Sama­ki Fe­li­cian

Free­lance Cor­re­spon­dent

As Car­ni­val en­er­gy puls­es through T&T this week, one name con­tin­ues to rise above the noise: Mela Caribe. At just 29 years old, born Shereese Ed­mund, the singer-song­writer is step­ping con­fi­dent­ly in­to her mo­ment, armed with spir­i­tu­al­i­ty, au­then­tic­i­ty, and a deep-root­ed love for Caribbean ex­pres­sion.

But be­fore the bright lights, big stages, and col­lab­o­ra­tions with icons, there was a lit­tle girl in a qui­et vil­lage called In­di­an Trail, Vil­lage Cou­va.

Ed­mund grew up in a small, in­ti­mate com­mu­ni­ty with a tiny pop­u­la­tion, lit­tle church­es and par­lours, not even mi­ni-mar­kets. Raised by her grand­par­ents af­ter her par­ents’ sep­a­ra­tion, she found com­fort and iden­ti­ty in the church.

“That’s where my mu­si­cal feet were plant­ed,” she re­flects.

She was heav­i­ly in­volved, per­form­ing mono­logues, singing in the choir, danc­ing, and act­ing in church plays. An on­ly child, much of her world ex­ist­ed with­in her imag­i­na­tion. When she wasn’t in church, she was cre­at­ing.

“I used to write my own songs with­out a pen or pa­per. I would talk to the uni­verse. I used to talk to the trees, talk to the walls,” she says with a laugh. “I’m cre­ative and ex­pres­sive, that’s who I’ve al­ways been.”

Her up­bring­ing was a melt­ing pot of in­flu­ences: strong Chris­t­ian val­ues, In­di­an her­itage, and Bap­tist tra­di­tions in­ter­twined. That spir­i­tu­al foun­da­tion still shapes her sound to­day, rhythm-heavy, soul­ful and root­ed in free­dom of ex­pres­sion.

“I nev­er changed,” she says. “The same way I am now is the same way I was as a child.”

At 16, she up­loaded videos of her­self rap­ping and singing orig­i­nal songs on Face­book. Then came a defin­ing mo­ment, her first time in a record­ing stu­dio with Trinida­di­an rap­per Jay Adams, now based in New York.

“When I heard my­self on a track, some­thing just clicked. A light bulb went off. I knew this was what you were meant to do,” Mela Caribe re­calls say­ing to her­self then.

She hasn’t looked back since.

Be­com­ing Mela Caribe

The name came to her dur­ing her uni­ver­si­ty years, sparked by a child­hood habit of pre­tend­ing a de­odor­ant bot­tle was a mi­cro­phone and en­vi­sion­ing her­self be­ing in­tro­duced on stage by Machel Mon­tano.

“Mela ini­tial­ly came from ‘melanin’, I’m a brown-skinned woman from the Caribbean. But now it means more. ‘Me’ is the en­er­gy, ‘La’ is the melody, and ‘Caribe’ rep­re­sents the Caribbean. I bring the en­er­gy and melody of the Caribbean.”

It was a man­i­fes­ta­tion long be­fore the in­dus­try caught on.

Her Car­ni­val cat­a­logue con­tin­ues to grow, in­clud­ing hits like Bad In­flu­ence, Lost in Trin­ba­go, and Danc­ing in the Streets.

Lost in Trin­ba­go was born from a col­lab­o­ra­tive ef­fort with Am­s­ter­dam-based pro­duc­er Sher­man De Vries (orig­i­nal­ly from Saint Mar­tin) and Zebedee May­nard Nep­tune. What be­gan as a dif­fer­ent con­cept evolved un­der Mela’s di­rec­tion.

“It couldn’t just be gener­ic. We had to rep­re­sent both is­lands. It had to be ‘Trin­ba­go.’ To­ba­go is our fun aun­tie, we can’t leave her out.”

The fi­nal touch­es in­clud­ed brass el­e­ments sug­gest­ed by DJ Pri­vate Ryan, ground­ing the track firm­ly in Trinidad and To­ba­go’s cul­tur­al iden­ti­ty.

A vi­sion re­alised with Machel Mon­tano

Per­haps the most po­et­ic chap­ter of her jour­ney is work­ing along­side Machel Mon­tano, the same artiste she once en­vi­sioned in­tro­duc­ing her on stage.

Three years ago, while sit­ting in a car with DJ Pri­vate Ryan, she wrote what would be­come Danc­ing in the Streets.

Mon­tano lat­er heard the de­mo on a plane and was im­me­di­ate­ly drawn to it.

But he chal­lenged her.

“He told me my writ­ing felt a lit­tle el­e­men­tary. No one had ever said that to me be­fore,” she ad­mits. “The same day, I went back in­to the stu­dio and rewrote it.”

Mon­tano even­tu­al­ly locked in the track, hold­ing on­to it un­til the tim­ing felt right.

Now, dur­ing Car­ni­val week, that man­i­fes­ta­tion feels full cir­cle.

“With Machel, you have to stay ready,” she says. “He’s a mas­ter of his craft. He be­lieves in me. He teach­es me to be still and trust that I was al­ready cho­sen.”

Mind your busi­ness

Ask Mela Caribe how she con­tin­ues to el­e­vate each Car­ni­val sea­son, and her an­swer is sim­ple:

“I mind my busi­ness.”

It’s more than a catch­phrase. It’s a phi­los­o­phy.

She pri­ori­tis­es dis­ci­pline, sac­ri­fices dis­trac­tions, stud­ies the busi­ness side of mu­sic, pub­lish­ing, dis­tri­b­u­tion, li­cens­ing, mer­chan­dis­ing ,and fo­cus­es on plant­i­ng and wa­ter­ing her seed.

“We ask God for bless­ings, but what are we do­ing to pre­pare for them?”

Her jour­ney, she says, has large­ly been in­ter­nal, prac­tic­ing pa­tience, em­brac­ing au­then­tic­i­ty and over­com­ing fear.

“There’s strength in ac­cept­ing what you’re des­tined for. Don’t run from it.”

What’s af­ter Car­ni­val?

Even as the na­tion dances in the streets this week, Mela Caribe is al­ready think­ing be­yond the sea­son.

More mu­sic.

In­ter­na­tion­al col­lab­o­ra­tions. Ex­pand­ing her new­ly launched web­site.

Build­ing mean­ing­ful re­la­tion­ships with sup­port­ers.

Mer­chan­dise is on the way.

“It’s all about align­ment,” she says. “Every­thing will fall in­to God’s tim­ing.”

Ad­vice to the next gen­er­a­tion

For up­com­ing artistes watch­ing her rise this Car­ni­val, her ad­vice is clear:

“Un­der­stand that this is the mu­sic busi­ness. Don’t be so ea­ger to sign con­tracts. Learn your pub­lish­ing, your dis­tri­b­u­tion, your li­cens­ing. Pro­tect your gift.”

And most im­por­tant­ly?

“Pray for dis­cern­ment. Know who is for you and who is not.”

As Car­ni­val 2026 draws to its cli­max, Mela Caribe is no longer just en­vi­sion­ing the stage; she’s com­mand­ing it. Root­ed in spir­i­tu­al­i­ty, pow­ered by pur­pose, and backed by prepa­ra­tion, Shereese Ed­mund is not just rid­ing the Car­ni­val wave.

She’s be­com­ing one of its defin­ing voic­es.