In my childhood years, I knew him only as Everton. Others knew him as Effelton. He was a man of average height, with perennially inebriated eyes and a scruffy beard. He lived at upper Morne Dudon. I never knew what Everton did for a living. Some say he was the first local public transport entrepreneur, and that he rented Bikes under the CDC Building; others say he was a construction worker.
In my childhood mind, the things Everton did FOR a living did not matter as much as the things he did TO the living, especially. I knew only that when the Festive Season came along, Everton would come to life, as “TOES,” aka “Papa Djab.” From National Day, through to New Year’s Holiday, he would assume the persona of “The Devil,” suitably dressed in a flaming-red suit, with a vigorous tail, mean-looking horns, and a pitchfork with prongs strong enough to dig up a concrete pavement. He would parade through the streets with his “family” which included his adult children “djablotens” with their bodies sufficiently drenched in molasses for the rays of the sun to bounce off their skins.
Among the cast was Mary, looking unquestionably pregnant. At the time, I attached no significance to her presence in the company of Papa Djab. Still, even if I’d grasped it, I don’t think it would have mattered to me and other acolytes, for whom Toes was the essence of Christmas.
After Mamma’s signature Christmas breakfast of scrambled eggs, salted ham and babawez; and after showing off our Christmas gifts to our friends in the neighbourhood, we would seek our parents’ permission to collect our “Christmas money” from elusive family benefactors. En route, Toes would be alive in our minds, and we would be alert for any whisperings of sightings of him and his band of tormentors.
Today, we are told Toes is performing near the home of Elwin Marcellin’s on Micoud Street and we gleefully run towards that location in anticipation of frightful danger. The tsunami of screaming kids approaching us tells us we are headed in the right direction. We wade through the current for our own “fix.” With throbbing hearts, we join a throng of about two dozen kids on the inner fringe of a cache of watchers, eagerly anticipating our bull run. Another fifty or so kids have chosen to play it safe and are standing on the periphery. Toes is surrounded by his helpers. In a show of his power, he would ‘kill’ the djablotens. As he does so, he would chant…
“Ri boey, ri pa, ripi ti cal four.”
Then his chant would change to “ri boey, ri pa tye, ri piti kal fouki” as he raises them from the dead. Now, he nonchalantly places several crackers on a dish, and using kerosene, he sets the crackers alight and feeds his children. Then Toes shifts his focus to Mary.
“Woy, woy, Mary ansent…” he shouts, as he points his pitchfork at Mary.
The djablotens join in, “Woy, woy, Mary ansent.” Mary belies her condition by putting on a wild dance. Now comes the part that we dread and love in equal measure. Toes moves around threateningly, as he fixes a steely gaze on a clump of kids…
“Yonn, de’ twa ti manmay, bay djabla manje’ ti manmay.” The targeted kids recoil in fear only to return to the heart of fray.
Then the incantation we knew so well would begin.
“REPOE…”
“REPO, PO, PO, PO-E …”
“RE, Po, po, po, po e…”
“RE PO, PO, PO, PO, PO-E
“GRRREEEAAAH”
And then, Toes charges at us, his pitchfork thrust out menacingly from his right hand. We retreat as fast as our feet can carry us, screaming wildly as we do so. This cycle of advance and retreat would continue for hours. Over time, we came to realize that Toes was exceptionally fit and could run fast and far in relentless pursuit of his targets. After all, he had a reputation to uphold as the Devil Incarnate.
With every Toes charge, there would be an unfortunate kid who would receive his undivided attention, right through to the bitter end. Today, is Clarette’s turn and it doesn’t end well. Here’s how she related her experience to us, some years later.
“I was in the throng with some friends shouting ‘woye, woye mi djabla’. Suddenly, Toes turned his head, and I knew from that moment that I was the ‘chosen one.’ His gaze was fixed on me as he made his way through the crowd. I started to run towards my house in the CDC apartments, periodically looking over my shoulder to see if Toes was gaining on me. He was! As I got closer to my house, I realized that I would not have enough time to open the gate, rap on the door, and get inside before he got to me. I ran past my home. I looked to the CDC apartment ahead and there were people on an upper floor balcony. I knew them well. Among them were the parents of close friends of mine. I would have to climb the flight of stairs. My heart was pounding, and my breathing was hard as I did so. I glanced over my shoulder to see Everton bearing down on me. As I tried to push the front door open, my hand went through the glass above the door’s handle. I entered the apartment and ran up the stairs to the bedrooms on the upper floor and hid under one of the beds. Everton was there on his knees with his five fingered pitchfork poking at me. It took the man of the house to bring Everton to his feet and get him out of the house.
“When I was finally convinced that he was gone and it was safe to come out, my friend’s mom said to me ‘you cut your hand on the glass in the door.’ In my fearful state, I was oblivious to the pain from my bleeding hand. A piece of glass was still in it. Within minutes, I was back on the road, well bandaged up and back taunting Toes.”
At the end of every Festive Season our friends in the neighbourhood would join my siblings and I in the balcony of our home in Grass Street to share recollections of our encounters with “Toes” aka “Papa Djab,” aka “The Devil.”
Here’s to Everton/Efelton and all the other characters who made Toes a vital part of Christmases past.