Carnival and its aftermath

THE EDITOR: Notwithstanding the criticism from some quarters that "The Mother of All Carnivals” this year suffered a “miscarriage" as in its severely depleted audiences and other organisational problems, inter alia, still I would say that it’s the best of fortune that we can have a whale of a time at Carnival as if there were no tomorrow.

The contradiction, however, is a little lost on many, for there will be a tomorrow no matter what.

But it’s Carnival Monday and Tuesday that count, being able to dance and prance with Machel Montano, Neil "Iwer" George, Faye-Ann Lyons-Alvarez and the rest, to indulge our creativity, often a sight for sore eyes, to be in symphony with the miracle sound of pan and to savour the wit and melody of our bards and storytellers, all this seemingly without a care in the world.

And why not, for there is nothing equal to the eternity of a single moment in time when all the mundane cares of the world can be put behind and you experience the rapture of that moment.

This is no different in intensity to the exhilaration over your first born, or the news of a receding seemingly fatal disease, or watching your dream home rise before your once doubting eyes, or your baby, now a teenager, walking up the podium, or coming down to earth, to be surprised by a long lost friend, or to have a great time with the boys, knowing that you will have to answer when you get home.

After the storm of every-day living, getting your sails torn by the violence of its winds in the open ocean of life, you must come to shore and let it caress you when its fury subsides. Such is the unique Carnival spirit as we have come to know it.

And this especially when others are not so fortunate, like the mother and child buried under the rubble in Turkey waiting for a call that would never come, or facing the cold in Ukraine, the only heat to come being from a Russian missile and the conflagration it brings, or somewhere in Africa where a young girl is mutilated, or is the “plaything” of a young “freedom fighter,” barely 12 years old, revelling in the power of his new-found AK-47.

Or in Afghanistan where your girlish dreams of an education turn into dust and your destiny is in the hands of one older than your father. Or next to us across the gulf in Venezuela where prosperity has now been replaced by a new deprivation, even of the most basic necessities of life, as a once happy people now wander in search of a new life.

Not to mention, of course, the Big Apple of our dreams et al, now turning sour because of the new violence and lawlessness which have become the norm.

And can we forget the threat of nuclear war and the prospect of total human annihilation with the escalating stand-off between the US-led NATO alliance and the imminent coalition of Russia with the most powerful arsenal in the world and the economic powerhouse that is China?

So, with all the pain and blood elsewhere in the world and the prospect of impending doom, are we not in a great place when we can sing and dance and be merry as if there is no tomorrow? But there is always a tomorrow as sure as the sun will rise.

Do we feel satiated and fulfilled after our moment in time is now behind us, full in the realisation that the euphoria of such a moment has meaning only when we have toiled in the vineyard of our varied commitments and responsibilities, from the executive to the farmer in the fields, from the fashionista to the domestic worker, and see it as our moment of respite?

Or do we see such a moment in time as a mere diversion from what has become the norm for many of us, to kill, to rob, to exploit, to be unconscionable in this paradise we once knew and to return to such even before the sun rises the next day?

The unique beauty of what is our Carnival does not deserve such an aftermath.

DR ERROL BENJAMIN

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