For most of the world, September 27 has very little significance. But in Saint Lucia, since 2024, it will always be remembered as Julien Alfred Day – the day a nation paused to honour its champion daughter.
While only its inaugural celebration was an official public holiday, its significance has not waned over the past two years. The original celebration was the Friday culmination of a week of festivities honouring Alfred after she brought home Saint Lucia’s first-ever medals at the Olympic Games in Paris, claiming gold in the 100 metres in the August rain and silver in the 200 metres.
Two years on, the nation still remembers. Alfred’s homecoming was a sight to behold. On a personal note, I remember standing in Monkey Town (now informally recognised by residents as Julien Alfred Avenue) on the day of her arrival, September 24. I spoke with her relatives, who chronicled tales of past and present struggles that helped shape Saint Lucia’s newest, most famous child. They urged me to convey their jubilation and pride in Juju’s win, but also never to forget the struggle I witnessed along the way. I tried my best to balance both in my storytelling.
I remember seeing the champion in the flesh, stepping down from her vehicle to embrace those who knew her best. With tears of joy in her eyes, she was draped in the Saint Lucian flag – a banner she would one day officially represent as a Saint Lucia Tourism Ambassador. I was overwhelmed, immediately recognising that this was one of those “I will tell my grandchildren about this moment” events.
And then there were other memories: Sly’s Damn Proud Lucian becoming a national anthem in its own right. I can still hear the National Combined Schools Choir singing Lady Stone‘s Small Packages – a tune dedicated to a champion who reminded the world who we are, just like Sir Arthur Lewis and Sir Derek Walcott before her.
And what about the national concert on Juju Day itself? This once-in-a-lifetime event, which I was not fortunate enough to cover in person but experienced through circulated images and videos, told the story of a nation believing in itself in a way it might not have since 1979.
There were no Labours, no Flambeaus, no religious, no atheists; not an iota of division existed in those memories. Just Saint Lucians united behind one of their own, who triumphed on the global stage against all odds. That is what sport can do.
Two years on, a nation still remembers, but have we learnt? Have we learnt what we can achieve when, as a united front, we put our differences aside, but for a moment and unite in a cause greater than ourselves? Perhaps this is what Julien Alfred Day should remind us of annually.
