LONDON — I remember exactly when the messages began in earnest.

In January 2017, on a visit back to Guyana, the former British colony where I was born, I casually revealed to my distant cousins that I was on WhatsApp.

I had spent years away, going to college and navigating adulthood in New York. We promised to stay in touch. We were family, bonded. No separations could break that.

Soon after I returned home to New York, the first message landed with a “PING!” at full volume, a few hours after I had drifted off, exhausted from a hectic night in the newsroom.

It read: “Gm.”

At first I was startled. I was in a different time zone and worked weird hours. No one had contacted me from the 592 country code that late before via text. I snatched the glowing phone off a chair beside the bed and tapped out a reply.