Mercredi 21.02.07 I need a breather
My head is wrecked this morning – and I don’t mean from a hangover. I can hear voices but these voices are not in my head; they’re coming from the terrace. Either the frenzy of Carnaval has completely taken over or Nicola is talking to someone out there. I lie a while longer listening as daylight and discourse filter in. I pickup a low male voice but when I emerge I find Alex and Lionel sitting around the table sipping Irish tea. One of them has burnt his tongue and the other is tongue-tied; perhaps they’ll burn their vanities with Vaval later.
Vaval is the Carnaval King and today mercredi des Cendres, Ash Wednesday, marks the end of the Carnaval festival. Vaval will be burnt tonight to symbolise the purging of sins and the start of Lent, Carême. Vaval is a giant papier mâche effigy who leads the procession along the street. Every year he takes on a different form or personality. This year he is an ogre to symbolise the ugliness and tyranny of violence here in Martinique. He wears a chained placard around his neck which reads: Pies Violence Pa Bon. It’s in Créole but phonetically it’s easy to understand; Pies – advocating peace: Violence Pa Bon – Violence isn’t good. It’s a simple message but perhaps both the message and the papier mâche man are too quotidian as I hear some people grumble over this year’s lacklustre Carnaval leader.
My tummy is rumbling. I tuck into my bowl of Coco Pops while the others yap away. Alex and Lionel have come around to drop off Nicola’s printed interview notes. They work in an office in the regiment and offered to print them out; otherwise Nicola would be forking out a fortune in an internet café.
More tea is passed around. I wonder if the guys notice the difference now that there’s no bwa bandé in it. It’s midday. It’s breakfast for me but it’s a tea break for them. We all decide to take a break today; we’ll recoup today and regroup tomorrow for a day at the beach.
I want to feast my eyes on the last day of Carnaval. Nic studies for a while and I get to grips with my broken heels. The heel of my right shoe hasn’t snapped but the souls are talking to me – as per usual it’s a very spiritual day. Madame Arlette has some superglue and we do a DIY job on my black and white heels. Today everyone is to be dressed in black and white to mourn the death of Vaval and to rejoice in the casting off of sins. Nicola and I dress-up as Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta Jones. Nic’s Zoro and I’m Zeta. Arlette comments that I’m always the woman. Am I being typecast here? Nicola is a guy’s name so that’s the reason I’m the female counterpart. Anyway I’ve got the heels and she has the hat so that’s that. We slip into character, and Richard’s silver steed and we’re soon mingling with the millions of Michael Jackson fans in Fort-de-France.
Despite all the forewarnings we’re here amid the madness. The streets are wild. There are flour bombs flying around. We watch as some locals revel in their powder power. They pounce on unsuspecting onlookers.
There are checkpoints and there are plenty of police but they don’t even check us as we pass through the barricade. They’re just here to appear in uniform; to stand out from the crowd and to feign authority and protection. One local law enforcer lad does flag us down. “Hey! Guinness!” he yells. It’s Charlie the young, chatty, pervy bus driver. He has exchanged his yellow Mosaic shirt for a bright orange t-shirt as he’s now a civil law enforcer. Whether that’s his occupation for Carnaval or the future we don’t find out as we just give him a thumbs-up and head on.
Some cheeky git pats me on the ass as we’re making our way down to Pointe Simone. I’ve now been patted on both cheeks. Smack that! Damn Acon. Damn Eminem. Damn Nation.
All in all I only see one fight break out although a rubbish bag does get lobbed into the crowd causing a frenzy and momentary concussion for an innocent parade participant. Zoro passes up the chance to intervene and instead we retreat to Le Terminal bar. From its terrace we have a good view of all the craziness below. The crowd surges forward, then everyone stops to dance and chant and after that they break into a sprint as they follow Vaval to the stake. Mercredi des Cendres is for runners not for heels.
