Two Countries, Two Continents, One Life

By Allan Robertson

We all have one life. Some of us spend it in one country, but I was fortunate to live, study and work in multiple countries. I was forced to deal with circumstances, good and bad. The key to success is how I handled my challenges. I did it my way and encourage everyone to leave this world bette

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan Robertson
• Release date: Dec 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781685153601

Book preview

The Beginning in Country 1

I

was born Allan Robertson on a mild Sunday morning on September 24, 1950. The place of birth was the Public Hospital, Georgetown, British Guiana. At that time British Guiana (now Guyana) was one of many British colonies and the only English-speaking country in South America.

Sometime later I learned and accepted that my mother was Juliana Dorothea Robertson (née O’Jon) and my father was Vibert Brotherton Waterton Robertson. My first years were spent in Georgetown (the capital city) in the back room of a shop on Broad Street, Charlestown. My dad owned or rented a little shop where he sold pop, cake, ice, candy (sweets), and other snack items. Although the shop was frequented by many customers, the economic returns were meager because of the nature of the items sold. Most were sold then for between two and five cents.

In 1953 we left the shop and moved to the West Bank Demerara, near where my father's mother (Henrietta Venture) lived. By that time James (my younger brother) was born, bringing the number of children to four. Joan, my older sister, preceded my older brother Fitz Francis.

My most vivid memory of the days on Broad Street is the sounds of older kids shouting Ice, Ice, Mr. Robertson, Ice. A truck came around selling ice each morning, and if you were not in front by the street to purchase the ice, the vendor would pass, and without ice, you might as well close your cake shop (name given to a shop selling cakes and drinks [pop]) which were both largely homemade.

The Rural Move

T

he family moved to a small village named La Retraite (French for The Retreat) and located six miles from Georgetown on the West Bank of the Demerara River.

The village comprised about twenty-five houses, a shop owned by a relative, and a church run by my dad. To get to Georgetown, one had to travel 6 miles by road to Vreedenhoop, then board a boat to cross the Demerara River, which was 0.75 miles wide at that point. The boat landed next to Stabroek Market, the focal point of Georgetown. Cars and buses operated between La Retraite and Vreedenhoop on a mainly unpaved road. In the rainy season, there would be potholes everywhere. Some car drivers packed a marked stick in their truck so they could measure the depth of some holes to determine if it was safe to proceed over the potholes. Although there were a few electrical posts along the road, few houses had electricity at that time. Sometimes to avoid deep potholes some drivers drove behind the electrical posts in the grass. There was no potable water in the homes or indoor plumbing. Our version of a toilet was an outhouse with a rough wooden structure (latrine) over a deep hole to deposit bodily waste.

The West Bank Road at that time stretched some nine miles from Vreedenhoop to Wales, with many turns, bushy areas, and small villages of mainly East Indian and African residents. There were no streetlights along the red-brick-and-mud road. The West Bank Demerara was an agricultural area, so the few taxi drivers had to be on the lookout for cows, horses, donkeys, pigs, goats, and other animals. Snakes and alligators were also registered residents. Many mornings when we awake, we would look up at the ceiling and see snakes that got into the house from overhanging trees touching the zinc sheet roof. Huge spaces were left just below the mainly zinc roofs to allow air to get in and out, as there were no air conditioners or heaters in the rural areas at least.

In the ‘50s and early ‘60s, British Guiana was owned by Britain, so our currency was in pence, shillings, and pounds. English weights and measures also applied. We drove on the left side of the road, and the steering wheels were on the right side of the vehicles.

1954 saw the birth of my last brother, Charles. It also marked the beginning of my agricultural work. My older brother and I were responsible for the cows kept closer to home. This involved cutting grass and taking it to and from grazing areas. While my dad owned over sixty cows, about fifty-five were kept in the pastures about three miles from home and did not warrant our care. When a heifer (female cow) was close to giving birth, she would be brought home for special attention. Special attention ended when the calf was about six to eight weeks old. After eight weeks the heifer and calf were returned to the pastures. Occasionally we had to milk the heifer, but Dad did most of that back in the pasture and sometimes at home. We also reared fowls and ducks. Other agricultural chores included planting and nurturing a kitchen garden; reaping produce such as mangoes, bananas, plantains, cassava (yuca), eddo, and other produce from the farms; and collecting firewood used for cooking. The food-producing farmlands were closer to our home than the pastures where the cows were kept. There was a main long drainage trench along the farmlands and a dam about twenty feet wide that was used for humans and vehicles to get to the farmlands. Sometimes we used a boat (ballahoo) in the trench to get produce out of the farms. Among the many things kids learned to do early was to swim, catch fish, and paddle boats.

