THE SCENE

Santorini! The name conjures up images of whitewashed blue-domed buildings drenched in sunlight, perched on cliffside terraces overlooking the sapphire sea. The crescent-shaped island in the Greek Cyclades has risen to mythic status as a vacation destination. But this story is not about Santorini. It just so happens to be the scenic backdrop for a story about what it means to live creatively. It’s a story that could happen in any city, any town, any village, any hamlet, anywhere in the world. It could happen to you if you let it.

The exemplary protagonists are Argy Kakissis and Yannis Pantazis—two individuals who were both carving their own unique paths that merged on Santorini, prompting them to join forces in designing and breathing life into an ongoing creative endeavor linking music and mythology called Symposion that serves as a source of inspiration for local visitors and global travelers alike.

THE HEROINE

Born and raised in Ohio, the daughter of Greek immigrants, Argy Kakissis did a study abroad program in Athens and Santorini in 1993 that awakened her desire to further explore her rich cultural heritage. After graduating from Ohio State with a history major/art history minor in 1996, Argy returned to Athens—not for a man or for a mission. “It was wanderlust that drove me.”

Like her studious father—a physician—and pensive sister whom she admired, Argy was intellectually curious, “always looking under the stone to see what’s under it.” But unlike her family members who had the tendency to brood, Argy was “overly optimistic…with the memory of a goldfish, happily swimming around my plastic castle.” Her father loved her over-optimism and encouraged her curiosity, which resulted in an unrestrained adventurous spirit.

Living in her own flat in Athens, Argy worked at some interesting jobs like the Athens News and a naval shipping company and earned her M.B.A. in Public Relations/Communications. She didn’t return to the U.S. until 2000 to visit her family at Christmas time. Although Argy kept up her annual holiday visits, as the years went by, it became apparent she was never moving back to the U.S. She hadn’t gone to Greece with the intention of becoming an expat, but that’s exactly what happened.

Before long, she had saved enough money to make a successful investment that financed her move to Santorini in 2007. Thrilled to find folks that she had met back in 1993 still living on the island, it was while rekindling these connections that she went to a BBQ at the house of a master potter in June 2008. “In walks this beautiful man with this crazy instrument I’ve never seen in my life. I found him very intriguing…”

THE HERO

Surrounded by music since his birth in the town of Grevena in Western Macedonia, Yannis Patazis grew up listening to his father playing “traditional” percussion professionally and his mother playing “Elvis records” at home. Although his first instrument was the “tennis racket” he imaginatively transformed into a guitar, the first musical sounds he made came out of a saxophone he picked up during a school program when he was 11, and within no time he had become “a maniac with saxophone”–earning enthusiastic applause with his renditions of “La Bamba” and the theme from “The Bold and the Beautiful.” When the program stopped suddenly, Yannis stopped playing sax because he didn’t own his own instrument and started playing albums as a DJ in a nightclub when he was only 13 to earn some cash. “My Mom let me loose because she trusted me…I was not an animal.” While working as a DJ, Yannis discovered Muddy Waters and other Delta Blues artists. “I fell in love with the Blues…bought a harmonica was I was 16,” and before long, was impressing friends with his skillful playing.

At 17, Yannis asked himself: “What are you going to do with your life?” Reminded of his joyful childhood experiences with the saxophone that generated positive feelings in others who told him was gifted, Yannis enrolled in conservatory in 1997 to study music theory and saxophone while playing blues harmonica professionally. After a mandatory stint in the army,[1] Yannis moved to Larissa in Central Greece, where he played blues harp in clubs and picked up a side gig as a DJ. One night while spinning discs, a distinctive sound transported him back to when he was 9 years old, watching a movie where the hero—a Robin Hood type—“cheated death” by dancing to traditional Greek bagpipe music as the police shot him down. Captivated by this memory, Yannis yearned to know more about the ancient bagpipe called the tsabouna, but where to begin? He had never even seen a tsabouna, let alone heard one played live! When a friend told him it originated in the Cyclades, Yannis moved to the island of Naxos to see if he could find any tsabouniers still living. Despite his outsider status, Yannis met an old shepherd who kindly introduced him to the tsabouna, and after playing it for the first time: “I felt numb…I knew my life was going to change.”

