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Sep 04, 2016 Countryman, Features / Columnists
By Dennis Nichols
Guyana’s Essequibo North West, edged by Venezuela’s eastern border, is unique and untamed. Far
from the ‘civilizing’ influence of Georgetown (and Caracas) its rivers and creeks are tortuous and numberless, many cumbered by waterfalls and rapids. It is encircled by, and strewn with, these waterways. The Mazaruni and Cuyuni, the Barima, Barama, Amakura, Waini, and Moruca, fed by a hundred tributaries, flow and seethe in an Atlantic symphony; but it’s a theme spoiled by fatal notes of discord. These ancient waterways love to take human lives. So they say!
The two young children who drowned in Region One recently have joined a long procession of hinterland river victims. Figures are unavailable, but I would guess that the waterways of the Essequibo River and those to the northwest have claimed more lives than all of our other rivers combined. Along with the Essequibo itself, the Pomeroon probably leads the way, but lesser streams like the Puruni, Kaituma and Aruka may not be that far behind.
Rivers like the Pomeroon are ancient, mysterious, and relatively deep. Over the last decade or so that river has claimed dozens of lives including several children. But it was on the Aruka nearly 40 years ago that I first encountered their magnetic and dreadful lure. Without the slightest bit of exaggeration I can say that I flirted with death there, and escaped, at least three times.
The most harrowing of the three was a nighttime collision between an engine-powered dugout I was steering and a much larger vessel. With literally a split second separating life from certain death, I executed a totally reflex manoeuvre, ramming into the river bank as the bigger vessel struck mine a glancing blow. (Now when I watch an Olympics 100m sprint, I can truly appreciate what the hundredth-of-a-second difference between winning and losing means)
During that period, the mid-seventies to early eighties, several of these rivers bustled with activity. Those were the days of nationalization and food bans, so they were also the days of growing apprehension over the government’s policies, and cross-border smuggling. At the same time, North West farmers who grew yams were finding ready and lucrative markets for their produce which when ferried to Georgetown, were used as a substitute for English potatoes.
Money flowed with the rivers, and across borders, as yam farmers (and to a lesser extent sweet-potato, corn, and ginger growers) got ‘good price’ for their earth’s yield. Guyana dollars, Venezuelan bolivars, and occasionally US currency changed hands rapidly. At the Morawhanna and Kumaka docks when the Georgetown steamers arrived on Tuesdays, the liquor also flowed. Inebriation, fights, and river immersions followed, and sometimes, sadly, drownings.
Relative to its size, the North and West Essequibo area is very sparsely inhabited, and there is a disproportionately large number of river accidents and deaths compared to its population. Many of them that occurred during the years I spent there elude my memory. But one that I remember well; one that saddens some wonderful reminiscences, was when two siblings, a boy and his sister, lost their lives. I had taught the boy at school just the day before.
While on the Aruka I had always marveled at the affinity even very young children had for the river. They swam and played near the its edge like water dogs; by the age of four they were paddling and steering corials, and by seven they were playfully overturning each other’s canoes with hilarious screams of laughter. I marveled, but I also sensed danger. However when I voiced it, my concerns were often met with dismissive shrugs.
I can’t remember the girl’s name but the boy was Imran, and he was about 10 years old. Full of life and mischief, he and his sister had gone for a spin with a young man who had only recently left school. ‘Spinning’ a boat on the river was a fun thing for many young people, and a few older ones. This one ended when the boat veered too wide and hit a wild mango tree. The teenaged girl left a months-old baby and Imran never got to bring the ‘something’ he had promised me from his parents’ farm.
Of course one of the reasons for this reflection is the river accident two Thursdays ago which I referred to earlier that resulted in the deaths of the two Da Silva siblings. I had heard of the Waini Da Silvas, but I never really knew any of them. My sympathy and my heart goes out to the parents of those children, and I also empathize, having lost one of my own to drowning many years ago.
Our interior waterways, including those mentioned, are the roads and highways for thousands of Guyanese – hinterland residents and commuters. Farmers and business owners, miners, shoppers, schoolchildren, government workers, and visitors use them. Like our roadways there is protocol and there are rules; and there should be enough river custodians to monitor and enforce them. How many, and how effective, are they?
As far as I am aware, boats, like road vehicles, travel on the left , and overtake on the left. I don’t know to what extent that rule is followed, but I do know that in the Aruka accident my boat was on the left while the other vessel was on the right, on a dead collision course. Furthermore, boats should carry lights after dark. That night there were none. I was aware of the boat in front of me only when someone on it lit a cigarette. The momentary flare undoubtedly saved my life.
Additionally, are boat operators and captains license-certified? Are all boats river-worthy? Cars have seat belts and air bags; do all boats have life vests? Is the captain/operator positioned in such a way that he/she has a clear view of the way ahead?
During my time in the North West, vessels, including speedboats, were sometimes driven by teenagers with no formal training. Often the front of a small boat, upon gaining speed, would be cocked high in the air, partly obstructing the view of the outboard engine operator. At other times, boats loaded with humans and cargo sat so low in the water that just a small shift in weight balance could have had disastrous consequences.
Breaking news! (Friday) As if to add salt to the wound of this article, I have just read of two more boat collisions in the area referred to – one on the Pomeroon; another on the Moruca resulting in one death and several injured, including schoolchildren. I couldn’t have invented a more fittingly sober ending to this tale.
Our waterways can be a collective life-sustaining and life-enhancing source in the midst of some of the most pristine and dangerous terrain on Earth. They shouldn’t also be a death-trap!
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