One of the Boys from Home

(To provide the correct atmosphere, click the play button below to listen to "Christmas in Killarney.")

Christmas morning I awake to the tunk thunka tunk tunk of drums outside my window. These are not the big booming drums usual at festivities here but the rhythms are as sure and complex. Children’s voices carry a melody that floats on top of the drumming. I quickly dress and go to the front door. Outside the house is a small band of boys. One of them is masked. The wooden mask is not the horrifying monster mask typical of the adult ekpo masquerades but instead is a serene, beatific face, painted in bright orange and blue. Long swathes of golden raffia are tied all round the mask like hair, hang down to the dancer’s waist and swing and sway as he dances. This is the ekong masquerade.

The group consists of the masked dancer, three drummers and four more boys, ranging in age from about five to twelve. Clothing in this climate is worn only for social reasons and this group provides a perfect example of the stages of socialization. The smallest boy is unselfconsciously naked. Of three slightly bigger boys, two wear only singlets and the third, a little older, has graduated to underpants. Several nine and ten year olds are dressed in both undershirts and underpants. The pre-teen boys are wearing wrappers and t-shirts. The small drums are made from one liter powdered milk tins with the ends removed. The drum skin is umbrella fabric.

When I sit down on the front step they continue to dance and sing for a minute until they are all facing me. The music ceases and they huddle for a brief consultation. There are none of the usual greetings and I understand that I am about to receive a performance. They come to a decision and launch into another song. The dancer bends and sways in the morning sun and I recognize the dancer’s feet. Those toes belong to little Etim, but I know that it would be a faux pas to acknowledge that I am aware of the person under the mask.

Ekong is the most important boys’ masquerade. These groups exist all year long and are infamous for their mischief. They are supposed to play pranks and steal food to eat while they hide in the forest. They are also called to dance for a woman who wishes to become pregnant or to bring good fortune to a house. Boys stay in this company until they reach puberty. Then they are inducted into other societies that have more social responsibility.

The energy and joy of the presentation make it seem that good luck has already arrived. I have been told that to show my appreciation for such a visit, I should make a small donation for the dancer’s refreshment. I pull out my wallet when the performance is over and one boy steps forward to accept the money on behalf of the group. That they are pleased with the amount of the gift is expressed by the increased volume and tempo of their song of thanks and praise, and the dancer cavorts with even more evident glee. I watch them as they dance down the path until they turn into the forest, then I go inside to make my morning coffee.

My Christmas morning breakfast is truly festive. Effiong’s mother gave me two eggs last night and I fry these with some potatoes, the first potatoes I have had in almost four months. These were brought to me by a fellow volunteer, who bought them in Calabar, the nearest place where such delicacies can be found. For the final gourmet touch to this feast I open a small can of Heinz baked beans, to wallow in sentimental flavors. As I open the beans I giggle to find myself singing, “It’s Christmas in Killarney, with all of the folks at home!”

When I again hear drumming nearing the house, I rise from the empty breakfast plate and, full of potato inspiration, I bellow in my finest Irish brogue, “The door is always open, the neighbors pay a call!” Outside is another party of small boys with a dancer wearing a pink mask dotted with blue spots. I do not recognize the dancer but gift them just as generously for their music and their blessing. On their departure, they too turn into the forest on the way leading to Akai Udong. My house must be a designated stop on a route these groups are following between villages.

The third party of boys arrives shortly after I finish washing the breakfast dishes. Some of the boys in this group look vaguely familiar.

So it goes throughout the morning, as I clean up the house and prepare myself to go visiting, every twenty minutes or half hour another group arrives at the door. All the small boys in this village must belong to ekong societies. As the fourth bunch leaves, I reflect that the orange and blue mask on this last dancer appeared to be the same mask as on the first dancer. I sit down on the front step and watch as they disappear into the forest on the way to Akai Udong. I will wait until the next group appears.

The drums alert me and I see the next ensemble emerging from the forest, and not coming along the trail from the village as I had earlier assumed. When they arrive I scrutinize them carefully. Six at least of the nine members of this group have been here before and the mask on this fifth dancer is the same distinctive pink with blue spots as that worn during the second performance I saw this morning. They receive their gift and sing my praises with great enthusiasm and good humor and I watch them as they caper down the path and re-enter the forest.

