My wife and I had left ‘Fix-It’ hardware store at Quamina and Main Streets, and had crossed over to the avenue that separates the eastern and western sections of Main Street when this gentleman approached us.
He said; “Hi, Mr. Kissoon, do you remember me? After telling him, I didn’t, he responded; “I saved your life on Branch Road, Mahaicony.” He described for me what happened and I instantly recalled the incident, but I could not place his face.
It was during the election campaign of 2015. I was the main speaker at a meeting on Branch Road, Mahaicony. It was two nights before voting day. I couldn’t understand why a meeting was held at that particular spot, because it was deserted, with residences far away. We stood around waiting for folks in the neighbourhood to come, but none came.
As I moved toward my car, preoccupied with the ignorance of putting a public meeting there and talking about it, I felt a violent push that sent me onto the parapet. A tractor literally came upon me. As I watched the tractor driving away, I was literally stunned and couldn’t move. But I heard the violent cuss words directed to me by the driver. He was blurting out my name with unmitigated rage.
We thanked the gentleman that saved my life and left for Georgetown. I never saw the fellow again and I never wrote about the incident. I figured I was saved and life goes on. It was not until a few weeks ago, when he introduced himself to me and my wife, that I saw him again.
I am glad I met David Madray. He saved my life during the 2015 election campaign and through my foolishness, I never got to thank him afterwards. I remember his parting words as he went northwards on the Main Street avenue. He said; “When I meet Khemraj Ramjattan I will tell him about it” to which I said; “you do that.”
I really would like to see David Madray again and have him to lunch at my home. One should never part company with someone who saved your life.
I have a friend, Raymond Persaud, a Eugene Correia Airport engineer, who told me he knows someone who lives in Branch Road who should know the Madrays. Raymond told me, he will ask his friend to make contact with Mr. Madray to tell him I want to meet with him. If Mr. Madray is reading this, please make contact. My home numbers are 222-1615 and 222 1616. My cell is 614-5927. I don’t have WhatsApp or a Facebook account, but my email is [email protected]
Election campaign time has come again. And David Madray came to mind. The 2020 campaign will be five years since the last campaign, and those who didn’t even get a scratch much less had their life endangered, now have power and they lord it over the nation. They drive extravagant vehicles and the chauffeurs have to open the door to every entrance they face; not only the car door.
Life is so paradoxical. The jokers in the pack end up with power. One wonders what is still going through the minds of Hillary Clinton and Jeremy Corbin. Look who beat them – Donald Trump and Boris Johnson. It is election time once more, and I remember the words of my friend Dr. David Hinds. He said if APNU+AFC loses, all those who were given big jobs but never got a scratch fighting for changes, will quickly go back from whence they came.
It is election time once more, but I will be missing in action. I doubt I would be on the campaign bandwagon in any meaningful way. Will I miss the action in 2020? Yes, because I think the 2015 campaign has created indelible moments on the walls of my mind that will forever intrigue me. I came into 21st century Guyanese politics as a child of the Walter Rodney movement. The dreams, promises, hopes and longings were plentiful as I watched Rodney deliver his message as a freshman at UG in the Large Lecture Theatre in 1974.
Rodney promised a dreamer like me what I thought Cheddi Jagan could have delivered. Walter died in 1980 when I was still young, but the dreams lived on. I nourished those dreams on the 2015 campaign trail
The Rodney magic is gone. The 2015 magic turned into a nightmare. I am now in my sixties with grey hair and my optimistic mind has shrunk enormously. Will I campaign for the third force? I might; I might still look for traces of yesterday’s dreams.
(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper)
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