Story and photos by Ruth Parsons
Having danced to the music in the street in J’ouvert many times during our extended stay in Trinidad, it has become my favorite part of carnival. J’ouvert is the true free up, the opening of the carnival celebration, at daybreak on Monday morning. But this particular year is something different. I am playing steel drums on a truck for J’ouvert morning celebration.
We leave the marina at 2 AM, and head to Harvard Harps Steel Pan Yard in St. James. Stopping for a police check on the road, we wonder if we will reach the pan yard on time, but need not worry, the Pod arrives early; eventually the Harvard Harps band members drift in, on Trini time. The revelers or fans, who will jump up (dance) to our music in the street beside our truck, drift in, and we all costume ourselves with cloth. Sonia shows up with a bucket of chocolate to rub on our skin. We slather ourselves. We are ready for the road.
There are about 25 of us, counting the “riddim” section, a bunch of guys who hang out in the back of the truck with “riddim” instruments, drink a lot of rum and keep a good rhythm for the songs. We are a mixed bunch in color and origin – Portuguese, Chinese, African, Indian, and English. Many Trinidadians who live abroad come back every year for carnival to play in their old Trini neighborhoods.
Getting ready to go on the road has been a frantic dive to the finish. The truck has to be prepared — nailing down the floor boards, building a drum riser, screwing the drums to the floor, etc., so scramble, scramble. Meanwhile we are trying to fine tune our song for the competition. Six new players show up from Japan and we stop and teach them the song.
“A Guam”
It’s 4 AM, and all painted up with chocolate and decorated with cloth, we climb on the truck with our pans.
Our truck is a school bus chassis pulled by a tractor which is hooked with a hitch, but alas, the bolt that holds the hitch together is too small. It’s four in the morning, and we are in a mess, a Guam, as they say in Trinidad. The guys try wire and any number of other things to hold the hitch together. Nothing works. In desperation, they finally settle on an old T-shirt and tie the hitch to the truck with it! I am looking at that T-shirt hitch and thinking to myself, are we nuts?? Are we going to get on this truck and go all over Port o’ Spain on a truck tied to the tractor with a T-shirt? An Appalachian Mountain expression comes to mind. If my brain were put into a J bird, would it fly backwards?
But we climb aboard and here we go, playing drums in the dark on a truck tied together with a T-shirt, waiting for the dawn to appear so we can actually see our pans. Finally, we turn the truck around amid wall-to-wall people in the street (a challenging feat!) and make our way to Ariapita Ave. True to the spirit of the band, the truck is equipped with a full bar and bartender. As we stare at the T-shirt, George says to me, “There are some things you can’t do sober,” and hands me my first swig of rum from the bottle at 4:30 AM.
Playing for the People
We are playing our hearts out for the people in the street who are dancing and waving, smiling, celebrating. What a sight! In spite of the power of the sound trucks with the big entertainers, the people in the street still dance and wave appreciation for the pan music.
Folks give thumbs up. Some of them comment on what a bunch of old people we are. What a kick! Some of us are getting on in years, and we are making good music! We pass by Victoria Square, the first competition, at around 7:30 AM. Three and a half hours down Ariapita Avenue lined with carnival revelers, we play our competition song for nearly nine minutes for the judges and after a count of four, play it again as off we go down the street. From there, we head on downtown to play at the next competition site. I am painted and dressed in elaborate colors, performing in front of hundreds of people on the street. Some of my performance genes are activated. It’s as close to diva as I will get.
The ride is anything but smooth. I have to station my feet wide apart and brace for the starts and stops. It is a lot like a small catamaran on the sea. You don’t get sleepy. We duck down when going under electrical or phone wires dangling down from their poles. Like my mother said, I am a long way from Rough Creek.
It’s now nearly noon, about eight hours into this. The J’ouvert revelers are thinning out, heading home for some sleep. They walk slowly, but still get in one last “chip” (dance) as our truck works its way back to the Harvard club. Every bone in my body hurts.
What a way to experience J’ouvert, the opening of carnival! What a lot of energy expended! What a thrill to see the streets filled with people, and a wave of bobbling bodies and heads! It is the people’s carnival, and a glorious free up. We cannot wait for next year. The Pod wears gentle smiles the rest of the day and night and the following weeks, and to some extent, forever.
Ruth and George Parsons sailed their catamaran, Makaru, for 20 winter seasons, from the west coast of Florida to Trinidad and Tobago, where they stored their boat during the summers, and learned to play steel drums with local Carnival bands. Ruth was a Fulbright Scholar at the University of the West Indies in St. Augustine, Trinidad. Her memoir, A Long Way from Rough Creek, captures many of their adventures up and down the island chain, as well as other events.
