Ravi the Unknown Prince (7 page)

Once we were on board the ferry Ismael explained to me what went on in a Muslim wedding.

The dowry would be given from the bridegroom side, and not from the bride like in a Hindu wedding.

“What did you give my mum?” Harun asked his father, “I give her Jewellery and two cows, one bull and a heifer,” he replied.

It took us 30 minutes to get to New Amsterdam, further up the Berbice River there was a Bauxite mining company, one could hear the plant operating in the distance.

Once we reached the other side, we took another taxi with other passengers going into Canji.

A journey of about 15 minutes took us 30 minutes as the long road was full of pot holes.

If anyone of us in that taxi had a heart condition our chances of survival would be limited.

When we finally arrived at our destination, we were greeted by all the family and I was introduced as Ismael and Maymun’s son.

The three of us had a light breakfast, before we joined the rest of the men cooking the wedding feast in the back-yard which was meat, potatoes and rice.

The food was prepared in huge pots accompanied with roti, salad, and a few sweet dishes.

The meal that was being prepared was for the bride and bride-groom and their guests when they arrived for the Nikkah [wedding].

The Walimah feast was the next day, and that was done on the bridegroom’s side for his guests.

The bride was going into Corentyne two villages away from Skeldon, apparently that girl went to a wedding in the same village where this boy lived.

He was at that wedding and saw her and told his mother they made some enquires and with in six months they were getting married.

I had noticed that there was no music in that Muslim wedding, and men and women did not mix except for the young children.

Large tents were erected from the front of the house to the back where invited guess would sit and eat together on the floor on plastic sheets covered over with a large floral table cloth.

We sat with the men at the back of the house, listening to their talk on cricket, and politics.

When the bridegroom arrived with his guests in six different cars, then all the men were getting ready for their daily Salah [prayer] followed by the Nikkah ceremony.

I asked Harun what I should do. He told me to come along and just follow what everyone in front was doing.

He said that we would stay at the back, and let the older men stand in the front rows.

It was an experience I would never forget, everyone facing in the same direction and prostrating at the same time to One God.

It was the first time that I made prostration and it felt good; it was an amazing scene for me to view as a non Muslim.

After everyone was fed the bride was getting ready to leave, for some unknown reasons women would cry at weddings.

The bride and her mother were both crying as the girl was leaving her parent’s house for the last time and to start her own life with her husband.

It was a simple wedding not too extravagant or elaborate but colourful and practical according to their beliefs.

Shortly afterwards, Ismael, Harun and I left to catch the last ferry home, after shaking hands with Maymun’s family.

When we arrived on the other side and got to Ismael’s house, it began to rain heavily and he told me to spend the night with them.

I slept in a spare room and under a mosquito net, next morning after breakfast I went back home to check on my poultry.

My final week at home, I spent tidying the yard and selling whatever I could, the chickens and ducks were all sold except Mister Pip the turkey.

He was given to my father as a present so I kept him as a pet. He would make a lot of noise whenever strangers came to the yard, he was like a guard dog.

I fed him on seeds, grains of rice, and chopped fish, I was handing him over to uncle Yunus.

By Friday morning he would be gone, along with my suitcase and personal documents to the Baccus’s house.

I would be spending that night with my new family as we were due to leave for the Airport at 5am the next day, a journey of 3hours and 30 minutes our flight was at 12.30pm on Saturday.

On Wednesday of that week, I went to Blairmont Estate to see for myself what a logy looked like out of sheer curiosity.

After I made a few enquiries I was told where I could find a whole community that lived together in these logy.

I saw some children playing in the courtyard and asked if their mother was at home, two of the children held my hand and took me to see their mother.

She was a beautiful young woman about 20 years old with long black hair; she was wearing a red and white floral dress that had a rip at the waist line.

She kept her black hair tied together with the same material from the dress she was wearing.

I asked her politely if I could look at her living quarters and she said, “Yes, come in,” I had to lower my head to get inside.

It was tidy, the floor was covered with card board, and beneath that was sand.

I looked around the small space which she shared with her husband and two young children.

A small wooden bed was in one corner with some clothes hanging on the wall that divided their living space from the next family, and a few basic essentials in card board boxes hidden under the bed.

I got upset and walked out to where she was waiting outside holding the hands of her two sons.

I took all the money from my pocket and handed it over to her, and told her to buy food and clothes for the children and herself.

She thanked me and at the same time she was trying to kiss my hand and was bowing to me like their god.

I told her not to do that and stopped her, and then she asked me if the manager from the estate had sent me.

I told her no and walked out into the court-yard almost in tears and left in a hurry.

As soon as I got back on the main road I got on my bicycle and rode away in case she called out to her neighbours and told them some young idiot was giving away money.

She might as well make use of it; I would not have any use for my country currency in America.

When I got home I kept thinking of my great grand-mother’s situation, she once lived in a similar place like that.

I felt her pain even though I had not seen her and we would never meet in this life.

The old lady had told me that Allah [God] had already written our destiny and now we must live it; good or bad that comes our way.

She had reiterated that Karma was a heap of nonsense, and I totally agreed with her.

