Guyana’s battle with the clock

Nov 12, 2025 Features / Columnists, Peeping Tom

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(Kaieteur News) – It used to be said that the only things that start on time in Guyana are banks and cricket. Well, not anymore. These days, even the umpires seem to be on “Guyanese time.” I’ve seen a few matches recently where the officials strolled out ten minutes past the scheduled start, as if time itself was waiting for them to arrive. Somewhere in the heavens, the ghost of Sir Frank Worrell is shaking his head.

Someone once said punctuality is a sign of excellence. If that’s true, then standards of excellence are dropping faster than the Guyana dollar did in the 1980s. It’s not just us either—apparently the whole world has gone soft on time. A survey in the United Kingdom found that managers are pulling their hair out because their younger employees show up late for work. The British may have given us the concept of afternoon tea, but it looks like the new generation is extending it to morning sleep.

Here in Guyana, lateness is no respecter of age, position, or profession. It’s democratic. Most businesses start work at 8 a.m.—at least on paper. Try calling any office at that hour and ask for the boss. You’ll likely get no answer. Not because the boss is too busy—but because both he and his secretary are still somewhere between their front gate and the nearest traffic light.

The few who actually arrive on time go unrecognized, like unsung heroes in a land of snoozers. Someone once said that the problem with being punctual is that there’s no one around to appreciate it. Take old Jack, for instance. For over twenty years, Jack clocked in at 8 a.m. sharp—never late, never absent. Then one day, he didn’t show. Panic rippled through the office. The boss, who hadn’t left his air-conditioned sanctuary in years, even emerged to investigate. Finally, at precisely 9 a.m., Jack stumbled in—clothes torn, face bruised, spectacles cracked, dragging himself like a man who had fought off a small army. He punched the time clock and muttered, “I fell down the stairs. Nearly killed myself.”

His boss, without missing a beat, replied, “And that took you a whole hour?”

Now tell me, with bosses like that, why would anyone risk their life to be punctual?

Still, there was once a manager in Guyana—one of the best ever produced—who took punctuality seriously. He made it his mission to arrive early, just to catch who came on time and who didn’t. He believed that lateness was not merely a habit—it was a statement.

Under his watch, latecomers didn’t last long. No matter how brilliant or talented, if you couldn’t beat the clock, you were gone. But if you were always on time—even if your productivity was as low as a power outage in Lethem—you were safe. Some even got promoted. This manager had a peculiar philosophy: “If my staff idle, that’s the supervisor’s fault. But if they’re late, that’s theirs.” He didn’t mind long bathroom breaks, frequent coffee pauses, or mysterious “urgent errands.” But lateness? That was unforgivable. To him, showing up late meant you lacked self-discipline, and without discipline, you couldn’t be an excellent worker no matter how long you stayed after hours pretending to “catch up.”

For him, being on time wasn’t just a courtesy—it was a culture. A moral compass. The difference between a professional and a procrastinator. Unfortunately, some people seem born with an allergy to alarm clocks. Take Fanny, for example. Fanny was a sweet girl, but she could never, ever make it to work on time. No matter how early she set her alarm, how many times her boss scolded her, or how many times she swore “from Monday I go start right,” she still rolled in late.

Finally, her boss had enough. “Fanny,” he said, “if you can’t come to work on time, I’ll have to let you go.” The writing was on the wall, and this time, she could read it. Desperate, she visited her doctor, who prescribed her some medication and told her to take one pill before bed. The next morning, Fanny woke up bright-eyed, fresh, and early for the first time in years. She got dressed, caught the bus, and made it to work before the clock even struck eight. Ecstatic, she marched into her boss’s office and exclaimed, “Sir! The doctor’s medicine worked! I took one pill, slept like a baby, and woke up right on time!”

Her boss looked at her calmly and said, “That’s wonderful, Fanny. But where were you yesterday?”

And there it is—the tragedy and comedy of time in Guyana. We know the value of punctuality, but somewhere between setting the alarm and reaching the office, time loses its grip on us. Maybe it’s the traffic, maybe it’s habit, or maybe it’s the national philosophy that everything—except cricket and banks—can wait. But as the old manager would say, being late isn’t just about missing a start time—it’s about missing an opportunity to show discipline, respect, and professionalism. Because in the end, clocks don’t lie. They just keep ticking—waiting for the rest of us to catch up. And if we don’t start soon, even the banks might begin opening late. Then heaven help us all.

(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.)

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• battle, clock, Peeping Tom, Sir Frank Worrell

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