All the entries so far in the “Tales from the USA” series have been about my most recent trip to the US in November-December last year. Recently, however, I stumbled across some pictures from my previous visit to the States, when I travelled to the city of New Orleans in March 2022. This reminded me that I had never written about my encounter with the Mardi Gras Indians.
In the months leading up to this trip, I had been watching the excellent HBO drama Treme, which follows several New Orleans residents as they attempt to rebuild their lives in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. My favourite character (in a show filled with great characters) was Albert Lambreaux, played by Clarke Peters, and it was his story arc – a Mardi Gras Indian “Big Chief” trying to get his tribe back together – that brought the incredible tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians to my attention.
The exact origins of the Mardi Gras Indians (or Black Masking Indians, as they are sometimes called) are hard to trace. It is said that, during slavery, escaped African slaves found refuge with Native American tribes in the outskirts of New Orleans, and that the Mardi Gras Indian tradition - with its extravagant, feathery costumes and ritualistic chants and dances – began as an African American tribute to the Native Americans who had sheltered their ancestors.
What is for certain, as author Nikesha Elise Williams details in her 2023 book Mardi Gras Indians, is that the tradition emerged from the same cultural stew that gave birth to jazz; a mixture of African, European and Native American influences unique to New Orleans. Throughout the year, these men (and in more recent years, women too) dedicate time and money to creating a new ‘suit’ by hand, with the goal of being the ‘prettiest’ on Fat Tuesday, when all the tribes take to the streets to parade, dance, and sing.
On Sunday 20th March 2022, the day before I was due to fly back to the UK, I received a tip from a fellow traveller that there would be a chance to see the Indians at A.L Davis Park that afternoon, due to it being “Super Sunday.” I didn’t know what Super Sunday was, but I soon learned that it was an annual celebration held on the Sunday closest to St Joseph’s Day, and one of the few times a year that the Indians make a non-Mardi Gras appearance. The festivities are divided between “Downtown Super Sunday” and “Uptown Super Sunday,” which is where I was headed.
The journey from Canal Street to A.L. Davis Park required me to take a ride on the famous St Charles Streetcar. This is the oldest continuously operating streetcar line in the world, running down the leafy St Charles Avenue into the picturesque Garden District.
While enjoying the ride, I was surprised to see elderly passengers having to struggle up and down the streetcar’s high step. It turns out that the St Charles Line was for many years believed to be exempt from the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, on account of its being on the National Register of Historic Places (which often prohibits major amendments being made to historic sites). After a lawsuit filed in 2016 proved the St Charles Line was not exempt from the ADA, the city was forced to install a wheelchair lift onto the streetcar, which they did in 2021. However, as of 2024, this can only be accessed from 12 of the 54 stops on the St Charles Line.
I left the streetcar at the St Charles and Washington stop and set off down Washington Avenue. As I neared A.L. Davis Park, I passed the unsettling Lafayette Cemetery No. 2 and the even more eerie St Joseph’s Cemetery, which are right next to each other. Because more than half of New Orleans is below sea level (sometimes by as much as ten feet), the deceased are stored in ornate, above-ground tombs; the land is so swampy that if you bury something six feet in the ground, there’s no guarantee it will stay where you left it. I had been warned not to wander in the cemeteries alone, which was fine, because I didn’t want to.
At first Washington Avenue was quiet, but after walking a while I could hear the chattering of a crowd and a combination of smells that could only mean one thing: barbeque! Sure enough, I soon arrived at what seemed to be a huge street party, the sidewalks lined with food vendors selling their wares.
Some were family affairs. I stopped at a hotdog stall where a wife/husband team were manning the grill and placing the dogs into buns, while their adult children took orders and served. Behind them, a group of elderly uncles and grandfathers sat observing, presumably in charge of quality control.
I ordered a hotdog, only to be presented with two a few minutes later.
“Here are your hotdogs.”
“Oh, actually I only ordered one.”
“Oh, okay.”
The second hotdog disappeared, leaving me to wonder if I should have just taken both.
I didn’t have much time to regret this sequence of events, however, because not long afterward I encountered something I had never seen in person: a full-size BBQ smoker. It looked like a small steam train, and was being operated by a serious-looking man who was busy applying various sauces and spices to the meat on the grill.
Since I had space left over from not taking that second hotdog, I ordered a small burger, which arrived shortly afterward wrapped in foil.
It might not look like anything special, but this remains the best burger I have ever tasted, by some distance.
This was all well and good, but burgers and hotdogs – however delicious they may have been – were not the reason I had come to A.L. Davis Park. I was here to see the Mardi Gras Indians.
The swampy humidity of Louisiana, combined with a spring heatwave, meant that after a while I was beginning to feel the heat, and the air began to seem thick and soupy. Also, this being early 2022, I still wasn’t that used to being in big crowds again. After enjoying the sights and sounds for a while, I reluctantly decided that perhaps I should make my exit, and hope to see the Mardi Gras Indians some other time.
I had started walking back down Washington Avenue when I saw something in the distance coming toward me. It was big, white, and feathery, and was moving up and down and side to side. As it got closer, I could see other shapes around it, and hear the drums they were all moving in time to.
After a while, I could finally make out what was coming down the road. It was a tribe of Mardi Gras Indians, led by a resplendent Big Chief!
Soon they had reached where I was standing, and something incredible happened. There were suddenly Mardi Gras Indians everywhere, at least five different tribes milling around, dancing, and posing for photos.
One Chief (pictured above) loudly proclaimed that he represented The Wild Tchoupitoulas tribe, a name I recognised from reading Tom Piazza’s great book Why New Orleans Matters (2005). The Wild Tchoupitoulas recorded an influential album in the 1970s, which Piazza describes hearing for the first time:
[S]omething about this music was not immediately identifiable and classifiable, and it was reaching up through the surface of everything else that was going on as if to say, “Get out of the way – coming through.”
In the old days, encounters between tribes were confrontational affairs that often boiled over into violence, but the atmosphere on this day was one of camaraderie and mutual respect. The chiefs from each tribe even lined up for a group photo, much to the annoyance of a driver waiting to turn out of the road next to them. In New Orleans, tradition always comes first.
By an amazing coincidence, Super Sunday 2024 is today! Unfortunately, stormy weather means that the Mardi Gras Indian parade has been postponed until next Sunday
Check out the album Flagboy of the Nation by Flagboy Giz. Great album by a young Mardi Gras Indian about what it’s like for his generation.
Nice! I also wrote on encountering the Indians back in March (I experienced Mardi Gras in New Orleans about 12 years ago - just insane - and seeing the Indians in Treme was a highpoint).