Theatre Design & Technology - Winter 2008 - 45

complete a hugely proportioned masked ﬁgure.) "During this
grieving period, the deceased's children will pray and ask the
Egungun for blessings. Traditionally Egunguns speak incoherently but the elders understand what they say. After visiting, the
Egungun will disappear, leaving the deceased's family members
and friends crying."
"My father would take me to these rituals and we would
hear the voice of the deceased coming from a calabash after it
was hit three times. People would run and scatter. The cloth
used for burying the deceased would ﬂy and disappear on the
third day. I saw this happen three times in my childhood," recalled Tunji. "On the seventh day, the elders would prepare
sacriﬁces and feasts early in the morning and then would meet
the Egungun, who came dressed
in fabric worn by the deceased as
well as other fabric pieces worn by
You don't
close relatives or fabrics specially
imported because of their beauty.
joke with this
Afterwards the elders would tell the
profession.
small children to go away. The elders
Some of our
proceeded to hold a cock behind
the Egungun, close their eyes when
masquerades are
presenting the gift, and the Egungun
fake, but when
would take it and disappear.
"Nigerian women understand
you encounter
when they hear the sound of an
the power of your that
approaching Egungun, they should
ancestors you
look downward at least until the
Egungun changes into a female charseriously need to
acter," he said. "Once in 1993 when
be prepared.
I was performing the Egungun ceremony with women in the audience,
I felt very strange both physically and
emotionally. Suddenly I remembered
that before he died my father had
warned me that one of the charms I
would inherit for the Egungun costume was especially potent
and I should not use it in the presence of women. While I was
performing in this Egungun disguise, I was linked to the ancestral god and I realized that I had neglected to remove the charm
which was placed inside the costume. Something very serious
happened to me, especially after I became a female version
of the ancestral god. In the presence of the dancing women
around me I could not focus and became physically drained.
I walked away brieﬂy from the performance site to remove the
charm-and then I felt okay, but I am convinced I could have
been seriously harmed if I had continued to wear it in front of
the women."
Tunji's close relationship with his father expresses much
of the underlying rationale for the Yoruba propensity to maintain and champion the art and rituals associated with Egungun
masquerade. Ancestor worship runs deep in the undercurrents
of the religion and social structure. "Early on as a child, my
father foretold that I would make my career as a dancer and as

THEATRE

DESIGN

TECHNOLOGY

W I N T E R

2008

a teacher. He often stated it to my family and directly to me. He
was highly disciplined and during my training as a dancer he
would have me do the same technique repeatedly to perfect it
to the point that I would cry. My father was a great dancer and
I inherited his skills and improved on them. He is dead since
1999," Tunji said. "But when I want to talk with him I put on
his cap when I sleep and by 2 am I'm connected to him. If I
perform in his Egungun mask and costume and make some
rituals, I talk to him and I hear his voice.
"My last performance with him was broadcast by the London BBC at the Egungun Festival in Gbongan. I involved my father in this event, and we went in front of the old palace. As we
arrived, the weather changed into rain. My father stepped out
and conjured the sun to return. During this particular part of
the event, my masquerade had evolved into a tiger, and I went to
the top of the palace roof which was two stories high. I knew I
needed to complete the performance by 'ﬂying' down from the
building but I had lost courage. My father got up and raised his
hand with the drummers. My ears were blocked and I couldn't
hear the drums; I heard only my father's voice chanting that I
would be light like cotton wool. I found myself suddenly safely
on the ground, and people were shouting in amazement. On
that day, my wife exclaimed that she had married a spirit. But it
was my father's spirit that sustained me.
"You don't joke with this profession. Some of our masquerades are fake, but when you encounter the power of your
ancestors you seriously need to be prepared." He concluded
with the following afﬁrmation: "I am an educated professional in the modern world and I am a political activist like
my father. I lead a contemporary human rights organization
called Campaign for Democracy and Human Rights. Yet, I still
respect and believe in our traditions. I still sacrifice to my
father. I know my father still loves me and is always behind me. Every year I kill the goat and commune with him.
If I am confused or if someone is sick, I cover that person with the Egungun mask and the person will be healed
quickly. No one can steal my most valued possessions in
my bedroom because I keep the Egungun mask high in my
wardrobe closet. No thief dares to enter" (Ojeyemi, Ojetunji 2006).
Michael Harris underscores Tunji's vivid description of
the fundamental intersections of contemporary Yoruba culture and its "moral imperatives" with artistic effort in his
1991 interview with another professor, Moyosore Okediji,
also at Obafemi Awolowo University. In this interview, Okediji states that "I am trying to do exactly what the traditional
carver is trying to do... . [T]he secularization of society has
shifted the role of the artist in one sense, likening it to the
work of a psychiatrist ... and in another sense the artist has
some of the obligations of a priest, because if you consider
any religion, the vehicle has always been art, whether poetry,
or very good prose, or music, or visual art." Harris adds, "In
Yoruba culture, this would also include the drama of ritual
performance" (Harris 1994, 202-3).

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Theatre Design & Technology - Winter 2008