Worshipping at another altar

THE EDITOR: I am of the view that our development of the fete and the “Trini wine” has taken us down a dangerous road. Some people claim that the Trini wine involving two or maybe three human bodies gyrating together to the music is “we culture.” Who knows how, when and where the current version of the “wine” began. With the “Conga line” perhaps; that’s really great fun. However, like everything else in this world, there is always that other line that we are tempted to cross and the “enemy” never sleeps on the job, never tires of leading us on, turning everything to his benefit. Like the children who innocently followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin to their destruction, all that concerns us as we dance and prance our way through the Carnival season, is that this is our unique time to let our hair down, and ease the stress . . . nothing wrong with that. It seems to me however, that over the last few years we have taken the “wine” to a new low!

It has become a mockery of the Gift of Sex, the God given gift of Life. Any act that mocks God’s gifts pays homage to Satan. Secondly, Trinis pride themselves on their development of the art of feting. Four decades ago, young people partied until 2 am. In general, their offspring’s parties now start at about 11 pm and end just before dawn. Many in the crowd feel the need to have an early breakfast in a place like St James before heading home to sleep until the sun moves high in the heavens. We have developed the fete from the ... everything on sale fete, to the cooler fete to the . . . we care for you; so here is breakfast before you leave fete, to the now state of the art all-inclusive fete.

However, recently, another kind of fete has emerged. Sunday fetes are nothing new and they traditionally begin at about 11 am. This year, on Carnival Sunday just before 6 am, a soft breeze was rustling through the trees and the pleasant twittering of the birds could be heard in the cool grey light of the dawn. Many Christians of all persuasions headed to their places of worship. But, as the sun was about to make its appearance over the hills, a dissonant sound shattered the peace and spread across the valley and a woman’s voice pierced the morning air, “All yuh wine! All yuh wine!” and in my mind’s eye, I saw a host of feters, bodies taut, arms raised, ready to follow the high priestess’ commands.

As the music from the speakers surged and the sun rose over the hill in all its glory, the wining, wailing, and “worshipping”? began in earnest. I imagined the “enemy,” beside himself with glee on this beautiful Sunday morning. A master in the art of deception and delusion, he appeared to Adam and Eve as a harmless serpent, in a garden where evil was unknown. A chameleon, adept at fitting into our areas of weakness, he disguises himself in our love of the dance and mimicry. We have crossed the line and are paying homage to Satan, but we are incapable of recognising this and call it “we culture.”

HEATHER GRANNUM
Diego Martin