An evening on the Atlantic behind the Marriot

OCTOBER 11, 2015 | BY KNEWS | FILED UNDER FEATURES / COLUMNISTS, FREDDIE KISSOON

It is five years since I walked on the sands of the Atlantic next to which lies the ill-fated Marriot Hotel. This place holds immense memories for me. If I say “large memories” it would be an understatement. Even the word immense does not convey the mountains of memories I have of that place. On Saturday, October 3, in the early hours of the evening, while waiting for a couple of friends from the AFC who were engaged in their party confabulation, I visit the Kingston shore of the Atlantic on which lies the controversial Marriot Hotel. I returned to Guyana in 1984 after a brief sojourn in Grenada where I took a job with the Maurice Bishop Government while writing up my doctoral thesis for the University of Toronto. The American invasion came. I lost my job, abandoned my thesis (which I still have) and returned to Guyana only to face the wrath of Forbes Burnham. It has really become a joke that compels you to laugh when you hear people in Guyana say that Burnham was not dictatorial. On a television programme with Aubrey Norton the other night, Aubrey said he preferred the word, “authoritarian” in describing some of the actions of Burnham. Since that year of my return I would often be seen, most afternoons, on the seawall, particularly behind the Marriot. My fascination with the Camp Street and Kingston seawall goes back to my childhood. My dad worked as the groundsman for St. Stanislaus sport ground and I would miss school countless times and visit him. While he worked, I roamed the seawall. Behind the Marriot is a completely different environment from when I was an evening occupant. The menagerie of dilapidated boats is gone. The fleet of half-constructed boats is gone. The squatters’ homes made out of rotten wood and porous zinc sheets stolen from the huge warehouse are gone. The swaying palms that remind you of Cole Porter’s fantastic song, “Begin the beguine” are gone. What is left has been covered with white sands where lovers stroll and children bury their acrobatic feet in the sand I was never afraid to be there during those longs years. I came to be accepted by the homeless people there as one of the area’s denizens. They stole the zinc sheets from the rotting government bond to put a roof over their heads right in front of my eyes. One afternoon, this emaciated guy asked me to help him fetch the sheets. I did and we became friends. Months after he died from AIDS related complications. On the evening of Saturday, October 3, I stood pensively and watched the waves rush to the shore and I thought of the time I nearly died there. We heard the shouts of “maan drowning, maan drowning.” Few persons attempted to jump into the ocean. I saw the tide took one of the boys out to his death. I knew I had to do something to save the other. I jumped into the mighty Atlantic and in trying to rescue Nicholas Griffith also known as Nicholas Hoyte. I came extremely close to drowning (see Stabroek News, Tuesday, October 19, 1995, “Fourteen Year old drowns off Kingston seawall,” by Alim Hassan). More in a forthcoming column on the 20th anniversary of this incident My daughter was born when I was in full swing of my seawall occupancy. From the age of three I took her to the stretch of beach where the Marriot now stands. She was fascinated by the crapauds (“crappo” in Guyanese parlance) in the abandoned Luckhoo Swimming Poll. I taught her to play cricket and football there and each time we were ready to leave, we had to go and look for crappo at the pool. Sunday mornings were special. I took my discman, park outside of Guyana Pharmaceutical Corporation which was in kissing distance of the pool, lay on a well structured bench that belonged to the boat builders and listened to the music of my youthful days in Wortmanville for over three hours all by myself. I thought I was the only person in that unpopular spot. But one Sunday, I saw Johnny Kowlessar, owner of Pavnik Press next to Roraima Airways in Bel Air Park (Johnny and his neighbour, Jerry Gouveia has one of the longest running court battles). He was jogging. I stopped him and asked that he explain what he knew of my brother, “Lightweight” Kissoon during the era of the sixties when he and my brother were fanatical Jagan fans. I asked Johnny to explain what he saw in Dr. Jagan. Since I don’t have Johhny’s permission to quote him, I’ll leave it at that.