A huge fellow in Medusa-like dreadlocks and Adidas sportswear holds out a painted wooden birdcage. Perched inside, so small as to be almost invisible, is a brown bird. The owner lets us peer through the bars: the bird has a red beak and liquid brown eyes like maple syrup. Peep, cheep, it calls faintly.
Goliath isn’t selling tweety-bird, he’s displaying it. A moment later, another big guy, in a silver track suit, strides between us and hoists his own caged sparrow skyward, giving the other man’s a look of fierce disdain. Their mute posturing is unmistakable: they are haughty rivals, showing off, ready to do battle.
“The rackle?”
“They have some secret way of judging which bird sings the most melodically, and they compete like crazy men. You get these men who spend big on a little bird, and if their wives find out, they get mad: ‘What? You spent all that money on a dam’ bird? An’ nothin’ on me? What you take me for — your dam’fool?’ ” Junior’s recital is so pitch-perfect it must be based on personal experience.
Now I can see them everywhere, these proud bird warriors of Stabroek Market, all wearing gold watches and athletic tank tops. They’re collecting and facing off against each other. The presence of the birdmen in the busy, ramshackle square is incongruous: large-shouldered men doused in bootleg aftershave, all sporting mirrored sunglasses, Nike runners, and intricately coiffed dos, and each demurely holding a filigreed birdcage as if it’s a designer handbag.
Inside the tin-roofed warren of a market building, the stall vendors are relaxed and friendly. Many are selling pirated CDs and counterfeit clothes. Elephant Man or Shaggy, two US dollars, take your pick. Men’s Calvin Klein underwear, four bucks; Dockers khakis, twelve. The poly-wrapped bags of unshelled peanuts, at thirty-five cents, look dubious.
Des, a birdcage vendor of East Indian descent, sits alone in his stall, itself a barred cage. He’s surrounded by scores of the handmade wood-and-wire contraptions. A customer picks carefully through his stock of fresh green seed grass: food for the champs. Des says the trick is making the cage bars open enough so the bird can be displayed, but narrow enough to prevent the tiny prisoner from escaping. Junior adds that Guyana has a whole craft industry devoted to the birds’ capture and training.
According to one method, the enterprising trapper sets a caged male seed finch in a shady, treed spot at the margin of the grasslands and waits patiently for its peeping to attract a rival male to his net, earning maybe eight American dollars for each one caught. The trappers must be getting good, because in 2002 the Iwokrama International Centre for Rain Forest Conservation and Development in central Guyana began a research project to study the national songbird trade after locals complained the two main species were declining.
Comments