UNTIL I arrived Calabar on Monday, December 23, 2013, all the stories of enchantment and magic I had heard about Nigeria’s first capital city and her ample pleasures could be reduced to pictures of waif-like carnival queens with the silver wings of fairies.
But the picture soon began to change when Calabar’s long tree-lined streets opened up to receive me with the bewitching twinkle of assorted Christmas lights. As the car heaved up the long, straight road to the State Housing, I blinked at the forceful dazzle of Calabar’s street lights when I remembered that my neighbourhood in Lagos had been plunged into darkness by a severe power cut for a week. I drew a long breath as I pondered Calabar’s night beauty, wondering if daylight would reveal her more familiar face.
I woke up to the chirping of birds from the luxuriant branch of a tree by my hotel window and became instantly aware of where I was. Jogging on the beautifully paved streets of State Housing, what struck me was the greenness of the surrounding as the sun poked its shy rays through the leafy canopy overhead. I was impressed by the cleanness of the neighbourhood and the cloying ambience of its vegetative streets. I loved the seemingly pristine orderliness, which accentuated Calabar’s otherness.
On Christmas Eve, the Millennium Park burst wild in a spangle of colours. Amid the twittering chimes of assorted Christmas lights, a rainbow of voices sprouted with life on a huge stage to serenade the city and its many wonder-struck seasonal visitors with songs. It would seem that the carol night is probably the most subdued component of Calabar’s famed Christmas Carnival; but even so, it has its own intricate allure. And I knew that my Christmas would be wonderful when the night exploded with songs at the Millennium Park as different choirs competed with one another for the best performance. I was awe-struck by the depth of talent on display from the Cross River State choir. The choir’s lead singer had a voice that would make the angels blink in bewilderment. But the real amazement was the performance of Governor Liyel Imoke and Obioma, his wife. The couple was among the Government House choir, which turned up delicately spruced up for the night. The singing contest was between the House of Assembly, the local governments and the Government House. I chuckled when I saw my friend, Christian Ita, the Chief Press Secretary to the Governor, looking dapper in a tuxedo and grinning with a mischievous glint in his eyes. In all the years I had known him, I had never heard a hum from Chris. But Calabar’s many unspoken pleasures had softened him up and turned him into a singer.
It was pleasant to see Obioma Imoke singing lead, while her husband’s booming voice floated atop a wave of voices into the night. The choir sounded as though it had gone through moments of intense rehearsal and I wondered how Governor Imoke could have been a part of it with the tightness of his schedule. Interestingly, whatever sacrifices they made seemed to have paid off as their performance on the night was inch-perfect. I rose from the carol night, wondering just how different Calabar was from the rest of Nigeria, how beautiful the choirs sang, how picturesque the stage looked and how these little things meant so much more than words could ever say. But I also rose from the performance with a heightened anticipation of the carnival; the crown jewel of the Calabar Christmas Festival.
After a relatively quiet Christmas, I spent the Boxing Day at the scenic Marina Resort; a breath-taking hideaway that nestles at the mouth of the Calabar River. The resort is a canopy of colours. From the zig-zagging road that slopes all the way down to the river from the Eastern Naval Command and the ethereal beauties of the little Tortuga Island, where I savoured the peppery taste of barbecued fish to the magnificent view of the glimmering Calabar River, I felt myself entranced in a beauty beyond the lame aspirations of polluted beaches of Lagos. And as I walked down the dimly lighted labyrinths of the Slave Museum, I felt history tug on the shirt sleeves of my mind. I chuckled when the curator, whose name I can no longer recall, told the story of the famed slave dealer, King Eyo Honesty, the 18th Century monarch of Creek Town, whom he said earned the name “Honesty” from his fair trade practices with the European slave masters. His voice hovered over us in the cavernous rooms of the museum like the vengeful spirit of one of the enslaved ancestors seeking supplication. The tour was as enlightening as it was saddening.
Stepping out of the Museum into the warm December sun once again, I stood by the railing and gazed into the vast expanse of the Calabar River, which empties itself into the sea and wondered how many cruelties the waters of the River had witnessed without as much as a blink. I left when my eyes stung from gazing too hard and ambled my way back to an open field, where children romped about in play, oblivious of the hideous stories that lay within the walls of the nearby museum. Although there was a cinema house close by, I had lost all interest as my mind kept dredging up images of the manacles and chains I saw in the museum. At night, I heard the guttural voice of King Eyo Honesty welcoming me to his kingdom by the sea. He stretched out a bronze staff to touch me as he spoke and I screamed in absolute horror and woke up to realise that it was a dream and that it was the day I had waited for: the Carnival Day.
