Latest update April 25th, 2024 12:59 AM
Apr 30, 2017 Countryman, Features / Columnists
By Dennis Nichols
Sometimes it’s just too much – Guyana I mean, when credibility is stretched so thin, and you don’t
know what or who to believe. It’s when the natural beauty of the country seems to be reduced to a mere footnote overridden by the torrent of negative, nauseous news, views, and exposes. Then comes the urge to look beyond these shores and realign my thoughts with more stirring images, as even Kaieteur in her wildest splendor, is somehow tainted by the latest fulsome political fulmination.
South Africa and The Bahamas beckon nostalgically, and a brief chronicle is in order. (These two nations are connected by the mighty Atlantic Ocean, which plays a part in this reminiscence)
It was almost seventeen years ago that I stood atop a promontory at the southern edge of the African continent, off Cape Town, and gazed transfixed as the Indian and Atlantic Oceans met and merged. Known as the Cape of Good Hope or Cape Point, it defines the tip of the Cape Peninsula, and offers a breathtaking vantage point from which to see the roiling waters caused by the clash of the warm Alguhas current and the colder Benguela off the continent’s western coast.
The feeling was other-worldly; primal, as I repeatedly closed and opened my eyes, savouring the revelation over and over. Just knowing where I was at that moment rooted me in the history of my slave ancestors.
A few days earlier I had trudged up to the top of Table Mountain after a cable car ride that took me and a bunch of local and foreign journalists/broadcasters close to the summit of the sandstone plateau, flanked by two peaks called Lion’s Head and Devil’s Peak. From there we had a spectacular view of the city of Cape Town, (or most of it) densely stacked, yet spread in a huge, bowl-like mosaic, and away in the distance across the harbour, Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned for 18 of his 27 years of incarceration.
There was something intangibly romantic about the little bit of South Africa and Cape Town I saw over the seven days I spent there. The landscape, including stretches of savannah-like plains, valleys, small mountains, and coastal margins, had an ancient air about it, and I could imagine Zulu King Shaka and his warriors there doing their tactical maneuvers with spear and shield.
The black South Africans I actually met appeared very civil, even deferential, complemented by the kind of obvious intelligence and fortitude associated with someone of the character of Nelson Mandela; in other words the kind of people I could readily take to and identify with; maybe the kind of people I’d like to see more of in our country. But five thousand miles of ocean may be a bridge too far.
Two years later, I would have my first impression of The Bahamas and Bahamians. It was a mixed bag. Nassau was what I expected it to be, as one of the premier tourist locales of the Caribbean – white beaches, blue water, fancy hotels, high-end stores, shuttling cruise ships, and half-naked tourists. But half a mile from the sightseeing ambience of Bay Street (The Nassau version of NYC’s Fifth Avenue) parallel to the coastline, is the area known as Over-the-Hill which in terms of socio-economic status is something like Albouystown, Ruimveldt and La Penitence combined.
Here, narrow tortuous roads wind between a sprawl of small, shed-like houses interspersed with larger structures which hint at more affluent means for some. The rest of Nassau is a blend of villages and suburban enclaves portraying the gaping gaps between the very rich the ‘upward looking’ middle class, and the very poor – villas, gated communities, and apartment buildings, just like you-know-where!
Nassau and The Bahamas in general are great for sightseeing, and not only for tourists; nature lovers like me appreciate the white sand beaches, turquoise waters, pine forests, flamingos and bonefish for what they are – nature’s gift – more than the admittedly beautiful man-made resorts, restaurants, hotels, and marinas that dot the islands.
I was more than content to splash in the water or feed the seagulls at Goodman’s Bay, climb Cat Island’s ‘Mount’ Alvernia and explore the tiny hermitage atop it, tramp through the pine forest in Central Andros with my two youngest children to gaze into the depths of a great Blue Hole, and watch flamingos take flight on salty Inagua. But the sight I most wanted to see was the one that evaded me – the famous (or infamous) ‘Glass Window Bridge’ on the island of Eleuthera.
On the long, slender island of Eleuthera there is a point which some refer to as the narrowest place on Earth. It was once a natural bridge of rock just a few metres wide joining two parts of the island. Destroyed by a hurricane several years ago, it has been replaced with a man-made bridge under which is a narrow space (The ‘window’) enabling a view from one side to the other. On the western side lies the calm, wide blue-green expanse of the Caribbean Sea while to the east of it, the dark blue Atlantic churns and heaves.
People say the contrast is shocking, especially since you don’t see it until you’re almost there. Huge waves pound the Atlantic side and rush into a cliff-flanked hollow that jacks them up to over 100 feet high and sends them crashing under and over the bridge. Eleutherans call them rages, and they have swept vehicles off the structure and killed people. Sam Pedican was one of them.
Marvin Hunt, who wrote a book about the Bahamian family islands, recounts the story of Sam Pedican, a barrel-chested businessman who made a fatal mistake in attempting to cross the bridge on a windy, overcast day in 1996. His business was urgent – crossing from The Bluff settlement to get to Gregory Town 15 miles away to arrange for a casket for his dying brother in Nassau.
Before the end of the day he too would need one. He parked his truck at the northern end of the bridge, crossed over, did his business, and prepared to go back over the structure on foot despite the bleaky and blustery weather. Huge waves were crashing close to the bridge and small groups of people waited at both ends, not daring to tempt fate. Sam Pedican wasn’t one of them.
Two police officers who’d gone there to investigate reports of a car being swept away earlier, tried to help the barefoot Pedican over the bridge. They waited for a lull after six waves had hit, then made a run for it. Halfway across, the first wave in another sequence smashed into them. Pedican, moving slowly because he was barefooted, was swept away while one of the officers, knocked unconscious on the rocks, was fighting for his life. Sam Pedican didn’t make it; his naked body was pulled from the water the next day. (There’s much more to this story which space does not permit exploring; you can read Hunt’s account by googling ‘Rage at Glass Window Bridge Eleuthera’.)
Okay, so Guyana isn’t South Africa or The Bahamas, and needn’t be. We have a country of superlative natural wonders, and our tourism machinery is no doubt ‘oiling’ up for big things a few years down the line. For now, I wish we could put certain politicians, lawyers, businessmen, and white-collar criminals in a big paddle-boat, push them out into the Atlantic where the brown sea turns to blue, let them stew for a few days, and take them back in – wiser and humbler, hopefully before they end up like Sam Pedican.
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