tiredness and drifted off into a deep sleep.
I woke up with the call of the dawn prayer from a Mosque not far away. The Muslim men had left for prayer, while the rest of us were either sleeping or lying down.
The taxis were still stationary by the side of the road, and two men who had woken up were conversing in Hindi; from what I understood there was running water from a tap outside the market place, where people could wash and clean up.
I followed the two men and found the stand-pipe, and then the men went off to get their morning tea on another street corner.
I returned to the pier in case I missed my taxi, one of the Muslim drivers, a tall slim brown skinned man was already there, I told him where I was going and he said to jump in at the back.
I had noticed that people around those parts were not very friendly, unless one started up a conversation with them.
I was not in that frame of mind or bold enough to do either, in fact I was tired, hungry and wanted to go home.
I realised that whatever life throws at you no matter who you are or where you came from, you must bear it with patience. I did not intentionally miss the last ferry home.
But it had happened all the same and because of that, I slept under the stars and saw many shooting ones, which my eyes have never seen before and it was something to be remembered.
As we headed towards New Amsterdam when we entered the second village the driver bleeped his horn and slowed down.
A little boy about 10 years old came out and handed the man a food container and then he drove off again.
In the next village ahead, he picked up four passengers; a short fat dark skinned man who sat in front with the driver.
And two boys between the ages of 12 and 16 both slim sat next to me and a talkative light complexion over weight woman sat behind the driver.
The taxi was now full unless the driver decided to stop and pick up more passengers along the route. Sometimes they would cram seven individuals into one car.
The woman continued to chat to the driver; she told him that they were going to the visa office to see if this time they would get their visas to America.
She was putting me to sleep so I closed my eyes and must have drifted off to sleep for some time, until the boy sitting next to me asked me if I like to eat a roti with some meat.
I told him that I was not hungry but thanked his mother anyway, and then the woman asked me where I was going.
I told her ‘Hope Village’. That name was given to my village after the plague that swept it almost clean of its inhabitants.
She said. “That is the place where Malaria wiped out the whole village, why do you want to go there young man?” she asked.
I had to choose my words carefully before the driver stopped the car and put me out, in case he thought that I was still infected with the disease.
We were in the middle of no-where, with swamps on both sides of the road and another ten or more miles before we get to New Amsterdam and the ferry crossing.
I told her that I was meeting a school friend there and to see the place.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
I wished she would stop pestering me so I did not have to lie to her and the others.
“I lived at Bath Settlement,” I answered.
I quickly changed the subject and asked her what part in America they were going to and she told me New York City.
By then our journey had nearly ended, and I could see the ferry crossing ahead of me, boarding had not yet commenced.
After I paid the taxi driver I said goodbye to the others. They were using the same taxi into Georgetown, the capital.
I went to get my ticket for the ferry crossing and then bought a glass of sugar cane juice for my breakfast and blended in with the crowd.
On the other side of the river, I took another taxi and went home, my chickens were out all night and looking for food, after I fed them, I rested for a while and continued my daily chores.
The next day, I went out looking for fencing material
I woke up with the call of the dawn prayer from a Mosque not far away. The Muslim men had left for prayer, while the rest of us were either sleeping or lying down.
The taxis were still stationary by the side of the road, and two men who had woken up were conversing in Hindi; from what I understood there was running water from a tap outside the market place, where people could wash and clean up.
I followed the two men and found the stand-pipe, and then the men went off to get their morning tea on another street corner.
I returned to the pier in case I missed my taxi, one of the Muslim drivers, a tall slim brown skinned man was already there, I told him where I was going and he said to jump in at the back.
I had noticed that people around those parts were not very friendly, unless one started up a conversation with them.
I was not in that frame of mind or bold enough to do either, in fact I was tired, hungry and wanted to go home.
I realised that whatever life throws at you no matter who you are or where you came from, you must bear it with patience. I did not intentionally miss the last ferry home.
But it had happened all the same and because of that, I slept under the stars and saw many shooting ones, which my eyes have never seen before and it was something to be remembered.
As we headed towards New Amsterdam when we entered the second village the driver bleeped his horn and slowed down.
A little boy about 10 years old came out and handed the man a food container and then he drove off again.
In the next village ahead, he picked up four passengers; a short fat dark skinned man who sat in front with the driver.
And two boys between the ages of 12 and 16 both slim sat next to me and a talkative light complexion over weight woman sat behind the driver.
The taxi was now full unless the driver decided to stop and pick up more passengers along the route. Sometimes they would cram seven individuals into one car.
The woman continued to chat to the driver; she told him that they were going to the visa office to see if this time they would get their visas to America.
She was putting me to sleep so I closed my eyes and must have drifted off to sleep for some time, until the boy sitting next to me asked me if I like to eat a roti with some meat.
I told him that I was not hungry but thanked his mother anyway, and then the woman asked me where I was going.
I told her ‘Hope Village’. That name was given to my village after the plague that swept it almost clean of its inhabitants.
She said. “That is the place where Malaria wiped out the whole village, why do you want to go there young man?” she asked.
I had to choose my words carefully before the driver stopped the car and put me out, in case he thought that I was still infected with the disease.
We were in the middle of no-where, with swamps on both sides of the road and another ten or more miles before we get to New Amsterdam and the ferry crossing.
I told her that I was meeting a school friend there and to see the place.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
I wished she would stop pestering me so I did not have to lie to her and the others.
“I lived at Bath Settlement,” I answered.
I quickly changed the subject and asked her what part in America they were going to and she told me New York City.
By then our journey had nearly ended, and I could see the ferry crossing ahead of me, boarding had not yet commenced.
After I paid the taxi driver I said goodbye to the others. They were using the same taxi into Georgetown, the capital.
I went to get my ticket for the ferry crossing and then bought a glass of sugar cane juice for my breakfast and blended in with the crowd.
On the other side of the river, I took another taxi and went home, my chickens were out all night and looking for food, after I fed them, I rested for a while and continued my daily chores.
The next day, I went out looking for fencing material
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