After months of obsessively practicing on Naxos, Yannis travelled to the islands of Paros and Mykonos, meeting with every tsabounier he could find and learning “as much as he possibly could” from them—not just about how to play the instrument, but also how to construct it out of goat skin, cow horn, cane, and bone. In 2007, his quest led him to Santorini, where he began playing the tsabouna at folk festivals, and bringing the “crazy instrument” to social gatherings, like the BBQ at a master potter’s house in 2008, where he met Argy Kakissis.

THEIR FIRST “BABY”—LA PONTA

After their initial meeting, Argy went to see Yannis at a jazz bar in Fira, the capital, where he worked as a DJ, spinning an astounding variety of classic jazz tunes, funk, and R&B reminiscent of her childhood in the U.S. but rarely heard in Greece. Nostalgic and fascinated, she wondered: “How the hell did this Greek boy know all this great American music?” and she went back to the club again. Maybe the third time truly is a charm, because after her 3rd visit, “we fell in love.”

“We began creating together immediately,” recalls Yannis. First, they dreamed of “building an amphitheater” on Santorini and inviting musicians from around the globe to play there–a fresh take on a classical form of performance art. “But we couldn’t find the space,” Argy says. Instead, they rented the tower in the medieval Venetian fortress of Akrotiri, lovingly and tenaciously restored it, and called it at “La Ponta,” which means “the peak.” By 2012, they had established a tsabouna exhibition at La Ponta, where they also hosted musical performances and educational workshops, and Yannis hand-crafted traditional flutes, bagpipes, and percussion instruments.

Yannis and Argy knew that their work at La Ponta and their presence at folk festivals had been generating local interest in the tsabouna; young people had been increasingly coming to Yannis for instruction, including descendants of celebrated tsabounier Stathis Arvanitis but they were unaware that a bagpipe revival was sweeping across “Germany, Italy, Spain, Estonia, Russia ... the entire European continent.” In 2015, Yannis suddenly found himself featured in a two-part BBC series cleverly titled Pipe Dreams, which documented the history of the bagpipes, establishing the tsabouna as the oldest known member of the bagpipe family of instruments and Yannis as its preeminent spokesperson.

After more positive news coverage from media outlets around the world, “we were on the map!” Argy recalls, and the visitors came pouring into La Ponta. Then, in 2017, BOOM! Just like that, they lost their lease…

THEIR SECOND “BABY”—SYMPOSION

“Devastated” but undaunted by their loss of La Ponta, Argy and Yannis sought out a new opportunity for fostering creative expression and cultural conservation on Santorini. In 2018, they co-founded a cultural center called Symposion[2] in the historic village of Megalochori.[3] After noticing nine ventilation holes in the main chamber of the stone building designed by Zorzis Ioannis Saliveros, Argy and Yannis were inspired to design Symposion’s progamming around the 9 muses of the arts. [4] Although Argy and and Yannis “use the identity of the space as a vehicle for creative expression, which allows the muses to guide their visitors,” Argy clarifies that they do not espouse “a particular religious dogma, belief system, or philosophy;” nor do they promote “a resurgence of the Dionysian cult.”[5]

Open daily to the public from April through October, Symposion effectively caters to a broad swath of visitors with varied interests. Let Argy guide you on a historical tour of the turn-of-the-century winery that now houses visual art and performance space, as well as the artisan’s workshop where you can make your own pan pipe from local cane with under the tutelage of Yannis. Dance and play along as Yannis demonstrates 15 hand-crafted traditional Greek instruments via a mythological narrative. Take a crash course on the Philosophy of Wine and ponder the role wine played (and still plays) in the creative arts while sampling 4 indigenous varietals. At the Muses Wine Café, wine is not the only beverage on the menu; enjoy organic beer, Greek coffee, or tea garnished with fresh herbs from the Homeric botanical garden, along with your charcuterie and fruit plate.[6]

Or simply soak in an evening performance in thecourtyard and let the spontaneous Symposion experience wash over you like awave at high tide, which is exactly what I did.

