We have all heard the familiar mantra. University of Guyana graduates spend 3-5 years working in Guyana's work force and somewhere between "god, I have more bills than salary" and "sorry sir we're closed at 1:00 so the cashier can balance before quitting time", you either start researching your canadian self-sponsorship options or get chummy with mom and dad in the States.
Living in Guyana is not for the weak of heart, definitely. But the rate at which young professionals are migrating is alarming. Often I imagine myself sitting alone in a huge, empty white building with the faint electronic light from my computer as my only comfort.
This week a close colleague announced her imminant departure. The count is currently at 5 this year for the amount of close persons who have migrated either to the United States or Canada. This last announcement particularly hit me hard since this colleague has been the glue that kept our office gang together. Being able to look at your work mates as family rather than just colleagues is a distinct privilege and one that's only for few lucky folks. So when migration rears its ugly head and threatens to forever change yet another close union I take offense. Yet, there's simply nothing I can do. Green pastures, higher paying jobs and reliable water supply; how can I be sad when my colleague is off to a better life. But as this phenomenon of migration continues to thrive, how many of us are asking the serious questions? What happens to those who still stay on? What psychological effects will remain long after the tearful farewells? What happens to a country's work force and economy if there is a consistent exodus of qualified professionals leaving its shores at the peak of their youth.
Many of you may shrug at the idea that watching your colleagues and friends disappear down the check- in line may leave mental scars. But think about it. For those of us who have yet to snuggle up to the idea of migrating, the constant departure of people we genuinely care about will after time leave an empty feeling or worse make us resistant to creating long lasting relationships since the people we care about always leave for greener pastures.
I find myself reflecting on some life decisions after my friend brought the sad news. After all, she was the patriot of the group. When we saw uninviting black water, she saw something more rich and satisfying than any blue water and white sand paradise could ever offer. When we saw a tattered piece of sea defense, she saw what should be a major tourist attraction, a "seawall" - rich in culture and history and possible on par with the Great Wall of China. Yes, did I tell you she's also the comedian of the group?
Long after the farewells and all the well wishing. A moment will come when the few remaining friends will reflect on what can never happen again. The lunch dates, the sporadic laughter and the Christmas shopping are now only memories. Migration leaves a bitter taste on the tongues of those who remain. No matter who you are, seeing a close friend depart familiar shores leaves one empty, maybe for a few days, months even, but the emptiness is certainly real.
Those losing family members to migration perhaps have a rough time coming to grips with the inevitable loneliness. But for those leaving, it is finally realizing what Dorothy felt like walking through that black and white door into technicolour splendour. Well, until reality hits and they realise the true cost of migration and how expensive that reliable water supply really is and the land lord turns out to be the wicked witch of the west.
But on departure day the feelings are very different. Every Guyanese can recount the famous airport scene. They dress in their very best. Every shiny skirt, every glttered heel is brought out for the big moment at the airport. No, I'm not talking about the individual about to embark. I'm talking about those family members who accompany them to the airport to say their final goodbyes. The celebration of a loved one migrating is now officially a Guyanese tradition, and many wear their Sunday finest for just such a moment. Why? This calls for a long psychological analysis. But it is reality. Migrating to the U.S. or Canada is the pinnacle of achievement for many; the next best thing to marrying the doctor (with his own Clinic of course). The dress parade is just a part of the celebration as those left behind wait their turn for the all important "papers to come through". Until then, they'll feast, drink and toast to the lucky family member who will go before them and start the process for the entire family to migrate.
But is this the reality for those of us residing in a developing country? We go through each day, many longing for the opportunity of a better life; many missing those who would have already "graduated". Are we simply slaves to the idea of a better life in the developed world? Are we to endure farewell after farewell until the pressure mounts and we finally download that canadian self sponsorship form.
I will miss my friend. But I'm happy she made the move since the world she's about to join will bring her more professional satisfaction than Guyana could ever offer someone with her talent and education. Her emotional satisfaction is still up in the air; but I know she will thrive in her career.
So will migration make me another of its victims? I'm certainly not the patriot of the group. But I've experienced a lot in my late 20's and one thing is clear about the idea of migrating - reliable water service isn't everything.
Talk 2 Me: timothya@gol.net.gy Facebook: Tyga Austin
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