Late on the eve of Christmas, our ramshackle group of six drove under the clear night sky from our house in Dufort to Bigones. Along the way, the normal experiences of roadside laughter, dogs sprinting in all directions, and the symphony of horns and yells were all gone. There was a calmness to the streets and paths that we had yet experienced.

As we turned from the paved highway to the dusty roads and then to the river, we paused. A turn of the key, and with it, the engine and lights disappeared. The six of us gazing at the infinity of stars, listening to the steady river turning it’s stones like the food in our freshly fed bellies. The darkness in contrast to where the headlights just were, the stillness in contrast to where the rumbling engine just was, was expansive. We felt a heightened sense of awareness of all that was existing just outside our truck. We piled in once more, heading to Bigones, to find our friends and crew.

Arriving, uncertain exactly where to go, we wandered towards the glow of lights and rumble of a generator; which, in a village with no electricity, is easy to find. A group of people were gathered in and around a recently repaired house. We approached the doorways and as our curious faces were illuminated by the single bulb inside, we were quickly ushered into the gathering, given chairs and warm smiles.

In the center of the dirt floor room sat a black tub covered with a brightly patterned cloth. Next to it sat a man with a lit candle at his feet and a machete stuck into the ground. He was leading the chants and songs, occasionally smacking his palm down onto the butt of the machete. As the songs continued four men came around the tub, emptying their pockets into the hands of a trustee and removing all articles of clothing, save for their pants. They overlapped their hands above the tub and the man sitting next to the tub then removed the cloth.

The singing never broke stride. An old container containing a clear liquid was brought from an unlit side room. The liquid was poured over the heads and faces of the four men, some taking large mouthfuls after it was poured over them. The singing was now joined with drumming, and the men slowly plunged their hands into the black tub, which was filled with leaves and liquid. They began tearing the leaves, ripping them, crushing them in their palms. Squatting around the black tub, shoulder to shoulder, each motion of their invisible hands was animated by the ripples sent across their backs and arms. Their motions grew more excited, and the four men moved side to side, pushing for space, edging shoulder against shoulder, while keeping their hands voraciously tearing and crushing.

An elderly man in the corner caught a spirit, which sent him flying for the tub, as if no physical barriers were between his neatly seated position and the leafy liquid in the center of the room. He shouldered his way in and plummeted his face into the hands foaming the liquid with all their movements, coming up again he twisted his body, and speaking in cycles, leaned backwards, without a care for where he may fall. His back being cradled by the backs of the four men, still crouched, tearing and crushing.

The following recordings are from that ceremony, which due to discretion, have no visual accompaniment.

Ceremony Audio

—Ben