Dancers Monologue

959 Words2 Pages

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the car and onto the dirt ground. Being only ten years old, I expected little of that day, and swore to myself that I would not enjoy the powwow. My mother and father, who held my hands as we walked, assured me that I would have fun, and possibly learn something as well. Doubt hung heavy over my head, but I said nothing. The swirling puffs of dirt that flew from my shoes distracted me as we headed towards the center of the clearing. All that I understood, as the various mixture of dust and rock continued to swirl, was that I walked, surrounded by strangers who resembled my mother more than they resembled me, and those who resembled me, more or less, were dressed in regalia. Bells and tassels hung from their …show more content…

“Here they come, watch,” my mother said. One by one yet all together, the dancers flooded the circle, steadily, patiently, methodically. As the beating of the drum raced and grew wild with the number of dancers, so did my mind. Absorbed was my frail soul in this dust storm of dancers. The dancers flapped, galloped, and pranced in harmonious chaos; their leather tassels swept the ground— or, more accurately, melded with the earth— as they swayed with the beat of tradition. The puffs of dirt flew once more, up towards the turquoise sky and the effervescent sun that sat happily on a cloud. I remember grasping my mothers hand out of fear for being consumed by the impressive, motley storm, and I knew at that point that its beauty would never escape my memory. A cool breeze swept the crowd and myself, creating a calming air and peaceful quiet amongst us all. The breeze blew away my doubt, blew away my confusion, blew away my fear. I did not know if the quiet that consumed the crowd once again was caused by the shock of what just took place, or by relief that the world was normal again. Silence drew tears from my eyes, though not out of sadness. What was it about the nature of this place that affected me …show more content…

Men and women, both adults and children, joined in from the crowd in what is called “the friendship dance.” Children beat on the drums and hopped and skipped like the dancers, but in poor replication. Adults blissfully bounced along to the beat, though they did not know the songs or the steps. The natives helped the children and adults with great pleasure, spreading their culture to others through entertainment and a massive event. It appeared frivolous to me, though I continued to watch. Hands were held, laughter was shared. Songs arose slowly from each group as the teacher guided his pupils through the hums and bellows. Several words and phrases such as chi hollo li and wado flew up in the air. These separate races, separate tribes, separate families, moved as one. They made the dirt fly once more, together, causing the diverse mixture of rocks and pebbles and pieces of plants soar. Loss, renewal, death, new life, acceptance, and unity flew with them. I felt the kindness drip from my dark eyes and fall down my clay cheek bones, forming valleys in the thin sheet of dirt on my face. I grabbed a hand, and bounced

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