A vacation rarely brings a cast closer together instead of farther apart — unless you count trauma bonding, then any Housewives trip to Puerto Rico would definitely count — yet Grenada serves as a refreshing baptism for the Atlanta ladies. I may be abusing the four-star rating, but my goodness, am I elated to have, to quote Nene Leakes, pure, innocent fun back on RHOA. Okay, perhaps watching the women grind half-naked on Caribbean men isn’t entirely innocent, and I can do without so much talk about Cynthia’s clit, but comedy is finally back in the series. And it’s the type of comedy the Black franchises do best: shit-talking and kiki-ing.

No one does shade and verbal sparring better than RHOA in its prime, and it’s no surprise because shit-talking is an honored tradition for Black people, one that’s been traced back to West African traditions. As one scholar put it, “The themes about which joking is allowed seem to be those most condemned by our social order in other contexts.” We do it to bond, to entertain, to fight, and, as some have argued, to exercise our minds, as getting in a good read requires real quickness and savvy (in his memoir, activist Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin equated our proclivity for shit talking to white people playing Scrabble). It’s an integral part of how we communicate with each other, and The Real Housewives of Atlanta capitalize on this natural inclination for talking shit with their rapid-fire reads and snarky re-enactments of each other’s ridiculous behavior.

But for too many seasons, the playfulness of this cultural exchange was few and far between due to a lack of chemistry within the cast and the seriousness of the storylines. A dark cloud hung over the series, with funny moments quickly deflating as any whiff of joviality was always promptly sucked out of the room. This cloud threatened to take over season 16, but the Grenada trip nipped it in the bud, reintroducing lightness and banter. As the cast debriefs from the rollercoaster of emotions over the past few days, that distinctively Black flavor of convivial shit-talking arose, garnering genuine laughs I hadn’t experienced while covering the last two seasons. I love this kind of banter — Nene re-enacting Kenya’s infamous Gone with the Wind fabulous twirl to Kandi is funnier to me than the actual moment — and the women lean into the silliness as they laugh and dish over breakfast.

Angela and Drew go first, Angela remarking that she “made the mistake” of looking at Drew’s face during Brit’s strange monologue the night before, causing her to stifle her giggles. We’ve all been there with our bestie during what should be a serious moment, tenuously trying to maintain a straight face, knowing one glance at each other would cause an SNL-worthy break. Meanwhile, the old heads have a kiki of their own over in Porsha’s room, listening to Phaedra, the resident shit-talking queen, do her usual rounds, snarkily reading the group. Cynthia and Porsha laugh as Phaedra calls Angela a school teacher (she has a strange obsession with Angela, why is she always trying to dog her?) and jokes about living in “Scam-lanta” while talking about Brit’s donation. Then, she delivers new tea, which is the best ingredient for any shit-talking session.

Phaedra tells Cynthia and Porsha that the genesis of the iciness between Brit and Kelli, something Angela and Drew also noted in their respective kiki, involves Brit allegedly trying to poach Kelli’s glam squad. Now this is the Real Housewives bullshit we all love. According to Phaedra, Brit told her that Kelli doesn’t want her to use the same stylist, although we literally watched Kelli offer his services on the last trip, so there’s clearly more to the story than Brit let on. In Kelli’s room, the soon-to-be ex-besties try to get on the same page, with Brit noting that she feels a lack of support regarding the situation with the donations. Here, Kelli tries to give her friend advice about walking in her purpose (what a wonderfully polite way of saying, “Bitch, if you’re so rich you need to be giving back”), but the point goes right over Brit’s empty head, and she brings up how Kelli “hides” behind her entourage.

With the mention of Kelli’s team, the truth comes out in their confessionals, although they continue to skirt around the issue in their conversation. Brit claims that Kelli explicitly told her team that they could no longer work with Brit. What she conveniently leaves out, which Kelli adds in her confessional, is that Brit apparently organized a meeting with Kelli’s glam team behind her back in an attempt to poach them. During their conversation, Brit takes a shot, saying she “doesn’t want a whole team around” (it’s not like she can afford one anyway), and she wishes Kelli would shed her “layers” of protection. Then, she chastises Kelli for teaching her a lesson in generosity in front of the group instead of pulling her aside in private, which is one thing I can agree with. They leave things there, agreeing to be better friends to each other, but the friction is rampant, foreshadowing the inevitable breakup.

