That's Not Juice!

I’m awoken to kids’ calls outside the house. “Miss! Miss, come!” Heads appear at one of my windows with open louvers. “MISS!” I tell them I’m coming; they stand there, waiting and watching. As I have no pants on, I shoo them away, throw on a skirt, then go and open the door. A passle of about 10 kids surround my door and I notice Belinda with a bucket of juice or something. What the heck? “What’s up?” I ask them. They pull me out of the door – and throw buckets of stuff all over me! “Whaaaaaaa?!!!!”

“Happy Phagwah Day, Miss!”

Jess had wisely remembered and stayed in bed to let me meet that wet jubilation on my own. I knew it was supposed to be Phagwah, but I’d never caught the festivities before; it’s an East Indian holiday, actually, always held around Spring/Easter time, where you celebrate by throwing water and colourful powders or dyed water over each other. The Essequibo coast is supposed to have the most colourful Phagwah celebrations in the country. It’s not really celebrated here, except for a day off from school. The last two Phagwahs here in Yups, I remember seeing kids running around with water a bit, though I was never caught in it.

Jess did come out of her room eventually, got doused with some red water and a lot of regular water, like me, then we were invited to join in on the fun of storming Mike and Fernando at Caiman House. Mike, Emmelita and Orina were ready for us, too. They had flour.

What a way to wake up on a Sunday morning. Love it.