Between “discovery” (1498) and Independence (1962,) Trinidad and Tobago was colonized by the French, Spanish, British and briefly, the Dutch. Carnival began as the locals' mockery of royal regalia - for two days anyone could play mas, or masquerade in costume and parade the streets of downtown Port of Spain. The annual tradition grows more international each year; foreigners and nationals, including diaspora like me, are equally obliged to get on bad, wassy and wild on “di road.” Without fail, each year soca music lyrics offer various instructions: “mash up di place,” “wuk up yuh waist,” “have no behaviour, is total disorder!” The start of carnival season is signalled over the radio the day after Christmas. DJs stop playing holiday parang music and start pumping new soca songs so one and all can familiarize themselves with this year’s road anthems. Most people assume Carnival is a free-for-all, but in fact, extensive planning is required up to a year in advance. Given that I slid in to replace a last minute cancellation, I had no say in the overwhelming possibilities of palettes, styles and themes revealed during band launch season last August. There are over one hundred bands. Each band includes several sections with a specific costume. When I collect my very own bedazzled thong bikini one week before Carnival, my tight schedule is strictly preparation or party. Parties are either all-inclusive or BYOB, scheduled day into night or night into day, possibly in the bush or on a boat. I am the least experienced and last addition to our group, so I act as cool as I can about feeling completely clueless. On my to-do list: locate fishnets in my shade of thigh, footwear that is cute yet marathon durable (the black high tops I purchased for practicality were met with a round of rapid fire NOs) plus sparkles, eyeshadow, and earrings. And that’s just Pretty Mas Tuesday. Carnival Monday presents its own set of DIY challenges: bedazzle a bra to match the band's colours, sew a mesh cape, organize a second set of accessories/makeup and ensure everything is ready to go Sunday night before two nights and two days of nonstop celebration. Throughout the week, between to-dos, hydrating and power naps, we fête! As in the French fêter, meaning to celebrate. French and Spanish linger on the islands to this day through language. Spanish is at the root of the word Trinidad and some of the island’s best beach names: Mayaro and Manzanilla are ideal for kitesurfing, don’t miss bake and shark in Maracas Bay or enjoy a quieter swim in Las Cuevas. French appears in place names as well as local lore (beware dwens, lajablesse and soucouyant!) but one might miss it in the word Jouvert, pronounced Joo-vay. Carnival officially starts Sunday night in a paint and powder party that literally opens the festivities; Jouvert is short for Jour de l’Ouverture, or Opening Day. On Monday morning, the KFC in the Maraval roundabout is overrun with painted, powdered party people, louder than a chicken coop. It dawns on me over fries for breakfast that there is no rest before the road, that we are about to set out again and won’t likely sleep tonight. By Tuesday morning I still have yet to master the classic, feminine, Carnival picture pose: make a quarter turn towards the camera, bend the knee closest to the photographer, point that toe, pop that hip, face forward from the waist up, spread arms, tilt chest upwards, hollow navel, turn face slightly shoring your good side and smile! Simple. I can see now my black hightops are all wrong. Nervous, I check and recheck my various ties and fastens, clomping not sauntering like my compatriots, bemoaning my hightops, already too hot in my tights. As we approach the Oval, there are more feathers, more sparkles, more voices chiming in reassurance; one pack of girls waves at another, another breaks into a light jog hearing their band will soon cross the stage. As we near the stadium, the new normal is limbs like wings, plumage in all manner of color, skin that sparkles, flesh that gleams in every precious shape and size. I finally feel at home.