My memories of Carnival

We are supposed to be at the peak of the Carnival season, although it's hard to tell with this reinterpretation of the mammoth festival. Without the heady succession of extortionate all-inclusives culminating in the charade of the bands, this iteration of the annual ode to escapism has a counterfeit feel to it - like a Goochi belt.

All this talk about what carnival won't be this year got me to thinking of what carnival once was, and its ongoing evolution.

As a child, the only thing I hated more than being dragged to church, was being dragged to the savannah for carnival. My father got it in his head that all children should experience this spectacle.

The dust, unremitting noise and chaos were frightening to a child - but mostly crushingly boring. I couldn't even get a sno-cone for my suffering. My father was never any good at distinguishing between miserliness and thrift.

When I got older, carnival became just one of those things you do as a Trinidadian, certainly if you live anywhere in North Trinidad. There comes a point early in life where carnival is like weed - most people try it at least once and decide whether it's right for them. As with most narcotics, many become addicted, spending more money and eventually ending up increasingly lost and wandering the streets semi-nude.

Still, carnival is a rite of passage for many young adults emerging from the chrysalis of adolescence into the world of still-awkward socialisation. What better way to develop social graces than by grinding your belt buckle into the pelvis of someone you met at a carnival fete 10 minutes before?

Early all-inclusive fetes bore little resemblance to the lavish Roman Banquets that are de rigueur today.

The first such party I attended sold tickets at the princely sum of TT$100. This was probably back in the mid-90s. There were no socasonians, no stage, no performances, just a DJ playing the season's drivel.

There were no drink servers, only strategically located steel drums filled with ice, water, and drinks. Less was really more back in those days.

As young people, we weren't attending carnival parties for the music. We did what folks in their early 20s do, which is party a lot. There was another particularly memorable affair at the Stollmeyer's Castle.

A friend in my squad had eaten a box of food of unknown provenance despite having been warned not to do so. This was particularly reckless given that the portable toilets at this event were an abomination. They're nothing like the fancy ones today. These port-o-potties were basically plastic latrines filled with a chemical so potent it bleached the hairs in your nose.

Anyway, my friend's indiscretion would eventually call for dividends to be paid. With a fiercely rumbly tummy, he dashed into the available bathrooms in the building, only to find himself ankle-deep in water.

The situation was approaching critical-incident levels. A popular song thundered in the background, "On the count of four, on the count of four!" On the count of four he ran like never before. He ran all the way to our Carnival home base in the city seeking the salvation of a commode - from Stollmeyer's Castle to a house on New Street. This was miles away.

It only got worse from there. On arrival, he discovered the house locked. Everyone had gone out, attending carnival events. It was too late, nothing could stop the chain reaction. The clock read minutes before midnight. I'll just say the dogs in the yard were very confused by the unfolding events.

Carnival wasn't without its redeeming qualities, even for someone like me with only a wisp of affinity for the festival and culture that powers it. Panorama was fantastic. In many ways, the steelband competition was also mainly a social event.

If you were in the North Stand, you were there for the lime. The crowd there seemed to treat each performance of a band like the national anthem; you'd settle down for a while and once the piece was done there would be applause and then it was right back to the lime.

Still, I do have some cherished memories of Panorama, the ones that weren't lost to White Oak and it's unparalleled power to "clear your history."

Ultimately my interest in carnival waned as it became more dangerous and increasingly difficult to justify the expense. I'm sure it will continue to be a place of self-discovery for new generations of young people even as its value as an outlet for unique cultural expression is in irretrievable decline.