THE JOURNEY FOR AFRICAN MASQUERADES, page 1 of chapter 1

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Chapter One: The Sound That Stirred The Soul

Page 1 of chapter 1
Lounging on a recliner, her legs loosely splayed on the balcony of her father’s four-bedroom duplex, Janet was suddenly drawn in by a hauntingly melodic sound drifting through the air—
Gbam! Gbam!—Gbam! Gbam!—Gbam! Gbam!
“Oh! Who are they?” she exclaimed, startled yet intrigued.
She had arrived home for the holidays just two days earlier from a university in the Western world, and everything felt at once familiar and foreign.
“Dad! Dad! Who are they?” she called, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Mr Okon, an oil company engineer by profession, had studied Petroleum Engineering at a university in the United States and spent the greater part of his life abroad, journeying from one country to the next on official assignments. He had returned to his hometown, Cotonou, in the Republic of Benin, now living out his retirement in quiet dignity. Barely glancing up, he chuckled softly and said, “Is this your first time seeing them? Those are masquerades—embodiments of our ancestors’ spirits. They don’t just dance; they tell stories and keep our traditions alive.”
The hypnotic rhythm—layered with drums and chants—struck a deep chord in Janet, who had been born and raised in the United States. It reverberated like a drumbeat deep within her soul. She felt an irresistible pull and edged closer, eager to soak in every detail.
Leading the procession was a figure draped in palm fronds, its face concealed behind an intricately crafted brass mask, with eyes as red and fierce as those of a wounded lion. The costume was ornate and colourful—like a moving sculpture. The masquerade moved with mystical grace, commanding the attention of all, as though time had momentarily paused to honour the ancestors.
The middle masquerade wore a mask daubed with yellow clay, a cloth draped over the lower part of the head. The trio of dancers moved in perfect harmony, their bodies swaying and stepping in time with the rhythm. Each movement aligned flawlessly with the beat—a seamless fusion of tradition and elegance.
The mask—an ancient artefact meticulously crafted—was made from wood, raffia, and other natural materials. It symbolised ancestral spirits, deities, or natural forces, allowing the wearer to channel the very essence of these powers during sacred rituals. Through dance, song, and movement, the masquerades became conduits—vessels for the spirit—conveying messages, blessings, and wisdom to the community.
The air was alive with the traditional sounds of indigenous instruments—the deep hum of the dundun, the rhythmic beat of the shekere, the melodic echo of the balafon, and the booming pulse of the ashiko. Together, they wove a tapestry of sound that seemed to rise from the ancestor itself, ancient and unbound. To Janet, the performers were emissaries from another world—perhaps from the galactic core—summoned to awaken something timeless and profound.Their songs beckoned to her, pulling her so deeply into their rhythm that she 

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