A home-going celebration befitting a man who embraced ALL that is Guyanese

Drums, a musical saw, hilarious stories, poetry, call and response moments, songs of Guyana, prayers by a Pandit, an Imam, and leaders from several Christian denominations, and of course Ol' Higue, Backoo, and Jumbie were all part of the celebratory tributes in a home-going service for Wordsworth McAndrew yesterday evening.

It was a celebration befitting a man who embraced and informed many of all aspects of Guyanese culture.

The service started promptly at 6.30pm, so when I walked in about 6.38pm (I actually did well for somebody driving in from New Jersey in rush-hour, stand-still traffic), the 400 (or thereabouts) people gathered were already singing "Hymn for Guyana's Children," the third item in the order of service.  But, it didn't take me long to warm up and feel right at home in the cozy atmosphere of friendship, unity, and national pride I felt there in the church.

Like most present, I rocked and tapped my feet to Winston Hoppie's lively musical tribute, and I chuckled and listened spell-bound to Roy Brummell's creolese-spiced tribute (Brummell is pictured below, second from left). 

Then I revelled with John Rickford as he recited lines from Ol' Higue, and led call-and-response moments in his tribute (Rickford is pictured left below).

I laughed out loud at a joke told by McAndrew's younger brother Wilton McAndrew, and I experienced the strong bonds of love and friendship through tributes by his daughter and niece, and many other friends.  I was particularly touched by those given by Ingram Lewis (third from left below), and Duke Lambert, both of whom helped to care for McAndrew when he was in poor health.

Some of the adjectives describing McAndrew I heard over and over again were resolute, difficult, argumentative, meticulous, and exuberant.  And all concluded that he was someone you could never forget.

Parting words:

Ingram Lewis' short, poignant tribute:

As Mac used to say in one of his proverbs: 'If ya can’t run with de big dogs just stay on the landin’ and bark.' Wordsy was a chihuahua in size, but ran with the big dogs. He led the pack with his work and his research.  There is a lot to say about 'Wordsy,' and each of us has our own interpretation of him, but I know de man, you know de man, aal a we know de man. Let me wrap it up with another proverb of his: 'We can’t afford to lose CUTLASS and GUANA.'  We have lost the chihuahua in Death, but cannot afford to lose his legacy and what 'Wordsy' stood for.

Wilton McAndrew's joke:

One time he [Wordsworth] and a friend went swimming and I was the one left in charge of their clothes.  I waited and waited for them to come back.  Finally, when it got dark, I heard 'BOO!'  They had returned.  And when I asked why they took so long, he said the tide was too strong, so they couldn't swim back, they had to walk.

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(Pssst, watch this signifyin' blogger playing reporta nah.  hehehe.)

Comments

[vv]

You made me feel like I was there. Nice post, Ms. blogger/reporter.

VV

[Pia]

Great, post Charmaine. Thank you for sharing and including me. Don't often get the time to read, but when I saw homegoing, I felt the need to stop and pay attention.

[M. Sharples]

A further tribute to a great Guyanese poet who died on 25 April 2008:

I got to know and appreciate the talents of Wordsworth McAndrew way back in the mid 1950s, when we were both pupils in the same class at Queen's College in Guyana.

I recall that, at the time, we were both interested in the novels in the late Edgar Mittleholzer and, for amusement only to the two of us, would from time to time write short compositions in what we took to be his style (not to mention content!). As a joke we called these writings "mittles".

However, as I was soon to discover, Wordsworth's forte was poetry composition. I believe I was the first to be shown the draft of his brilliant poem 'Ole Higue', composed while he was still at school. My abiding memory of this then soon to be celebrated poet is of him seated at his desk in the classroom, eyes straight ahead and one hand busily stroking his chin - a sure sign that the Muse had struck!

Michael Sharples