ZULU – Need I Say More?

In the weeks preceding Fat Tuesday, it is not uncommon to hear the word “Zulu” whispered in hush and reverent tones.  Touted as THE parade to end all parades, the opening march of the Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club draws crowds so big that walking a block’s distance can leave a traveller hopelessly lost and fairly immobile in a sea of joyous faces.  How does one know that this is, without a doubt, the best thing since sliced bread was made into a po’ boy?  The fact that this 8 a.m. parade alone draws more people than the first weekend’s display, afternoon and evening.

A grandiose production, Zulu is a celebration of rags to riches, a symbol of hope for laborers, minorities, and recipients of social aid. A brief history is that the groups that evolved into Zulu were made up of black men loosely connected through their Benevolent Aid Societies, groups who gave their dues-paying members financial assistance in the case of illness or death.  Each ward (neighborhood) united as groups and long story short, announced its first king in 1909, marching proudly with their can-crowned king, brandishing banana stalk scepters.

Their full story , however, like any good tale, also has a few low points.  Zulu’s greatest struggle was during the 1960’s, when social consciousness dictated that it was demeaning and disrespectful to be in grass skirts and blackface, pre-existing stereotypes with negative connotations of barbarism, mean-spirited mockery, and primitivism.  Because of these deep feelings, the black community turned away from their own and membership hit an all-time low of sixteen.

Needless to say, Zulu recovered from their hardship, and membership (if I’m not mistaken) is somewhere around 700.  Of course, it helps that the “Golden Nugget,” the richly painted, glittery hollow coconut, is the most coveted prize of the season, changing the chorus of begging from “Throw me something, Mister!” to frantic shrieks of “Coconut!  COCONUT!”

And thus, Fat Tuesday arrives.