Isokhan….I so can again
Dear Diary,
Today marks one week since my expedition to the distant land of San Fernando for the celebration of Vaughnette Bigford's emancipation extravaganza, "Isokhan" at an establishment called the "Naparima Bowl".
The journey itself was uneventful apart from the lunatics on the black carpet and except for the sudden shout of "Look Skinner Park!!! I never see it in real life" from the wife. Indeed….C3, SAPA, Skinner Park, Naparima Bowl….we had no idea all these locations were within a day’s voyage from the capital.
We arrived early but if we knew part of the experience would be toiling in the colonial sun while waiting to enter, we would have delayed our arrival. Even though I knew beforehand it was an emancipation gala, I was still pleasantly surprised to see 90% of the patrons in African garb…not me though, I don’t think I could pull that off. They all looked regal though.
As promised, Lady Vaughnette of Bigford was on hand to meet and greet patrons. For some reason she seemed biased toward ladies with no hair. There was a sizeable crew of bald headed ladies that made me feel as if I stumbled into the Shaolin temple or the secret lair of them bad like crab lady warriors from Wakanda.
Of course no matter where you go there will be the uncouth, discourteous, oafish natives who see other persons standing orderly in a queue and decide they’re too important to wait their turn. Yes I'm speaking about you, dude in white with your "quenk" crew.
After the indignity of having to admit to the “admissions wench” that we were not important enough to be on any special VIP scroll, we were allowed to enter the venue and were treated to all manner of delights.
There were free drinks (white wine and orange juice), free saltfish pizza, there was a mini emancipation village with crafts, stick fighting (Miss VB was sharing blows and all…that’s not her in the pic though) and a "Lavway" call and response stage show.
The one common theme throughout it all was that older folk don't care about your personal space. Tanties will stand within an inch of your person and watch you dead in your face while fanning themself. I would not even go into the story of me almost ending up on the front page of the gazette for assaulting an older lady who despite repeated pleas, kept kicking the back of my chair to the beat of Miss VB's smooth jazz.
The performances were excellent. A young pup, no more than 9 years old, started off the evening with a spirited and pore raising rendition of Barrington Levy's “Vice Versa Love”. The young man commanded the stage like an expert replete with attempting to hit Barrington's powerful notes.
The main guest, Brother Valentino almost brought the bowl down with his performance. I will admit flat out I didn't know any of his songs but, the bloke have real lyrics and he was a whole vibe. So much so that the fans forced him back on stage for an encore, which to me was pure wickedness as the man is 83 years old….let Bro relax nah.
As usual (from the 2 times I've seen her perform in-person) the Lady Vaughnette was classy, soulful and impeccable with a splash of jovial. At this point I've been advised to limit comments to her spectacular custom outfits and imperial necklace but not to comment on her hips. At various points throughout VB's set, patrons were treated to mini solo highlights from the bass man Rodney Alexander and then from the red man saxophonist/flute boss (I dunno he name nah but he bad).
The one part of the show I wasn't enamored with was the extended flickering of the strobe lights at the end like they were trying to induce epileptic seizures. I feel this was the Bowl's fault and not miss Bigford's.
At the end of the show Miss Vaughnette personally invited me….fine….the whole audience to stay back for a party in the courtyard where again there were drinks, food and generally good fellowship....or so I assume as I had to immediately embark on the return voyage to the Western peninsula.
All in all, well done, Miss Bigford...well done. I shall await the next shindig in my neck of the realm.
TANA