The interval between dance groups has been about twenty minutes, so I give these boys five minutes, then follow them, peering carefully around the corner towards Akai Udong. No sign of them so I move stealthily forward until I hear voices. I sneak into the undergrowth and creep towards the voices. About twenty boys are seated around the base of a large mahogany tree, all talking and laughing in high spirits. Four masks and a half-dozen tin-can drums are piled under the tree. An older boy holds up and waves a handful of money, my donations, and they all crow with hilarity.

While I spy, one of the bigger boys begins to constitute the next group, first selecting the few boys I have not seen yet. Then a dancer and a mask are picked. There seems to be some concern that the remaining boys to form this bunch will be recognized so several of those selected exchange clothing with other boys. When the leader is satisfied that their makeup is unique enough he signals departure and they drum their way back towards my house. I run through the forest and make it inside my back door just as they come out onto the path leading to my house.

By the time they have reached the front door I have recovered my breath and am able to go out and appreciate their display appropriately. While they dance, I plan my revenge for this trickery, and as soon as they have received their donation and gone, I rush back into the house, find what I need and load it into my backpack. With the heavy pack on, it takes me longer than I expected to cross the fields and enter the forest and I am scarcely into the trees before I hear the drumming that signals the imminence of the next ekong party. I drop the pack quickly under a bush and run back to the house, once more just in time to regain my breath before calmly opening the front door.

When they have finished their song I thank the boys and ask them to sit down for a minute so I can tell them a story. Little Etim is in this assembly also, as an unmasked drummer. He translates for those boys who do not speak English.

“Today is Christmas.”

Everyone nods.

“I want to tell you about a special Christmas juju man called Santa Claus....”

They listen with interest as I unfold the myth.

“And he sees everything you do, even secret things?”

“Yes. But he sees all the good things you do, too. And he sees all the goodness in your heart.”

When I have finished, little Etim says, “This American juju is very nice.”

The rest of the boys thank me for the donation and for the story, the drums strike up and they depart once again.

Keeping low, I race through the fields into the trees, grab the pack and crash through the bush to the mahogany tree. There I quickly unload the large tin of Extra Fine Christmas Special Assorted Biscuits and place around it the four liter bottles of soft drink that I have been saving for a special occasion. I suddenly realize that the boys may be frightened by the mysterious appearance of these treats. I quickly print in big block letters across the wrapping on the biscuit tin, “To Ekong, from Santa Claus. Merry Christmas!” The drums are approaching and I make my escape without a moment to spare. As soon as I reach the house, I quickly change my sweat-drenched clothes and set off down the path to Akai Isong. I have promised many people that I will visit them this Christmas day.

My last stop, in the evening of what has been a busy and delightful day, is at the compound where Etim and Effiong’s family lives. This compound is almost a second home for me and I have saved it for my final visit today because I know that here, more than anywhere else, I will feel surrounded by family and friends. Effiong rushes up to me as I enter and while leading me to a seat, tells me of a wonderful experience that little Etim and some small boys had today in the forest. It sounds like the cookies and soft drinks were well received. I express amazement and even hint at a little disbelief. While Effiong is telling the story, little Etim comes in and, as usual, sits down close beside me. I notice he has an envelope in his hand. Effiong goes out in response to a summons from his mother. She has prepared some food for me. Little Etim hands me the envelope. It is addressed to me, just my first name, and the handwriting is my mother’s. Inside is a Christmas card with a message.

“Dear son, I am hiding this under the cookies to give you a special surprise Christmas greeting. I wish on this day that you were not so very, very far away. I send you all my love. Merry Christmas. XXXXOOOO, Mom”

“It was at the bottom of the biscuits,” says Etim.

“You read it?”

“I didn’t know what it was until I read it.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Sah?”

“Yes?”

“Next year we will not do that to you.”

“But you will come and dance ekong?”

“Yes, but we will be just one group.”

“Etim?”

“Sah?”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Oh Sah! Merry Christmas to you too!”