Trinidadians' unique Carnival state of mind

For many “Trinbagonians”, Carnival is a love affair impossible to relinquish. Each year tens of thousands return home to join the masses of ordinary Trinis and visitors “on the road” for a two-day festival driven by intoxicating music.

Carried along by constant rhythms, people shed their worries and inhibitions in a joyful blur of “freeness”. Some maintain that this is the world’s biggest street party, and if not in absolute numbers, it certainly is in spirit.

But Carnival has expanded far beyond its traditional climactic Monday and Tuesday to encompass a whole season. Costumes and “jumping up” in the streets are just the culmination of a long series of events, parties and rituals.

Today, the Carnival experience begins for many as soon as the last one ends. Costume makers and soca artists, for instance, have already begun to transform the essence of one year into the possible designs and potential hit songs of the next. The opening of the calypso tents in the New Year is a sign that the season has officially begun.

A “tent” is any venue where calypsonians perform nightly, showing off their new songs, gauging audience response, and perfecting their numbers for the big competitions. Though a debatably dying breed, they give a good idea of how the season is shaping up, and if you’ve been away and lost track of the latest political and social scandals, the tents are an excellent place to become reacquainted.

Another crucial element of Carnival is the sweet music of the steelpan — born in Port of Spain around the time of World War II and popular both on the road and in concert. Interestingly, as a central feature in the creativity that is Trinidad Carnival, the steelpan was the only acoustic instrument invented in the 20th century.

The panyards are the best place to go for a true pan experience. There are many all over the country, and as Carnival looms near the bands practice passionately each night for upcoming competitions. Visitors are welcome at no charge — just support the local vendors! When judging is taking place, the panyards usually charge a nominal fee.

The climax of all this practice is Panorama, the national steelband competition, one of the most keenly anticipated events of the season. The final at the Queen’s Park Savannah is the epicentre of the pan world. One 100-member steel orchestra after another wheels out into the “big yard”; the music starts; the flagmen and flagwomen wave their flags, thousands of fans dance, and the players pour heart and soul into their melodies and harmonies and rhythms until the air can’t contain any more sound. Not to be missed.

Other important Carnival competitions include the Soca Monarch, Chutney Soca Monarch, and Calypso Monarch. Each has early rounds to excite fans’ interest and rivalry, before culminating in finals the week before Carnival.

Fetes are another crucial ingredient of the season. From band launches the previous summer to an almost daily list of parties in the final few weeks before Carnival, they are the place to learn the new tunes and hone your “wining” technique. Whether there’s live music or a DJ manning the turntable, whether there’s a food bar or just drinks flowing endlessly, the sheer energy and enthusiasm of the soca-drunk throng is like a force of nature.

The week leading up to Carnival is infectious, with a major fete every night — many of them “all-inclusive”, i.e. food and drinks provided as part of the admission cost — and the tempo never drops. People party every night and still make it to their day job in the morning. This is the week when your stamina must be tip-top, when the spirit of Carnival becomes truly inescapable and sleep an afterthought.

By the time the Children’s Carnival rolls around on Carnival Saturday, the streets of Port of Spain are ringing with excitement; by Sunday night — Dimanche Gras — the entire country feels ready to explode.

At 4am on Carnival Monday morning, it officially does — with J’Ouvert (ju-vay), when wild devotees of the Merry Monarch are finally unleashed. J’Ouvert is not about pretty costumes; it’s about mud, cocoa, oil, devils, and “picong”, an inversion of normality and the relentless mocking of power and respectability. It is Carnival at its most primal. Men dress as women, women as men, grown-ups in baby’s diapers; respectable bankers and businessmen drape themselves in chains and torn clothes, paint and mud covered devils menace passers-by — but it’s all in good fun, a chance to enjoy being wet and messy, licence to “get on bad”. Don’t be afraid to plunge right in, but take some sensible precautions: wear old clothes, don’t take jewellery or valuables with you, stay with a group of friends, preferably in an organised J’Ouvert band — and be prepared to shed your inhibitions.

Well after the sun has come up on Carnival Monday morning, revellers start to head home for a few shorts hours of sleep and refuelling (eat whenever you can over these two and half days) before heading back to the streets. For Monday mas, you don’t have to wear your full costume — in fact, some bands now give their masqueraders special Monday garb. Look out for bands of traditional Carnival characters — fancy 18 sailors, black Indians, and midnight robbers with their long-winded “robber talk”. For those who simply can’t get enough, Monday Night Mas in St James carries the partying through the night, but most masqueraders make sure they get enough sleep to prepare themselves for the big day ahead.

Carnival Tuesday is the day everything else has been leading toward. Months of preparation and effort, anticipation and excitement erupt into “pretty mas” as tens of thousands of revellers clad in spandex, colourful cotton, beads, sequins, feathers, and every other conceivable material take over the streets of Port of Spain in competition for the Band of the Year title.

With weeks of partying behind them, many masqueraders by now are running on pure elation, sustained by the music and the desire to make it to the big moment when their band crosses the big stage at the Queen’s Park Savannah. For a while the stage will be theirs; for a while they know they’re the centre of the world.

It’s an experience that can’t be put into words.