By Johnny Coomansingh
As far back as my memory serves me, my family moved from my birthplace, Oropouche Road, to reside at Cemetery Street, Sangre Grande. We called the Cul-De-Sac Cemetery Street because there wasn’t a street name sign and the road ended on the southern side of the Foster Road Cemetery. I was just about three and a half years old when we came to live there. For whatever reasons and “circumstances,” our stay on Cemetery Street was very short-lived. Many are the stories told about our experiences living so close to Foster Road Cemetery, but that rant is for another story.
At this age, I first came to know that there was an event known as carnival in Trinidad. My recollections about carnival in Sangre Grande was during the late 1950s to early 1960s. My mother, industrious as she was, became the seamstress to sew mas clothes for the little “Wild Indian” band that congregated over the road. Shiny turmeric colored satin cloth was the base material for the outfits that were embellished with sequins, mirrors, braids and frills. She made the trousers and the tops for both men and a couple women who hung around the mas camp. The work on the fancy and complex feathered headpieces was meticulous, accurate and amazing. The men spent days and long nights working on several headpieces. Wooden tomahawks were painted black with a silver edge. This gave one the feeling that the “weapon” was very sharp.
On Carnival Monday (Lundi Gras), at around noon, the beautiful array of coloured feathers and glitter was a welcome sight for a child. What was troubling to me were the shouts, shrieks, and piecing cries of the Wild Indians. The beauty of the masquerade became a frightening spectre for any little child. With the utterances of such haunting sounds, fear enveloped my soul as the masqueraders filed past our house on carnival day. In the eyes of the adults, the procession was a grand, wonderful, and delightful sight, but my thoughts were elsewhere. The masqueraders knew I was afraid and my best defense was to hide under a bed or behind a door.
Despite my fear of “mas” I took the chance to go along with one of my elder sisters to see mas in Cunapo, the Central Business District (CBD) of Sangre Grande. On our way from Cemetery Street, there was an encounter on Buckmire Hill on the Ojoe Road. We were heading south to the Eastern Main Road (EMR) when a group of Jab-Jab masqueraders accosted us. About four or five of the masqueraders faces covered with wire masks, dressed in colourful clothes made of black, yellow and red stripes complemented with leggings and alpagat sandals stopped us in our tracks.
The problem for me was the cracking of the whips they carried. Although my sister told me that they would not hurt us, I was scared stiff. I cried incessantly while looking all around my sister for a place to hide. Nevertheless, the threat subsided and the men walked away. I was happy again.
When we arrived at the corner of the Eastern Main Road (EMR) and Ojoe Road, the area around the roundabout adjacent to the Victorian-styled police station was beginning to “heat up.” Noise of the drums coming from the rusty galvanized enclosure (gayelle) at the corner of Foster Road and Toco Road signaled that stick-fighting was in session. There were people on the outside of the fence peeping through little nail holes to catch a glimpse of the sweat, bloodshed, and bacchanal inside. People were going in and out of the gayelle and I wondered why some were bleeding. The bloodletting was another frightful moment for me.
Standing on the western side of Foster Road under the rusted galvanized awning of the Chow Lin On building which housed a bakery, an “everything store” and a panside, now known as the Cordettes Steel Orchestra, I looked up in amazement at another specter; the cornbirds. Although the sound of the drums echoed in the city, what caught my attention was the noisy flock of cornbirds (Psarocolius decumanus) that flew back and forth to their pendulous nests that swayed in the breeze. The cornbirds found a safe home in the huge pink poui (Tabebuia rosea) tree that stood in front of the police station. This scene to me was most alluring and I just stood there gazing at the birds. I was in my own little world; a happy moment that I enjoyed. My mind, for a moment, was not involved in the festivities.
As a child, mas in di “Cunaps” to me was more or less a frightful experience. While I disliked the noise, the beating of the drums, the hustle and bustle of the steelbands, the bedlam and leering faces of the masqueraders, I wondered how people could walk so easily so high up in the air. They were not as adorned as those we see today, but the moko-jumbies I saw amazed me. To me this was a time outside of time. There was too much going on for me to absorb at one time. Everything was happening simultaneously. Black masked bats, and devil mas with their springy pig-like tails banging on “pitch-oil” tins seemed like they were everywhere.
