Carnival

Kemi played carnival for the first time when she was three years old, kiddies’ carnival. Since then, she has played Notting Hill Carnival, Trinidad Carnival and Barbados Crop Over Festival. She has earned international stripes, an addiction to bacchanal and a collection of exquisite costumes. For Kemi, carnival isn’t limited to an August bank holiday weekend. It’s a way of life, a series of events that establishes and maintains her serotonin levels throughout the year. Carnival is an event to look forward to and plan for and dream of and celebrate.

On the Tuesday that follows the bank holiday weekend, ‘carnival tabanca’ sets in. Think of the devastation that follows the worst relationship break-up imaginable. For a brief time, Kemi will confuse the morning’s refuse collection with the sound of the carnival truck; it’s a form of grief. She will indulge it for a week or so, as she rests and recovers from the festivities. In November, SOCA artists will release their songs in preparation and readiness for the Trinidad Carnival in February: the Greatest Show on Earth. Kemi streams them online. By August, she is word perfect. In March, the designs for the Notting Hill Carnival costumes are released. There is no hesitation or indecision when it comes to choosing her costume. The colours and designs – they speak to her. In April, she will ensure that she has a ‘body readiness’ plan in place. By June, she has identified the pre-carnival parties she needs to attend, the fêtes. By August, she is ready for the magic of bacchanal.

When Kemi tells me that Notting Hill Carnival is ‘a once in a lifetime experience’, I agree that my life needs this kind of event. I don’t commit to preparation with the level of dedication that Kemi suggests – or curb my carbs. In fact, my belly hangeth over. Our costumes are ready in ‘C minus three months’. We travel to East London to collect them. I am on the wrong side of the river, I’m sure.

The sight of my costume gives me butterflies. My headdress is the most beautiful arrangement of cobalt, emerald and black feathers splayed like a proud peacock. It is magnificent and regal and bold. My leopardprint bikini is set with ivory shells and brown topaz-like costume jewellery. I wonder who made it. I want to say thank you. It looks like it was made with love.

Carnival Day calls for false eyelashes and lipstick. Kemi looks fiyah. She wears green false lashes to my black and lashings of eyeliner. She blinks deliberately and beautifully, fluttering on command. Her lips are magenta. They pop against the cobalt of our costumes. Her hair is pulled back to hold her headdress. With an expert hand, she applies a face of theatrical make-up to mine. I admire the beauty smiling back at me in the mirror. Addison’s Who? My headdress is transformative in a Beyoncé/Sasha Fierce sense. Not to be wasted on the Circle and District Line, no sah! We journey to Notting Hill at 7am to meet our float. Stepping out of the tube station is like birth itself. Floats line the roads as far as my eyes can see. Each boasts an independent and powerful sound system. It synchronises with the beat of my heart.

The front-line costumes of each float are incredible and extravagant. Restricted by the weight of the costumes, their wearers’ movements are deliberate and impactful. They enjoy the envy of the crowds as they lead their floats. In the midline, I dance moves I don’t know I know and sing to songs I hear for the first time. I will find them later: Machel Montano, Destra Garcia, Kerwin Du Bois. Kemi is in her element. She knows every single word to every single song. She displays moves that I commit to learning, mentally. Free from my habitual shyness, I dance bumper to bumper with men whose names, ages and vehicle registration numbers I do not know. Addison’s What? Women with rolls of fat in form, location and size I have never seen the likes of parade in their bikini sets without a care in the world. They smile with their eyes as well as their cheeks. I feel free when I see them. The Gays impress with flamboyance and choreography. They are happy and proud. They are loving it; we all are. There is no judgement, only joy. Come as you are.

I drink rum, a lot of rum, from the ‘unlimited’ drinks float and put off using the public toilets for as long as I can. The confined space, the shared use, the stench – I can’t. When I mistake spilled rum running down my leg for wee, I give in. I make a promise to myself to hold back on the alcohol.

The barriers that line the route separate the ‘haves’ from the ‘have nots’. Once you have been in the Notting Hill Carnival, you can’t simply go to the Notting Hill Carnival. Those who know, know. We take pictures with other masqueraders, with people along the route and with Farah and Eimear, who meet us at Westbourne Grove. Our joy at seeing each other another reason to ‘jump and wave’. Farah and Eimear mirror our dance moves in civilian summer clothing as Kemi and I scramble over the barriers. We fall into their embrace.

‘You guys look A-MAY-ZING!’ Farah cries, promising to join us next year.

Eimear cannot get over how incredible we look, or how delicious the jerk chicken and curry goat is from that stall, right over there. From my carnival rucksack, I pull out two tiny colour blocks in the shape of squares: one red, the other green. I hand the red one to Farah and the green one to Eimear. After a collection of inquisitive utterings, they open the protective polythene and the folded squares to reveal the tricolours of the Egyptian and Irish flags. They cause delight and joyful waving. Farah asks a passer-by to take our picture. That he is beautiful is a happy coincidence. Our smiles reflect the same thought: four friends, four flags, feting for posterity – and for Mr Fit.

We’ve got dance moves for days, The Girls and I. We’ve showcased them on dancefloors in Brixton; at the foot of the Eiffel Tower in self-congratulations post A-Levels. We’ve partied in Mykonos to celebrate being twenty-one, hedonism on a budget. Eimear ‘I’m an expert traveller’ Kelly, the reason we almost missed our flight. Her silver Air Miles status counted for nothing when she forgot her passport at the British Airways check-in desk. Passport reunited with owner and panic over, we ran to the departure gate suffocating with laughter. We won’t let her live it down.

We dance together in the street, energised by the sunshine and the bass lines of the passing floats. Kemi and I kiss The Girls goodbye in search of our float. We will see them again at Kensal Road. They wave us goodbye with their flags and sweet smiles.

 

I will watch the news afterwards and hear about the knives, the anti-social behaviour and the arrests. I will read about the complaints from local residents. Their concern about the increase in violence year on year. But for now, all I see are the friendly officers who line the route. In good humour, they oblige revellers who insist on dancing with them and taking pictures. Make room for PC Ashley Banjo, clearly an undercover raver. He body pops at the Rampage set and wins the respect of the crowd. The video will go viral.

I am so happy to be here, living this experience. My Ghanaian pocket flag meets Kemi’s Nigerian flag in the air as we jump and wave to celebrate the magic of carnival. We dance into the early hours of Tuesday morning and fête until our feet tell us that it is time to go home. Reluctantly, we concede. But first, one last whine!

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Farah posts our picture. Tagged: Stella, Kemi, Eimear.

#NottinghillCarnival2018 #TheGirls

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Comments:

Sol Sai: You guys look awesome!!! Can’t believe I didn’t see you Tried to call but couldn’t get through. Hope you’ve taken tomorrow off work!!

 

‘Wait until we go to Dimanche Gras!’ Kemi promises an unimaginable experience in Trinidad.

‘I literally can’t wait.’ My voice is hoarse. With happiness and rum.