The Black Indian spirit from Santa Cruz

He would spread the roucou, transforming into a living representation of those who went before him.

First the paint, then the clothing, shoes and finally the magnificent headdress. Then would follow the dance.

The story is told that he would dance in that unique hopping step of the indigenous peoples from Santa Cruz to the Croisee in San Juan.

I imagine that for him this journey, made with deliberate steps while chanting ancient words, recalled for him another journey centuries ago when our island was still connected to South America. Then, various peoples — Arauca, Warao, Taino, Calipuna and many more — walked into our history and our present.

The ship on his head recalled too the journey across treacherous waters in small crafts. Countless of these peoples settled in Santa Cruz, no doubt lured by the lush hills and cool crisp air of the valley. Naipaul notes that around the late 1680s, the First Peoples who survived Spanish enslavement and religious indoctrination established settlements in Santa Cruz after they were released by the missionaries.

My great-grandfather who settled in Santa Cruz played Red Indian mas, not seen so much today in the “Valley”. However, the Black Indian masquerade, evolved from the intermingling of the culture of First Peoples with masking traditions of enslaved Africans, is still performed in Lower Santa Cruz.

Interestingly, cultural historian Eintou Springer points out that here the Black Indian masquerade emerges from the yard of an Orisha worshipper specialising in Congolese Egungun (ancestral) mas.

Many of the traditional aspects of our Carnival are influenced by an ethic of warriorhood and resistance.

The Caribbean Quarterly journal, in describing the Black Indian masquerade, highlights how the masqueraders would blacken their faces, don long black wigs made from frayed hemp rope and carry “lances, spears, tomahawks, bows and arrows and drums and eat fire.” As is typical with TT culture, the language of the Black Indian mas was influenced by languages of the Africans, First Peoples and Patois, to the extent that they created their own style of communication. Kope! Kope! was “good morning.” As bands met each other on the street, they would greet each other declaring “Indio, Indio!” or “Indio, Backilwarraback! Where is your king?” Indeed, the intermingling of cultures is evident in some of the original names of the bands, such as “Heroes of the Dark Continent” (the name given to the continent of Africa by colonials and propagandists during the period of enslavement) or “Ibo Sun God Wild Indian”.

It is a bright spot in our Carnival to see that the NCC has finally accepted the recommendations of cultural activists like ourselves to carve out a space for the traditional mas on Carnival Monday.

Now, the potential for teaching, learning and preserving our traditions can begin. If the NCC is really savvy, it will ensure that the entire stands are filled with schoolchildren, parents and teachers, and that the presenters on the morning will guide the discussion and not misinform.

But perhaps small steps … I imagine the spirit of my great-grandfather stepping still from Santa Cruz to the Croisee, with his knees raised high, chanting, turning, clapping. Perhaps now, we can step with him, as his footsteps echo from the past, striding purposefully into our collective futures.

D a r a Healy is a perform a n c e artist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN