Big Ole Home By De Sea

By Neena Maiya

Around the home, the wind and the birds whistle. Sunbeams, filtered by trees, limbo across the lacquered wooden floor.

Some nights, danger lurks. Bandits. Gunshots in the wee hours of the morning. A thief sneaks into a neighbour’s home.

Despite the fears, mother and daughter create a haven.

The mother is wise, kind to one and all. Yet she shoots words so sharp, she quells the petty thief and his foul-mouthed girlfriend into submission. The daughter wallows in self-deprecation. The two engage in power struggles over pepper-sauce, wild flowers, the killing of a fly and other such drama.

Through the keen observations of these two, and their interaction with others, the culture of the well-to-do and poor is revealed. Nature takes on a personality of its own, is discussed like beloved (and some mad) relatives.

The book, a collection of conversations, stories, quips and musings, highlights hope, grief, beauty and humour in a 3rd world setting. It is, in essence, an irrepressible celebration of home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neena Maiya
• Release date: Dec 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463849613

Neena Maiya

I was born in The Land of Many Waters, on the north-east tip of South America.Y'all ain't never see a place like where I come from. Trees walk. Jumbies (dead people spirit) walk day and night (though only a lucky few ever see them). People tell stories more tall than coconut trees, in fact, they reach the moon before the USA ever land there.Me? I only trying to record them long-tall tales and share them with the world.Call me a story-teller addicted to people, music, books, craft, art, earth, sky, sea.

Book preview

I gon tell you stories, true-true stories, like me gran’pa and me nanee and cha-cha Deen useta do, and they ancestors too. Take half, leave half, cry or laugh, enjoy the gyaff. What you learn is up to you.

This book is dedicated to my mother (naturally).

Acknowledgements.

I wish to say a massive thank you to:

My dear Mother, for never giving up on me (if you have, you've hidden it well), thank you for the buckets full of history about people, places, events

My dear Uncle Deen, for your vivid descriptions, which I listen to keenly, and try to imitate

My sister, my brothers and your spouses for your support, your care, advice, making me laugh when I needed to laugh

P., my rock in this wild sea

My beloved Auntie M, and Cousin Lis, for bread and jam and tea and stories

Annie, you crazy gyal-pal you

My fellow-Guyanese, without you, there wouldn't be this

Mark Khan, for very kindly, patiently illustrating, and re-illustrating, my book cover. (Mark, dear Reader, runs a design business, Silverbait, in Florida. He is also from Guyana)

My blogger-friends, for your opinions on many of the tales via my (now closed) Guyana blog.

Much love,

neena maiya.

Big Ole Home By De Sea

by

neena maiya

copyright 2019

Much of what you will read here might seem like fiction, but I can assure you, I have not, like my mother (or any of the other folks here), stretched any of these real-life events.

Though this book is non-fiction, the names of the innocent and not-so-innocent have been changed to save them from themselves. And to save me from some of them coming after me if they feel I have misrepresented them by not telling the entire sordid truth.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

In other words: please don't teef...thief...steal...this book. Please encourage your friends to buy it. It's not expensive.

neena maiya, copyright 2019

Contents:

Dear Reader

March 21, 2005. What mammy an’ me say

Flashback, '98

March 30. 05. The cure

Jan. 09,.2006. Vanished

Jan. 25, 2007. The plant lady

Jan. 06, 2008. Channel 2 and the blue tennis ball

Feb. 15. ‘09. Where was I? Pt. 1.

Feb. 3, 2010. Grief

Jan. 10, 2011. Bing-bang

Mon. Jan. 02, 2012. Travels

Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

This book ain’t have beginning or end. This book is today, now, even though the events…excerpts from journal, conversations, scraps of stories and bits of thoughts…is past, long gone and done. That is because memories, though we roll them up and wrap them and store them away, is always present in the shape of who we is now, and who we gon become.

Leaves wither, fall, renew old earth; fresh plants grow.

