The dilemma for patriotic diasporans

The Lament of the Banana Man (Extracts)

Gal, I’m tellin you, I’m tired fo’ true, Tired of Englan’, tired o’ you.

But I can’ go back to Jamaica now… I’m here in Englan, I’m drawin’ pay, I go to de underground every dayEight hours is all, half-hour fo’ lunch…

My yoke is easy, my burden is light,

I know a place I can go to, any night.

Dis place Englan’! I’m not complainin’,

If it col’, it col’, if it rainin’, it rainin’,

I don’ min’ if it’s mostly night,

Dere’s always inside, or de sodium light…

You won’ catch me bawlin’ any homesick tears If I don’ see Jamaica for a t’ousand years! …Gal, I’m tellin’ you, I’m tired fo’ true,

Tired of Englan’, tired o’ youI can’ go back to Jamaica nowBut I’d want to die there, anyhow.

“The Lament of the Banana Man”, penned in 1962, by the prolific Jamaican playwright, screenwriter and poet Evan Jones, as a sequel to his monumental poem, “The Song of the Banana Man” (1956). It was a reflection of the thoughts of senior members of the Windrush Generation from the Caribbean (notably Jamaica, Barbados, Trinidad and British Guiana), who had migrated to England to assist in the post-World War II reconstruction, many of whom found employment with the underground rail.

There, they were, late fifties, early sixties in age, having spent more than a decade waging battle on several fronts: at work, in society, and with the four revolving seasons, now approaching retirement and finding themselves betwixt crown and colony. Not fully comfortable in their adopted homeland, for whatever reason, but not quite sure if they wanted to (or could) return to their homeland on the cusp of independence.

Fast forward to today, sixty years and two generations later, the patriotic Guyanese diaspora, find themselves facing a similar dilemma to that of the former banana man. Members of the class of the mass exodus of the 70s and 80s, who departed these shores through various avenues, ranging from family sponsorship to marriages (real, arranged, and paid for), to ‘holi-stays’, to scholarship and work assignment abandonments, to the infamous ‘backtrack’ route, are now confronted with the inevitable question. Now that their days are westering, where do they spend the last of them?

For simple argument’s sake, Guyanese immigrants can be loosely separated into three broad categories. In the first, can be found those who

want nothing more to do with Guyana once they leave. A small number might have returned home once or twice for funerals or important family gatherings, otherwise, they quickly adopt a new persona, accent inclusive and refer to their background when questioned as South American. By retirement age, Guyana no longer exists in their mindset.

The second group, the largest by far, is proud of their Guyanese heritage, still ‘hangs out’ with their Caribbean brothers and sisters, maintains more than a passing interest in developments back home, and returns on a regular basis – three/four years — to visit friends and family. However, they are firmly rooted in their adopted state; their children were born there, all their ties are there, they vacation in North America, and occasionally in the Caribbean and Europe, and they entertain no thoughts whatsoever of departing from their ensconced cocoons.

Thirdly, there is the tiny minority of the die-hard patriots, who reluctantly migrated, due to family coercion or for the benefit of their children. ‘Back home’, was never far from their thoughts, as the lyrics of “Beneath Your Sky”, (the 1968 ballad written by Dave Martins of the Tradewinds) forever hummed like a mantra in their minds. The stickers affixed to their vehicle licence plates and the miniature boxing gloves swinging from their cars’ rearview mirrors, proudly flaunt the Golden Arrowhead. These patriots involved themselves in charity work for various Guyanese institutions and their annual pilgrimages to Guyana, whether they were planned to coincide with international cricket, Mashramani, Phagwah, kite-flying or the Lethem Rodeo at Easter, Eid, motor racing at the South Dakota, Christmas or Old Year’s Night, would be eagerly anticipated by the few remaining friends and family who had not attempted the venture of migration.

The patriotic diasporan’s long-term planning always hinged around re-migration, a stratagem often questioned by their fellow migrants. The shrewder ones have acquired freehold land and property to facilitate their eventual return, which bearing in mind the current crazy state of the real estate market driven by oil speculation, has turned out heavily in their favour. The more ambitious ones would have gone as far as starting a business prior to their return, a speculation rife with chance, since Guyana is not the ideal place to be an absentee proprietor.

Although the patriot might have been making regular visits, he/she will quickly discover that the adage of “come see me and come live with me is two different things” is true when he/she finally makes the final move back home. Two major concerns, previously taken for granted overseas, cannot be readily fulfilled – security and good healthcare. If the remigrant had plans to acquire a firearm licence upon return, he/she will be given an instant lesson on how frustrating life can be in Guyana, with the amount of pushing-around he/she will have to endure in what should be a rather simple straightforward matter. Upon learning of the shelving of the plans to build the specialty hospital years ago, he/she might start the process of self-analysis as to whether the right decision was made to return to paradise.

The applicant will soon discover how far the tentacles of the two sides of the political divide reach into every nook and cranny of our daily lives. If the patriot aspires to start a new business, he/she would be advised to be prepared to walk through a minefield, as the stumbling blocks presented cannot be viewed as encouraging. The applicant might be wise to display some form of political allegiance (to the correct side of the fence, of course) as this will allegedly speed things up. The remigrant will soon discover that in addition to the authorities, he/she will be viewed with scepticism by ordinary citizens. There might be an assumption that the patriot’s intentions are self-serving, and that he/she is trying to grab the best of two worlds, having already reaped the benefits of a good life ‘up north’, he/she is now trying to cash in on the anticipated oil bonanza. (Typically, they are painfully unaware of the trials and tribulations of living in a foreign society.)

The dilemma of remigration faced by the patriotic diasporan is much easier than that which confronted the banana man. Living in a foreign society has been the ideal preparation. One has dealt with the four seasons, heard all manner of rhetoric from the radio and television stations, learnt how to avoid it, keep quiet and get on with one’s life. The diasporan who returns home to spend his/her westering days is more than up to the challenge.