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A long pregnancy and troubling birth promised
The CCJ gynecologists have pronounced. Guyana now expects. What child is this going to be? For this will be the mother of all childbirth experiences. Going forward, all Guyanese are mothers.
The chair and no-confidence twin are out. Unilateralism: out! Given historical Guyana, what now looms are assuming the elements of a bad, demanding pregnancy. There is the familiar history of trauma (electoral); the morning sicknesses (political); the acute physical discomforts (racial); and the psychological alarms (social).
There is nothing smooth or serene during these prenatal semesters of tribal and environmental waiting. A much longer wait than anticipated and clamoured for is possible: logistics (or assorted tricks).
During these lengthy waiting hours, the unknown unborn kicks impatiently: sometimes angrily, defiantly, spitefully. House-to-house placental containment is neither welcomed nor found favourable. The timing is not right; so, too, are the blood counts. That means head counts. Through all of this, there comes the wonder of it all: what kind of child is this? What kind of child will the voter deliver to this nation? What manner of creature will GECOM hold aloft for the nation to embrace?
Will this apparition – waited for, drooled over – come into the world of Guyana feet first, and thus already heading downhill? Or, with a cord around its neck, which strangles not only it, but this nation of midwives hovering around radio and television sets?
To take this still further, there is the high probability that this electoral and GECOM offspring may come with a mask (kawl) on its face. In which instance, all Guyanese better prepare to see jumbie. All of this is sure to raise issues and challenges about authenticity and paternity.
A robust election child suffused with the glow of promise is yet to be received by the peoples of this nation. All reckoning (including miscounting) indicates that this will be no bright bouncing baby. Regrettably, only another of the old, withered weaklings swaddled and coddled at different times by different people. Put differently, what is expected when all the longing and waiting and cursing are done would be another of the same deformed product that even mothers would distance from in horror.
Not the child desired. Not the one expected. This would be despite all the polling images and comforts gleaned from political sonograms. Many will be the shrill screams and mournful wails of disappointed and dejected citizens with the monstrosity that comes with electoral childbirth. It will be a hard delivery, with C-section demanded. That “C” stands for counting.
Heard is the breast-beating of a country that should have listened (now too late); should have taken vitamins (now too anemic); should have absorbed and imbibed sensibly (now haunting) should have distanced from racial fixation (now useless). Whatever the result of Guyana’s upcoming childbirth, all are going to have live with it, make urgent contingent arrangements, undergo special sacrifices, and behold political bartering.
There are no other extraordinary measures that serve as well, given the jarring, draining reality of coexisting with a child that has a lifespan of five years, or less. Guyana’s electoral graveyards are littered with such stillborn, disfigurements, and freaks. Some have had the shelf life of a half-life: knee quivering, mind-melting, terror-inducing.
In Guyana’s discouraging political experiences, it has been fifty years plus of throwing out unformed babies with dirty water. Abandoning and disowning; throughout, it has been a single parent experience; one adult grooming.
Thus, electoral babies (governments and social growing pains) totter along a well-trod path: unlearning; yet not untutored in a certain ancestral way. The child of such indoctrinations matures into the fragments that break into the usual factions that split asunder the fragile national fabric. There is wrenching and convulsion and weeping. Without fail.
A child is about to be born in beautiful Guyana. Many are not going to like the long pregnancy that precedes it, nor the flesh, bones, and afterbirth that accompany it.
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