I was fortunate enough to visit Symposion when the Harvest Moon was waxing close to full. It was the final performance of a four-part summer series showcasing the talents of a group of musicians from the local conservatory playing arrangements of Greek rock songs.[7] On one of the tunes, Yannis was called to the stage to play harmonica and blew the doors off the place. How could he have done that when an outdoor stage, which by its very definition, has no doors? The only answer I can give you is that there are doors in your mind you don’t know you have until they’re blown out. William Blake, in his poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell said it best: “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is: Infinite.”[8]

FUTURE MUSINGS INSPIRED BY MUSES

Creativity is defined as the ability to transcend traditions, rules, ideas, patterns, relationships, and create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations. Argy and Yannis are the embodiment of creativity and they show no signs of slowing their roll. Plans are underway to build a Cave of Polyphemus beneath the current Symposion site that will serve as a recording studio and acoustic ecology[9] lab in collaboration with Grammy award-winning producer and curator Christopher King.[10]

Argy and Yannis have adapted their original common dream of building an open air theater by travelling farther back in time to Santorini’s first known civilization—the Minoans. Instead of a classical amphitheatre, they’re designing a performance space in a “sunken home inspired by a Bronze Age house.”[11] Meanwhile, Yannis is sharing his lifelong interest in mythology via his blog on Quora[12] and is compiling a “2-volume introduction to symbolism and dictionary of symbols from the psychic and astronomic points of view.”

When Argy and Yannis moved to Santorini, they had no clue it would become a mecca for celebrities like Robert De Niro whose new hotel in Imerovigli is scheduled to open this year. “Now Michelin-star chefs are popping up everywhere and people with private jets are flying in,” Argy laughs. Yet they remain unfazed by the rapidly changing social climate. “We’ve created our own little Utopia” where the entire world can “come to be inspired.”

OBSERVATIONS & TAKEAWAYS

Judging from my observations while visiting Symposion and my extensive interviews with Argy and Yannis, the first key to their success is that they’re shutting out the external noise so that it’s quiet enough to hear their inner voices. They do not own a TV (Argy calls them “idiot boxes”), eliminating much of the pollution contaminating people’s minds, and they keep the wolves of social media at bay.[13] In the absence of constant negative reinforcement, Argy and Yannis have cultivated a profound peace that I instantly sensed at Symposion, and in that peace, creative powers have the chance to thrive like carefully tended plants.

The second key is that Argy and Yannis are listening to each other’s voices and offering each other support and encouragement. From the outset of their relationship, no one pooh-poohed the other one’s ideas as cray or unrealistic, saying: “That will NEVER work! They’ll NEVER come!” While I’m not privy to their personal discussions, I suspect the exact opposite might be true; their wackiest ideas seem to generate the most enthusiasm and eventually manifest into reality.

The third key is that Argy and Yannis are avoiding the pitfalls of stereotypical thinking that always include the word “CAN’T.” Argy could have said: “As a woman, I can’t just go live in another country by myself without a concrete plan. Think of all the terrible things that could happen to me!” Yannis could have said: “As a man, I can’t just drop everything to go on some crazy quest; I’ll lose my status in society as a professional musician. Dudes won’t look up to me. Ladies won’t love me!” They both could have said: “Now that we’re married, we can’t just make art anymore. We’ve gotta start making babies or we’ll break our parents’ poor Greek hearts!”

Neither Argy nor Yannis have allowed doubt in themselves or one another to creep into the cracks of their solid foundation, which tragically causes so many talented people to abandon their dreams. This does not mean Argy & Yannis adhere to rigid mental constructs of how things must be. Instead, they respond to obstacles in their path resiliently and adjust their goals flexibly, with a steadfast focus on how things could be.

Argy sums it up like this: “We’re just simple folk.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Put your hand on your heart and ask yourself what you really want to do and you can do what we did anywhere,” says Yannis, like “the guy who opened a gourmet restaurant in a remote village in Sweden and now people are coming from all over the world to eat there.”[14]