Each bit of life in this book, I hope, is like a piece o’ landscape, holding a colour by itself…a flash o’ laugh, a scrap o’ grey mood.

Together, all them images, all them colours, shades, light, dark, make up a bigger scenery of the life of two people, mingling with other people.

And this scenery is a part of a mo’ grand work of art…for we is all works of art, reshaping we-selves, alone and together. We can be the sharp stones on the wide-open terrain, or the rough winds in a small space that push people apart or together; we can be river, flowing soft through stretches o’ land, rushing stormy past other places, separate then joining with the ocean, making new rain that mix with ancient dust again, to enrich the forests of we.

What The Island people said:

All relationships are like a marriage. You have to learn to give and take. You must learn to compromise. Everything that people do to make a marriage work should be applied to all relationships. - Tia, old and wise Panamanian-Island woman, now gone to the other world, who house I useta live in once upon a time in The Island.

At the root of every conflict, in every relationship, parent-child, man-woman, woman-woman, man-man, teacher-student, friends, is the struggle for power. - Dr. H., psychotherapist, speaking at a trade fair workshop for women.

What humans everywhere say: - Everything is open to misinterpretation.

March 21, 2005. What mammy an’ me say.

Domestic bliss settle like lemon-blue silk ‘pon this ole house by the sea. Mid-morning, I sweeping the kitchen, sweesh-sweesh with the broom, making soft rhythm like the sound of sand if you could hear sand flow, sweesh-sweesh, then lekke-lekke the broom go as it hit wood, lashing out dust from under the table and chairs.

Me mother who been downstairs chatting with Carpenter-man come up laughing, and this is how me and she conversation go about a jumbie…a spirit.

Ma: Carpenter-man say (budubudu) father jumbie (budubudu).

Me (not listening because me whole mind is on the amusing chatter I witness on the Internet last night): What?!?

Ma: Carpenter-man.

Me: What??

Ma: Carpenter-man.

Me: Carpenter-man what?

Ma: He father jumbie reigning up that side in Essequibo. People seeing he.

Me: People seeing who?

Ma: Carpenter-man father. He jumbie reigning up in Essequibo.

Me (spelling, because for some reason, I think me mother is saying raining and I want to correct she): R-e-i-g-n-i-n-g? Or r-a-i-n-i-n-g?

Ma: What?!?

I got a feeling that mother and daughter struggling with a li’l communication problem here. Either somebody ain’t speaking too right or somebody ain’t hearing too well.

Mar. 29. More conversation problems.

Details steam-up while we having lunch at the old pink table in the kitchen. As usual, me head is far away in Cyberspace.

Ma: Carpenter-man been up that side…

Me: That side where?

Ma: Essequibo…where he father useta live. A fella name Suresh tell he…

Me: A fella name Suresh tell who?

Ma: Carpenter-man. A fella name Suresh tell Carpenter-man that just after he father dead, he see he father jumbie…

Me: Who father jumbie?

Ma (slowly, as if talking to a’ idiot): Carpenter-man father jumbie. Suresh see Carpenter-man father jumbie. The jumbie been walking with another man. The jumbie been wearing the suit they bury the father in. Suddenly, the other man disappear. The father jumbie approach Suresh. He tell Suresh that he searching for a partner to help he with he coconut tree problem.

Me (laughing out loud but thinking to meself): I know I ain’t hear correctly. But I ain’t asking…

Flashback, ‘98.

Was the year when that fire-dragon, El Nino, blast heat east to west through we coastland, north to south, sea to hinterland. Kaieteur Falls shrivel to a thin brown stream like eye-water from a dry-bone-woman .

Politics scorch men and women hearts.

People ask me in a sort of accusing way, like I do them some affront, Why you come back to all this madniss?

I say, My father die, my mother woulda been alone.

As Auntie Ava useta say, They mouth get li’l. They close they big mouths.

Me and my mother try to adjust.

Flashback, ‘98: The blue toilet seat.

