Every time I shoot jouvert, I get drenched in something — water, liquor, powder.
I’m fine with Heineken, but nobody sane drinks, or lets themselves be drenched in, anything else. One year, I got splashed with Guinness. Fun fact: I’ve always hated the smell of stout liquor. It smells heavy and spoiled to me. That odor bothers me, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to be covered in it for hours.
But really how could you come to a wet fete and don’t expect for you to get wet? I tried explaining the concept of a jump-up to one of my college professors and her husband a few months ago. I went for familiar visuals first. (Speaking of visuals, click here to see more images of jouvert morning)
“You’ve seen a Caribbean Carnival parade right? Convoy of trucks leading costumed revelers?”
She had. Okay, a bit easier.
So, I told her to imagine the parade with fewer rules, more liquor and different costumes. In hindsight, I should have noted that you have to turn up the dial on it.
That’s a jump-up, in brief. Jouvert morning is a special animal because the darkness that usually hides and excuses the Carnival-related debauchery is absent. It happens in daylight.
Some people do wear costumes – the occasional Guy Fawkes or The Scream masks or simply wigs, shades and bandanas –- while others make a social affair of it and coordinate their costumes, appearing in matching cheerleader outfits or nurses scrubs. I have thoughts about it that
I’ve shared with someone else briefly already, almost time to share them here.
Jouvert is unique, and really, it’s something better experienced than discussed.