Attending Carnival for the first time, at the age of 11, remains a core memory from my childhood. Culturally, living in London, it’s something you just know about – either through word of mouth, or the news reports you’re exposed to on TV – those vivid dancers in elaborate feathered costumes, people dancing in the street and the predictable clips of a policeman joining in the festivities. While fun in their own way, these types of images only scratch the surface of Caribbean culture and what Carnival really stands for. The depth and roots go way deeper, and it’s crucial to have awareness of this and for media outlets, and individuals, to explore beyond the standard tropes.
Traveling to west London, from where I lived in south-east, was part of the adventure. We got the bus (my mum never liked the tube). As we got closer to Notting Hill, I noticed more and more revellers getting on the bus, or walking down the street, horns and whistles in hand and an excited energy in the air. At that point in my life, that anticipation only caught me when we were walking into the Carnival – stepping into the unknown – but years later, on return visits to Notting Hill, I’d feel the buzz in the days and weeks leading up to the event. A feeling similar to the build up to Christmas – a communal expression of joy, love and celebration.
What I remember clearly is how overwhelming it felt. I’d never been around so many people, such loud music, the constant whistling and horn-blowing, navigating crowds with my little sister (who was three at the time), the endless walking… Not negative per se, just intense. That first trip gave me the bug though and I’ve been back many times since. The intensity is part of the appeal, there’s something innately human about gathering in a public space to eat, drink, connect and celebrate freely.
Everything is the product of cooperation, collaboration and the enduring communal spirit that forms the nucleus of Carnival. Mas bands spend the best part of a year on their costumes – sequins hand-sewn, feathers steamed and shaped, wire frames built to survive a full day on the road. They’re often created in community mas camps that double as informal youth clubs and family gatherings long before Carnival weekend arrives.
Steel pan groups also put in months of prep ahead of the Panorama competition, and sound system crews spend weeks building rigs that can rumble the foundations of a whole street, cutting dubs, booking artists and ensuring their sound is one of the best at Carnival. No one sees this, apart from those who live there, but sound systems are transported into Notting Hill by huge articulated lorries, then constructed and configured meticulously by their respective crews.
The food is its own operation entirely – jerk drums, curry goat pots and doubles stalls set up before dawn, feeding a couple of million people over one long weekend.
Behind all of it is a mountain of planning that most people on the road never think about: road closures negotiated with three separate councils, policing plans agreed months in advance, risk assessments for every float and sound system, insurance, stewarding, barrier placement, medical cover. All of this within ever changing jurisdiction and frameworks relating to putting on public events like Carnival.
That is the less glamorous, unphotographed side of Carnival – a small army of organisers, volunteers and local authorities – heroes, in fact – figuring out how to let two million people fill a few square miles of West London safely, for free, for one more year. It’s sad to note that there are some people who oppose the event, or want it moved and ticketed with zero regard for its essence. Carnival was born out of a horrific incident, its roots are deeply meaningful and its location is at the heart of this. Speak to anyone involved and they will tell you, moving it elsewhere is simply not even a conversation.
Linett Kamala, one of board of directors at Notting Hill Carnival, explains: “In neighbouring South Kilburn I put on an annual community festival; the South Kilburn CarniVale in first week of July which provides a training framework for the young people who become LIN KAM ART crew members at Notting Hill Carnival,” she says.
“They are given insights, knowledge and skills which support their own projects and events. There are also paid opportunities for the LIN KAM ART Alumni throughout the year via my commissions and creative practice.”
That’s just a small fraction of Linett’s own contribution, let alone the thousands of others who are involved. All of this work, and much more that goes unseen, is the spark behind an anticipatory energy that results in an unmatched energy over the bank holiday weekend.
Notting Hill Carnival’s strength lies in its people – every single person involved contributes something to make it as special as it is. Every time I’ve been, I’ve come home feeling fulfilled; socially, musically, experientially, gastronomically and spiritually. With time ticking before the big 60th anniversary, I can feel the excitement building again, and that feeling is priceless.
