When the familiar becomes an enigma

Now carnival just done, but while it was happening, Trinidad became the land of the "oh god! I cyah take it! I cyaahh take it! i love meh land! oh lord oh loorddddd!" , people.

I myself try to stay away from the callaloo of mad people charging through Port of Spain, knocking over garbage, fall into garbage, eating garbage and thefin garbage.

But the enticement to be a part of it runs deep in your soul. Sitting at home, spread out on de couch, waiting for de red beans and rice and stew chicken to done cook, gives you one of two feelings: The choking feeling of being hit in your stomach because you are not a apart of something that everyone else is or the feeling of safety that you are home waiting for rice and red beans and stew chicken, while everyone else jumping up in de hot sun, with greasy doubles and early morning shark and bake, not sure exactly where to pee or if to pee.

Ah yes.. Trinidad, the land of two peoples: de carnival people and de not so carnival people.

Carnival Monday i decided i would stay home and wait for de red beans. I figured de real bacchanal was Carnival Tuesday, so it would be the better day to shower and head to Port of Spain. After a quiet, relaxing morning in front the TV watching Synergy and critiquing the brave souls who ventured to play jourvert in their house dresses, i got a call to pick up a friend in St James. Peeved would be an understatement for the feeling that washed over my pajama clad body. But the call could not be ignored. After, pulling together a posse of one, a 5 foot, hot chick called nirisa as back up, we headed into to Port of Spain, expecting to whiz through the empty streets and fly up St James and collect the package in less than half hour.

With this plan in mind, Project "Collect Drunk Boy" began. (Due to possible grievous harm, his name shall not be mentioned.. yet)


So we started our journey.

We got to Powergen on Tragarite Road and turned up..blocked.

We turned around and went up Carlos Street.. Blocked and One Way

We got to Edward Street near the Police Head Quarters.

“ u hata cry and say how we lost,” says Nirisa

Approaching the lone gunman ( he was dressed in black with a condom on his head and therefore cannot be tagged a policeman), we rolled down the window..oh sorry excuse me.. we pressed the button and watched the window sliiide down. The condom gunman looks in our direction, takes in Nirisa’s short skirt and tiny vest and begins dribbling.

“Aye, am sir, mr police sir, you cud tell us how to get to St James..”

I close my eyes and shake my head at the sentence that came out my mouth… who de ass duh no how to get to st james dred.

Bending into the car, condom gunman says

“ u hata go down st vincent and turn onto tragarite..”

“oho”

we proceed.

Next ting yuh know, 2000 masqueraders come pelting down de street right towards de car! Oh god! Oh God! Wat to dooooooooo!

Driving up down streets and across up streets, we zig zag in and out of port of spain fuh ah hour. With no gas equalling no a/c. we started to smell like mucurapo street in sando (dais another story). Every condom man we meet leads us smack into a wildly drunk, excited horny masqueraders.

We get the live. close up show with ah wide screen view.

Finally, we find our way to st james.. picked up the package and head home..

A typical Carnival Monday over once again.