The road to Brassiere.

Sometimes, me two long foot...itchy feet...would kick-up with yearning to dwell in strange lands.

Sometimes.

These feet would dream of standing 'pon Sugar Loaf Mountain while I gaze up at the Corcovado, and Jobim would play in me head, quiet nights of quiet stars. Them feet would traverse all the way to Bahia or Belem, they might stay there a bit, while I teach English as a second language. That was me dream before I return home here, from the Caribbean Island where I was a writer.

These travel-dreaming feet ain’t different from other peoples. We was just born to choochwhy...wander. Greed, need and just plain ol’ fashion faasness...curiosity...drive we to go yonder. That is how Christopher Columbus end up far from Spain. How man end up on the moon. Heh, that is how them cloud-dwelling Arawaks end up on earth - they see a hole in the sky and climb down a big tree.

Man can’t stop roaming. So you can imagine what happen when Guyanese discover open borders between here and the rest o’ South America.

I hear say, in dry season you can walk across the waterless river to Brazil. When rain fall, a small boat take you across. Praises be. Because during them hard days, when food and soap and toothpaste and plenty other basic items was scarce, Guyanese hucksters used to go there, buy goods, sell here. After them hard days was done, people continue going there. Them who can afford it, take plane. But there is a road too.

Was only a matter of time before them Brazilians find their way here.

Me and me first big brother does talk about it, sometimes. Topic start up when he been visiting over a year ago. From he verandah seat, he musta watch them Brazilans walking up and down we road, or I musta drop a comment.

He say, “Ten years from now, this whole place gon change, y’know. Them Brazilians gon bring business...open restaurants and shops and so...”

“Yeah, they doing that already."

“They gon open banks...”

“...and hospitals...”

After he go back to England, we continue the gyaff. “When them Brazilians start to settle there, plenty bad ones gon go too, can’t stop that,” he say.

“Yeah, I know...this is like pioneer town,” I laugh.

“But things gon get better after a while, and them good ones gon go too. Years later, them Brazilians might even become citizens, they gon run for elections. Everybody who is Portuguese gon get a chance to be in guvament. Like Theo, who living in Canada, he can go back to Guyana and get a position...”

“But he ain’t look Portuguese, he look more Indian...”

“Don’t worry about that,” me brother say. “He is Portuguese. He gon get a position. And you see that Portuguese man in P- Village...”

“What Portuguese man in P- ?” This one puzzle me. Most of them folks in P- Village is of African ancestry. I ain’t know any Portuguese living there.

“One night in P- Village, I see a white-white-looking man, he been drunk-drunk-drunk, he fall down in the trench, and if you hear how this man singing, loud-loud-loud, flinging up he hands and splashing in the dirty water! Like he been real happy. Them fellas tell me he does live in P- . All him, he can polish up and get a li’l guvament position because he is Portuguese.”

“Heh, I can get position too, ‘cause I can speak a li’l bit o’ Portuguese.”

“You know, is not a bad thing if them Brazilians do business there. They can clean up Georgetown. I know a Brazilian fella here, he brother does go to Georgetown to do business. He say Georgetown is a dump.”

“Yeah, is true.”

Recently, watching them Brazilians move around, listening to the new neighbours, I been thinking about this conversation. What we gon name the new state, when Guyana become a part of Brazil? Guy-Bra? Yes, that make sense, because, as the famous coffee song about them does go, they’ve got an awful lot of coffee in Brassiere...