1 What made Him?

He was a young man, around thirty five years old; tall and broad-shouldered. The ideal definition of beauty if not for the dirty, gray suit he always wore and a small briefcase which he carried. His briefcase seemed odd on his sturdy frame but he found it a necessity to keep his small notepad and badly chewed pen wherever he went. Why did he choose to carry what he termed as his essential? No one ever knew. His head sported a closely cropped style. With his elongated face and high cheekbones, he was a literal 'mango-head man'. Mango-head man was the name given to him by the young children in his neighborhood.

His smile however, though it was a rare occurrence was a sight to behold. It displayed a pair of perfect dimples. These rare smiles transformed his entire countenance and many young women were struck by his beauty during those rare occasions.

The man's name was John. He lived in a small town lost in the jungles of the rainforests in Guyana. The town was a pretty, rustic one filled with people who knew each other and can trace their families by generations. It sported one main road, though the road can only accommodate two vehicles at a time. Large trucks needed to pull over on the weed covered sidewalk for other vehicles to safely pass. There were several spots of sheer natural beauty but they were so underdeveloped, they were often overlooked by tourists, who, most times expects a highly developed region with picturesque destinations. Other than those places which are considered attraction sites by the locals, everything else was average. Houses lined the main road on both sides. All of the houses were neatly packed in small, unkempt fences that, at one time must have been pretty. Behind those houses were trees with thick undergrowth. A huge forest rose up after a mile as if the undergrowth had finally emerged, free of the people's grasping fingers. Birds and small animals made their homes in these areas.

John grew up in a very poor family. Going home in the evenings, he would be greeted with a bothersome younger sister, an overworked mother and a missing father.

His mother was a young woman who seemed permanently bitter after her husband had deserted her for another woman. She was not educated having dropped out of school at the tender age of fifteen to learn about housekeeping from her mother. She grew up in a household that strongly believed in the woman being a housewife and so, even though she was a really brilliant child, she was forced to give up her dream of becoming a doctor.

Taking care of two children had taken its toll on her once beautiful face. She wore her long, thick, black hair in a large bun atop her head. Her face was dotted with freckles. It showed up brightly against her golden skin. Her skin was wrinkled from the hard work she does out in the fields. Her dark eyes accentuated greatly with her round face and her small nose, seemed permanently cold and unforgiving except when she was around her children.

She worked as a farmer in a huge farm owned by her uncle and as such, was covered in soot from the burnt lands she ploughed and planted in. She was short in stature, seeming to be closer to four feet than five.

His younger sister was a small chubby girl of one. She had dark, almost black, bright, sparkling eyes that reflected everything. Her cheeks were two round globes of flesh that were that were a rosy colour even with her darkly- golden skin. Unfortunately, she was also very unkempt. She would be seen often wearing a dirty little dress, running barefooted in the yard of their small, one-bedroom house.

John, like most boys growing up in the town, spent his days running through the jungles of the town shooting unfortunate birds and small animals that happened to be in his sight. He was loud, rowdy and quickly approaching the age of schooling which begun at three years and six months.

Now, though it may be marveled at the age at which he was roaming unsupervised, It was considered to be quite old to be doing something like that. Children knew of everything to do with survival at the age of two. They were taught to hunt, fish, farm and cook at such a tender age because of the harsh conditions in which they live. A three year old child could have accompanied their parents on a hunting trip and caught animals just as expertly as the adults. They had the knowledge of the various types of bushes; their names, uses and side effects. They could track an animal by its trail. They can tell if an animal had crossed a specific path, how long ago it was, what the gender of the animal was, what type of animal it was, how much it weighs and how to trap it. Many parents spent their time working in offices, farms or wherever they can to provide for their families. The children are taught these survival skills by their grandparents or members of the community in case they get lost or somehow ends up away from their families.

For John, it wasn't his mother who taught him this, but his neighbor. His neighbor was an old, negro man with thick, matted hair on his head. He had a kind face and a wide mouth made for smiling. His eyes twinkled merrily whenever he laughed. And he had a huge nose, marred by a slight crook from some long ago fight and a badly mended broken bone. His face was unlined even though he was quickly approaching his sixties. He had hard hands and feet, toughened from years of hard labour. His feet were so hard, he found the need for a footwear frivolous especially in and around his home. He can walk on thorns without flinching. In fact, the thorns were always found embedded in the tough skin of the soles of his feet.

He was always dressed in a pair of old, threadbare pants which met his strong, muscled calves with rows of patches. His pants clung on feebly by a belted knot from a strong tree bark called "Mahoe". Mahoe is a special type of treebark. It can be taken from the trees in long strips that cannot break easily. Left out to dry, it becomes a beautiful shade of mahogany, with a smooth texture. It almost reminds John of leather. When his neighbor wore it, it resembled a beautiful leather belt that tied with a small, neat knot and hung in strips down his front.

His t-shirts fared no better than the pants. They were stretched beyond their capability and hung loosely on his strong muscled physique. The holes in the shirt were so numerous and sometimes so large, it seemed as if he wore none at all.

The man went by the name of Sparrow. He was named after a small black bird, with graceful flight and a beautiful sound. The name contrasted vastly with the man in general as he was a man of large stature and a loud scratchy voice. When John had once asked him of the origin of his name, he laughed and said; "My boy, I sing a lot. I sing at home and for companionship when I head out to the river. The people then saw it fit to call me Sparrow. I don't mind the name, but you, my child, can call me Uncle Spar."

Uncle Spar was a pork knocker who came to the region to search for gold. He found none. Instead of going back home, he decided to stay and build himself a house. For a living, he hunted with a homemade gun, unlicensed but trusted by the law enforcers, he would head deep into the forest to hunt wild pigs and other wild animals; he fished in very tiny canoe, famously nicknamed the 'whipsnake' due to its size; and cut wild cabbage from the forests.

