Louisiana Cultural Vistas - Spring 2006 - (Page 19) Big Chief Bo Dollis leads the Wild Magnolia Mardi Gras Indians. boy in New Orleans, and even running with one of the gangs as a spy boy. That meant that the Indian gangs went back into the 19th century. He sang a song that he remembered them singing, in their characteristic patois. Hu-can-nay Two-way pock-a-way Hu-tan-nay Two-way pock-a-way The Wild Tchoupitoulas sing the same song on their record, with a few tiny changes; they call it “Hey Mama.” On one of my first Mardi Gras mornings after I had moved to New Orleans I lay sick in bed with fever, to the degree that even contemplating going to the kitchen for a glass of water seemed like a logistical impossibility. I didn’t care that it was Mardi Gras, or about anything else. It was still early, when I heard a banging on my front door, then the buzzer, urgent. Swimming up to the surface through the glue of sleep and fever I swung my legs over the side of the bed and made my way, shivering, to the front door. Outside, a neighbor I knew stood there with an amazed expression on her face, pointing toward the corner, and saying, simply, “Look.” I didn’t have to look to know what she was pointing at, because I could hear the tambourines and the chanting, but when I did look I saw three Indians in full regalia, coming down Plum Street — one in light purple, one in bright green, and one in orange. I couldn’t believe my eyes: Indians passing right by my house. I was sure they were from the Carrolton Hunters, a gang I’d heard of but not yet seen in my time in New Orleans. They were singing: Let’s go get ‘em Hey pocky-way Let's go get ‘em Hey pocky-way And like Popeye with a sudden infusion of spinach, or a pilgrim throwing away his crutches at Lourdes, all I could think was, “Goddamn right — let’s go get ‘em.” I went and got dressed as quickly as I could and ran after them. They had gotten to Adams Street and hung a right, and down at the corner of Oak Street they were joined by a couple T SPECIAL SPIRITUAL BOND hroughout the year the Indians hold regular “practices,” usually on Sunday nights and usually at neighborhood bars. The practices are where they hone their improvisatory skills chanting and beating out rhythm on percussion instruments, as well as performing the stylized gestures involved in their characteristic dances; they are where the arcane lore more Indians, and some neighborhood folks, and they kept going down Adams and I followed them to Freret Street and then downtown across Broadway and down Freret as it bisected the Tulane campus and I must have followed them for the better part of a mile, chanting and singing along on the refrains before I realized that any distance I traveled with them I would have to retrace, in reverse, by myself — and soon, too, because I was all-too-obviously feverish. Finally I let them go, off into the distance, in a blaze of brightly colored spiritual glory, and went quickly back home and climbed back into bed. It was one of the happiest mornings I can remember. 19
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