This weekend was a four day national holiday because of Eid, so lots of us volunteers travelled up to Kano - ancient city in the Muslim North of the country - for the durbar.
The durbar is a festival at which all of the local districts put on a display of men and horses, all dressed up in amazing outfits, some of them dancing and playing music. They parade around the town and then present themselves to the Emir at his palace. Apparently (so Simon’s told me – why have a husband and read the guide book yourself?), in days gone by, the Emir would call upon all of the local traditional leaders/chiefs to present all of their horses and all of their men so that he could see what resources were at his disposal before deciding to go to war.
It was amazing to see such a display of local culture. I have to say, though, it was a little bit scary. For a start, we were already a bit concerned about being a group of white people in a centre of Islam on the same day that an American was threatening to burn the Qur’an. When we arrived at the Emir's palace on Saturday, we were ushered through to take seats at the side of the arena (for no other reason than we were white, it seems - most Nigerians were waiting outside and watching through the railings, while those around us had either paid or been invited by someone important).
Since we were on time (very un-Nigerian), it was pretty empty for quite a while; then just before it started, the place filled up really rapidly - people sitting on the stairs, in the gangways, on the floor - and I suddenly realised that our nearest exit, should we need it, was a very long way away and almost impossible to get to should we want to leave in a hurry.
The durbar is pretty loud, with lots of drums banging, pipes playing and people shouting and screaming, so I was never sure whether there was something kicking off and the crowds were turning violent, or whether it was part of the performance. At one point there was a political rally outside the compound (a general election has been called for January and politics here can get quite nasty), which started a bit of a scuffle, but the police (heavily armed, supported by soldiers sitting on top of tanks) put a stop to it. Then halfway through the parade, there was suddenly an explosion in the centre of the courtyard which made many people scream; this was followed by 3 more explosions and then members of the Nigerian Red Cross running into the arena and carrying a lifeless body away. Now, since everything else continued without missing a beat, and since at the end of the performance there were lots more of those explosions in a more ordered fashion to round off the event, I assume that either it was meant to happen, or someone let off four of the bangs too soon. Nonetheless, I was more than a little shaky as we walked back along the main road – packed with people and horses, not to mention the motorbikes and other traffic which hadn't been diverted for the event.
On the second day, there was an event at Government House, and a colleague of one of the Kano volunteers managed, somehow, to get us 12 seats inside, in a room with a maximum of 200 people in it, four rows behind the Emir himself, and on seats that were marked ‘Diplomats’. Amazing. As people were filing in, the master of ceremonies explained in English, for the benefit of those of us who don’t speak Hausa (our lot, a group of German students here to learn Hausa (?!), the Spanish Ambassador and the EU Envoy to Nigeria), that over 100 years ago, the tradition began that the day after the main durbar event at the Emir’s palace, the Emir would visit the Governor of Kano at Government House to bring to him any issues which had arisen among his people and to hear what the Governor was doing about them.
Only 1 hour late, the Emir arrived amid a procession of horses, just as the day before. He himself sits high on a horse under a large parasol; his face is veiled, and there are 4 attendants around him, fanning flies away and clearing the crowds. He was carrying a staff and a ceremonial dagger, and he was wearing a truly extraordinary hat (like an oversized bowler hat, but red with decorations on it – like something you could imagine an amateur dramatics group making out of papier mache if they were doing a stage version of Paddington Bear). His attendants were also spectacularly dressed – the largest turbans in the whole parade and huge glittery robes, with very large shoulder padding, which they held out to shield the Emir at various points as he was sitting down.
Once he was sat in his white and lime green throne, all of the district heads then came in, each one prostrating himself on the red carpet in front of the Emir, before taking his seat. The Emir led everyone in prayer and then made his speech, and the Governor responded – all in a Hausa monotone, so not terribly interesting for us I have to say. An hour later, it was all finished: the District Heads left first (again, kneeling and bowing down to him before leaving), then the Emir. We went outside to the grounds to watch the procession of the same horsemen as the day before, but this time we were stood right at the side of their path and they were close enough to touch! The Emir passed right by us. And in fact, in order to leave, we had to walk along that same path, against the flow of horses (which are all understandably unhappy about wearing all of that finery, and not necessarily under the control of these men who don’t seem all that comfortable in the saddle) – another adventure outside of the Health & Safety box of the UK!
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