While Argy and Yannis offer the twin tools of music and mythology to their guests, they “leave it up to you to decide what it all means.” For me, Symposion represents an oasis in a world where we’re incessantly being inundated with political propaganda, marketing and media messaging, Not being told what to think and what to feel is an extraordinary soul-liberating experience. A door in my barricaded mind opened wide enough for me to glimpse the clouds of endless possibilities shift from past, to present, to future, and back to past, in a continuous cycle. My complacency disguised as contentment was stripped away, revealing the divinely inspired urge I share with other human beings to build and leave behind an eternal legacy. Although you wouldn’t know it from reading the news, we’re not just here on this earth to compete and destroy; we’re also here to collaborate and create. Argy Kakissis and Yannis Patazis are living proof.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Clay Cofer, whose boundless enthusiasm for classical Greek art and mythology inspired me to visit Greece, Dimitra Kotinandes, whose Yoga Adventure brought me to Santorini (see https://dimitrayoga.com/adventures/dimitra-yoga-adventure-in-santorini/), Rich and Salli Innes for introducing me to Symposion, and Argy Kakissis and Yannis Patazis for graciously inviting me into the Symposion family and patiently sharing their stories with me.

[1] Greek males between the ages of 19 and 45 are legally required to perform military service for 12 months. See https://greekcitytimes.com/2021/01/22/greece-military-service-12-months/

[2] Derived from the Greek word sympinein –“to drink together,” the idea behind the name Symposion is that through drinking together, we discover our individual and collective identities, our present and our past.” See https://www.symposionsantorini.com/

[3] See Why You Should Visit MegalochoriSantorini - TripAnthropologist for an especially well-written overview. My personal favorite shop is Transit Mask, a fine quality leather goods workshop owned and operated for over 30 years by master craftsman Stelios Drosos, whom we affectionately called “the leather man.” See Transit Mask – Hand Made Leather Creations for more info, including videos of Stelios at work!

[4] For a basic introduction to theNine Muses of Greek mythology and their respective powers, see https://greekreporter.com/2021/08/15/muses-of-greek-mythology/.

[5] The cult of Dionysus originated inMycenaean Greece and spread to mainland Greece and the Cyclades during theclassical period, and was introduced to Southern Italy in 200 BC, where it is rumored to still exist. See What is the Cult of Dionysus? Greek Mythology Mysteries | Mythology Planet

[6] For more info, including videos, ofSymposion’s offerings, some scheduled daily and some by request, see https://www.symposionsantorini.com/events-at-symposion. For more info on the Muses Wine Café, see https://www.symposionsantorini.com/cafe. It is also worth noting thatSymposion can be booked for private events. See https://www.symposionsantorini.com/private-bookings

[7] With the guidance of guitarist/vocalist Christoforos Gavalas, this performance on Saturday, Sept. 18, 2021, featured Maria Xamis on vocals, Themis Kapetsonis on guitar, Eva Kontou on double bass, and Antonis Eleutherakis on drums.

[8] This poem inspired the title ofAldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception, which in turn inspired the name of L.A. based psychedelic rock band The Doors.

[9] See An Introduction to Acoustic Ecology (ciufo.org)  by Kendall Wrightson.

[10] For more about self-described “auricularraconteur & sonic archeologist” Christopher King, see http://longgonesound.com/about

[11] For an idea of what a “sunken home”might possibly look like, watch this video of the computer generatedreconstruction of the West House by the archeological society of Athens. West house reconstruction - Akrotiri- YouTube

[12] See https://www.quora.com/profile/Yannis-Pantazis-1

[13] Argy uses social media only to promoteSymposion and stay in touch with friends and family, many of whom are back in the States that she rarely gets to see in person.

[14] Yannis is referring to chef MagnusNilsson, and his restaurant Faviken in Are, Sweden, 400 miles north ofStockholm. In 2018, Nilsson added a pop-up restaurant Uvisan, cocktail barSvartklubb, and café/bakery Krus, which all occupy the same space on a rotating basis throughout the day. Nilsson says the pop-ups give Faviken’s pool of talented sous chefs the chance “to take more responsibility, develop, and be creative.” See https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/10/travel/uvisan-restaurant-faviken-are-sweden-review.html

The main streets in downtown Nassau were blocked off to traffic along the parade route, so my taxi driver dropped me where West Bay Street curves behind the historic British Colonial Hilton hotel. The sidewalks were literally covered with bejeweled feathered backpieces and headdresses, musical instruments, and people sitting around all decked out in brightly colored attire. Not wanting to trip over anything or anyone, I gingerly tiptoed into the road. Whoosh! An enormous float rolled past my left shoulder, festooned with huge papier-mâché heads emerging from the windows of a souped-up Mercedes Benz. Whoosh! On my right, a gigantic Blue Marlin striped with orange, gold, and blue sequins swam by, carried overhead by two men. “Stand back!” people shouted, to ensure that nobody got impaled on the fish’s spear-like bill. “That was kind of them,” I thought, as I ducked and sidestepped to the left.

