear ‘hold a small piece’
Do you remember being Guyanese
Ronald J. Daniels

23rd March, 2016

 

LOL Joke from Facebook December 30, 2012

Filed under: guyana — Leguanite @ 1:43 am
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A woman is having an affair during the day while her husband is at work. Her 9 year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them and hides in the bedroom closet to watch. The woman’s husband also comes home so she puts her lover in the closet not realizing that her son is hiding in there.

The little boy says ”It’s dark in here”
The man replies ”Yes, it is”
Boy – “I have a baseball.”
Man – “That’s nice.”
Boy – “Want to buy it?”
Man – “No, thanks.”
Boy – “My dad’s outside.”
Man – “OK, how much?”
Boy – “$250”

In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover are in the closet together once again.
Boy – “Dark in here.”
Man – “Yes, it is.”
Boy – “I have a baseball glove.”
The lover remembering the last time, asks the boy,
“How much?”
Boy – “$750”
Man – “Fine.”

A few days later, the father says to the boy, “Grab
your glove, let’s go outside and have a game of catch.”
The boy says, “I can’t, I sold my baseball and my glove.”
The father asks, “How much did you sell them for?”
Boy – “$1,000”
The father says, “That’s terrible to overcharge your friends like
that… that is way more than those two things cost. I’m going to take you to church and make you confess.”
They go to the church and the father makes the little boy sit in the confession booth and he closes the door.
The boy says, “Dark in here.”
The priest says, “Don’t start that shit again!”

 

Check out some of these fruits dat mek yuh mout watah fuh some February 27, 2012

Filed under: guyana,Guyanese food — Leguanite @ 8:49 pm
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http://guyaneseonline.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/fruits-of-trinidad.png

 

Godfrey Chin the man, the author January 17, 2012

Filed under: Guyanese-Author,Nostalgia,Obituary — Leguanite @ 3:26 pm
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Godfrey Chin

