Is the devil self

The lead devil or King Devil came closer, held with a long rope by two other devils trailing behind him. The blowing of fire, high-pitched screams and the constant rhythm from the biscuit tins drowned out all other reality. Then, he was in front of me.

The scared person next to me threw a dollar into the street. He came to a stop and stood completely still.

The others, feeling a change in mood, stopped as well. He turned only his head and looked in the direction of the man next to me, and then slowly moved the rest of his body and began to come towards us.

Imagine a Velociraptor, one of the most vicious and predatory dinosaurs, about to walk towards you.

Suddenly, money began to fall in the street, none of them the red colour of the dollar. The blue devil looked us up and down and with a blood-curling scream continued on his way.

Time moved again.

The village of Paramin is said to be the highest point in the Northern Range. Located in the hills overlooking parts of Maraval, Diego Martin and Port-of-Spain, it is responsible for creating the blue devil phenomenon.

Even children are indoctrinated into this mas, and many of them become totally committed to portraying their character. I wonder though if the community knows the history and meaning behind their portrayal.

The concept of the devil in our Carnival is born from the pain and trauma of enslavement.

The original mas is called jab molassie, the “jab” coming from the French diable or devil. Research indicates that masqueraders covered themselves in molasses to commemorate enslaved Africans who fell into vats of molasses during the sugar- making process.

As with all masquerades of protest and resistance, the mas would also have been created to make a point about the contempt that the white European planters had for the life of the African. Later, when the oil industry in TT began to flourish, masqueraders would cover themselves in oil. In Paramin, they originally used the household washing dye called “blue”, but nowadays body paint is also used.

Paramin is itself a community founded on resistance, being the site of the Neg Mawon (runaway African) caves that provided refuge for those who managed to escape the terrible conditions on the plantation.

It is documented that “the highest occurrence of escapees was in the 1820s when punishment was inflicted on over 1,200 slaves for absence without leave or attempting to run away.” The enslaved found refuge in Paramin; over the centuries blending with immigrants from Martinique and Guadeloupe and the Cocoa Panyol from Venezuela.

Under cover of darkness and cool morning air, the blue devils and other devil masquerades infiltrate their energy into the J’Ouvert, the start of our Carnival. The terror that we feel is exactly the point of the mas.

The screams, pounding music and feeling of anarchy provide an insight into the reality of a people who survived the brutality of enslavement and the subtle dehumanisation of colonial rule. The heat of the sun sends the blue devils back to the hills where they wash off the paint and release themselves from the mas.

Yet, their screams echo down the hill and across centuries as we struggle still with our own demons.

How do we rid ourselves of the things that scare us now? Don’t ask the blue devils. They gone.

D a r a Healy is a performance artist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN.