LIFE IS ONE BIG MASQUERADE DANCE

The ekpo masquerade is segmented into three – the adult, youth and children. Every year, the best dancer is crowned (in the hearts of spectators) king or prince of each category. A king of the adult category or prince of any of the junior categories is identified by his thighs – they wear briefs – and mask as the masked fellows are never ever addressed by their personal names. The ekpo is only identified as an ekpo (a term which also means ‘a ghost’) till the mask is off.

The ekpo masquerade season starts immediately after the planting season and ends in the New Year just before the farm-clearing season.

The adult masquerade appears first and its season lasts the entire length of the rainy season and terminates just as the dry season saunters in. The youth masquerade would receive the baton shortly after and would last the early part of the dry season. As harmattan and the New Year approach, with all the festivities towards the end of the old year and the beginning of the New Year, children masquerade would take over. But unlike adult and youth masquerades which women and non-initiates flee from, children masquerade is the darling of all. Adult masked men have a mystic aura around them: they wear grotesque masks, wavy grass headgear called ‘mkpatat’ and are armed with bows and arrows and machetes, and their limbs are painted with charcoal. The youth masked fellows wear straight grass headgear and grotesque masks and are armed too with bows, arrows and machetes – their limbs are painted with red clay. But the youngsters with masks are resplendently dressed: they use strips of colourful cloths as headgear, wear sweetly carved masks, some fringed with round, miniature mirrors; and their limbs are painted with white clay.

But this was the season of the adult masquerade and they were drawing their acts to a close today. Dogging customs, they were holding their last ball in the village big market square. As is the norm too, the masked men’s weapons were all put away and everyone, the non-initiates and women, was on this day allowed to come close to the masked men and watch and applaud them as they exhibited scintillating end-of-the-season steps. Notwithstanding, the vindictive ekpo would still venture close to an ‘enemy’ and avenge some past wrongs by gripping and rubbing charcoal on him (yes, it must be ‘him’ for the ekpo doesn’t dare touch a woman anyhow or else stiff penalty awaits his unbecoming conduct).

Seven drums were arranged on a high stand and the lead drummer was up there on a high stool beating them; accompanied by a couple of other drummers who stood below him, banging on their big bass drums. The lead drummer could beat a tune praising the heroes of the land; he could give accolades to a selfless housewife, deride a lazy head of the family or taunt some irresponsible teenagers. The drummer up there with his drumsticks could say anything with his seven drums and the spectators below, captivated by the steps of the masked men, would very well interpret the statements made by the drums.

But the heart of the fun of this festivity is when the ekpo dictate to the lead drummer what he should beat on his drums during the individual dance session. A drumbeat follows every movement made by the masked man in the square. Then this fun is heightened with the continuous whirling of any masked man. The longer he whirls – body wheeling in the air – and then finally lands without wavering is what wins the crown the spectators keep in their hearts.

Consecutively for three masquerade seasons, the masked man with the muscular thighs and mask bearing the features of a buffalo had won the hearts of the spectators and was crowned the king of the adult ekpo masquerade. He had sauntered into the square, dictated with his hands and the lead drummer beat the statement on his drums:

 

The rat does nothing to the sturdy bone

Other than rubs it with saliva and dirt –

I still await the man who can beat me yet.

 

The masked man drew close to the crowd and the crowd cowered back from his charcoal-painted body. He gesticulated:

 

Even the crowd is afraid of me;

Even the crowd is afraid of me.

 

He strutted about and then darted into the centre of the square and whirled – three times to the left, three times to the right and then at a stretch, fourteen good times to the left. It was a record. The masked man with a finger ticked his performance off in the air. The crowd applauded and cheered in appreciation. The drums went rhythmic and he danced out of the square.

The last masked man, with wiry thighs, strode in – hands holding and pulling at an imaginary bow and arrow. The crowd wasn’t impressed. This ekpo with his funny-looking mask bearing the owl’s features had never been their favourite. For three years now they had seen nothing exceptional about his performance. They never gave him a chance in the world and it was clearly visible they were impatiently waiting for him to dance and leave so they could leave too, contented the field was level and everyone had fair treatment. Without doubt, they had given away the crown again to the ekpo with the burly thighs – their butterfly. The masked man with the wiry thighs was nothing more than a hornet to them. And between the butterfly and the hornet, to most eyes, the butterfly stands out.

The last masked man dictated the notes and the drummer beat them – a drumbeat for a kick of his right foot, two drumbeats for two kicks of the left; a drumbeat for a nod and two for a double punch... then he whirled three times to his right and then four times to his left. Then he whirled in a circle – the drums were rolling. He went on and on till the spectators counted twenty-one times. He finally landed without wavering. The ovation was deafening. The drums went rhythmic and he danced out of the square.

Then the back-up drummers went mute as is customary and the lead drummer made a parting statement with his drums:

 

Life is one big masquerade dance;

Pride can make the king a clown

As commitment now steals the crown

And adorn the clown who most can prance.

 

Then the seven drums went rhythmic, accompanied again by the backup drums. The adult ekpo masquerade dance had drawn to a close with the crowning of a brand new king.

 

THE END.