I have moments when I have to pinch myself and ask, “How did
a little girl from a small town in the mountains of Pennsylvania end up here?”
I feel this way when I have the thrill of an experience that I cannot believe I
am privileged to be enjoying. In such moments, my eyes well with tears of
indescribable awe, wonder and joy. These moments do not occur on a regular
basis, but when they do, they fuel me to go on further. Our recent attendance
at a Xingomana dance festival was one of these amazing experiences.
Our friend, Chude Mondlane, is the daughter of Eduardo
Mondlane. She put together a festival of Xingomana dance in his birthplace of
Nwadjahane to honor him on what would have been his 95th
birthday. Her father was the founding
president of the Freelimo Mozambican Liberation Front which was successful in
gaining independence for Mozambique from the Portuguese in 1975. Sadly, he
never was able to see this day. He killed in 1969 when a bombplanted in a book
that was sent to him exploded. At his funeral, the Reverend Edward Hawley said
that he “…laid down his life for the truth that man was made for dignity and
self-determination.” He is a revered historical figure in the hearts of all
Mozambicans.
It has been her dream to put this festival together. In
fact, she has worked for several years to do this. She is an artist herself and
desires to preserve the art culture of Mozambique before it is lost. Because of
her perseverance, this event was the first annual national competition of
Xingomana dance- an event that will continue for the years to come. We wanted
to support our friend by attending the event, yet Nwadjahane is a long, long
drive away. So we got out of bed and left our home at 3 am to arrive in time
for the 8:30 start.
Driving on Mozambican roads is an experience in itself. To
do so at night goes beyond comprehension, so we said a prayer for protection
and headed off. At one point, we passed an overturned truck that left sacks of
cement all over the road. Soon after that, we followed a pick-up truck carrying
a full load of passengers in its bed when the rear left wheel and axle came off
leaving a stream of orange sparks in its path as it struggled to come to a safe
stop. We also had the multiple random, but expected, police stops along the way
in which they look to make the roads of Mozambique “safe” for all by making
sure you have a fire extinguisher, safety vest, relective triangles, and proper
documentation in your car. Never mind
that no one pays attention to traffic lights or speed limits, and that stop
signs are just a suggestion. We can all drive with the peace of mind that comes
from knowing our fellow drivers all have proper safety equipment on board. After
about 5 hours of travel, we arrived safely in the village of Nwadjahane.
The small village was teeming with excitement. Villagers
were lined up along the dirt road that led to the festival area, ready to greet
the incoming government leaders who would be attending. They were singing and
dancing as they waited. Others were busy about the stage making final
adjustments. Others were filling in around the performance area, securing a
good spot to view the teams. Behind the stage stood 12 teams from all over
southern Mozambique, dressed in their grass skirts and anxiously awaiting to
begin. We found a shaded spot under a large tree in the back, behind the rows
of plastic chairs for spectators. To our right, was another stage that was
decorated in fabric of red, green, yellow, and black- the colors of the
Mozambican flag. Chairs were lined up on stage for the government guests. One
large, ornate chair was set front and center, reserved for the governor of the
province.
Before long, a stream of trucks came rolling in carrying the
special government guests. The villagers erupted into song, the trucks came to
a stop, and the government people emerged and shook hands with the crowd. They
were led up to the stage where they took their places. We were so proud to see our
friend, Chude, sitting right next to the governor of the province with the
administrator of Manajacaze on her other side. We know the administrator
because of our work there. He is an eloquent man with a good heart. He spied us
in the crowd and gave us a smile of recognition and a wave. A few minutes
later, his assistant came to us and asked us to join the guests on stage. We
were happy to stay out of the way and watch anonymously, but he would not
accept our refusal. So up we went and settled ourselves on stage.
The event began with the introduction of the 12 teams who had
already won their places in the competition by winning local competitions. Each
team danced, sang, and whistled their way out onto the stage with shouts and
applause from the audience. The air was electric with as much energy as I have
ever experienced at any sporting event. Members of the teams ranged from small
girls, maybe around 5 years old, to older women who were gray to moms with
babies tied onto their backs. After they returned behind the stage to wait, the
speeches began, starting with those is less prominent positions in the
government and culminating with the governor. TV cameras and photographers were
everywhere recording the event. And finally, the competition began! We were led
off the stage to the area below where we sat down to view the dancers.
Xingomana is a cultural dance that goes way back. It was
performed by wives for their husband. Historically, and even today, men are
permitted to take more than one wife. The first wife is the head of the family.
She has prominence over all the other wives. She is the head of the household
and tells all the others what to do. The dance is the younger wives’ way of
getting her back. Through the dance, they are able to flaunt their younger
bodies and gain the attention of the husband.
The dance is done to the rapid beat of drums and the short
blowing of whistles. The women are barefooted. Through their firm steps, they
kick up the sand around them creating a dust that fills the air. They wear
grass skirts that swish back and forth, accentuating their every move. The
dance is fast and lively. All of this combines to create a beautiful experience
that is thrilling. As we watched, my eyes filled with tears of joy and
amazement. They were so amazing. They were so beautiful. And it then hit me…how
did it happen that I had the fortune of being here to experience this?! I was a
world away, not just in distance, but in culture and experience. It was a sight
that few are privileged to see. I felt extremely privileged and overwhelmed by
it all.
Don looked my way and saw the tears in my eyes. This brought
tears to his eyes as well. He worries about me here. He worries about my
happiness. He worries about how I am coping with all that happens to us. Yet
through my tears, he saw my happiness. It brought happiness to him as well. Moments
like this reaffirm to him that he does not need to worry so much.
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