"Get your flag. Get your flag here," the man shouted. The Caribana crowd danced to the soca and reggae beats. In between the passing of the parade floats, some drifted over to the flag seller, who stood at a makeshift stall covered in flags from Africa and the Caribbean. He was carrying on the tradition of the higglers, mobile traders who walk up and down selling their wares. They are still the backbone of the local economy in many places in the Caribbean. I bought my Jamaican flag to have something to wave in the air.
I meandered along the carnival route stopping by the bustling food area, last year. It was packed with the typical Toronto crowd, multiracial and multilingual. Black people no longer stand out much in Toronto because the city is so diverse. At carnival we come out in numbers and, briefly, Caribbean culture dominates the city.
Hungry. Lunch was curry goat roti. At another stall I got fresh coconut water served in the coconut shell. Then I found a spot on a hill, under a shady tree and sat down to eat and watch the parade. A few thousand other people had the same idea.
Caribana is still the biggest street festival in North America. Each year over a million people come out to watch the parade. Carnival brings in about $400 million into the city. That is a huge amount of money generated by the relatively small Black population of the city.
Other higglers passed up and down, handing out flyers and business cards for the hundreds of Caribana dances and parties across the city. A woman passed by selling homemade grater cake, peanut and almond brittle, from a shopping buggy. The snacks triggered memories of home and so I bought handfuls of each, and had to remind myself that some were for the next day.
The higgler selling the beer, out of a massive cooler which he pulled on wheels, was tempting. The ice-cold beer that is. I bought one, just to cool down from the hot sun.
Sequins and feathers. Beads and sparkles. Music blaring as the floats and their dancers wind their way along the route. Some dancers plonked down on a blanket near me, still decked out in their costumes. Their troupe had done the route hours earlier. The dancers tucked into plates of rice and peas and jerk chicken. They shooed away people who wanted to take selfies with them. A child stared at one of the dancers. She called him over and gave him her pink and green feathered headdress. The boy looked so happy, as if Christmas had come early!
The hours slipped by as the floats and the crowds meandered along the street. Another beer. Chatting to people here and there. Feeling high at this Caribbean joy.
Then it was a stroll over to the end of the parade route, watching as the dancers shed the largest costumes and sculptures, and tucked into the food provided by the bands. Revelers lined up to take selfies against the enormous, wonderous, mobile works of art.
In the evening I drifted over to the Marcia Griffiths concert. This reggae singer is a superstar in her own right. Her rich vocals are captured on so many Bob Marley albums, as part of the I-Threes, the phenomenal backing singers.
Night. Tired. A long walk home, soca and reggae still buzzing in my head. Carnival joy blissed and blessed me to sleep.
© Jacqueline L. Scott. You can support the blog here.
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