Without Carnival, I wouldn't exist – literally. My parents met at Notting Hill Carnival in 1994. "I think it was at the Jungle sound system on Tavistock Road," my mum tells me over the phone. Two years later, I was born and would regularly return to the road with them. As a child, I'd ride on my dad's shoulders, weaving through the compact crowds, passing all the glamorous masqueraders to meet his friends at the sound systems. More than anything, I wanted to be one of those beautiful women in their dazzling costumes, proudly flaunting their perfect brown skin and wonderful bodies. I could stand and watch them pass for hours, but my parents were insistent on spending the day at the sound systems.
