Claiming 'Fi Wi Sinting'

Carolyn Cooper

As a child, I used to run and hide under my bed when the Jonkunnu masqueraders came down our street in Brown's Town. Not St Ann. East Kingston. It was a delicious terror. Afraid to watch, but captivated by the drama, I would ask, "Dem gone?" Two Sundays ago, at the 'Fi Wi Sinting' festival in Portland, I confided to the devil how terrified I'd been of the ritual performance in those long ago days. Now, Jonkunnu is light entertainment for adults. I don't think the devil was amused. Even big people ought to feel a shiver of fear in his presence.

After all, the Jonkunnu masquerade has a distinguished history. For centuries, it was a grand display of resistance to everyday oppression. It freed enslaved Africans to take control of public space. The parades created opportunities for civil unrest as masqueraders and spectators revelled in their power to terrify their presumed superiors. In 1841, the foolish mayor of Kingston banned the Jonkunnu parade. The people rioted.

So-called 'Black History Month' has come and gone. But for some of us, paying attention to our history is not an occasional affair. It's an everyday commitment. As Marcus Garvey warns us, "A people without knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots." Similarly, the Spanish philosopher George Santayana asserts, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

Racist tourist industry

The 'Fi Wi Sinting' festival was conceived by Pauline 'Sister P' Petinaud as a way of celebrating our living history. In 1975, she returned to Jamaica from the United States to take up an appointment as assistant financial controller at the Intercontinental Hotel in MoBay. She was alarmed that Jamaicans flatly refused to see themselves as black. And she was appalled by the racism of the tourist industry which she saw as "white people giving black people orders". It was not what she expected from democratic socialism.

In 1980, Sister P set up the Damali Beach Village in MoBay. The concept was way ahead of its time. Much too Afrocentric! It wasn't the usual tourist product - sun, sand, sea and sex. The core of the brand was culture. And 'poor' people's culture at that! A decade later, Sister P launched 'Fi Wi Sinting' to showcase the accomplishments of the Content Model School she established in Portland. For example, the Content Drummers, from this little village in Jamaica, achieved international fame, performing at world-class cultural centres like the Harlem School of the Arts. And Sister P's home-schooled daughter, Subira, was featured in National Geographic's magazine for children.

A terrible burden

The name of the festival affirms a fundamental element of Jamaican culture - our language. At 'Fi Wi Sinting' last month, I had an inspiring conversation with an engaging young woman, Rochelle, who's a sixth-former at Holy Childhood. She politely introduced herself, letting me know she's taking CAPE communication studies. I immediately jumped to conclusions.

I assumed that Rochelle was one of the many students doing research projects on dancehall. I'm accustomed to being asked questions like, "Does dancehall music influence teenagers to commit crime?" What I usually say is, "I don't know." This is not the answer students want. But it's the truth. Rochelle informed me that her teacher, Miss Williams, had said there were lecturers at the University of the West Indies, Mona, who wanted 'Patwa' to be taught in school. She did not agree.

Her spirited objection wasn't the usual intolerant prejudice. She was much more sophisticated. If Patwa (or Jamaican, as I prefer) is taught in school, she would be forced to learn about structure and grammar and spelling. All the joy would be sucked out of the language. Her fears make perfectly good sense in a school system that treats learning English as a terrible burden to be carried to the grave.

Fun to learn

I invited Rochelle to consider the possibility that it could be fun to learn about the structure of the language that gives her so much pleasure. And I offered to teach her how to read and write Jamaican using the phonetic system. Rochelle was shocked to learn that a writing system had been developed more than 40 years ago. And she asked the million-dollar question: Why isn't it taught in school? Class prejudice plain and simple.

I started with the vowels, especially the double ones, which are less familiar and so look more complicated than the consonants. Then I gave Rochelle a little quiz, the very thing she was running from. This is what I asked her to read out loud: "Mi glad fi miit yu tide. Yu a brait pikni an yu a go laan fi spel fi wi langwij kwik-kwik. Siit de! Yu don dwiit."

Rochelle made only one mistake. She pronounced 'tide' like the name of the laundry detergent. That's English interference. And, with the passion of the new convert, she immediately said, "Mi a go spred it tu mi fren." And she did keep her word. One of her friends even got 'tide' right. No small victory for fi wi sinting!

Carolyn Cooper is a professor of literary and cultural studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona. Visit her bilingual blog at http://carolynjoycooper.wordpress.com. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and karokupa@gmail.com