This phrase in the Bible always puzzled me. Why would you need to separate sheep from goats? How could they possibly get mixed up in the first place? You see, growing up I didn’t have much first hand experience with sheep. I’d seen goats, sure, many people in Nassau kept goats, even to this day, there’s a man who walks his goats on Nassau Street in the early mornings. But my only impressions of sheep were from text books and story books in school (I didn’t travel to the Southern Islands much as a youth). A goat mixed in with flock of those sheep you see in the books would stick out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t until I visited Exuma when I was much older that I realized how similar the two really are.
We were riding our scooters, South towards Rolletown, when turning a corner the road was blocked by what looked like a herd of goat crossing the road. The only thing that was unusual was that they seemed slightly lighter in colour and goats don’t really travel in herds naturally, but there was no sign of a herdsman around. When we got closer I realised that the “goats” were in fact sheep (actually I figured it out pretty soon because of the racket they were making – no mistaking that sheep sound). For all intents and purposes, the main way to tell the difference (in Bahamian parlance) is that the goat is the one with the “good” hair.
What does this have to do with Junkanoo? In the old days, we used to refer to the goombay drum, the junkanoo drum, as a “goatskin drum”. This was not entirely accurate because a substantial portion of the drum heads were made from sheepskin. I understand that these days goatskins are imported – I used to wonder how the local livestock population could support the junkanoo demand.
Anyway, old wood drums were made from rum or salt pork barrels. When the skins were stretched over the head of the drum, only the skin that was to be played was shaved. All the hair was left on the overlap. This added a special character to the drum. In those days also they must not have left the skins in lime for so long, because it was not uncommon four goatskin drums to show the dark line that marks the goat’s spine. The drum would be made so the line traversed the centre of the drum head. The pattern was continued in the goat hair on the skin overlapping the edge of the drum. Adrian reminded me also that though rare, you also could find goatskin drums with black skins. Each drum was unique, a piece of craftsmanship in many ways, and as such was treated with a good deal more respect and reverence than the drums today. The drum was an instrument, the musician’s partner, cherished and loved just as is any musical instrument in the hands of the musician. Drums would last for years and years and were often passed down from father to son. Moreover, they were often beautifully painted with stripes following the wood slats that made up the barrel.
Anyway, we always used to argue over which gave the better sound, sheep or goat. The discussion would go back and forth, each person’s position largely set by the type of skin he (or occasionally she) had more experience with. Everyone had their own opinion. Sheep had a “higher” sound (meaning the tone was higher), but did not hold the heat as long, or was that goat? I can’t remember to tell the truth. Goat skins were thicker, thinner; required more maintenance, less maintenance, and on and on.
In truth, I don’t know how different the skins are intrinsically. I think the sound of the drum, and each drum definitely had its own distinct sound, was more determined by the drummaker and the characteristics of the particular sheep or goat skin. I do know that if it’s one thing I miss in junkanoo is the old salt pork barrel drums. They were heavy and unwieldy, but they had a unique look and sound, the sound of junkanoo, that has sadly passed into history.
