Christmas in Guyana

Other Christmas festivals paled in comparison to the simplicity and sincerity of my Christmas amonth the Patamona people of Kurukabaru

By Miriam Wheeler
December 2007

Return to Table of Contents
Print Article

A steady rain fell on the first day of the Christmas Novena. As I manipulated the lock on the front gate, trying to hold my umbrella upright, a family of three approached, huddled under one umbrella on their way to the early morning Mass.

The Patamona people of the village of Kurukabaru gather in the early morning h ourse for the Christmas novena. For Scarboro missioner Miriam Wheeler (far right), it was an experience she would never forget.

I walked the two short blocks to Holy Rosary Church, the early signs of dawn hovering on the horizon, and turned the corner onto David Street. Soft strains of organ music could be heard in the distance. I heard the melody of the Portuguese song Bemdita Sejaes and then those beautiful words:

O blest are you Mary,
Our faith is your glory.
Your “yes” to the Most High
Is Salvation’s story.
(Luke 1:38; 11:27-28)

Despite the early hour, the church was packed. Women wore hats to cover uncoiffed hair, young children snuggled close to Daddy for warmth, and yawning young people imagined the few lost hours of sleep before school. Yet the sense of community and oneness was prevalent.

With each day of the Novena, I became more accustomed to the beauty of the tradition and its relevance in preparing for the birth of the Christ Child. Each morning a different celebrant imparted a jewel of understanding to help in our preparation.

My Scarboro teammate Kate O’Donnell and I had planned to celebrate Christmas with Maxine Bell, another member of our mission team who lived in the Pakaraimas Mountains among the indigenous people in the village of Kurukabaru. I was really looking forward to the trip, but saddened that I would not complete the Novena where I live in Kitty.

Our first morning in Kurukabaru, we were awakened by the sound of a bell at 4:30 a.m. The church sits on a hill some distance up from the village, so there were three bells notifying the people that Mass was about to begin. We at the presbytery had only to roll out of bed and find our clothing in the pitch dark, so we could ignore the first bell. However, the villagers had the long trek up the hill in the darkness. It was hauntingly beautiful to see the tiny specks of stars moving up the hill as the people approached with flashlights.

Jesuit Father Paulose and Cornelius, parish lay associate.

The church was sparsely decorated as it was Advent. In front of the altar stood a narrow board anchored upright in an empty tin of Milex Milk Powder with one bare light bulb shockingly illuminating the darkness.

Again I was amazed at the number of people who attended. Young children sat with their arms tucked inside their shirts or wrapped around their torso for warmth. The choir and two guitarists were in wonderful voice considering the time of day, and the congregation truly celebrated with word and song.

The next morning, Mass would be celebrated at the Community Centre in the village so that young mothers with babes as well as the elderly could attend. Now Kate, Maxine and I, along with Jesuit Father Paulose, as it was his first Advent in the Pakaraimas, were to experience the same difficulties as these mountain people in attending the early morning Novena. We could not roll over and wait for the second bell this day, but found ourselves picking our way down the hill endeavouring to locate a smooth rock on which to tread.

The ordeal was well worth the effort. I don’t think I will ever forget that Mass. Sitting there that morning I sensed that this was “a keeper experience.” The altar was a plain wooden table and on the right corner sat a battery to provide energy for the one light bulb. We were offered seats on the few benches drawn up around the altar. Most people sat on the floor. Behind us were a number of women all with babes in arms, hungrily feeding at the breast. There were also many elderly who had not been able to make it up the hill to the church for yesterday’s Mass.

This was my first Christmas without some member of my family. My daughter Tonya and her husband Bryce were anticipating the arrival of their third child any day and I was prepared to experience tears and loneliness. But I found that all other Christmas festivals paled in comparison to the simplicity and the sincerity of my Christmas among the Patamona People of Kurukabaru.

Return to Table of Contents
Print Article