Last week I failed to produce a notebook. That was due in part to my indiscipline. I usually prepare the notebook on Tuesday but that day was Phagwah Day. One of my cousins had died in Trinidad so I decided to visit her mother and siblings that day.
I should have prepared the notebook ahead of the visit but I failed to. My consolation was that some people were happy that there was none. But I am back today.
Death always reminds me of my mortality. I know that one day I will be dead, but that day is quite some time away. I treasure every day I see the sun rise. There is a no more beautiful feeling. I see the sunrise because I am on the road walking to control some of the ailments that plague people my age.
I see some overweight people who hobble along the road. They complain of joint pains, particularly pain in their knees. Well, too much weight on the foot has a cost.
There are the diabetics—and for the record about half of the population has diabetes. Professor Hillary Beckles said that research has placed us West Indians among the unhealthiest people in the world. We have the highest percentage of hypertension and diabetes.
He credited this to the heavy diet of salt fish, salt beef and salt pork that we ate just about every day during slavery. That was the food we were fed. In the end, as he put it, we became genetically modified. We cannot process salt and sugar efficiently.
So I walk to help my body expel the sugar and the salt. That aids my eyesight, also, so although I have aged I can still read without spectacles if I squint.
But that is only part of the story. The other part is that it helps me to clear my mind. I see some of my friends beginning to suffer from dementia. That is frightening. Just imagine looking at people you once knew but now failing to recognize them.
I had a friend who came home from New Jersey. In fact, he was brought to Guyana by his wife. Somehow, he walked out of the yard on Alexander Street and could not finds his way back home. He was born here and once knew every corner of the city.
His family called the radio station asking for help. In the end he was found sitting on a bench in Alberttown Police Station having been taken there by a woman who recognized that he was lost.
I walk where the traffic is very light. I would hate to become a fatality. But even worse, if I get knocked down and suffer broken bones, that would be the end of so many good things. The bones would take a long time to heal, if they do.
I see young men on motorcycles taking that risk of suffering broken bones. They weave in and out of traffic at speed. Some have died but that hasn’t slowed the madness. Perhaps they are practising to escape the traffic police or to escape from the scene of a crime.
I read recently that some of them walked into a Chinese restaurant and robbed the patrons, then escaped on a motorcycle. Indeed, during an escape, caution is thrown to the wind.
I have seen some horrific motorcycle accidents. There was one at the junction of Regent Road and Vlissengen Road. A minibus was turning into Regent Road. The motorcycle, a big bike, was coming like a bullet.
The rider crashed into the bus. His body went through a window and was cut in half. So I walk and enjoy the steps.
I see cars zooming by and I am not surprised that this year Guyana seems to be heading for a record number of road fatalities. Three months have not gone by and there are 40 road fatalities for this year. There are still two weeks left in this month.
But I walk. Last week the Health Minister said that some 40 per cent of men are obese or overweight. For women, the percentage is over 60. And I can imagine why. Women want to look attractive. The fad seems to be large bumpers and thick thighs. Guyanese men call them legs.
The…
