It was thirty-six editions since the WorldVision train came hopping back to the Achaean Republic. And just at a fortuitous time—during Carnival! The country’s largest popular celebrations were going full swing during the time the contest was in Puerto Ámbar, the country’s largest city on its northeastern coast, ready to receive thousands of Carnival revelers, tourists, WorldVision fans, business owners, and curious locals who make up this city part of their home. While the city—active, vibrant, buzzing, chaotic—felt that was bursting at the seams, the major activities near Portuary Esplanade were punctuated with life. You could hear that fast-paced Achaean Spanish sprinkled in with some English and a few words of Britosish, a random Llaltese tourist drinking copious amounts of water and suffering under the tropical heat; couples holding hands and eating helado or piragüas sold by the sellers; others eating fruit and fried treats; and many others enjoying buskers and dancers and being gently reminded by passers-by not to leave their purses open or cellphones detached from their bodies, just in case. There was organized chaos to the scene, a method to the madness for accommodating tens of thousands of people enjoying the warm and toasty and balmy afternoon.
The party continued inside the Navegantes Convention Center, the venue of this edition’s competition. The projections atop the stage showcased past WorldVision entries, both Achaean and international, mixed in with local hits of the reggaeton, hip-hop and trap variety, mixed in with some merengue, salsa, bachata, and flow. It takes a while to properly understand an Achaean: passionate, messy, powerful, sensual, festive, restive, friendly, and compassionate. At the same time, the stage’s misty water projections moved alongside the music, also serving as a countdown of sorts before the main event.
TRES…DOS…¡UNO!
The cheers of the crowd suddenly died down as the image played out. The first image was that of the sunrise crowding the sight of one of Puerto Ámbar’s most luxurious beaches. Then, a group of shirtless fishermen—young, old, hairy, brusque, brunt, blunt—carried nets and hauled a boat carrying a small effigy of la Virgen del Carmen, the Virgin of Carmel, the virgin of fishermen and seafarers. It is in Her honor that the Festival de la Bahía, one of the Achaean Republic’s most popular music festivals, is celebrated near Her feast day. This is also why a large abstract effigy of the Virgin exists in the entryway to the port zone. And also why the fishermen, at least the local ones, carry scapulars and medallions with the Virgin in their necks for guidance and protection. This is an image many Achaeans in coastal areas, but especially the Ambarenses, carry with zeal and emotion, Her veneration being arguably the second-most popular after the Virgin of the Candelaria, the nation’s patron saint and whose feast day sparked the struggle for independence back in 1789.
But She is not the only one worthy of veneration in Puerto Ámbar.
In the scenes after, there was a group of dancers dressed in white and playing their drums, clapping their hands, chanting in a strange language not unheard of unless of those that practice them, except a dark-skinned woman dancing barefoot in the sand, her blue-and-white skirt undulating with the waves of the sea. Then, we see two men grabbing coconuts from a palm tree and shaving off the top with a machete so they could enjoy some refreshing coconut water. One for him, one for him, and another one for a young child that grabs the coconut with his small bare hands. After that, viewers are whisked to a birds’ eye view of Puerto Ámbar through its namesake port and the greenery surrounding the city. Viewers could also admire from afar Pico Altador, the country and the Caribbean’s tallest mountain that serves as the city’s natural protector and isolator. Nearby one can enjoy the beauty of Lago Altador, the country’s largest lake and the Caribbean’s lowest point. Then, viewers are whisked back to the business of the port, where incoming cruise ships filled with tourists from around the world (and some of those arriving for WorldVision) mixed with the hard-working truck drivers, stevedores, boat captains, cleaners, and laborers. Outside, there were men and women selling artisan crafts and trinkets, little tchotchkes and knickknacks that were traded upon tourists and sellers. Then there’s the food on the stands: alcapurrias, arepas de coco, freshly-caught fish with tostones and mayoketchup; yaroas with chicken and beef; bacalao with yucca and breadfruit in numerous stores. Then there’s the area near the Old City where luxury shopping outlets, boutique hotels and iconic restaurants collide with a well-preserved colonial center near the city’s main plaza.
It was an interesting transition: old and new; ancient and modern; wild and neat; tender and sober. The vibrancy of Puerto Ámbar was in full swing when scenes of Carnival came around, watching people jump and dance with drinks in head, dressed in various costumes and having fun with friends, lovers, and family. Some were eating. Others were kissing, no matter what couples they were. Still others hawked their last-minute products while many people struck up a conversation or consoled each other over drunk tears. It was the joie de vivre, that je ne sais quoi that made living in Achaea such a beautiful disaster. More so in a city where even the rain seemed to sing. There was always something to enjoy…always something to dive in.
And then the rain took all the revelers back to the Navegantes Convention Center, which received a massive crowd of 14,000 inside the arena, eight thousand next to the Green Room, and thousands more outside and waving a nice warm welcome to the Multiverse.
The stage suddenly went dark, with glimmers of blue and white showing. The water projections on both sides of the stage appeared as a reverse waterfall, showing a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Sea beside a beach. A young girl provided an offering of blue lilies and white orchids in a circle, centered around a candle. She was barefoot and dressed in white, with her hair filled with flowers and seashells. Then, it looked as if the floral offering was left to drift to the sea, to meet its maker. It was one of the traditions celebrated in Puerto Ámbar at the time of the early morning dedication of the Virgin of Carmel. But this also meant an offering to Yemanyá, the orisha of the moon and the oceans, the protector of all life and the mother of humankind.