He was the author of the very popular Nostalgia series in various media and was in the midst of planning an exhibition.
Below is his account of life on the street where he lived.
“At eight years of age, our family moved to 337 Murray St around 1945 – the northern side next to the corner tower house at Cummings St, where Henry Gomes, the chief pressman of Argosy lived with his huge family. He brought home every major magazine from Life to Man’sWorld, and my exposure to reading and literature began. His house was a virtual library, a treasury from which life’s nuggets were mined.
When that family moved around 1950, and the DaCambras from New Amsterdam took their place, my exposure to the arts – drawing, etc, expanded, as Hilary, their second son, was an accomplished artist, and we challenged and encouraged each other continuously in this field.
“Opposite, Chuck-A-Sang’s Parlour and Grocery enabled this cookshop-fly to learn entrepreneurship, as I volunteered to help in their business – brewing mauby daily – ordering and packing bread, cakes and pastry. At 14, my investment in reselling comic books was encouraged, as were my DJ services – playing ’78s on the juke box in the evening for the customers’ entertainment.
“Behind the shop the Chuck-A-Sangs reared pigeons and poultry, and so I was introduced to husbandry. A stage was built behind the coops – weightlifting/bodybuilding was introduced with a team of the neighbourhood waifs vying individually, in fierce competition in any activity that instigated betting, to augment meagre pocket money and earnings. The clashes included dominoes, trup, poker, brag for money, bicycle and foot races. The gamesmanship taught were early lessons in my teenage years among bigger bullies and fanatic ball buridees, all enhancing and expanding my teen years.
“Many mornings we rode at dawn to the Camp St Sea Wall for a game of football – had a swim if the tide was in – and returned home in time for school and work. Murray St was our Hell’s Kitchen. A motley crew that called each other by false names, which reflected our character, race, idiosyncrasies and disabilities, all taken in good stride, with fistic fights every so often. Life’s lessons teaching street smarts, that in later years made us ‘icons’ in our respective fields and professions.
“In 1953, the elder ruffians left to seek work on the cattle ranches in Rupununi – without success – and actually walked back, discarding all their personal belongings to survive the hazards of the cattle trail. Of course my eagerness to leave school for this adventure was unacceptable to my parents, and I was so relieved at their safe return, with barely their shirts on their backs.
“The neighbourhood was an orchard – profuse huge mango trees next door – that seemed to bear perennially, and I had a better pelt than Charlie Stayers. The Houstons opposite, had 2 sapodilla trees and it was regular competition between me, the yawarries, bats, birds and other two-footed denizens who trespassed into my territory. The Taitts in the next block had also several sapodilla and mango trees, and it took a good half hour to harvest your daily 6 o’clock fruit breakfast, which included also dungs, papaws, tamarind, golden and star apple.Under the huge fruit trees the yards were bare – grass na grow, swept dutch clean daily – and so cricket bat and ball were our Test match clashes, preparing us for national games by the time we reached long pants. Wood gun and slingshots were our AK47s, while ya can buy a cigarette for a cent, and learn to smoke playing ‘big man.’
“Every father in the neighbourhood was an artisan, hustling a living to feed their nuff picknies. A variety of trades that familiarized us with shoemaking – stuffing fibre mattresses, bicycle repair, building bird cages. At East St corner, DaSilva’s Confectionery taught us to make ‘sweetie,’ as we volunteered to wrap the sour stick, peppermint, butterscotch and nuttin. We even learnt sleight of hand for pocket rewards to sell for matinee bills.
“At the print shop around the corner on East St we could learn printing and book-binding, while at Sixth St corner, the Smalls family fascinated us with their debut garden golf. Bottom house table tennis was available and the seasonal Easter kite making and Christmas tree preparation was a learning experience for us promising tradesmen, if we were so hell bent. Career choices were so straightfoward then, as your parents often admonished: “Study your school books, learn a trade or you go to jail.” Mine were convinced I was going to drive a donkey cart for a living.
“Musical talent was encouraged. The Rogers family around the corner on Fourth St set the standard, and obliquely opposite a future musical icon Ray Luck and sister Beverly, were practising daily their piano scales. Steel band jamming was available at Quo Vadis and Marabunta’s panyard by Bourda Green, with the annual Christmas costume tramp a neighbourhood collaboration, to match any Brazilian samba school.
Typing and shorthand was taught by AE ‘Cowie’ Luck opposite on Cummings St and our neighbourhood sports heroes, Stanley Moore and his son Maurice – national sports stars in football and table tennis, lived two buildings down on Cummings St. Of course the network of alleys, open palings and broken fences made the entire neighbourhood our own personal domain and playground
“East St was a flowing canal ideal for swimming, boating and fishing, and I was the ‘champion duck and drake.’ Alya remember that. A flat stone skimmed across the water for the most bounces. Other times, waist deep in the canal, we shied for fish.
For movie escapism there was the Empire pit on Middle St. Man, even PHG was 2 blocks away for emergencies such as broken limbs, nail stick, cuts and bruises.
“Of course, nuff boy children to play with, but also nuff girls to shark, court and puppy love. A harem of innocence, as from age 9 you were taught practical lessons in understanding the opposite sex. The Davilars in our duplex next door had six daring, darling, dougla daughters – and it was a continuous baptism, as the girls would outgrow you, in boyhood retarded adolescence. Girls always outgrew their training bra before we could fill our first bif! Unless this was a Chinese handicap.
“Bastiani Funeral Parlour was at Albert and Fifth St, if anyone kicked the bucket. There was the Mystic Friendly Burial Society at the nearby Lodge, to encourage saving, while Zam DeAbreu’s father was a moneylender for short term loans. Tarrant Glasgow, national cycle champion would lime with us, and corner sprints, upright-bicycle races for weekpay stakes, would end in severe brawls, when he was often ‘pocketed’ in planned stings. Nuff fight with bottle and stones. Ya think it easy.
“We also had our own obeah card reader in the neighbourhood – off limits high zinc fence with nuff traffic after the 6 o’clock bee at dusk.
“Our teenage challenge was thus to ‘dress to impress,’ learn to dance soor like a kissadee lest cat eat your dinner. Your first long pants was a sweepstakes winner; your first bicycle meant you can join the ticker parade on the sea wall Sunday afternoon. Lottery was introduced in Guyana in 1981.
“The devil took the hindmost. The girls were your buddy friends’ sisters, so we had to be respectful, know our place, or house visits, comic book loans would be verboten. In later years of adolescence we would select our favourites and graduation to proms, parties, socials would be not the battle of the sexes, but brothers, sisters, kissing cousins-camaraderie that made our puberty a delightful experience, preparing us for adult and parenthood.
“In our neighbourhood each of us in this challenging environment was a small acorn, which grew into a huge oak tree – our branches making waves – providing comfort and shade in the enclaves where we live today.
“In reflecting on the streets where many of my friends lived yesteryear I rejoice in the conviction that their neighbourhood was similar to mine. Ken Corsbie was a corner away on East St; Vibert Cambridge First St, Alberttown; Tony Phillips on Duke St, Kingston; Malcolm Hall on Louisa Row; Wesley Kirton on Pere St, Kitty; Ray Seales on Robb St; Arthur Veerasammy on Carmichael St; Claire Patterson on Hadfield St, Lodge; Aileen Morgan on New Market St; Tangerine Clark on Princes St, Lodge; Chico Khan and Slingshot Drepaul in William St, Kitty. Hell – look how far we come.”

Regards!
Mike on his Bike