The rest of the episode maintains the jovial spirit of the morning kikis as the cast takes shots around the pool, reminiscing on their turn-up the night before. Another gorgeous Caribbean man briefly joins — he’s the minister of tourism, but just like the prime minister, he might as well be a model — setting the tone for the debauchery coming later in the evening. Porsha’s impromptu photoshoot to boost Shamea’s mood also helped keep the spirit of fun and freedom flowing. Although hearing Shamea say in her confessional that wearing Porsha’s clothes for “a moment” touched her heartstrings was a little creepy à la Sutton Stracke’s obsession with Kyle Richards (desperation for friendship never looks good), it’s great that everyone is friends again, and the energy remains copacetic.

To properly cap off their trip to Grenada, the women attend a special nighttime Jab Jab celebration on the island. Usually celebrated at the top of the morning, Jab Jab is a Carnival parade unique to Grenada, celebrating the abolition of slavery on British-ruled Caribbean islands. “Jab,” the French term for devil, was once used to derogatorily refer to slaves, but as Black people often do, the word was repurposed as a form of protest. During the celebration, people dance in the streets while covering themselves in oil to honor Black liberation. As Ian Charles, the founder of Jambalasee Grenada, which aims to preserve the tradition, told Essence, “We are ridiculing what the oppressors told us we are, substandard, Black, and no good devils. In other words, we are saying, you call me a devil? Well, I’ll show you a devil.”

As Jab Jab kicks off throughout the island, people swarm the streets, slick with the opaque oil or charcoal, often dressed as devils, or more poignantly, using props like shackles and coffins to signify death to the oppressor. Like all variants of Caribbean Carnival celebrations, there’s copious drinking and dancing as the joy of being Black always supersedes any hardship. The Atlanta ladies might not be descendants of Grenadian slaves, but, like Black people all over the world, they can relate to being a part of the African diaspora. They cover their hair in preparation for the oil (Cynthia’s hair “condoms” were too funny) and don black bikinis and fishnets, ready for the Jab Jab experience.

After a full night of partying in the streets and enjoying more of Grenda’s male population — they had so much fun that Phaedra said she got pregnant and Porsha came close to a second Bolo storyline — they return to the villa for some intense showers and one last night of the sleep on the island. We conclude with a final group kiki where we learn Brit and Phaedra took their relationship to the next level as Brit scrubbed the oil from every crevice of her roommate’s body. Black hand, foot, and even butt prints litter the hotel as they pack up and enjoy their breakfast together. Kelli, proud of a successful trip but wary of returning home to her rocky divorce situation, shares with the group that right after a particularly hard phone conversation with her lawyer, the rose quartz she’s kept on her during the vacation broke in half.

Per Kelli’s Google search, the broken crystal symbolizes the end of a relationship. As I watched the women observe while Kelli seals the energy by throwing the crystal pieces into the ocean, I hoped it also symbolized the ending of RHOA’s years of hardship. The Grenada trip did what the hosts intended, with the chapters of “reset, rebirth, and renew” all coming to an end and actually tidily tying up storylines with a satisfying bow while setting up the downfall of Brit and Kelli. Even Porsha noted how the vacation was exactly what the doctor ordered, and with the cast re-charged, they can end things with a bang. As the end of the episode teases, it only takes 72 hours after touching down in Atlanta for the women, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, to clock back in and continue to give us the season 16 we deserve.

Peach Tea To-Go

• I can’t believe Kelli and Drew have the same anniversary! A message for anyone planning to get married on August 21st: don’t.

• Porsha saying she’s a “researcher” (we all know her research was a Google search and a skimming of a Jab Jab Wikipedia page) and in the same episode referring to Kelli and Brit as “Siamese cats” instead of twins is the kind of dumbass-ness I love from her. We need more of this and less of whatever she was bringing earlier this season.

• And, more importantly, I hope Porsha brings her “no thoughts, just vibes” energy to The Traitors!!! I want a Sheree 2.0! I’m devastated that Nene isn’t joining the cast and that my eyes will be exposed to the demon that is Michael Rapaport (they should murder him first in solidarity with Kenya after that WWHL appearance), but I have hope in my girl to bring some funny moments.

 The wives are shit-talking and kiki-ing, and comedy has finally returned to the series.