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‘JAMAICA JAMAICAA’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgiFe6LSEeA) rang out of the huge sound systems that lined
the streets of the West end. Everyone had emerged from their burrows to grab a
slice of London at its best. Notting Hill Carnival, it’s been around
since 1965 and ‘was led by the West Indian Migrant community in London. In
recent years it has attracted up to 50,000 performers, 38 sound systems and 2.5
million people over the weekend, making it the second largest street carnival
in the world after Rio.' (nottinghillcarnival.eu) Today, it’s a time that allows everyone to let
loose together and share the one thing that connect all humans – a love for music,
food and culture.
‘JAMAICA JAMAICAA’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgiFe6LSEeA) rang out of the huge sound systems that lined
the streets of the West end. Everyone had emerged from their burrows to grab a
slice of London at its best. Notting Hill Carnival, it’s been around
since 1965 and ‘was led by the West Indian Migrant community in London. In
recent years it has attracted up to 50,000 performers, 38 sound systems and 2.5
million people over the weekend, making it the second largest street carnival
in the world after Rio.' (nottinghillcarnival.eu) Today, it’s a time that allows everyone to let
loose together and share the one thing that connect all humans – a love for music,
food and culture.  |
| Above the heads |
Old Rasta’s jamming along to Aba shanti with flower fumes
waving to the beats, little ones shaking their hips above shoulders and within
protected circles to the tunes of Sancho Panza, with their parents keeping half
an eye on them with a smile on their face. True Jamaican
twerkers bumping and grinding in front of floats that were crawling with people
and shaking with sounds. The crowds were a sweaty treat, not recommended for
the claustrophobics amongst us as half your time is spent pressed up against
strangers, shuffling through police barricades to try to reach the nearest
music.
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| M and I |
M and I lived right next
to Carnival and that day, much of the public transport staff had conveniently chosen
to go on strike; luckily for us, we weren’t effected and relied our legs to get
there and back. Shops were shut, bars were teaming with people, the litter was
slowly building up and the fabulous once-a-year (£200 - £600) costumes were
appearing. We’d gone for glitter and masks, and a whole bottle of sun cream –
it was 30®C and I felt like I was in the Mediterranean without the sea (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBDVarvFqYI) today, a lot of water was going to be needed.
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| Famalam |
The two main days of
Carnival are Sunday and bank holiday Monday. Sunday’s usually family day so the
vibe’s a bit more lax, we went with the adults of our family, strictly NO kids
allowed - this was our day, you can’t be dealing with little manic
responsibilities when you’re tryna have fun!
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| En route to Carnival |
So we hit the first pub,
ciders, G&T’s and shandy’s it was, the tunes were pumping and the bar was crowded... it
was only 12pm. In the heat of the day it didn’t take much for the alcohol to
reach our heads, so we downed our last drinks, with the ground becoming
progressively more uneven and speech starting to slur (well mine). Shuffle,
bounce, grind in time to the beat, using whatever available body parts you
could, to move with the rhythm in whatever space was available. So we moved
those hands and fingers above the heads of the masses, the ecstatic wave of the
day passing through each of us in turn. The best part about being with family
that know the scene, is they also know the shortcuts. M and I followed along
quite happily, just as we were reaching Aba shanti a Rasta in the crowd held
out a hand of green daisies. A 3 minute transaction and I was skipping along
happily with my new purchase and being ‘welcome(d) to jam rock’ by the DJ. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlCmQcRPtRg)
Grind, roll, lick, light
the fumes dispersed and merged with the countless others. Police could be seen
struggling through crowds looking for trouble, we didn’t really fit that
category. The smoke from the jerk chicken wafted up our nostrils. Beans, rice,
jerk, salad and gravy mmm. We bopped along in line, getting the extortionate £7
out of our pockets for our meal. Mouth-gasm is the only way to really describe
the sensation when you bite into a succulent, sweet, sticky bbq’d piece of
chicken with the tang of the salad, the thickness of the rice and the reggae
music to top it off.
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| Jerk |
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| Mmm |
We shuffled on, to Sancho Panza, Norman Jay’s good times,
soul, funk, rap, reggae, house – it was all going down. The dancers were
wearing their tight little knickers and spangly Brazilian/ Jamaican tops that
had obviously been worked on for a long time; most of the men at carnival were
having a field day, the hunger in their eyes everywhere they looked almost
making them dizzy. Women didn’t do too badly either, tall, black, beautiful,
ripped men dancing to good tunes?
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| Sunday eve |
What more could you want. As the day wound
down 6pm struck and the crowds started to disperse, as around that time, is
when things start to get rowdy and a lot of the gangs make their appearances.
It’s the one deterrent of Carnival for a lot of people, but if you keep your
valuables and friends close and your mind alert then you should be fine. The
rents left us around 5 and we went to sit on the patchy grass with the other
carnival go’ers. It didn’t take us long to get chatting to the group beside us,
Charlie said hello and sent us buzzing on our way back home before we headed
out for the night. ‘One drink and then we’ll go home’ was the plan… until we
met T and J. Bringing a few girls along to a house party always looks good, so
we essentially became the accessories of the night (that relationship did
deepen once we all got to know each other... and started the discussion of M
and I’s significant others.. love pulling that out the bag.) But we followed
along quite happily; it was a free night of everything, good company and tunes
on the roof of a 5 storey flat, walking distance from home - how great it
is to be a girl sometimes. That night went on, and on and on moving from the
kitchen to the roof, back to the kitchen for warmth, downstairs for cigs,
upstairs for tunes, home for bed and up again for Carnival. The best way to get
out of a strop is to do something, surrounding ourselves with music for the
second day in a row allowed us to pick up on everyone else’s vibes (& jerk
chicken) and just feel, good (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM)
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| I spot the police.. |
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| Little jammers |
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| Men.. |
I skyped mum and dad in
Malaysia the day afterwards and described my first experience of their old
tradition. While I was raving about the DJ’s they laughed – ‘It’s so funny that
you guys are all jamming along to our mates old tunes that we saw them create’.
M and I’s parents, having dabbled in the music industry were mates with the
DJ’s of all the biggest sound systems, and while we were playing their tunes
for the first time on Spotify, our parents were sifting through their old vinyl’s &
memories of when it all first began.
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| Lots of love |
On Tuesday, work had
begun again and London was back to its busy hustle and bustle. The memories of
the sounds lingered in the air, clinging to the conker trees that’s leaves were
transitioning from green to orange. This weekend had been ‘a whole different
gravy’ as J would say, and the spirit of the city that holds so many secrets
had been lifted once again.
Jam of the day: Aba Shanti at Notting Hill Carnival
