AUGUST 28, 2011 | BY KAIETEUR NEWS | From the Diaspora
By Ralph Seeram
My daughter loves water coconut, so when a relative brought her some water coconuts from Fort Lauderdale, she hurriedly brought them across for me to cut, for the water. Now this may not be a “big deal” in Guyana, but when you live in a city where fresh young water coconuts are hard to come by, it becomes a special occasion.
I reached for my cutlass, and was hoping to recapture my youthful skill; after all, I grew up on a coconut plantation. I wielded away with my cutlass but made a mess of it. At that moment my thoughts ran to my youthful days growing up in Smythfield, New Amsterdam, then a coconut plantation.
Situated on the north east of New Amsterdam, bordering Winkle and Vryman’s Erven, and the Canje Creek, Smythfield was formerly a Dutch sugar plantation. Remains of the sugar factory were still there in the sixties, until some enterprising fellows decided that these were worth more as scrap iron than for their historic value. There were some “Dutch tombs” there, rumoured to be the resting place of the owners of the old plantation.
Not everyone could locate those tombs which might still be there today. Some of the older folks claimed that they saw ghosts of Dutch women walking. However true that may have been, it was a place that spawned the unwritten rule, “No one goes into that location at night”. Unfortunately, I had to break that rule to go searching for some cows that did not come home.
I actually looked toward the tombs hoping to see some “Dutch people”. I did not see any ghosts but was greeted by literally thousands of mosquitoes. Only my “smoke pot” saved my blood from being sucked out of me.
The front section of the estate was dotted with hundreds of coconuts trees while the back portion which we called “building” (because of remnants of the old factory) were left to nature, and what a great job nature did.
Depending on the season you could find an abundance of fruits in “building”, be they mangoes, genips, star apple, monkey apple, custard apple, guavas, jamoon and an assortment of wild berries etc. The locations were a close kept secret among my friends, Danny, Doctor, his younger brother, Kingsley, and a few more in our circle.
Believe it or not, some of the poorer kids lived on fruits for their regular meals. Coconut trees were everywhere, so drinking water coconuts was a daily routine; we never considered it stealing from the estate. There were a number of drinkers but few climbers. I considered myself a strong climber, running up the tallest coconut tree bare footed, no rope or belt.
Climbing had its challenges like the time when while holding on the trunk with one hand while using the other to pick coconuts, a nest of ants filled my shirt. Now these were not ordinary ants; they were nearly an inch in size. Hanging some thirty five feet in the air you had no choice but to slide your way down in a hurry, bruising some very delicate body parts in the process.
On one occasion a snake stared me in the face as I was about to go into the branches. I decided that I had come too far to turn back and proceeded to climb, the snake decided to retreat half way on the branch allowing me to pick my coconut. However, I did not push my luck.
Smythfield estate was owned by one George Kardar, who kept a sharp lookout for anyone stealing his coconuts. The fifty-six residents rented their lots for $1.00 per month, but were not allowed to pick the coconuts. He later decided to sell part of the estate to residents who purchased their lots for $1000. This was in the sixties folks and $1000 was quite a bundle then.
A little history for the current residents; the earlier residents formed themselves into a Cooperative Society to purchase the estate. The founding executive members were Arthur Soman, President; Beauty Soman, Secretary; Buyo Primo, Treasurer; with Committee Members Pa Best, Sydney Jaundoo, Mr. Peter Maculay and Jugool Persaud .
Would you believe that the entire estate, which had over one hundred residents, had only one potable water pipe situated at the entrance of the estate? This meant that some residents had to walk over half a mile to fetch a bucket of water. It turns out that the then Town Clerk, Mr. Dow decided that some areas were not part of the town so the people were not entitled to the town water.
It was not until one of New Amsterdam’s best Mayors, Errol Alphonso, became Mayor, that Smythfield residents had running water in homes. His solution was simple, a joint self help effort between the New Amsterdam Town Council and the residents. Residents dug the trenches to lay the pipe and purchased one length of pipe while the Municipality provided the skilled labour and the rest of materials. Everyone was happy; the Council expanded its revenue base, while the residents enjoyed water in their homes. Today, Smythfield is a fully developed housing community, the front portion still called Smythfield, while the back portion is now Tucber, which was purchased from Kardar and developed into a housing scheme. The names were actually changed and the entire area should be called Kadarville after the former owner George Kardar. I believe that was the name in the Aubrey Barker plan.
Why it is not being called Kardarville may have to do with a prophecy I heard as a young boy.
It was said that the estate was “cursed” and that the owners will go blind and will lose everything, that Kardar’s grandchildren will one day travel down Smythfield road and can only say my grandfather had owned this plantation. This was told to me when I was about twelve-years old.
George Kardar’s mother and father did go blind. And George Kardar, owner of what could be described as nearly a quarter of the then New Amsterdam; would you really like to know what happened to him? He died homeless, penniless and a beggar in the streets of News Amsterdam-a true story.