In order to see the mask, you must be wearing one.

The Mask of Obatala

The annual procession in honour of the

god of creation, Obatala, walks us

towards possibilities for the rest of the

year. The journey between white sky

and black asphalt makes masking

accessible to us, in a way. And those

who feel the intensity are charged by

the powerful rhythm of the drumming,

by Obatala himself. Perhaps the gods

are masked in human form that day, or

maybe it is the other way around.

Hand-Made. Woven. Sewn. Created.

Obatala makes way for these gods,

superheroes among us, the most conniving

masks in the Trinidad Carnival space.

Everyday life is the mas, and the costume

is the reality. The Fireman-in-waiting scrimps

and saves all year for his ‘costume’. Same for

the Dame Lorraine and Burrokeet. They

reveal their true selves under the makeup and

cloth and wire, bending truth into reality,

turning it inside out. And behind the

‘traditional’ mask is that which proves to be

more relevant each year, carried from the past

into the present on the shoulders of these

giants.

Kambule is the story, the griot, the great

remembering of how we came to celebrate

Carnival as evolution of “masquerade”. In the

darkness at 1am, a worrisome hour, our

grievances and spirit of rebellion generate out

from this sacred retelling of cane-burning and

authority overthrowing. It is not enough to

merely tell the story of us - we put on the masks

of slave, slave-owner, governor and subject in

the Kambule play. 

know if we have ever taken them off.

Could you wear the mask of freedom?

The night will hide you, or so you hope. Hidden

pleasures and secret identities intersect at a literal

junction on the Jouvert morning road. The darkness

invites suspicious characters to come out, so you go

out. You go out to play yourself. And you are granted

the ultimate freedom, chaos and joy to do what you

want. As man/woman/child/jumbie/soul mercifully

blend into one collective covered in paint, mud, oil

and clay, we shed old masks and try on new ones,

bolder by the hour, til the sun comes up and asks us

who we are.

Can you pay d Devil?

Or would you prefer to play d Devil?

More than horns, tail and blue paint, a

blue devil’s mask is her skin. Beneath it

is fire coursing through veins. Blue is

the stain that does not wash off easily,

to wear this mask demands

relinquishing your human be-ing for a

powerful pigment that ultimately takes

what it wants - including you..

Could you wear the mask of your

ancestors?

Yes, if you can leave some space for

reverence in the mas, for what went

before, what connects us to the

masking ability. When the Indian’s

elaborate headdress and feathers

shake as he dances in the cleansing

space of the fire, there’s a sense of

joyful home-coming. Yes, rebellion.

Yes, hardship. But also, peace. Leave

space for the obeah, in all its perfect

forms.

Could you dance the Sailor Dance?

This is the mask of mamaguy. Fancy

Sailor, fancy footwork - seems like the

Sailor’s dance is calling to you to join

in. But “playing” Sailor is serious

business - “yuh cyah play mas if you

fraid powder”. He’s seen and done

things at sea, he knows matters of life

and death. He unleashes a trail of

powder masking ocean with sky,

swaying on the waves, always captain

of his ship journeying to a faraway land

beyond the sea and the seen.

Can you walk the talk?

To hear “Robber talk” exposes our

underlying stereotypes. You fear the

gun in his hand ent, not his words. Yet

by the time Robber has finished his

speech, a real weapon has been

formed against someone, iron

sharpening iron, a spell let loose

daring you to act. You forget - the

sweetest talkers are the ones who

incite the violence, venom, terror and

murder that lie just beneath our

surface.

Could you wear the mask of the man

called Saturday?

The more appropriate question is should

you? The Baron is built different - an

ever-present figure in the shadows, who

governs the space between.

Best to be wary of the many masks of

Baron, with his origins in Haitian vodoun

- Baron Samedi, Baron LeKwa or Baron

Cimitiaire. Instead, he will choose who he

makes himself known to. He will visit

those who live at the razor edge of life

and death, who understand that in order

to wear the mask, you must be willing to

remove your face.

Could you wear the mask of protest?

If Canboulay makes way for our past

grievances to be turned into mas, Robert

Young picks up the thread where it leaves off.

He gives us Vulgar Fractions each year, a

mas band that hides our present injustices

and irritations in plain sight.

He himself is masked beyond recognition, but

his disdain for oppression, conflict, political

interference is made into theatre and

spectacle, in the traditional way of subverting

our quarrels

In the known way of subverting ourselves.