Leaving my hotel room at a quarter past nine, I headed for the take-off point of the carnival train. I had been advised that the best thing to do was to get a spot very close to the take-off point and watch the street party fresh and then return to my hotel for a little rest before re-joining the party in the stadium at sunset. But no one warned me of the impending joy that came with witnessing Africa’s largest street party live. I took a spot opposite De Choice, a popular quick service restaurant, and waited with my phones fully charged to take photographs of the impending spectacle. I didn’t have long to wait as the procession began a little after mid-day. Right before my eyes, I saw the streets of Calabar explode into a rainbow of colours. Young, nubile and picture-perfect ladies twinkled like sapphire in assorted costumes, flashing smiles that glowed like full moon. Old and graceful ladies glimmered in gears that made light of the passage of time. Athletic young dancers flexed their muscles and gave hints of complicated dance routines that would later flower into intricate chorography in the late night at the stadium. And the most pleasant thing of it all, the carnival trains all danced to the throbbing rhythms of soar away Nigerian music. A set of fleet-footed dancers performed an astonishing sequence to the tune of Kaycee’s hit song, Pull Over, and the spectators roared in applause. Above us, a military helicopter hovered, keeping an eye on the procession and providing rapid response in case of trouble.
I waited for my moment; the arrival of these other-worldly creatures that seemed perfect in all physical configuration and broke through the security cordon for a photo shoot. I encircled one of the finest of the lot and handed my phone to someone to take a photograph of me and my carnival queen. My queen smiled away as the camera flash exploded in a brilliant dazzle to trap time. I took in the moment, knowing there would never be a repeat. I smiled as my arm encircled her waist and I thought to myself, does this one even know or care whether we share the same bloodline?
The wild ecstasy on the streets was nothing to compare to the frenzy in the U. J Esuene Stadium later in the night. The 25,000- capacity stadium was packed beyond capacity as the city of Calabar and environs emptied itself into the lush-green pitch of the stadium. It was the grand finale of Africa’s largest street party and no one wanted to be told the story of what happened. It was at this stage that the theme of the carnival “Ain’t no Stopping Us” would be interpreted in a dance after being conceptualized in the costumes and floats witnessed earlier on the streets. I felt a surge of pride when the former governor of the state, Donald Duke and his beautiful Onari floated into the stadium on a two-wheel scooter that looked very much like the ones used by visitors to the Whitehouse in Washington DC.
The stadium throbbed with rapture as debonair Duke and delectable Onari floated like fairies around the stadium. The carnival trains soon moved in with fanfare. A major highpoint was the grand entry of ageless Florence Ita Giwa and her Seagul Band.
The Nollywood crew of John Okafor, Nkem Owoh, Funke Akindele, Tonto Dikeh and model Uti Nwachukwu drew a loud applause with their theatrical display. All the carnival bands, including Passion 4, Masta Blasta Band, Seagull Band, Freedom Band and Bayside Band, gave a good account of themselves, interpreting the theme of the carnival.
The night, however, belonged to the Masta Blasta Band whose electrifying performance stripped the audience of all power of speech.
The frightening thing about Carnival Calabar is its growing acceptance beyond Nigeria and even outside Africa. Apart from Brazil, Rwanda, Ghana, Egypt and Trinidad and Tobago are all reported to have joined the fun. The list is expected to grow in the coming years as media attention grows on the carnival.
The astonishing thing, however, is that Calabar and its many revolutionary offerings is the only proof in Nigeria that government can run a project to a high level of excellence.
In the words of Governor Liyel Imoke, the chief host of the carnival, “After Nollywood, Carnival Calabar is the highest brand in Africa and it is unique because unlike others, it is designed, programmed and costumed through passion and creativity.” Calabar is probably the only idea that any government in Nigeria has driven with unflagging passion for close to a decade.
It is, indeed, fascinating how through raw passion and unrivalled focus, the government of Cross River State has turned Calabar into one of the few bright spots in Nigeria’s story of gloom. With a vast arable land that supports year-round green vegetation, a naturally warm and peace-loving people and an assortment of natural wonder-places and places of historical significance, Cross River seems carved out for distinction. Even so, it took a deep self-knowledge and a near revolutionary vision for Cross River to stand out among its peers in Nigeria, if not Africa. I am told that work has commenced on the second phase of Tinapa, which will see the erection of one of Africa’s largest conference facilities.
Evidently, the minders of the idea of Calabar have not stopped dreaming, while their contemporaries in most states of the federation are struggling to offer basic amenities to their people.
American poet, Edgar Allan Poe, once observed that “those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” It would seem that the government and people of Cross River State have mastered the art of dreaming by day, while their counterparts in other states of the federation are still busy dreaming at night.
