The story behind Utila's famous Carnival

Before the bright colors, the parades, and the fireworks, the Utila Carnival started with something much simpler: a group of islanders trying to help their neighbors after disaster hit.

It was after a late 90’s hurricane swept across the island, leaving some families without homes and others with roofs and walls barely standing.

Communities organized themselves to respond. There was no big outside aid. What there was, though, was a whole lot of heart. Each community committee stepped up, and with that, the idea of a carnival fundraiser was born.

Miss Mary Annie Rose Laurie, known to most as Ms. Annie, was at the center of it. An island woman and a Seventh-day Adventist, she helped lead the first-ever Utila Carnival serving as president and later on as treasurer. That first year, there wasn’t any alcohol sold. The focus was family, food, and fundraising. They served barbecue, homemade dishes, and desserts prepared by community members. The funds raised went directly toward buying zinc sheets and other materials to repair or rebuild damaged homes.

Then came another tragedy. On December 20, 1999, a fire broke out at the Henderson store. Seven people were injured and one lost their life. Again, the island needed help, and again, the carnival became the way to get it.

The following year, the Utila Carnival Committee shifted its efforts toward creating a fire station. They used the carnival to raise money to build the station and form a fire response team. It was a grassroots effort, just like the year before. Ms. Annie’s own great-grandfather, Richard H. Rose, donated the land where the fire station still stands today.

But not everyone saw it that way. The mayor at the time brought in the Cobras, a special police unit, along with the fiscal from Roatan, accusing the committee of stealing the funds. It was a tense moment, but the truth stood firm, the money had gone into building something the island desperately needed. The station was real, the team was formed, and the committee stayed committed to helping their own.

The carnival became something more. It turned into an annual tradition, and one of the most anticipated events on Utila. What started as a fundraiser grew into a week-long celebration of music, culture, and community. Each day of the week featured a mini-carnival, or carnavalito, in a different neighborhood. On Saturday, floats would roll through the streets, followed by a boat show and a fireworks display that lit up the sky.

The food remained at the heart of it all. Ms. Annie and others would prep the night before, cutting up chicken, cooking dishes, and making desserts. By midday the next day, it would all be sold out. The fireworks became their own little legend too. One year, they bought so many that there were leftovers for two years after. Ms. Annie kept them stored in her bodega, and she used to joke (half-serious) that she was scared they might blow up.

What matters most about the Utila Carnival isn’t the music or the parties, it’s the spirit behind it. It was never just about having fun. It was about helping. About islanders stepping up for each other when no one else would. The original committee was made up of people who genuinely wanted to improve life on the island. And they did.

The Utila Carnival is just one of several carnivals throughout the Bay Islands that began this way. Long before outside sponsorships or Instagram posts, these events were powered by community, by people who saw a problem and got creative to solve it. They used what they had: culture, tradition, and heart.

Today, visitors come from the mainland and from other islands just to experience Utila’s Carnival. But few know the deeper history. Fewer still know the names of the people who started it or the hardships that sparked it. Here are a few other names worth mentioning: Ellen Bush, Martha Ann Rose, Johnnie Hinds, Denny Bush, Sherry Bush, Michael Rose, Rosa Hinds, Fern Zelaya (the current vice mayor), Lillian Henderson, Woodrow Henderson, Fulmer Zelaya, Dacia Muñoz, Arthur Lloyd Bush.

And that’s what makes this story worth telling. Because long before it was a party, it was a promise: that when times got tough, Utila would take care of its own.