Black Magic Culture

Sinewy hands fill in a receipt with a spidery scrawl and a smiling flash of brilliant white teeth signalled our welcome to the Back to My Roots Festival on Vanuatu's Ambrym Island. Whispers of black magic had circulated amongst the cruising folk and led us to this event straight from the pages of National Geographic.

In a clearing the black sandy clay and bright tropical foliage set the backdrop to the stage. Towering Tam Tams or vertical carved wooden drums watched suspiciously over the visitors with their huge round eyes as we browsed the bamboo stalls for a festival treat; mango, banana and taro.

With a rustling and swishing men in dried banana leaf cloaks with wooden pointed masks emerged from the bush and shuffled their way around the stage area. Broad flat feet thumping the ground caused our heartbeats to sync with the Tam Tams drumming their mesmerising rhythm. Each guided by an almost naked man wearing nothing but a namba or a sheath over their penis tucked into a belt around their waste and a tuft of green leaves sticking up their backs. Some have feathers in their hair.

No one speaks during the Rom Dance. It is a privilege to be here and to witness first hand a community that still values it’s culture and tradition. The Tam Tams kick up a gear into a lilted trot and the mood builds with the tempo. This is the time when the earthly men of the tribe may speak with the dead. The past spirits that guide them. There is silence. A horsehair beard swishes dangerously past hanging from the bottom of the wooden painted mask. I wonder what the traditional hair was that they used and pull my blonde daughter in close to me.

An enormous man with tightly curled hair and even tighter curls of hair in his beard and carpet of chest addresses the gathering. He is the chief and the circular boar tusks on his necklace demonstrate his ability to provide for his tribe. And as he speaks first in English, then in French and then in his own dialect it is easy to see how this humble man commands his respect. He is eloquent and kind and passionate about the culture of his land.

Walking back along the track a shiny new four wheel drive skids around the corner and as I dodge the bulbar I wonder how long this will survive, the culture, the authenticity. How long will it be now before the whiff of a dollar threatens something as unique as this?

A small boy walks by with a live chicken inverted, dangling by his side, surrendered.