A Sea of Red

We heard about a gathering to be held on the football pitch a few days ago and have asked around to see what it is all about. Yesterday, red flags started appearing on the telephone poles. Food stalls and a stage were being set up on the pitch. We were told there would be music and speeches. All are welcome.

Last night we saw a truck or two blaring music and their red shirted riders waving red flags.


Today, as we drive back from diving, there are red shirts folks everywhere. On the corners, on the beach, walking towards downtown, in cars. Murray muses that he thinks it looks like the folks are waiting for a parade.


A few minutes later, and a few kilometres down the road, as we are parked on the main street near the university at the ATM machine, a parade of vehicles goes by. How did Murray know? Honking horns, pounding speakers, waving red flags and a bazillion red shirts riding in the vehicles. It is about 10 minutes before we dare move.


As we sit in the beach bar at our hotel, we can hear the music playing at the rally and the speaker exciting the red mass to dance and cheer. I can visualize the movement of thousands of bodies gyrating to the beat.

By tomorrow morning the sea of red will have disbursed into the multitude of Carribean hues.

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