Bacchanal Season

The carnival season is in full swing in Trinidad and Tobago.  In other words, fete after fete after fete after fete.  I visit for carnival regularly, but usually arrive just a few days before carnival, so this is my first ever full carnival season.

I don’t know where Trinis get their stamina, but I had to slowly rebuild mine.   I asked a friend how they managed to work after feteing all weekend, to which she replied “Normel.”  I started the season with Trinity High School’s fundraiser Soka in Moka.  It was on a Sunday and, although it ended at a relatively early 11 pm, I was barely functional at work the next day.   Even afternoon coffee could not override my urge to sleep.  In contrast, last weekend included a marathon three fetes and I jumped out of bed early Monday morning, had crossed four tasks off my to do list by lunch, and even ended the day with an intense carnival workout session.

Although some have been better than others, I am having a time at every party as each one has a slightly different crowd, vibe and entertainment line-up.  UWI fete, held on the school’s sprawling campus, had an African theme, complete with drummers, dancers and people dressed as lions and tigers.  One Fete had a Middle Eastern theme with an elaborate entrance straight out of a palace, soft glowing lights and dancers.  Yorke fete embellished the natural beauty of Ortinola estate with colorful Chinese lanterns and swings hanging from tall trees.

Many of the fetes are all-inclusives, a brilliant scheme invented by party promoters.  While all-you-can-eat-and-drink sounds good in theory, there is no way I can consume over $600 worth of food and drinks.  Don’t get me wrong, I certainly try.  As soon as we arrive, my friends and I make a bee line to the wide selection of food stalls, and fill up on wantons, italian, arepas, sushi, mini crab and dumplings, corn soup and more.  I usually bypass the pelau because I can make that at home.

Next, we head to the bar where premium liquor flows all night.  To justify their ridiculous prices this year, some promoters have added over-the-top extras sponsored by various companies like a glass encased hair salon and a make up station.  Yes, you can now do hair and makeup in the middle of a party.   You know I not wasting good feteing time on that.

With belly lined and drinks in hand, we usually settle in for the highlight of big carnival parties, the live performances.  Because most of the fetes on my schedule have a social crowd, we can make our way to the front of the stage without being trampled by thousands of partygoers.  As a matter of fact, as an indication of how much feteing is a national pastime, the country’s President has also been up front jumping and waving at several fetes.

I have now seen Kes at every event, and while I love his music, he hasn’t been able to move the crowd like he did last year.  I am usually eating when Roy Cape’s band is on stage, but his frontliners Blacks and newcomer Ricardo Drue seem to be able to hold their own.  Machel will always be Machel but I have not yet seen him turn on his mojo and work the crowd into a frenzy.  Iwer is singing the same song as last year, and for some strange reason that only his Obeah woman understands, he always gets the crowd jumping.  Destra and Kerwin Dubois, who is having an amazing season with songs like Bacchanalist, I am Soca and Runaway, have been my favorite performers so far.

With 20 days to go until carnival, I am taking my vitamin C to get me through the rest of the season.

Mission Blisspossible

I landed in the frenzy of band launching season.  The popular larger bands had already hosted parties showcasing their 2012 carnival presentations.  And the quest to secure a coveted space in a band was in full gear.  Disappointed with the options in my usual band, Tribe, I decided to try their other band Bliss, largely for the security blanket of “same tribe, different vibe.”  Next: Mission Registration.

In previous years, I had my foreign registration strategy down to a science.  Within hours of the launch, my cousins and I pored over costume pictures online and, via multiple calls and messages, reached consensus on a section that flatters each person’s self-identified flaws.  No easy task but we eventually ranked our top 3 choices.  As a loyal Tribe masquerader, I had priority online registration, which was no guarantee because most sections sold out within hours.  On registration day, I sat in front of my computer counting down minutes until the process began.  Armed with sections, sizes, and credit card numbers, I quickly cut and paste into the website form.  And each year, in a somewhat anticlimactic finish, I was registered in my first choice section within minutes.

Now, not only am I in Trinidad, but the registration rules have changed.  My loyal patronage has no value here.  Registration was by Committee Member only.  Code name CM.  I don’t personally know a CM but know several people who knew somebody who could get us in.  We told everyone we knew to put us on their CM’s list.  Emails and phone calls were flying.  “Get the money, we’re getting in!”  They accept only cash and linx, the local debit card system, so I raced to the ATM to get deposits for four.  “Never mind, his list is full.”  An overnight email from another connection.  “You can’t get your top three choices, but there is still room in Waikiki, Thailand and Kuala Lumpur.  Let me know by 9:30 am”  Having a general sense that all of the costumes look like recycled versions of something I’ve played in before, I say whatever.  “Go to the mas camp tonight between 5 and 8 to pay.”

At the house serving as the band’s office, a security guard greets me at the gate with a ticket.  He directs me down a walkway through a closed gate with the Bliss logo.  At the back of the house, I wait on oversized leather couches under a tent, along with a handful of other people anxious to make it inside.  A man, complete with CIA style earpiece, comes out and asks us to write our names on a notepad.  He goes back inside and shuts the door.  He returns a few minutes later and gives me a pink piece of paper with my information printed.  He tells me they can’t find information for one of my cousins and ushers me inside to station number one where two women on lap tops search for the missing name.  After getting reassurances from a CM that the name was indeed on the list, she prints the missing pink slip.  That was my golden ticket to station number two where my information could be confirmed in the registration database.  Then, with adrenalin rush of finish line in sight, I get the nod to go to the back room where station number three accepts my envelope stuffed with cash.

With receipt in hand, I leave the mas camp breathing a sigh of relief.  I should probably also be elated.  But somehow I’m not.  I just jumped through hoops begging to give my heard-earned money away for a costume I’m not even sure I like.  And I have no one but myself to blame.

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