My mother scolding away to a fury, she voice firm with Perfect English, I’m always telling you…put the toilet seat down when you flush.

I ain’t say keh. She is right. When we been growing up, we always put the toilet-seat down. Living on me own in The Island though, I develop new bad-habits.

Grumbles pelt ‘round me head now…I ain’t understand why she getting so worked up ‘bout this toilet seat business, I never had nobody telling me put the toilet seat down when I been in The Island, I flush and leave, close the water-closet door behind me, I like the word water-closet, anybody ever hear that word, I gon start using it, I ain’t understand why my mother getting so worked up ‘bout this water-closet seat business…

We got two toilets in this big ole house by de sea, one in me mother bathroom, and one, which guests can use, next-door to me bathroom, separate by itself.

I like me mother bathroom more. It is blueness ‘pon blue…blue tiles, sink, toilet, shower, tub; blue lace curtains flutter over them two small windows which open out to sky and massive shade o’ the sapodilla tree where birds sit and perv.

This blue-bliss retreat is far from nosy noses and eavesdropping ears.

My toilet got mint-green walls and blah-white tiles with a curtainless-window looking out to a coconut tree top and water tank top. And a small window above the door. My toilet is very near to the corridor where people…mother and cleaning lady…move to and fro. For some reason, they roam hither-thither especially when I roosting in me water-closet.

My mother is lecturing. When you flush, the water sprays up and germs fly…

I picture toothbrush and toothpaste and soap on the sink getting a load o’ this.

Oh! I say meek and mild.

So the water-closet saga end and peace settle like bird in a snooze.

Flashback: The linen cupboard.

My mother in front o’ the linen cupboard, pulling out sheets and re-folding. She silently bristling and bustling, busy and…

…and as soon as I appear, she start one big piece o’ muttering.

I don’t know Who keeps tumbling this cupboard and putting everything in disarray. All They have to do is fold things properly and put them in place.

She punctuate she words by pushing sheets into the cupboard in a’ displeased manner, so it sound like:

All they have to do… Angrily place one neat-fold sheet into cupboard.

Is fold things… Angrily put in another neat-fold sheet.

Properly… Bang neat-fold pillow-case on tidy pile.

And put them… Fold, bang.

In place!

Like a guilty thief, I slink away.

March 30. 05. The cure!

Is a cool an’ easy night like all these nights now, after heat, politics, fear, and The Mighty January Flood. I watching tee vee, my mother on the phone with L., friend of second big brother.

They gyaffing, they gyaffing…chatting.

Words like arthritis and cod liver oil with Omega 3 seep into me half-conscious self until!

Man L., look! Haul you’ ears. Who tell you that? Me mother sound like she feel exasperated and want to laugh.

Me ears perk-up.

Me mother say, L., you ever hear about osmosis?

(Later she tell me that he ask, What name so?)

Then I hear a lonnnng lecture explaining osmosis and the body absorbing harmful chemicals.

What happen? I ask after she hang up.

She laugh. The other day L. meet a lady who have arthritis. He tell the lady to drink cod liver oil. He tell she that it very good for arthritis, he tell she about me, and how it really help me. But the lady tell L. no, she got something better.

What? I feel downright curious. After all, I’s the one who did finally convince me mother that cod liver oil with omega3 gon cure she knee. It oil she joints so good that she spread the word like preacher.

Me mother say, She does spray CRC on the arthritis foot!

I laugh so ‘til I nearly…!

CRC? CRC? That is like WD 40. People does put it on metal to get rid of rust!

Exactly, me mother laugh. But after the lady tell L. how she does use it, and she say how it help she, he decide he got to convince me to spray it on me knee. That is when I tell he to haul he ears.

But you think L. stop there?

And let me tell you, he speech does crawl more slow than a one-paddle canoe up Abary Creek after no rain.

I know the lady, mums. The thing does really work for true. Everywhere I go, people telling me about it.

