Brooko di Dea

Once darkness fell, it was about time for the Brooko di Dea. Though I still don't actually know when I should show up to these things and the Saramaccan approach to time doesn't help here. Again, somebody said they would come and get me and that never happened. Again, maybe it was going to and I just lost patience before they did - who knows, whatever it worked out!

Some kids came by on their way to the party so I tagged along - they were actually going to wait until the dancing started to go and skip the "boring traditional drums part" but I persuaded them to take me their before they wandered off to watch music videos at someone's house nearby. Odd how cultures juxtapose, isn't it?

When we got there, though, they were setting up the giant speakers for the dance party part of the Broko di Dea. This is the fun part for the kids in particular and so it kind of resembles an 8th grade dance. Seas of kids, a few adults - mostly too cool to dance as long as the kids are there - a couple of people going hot and heavy, and lots and lots of semi-awkward circle dancing. Except, of course, that circle dancing is what Saramaccans do, so there is nothing awkward about it.

In addition to doing insanely amazing things with their hips and back on occasion, basic dancing for Maroons consists of happily flopping around your hands and feet in the most Steve Erkle-way imaginable. It's the easiest dance style in the world (again, this avoids actively dancing with partners. Do that at your own risk. Four year old girls can do things with their hips that beats anything you have ever seen in a club in America. Anything. In any kind of club. So imagine the teenagers) and they love it when you get in on it. They will occasionally fall down laughing, but keep your cool and roll with it and it's totally easy! Also, if you can pop and lock (brooko - breaking - in local parlance) or do rubber knees (I can do that one!) you will have an never ending fan club.

The dance part goes on for ever and I didn't make it past it this time. My feet were hurting and I left around 1:30. Last time, I didn't show up until around then and the party had already settled down into older folks playing cards and Daam (local checkers), so I don't know exactly where that transition point is yet. The dance party is fun, but unexceptional at this point, so I went happily to bed.

In the morning, at 8am, the drums started up again. And this was everything I had been waiting for and more. Etchio (who plays drums as well) had told me that this would happen and so I was somewhat prepared when he should up at my door around 730am and I made it to the party about an hour later.

Everyone was dressed in traditional clothing and I made my attempt to as well! Saramaccan men occasionally wear a camisa - sort of a loin cloth/diaper thing - and my host mom gave one to me so I was going to trry to wear that. Unfortunately, it ends up being a bit small/short for comfort and so I decided not to wear it after consulting with a neighbor (sati poi! in local parlance - too short!). But I wore my nicest bandja kosu (shirt piece) and was given a head wrap when I got there, which was unexpected and cool!

This morning part of the ceremony consisted of 10 drummers and dozens of people with sticks clacking to the beat. It was a riot of color, with everyone in their best and brightest kosus, as the dozens with their sticks paraded in a circle in front of the Dead House and the drum section. That's one of those very literary phrases, isn't it? 'Riot of color' - you never really hear that outside stories, but I guess this is a story for you so it works out!

Anyway, it is a shuffling, swaying, but upbeat dance that occasionally branched off to I don't know where. When the dancers returned, they would be carrying some piece of the jungle - rice, branches, plants, sugar cane, etc - and piled it in the center of the dance area. The drumming is intense and, like any good drumming, doesn't need a tune or much of anything to grip you and pull you in. Drums, I think, are like fire - they grab primarl pieces of our human psychology and hold on tight.

As we sat and watched the dancing, women regularly came around with small bits of food (cake, popcorn, candy (did I mention that the favorite candy here is Hall's cough drops?)), pop, and rum. The first time the rum came around, you were supposed to wash your hands and face in it, which I did. The second time, you took your shot. A shot of 90% alcohol at 9am chased by some sunshine and fifteen minutes later some kind of green soda pop? Heck yeah.

But you get caught up in the ritual of it and it feels good. Apparently, that I was given a head wrap meant that I was invited to dance in the circle if I was so moved (not everyone is invited) and many people did get moved. Though some in different ways during different aspects.

At one point during the ceremony, several dancers took over the circle. They were covered head toe - jump suits or jackets over jeans, boots, gloves, and Halloween ghoul masks. At first, I didn't know how to take this - several of the men in the circle had also been completely covered (though no masks) and in weird outfits by my standards. One was in an orange jump suit and faceless motorcycle helmet, for example. But it quicky became clear that these new folks were bad spirits. And people were scared.

I say it with a straight face and I mean it - they started a near riot of kids. At one point, they were dancing very aggressively in and at the Dead House and the elders/family gathered there. One of the elders got up and almost ran. At first I thought it was part of the show and maybe it was, but he came back with a machete and a bow and was talked down by others while the ceremony continued. Later he looked pretty embarrased in a way that does not say "part of the show" to me.

Others fought the evil spirits more symbolically. One of the alpha men got up and dance-fought against the group of spirits to push them back from the Dead House and the elders and drove them off for a bit. Another time, a particularly boisterious and dirty little old grand mother (she has several times now asked after the size and status of my penis and not in a sensitively curious kind of way) jumped up and surprised them from behind with the kind of bump and grind that only Saramaccan hips can supply. Woah. Also, completely awesome. Though they briefly circled around her and danced it out, she drove them off quicker than the man or the elder with his machete.

After a night of little sleep (or none for most of the officials and highly-involved people), it's a dizzying spectacle. When the dancing finished, we officially said good bye to the dead by symbollically throwing away water and liquor - tonight they will throw food as well. It was foreign and beautiful and moving in it's own way. I didn't feel like I should bring my camera, but I think it will be fine next time, so look forward to seeing more about this then or when you come visit. Fortunately or un, in a village this size Brooko di Dea's are fairly common.