There’s something menacing, even satanic, about the event. There is some genuine Carnaval fever in the air but other sources are most definitely at play. The jazzed-up cars, the make-shift bands, the fired-up, monotone crowd with some people in drag, others in pregnancy and wedding attire, a handful in ash-syrup - but all in black and white, pass by below. Whips crap, sirens blare, horns toot, drums beat, and trumpets sound, music pumps, cries ebb and flow and chants come and go throughout the evening. The occasional back-fire from a battered vehicle makes everyone on the terrace spin around to see what’s happening. Eventually we’re immune to the noise and nastiness and we soon join in with the pre-sacrificial Créole chants: Vaval, Vaval, sa nou fait, ou ka kite nou; and the other less favoured Martiniquan mantras: Aï coke manman’ w…
We can see the giant Chienfé - Iron Dog, along the quays. It’s a modern art piece which was commissioned for this year’s Carnaval celebrations; no doubt in the future he’ll be the one to follow throughout the festival. The crowds make their way towards La Savanne and the waterfront for the torching of Vaval. When darkness falls a bright red flame illuminates the horizon as Vaval and all our misdeeds turn to ash.
As packed as the town seems we’re told that a lot more people participated yesterday for Mardi Gras. Groups from all over the Caribbean are here to join in on the revelry. Bands, dance troops and processions from Haiti and Guadeloupe were spotted and snapped. Tomorrow most businesses will be open again and people will be back to work so a lot of the participants don’t stay around for the nightly festivities. This, of course, isn’t true for us assistants. David, Kyla, Claudia and Rachel join us in Le Terminal. Kyla’s the only one who has really stuck to the Carnaval dress code as she’s wearing a black dress and black fishnet gloves. I think last week’s wig wearing has broken down David’s defences as he’s soon strutting around in my heels! Carnaval craziness and Celtic charity seem to go hand-in-hand as Jean-Pierre, the Breton bar owner, treats us all to a round of drinks.
Strophe, the guitarist, who usually strums here knocked off early; it’s probably just as well as his playing would probably entice rain more so than customers. Strophe’s friend, Andy the internet café owner, waves up at us from the street. Zoro wants to know if he’s back in business tomorrow. He is indeed – from dawn till dusk. I have to add that we saw the two Nelly’s leading a group up the road; they’re pretty recognisable characters.
Zoro and I had been previously talking to two locals; George and his skinny label-clad friend, whose strange name escapes me. George is the MSN mad jack-of-all-trades whom I previously met at the beauty parlour in Bellevue. They both join us for a drink.
Chief Masaille soon appears. He has been to visit some friends and family in Rivière Pilote. I know we said we’d taken a break from the army barrage but Oli is more like a big brother to us and he doesn’t have work tomorrow so he doesn’t have any qualms about getting home late – not that any of the others ever do!
Nicola on the other hand wants to go home as she has her interview tomorrow and needs to get some sleep. Oliver and I drop her home before hitting Karaoke Café. I ring the others to see where they are. David has gone home and the girls are in Fort-de-France. The nightlife is quite disappointing tonight. Karaoke Café is dead. There are a few newlyweds around about. Some wannabe warblers strain our eardrums and the salsa music doesn’t draw any dancers. The music does however, pick-up for a while. Oli and I take to the floor but all too soon it’s back to tired tunes. The girls didn’t have much luck in town either. Waikiki is dead. Kyla, Claudia and Rachel decide to chance Karaoke Café. We meet them just as we’re leaving. There’s talk about Tropicana but I text the girls to say we’re not venturing there. Instead we decide to head back to Tivoli for pizza and cards.
We swing by the regiment on the way. I get my scarf back off Ludo but J.V can keep his cadeau.
Nicola is still up when we arrive home. She has been up making more notes for her interview. She needs some sleep so we bid her goodnight as we take to the terrace. Pizza, card games and English lessons are the order of the night. Chief Masaille isn’t a sore loser but he’d be a poor loser if we were playing for peanuts; in fact I’d have enough for my own plantation at the rate I was winning. Dawn hasn’t quite arrived by the time Oli heads home but our lids are falling and bed is calling so we soon call it quits…
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