The strangest thing happened to me during Carnival 2014. I stayed at home – no J’ouvert; no drinking of rum on the road with my friends; no last lap. I took absolutely no part in Carnival this year whatsoever, me Eric Barry, “bacchanalist” extraordinaire. One may be justified in believing that there was an alien abduction and an extraterrestrial being bearing my resemblance was parading in my likeness. This not being the case, I spent quite some time wondering what indiscernible power had actually taken over me.
As a child, through my eye in the 70’s, Carnival was a very magical time. Hearing the rich variety of Calypso, the burgeoning Soca music and seeing the varied personas who belted them out, excited me. They sang about everything under the sun, making us laugh or reflect or feel patriotic. I saw the majesty from the hands of our mas makers, dazzling the eyes of the locals and the foreigners with imaginative costume presentations. On television, I looked at the Ole Mas competition. The family would be rolling with the satirical presentations on social and international issues.
Carnival was just an unbelievably rich cultural milieu that expressed with intoxicating strength, the Trinidad and Tobago psyche. Ash Wednesday was a very sad day for me. How could something so unbelievably beautiful end abruptly as it did? I could not wait to grow up and to be able to be up close and personal with this unique festival. I was proud of this explosion of expression that the world came to see. I did grow up, but the Carnival of my youth was now a shadow of itself. When I thought of why I had stayed at home for Carnival 2014, I realised that, in essence, the world famous Trinidad Carnival is dead.
In part II, I go into detail on my opinion of Carnival’s death.
