Crop Over has not been a major part of my calendar for a while.
In fact, some festivals would pass and I would pay just enough attention to retain certain facts and figures merely to satisfy my knowledge requirement as a journalist, or to engage in some never-ending argument about who is the best calypsonian – titles notwithstanding.
Outside of the official functions, the other fetes bore no real interest to me since I found some of them boring displays by attention seekers – the same skimpy clothing, usually by the same age group wanting to see who can get the most likes.
It is a considered fact that when some advertisers can do no better, they go for the base marketing technique of employing the practically naked to attract attention. The fetes, with their preference for the music that examines women’s “bumpers” or the monotonous hook line, truly do not appeal to me. Blame that on my age, intelligence or lack thereof, jealousy or less than creative ability.
But I challenge you to do like a friend of mine. Remove the music and say the lines out loud and slow. Some of them make absolutely no sense or they are so obscene, they do not bear repeating not even in your most inebriated state.
I’ll not dismiss all of them as I believe that some creations are an ingenious use of things Bajan, including our dialect, traditions and our peculiar way of viewing situations or giving advice.
But with the calendar of events expanding, to avoid total burnout by our frontline crew, some old hands were pressed back into service for the initial start of the national festival. Young, old, black, brown, regardless of colour, class, creed, almost everyone was volunteered. This means that some strange or forgotten faces will be among the line-up for the tent openings and other early Crop Over activities.
So expect different things to matter to Maria on the festival trail, Tim to be policing fetes, Geralyn to be making Crop Over her business, Roy to go public and Sanka to serve up a feast like our national dish of flying fish and cou cou.
Not forgetting how bitterly cruel the reaction to some of the tent reports can be, I decided to play it safe and wet my feet by tackling the Ultimate Tent. I mean these are God’s people and if they can’t extend the hand of mercy and forgiveness, then who can?
I went there and honestly expected that because it was not a judging tent, that I shouldn’t expect too much, neither should I use my pen in the same critical way I would for the other so-called big-name tents.
The tent started about 30 minutes late but that could be overlooked because from the moment I stepped through the admission free door, the atmosphere had a different feel.
Children abounded laughing and joining the singing, and when the MC told them to have a seat, they did until the next performer came on.
There was no cringing for fear that someone would say something offensive on stage, religious or otherwise. Above all, those on hand recognised what the festival was about – thanksgiving. With that in mind, it was not an empty celebration of mindless lyrics or endless gyration without choreography.
It’s not that I do not fancy Crop Over, but I believe the true meaning of the festival has been lost over time. Sometimes we have to be reminded why we are doing something and it can’t always be about the selfish us.
When we celebrate Independence, we hope to unite for the greater good of country. Crop Over should have a similar feeling, given its origins.
Antoinette Connell is a News Editor.