Those of you who've been wondering whatever happened to that affable / irascible / perverse fellow with the non de plume Peter Sam, well, besides showing up in the comments every now and then, it appears he's been doing some travelling lately, and has even been spotted here in the United States (choo-choo!). While he was here (still here maybe), he penned his initial thoughts of America for readers here at Signifyin' Guyana. (Between me and you, somewhere betwixt "not disappointed" and "deflated" is a man who's not too thrilled with America thus far. But I could be wrong.)
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I came to the USA and for me I still do not see the difference but for the wide roads and the lights, food too. Now imagine me, coming from a small third world country, and being driven down wide streets. My first shock was to see people in ordinary clothes. A question that should and I guess would be asked is, what is so special about that? Well living in Guyana and seeing the “holidaying” Guyanese with their new clothes, brand name foot wear, sweet smelling cream, I mean, it must have been the norm, this is how America is. I came in my pants one time, just looking at a neighbour who came back to Guyana, whom I knew before she left as a spotted foot Leopard, spotted from Mosquito bites and sores. When she came back on holiday, with tight fitting jeans and saying “coganut wadda”, I felt it, a warm feeling in my pants and a contraction in my back (it is called premature ejaculation). Well I know it now as that, and at my age I wish for it to happen again, my imagination does not allow for it, maybe I know better.
I am not disappointed about coming to the USA, but I am somewhat deflated, this was not what I expected; people should look like they look in the Hollywood movies, and all the women should look like film stars. The woman part is not new to me, my American girl friend put paid to that. She came with her clothes, the ones she wore as a citizen of the USA and she did not look like the spice girls and she did the same things other women I have made love to in Guyana did. She moaned just like them (not to sound demeaning), her vagina looked the same, not that I was dwelling there, but at a glance….. Anyway, that should send home my point.
I still feel no different from when I was in Guyana. The weather is different I would admit, sun shining and it cold. That was for me a wonder of the world. I worry as a parent though; my son is going to school and he said “Tomayto” when he got home. I hollered on him, but my sister, who is a teacher said leave him because he will have to write and he has to get accustomed to the vocab in order to be with it. I guess I felt I am losing him. I do not want to lose him, but I guess language wise I will. I just hope he never says “coganut wadder”.
The drive from the airport was revealing , confusing too. The roads were like vines, going all over without shape, neither east nor west. My brother knew it and he said I will too in time. Did not believe him. They drive on one side of the road. Where I come from they drive on the correct side. I was struck by the cemetry I saw on the way home, well kept and clean. I somehow thought that must be the reason for so many homicides among Americans; they don’t mind, they live well alive and dead. Reaching home was good though; my sister did a spread, pork, ham, beer man it looked like a spread for the Babylonian king.
Then there was the flea market, my brother took me there, wasn’t surprised, but he meant well. We got stuff and it suddenly dawned on me where all the fancy watches came from, the five dollar ones, the ones we pay five thousand of our dollars for and show off with.
The USA has opportunities though. It is for you to take it and use it. It is sad to see the projects, big tombs without good style, the buildings that is. It is a tomb, because the people living there are dead, mentally, spiritually, the place my sister said is the projects. What I saw was scary. These were big buildings, buildings to bury dead people who are alive. I knew they were dead because when we drove down a street I saw churches, like stores, all along side each other. They were the reason and the dope among dopes that offered some relief to those willing to listen to nonsense. The names varied, “Church of the principles of the brother of Jesus Christ Inc.” I never asked what Inc. meant, for me it meant inclusive, money and loot. Then there was ““Church of the transparent truth Inc.”, “Holy water theological conference”. It had to be a (Con)ference because I saw a black Mercedes Benz belonging to the pastor, after that I was expecting to see “Pimping church of the walking women”. I did not see that, I am just saying I was expecting to see that.
I am not bad mouthing the USA; I am just saying that my expectations were too high, unreasonably high. I must add though, I am grateful for those who pioneered before me, not only my sister and brother, my mom who sat for five years so that she can sponsor me and my family, Thank god for all those who braved the cold to send home “lil prags” and money to help so many eat back home. I am here now, and I guess it is my turn to send something back home.
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Contributed by Peter Sam