That’s the real scary part. We stood up and we watched the masqueraders, Fancy Sailors, War Mas, Moko Jumbies, Jab-Jabs, Wild Indians, and Burrokeets parading back and forth from the police station to the center of Cunapo. Amidst the bedlam and glorious “confusion,” the sellers of ice cream and other goodies such as roti, puloorie, toolum, coconut sugar cakes, sponge cakes, sandwiches, cotton candy, bene balls, press (a syrupy snowball made from shaved ice) and mauby were everywhere in this complex moment of apparent mayhem. This was organized disorganization. The fear of fights among “Bad Johns” (A Bad John is a man willing to use violence and who likes being known as a dangerous person; a ruffian) was ever present.
Masqueraders and bystanders with eyes peeled were always on the alert for a fracas or battle. Bad Johns would come out in their numbers at carnival time to “fix up” their rivals that they couldn’t catch during the normal days of the year.
A little older now, maybe six or seven years old, I found myself in the company of my mother on Carnival Tuesday standing on the roadside in front of the Pioneer Pharmacy in Cunapo. To give an exact location, opposite to the pharmacy was The Red Store. I was no longer afraid. I was a big boy now. A band of masqueraders, mainly fancy sailors and a steelband was passing at the same time.
Everything was calm or what I imagined the moment to be. The next thing I knew, bottles were being thrown into the crowd; bloodshed! A fight broke out and people were scampering in all directions for safe cover. My mother hastily grabbed my hand and told me to run. She banged on the doors of the drugstore calling out: “Miss Raymond, Miss Raymond, open the door! Fight! Fight! Fight!” I cannot remember if Miss Raymond came to our rescue or if we got into the drugstore.
All I knew was that I was not going back to Cunapo for any carnival after that episode. Nevertheless, I did go back to the Cunaps for Carnival Tuesday with my godmother. My mother, who had summarily joined a Sabbath-keeping church, stopped going to the Cunaps for carnival. I was about ten or eleven years old and she was not too happy that I went to see Mas with my godmother. I think that it was the last time I went anywhere to see Mas.
However, I loved looking at the Maypole dancers in front of Capil’s Furniture Store. The burrokeets continued their nifty dances in front of Basdeo Sinanan’s grocery just opposite to the Wicco, where was established the Esso Gas Station. The Wild Indians continued with their shuffling performances as they shrieked and cried, in the most fearsome manner, frightening the daylights out of little children, Just at the side of Sinanan’s grocery was old Mister Alben, a man of such talent. Never will I forget his puppetry.
In that box he made his colorful puppets dance while playing his cuatro. Children gathered around the box and we were all fascinated; more than thrilled. Such thoughts will remain with me because there were joyous moments involved in the art, creativity and colour of the Sangre Grande Carnival.
I cannot end this story unless I mention the Lady Mas portrayed by a man who, I was told, was known as Piss. As a child, I saw this tall and lean man with a gaunt face dressed in a woman’s attire dancing on the Eastern Main Road just beyond the old Esso gas station. He danced as though the road was his; like there’s no tomorrow. Cut in a flair style, the dress he wore was long and flowing passing his knees, almost down to his ankles. The upper part of the dress was more intricately worked with a lace-like finish. His hair was long and curly. He had a countenance of pure, deep satisfaction as he danced his soul away. At times, his eyes were closed as he danced and danced ecstatically without a care in the world in front of a crowd of onlookers who just stood there staring at him.
Such were the short experiences that I managed to remember about the carnival in Sangre Grande. Further exploration into the Grande Carnival and the Trinidad Carnival was curtailed. Acceptance of a new faith and belief found me camping by the seaside engaged in myriad activities concerning “the church.” I cannot say as yet if this was good or whether it was bad for my cultural development. I am yet to figure out if I was left undone or incomplete. Nevertheless, here I am, willing to share with you my recollections.
