“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” ~ Maya Angelou.

Traditions are funny things.  One of the reasons that special seasons have special meaning is because we do the same thing each year.  In England, going to Pantomime around Christmastime is one of those traditions.  I am pretty sure that was not one of my family’s traditions.  However, when we moved to Jamaica, at some point (I am not sure when) we started to attend the Jamaican version of Pantomime.

Because I was quite young at the time, I don’t have any clear recollection of the venue (was it Ward Theater at first? Did it move to Little Theater later?), and really only one story line comes to mind, but there are many impressions that remained with me, and kept me spellbound.  Jamaican pantomimes took great liberties with the old British traditions, and retold history from the viewpoint of those not usually represented in polite society.  In the 60’s and early 70’s, the colonial nature of society was intact, with classism and colorism fully on display.  The Black Power movement in the US, combined with the natural rebellion of Jamaican people and a determination to be proud of a history that had long been denied brought about many changes in society.

Pantomime provided comedic cover for some of those more serious ‘woke’ thoughts to be spoken out loud.  The light-skinned, speaky-spoky (Jamaican term for someone who affects a ‘posh’ accent) character would usually be the butt of many jokes, while the usually oppressed underdog, with African features more obviously displayed would emerge as the winner.  And all of this would be set on a colorful stage, with beautiful scenery, primary colored costumed, amazingly athletic and shapely dancers, and the music of Ole Tyme Jamaica. 

Before ska, reggae and dancehall there was quadrille and mento.  The Folk Singers of Jamaica would form part of the cast, and like any good musical, the main characters would burst into song at the drop of a hat.  The night would be magical.  There would be high drama mixed with corny romance.  Current political satire would be mixed with references to Old Port Royal (‘City of sin, Sink of iniquity) and the outrageous Sir Henry Morgan (famous pirate and later Governor of Jamaica in fact) would prance around. 

The stars of the show in those days were the Honorables: Louise Bennett-Coverly and Ranny Williams.  Louise Benett had brought the natural language of the Jamaican people into international attention by performing in patois – the so-called ‘broken English’ that is so much more.  It is a blend of the mother tongue and style of speaking from Africa mixed with phrases of old English, Scottish, French and who knows what.  In the days before (and after) Independence it was only spoken by the ‘lower-class’, those on the bottom of the socio-economic ladder.  Miss Lou (as she was popularly known) elevated it to the art form that it was.  She wrote poems that she performed all over the world and at home in the vernacular, and permitted all levels of society to be proud of their language, their history and their culture.

The dances performed on stage would similarly blend classic dance moves with more modern Alvin Ailey-style choreography that incorporates African drums, African moves, African rhythm. Rex Nettleford was the choreographer and a superb dancer himself.  Those well-toned bodies would seem to soar from the stage, then set your blood pumping as they swayed and throbbed and strummed to the beat.  And in the classic traditions, the band would include banjos and pipes and assorted drums to accompany the previously mentioned quadrille (adapted from British society dance) again infused with African rhythm and soul.  The mento music also was front and center, the plunking of the thumb drum driving the staccato rhythm.

For a child, the memory of music, color, laughter and dance, combined with an evening out and a long drive back to country, brings nothing but pleasure.  I was lucky enough, on one trip back to Jamaica after leaving high school and going back to rainy Manchester, UK for nursing school, to join a school trip to Pantomime, along with my mother.  It didn’t quite have the magic of my childhood (as all adults know, nothing can quite capture those childhood sensations), but it was good to know that the tradition continued.

Last week I was able to revisit Pantomime in South Florida.  I was accompanied by almost all of my kids and my eleven-year-old granddaughter.  I was not disappointed.  We may not have had the NDTC dancers doing a Rex Nettleford number, but we had Folk Music, quadrille and mento along with jokes by the score.  Just as the old Pantomimes had included current topics and pointed asides, this one included a reference to the ‘Duppy airline’ (‘duppy’ is the Jamaican word for ghost – get it?).  What was lovely about this performance was that many of the cast (if not all) were amateurs, with regular day jobs. 

The audience rolled with laughter, and rocked along to the old time Jamaican folk songs, joining in lustily at every occasion.  My daughter pointed out that I had never taught my kids those songs, so they couldn’t join in.  My granddaughter, now two generations removed from Jamaica and with other traditions mixed in, spent much of the time with her headphones on, most of the language unintelligible to her.  Of course, I had bought all of the Anansi story books that I could find on my trips back to Jamaica.  I believe I had once found a book with many of the folk songs (along with the line music and a little history), but where that is now, I have no idea.  Would my children have appreciated learning to sing ‘Under the coconut tree’ or ‘My love I would love you to walk with me’ or ‘Evening time, work is over now is evening time….’ 

The dilemma of being an immigrant is how to make sure your children feel part of the new country to which you moved while holding on to your homeland’s culture and values.  Once your kids go to school, they learn to speak with the accents of those around them, so even if all they hear at home is Jamaican accents and patois, they soon sound like they come from ‘Floorida’ and eat ‘awranges’.  You can really only learn true culture and language through immersion, much as I had been able to leave my English habits behind once I moved to Jamaica.  I had learned those Folk songs in Primary (Elementary) school. I had learned the playground games (Tred-oh, tred-oh, long long tred-oh) and so much more by growing up in the heart of Jamaica.  Is it possible for Jamerican kids (or any first generation transplants from any other country) to be as versed in their culture as those in the homeland?

This Friday morning I hope you will forgive my indulgence in nostalgia. I am happy for the richness of my own personal history, and the fact that I have been able to bring many threads together for my family.  I am proud of my lineage, being descended from poor but proud Welsh people (who were also oppressed by the English as my father would point out!).  I am proud to be able to expose my children to their own rich heritage, coming across the Atlantic to the ‘New World’ and being molded by so many influences along the way.  And I hope that my grandchildren will also be proud of every aspect of their legacy, even when they can’t speak the lingo.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.