When the Living Must Not Dance: The Sacred Dance of Ibusa's Ulor

 When the Living Must Not Dance: The Sacred Dance of Ibusa's Ulor

By Emeka Esogbue

During the Ulor Festival celebrated by the Umueze Quarters of the Ibusa community, there comes a solemn and mysterious moment when a particular dance is performed, one to which the living, even those gathered within the festival arena, must never surrender their bodies. At this sacred hour, the drummers sit or stand with their drums firmly secured between their legs, beating the resonant instruments with their bare hands. Elderly men and other ritual characters summon from the drums a deep, solemn rhythm, while sonorous male voices carry a hauntingly beautiful chant into the air. Yet, beautiful as the music may be, the living must not dance to it.

This is a sacred dance offered to the ancestors, many of whom, while they walked the earth, once participated in the very festival now being celebrated in their honour. The music seems to belong to another realm: its melody is soulful, its rhythm hypnotic, and its chant almost otherworldly. The deep voices rise and fall over the resonant beats of the egede drums, while the akpele, the native flute, weaves its plaintive voice through the soundscape.

Not a nod of the head.

Not a tapping of the fingers.

Not the slightest movement of the feet.

Even when the rhythm becomes irresistible and the chant swells triumphantly with the sound of akpele native flute. With “Ogayo, Ogayo, Ogayo, Ogayo, Ogayo, Gayo, Gayo, Gayo Na Enu o”—the people remain rooted to their places. No one dares to yield his body to the music.

Here lies the profound symbolism of the ritual: the living must not only honour the dead; they must also give them their moment. The ancestors are not to be displaced, imitated, or overshadowed by the living. This is their dance, their hour, their sacred space. The living stand aside, acknowledging that the world of the departed possesses mysteries and privileges that must be approached with reverence.

Whereas the dance of the Iwu Festival celebrants imitates the legendary movements of spirits believed to have come from the spirit world, this particular aspect of the Ulor Festival reverses the order. Here, the living surrender the dance entirely to the spirits. They allow the ancestors to dance first, undisturbed and unchallenged.

The chant may swell until it seems to fill the entire head and stir the deepest recesses of the soul, yet the audience remains motionless. Indeed, to prevent anyone from mistaking the sacred performance for ordinary dance music, the people may be warned beforehand not to dance to it, a solemn admonition traditionally believed to protect the living from spiritual consequences.

They are glad they were informed beforehand. After all, to be forewarned is to be forearmed; hence, everyone quickly adjusts.

Only after these sacred rites have been observed, and the ancestors have been accorded their due, may the celebrants once again loosen their bodies and display their own dance steps.

Such is the ancient power accorded to the spirits over the living: even in the midst of celebration, there remains a boundary between the two worlds, a boundary marked not by walls, but by silence, stillness, reverence, and an enduring respect for those who came before.