The ‘books’ we bought

Dec 11, 2025 Features / Columnists, Peeping Tom

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(Kaieteur News) – There comes a time in every small nation’s life when the whisper becomes a murmur. Then the murmur becomes a shout.

In Guyana, that time seems to have arrived with the President’s announcement that it has triangulated the records of those who did the mandatory written exam, who took the practical test, and who actually walked away with a brand-new driver’s license. By some quiet miracle of arithmetic, the lines did not all meet. The triangles, it seems, have corners missing. And many Guyanese are displeased to learn that the shapes of their own stories have become somewhat irregular.

The government has not said outright what the anomalies are, but it hardly takes a rocket scientist to figure out what is being implied. When an agency tells you that it has matched three sets of data and found them wanting, one does not need a degree in higher mathematics to suspect that certain licenses were issued irregularly.

For years, the society has spoken in the offhand, folkloric way Guyanese do: “Man, pay the right price and you could get yuh book tomorrow.” Rumour in Guyana has the persistence of a river; it may meander, but it is always heading somewhere.

What is now being suggested, quietly but unmistakably, is that the nation’s worst-kept secret had more than a grain of truth in it. It must have seemed a near-impossible feat for the authorities to have properly tested the thousands of new drivers emerging onto our roads each year, each one armed with a license, a sense of destiny, and occasionally a worrisome confidence.

The numbers never quite matched the capacity of the testing grounds, nor the visible manpower. One could not help wondering whether the practical examination had itself become a theoretical exercise.

So now the country is confronted with the possibility that thousands of drivers have “bought their books.” It is a phrase uniquely Guyanese, both humorous and tragic, suggesting at once a shortcut and a betrayal of the written word. But for those who now hold such books, there is little humor in the matter. Because the records, which tend to be mute witnesses, tell a less charitable story. And the government, perhaps reluctantly but inevitably, must now follow the tale to its end.

For many, the displeasure is personal. To lose a license—especially one paid for twice, once in cash and once in nerves—is no small inconvenience. Worse yet is the possibility of criminal prosecution. One can almost hear the collective sigh rising from the households now wondering whether the envelope passed discreetly years ago is about to return with a notice to appear in court.

This brings us to the question being asked with increasing agitation: Why did it take so long? Guyana is not a large country.  News here behaves like smoke: it escapes every crevice, curls under every door, and eventually finds its way into the most distant corner. The talk of paying up to $140,000 for a driver’s license circulated for years. Why no action was taken strains the imagination.

But the truth is that for years nothing happened. The silence of the authorities stood in stark contrast to the noisy chatter of the population. One could almost believe that the records were asleep and have only now rubbed their eyes awake.

But here we are. The books have been examined, the anomalies identified, and the consequences are on their way. Whether this corrective moment will make our roads safer is another matter entirely.

For as any honest observer of Guyanese traffic can tell you, the real crisis is not a lack of skill but a fundamental shortage of discipline. Our drivers know how to drive; they simply do not always trouble themselves to do so. And yet, perhaps discipline begins at the beginning—by ensuring that no one receives a license who has not earned it, through sweat and practice rather than currency and convenience.

If Guyana is to restore order to its roads, perhaps it must first restore order to the process of certification. A license should be more than a small plastic card. It should be a symbol that one has passed not only a test, but a threshold of responsibility. In this sense, revoking the illegitimate licenses is not only an administrative task. It is a moral one.

Whether it is enough is uncertain. But at least, for the first time in a long while, the books may begin to balance.

(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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• Peeping Tom

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