There was a time in this fair land of Bubadus that wukking up artistes were appreciated. As a matter of fact, when a representative show went abroad, we included a wuk-up specialist. In nightclubs, bars and houses of entertainment, no show was ever complete unless there was someone there to shake the waist. Today, wanton displays desecrate the art.
Imagine a body at rest. Imagine a bum drum starts up. Bum, bum, bum. Kettledrum, fiddle and banjo join the fray and a body is galvanized into action. What was a tranquil, motionless body starts to behave as if some electric shocks have taken over.
A teenager, 18, subtle in the waist, stands feet apart, hands outstretched, and begins an independent, circular mobilization of the rear parts. She stops and the motion restarts in the opposite direction but with a different circulation, as if the music has changed. Is she interpreting the music with her wukking up?
If a person were beyond the sound of the music, but still able to see the body, he would swear that the body was performing some maniacal ritual, some orgiastic manifestation of joy or abandon.
Before there was Crop Over, on a bank holiday, a man costumed as a bear and a Mother Sally with a revolving rear spinning in time to the tempo, were fine exponents of wuk-up. Yes, wukking up was part of the accepted fun, we culture.
There is an art to wukking up, though. Looked at from the front, parts of the body swing to the left, then to the right in spasms of rhythmic unison as if to outdo the accompanying music. The top half with the hands goes in one direction while the bottom half with the feet finds a direction of its own. Looked at from behind, and this is usually the most attractive view, the rear end is capable of a wide variety of interpretations.
It could be circular in movement. It could present a spasmodic up-and-down traction or it could take off on a mission possible. While all of this is going on, the waistline would be operating in a different key, firing the musicians, especially the drummer, into realms of pure ecstatic percussion.
Bubadian women, whether they are big or small, are capable of this transformation. All of a sudden, a woman can be changed from a quite harmless creature into a devilish fiend when music is on call. The combination of rhythm and wuk-up is usually reserved for the celebration of dancing for a festival or an occasion of gay abandon.
Our Crop Over Festival is an occasion of gay abandon. This is thanksgiving for Heaven’s bounty in the form of a successful harvest. You see, even the church people are celebrating. They are not supposed to wuk up . . . here.
The face when one is wukking up tells it all. Whether one is young or old, man or woman, moving to the rhythmic beat transforms the physiognomy. The eyes may be closed but the portals of delight cannot be mistaken.
The recent trend of simulating sex has nothing to do with wukking up. Maybe, just maybe, it is a manifestation of repressed sexual needs or a pellucid attempt to promise fulfillment.
An old lady, she is 92, said to me, “Wild Coot, I don’t know what the fuss is all about, but there is a striking similarity between wukking up and percolating. I have 14 children.”
The vulgar side of wukking up is symptomatic of the general breakdown of morals in all areas in the society.
Harry Russell is a banker. Email quijote70@gmail.com