He was always by himself, only interacting with little John because he liked him.

Uncle Spar was also a storyteller. Late at nights; John, trusted by his mother, would sit in Uncle Spar's house and listen to old folktales passed down through generations. It was during these nights, John learnt about the Makanaima, a supreme being, which lives in the Jungles of Guyana. He also learnt of the Water mama, old Higue, Kanaima, jumbie, massacuruman, bush dai dai, moon gazer, brer rabbit, brer tiger, brer Anansi and so many other traditional beliefs.

And it was this old man that provided him with a role model. He always wished to be like Uncle Spar when he grew up. When he learnt Uncle Spar was not educated in a school, he vowed he would never go to school too.

But alas, his plans did not fall through.

On his first day in Nursery, which was three houses away from where he lived, he cried and screamed and threw a tantrum so great that the teacher had to lock all the doors and windows of the small, wooden classroom for fear of his escaping. His classmates, though they were afraid of suddenly having to leave their parents, were less dramatic in their displays. Soon they were all laughing and playing merrily around the room. Everyone that is, except little John. Sitting pitifully in a corner, he was the first child who ever attended that school that required four healthy twelve year olds and a grown male teacher to restrain him. Before long, he had soiled his beautiful little uniform so badly, that his mother had to be called to take him home. Such was his introduction to the education system.

It took weeks for him to finally understand and accept that he would be sent to school whether he wished to be sent or not. So, every morning he trudged behind his mother with his uniform neatly pressed and his head hung in defeat.

One unforgettable Monday, he realized school may not be as bad as he had imagined because a new teacher had been employed and soon, he grew attached to his pretty, teacher, whose kind smile always makes him feel all mushy inside; her lilting voice as she read stories that painted pictures of magical lands and good princes seemed mesmerizing and her neat classroom filled with wooden boats, wooden toy robots and other toys he could never seem understand was a treasure cove. He would rush out his bed and dress as fast as his little hands can manage, fill his mouth with cassava bread and rush off to school forgetting that his mother, who was supposedly his chaperone on the streets, had to accompany him to school. As such, he was the most untidy little boy you can imagine.

Uncle Spar, though still living next door, was no longer his role model, and he never visited the old man anymore. Long forgotten were the stories he had listened to on those nights in Uncle Spar's house. Instead, his head was filled with kings and princes from other parts of the world. He wanted to be a prince and so, with hair that badly needed combing and skin so caked in dirt you can see the clumps of mud congealing on his skin, John always sat in the front row and answered all the questions his teacher thought to ask.

Years passed and John entered high school. Uncle Spar has long since moved on into the great unknown. Forgotten by his little friend, he died quietly in his sleep. All the years of knowledge going to sleep with him. John wasn't even present at his funeral but had somewhere along the way during those long years, learnt a small sense of hygiene. A brilliant boy of twelve, dressed in his burgundy and white uniform, he was reminding his mother more and more of his departed father. Tall, sturdily built and handsome with his long black hair styled to suit his long, smooth face, he was heart stopping. His body had matured long before his years so he seemed closer to fourteen than twelve. Full of dreams and promises, he sat in his very first class in high school.

Even his worst nightmares however, had not prepared him for his first day. His teacher was different. Gone were the days of friendly teachers and caring friends, instead the man standing before them dressed in a pleated, unkempt shirt and an oversized pants, was just as lost as they were. He stammered through a lesson on sets, frequently consulting his books, asking questions at the end. As usual, John was quick to return the answers but as he responded to his teacher, the atmosphere around him had changed. There were snickers behind him.

By breaktime, John felt something had changed. His classmates who had studied with him for over five years had changed. They began grouping together. Cliques were beginning to form. The geeks were bonding, the popular ones were already actively looking for people to recognize them, the quiet ones were bonding but John, to his dismay had felt the change too late. He was the only outcast.

He walked into classrooms alone, he left alone; while walking home from school, he was alone. John saw how others like him were being treated so to protect himself, he began to pull into himself.

Conscious of his status in the school, he became careful with his actions. He hardly ever voiced opinions but when he did, it was an opinion given to him by others. He refused any role that would make him seem outstanding; even his performance level dropped.

For five years, his brilliance faltered, kept in through fear of ridicule. Slowly, like a sponge left too long in harsh weather, his mind grew tough and he gradually forgot most of the dreams he had. Those that remained were so clogged with cynicism and hopelessness, he discarded them like the trash lying by the roadside of his past. He was no longer bright and full of life, his shoulders had drooped as if weighted with all the problems in the world. He hardly smiled anymore.

And it was with this mindset, he entered the working world. If asked, his boss would describe him as slow and undependable.

He sat at his desk all day and stared at computer monitors, typing letters and filing documents; most of which were so full of errors, he had to redo them more than three times before they was approved. He was generally being a less than average secretary with a low salary scale. He had no wish to leave his little, comfortable hometown for anything so all plans for furthering his education or building a better life were beyond him.

He dressed in an effort to blend in with his surroundings. He marred his beauty with a badly styled hair, dirty clothes and general unkempt behaviour to ensure he never be chosen for anything that might put him in the limelight.

If you could have peeked into his brain, you would be greeted with a blank wall; with no thoughts other than those placed there by others and faint traces of long ago nights and stories told by his neighbor in his little wooden house a stone-throw away from John's.

Seeing all he went through, it is hard to imagine a person wouldn't crumble especially when faced with adversaries he had no control of from such a tender age. Since it was no secret, his family and friends understood and accepted him; treating him as normal as they dared without making him uncomfortable. It is with this John, our story begins.