balafons

I experienced my first balafon party on the holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan (I only fasted one day-for solidarity purposes). I was stunned by the similarities between the balafon party and a concert in America. I will recount a few of the details now.

The ‘tour bus’ consisted of no less than ten bikes with balafons and drums attached to the back, traveling 12 kilometers through fields to get to our village, like any good band, six hours after they were scheduled to arrive.

The backstage was a bunch of wooden chairs behind the musicians so they could rest between songs. In stead of chocolate, veggie platters, champagne or other extravagant requests by the musicians, there band was served rice and peanut sauce, with a steady stream of hot sugary tea served throughout the night, oh yeah, also with a side of cigarette.

Cigarettes themselves made the appearance joints usually make at counterpart concerts in America. Perhaps, a handful of men smoke in my village, but on the night of the balafon party it seemed like they were all lighting up. Or sometimes when a guy was doing some really cool dance moves, another guy would run up and give the dancer a lighted cigarette to puff on. And instead of throwing bras onstage, young girls would throw their scarves around the best dancer of the moment.

Refreshments included two women serving deep friend sweet potatoes and little doughnut like things called farini. Also anybody who was not dancing was grouped around a tea set or by a moto.

Lots of people came in on their motos even though it was in short walking distance. As people left they had to show off by doing moto tricks. Here’s some of my friends on a moto, Abli, Mamarie, and Soybu.

My favorite similarity by far, was the bouncers. Two guys with tree branches paced the outer circle of the dancing area ready to whack any kid who tried to dance with the older guys on the floor. Here’s a pic of my friend Mamadou and his kid-whacking branch. Followed by a pic of MaFan, a kid from my host family, waiting on the outskirts of the dance circle.

The most interesting part was the actual process of dancing. My counterpart was telling me about how they were groups and people danced in groups. I asked, why, was there some kind of prize? Response- no they just dance together. Basically a group of 3-5 guys go up together, dance a little, and then they each get their own dance solo provided by the musicians. During this solo, they got to show off their best moves for a minute, while everyone enjoyed watching.

The party lasted until 4 in the morning, when the band packed up and headed back the 12 kilometers on their bikes to their village, Kartiela. And there you have it, my first balafon party, a nice way to spice up village life.

Here’s a pic of Mamadou showing me his moves.