Hosay: Balancing the delicate and powerful

The sound of the tassa drums rolls out onto the pavement.

A little boy passing by with his mother is intrigued. He wants to see. His mother tells him nothing is going on, but he insists. He wants to hear the drums. Luckily for him, a young boy of his own age, about eleven or twelve, emerges with two tassa sticks in his hand. He confirms that they are indeed going to be drumming. The mother stops. The young boy seems satisfied. People are beginning to gather around.

The passer-by looking down into the yard would have seen the brilliant, gorgeous blue structure awaiting its artists on a space marked out in white and green. Underneath this area, the soil is over one hundred and thirty years. It remains a mark of the original inhabitants of the yard.

The yard - a Caribbean community space. Intimate. Witness of events that remain embedded in structures, in dirt, in eyes.

The men spread cardboard on the floor in front of the tadjah and begin the prayer, seeking blessings before taking their worship onto the Western Main Road.

The building of the tadjahs is rule-bound. All involved in the construction of the symbolic tomb fast for the entire period of Muharram.

They eat boiled foods. No salt, no alcohol.

One member of the Ghulam Hussain yard laughs as he relates the look on the younger ones’ faces when they are served their boiled rice and dhal (khichri). ‘Some feel like fainting but they have already made the commitment and they want to be a part so they stick with it.’ The elders are accustomed to this yearly commemoration of the martyrdom of the Prophet’s grandsons Hussain and Hassan. This is for them their tradition, one that they have upheld for generations, one that has kept the community together. St James has changed around them, yet the yard remains that sacred space where ancestors had set a rhythm that the present generation enact each year in the construction of their tadjahs, in the beating of the drums, in the commitment they make towards this annual devotional activity.

On the streets, the mood is different for those who come out to enjoy the drums and the beauty of the performance.

The sacred is surrounded by the secular now. Yet, the persons directly involved remain focused on their own duties. Their devotion lies in the one-pointed dedication to the task at hand. Each year, for Shi’a Muslims, this constructing and deconstructing of the tadjah is their prayer. Out of the Ghulam Hussain yard, the beautiful replica of a tomb is rolled out and stands on the main road. Out of Bournes Road, another comes down with its own complement of drummers. A voice from a loudspeaker fills the air. The usual onlookers remain unfazed.

‘It’s Bakr’s men. They usually spend the night in the mosque down the road and come out to preach against the Hosay,’ an individual explains.

There are women too among the group. An army truck follows them.

It is a peaceful protest. Fliers are handed out. They end a forty-five minute long slow march up the Western Main Road with the chant of ‘Ya Hussain, Ya Hussain’. To a musician’s ear the beauty of the sound complements the atmosphere of devotion in the yard.

The dhols begin a thunderous roll – fast, powerful, masculine. There are women drumming too, their delicate hands matching the strength of the males. The dhol, the sound of the word announces the sound of the drum. The smaller tassa drums improvise to the steady rhythm of the large, bass sound of the dhol. The metal cymbals - one, two, one, two.

The sound rolls and crashes, rolls and crashes - the sound of martyrdom.

The Hosay is not just the tadjahs and the moons. It is the reverence of the players, the artists, the fast, the preparations, the camaraderie of all who come out to partake in their own way of this commemorative event. It is a send-off fitting for kings, centuries after they have passed.

From the Middle East to the Caribbean, narratives have been altered, celebrations change their shapes in big and small ways, but despite this, the devotion of the community remains the common thread that binds across the world.

That, is the essence of the Hosay.