In the late 1980s- early 1990s, quite a few of my acquaintances grew pretentious and fond of attempting to outdo each other with their various masquerade balls. And, whenever I chose to attend these events, I always wondered at the very little cover people needed to undergo slight to severe behaviour change. To be sure, the costumes were voluminous 18th Century wreckages. But the masks were mere eye pieces.

In an intimate gathering of 150 persons or so, the chances of you not knowing who’s behind mask B or C are not that great. Unless of course, you’re being blinded by Mask A (alcohol), which is often the sturdiest mask of all. I remember that in quick time these balls became the annual scenes for reckless abandonment.  They moved people to do wild things- say things they’d later have to apologize for and do things there could be no apologizing for later… when all masks were removed.

Once behind their masks, wives and husbands would blithely avenge a year’s worth of pain suffered at the hands of their spouse’s family.  They’d pretend to be unaware of the identity of the people around them and confide some sad-story about trying their best to be a good wife or husband to a figure whom they had no doubt was the in-law they most despised. 

 Behind those masks, single men and women so used to knowing each other in the dark would romp around in the light with little to no hesitation.  Sure, mistakes were made. It wasn't too uncommon for the host and hostess of a particular ball to find themselves locked together in a passionate room. In such a situation, all they had to do, once the masks came off, was pretend that they’d procured the masked person each truly wanted.

Every summer when the people of Antigua decide to hold their own island-wide masquerade or carnival, I’m reminded of these balls.  After three years and three carnivals, I’ve observed that it’s all quite the same- my balls and their carnival. It seems that all that is needed for the transformation is just the tiny bit of costume on women and men of varying shapes and sizes.

During my second Antiguan carnival, I stood one Monday evening on Independence Drive watching with slight amusement the woman I knew only as the surly clerk at a particular government office beam brighter than the suns of several planets. She shouted greetings at me and waved in the friendliest manner.  I couldn’t be sure if she recognized me or if she was just caught up in the friendliness of the evening.

Her hair, which I’d seen on all four occasions pinned up into a severe bun of mixed hair- hers and artificial-, hung limply along the sides of her sweaty grinning face.   And the slow robotic walk of hers was replaced by the fierce thrusting back and forth of her piston hips.  Of course, by the following evening- still a carnival holiday, I saw her without her tiny costume and she was as surly as ever- no friendly wave and almost trampling a toddler who stood in her path.

(V).Damien