Easter Turn Up: How Our Ancestors Made Resurrection a Rave
When most people think of Easter in Jamaica, it’s all bun, cheese, beach trips, and sharp church outfits. But beyond the fashion and family feasts lies a nearly forgotten tradition—a wild, sacred, rebellious celebration where ancestors danced, drummed, and defied the odds. Welcome to the story of Easter Rockfires and Jonkanoo Night Vigils—when Jamaica stayed woke, long before hashtags.
Imagine rural Jamaica in the 1800s. Enslaved Africans, silenced by the law and barred from gathering after dark, were suddenly granted one rare night of freedom: Easter weekend. And what did they do with it? They turned the hills and sugar estates into open-air sanctuaries, pulsing with rhythm, spirit, and resistance.
John Canoe Festival celebrants, Kingston, Jamaica, Christmas 1975 (digitized from Kodachrome original). Attribution:
Photo by WikiPedant at Wikimedia Commons. For educational use only. JMCC is a 501(c) (3) nonprofit organization.
Rockfires lit up the night while Jonkanoo dancers, masked and mysterious, paraded through villages, stomping to the beat of drums and fifes, sometimes dressed as biblical figures, sometimes as colonial caricatures.
Storytelling circles formed under tamarind trees, where Jesus met Anansi in epic remixes of scripture and folklore.
It wasn’t just a party, it was spiritual warfare in full color. It was worship, protest, and healing rolled into one.
This wasn’t random revelry. The logic was clear:
Biblically: Jesus rose at dawn—someone had to keep watch. (Luke 24:1)
Practically: Nighttime was the only space free from the plantation’s chokehold, where spirits could rise and ancestors could be honored.
Culturally: Loud drums weren’t just for vibes. They drove away duppies and colonizers’ sleep alike.
And Yes, There Was Food (Because It’s Jamaica)
You know Jamaicans don’t do anything without food. But forget your store-bought bun and processed cheese. Back then, it was: Roasted yam and plantain, spiced tea and hard dough “cross buns.
By the early 20th century, the pulse of African expression in Jamaica began to quiet under the weight of city life, colonial values, and polished church doctrines. The fiery glow of rockfires dimmed. Jonkanoo was neatly folded into Christmas tradition. Yet, traces endure. Revival Zion churches still gather for all-night prayer meetings. The drums may have softened, but the tambourine still shakes the heavens.
The truth is: our ancestors knew how to grieve the crucifixion and anticipate the resurrection—loudly, reverently, unapologetically. They mourned with spirit. They celebrated with soul. Fire, food, and faith were their holy trinity.
So, this Easter, as you unwrap your bun and cheese, remember: Jamaican spirituality was never silent.
It danced.
It drummed.
It rose.