Before the masquerade, before the music and the masks, there was land. And on this land, long before forts and cannons, people migrated inward, searching for a place to live and grow.

 

There was famine. And in that time of hunger, a hunter left his people in search of food. In the forest, he came upon a hidden community—small in stature, spirit-beings, dwarfs. He watched them dance their rituals, and they caught him watching. But instead of punishment, they offered him something sacred: a seed of red maize, and the dances that went with it. 

 

The seed would nourish the body. The dances would protect the soul. The hunter returned, shared the gift, and every year after, the people honoured that moment—when spirit met survival, and life returned.

 

Five hundred years later, on that same land, the Brandenburgers—German traders—built a castle. A slave fort. From that place, people were stolen. Sold. Taken across the ocean.

 

And then came John Canoe.

 

An African trader, warrior, and tactician. For fifteen years, he held that castle against European powers with thousands of soldiers—many of them freed captives from other forts. His name travelled far beyond the coast. It crossed the ocean.

 

In the Caribbean, on plantations where people were chained and broken, they whispered: “John Canoe will come.” His name became more than a man—it became a promise.

And in those islands, John Canoe took new forms. He returned in the masquerade. The enslaved remembered him in dance and disguise:

 

• The House John Canoe, worn on the head, mocking power, inviting spirit.
   

• The Moko Jumbi, walking tall on stilts, a guardian crossing oceans.
   

• The Pregnant Woman, bearer of life in defiance of erasure.
   

• The Cow, the Horse, the wealth and labour reclaimed.
   

• And Pitchy Patchy—the General, the fighter, the spirit of Jan Kwaw himself.
   

These were not costumes. These were superheroes. These were visions of freedom hidden in plain sight.

 

At daybreak, the masqueraders would emerge. They would pour libation, honour the ancestors, and call in the spirit of Carnival. They would dance not just for joy, but for memory, for resistance, for the future.

 

And at the end of it all—when the music slowed and the streets emptied—they would bid farewell to the spirit, with reverence, with gratitude, and with the promise: “We will return.”

We welcome our Guardians of the Spirit of Carnival, community leaders, artists, and cultural stewards who honour the creativity, unity, and joy that every group brings to the road.

 

Their role today is not to judge, but to witness, celebrate, and uphold the spirit that makes this Carnival truly ours.

 

They will be present during the Salutes to Carnival, where each group presents themselves in their full expression—through costume, movement, music, or storytelling.

 

The Patrons are invited to reflect back the richness of what they witness, offering a few words of celebration, encouragement, or acknowledgment to each group.

 

This moment is not a competition. It is a recognition. A thank you. A shared holding of the journey every group has taken to be here today.

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- The Salute to Carnival
One by one, each group steps forward to offer their Salute to Carnival—a brief performance, chant, or gesture that embodies their spirit.

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Here, they present not just what they’ve made, but who they are. The Guardians of the Spirit of Carnival receive these offerings, not to judge, but to honour. They may share a word of appreciation, encouragement, or reflection. This is a ceremonial moment of shared pride.

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- The Carnival Farewell
Once all groups have offered their salute, the final gathering begins. This is the Carnival Farewell - a collective closure and thanksgiving.

 

The spirit that was called in at the start is now acknowledged, thanked, and gently released.
A closing act may mark this moment—a ribbon, a cake, a song of joy. From here, the celebration shifts into the Carnival Fête, but the parade’s ceremonial arc is complete.

At the start of the day, before the parade begins its movement, the Guardians of the Spirit of Carnival walk the assembled parade. This is not a judgment - it is a welcome.

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The patrons greet each group, acknowledging their presence, their creativity, their spirit. It’s a moment of mutual recognition: the community meets itself. This stage establishes the tone - respectful, joyful, grounded.

After the greetings are complete, the parade is called to readiness. This is the moment of departure, when the gathered energy becomes motion.

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Groups form their order, music lifts, and the procession begins. The parade leaves the square and enters the road—a movement from gathering into journey.

 

At a key point along the route—whether symbolic or physical—the parade passes before a central gathering point or audience. This is the Grand Pass: a presentation, an offering, a chance to be seen.

 

Groups move with intention, showcasing their movement, costume, and message. The spirit of Carnival is fully alive here—visible, audible, joyful.

The Return and Preparation for Salutes
After completing the full procession, the parade returns to the square. The energy shifts again - from movement to arrival.

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Groups begin to prepare for their moment in the spotlight. Costumes are adjusted, music is tuned, nerves settle. The space becomes a kind of stage.

Running alongside Leyton Más, World Wide Arts Weekend brings a creative takeover to Leyton High Road with a buzzing mix of grassroots activations, pop-up performances, and independent productions.

From poetry and live music to spontaneous happenings and art in unexpected places, local artists transform community venues, shops, and bars into mini arts spaces for the day. Wander the high street and discover a world of creativity at every turn – no stage required.​