Carnal Reason

Some years ago I was having lunch with two co-workers. One of them proposed a game of sorts, that we share our “true spirit names”. Oddly enough, I had one. This is the story of how I came by that name.

A friend had invited me to his wedding, which was to be held in Trinidad during the week of Carnival. He was a good friend, and a good man, and I was happy to attend.

The Carnival opening ceremony (of sorts) is called J’ouvert. J’ouvert seemed to me a humongous street party which did not even begin till around three in the morning. Everyone on the island attended, wearing paint and little else, and drinking heavily.

The groom had to attend to family matters that evening, and could not join us immediately, so he provided the out-of-town guests with some party substances and instructions to meet at a place called the Lion Club. Naturally, none of the several of us staying at the hotel had any idea how to get there. We tried to get a taxi, though it seemed madness to me. The streets were completely packed with partying mobs. A couple of taxis turned us down when we explained where we wanted to go, always a good sign.

Eventually one driver agreed to take us. Maybe. He seemed to be a Rastafarian, and spoke a language none of us could speak, or even identify. A passerby had acted as translator. My companions had their doubts, but I argued that the whole country was a huge party, so what the hell. What could possibly go wrong?

Wisdom prevailed, and we took a long and crazy ride. Eventually we stopped, and the driver signaled that we had arrived. I had no way to determine whether this was the right place, but trusted to fate.

The driver asked for a preposterously small fee, something like the equivalent of two and half dollars. To my amazement, one of my companions started ranting that the man was trying to rip us off. I offered to handle the negotiations. I slipped the driver a twenty, American, and gestured that he should keep the change. He was profusely grateful, and I was happy that so small a thing could put a big smile on his face. The night was off to a good start.

So, there we were. It is relevant to the story that I seemed to be the only white person within miles, and there were thousands of people around. Little children seemed to want to talk to me, and the inevitable form of address was “hey, white man”. It was very matter of fact, but after a while, I started thinking, “yes, it is I, Whiteman, defender of truth, justice, and the Caucasian way”.

Because I did kind of stand out, some of the locals decided to have a little fun with me. A tall muscular man dressed as a caricature of a woman locked eyes with me. He shouted “hey, white man, do you want to suck tit?”

He wore a blond wig, high heels, a red sequined strapless party dress, and completely exaggerated fake breasts. I am talking traffic cones. His did not wait for a reply, but simply closed the distance and jammed a breast right in my face.

In a brief span of time I wondered, is this a traditional J’ouvert greeting? Am I being sexually assaulted? Something else maybe? My one clue was a group of boys who were watching from the sidelines. They were laughing hysterically, like this was the funniest thing they had ever seen. It probably was.

I don’t know why I did it, but I bit that huge fake breast. The guy was taller than me, and on heels, so it was right at face level, and he had aimed well. I bit, and I pulled. In a perfect Aikido moment, I broke his balance, and found I could lead him around like a balloon, and he had to follow me or fall. The boys who had been laughing before just about died.

After a few moments I let him go, wondering what would happen next. I smiled at him, he smiled at me, and we gave each other a big hug. I waved to the crowd, and moved on.

Eventually I backtracked looking for my companions, whom I had misplaced. A bunch of kids recognized me, and started yelling “white man who bites tit”. I waved and grinned. It was not a name I would have chosen, but I did not chose it. It chose me.

Posted on May 7th, 2007 by pwyll
Filed under: personal observations