The Mas We Knew Grenada Carnival was always a colorful and enjoyable affair. It still is, but the days of the big costumed bands of the 1960s are gone! We used to stand and stare in awe as the wonderfully clad masqueraders happily danced on the streets. The mind-boggling headpieces and the creative art of the wire benders always thrilled us. The names Away, John Bruno, Patterson, and Ken Sylvester will always be remembered for their ability to portray historical mas that brought buccaneers, pirates and even Julius Caesar back to life. We remember George Croney for his contribution to the growth of the steel pan music in Grenada. Carnival was a serious affair that sent people searching all over Belmont and Springs for sheepskin or bulls horns to play in the Viking band. My earliest recollection of Carnival was the occasion I stood with my mother and brothers in a little spot near the Health Center on Melville Street. I looked on in amazement as wild Indians with their fancy feathers formed a circle and hopped around like the Hopi and Apache Indians of North America. I also saw the Jab Jab with his red tongue, horn and little black box. I heard that Jab Jab chant: “Who lay we lambay Who lay we la Ah want ah penny To pay me passage To go back to hell And ah hungry like hell The Jab Jab walked around frightening little children. Some of them had posies on their heads, chains around their waists, and snakes around their necks. The Jab Jab used to stray miles away from the bacchanal with his little dolly in the black box asking people to put ah change in the box to see what was inside. Sometimes a snake lay inside the box. While the jab jab did they thing, the shortknee with his mirrors and powder was raising his feet high in the air and attracting attention. Those were the days of the mud masks. I can still remember shaping the clay or mud to create a very gruesome face. We used newspapers to plaster onto the mud face before putting the mask to dry in the sun. When the mask was dried, we separated it form the mud and painted it. There was ah fella we called Mud Mask who did not have to wear ah mask at all. Carnival was excitement; indeed, great fun. The ole mas was a spectacle many looked forward to. It was the platform for the ingenious and creative mind. A few years ago, I saw my friend Café Bull portray a banana tree on the Carenage and his impressive talent amazed me. I often marveled at the fun the masqueraders were able to poke at the politicians and other people in the society during the Jourvert celebration. Some of the slogans were more into the realm of what Grenadians termed commonness, but Carnival always had a touch of that. It was not unusual then for someone to play Ivan Wood. Ivan Wood was a popular clothing store in St. George’s. All one needed was ah big piece ah wood to portray Ivan Wood. Similarly, Jonas Browne (ooops! Jon arse Browne) was easy to play. All ah fella had to do was paint his bam bam brown. If you wanted to make people laugh like they caught ah glad, it was good to play “The Police force.” All that called for was for someone to dress like ah police and sit down on a poe and keep bawling urgggggggggggggh! It was never a good idea to force too hard for reasons that were obvious. A baldheaded man with lines drawn on his head and a newspaper in his hand was a good example of the headline news. Some of the best ole mas portrayals with the placards and all took place in Gouyave. A man ran around with a lighted torch playing Herbert Blaize. Another with a hose spraying water on a gate played Watergate. Ah fella put ah bowl on his face and his cardboard sign reminded us that ”Gouyave people bowl face.” Another pretended he was marking words on a tire. He played McIntyre . And one must not forget the man with the wheelbarrow filled with grass. He was pushing grass. Truly, the ole mas was geared to make people think and laugh at the same time. The thrill was the big mas bands on Market Hill. Market Hill was once decked with cobbled stones just like Cooper Hill. The stones originated from the rivers. Then they paved it. The paved hill made it easier for the revelers to do their stuff on Carnival Monday. I remember the big Carnival bands on Market Hill and their kaleidoscopic display. I can still visualize the spectacularly attired masqueraders as they pranced and swayed in the full embrace of the afternoon sun. Their arrival on the top of the hill was perfectly timed to allow the sun to bring out the magnificent sparkle of satin, shiny beads and candlefloss. The crowds lined the sides of the hill and some stood at the bottom, but all anxiously awaited the men, women and children in the big mas bands. They waited on Flag Wavers of Sienna and the many colors. They looked on as a huge wooden guillotine on wheels from the band, The French Revolution made its way down Market Hill. They observed the slaves in the band Fall of the Roman Empire as they struggled with a chariot on Market Hill. The crowds noted the drunken sailors in their spotless white leggo to the infectious sounds of the steel drums. They saw the sailors put their hands around each other and sway from one side of Market Hill to the other. And they witnessed the excitement on the faces on the Zulu warriors clad in their African garb holding their shields and spears as they frolicked on Market Hill. On Carnival Tuesday night the tempo heated up. The sound of steel echoed throughout the St. Georges capital. Melville Street and the area near BuyRite supermarket were ram-crammed with men and women in tight embrace. They danced, they wined and cawayed as panmen pounded the tenor pan like the devil in rage. Some people calmly chipped to the beat. The chip was a slow graceful movement with the feet keeping perfect harmony with the music. As the night wore on, a few tired panmen left the stands that carried the pans and joined the jump-up. It was time for them to squeeze the remaining juice from the Carnival before the Carnival curtain folded. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 09:59:13 +0000
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