Sometimes it took four days to reap a crop of mangoes or cassava. We would be working most of the day when we were on the farm and often ate fruits and other produce. Reaping was often a community effort, so our friends went along and helped us. Sometimes we walked with a pot and bush cooked meals. Of course, some of the farm time was spent playing. Then there were the famous ballahoo races as we tried to see who would reach the farm or our home first. Bridges joined the farm to the dam. Sometimes when the water in the trench was high, it was difficult getting under some low bridges with the boats. Often, we had to lie flat on the boat's internal bottom or pull the boat around very low bridges.

We lived in a small wooden two-bedroom house in the same yard as our landlord (Baba Jacobs). Also in the compound was a mini apartment building (logee) with four tiny, studio-like apartments. In one of those units lived Mrs. Jordan, who would later ruin the marriage of my parents. We would visit her on a regular basis but never knew what would unfold later. She was stern with us, and she was known as the big-butt seamstress. Her husband had died sometime earlier, and my dad was, I guess, his replacement.

We had a very good relationship with everyone in the village and had many friends. The fact that my dad was the pastor of the Christian Brethren Church helped to make us be on our best behavior 99 percent of the time.

Unlike the way kids are raised in the USA, children in British Guiana in the 1950s and 1960s were whipped for at least every other wrongdoing. Such flogging was almost equally distributed between home, school, and the streets. Yes, every adult who was not an enemy of your parents was allowed to flog you on the street if they saw or believed that you did something wrong. In many cases if you complained when you got home, or if the person who flogged you reported the flogging to your parents, you would get a second dose of whipping at home. It was as if your parents felt you embarrassed them outside of the home. Our home was not a home where flogging was regular (daily), as my siblings and I were generally well behaved.

The Big Year: 1955

B

y any account 1955 was my most memorable year as a child. It could be titled the year of The Fire, The Bull, and The Eviction.

The Fire

In early 1955, several months before my fifth birthday, on a Saturday afternoon when neither my mom or dad were at home, I was playing with a box of matches in the bedroom and accidently started a fire. The mosquito netting over the bed was on fire. My older brother was in the bedroom with me, and he ran and called the landlord, who lived in another house in the yard. Our landlord came and put out the fire. The only thing damaged was the netting. I got a good whooping when my dad got home. Our landlord, although admitting that boys will be boys, was angry at my parents for leaving us with no adult supervision at home. My father was working in the farm while Mom was out selling sticks of chocolate, she made to sell to folks using it for beverages or tea (morning drink) used with bread or a biscuit.

The Bull

In early 1955 there was a near tragedy for my family, and yes, I was right in the center of this. Some of the cows my father owned were bulls. For various reasons a bull would be brought from the pasture and kept close to home for a week or so; sometimes it was for purposes of branding—burning a few characters in the hind part of the animal to show ownership. Some of the bulls were fierce and weighed over two hundred pounds. It was just before 4:00 p.m. when my older brother and I went to attend to this bull about half a mile from home on land owned by my father's mother. We had to move the bull from one part of the land to another to get it closer to more grass. It was tied to a tree with a rope about twenty-five feet long. As we removed the rope from the tree, the bull took off as though it was mad. We held on to the end of the rope, but we were no match for this strong bull. It dragged both of us, but after about twenty-five feet I determined that we would lose this battle, so I let go of the rope. My brother held on and was dragged for at least one hundred yards over rough terrain and sharp tree stumps. He laid half-conscious ahead of me and bleeding badly from the stomach. I helped him home, and he was rushed to the hospital, and he narrowly survived. He spent almost six months in the hospital in Georgetown. I did not get a flogging for my involvement.

Whose fault was it? I don’t know, but many fingers pointed in my direction. I think I did the only smart thing, but I was to endure this guilt for years. I believed it resulted in animosity between my brother and me, and I believed it led to fights and a silent war for over twenty years.

The Eviction: Dark Days #1

This was the landmark event of my childhood and truly made me who I am. Most people, including my siblings, did not know of this event until I spoke openly of it in 2010 at my sixtieth birthday party in Guyana.

My father dropped out of school in fourth grade (fourth standard) and so had only about five years of schooling. One went to school for one–two years in kindergarten, then to first, then second, then third, then fourth standard (grade). He, however, seemed to realize that education was important and wanted me to excel in school or at least do much better than he did.

