In defence of Carnival

Everyone seems to have jumped on the Carnival-bashing bandwagon these days, bemoaning the artistic decline of mas, complaining that the costumes are all “bikinis and beads” that the music is mindless verbal and musical diarrhoea, and that people who go out to play mas “get on” in the roads with no decorum, no modesty and no shame, humping like dogs in heat, drinking themselves into a stupor, and displaying a variety of disgusting, sordid and general nastiness.

To some extent, these complaints may be true, but at the same time they are a total generalisation that is quite unjustified. I’ll admit things have changed over the years – some for the worse. These days women’s costumes look more like those of Las Vegas showgirls, which was, come to think of it, Harts’ theme for 2003. The music produced by our soca stars is fast enough to give anyone a mild heart attack, and often sounds more like a group of donkeys in a braying competition. On top of that, every year costume prices become increasingly obscene, skyrocketing well into the thousands, even though they for the most part tend to look pretty much like the costumes from the year before. I cannot deny these are all problems we are suffering with.

However, I would still like to defend Carnival for what it is – a party! Believe it or not, Carnival is indeed about love, happiness and celebration. Think about it – for 363 days of the year, we all put on our stuffy office clothes and sit in traffic to get to our jobs, when what we really want is to be outside enjoying the tropical sun, having fun with friends and drinking a cold beer. That is why people are so excited to play mas and will save up their paycheques to buy a costume no matter the price, because for those two days you are totally FREE. Even people who never fete during the year will come out for Carnival. Some may say I am romanticising the whole thing; that these days Carnival is nothing but an overrated, meaningless, fleshy street orgy, nothing more than a jam and wine festival, but I beg to differ.

From the first time I played mas at the age of 17 (a gift from my mother for passing all my O’Levels) I knew I was hooked for life. To me, nothing can compare to that feeling that envelops you on the streets during Carnival time. Carnival Monday is of course all fun and games; everyone just out to lime, people wearing bits and pieces of their costumes, just having fun in the sun. But anyone who doesn’t look around and see the beauty and feel the electricity in the air come Carnival Tuesday, must have some seriously dull senses. To me, getting ready to cross the stage on Tuesday morning is the most magical experience. The sights and sounds of “pretty mas” are captivating – the Savannah is full of people sparkling in glitter and body paint, women with magnificent headpieces stand regal like tribal princesses, and everywhere you look you see people liberated from their daily lives… People of all ages, races and sizes have let loose and they look so relaxed, so happy!

Everyone is in sunglasses in the blazing hot sun, some men are in speedos revealing some very interesting tattoos in interesting places, people are dancing on top of walls, people are raising their drinks in the air, people are hugging, dancing, smiling, laughing, screaming, singing at the top of their lungs, everyone is half naked in the streets and simply in bliss, not worrying about flabby tummies or hairy chests. You can see it in their eyes that this is what they’ve been waiting for – there’s an energy in the air as people find their friends and get into sections, the big trucks blaring a would-be Road March, the bass pumping through your bones, the rhythm moving you, bumsees swaying to the beat, drinks flowing like water, the sound of beads clicking and clacking against each other as people dance and sway, under a blue, blue Caribbean sky.

But this “joy-gasm” that is mas is not only for those in costumes – look around and you see bystanders snapping pictures, sun burnt tourists having the time of their lives chipping down the road in their slippers, Carib in hand, taking in the Trini culture, listening, watching, singing, dancing, going with the music. And while you stand there in the Savannah, taking in this sensory extravaganza, you feel that natural high that takes you away, you feel the ecstasy of just being alive, and you feel the freedom that is Carnival, and you think to yourself how wonderful it all is. But wait – there’s more! It’s time to cross the stage! The time has come to show those judges what you’ve got! The time has come to show the world that we are Trinis, and we can fete like no other human beings on this planet! You surrender yourself to the Carnival gods! The music grabs you and you go with it without a care in the world! You run on that stage and jump and wine and do whatever feels good, because this is the time for everyone to free their mind, body and soul. Carnival is about feeling that collective unity, that we are all here to celebrate, to simply have fun and enjoy ourselves, and that even though we all come from different walks of life, we all chip down the same streets. 

Oh yes, there’s a special feeling that grips you when you go on that stage, a feeling you only feel right then and there. So what I like to do, trying to enjoy that short-lived euphoria for as long as humanly possible, is to stay on stage as long as I can until the entire band has crossed. I don’t care if I am a dot of red in a sea of blue costumes! They can’t get me off that stage – oh no, the stage is mine, and I am free to go back and forth as I like, to jump up with friends in other sections, to dance and dance and dance like there is no tomorrow. And when the band finally does come offstage and the security is pushing you off, I walk off that stage feeling positively victorious – though exhausted and out of breath. And I always feel a kind of sadness, knowing that for another year the bliss of crossing the stage is over.

But I suppose that is the thing about Carnival – it comes but once a year and passes by in the blink of an eye. Before you know it the sun is going down on Carnival Tuesday, your camera is full of pictures and your feet are about to fall off. Carnival is drawing to an end, and when it’s time to go you walk back to your car through the now-quiet streets, seeing bits and pieces of costumes on the sidewalks either dropped or fallen off of revellers, and while you are sad it is over, in a way you are also glad, because you know you couldn’t survive more than two days of it all! Carnival is over – you remove your headpiece, take off your shoes and go home, back to your daily life, back to work, back to the real world. But for me, after two joyous days of parading the streets resplendent in full costume, feeling that feeling you only get at that special time of year, the streets of Port-of-Spain never quite look the same to me again.