Author: Sara Bharrat

Sara Bharrat is a Democracy & Governance professional and communication consultant. She has over ten years of experience in media and communication and over 7 years of civil society service. Sara has served as the Vice President of Transparency Institute of Guyana Inc. (Transparency International), supported the initial set-up of the Electoral Reform Group and has been recognized for her writings on race, identity and politics in Guyana. Currently, she is reading for her Master’s in Electoral Policy and Administration (MEPA) and is committed to learning about electoral reform processes and frameworks.
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Women, when you show your mid-section on Facebook you’re a dangle…

The infamous photo of my mid-section Last night a young woman tried to kill herself because a man dissed her body. This morning I took a picture which exposed my mid-section, the part of my body I’m most uncomfortable with, and I posted it on Facebook. Tonight, I was called a dangle (whore). What was the point of the picture? I hoped that by being … Continue reading Women, when you show your mid-section on Facebook you’re a dangle…

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Dear Man-Who-Works-With-Hands

Dear Man-Who-Works-With-Hands: Life only gets harder and time is a wench who tricks us into believing that things will be different as we grow older. The harder we try to avoid certain outcomes, the more certain is our arrival at that destination. So what’s the secret to happiness? I’ve found that happiness is as easy as what we choose. Like right now, I’ve chosen to … Continue reading Dear Man-Who-Works-With-Hands

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“She has witnessed…”

Is it really pinker than usual? Old, weathered, beaten, the golden apple tree stands in my backyard. Her leaves dance in the morning breeze like singing kites in the Easter sky. Grey clouds hustle across the clear blue but still the sun fights to make my world a place of vivid greens, yellows and splashes of pink. The bougainvillea is a beacon of pink brightness. … Continue reading “She has witnessed…”

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We remember moments, Not days

So many days, hundreds of them were murdered by my weak human memory. And yet, somehow, so many moments remain, preserved, immortalized deep, deep in me. It’s a festival of playbacks in my head; a festival where all these moments attack at once. As I live here now I’m not really alive. I’m never alive unless I live in those moments which keep living deep, … Continue reading We remember moments, Not days

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