Suddenly, a dark-skinned woman was dressed in a blue-and-white headdress, bejeweled in blue, white, and golden beaded garlands that provided a glistening shine to her sweat-and-mist covered body. She was barefoot, which was to be expected of anybody performing such a ritual dance, even in a secularized form. Playing Yemanyá was no strange feat—it involved lots of dedication, hours of preparation, and the ability to become a vessel for the orisha at any time and at any given moment should she desire to be properly welcomed. Not that she would appear at a prestigious musical event on a whim, in front of the Multiversal cameras. But it could happen, and one needed to be ready for such a possibility.
This being an island, Yemanyá holds special regard in the Orisha pantheon. When the Spaniards arrived and the colonization involved the arrival of slaves to Achaean territory, the Yoruba used the image of the Virgin to worship Yemanyá, the Mother of the Lord also transforming into the Queen of the Sea. Her movements rise and fall like the tide, always in a circle, as the energy that comes from one side of the skirt is elevated into the other. Unlike other orisha dances like Eleguá or Ochún, Yemanyá’s movements were skilled and evocative, only picking up the pace as the beats of the drum grew intense, ready to receive the orisha in possession of the dancer’s body—but never brusquely jerking her body, if not gliding like the waves crashing onto the shore. In very rare cases, she brandishes a weapon, unlike Eleguá’s keys or Ochún’s seductive jewels. But one can argue that her movements draw you into her grasp, like a tender lullaby, rocked back and forth from the waves of the sea.
They sing in Lucumí, a sacred language drawn from the Yoruba languages that came and evolved with the Yoruba slaves that came from West Africa to the Caribbean. They brought their orishas, their faith, their recipes, and their culture to the islands, syncretizing their gods with those of the white man. The santeros preserved Lucumí through the forces of nature, resilience, and pure old stubbornness. Nobody today actually speaks Lucumí in their daily lives, but a mixture of Spanish and Lucumí has created as invocation to the orishas to invade their vessels and make their presence known. Doubtful they could appear on Multiversal television, but not impossible. Even as the music made things much more intense, they maintained their composure. They kept beating the drums that Yemanyá wanted them to hit.
After the Parade of Nations was done, the greetings could be heard above the cheers of the audience in the arena.
Ladies and gentlemen…Damas y caballeros… Mesdames et messieurs…Welcome to the 112th WorldVision Song Contest! Please welcome your hosts, Marta Jara and Laila Násser!
The two women came walking towards the sides of the stage and into the center, one woman to the left, another one to the right. As the two met towards the center, they waved to the crowd and wondered at the water shooting forth on the area, projecting the logo of this year’s edition. To the left, Marta Jara wore a light blue maxi-dress with white floral patterns and ruffled with chiffon from the leg down. She also wore white stilettos that were quite higher than what she was used to—if she wore stilettos at all. On the right, Laila Násser wore a strapless white jumpsuit that used wide leg pants and neatly decorated her white stilettos. Martita loved frills; Laila preferred convenience. It was interesting to see the two women, both native ambarenses, enjoy the effects of WorldVision’s presence in their native hometown: people were happier than usual, ready to extend their Carnival celebrations for a few more weeks (much to the chagrin of the Diocease of Puerto Ámbar, who was already undergoing Lent and was worried that their parishioners would forgo Lenten worship, not like it already mattered), and businesspeople enjoyed the extra opportunities to make money before Holy Week.
Once the two women met in the center, they hugged each other, gave kisses to their cheeks and waved to the crowd surrounding them once again.
MARTA JARA & LAILA NÁSSER: Welcome to the 112th WorldVision Song Contest!
MARTA JARA: Welcome to the Heart of the Northeast!
LAILA NÁSSER: Welcome to Puerto Ámbar!
MARTA JARA: ¡Bienvenidos!
LAILA NÁSSER: Thirty-six editions have passed since the Achaean Republic has hosted the Multiverse’s premier musical competition, and by God, how things have changed, haven’t they, Martita?
MARTA JARA: Yes! Tonight, we’re ready to dive in (winks) and enjoy the carnival of music each of our performers have prepared for all of us here in the legendary Navegantes Convention Center, and to your homes around the Multiverse.
LAILA NÁSSER: Don’t forget you can vote up to twenty times for your favorite performances online at http://www.worldvision.tv, the Official WorldVision app, by SMS or text message, and if you’re in countries like the Achaean Republic, you can also vote through WhatsApp. But don’t vote yet! You need to wait until the last performance is completed before we open the voting lines, okay?
MARTA JARA: ¡Sí! Now, are you ready to dive in to great music, Puerto Ámbar? (The crowd around the stage goes wild.) Okay, let’s do this…
LAILA NÁSSER: Okay, so here goes…
MARTA JARA & LAILA NÁSSER: Puerto Ámbar…Multiverse…Let the 112nd WorldVision Song Contest begin!
Fireworks arise from around the stage. The water projections are suddenly turned on, the first one on the viewer’s left presenting this edition’s WorldVision logo, and the second one on the viewer’s right says DIVE IN! in all caps. The two presenters leave before the first performance begins…