After a long while, me mother get to talk. So L., tell me, you would use it on you’ foot?

Whenever L. don’t want to say No he does say, Well, ahm, y’know.

L. say, Well, mums, ahm, y’know...

Me bladder get weak, people.

Sat. April 16. Third World Gyal vs First World Floss.

Mummy, you remember when toothbrush first come to Guyana? I floops down on the settee, weary after last night drama.

It been around for a long time, but plenty Muslims ain’t use it…before the war, they make them with pig bristles.

Horror. Shame. Me family in them ole days never clean they teeth. So what y’all use?

Blacksage. You pick a stick, pound it fine-fine to make a brush and add a li’l baking soda and toothpaste. See how up to now me still got me own teeth? Blacksage is the best thing for teeth.

You supposed to say blackstage, daz what people here does say. I been reading a’ article by a dentist Abroad. He say that blackstage and miswack stick got healing powers. Man, I wish some smart people here would make floss with blackstage, then I ain’t got to fight with this bleddy plastic foreign string. I swear, this floss is First World Propaganda to make we spend we li’l bit o’ money on First World goods.

What happen?

Floss supposed to keep we teeth healthy, right? It supposed to keep we from wearing dentures, right?

So they say.

I lucky I still have teeth after last night. I flossing, suddenly, the teeth feel tight! I wrap the floss ‘round me fingers, jam it between me teeth. Stuck! Only a tractor coulda haul it out. Panic! Suppose the teeth fall out? I give the floss a gennnnntle pull. Tak. It cut. A li’l piece fasten in there. I nearly faint. The thing gon rotten in me jaw, teeth gon fall out, mouth gon smell like cesspit, nobody gon want to marry me. I go to bed and panic quiet-quiet, then I get up to try again. Another piece get stuck.

What you do? Why you didn’t call me?

Was late. You been too sound asleep. I phone the only person I know who would be awake Down Unda.

What he say?

He say, Floss it aout! And tomorrow, buoy a less chaip floss, one that wouldn’t teahr. But seriously, I didn’t believe he, you know how people always say that the folks Down Unda is mad.

Owww, how you can say that?

Is true! They mad! But he suggestion work. I guess they ain’t so mad after all. When we go into town, remind me to buy a less chaip floss, one that wouldn’t teahr.

Sure.

Man, I really can’t take this floss business though. Look, the corner of me lip, sore-sore. Me fingers swell-up. Me hands hurting like I been working out at a gym. Why we have blackstage but we ignore it for imported plastic?

Go pick some blacksage from we garden and use it then, nah?

Tchh! Man, remind me to buy some floss.

Chewsday, April 19. All teeth bright and beautiful.

Is time to fling out the cheap floss, nah?

Sob.

I can’t.

Is because of what we-the-people is afflicted with.

We can’t throw away nothing. We gon find use for it one day.

First world people does call it ‘recycling’. They think they start the trend.

Ha!

Is we!

Is we who start it!

We even got family stories about it.

Like the one mammy like to tell me about me daddy-mother. Everything that come out from the indentured labourers ships in 1838 been under she bed.

One day, me li’l cha-cha, me daddy li’l brother, did want one rice bag.

Ma, you got rice bag? he ask she.

She get very cagey.

No. Me no got no rice bag, none at all.

He look under she bed.

He holler. Oh me mamma. How you say you no got no rice bag. Me count fifty here. What you save all o’ them for?

Me go need them one day! she say with ahtteetude!

You see?

So now you understand, coming from this culture, why I can’t throw out the bleddy floss that abuse me soundly?

I get a brainwave! I gon save the floss for craft, I gon use it to sew Something.

And that brainwave set off a real brainwave.

Floss. Craft. Sew. Embroidery thread. Floss.

Who say I got to buy floss? I can use me left over embroidery thread to floss with. Yes, I know, I know, embroidery thread can cut and get stuck between me teeth. But who cares haha who cares. I won’t have to buy teeth brightening toothpaste. I gon have