This Minority Is No Longer a Tiny Island

I was seven or eight years old when I first saw a video of the Egedege Dance Group on television. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, the synchronization of the sounds, cacophony becoming harmony, the invitation of the flute, the arrival of the other instruments and finally the vocals. There was also the movement of the dancers who went from wriggles and stretches into acrobatic performances. As the name of the group implies, it is a dance troupe, one whose music should not be as important as its dance. Yet there was a balance between both music and the physical expression of it. I saw that balance in the regalia of the dancers and the instrumentalists, in the instruments themselves, and in the lead vocalist who stood out completely.

Queen Theresa Onuorah, the lead vocalist, appeared to be something beyond human. Adorned with a crown of feathers and traditional makeup, she stood throughout the performance and walked more than she danced. It was only her gloved hands gesticulating as beads floated down her neck and girdled her waist, rounding over her skirt and marking the dichotomy between skirt and blouse, and her feet locked into her socks. My siblings argued that if she removed her socks, her legs would transform into the body of a fish. They were ready to bet among themselves that she was a mermaid, that she wore her gloves because of the power in her horsetail and staff.