On Friday morning when I woke up, I cleaned out the upstairs and covered all the furniture and bolted all the windows from inside top and bottom.

I was not going to sleep there again and for how long only God alone knows. I was spending the night with the Baccus family for our early morning departure.

By 9 am uncle Yunus’s son Imran came to collect Mister Pip the turkey, and my suitcase with all my personal documents which was in a holdall.

He would be driving us all to the Airport in his seven seated van, recently introduced into the country.

After he had left, I went to visit the grave-yard of my ancestors, before it became too hot in the day.

I rode my bicycle and entered the second reef, after I had said my goodbyes to my grand-parents.

I walked over to where my parents and two siblings were and told them that I was leaving in the morning.

My heart sank with great sadness as I took one last look before I departed from the burial ground on the second reef.

I got on my bike and rode along the muddy dam, to the first reef to say farewell to my great grand-parents.

I stood under the shade of the cinnamon tree and thought these two people have changed my life.

They came from India following their dreams but were abandoned out here. I on the other hand was moving on following my dream, like they had once done and to see where my destiny would lead me to.

The jasmine I had planted had grown taller, in a few months it would blossom a gift fit for a princess.

My next stop was to see my teacher Miss Price, we sat and talked for over an hour.

She told me that the two other students she taught along with me were both doing well.

The girl went to England and was training to become a nurse and the boy was in Canada with his relatives.

He was working as an apprentice and going to college in the evenings.

She gets letters from them and regular updates on what they were doing and their progress.

She encouraged me to continue with my studies. Even though it might be difficult, I should not give up.

She wanted to feel proud of me like she had with the other two students that she had taught.

I told her that I was going to try my best to continue so she would feel proud of me also.

I gave her a set of my house and gate keys and told her that she was free to pick the fruits from the yard and whatever the ground produced.

She gave me a hug as we parted and said, “May God be with you and don’t forget to write.”

By 3pm my two friends arrived to help me board up the doors and windows on the ground floor, and we all had a slap-up meal together.

By 6pm I was leaving my home accompanied by my two friends, when I finally padlocked my front gate.

I took one last look at the house where I lived and grew up and I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind.

I was stepping into a world of the unknown, my knees felt weak and I could not ride my bicycle. Instead I pushed it along to the next three doors to where Muna lives.

I promised to see her before I left; I rang my bicycle bell at their gate and she came out.

She stood inside the yard and hesitated for a moment before she opened the gate.

I remained outside and spoke to her through the opened gate, I told her that I was leaving at 5am from Cotton Tree and I came to say goodbye.

“Would you come back Ravi,” she asked politely.

“I hope so,” I replied.

“Please write to me whenever you find time,” she asked looking at me in the eyes.

I felt confused. She is a Muslim girl and I did not want to keep her hanging on. I couldn’t marry this girl, even if I wanted to.

We were from different religious backgrounds where these two faiths did not mix in our country.

I told her that I couldn’t write to everyone, but if she wanted to find out about me she must ask Miss Price.

I was going to keep in touch with Grace and Ronald, because they offered to take care of my property.

She placed her hand in her dress pocket and took out a small package wrapped in gold gift wrapping paper and handed it to me.

“It’s a gift for you I made it myself,” she said, “open it when you get to America.”

I was looking at the soft neatly wrapped package in my hand, “What is it?” I asked.

“When you open it you will find out, please put it away before your friends see it,” she insisted.

“Thank you, Muna, I said, what ever it is I will hold on to it.”

She smiled as I placed the package into my trousers pocket, and moved away from the gate.

When she closed the gate I waved to her and she waved back, she looked somewhat sad.

She stood by the gate and watched until I rode off with my two friends.

“What was all that about Ravi,” James asked.

“I was just saying goodbye to a school friend,” I answered.

“She is your secret admirer, but you can’t admit to it,” Ramnarine remarked.

“She is a school friend and a Muslim. As you know, it is forbidden to get involved with a Muslim girl,” I reminded him.

We rode along the broken dusty road to Cotton Tree Village then my friends asked when I would be back.

I told them maybe after I received my U.S Green Card, then I would be free to travel.

When we arrived outside Ismael’s house, I said goodbye to my two friends, and hugged them both as we parted.

I stood and watched them ride away, I thought perhaps the next time I saw them I might not recognised them.

In the Baccus’s house hold a lot of entertainment was going on with families, friends, and neighbours coming together to say farewell.

Different kinds of food were being served, and there were much laughter and talking that filled the room.

Harun took me upstairs to show me where I was going to sleep, and then we came downstairs to have supper and to meet their extended family.

We were all having an early night for a 4am wake up call. After all the guests had gone I went to bed less excited for the next day ahead.

N
ext morning at about 5am, we were on our journey to the Airport, uncle Yunus was accompanying us and his son Imran was our driver.

When we drove past my home I took one last look and thought, when will I see this house again.

Once we entered the county of Demerara the roads were much better, some progress had been made with the new Government, but it was still not quick enough.

We stopped in Georgetown the capital for breakfast before we continued our journey to the Airport.