These and other experiences have led me to conclude that in many ways, I simply do not belong; that I am not wholly accepted, respected, wanted, or even understood as a Black immigrant woman.

For me, Carnival is the ultimate expression of freedom — a source of revitalization, even. When the music takes over me and my body shakes, I am filled with a sense of pride, and the spirit of my ancestors pulses through me. It is like an antidote to the constant slights I am subjected to at all other times. It is my remedy for the sickness of racism, sexism, and cultural marginalization.

This marks the eighth year that I will be participating in Carnival. Now, at 26, I finally feel whole and complete — my position in society and the greater world is more defined; I feel stabilized and rooted in my culture and heritage. This week I will cover myself from head to toe in paint, and jump in the mud with friends and strangers to the hard thumps of Soca music. I will put my curves on full display and wine to the ground with my head held high. I will feel at one with all of the people of my island homeland, no matter their race, creed, or gender.

And I will return to the U.S., a proud Afro-Caribbean-American woman.