I attended La Retraite C of S School (C of S meant Church of Scotland), and the school was one mile from home. My friends and I would walk to and from school, talking, laughing, pelting stones, etc. as we went.

There were no exercise books (notebooks) in rural schools at the time. We would write on slate—a flat stone like shale about ten inches by eight inches—using a graphite pencil. Our work was marked with chalk—a star or tick for correct work and a 0 or W for incorrect work. It was always a joy to take home your slate with lots of stars or ticks on both sides. I was all smiles on my way home that day, not knowing that that night would be the dark night.

Dad came home around 7:00 p.m. as usual. He had his dinner and seemed in his regular unfriendly mood. I heard him call me to the dinner table at about 7:30 p.m., as usual. I went to him with my slate, as was our routine. Dad took my slate and after complimenting me on the stars, asked me to spell a word I had spelled correctly on my slate. I don’t recall the word, but I could not spell it correctly in front of him. The word had at least eight letters. I was given two or three chances, but I just could not spell the word correctly. I knew I was in trouble, but being only five years old, I expected four lashes with his broad belt. This was my dark night.

It was 8:00 p.m. when Dad announced my punishment after accusing me of cheating in school. I was evicted from our home and was forced to sleep outside. This was harsher than you would think. Our village had no electric lights in the houses or streets, and the yard was filled with trees, making it extremely dark at night. It was pitch black with no visible stars in the sky. My only friend was Flacey, the landlord's dog. No one walked the street; no cars passed; all I heard was the howling of dogs, the sound of nocturnal insects and animals, and the frightening sound of the wind.

I cried and cried. My mother pleaded with my father but to no avail. My dye was cast. My siblings said nothing for fear of their own well-being. Flacey came and kept me company at the top of the stairs. At about 8:40 p.m., there was a brief stay in my crying. It was then that I saw a man and a woman at the bottom of the stairs with a huge basket trying to capture me. Flacey barked vehemently at them, but nothing changed. They never came up the four–five levels of stairs to grab me, and I wondered why. It was days later that I realized that the two people I saw were ghosts and not human beings.

I was soon running out of tears, but around 9:15 p.m., before I drifted off to sleep on my feet, I initiated an analysis. I vowed that this must never happen again. I reasoned that there were only two options:

If I felt I would not remember the spelling of any words on my slate, remove them and replace them with simpler ones.

Ensure I always remembered the spelling of everything on my slate.

That night I chose option two, and from that time, I became the number one student in almost every academic undertaking from primary to graduate school.

I also thought differently of my father and became more stubborn and rebellious. My father was the holier than thou pastor of the Christian Brethren Church. He preached, played several instruments, sang, led the mini choir, and was saintlike to the villagers. Why he was so different at home I never knew. He did several hurtful things to us, such as moving our bed away from the walls so that when we rolled in our sleep, we fell to the floor. We were forbidden from any secular events, and that included whistling, putting our hands on our hips or in our hip pockets, and playing in the house. Our world would change as soon as our father got home. We would gravitate away from him, as he was always very stern-faced.

Meanwhile at school I was much more diligent. I studied hard and ensured that I never missed one minute of classes. I was fearful of the inspector who came from Georgetown a few times each year looking for any kids who were skipping school. The embarrassment was great, as the entire school would be summoned to a general meeting to shame the violators. Violators were also threatened with time in jail (juvenile detention).

The photo above is the house we lived in between 1953 and 1956, when my dad moved out. The photo shows my father, my mother, and my older sister and older brother. Yes, I am the one looking like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

This is a photo of my paternal grandfather, Rev. F.O.G. Robertson:

Below is a photo of my maternal grandfather, Rev. George O’Jon, and his five children. My mother was the third child, as I am to her:

Below is a photo of Aunt Jule, sitting in the middle in a black hat, and standing right behind her is my mom. Others include my mother's aunt, sitting in colored dress, and my mother's older sister, sitting directly in front of my mom. Others are my cousins and my mother's younger sister:

Other Village Incidents

D

uring 1954 and 1955, my older brother and sister spent considerable time in Georgetown, either being in the hospital or living with other relatives. I was therefore the oldest child at our home. As such, I was often given custodial roles at an early age. I was expected to supervise my brother who was two years younger than myself. Sometimes we were left with my dad's oldest sister, who lived about three hundred yards from us. One would expect that my aunt would have had the parental role,