Glimpses of Guyana

CDRE Thomas Negus, USN  October 27 2010 02:34:11 AM

 

The sun was setting, coloring all it touched with a late summer orange.  The closing ceremony had just finished; the last speech given, words of friendship and thanks had been genuinely shared. The Prime Minister and his entourage were off in a Marine helicopter, flying back to Georgetown and their Guyanese lives. A large crowd of people and school children still mingled in the aftermath of the ceremony at Corentyne High, watching helicopters and listening to our band and taking the opportunity to visit and talk.  Our intersection with Guyana was coming to a close.

 

We stood waiting for our own helicopter to take us back to the ship, and I thought through the work CONTINUING PROMISE had done here in this land of jungle and sun.  I remembered our first arrival and being struck by the sheer immensity of the landscape, the unbroken horizon and canvas of sky.  I saw the inestimable Major Stroble, our Rosehall site leader, buoyantly smiling while drenched in sweat as she directed the set-up of our first clinic in the back of the school. A series of Sailors and Soldiers carried boxes of supplies and equipment from trucks into tents, carefully avoiding the donkeys and cows that wandered about. I remembered the beauty of the steel drums that beat out the Guyanese Anthem, sounding like a song made of rain as the sky darkened above.  I saw the exacting work of our surgeons, burrowed in their surgical dens deep in the ship, as they conjured up the mysteries of sight and wrote their poetry with the sinews of life. I remembered the children coming to Corentyne High, nonchalantly crossing the single-plank bridge across a canal.  Above all I saw the smiles of those involved, from the children who grabbed paintbrushes to refurbish their school, to the songs of welcome sung in the jungle deep, welcoming our medical professionals into their village lives.

 

Our helicopter arrived and we were pelted with dust, but that did not diminish the number of people that remained to say last farewells.  The Chairman of Region 6, Zulfikar Mustapha, introduced me to his wife then called his son over for a final group photo. Words were shouted above the rotory roar, and we clasped hands tightly and embraced quickly; and shared a few more goodbyes and knowing glances and quick waves with others who remained.

 

And when it was over we got in our helicopter and flew to our ship, while kids crossed the canal as they took their planked bridge home.

 

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