Village Stay - Dagaare Festival

For the past two and a half months I have been living just outside of Bolga in a beautiful Zwaurangu. From my compound (house) I look out at the gorgeous Tongo Hills which are home to some small remote villages. I have often wondered what it would be like to live even further away from Bolga and all of its comforts.



So it was with great excitement and a touch of nervousness that I sat behind my friend Mershack on his moto as we drive away from Bolga and turn off the main road toward the hills. The road becomes unpaved, we drive on. It’s starting to get dark and the view is astounding…we keep driving and the unpaved road becomes more and more narrow and slowly becomes nothing more than a rocky hilly pumpy “path”. It’s dark out and I hear drumming. I wonder how far away the village is that I will be staying at for the next days and silently say a little prayer for our safety on the moto. The drumming is getting louder and louder and eventually we arrive at the Chief of Tongo’s Grand Palace. If you’re thinking Buckingham - think again. There are at least two hundred people dancing and drumming and celebrating outside of the palace, which actually looks more like a dilapidated building that is falling apart before it is even finished being built. I realize I am suppost to be impressed by this palace and show due respect. Mershack explains a bit of what’s going on and about the festival of “Dagaare” that has drawn crowds of people to celebrate in thanksgiving to the Almighty and to their ancestors for their harvest. There is lively dancing and it seems like an awesome party. Through a window I can see the Chief sitting with the elders –the Chief has his own personal fanner! I want to be a Chief.



I thought this was the end of my journey, but we get back on the moto and continue traveling further into the hills and finally arrive in the pitch black to a hord of children and adults welcoming us to the village, taking my things and carrying them away. Someone grabs my hand and gently guides me into the compound, making sure I don’t trip as there are no lights. Mershack leaves and as his moto lights fade into darkness I wonder what to do next. I am given tea and made to sit on the one chair they have. It’s a pretty sweet chair – it’s a wooden recliner, with a view of the big bright African night sky. A girl could get used to this.



Eventually we say goodnight and I go to my room – I put a prayer mat on the ground, hang my mosquito net to a string and settle in for a sound nights sleep. WRONG. Apparently the party has moved and outside my door is a roaring African drumming party. I had been told to go to bed so I’m confused and lie in bed enjoying the sounds and laughing about how insanely unique this is! I pull out “A Long Walk to Freedom” and read with my head lamp…by about 2 am I wish they would stop because I’m tired. It eventually dies down and I am woken at about 5 a.m by the gentle pounding of maize and people bringing water from the borehole. Do these people not sleep?





I go outside and am immediately offered tea. After tea I am brought to greet the Junior Chief. He also has a personal fanner. I bring him gifts and tell him my mission for coming to his village. I am then asked to come and see the gift from the Chief – a guinea fowl to be slaughtered in my honour. I watch Mr. Ben (the man in the village who speaks the most English) with a mixture of horror and fascination as he raises the guinea fowl into the air and says some prayers. His other hand is holding a big kitchen knife. He cuts the fowls neck and then throws it on the ground, blood is coming out and it’s flopping around on the ground. Despite my best effots, my face expresses more horror than honour and the children watching me laugh.



The rest of the day is uneventful and spent with me being followed around by about 30 children EVERYWHERE I went. For lunch I am fed a rice ball and soup with a big chunk of guinea fowl in it and a big piece of fish, I manage to get them to excuse me of fish but keep the guinea fowl. It tastes pretty darn good and is probably the freshest piece of meat that I have ever and will ever eat in my life. I think of my dad’s stories of “funny bird” and laugh.



Since it is the festival, nobody is doing much – no hard harvesting and no school. I find ways to become friends with the girls, mostly by asking them questions and answering theirs. Eventually we congregate to watch the Chief exit his room and sit down to watch the festivities.



At night I am ready for the drumming and dancing – I know the girls will take care of me and enjoy several hours of dancing around with them. People see me and exclaim, “Somiya! AHH! You’ve done well.” There smiles are amazing, they seem to love my effort and you can’t help but return their warm smiles. By about 10 p.m my long pants and long sleeve shirt are soaked with sweat and I escape to my bed, full of gratitude and thanksgiving.