I feel blessed to have lived a fabled and abundant life, and one of the benefits is that in reverie, I re-visit my travels and the moments that leap out for me to remember.
I remember visiting the Bahamas. It was on a sales trip a month after 9/11 when all of us were traumatized about flying. A business trip took me there at a time when I worked in New York City.
One day, in a conference session, a Bahamian of African descent came to talk to us about the yearly Junkanoo festivals. It was a riotous celebration of color, drumming and dance that dated back to the days of slavery when those who were in servitude had the chance to rise above this situation to create beauty and celebration in a way that kept them connected to their heritage.
After this talk woman who chatted with us told us that her Junkanoo group was meeting to practice that night, and who wanted to attend? I put my hand up immediately.
She and her husband, a kind and gentle man, came and picked me up from the Atlantis, where we were staying. We disappeared into the heart of the city, quiet streets, hardly any streetlights and soon others drifted in and it became quite apparent that I was the only non-Bahamian there.
We sat together sharing supper and laughter, and suddenly I could hear the drums, pounding and insistent as the troupe that made up their group started down the street, dancing and drumming, feet pounding onto the ground. I was mesmerized at the force of power behind these drums and watched the dancers go through their routine. I felt so honored to be there.
I was told afterwards that this was a rare gift to experience as the Junkanoo world is very secretive. Floats and costumes are built throughout the year, often in garages to provide the greatest secrecy and then at the appointed hour they are removed from their hiding places to the street, sometimes entailing entire roofs to be removed in order to facilitate this.
I remember visiting the Bahamas. It was on a sales trip a month after 9/11 when all of us were traumatized about flying. A business trip took me there at a time when I worked in New York City.
One day, in a conference session, a Bahamian of African descent came to talk to us about the yearly Junkanoo festivals. It was a riotous celebration of color, drumming and dance that dated back to the days of slavery when those who were in servitude had the chance to rise above this situation to create beauty and celebration in a way that kept them connected to their heritage.
After this talk woman who chatted with us told us that her Junkanoo group was meeting to practice that night, and who wanted to attend? I put my hand up immediately.
She and her husband, a kind and gentle man, came and picked me up from the Atlantis, where we were staying. We disappeared into the heart of the city, quiet streets, hardly any streetlights and soon others drifted in and it became quite apparent that I was the only non-Bahamian there.
We sat together sharing supper and laughter, and suddenly I could hear the drums, pounding and insistent as the troupe that made up their group started down the street, dancing and drumming, feet pounding onto the ground. I was mesmerized at the force of power behind these drums and watched the dancers go through their routine. I felt so honored to be there.
I was told afterwards that this was a rare gift to experience as the Junkanoo world is very secretive. Floats and costumes are built throughout the year, often in garages to provide the greatest secrecy and then at the appointed hour they are removed from their hiding places to the street, sometimes entailing entire roofs to be removed in order to facilitate this.