Tuesday morning. 9:47 AM. Bourda Market.
You know the smell. The smell that is all the smells. Saltfish drying from a string. Sorrel from the woman who set up before sunrise. The Dixie cup man. Diesel from the truck that just back in. The bread from the man who cyaa stop singin’ a hymn while he wrappin’ it.
Back-a-Truck is here. Pen in hand. Notebook open. Watchin'.
SCENE ONE: THE NGSA PENCIL ECONOMY
There is a vendor at the corner of Robb and Orange Walk. He is not a regular vendor. I never seen him before. He just appear. This week.
He sellin’ pencils.
Just pencils.
$200 a piece.
Now. A pencil at the bookstore costs about $60.
I asked him: “Why $200?”
He looked at me. He took his time. He gestured at the entire street, where every parent in Region 4 was simultaneously realizin’ their child needed pencils, sharpeners, glucose, and a quiet space to study, and they had thirty-six hours to acquire all four.
He said: “Supply and demand, brother. NGSA week.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just held out a pencil. A woman bought three. No negotiation. She gone.
Back-a-Truck stood there for eleven minutes. He sold seventeen pencils. At $200 a piece. That is $3,400 in eleven minutes off a product he is buyin’ wholesale at maybe $30. The man is runnin’ a private sector. He is outperformin’ the GDP per capita projections in real time. Somebody from the Ministry of Finance need to come learn from him.
SCENE TWO: THE DISPLACED VENDOR SITUATION
Mayor Mentore went on record yesterday — Newsroom carried it — sayin’ the city is movin’ to provide an alternative space for the displaced vendors. The vendors who got cleared out from various spots around the city in the recent restructurin'.
I went to one of the spots. Where vendors used to be. There is now a barricade. There is also, right behind the barricade, a new vendor. Sellin’ the exact same things. To the exact same customers. Who walked the exact same route. Just eighteen feet to the left.
The economist would call this regulatory dispersion.
Back-a-Truck call it what was always going to happen.
The vendor who is now eighteen feet to the left looked at me when I walked past. He nodded. He said: “You buyin’ or watchin’?”
I said: “Watchin’.”
He said: “Watchin’ is free. But move from in front of the customer.”
He is correct. I moved.
SCENE THREE: THE MOBIL STATION GLANCE
Every Guyanese now have a particular thing they do when they pass a Mobil station. It started after the bombing. It continues now. We don’t talk about it. We don’t make eye contact. We just glance. Quick. Sideways. The way you glance at a thing you wish wasn’t there.
There is a Mobil station on Sheriff Street. I drove past it this morning. Six different drivers in the line of cars in front of me did the glance. Six. In a row. Same glance. Same head-tilt. Same don’t-want-to-acknowledge-but-cyaa-help-it.
We have collectively acquired a new gesture. The Mobil glance. Nobody taught us. We all just developed it together. This is what national trauma look like in a small country. We adapt in formation.
SCENE FOUR: THE THREE PHONES MAN
Stabroek Market. Outside the fish section. There is a man sittin’ on an upturned bucket. He has three phones laid out in front of him on a piece of cardboard.
One Digicel. One ENet. One that I genuinely did not recognize the network of.
All three rang within forty seconds.
The first one he picked up. He said: “Yes. Two. Tomorrow morning. Bourda side.” He hung up.
The second one he picked up. He said: “Auntie, I tellin’ you. The price gone up. Is not me. Is the wholesaler.” He hung up.
The third one he picked up. He listened for fifteen seconds. He said: “Bring it. I will look at it. If is good I will take it.” He hung up.
Back-a-Truck has no idea what business this man is in. All three phones rang again before I could finish writin’ this paragraph.
If this man is not in the next budget, we have wasted the budget.
SCENE FIVE: THE BAMBOO MAN
Newsroom segment yesterday — the Guyana Forestry Commission’s bamboo plantin’ project has officially commenced. “Piloting Bamboo for Restoration & Sustainable [land use].” Long initiative name. Important work.
I met a man on Camp Street who heard about it. He was very excited. Not for the environmental reasons. For the fishin’ rod reasons.
He said: “They growin’ bamboo? Free bamboo? When they finish, who I see for a piece?”
I tried to explain it was a restoration project. Long-term. Ecological.
He nodded politely. He said: “Yes. Yes. But who I see for a piece?”
This is Guyana, brother. Every national initiative is also a personal supply chain inquiry.
SCENE SIX: BACK-A-TRUCK SIGNIN’ OFF
The pencil man is now sold out.
The displaced-vendor-now-eighteen-feet-to-the-left has had four customers since I started writin'.
The three-phones man’s fourth phone — which I didn’t see before — just rang.
It is 10:34 AM. The country is workin’. Just not the way the press release describe it.
Back-a-Truck — out.
Back-a-Truck writes from inside the streets, the markets, and the back lanes. Caribbean + Africa, for the diaspora. The pencil man, the bamboo man, and the three-phones man are composites. Bourda Market is real and ongoing.
Sources: Newsroom Guyana (April 28, 2026 — Mayor Mentore on displaced vendors; GFC bamboo project launch); Kaieteur News (NGSA exam week confirmation).