Checking in—on my final day in Trinidad. I reflect on my time in Trinidad and my mind wanders into the wind and over my 2020 walkabout. A checkpoint along my path I’ve aimed for since I was 3 feet tall, sailing the Albemarle Sound, in Edenton, NC—listening to Jimmy buffet all day and falling asleep to Captain Jack Sparrow each night. No matter what else happens along my path, (I knew even then) I will sail to the Caribbean. I’m close; I feel it through my entire being.
The seed sprouted through the soil, into daylight, when I walked into Dr. Brenda Flanagan’s class my first day as a Davidson College Freshman. The steel pan playing over the classroom speakers as students (around 24, freshmen, sophomores, and juniors) filled the lecture room. Dr. Flanagan stood tall with the strength of experience, but danced and swayed calm, just as the Caribbean Sea when seduced by the pan yards. Her light, the sun’s compassion, plucked from Trinidad: 8 degrees above the equator. It’s incomprehensible how much I looked up to her from the initial meeting.
Some say God sent me to her, but that steals the credit from Justin Hill. (We know how that works). Justin was the only person I knew who attended Davidson College, when I committed to wrestle there. He was a two-year football teammate and Spanish classmate: a friend I still look up to. Preparing for his junior year—I reached out to him for advice as far as my schedule was involved.
“Take a Flanagan course;” he said, “you’ll like her.”
All four of my semesters at Davidson, I sat front row in one of Dr. Flanagan’s courses. She introduced me to myself as a writer, becoming my biggest inspiration thus far along my path (excluding family). The people and inspirations of our lives come to fruition in perfect time. But first we must take the risk of believing fully in ourselves. My time in Trinidad meant so much more than Carnival, yet I cannot speak of my experiences here and not consider the festivities.
Many people say, it’s the biggest party in the world—anyone here would be hard pressed to disagree. The coolest part to me is the wide variety of space available for people to feel comfortable amongst the folly. A fitting connection for the energy each person wants to put forth.
The fetes begin a week in advance, around the clock: concert/festival style parties of thousands of people. I did not experience this firsthand, but witnessed a handful from the sideline. Carnival Saturday, my festivities began with Panorama, the national pan-yard competition. With local advice, I roamed the drag (the strip of road, leading to the stadium) where the bands practiced their final performance. Vendors lined the street as the rhythm of Trinidad’s best pan-yards captivated the atmosphere.
Sunday began with an hour and a half hike over the mountain range in Santa Cruz, to Maracas beach: accompanied by Jonny, my host, and a crew of his family and friends. Shark and Bake became my go-to beach and vendor meal. (Shark and Bake is fresh shark, fried on freshly fried dough—with more toppings and condiments than is imaginable).
Jonny and I attended The Blue Devil show in Paramin on Sunday evening: men, women, boys, and girls painted royal blue with wings, horns, tails, and tridents to match their creativeness. By turn, they dance in the street surrounded by spectators—chanting and blowing fire, wining against an evil spirit in the air. For each devil, the same familiar thudding beat off the old-tin-cookie-container drums. This is a tradition conceived in the marriage of Catholicism and African spiritual beliefs.
Home to bed for a few hours before J’ouvert: my first taste of carnival parades, from 3 a.m. till 8 a.m. J’ouvert is a mud and paint party—no one is clean. We played with the band 3 Canal, who does more of a traditional performance. Rather than a DJ, the band performed live Soca from the back of an 18-wheeler, 100 meters behind a truck with a mobile pan-yard. Both trucks blasting their music loud enough to drown out the other, depending on where you walk and wine.
My first experience wining through the streets, an absolute free-for-all. As long as the two people wining mirrored one another’s energy, nothing is off limits. A barrier of paint between grinding half-naked bodies. Everyone wining on everyone—I caught myself wining on someone’s grandmother. But hey, it’s Carnival! Don’t think its only one generation in the streets.
Mas began at 11 a.m. on Monday—day 1 parade—everyone now sparkling clean with a dash of glitter to make sure. The women’s costumes were the type of swimwear that make even blind men wine: heat radiating from their exposed skin. Pretty Mas, day 2, introduced the jewels and feathers. Most costumes shrinking in fabric, leaving just enough to cover the nipples with jewels—delicate angel wings sprouted from the women’s shoulders.
Dr. Flanagan’s sister, Indrani, described them as strings-n-things, which sums it up. The more traditional costumes are based on culture and do not expose the body. Mostly older people played in these bands, not to say there wasn’t a happy mix of ages among all the bands. I mentioned before, space is available for anyone’s energy who wants to participate. I walked just better than 42 miles in two days, hydrating with coconuts (in my rum).
The common consensus that Carnival cannot be put into words remains true here. I have given just a flash or the outline of the experience. Wednesday, following Carnival I laid in the hammock reading—all day. I picked up and finished, “Where the Crawdads Sing,” an incredible novel, which placed me back on the North Carolina coast for the day. A taste of home.
Friday, I met dr. Flanagan’s relatives and attended mosque for Juma (Friday’s prayers) led by Imam, Dr. Flanagan’s brother, the closest of her 14 siblings. The universal message of his sermon, Allah knows your weaknesses and your path—he provides everything in due time. We must live in according to our heart and our divinity.
There is great clarity once we understand divine timing and accept our role in walking the path: a spontaneous, individual trek leading toward the horizon. I began writing this morning from Trinidad and am logging off from Dominica. Although I’m home next week, there is a reason and purpose for my being here. I remain humble and grateful for each present moment. Each breath is a life of its own. In following your own light, others are led to do the same. Manifest your dreams one day at a time.
Guidance, Blessings
Capt. BZ