Martinique (The Acolyte book 1)
“Many of the great families gave elaborate masqued balls, while the slaves had their own celebration, called Canboulay. I'd always wanted to see it, though Papa had forbidden this. Urged on by my friends, especially the chief provocateurs, the three sons of Marcel Ducasse, I played the truant, going with them to swim, then slipping into the hills by the river to join the festival.
It was as nothing I'd ever seen, the lively cariso music, the chouval bwa of drums and bamboo flutes. The dancer...s spilled out from beneath the traditional kaiso bunting, many in costumes that were caricatures of the grand blanc masquerade. As night descended, the torches of cane were lit, the cannes brulées of its name, and the stick dancers, wearing tiny bells, engaged in sham combat as they leapt and caroused.
It was primal and free, the rhythm intoxicating. We danced, hidden in the shadows, while the singers called out improvised lyrics, the crowd replying, like responses in the Mass.MoreLess
It was as nothing I'd ever seen, the lively cariso music, the chouval bwa of drums and bamboo flutes. The dancer...s spilled out from beneath the traditional kaiso bunting, many in costumes that were caricatures of the grand blanc masquerade. As night descended, the torches of cane were lit, the cannes brulées of its name, and the stick dancers, wearing tiny bells, engaged in sham combat as they leapt and caroused.
It was primal and free, the rhythm intoxicating. We danced, hidden in the shadows, while the singers called out improvised lyrics, the crowd replying, like responses in the Mass.MoreLess
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