Unveiling Grenada’s Spicemas: A Celebration of Jab Jab and Black Culture

It’s a sight that will stop you dead in your tracks. Brown bodies covered in black oil from head to toe, shining like onyx stones in the sun. Helmets adorned with horns curved upward, sometimes accompanied by red, bloodied mouths, never far from a drum with a hypnotizing beat. Whether you are terrified or intrigued, there’s only one place on earth where these cultural masterpieces walk freest in their element: Grenada. Welcome to the land of Jab Jab and Spicemas.

As a journalist and storyteller, I’d long heard about Spicemas in Grenada. Known as the weeklong cultural tradition during carnival season, this is a time for revelry, heritage, and economy-boosting tourism. With vibrant fetes (parties), stadium-packed concerts, and island-fresh cuisine from upscale restaurants to local street food, thousands flock to Grenada in search of a good time. This year, as part of the Spicemas Press Posse, I joined the festivities to witness multiple aspects of this rich celebration.

The Intrigue of Jab Jab

Having visited numerous carnivals over the years, coming to Grenada to see the jab jabs—the symbolic “devils”—was on my lifelong bucket list. In a world inundated with ads urging individuals to lighten their skin, here in Grenada, the mantra is flipped: the blacker, the better. I’d seen a jab before knowing what it was—back in 2000, in Jay-Z and UGK’s “Big Pimpin” video, the striking image of a jab, with all-black skin and horns, floated across my screen.

Upon landing in Grenada, my mission was clear: to see jab jabs in motion and unravel the history of how Blackness became paramount here. Was dressing up as a jab really about channeling devils or was there something deeper?

From Banned to Black Supremacy

To truly grasp what “jab jab” means, one must enter the world of the celebrations from which they originate. In the 17th century, enslaved Black people in Grenada and other Caribbean regions observed their European masters partake in extravagant carnival celebrations during Lent while they were forbidden from joining. This spurred them to create their own celebratory space.

Carnival became a time for reclaiming agency, a platform to mock oppressors while basking in personal joy. Participants often dressed as various characters, using satire as a form of resistance. There were fancy carnivals, with flashy costumes that many Americans recognize, and then there was J’ouvert, which literally means “daybreak.” Participants would come out in the dark of night, cover their skin with mud or oil, and dance to drums—their primal calls to arms for revolts captured in the rhythms of celebration. While many regions have adopted their own styles of J’ouvert today, Grenada remains the birthplace of its true essence.

Today, modern J’ouvert allows participants to join a band complete with plastic horns and skin-safe oil, but nothing compares to the authentic experience of playing jab in Grenada.

The Symbolism of Jab

“Jab is a masquerade — you’re shrouded in resistance and revolt,” Ian Charles, a historian and influential artist, shared with our group at Sandals Resort. The color of the jab, black, symbolizes what was once demonized. Each aspect of the Jab costume, from the horns to the chains dragged through the streets, carries profound meaning.

“The chains on J’ouvert morning symbolize freedom,” he elaborates. “They echo the chains of the transatlantic slave trade, which captured lives and lost many. On J’ouvert morning, the drag of these chains represents breaking free—physically and mentally.”

As debates about the significance of jab jab emerged online, many misinterpreted the tradition, questioning if participants aimed to channel evil spirits. The answer, emphatically, was no. Charles insists, “It is vital to rewrite the Eurocentric narrative of jab. You cannot dictate what my culture is.”

Does Everyone ‘Play Jab’?

As with any tradition, perspectives vary. Not every Grenadian participates in the Jab during Spicemas. While visiting Paraclete, I met a pastor who revealed that he had sneaked out to play jab decades ago but chose not to return after his mother scolded him.

“Culture is dynamic,” he said. “The way you interact with people, the food you eat—all that embodies culture.” For him, a different form of Afrocentric resistance, maroonage, speaks more to his beliefs. Maroons were enslaved Africans who escaped plantations and formed their own communities, creating bonds of support and cooperation, a spirit that’s still palpable in Grenada today.

Back at the Jab Jab camp, the locals laughed, covered themselves in oil, sang soulful melodies with drums and conch shells, and prepared a massive pot of “oil down,” Grenada’s national dish, sharing it generously with all. A large banner caught my eye: BLACKA DAN BLACK—a rallying cry of community and identity.

Playing Jab on J’ouvert Morning

As J’ouvert arrived, the sun barely peeked over the horizon when I gathered myself and a crew at 3 AM to witness the festivities. On the streets of St. George’s, the energy was palpable as people donned their jab costumes and prepared to dance their way into history.

The vibrant atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and safety—offering water, snacks, or a helping hand were the norms amid the spirited dances echoing the beats of Jab Jab music. It was a melting pot: Black Americans, Black Brits, Nigerians, Bajans—people from the African Diaspora converging, dissolving boundaries in celebration.

J’ouvert morning felt like a living tapestry woven with the threads of shared rhythms and identities, pulsing through the streets like a jet-black heartbeat. Walking among the diverse crowd, I resonated with the familiar sounds echoing the rich legacies of my own culture, amplifying the beauty of Blackness in all its forms.

The Connection to Malcolm X

As I moved toward the beach, eager to wash off the remnants of oil, I reflected on the powerful connection between Black culture in Grenada and the larger narrative of the African Diaspora. Malcolm X’s roots in Grenada echoed in my thoughts; his mother, Louise Little, a native Grenadian, had raised a son who would champion Black empowerment globally.

He wisely stated, “You can’t hate the roots of the tree without ending up hating the tree.” In Grenada, I witnessed a vibrant embodiment of self-love and community spirit—celebrating the beauty of the Black experience in its entirety.

As the oil washed away, I was left with an indelible sense of pride, understanding that freedom—both a celebration and a necessity—was paramount in this land of Jab Jab.