A warm feeling of confidence bubbled up inside me. I had wanted to fully experience the Junkanoo parade in Nassau – I had been told that there’s nothing like it in the world – that’s the reason why I had flown down to the island of New Providence in the Bahamas on Christmas Day and taken a taxi downtown at 3:00 am on December 26^th (Boxing Day).[1] I hadn’t anticipated being part of the parade, but I was starting to get the hang of this bobbing and weaving thing. I was standing in what was essentially the “backstage” area where the Junkanoo groups were preparing for their performance in front of the judges and throngs of excited spectators lining Bay Street, many of whom had been out here since the official start of the parade the night before. Hoping to get out of the street and seek out an ideal viewing spot, my eyes searched for a small opening in the barricades to slip through, but my view was blocked in every direction by feathers of every shape, size, and color.

“Get out of the way!” people shouted. And then the sky darkened. Whatever was coming down the street behind me was of such gargantuan proportions that it blocked the light streaming down from the streetlamps. Half expecting to see Godzilla, I turned around to face a float that looked like a multi-layered cake for newlywed giants decorated with humongous parrots sprouting from all 4 corners of each layer. Taking up the entire street, it forced us all against the barricades, putting the parrots in prime position to carry out a murderous rampage. The beaks of the birds at street level were aimed directly at our heads, which required everyone to do the limbo or die. Who would have known that all those crazy backbends I’ve been doing in yoga class would one day save my life?[2] The parrots at the 2^nd story level were busy trying to peck out the eyes of the spectators on the balconies and take down some electric wires and railings while they were at it. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if there were any casualties.  Recognizing the face of a compassionate man who had helped people get out of the path of the killer parrots, I asked him where I could find an opening in the barricade and followed his directions to the letter.

Whew! Finally out of the street, I felt safer, but still didn’t know where to go to get a good view. The road was well lit in front of the Straw Market; I took out my digital camera to adjust the flash. Suddenly, the crowd parted, and people directed me up to the front row so that I could get a good shot. This was a refreshing change from what I was accustomed to in the U.S., where people in the front row of a parade route refuse to budge an inch from “their” spots and won’t even let little kids in. It was my first true indication as to how deeply Bahamians feel about Junkanoo; they’re remarkably proud of their culture and super enthusiastic about sharing it with visitors.[3]

From its origins in the celebration that occurred when slaveowners granted their slaves a 3-day holiday at Christmastime, Junkanoo has evolved into the most authentic surviving expression of Bahamian cultural heritage.[4] After having been colonized by the British until 1973, Junkanoo is the Bahamian umbilical cord to Mother Africa; the fiery-plumed costumes worn by the dancers and the syncopated rhythms emanating from the musicians’ goatskin drums and cowbells bear tribute to their African ancestry.[5]

Doubtful that I had managed to capture the essence of this colorful spectacle with my camera, the couple standing next to me introduced me to a lovely British Airways flight attendant who was also seeking out an ideal viewing location; they suggested that we head back to Woodes Rogers Walk and circle around back to Bay Street and then inch our way into the grandstands.[6] On our way, not far from where the cruise ships were docked, a young man approached us – not to sell us anything or ask us for money or harass us in any way – just to give us his personal opinion as to which beaches on the island were best, which we genuinely appreciated.

Fortunately, my new travelling companion had the sunniest disposition this side of the equator and an engaging personality to boot, so we made our way into the grandstands in no time after entertaining the guard lady who mistook us for sisters. From my new vantage point, it didn’t take me long to realize that there’s far more to Junkanoo than cultural preservation; it also demonstrates an ardent devotion to craft and crew. My taxi driver had already told me that members of the major Junkanoo groups – Genesis, Music Makers, the Saxons Superstars, the Valley Boys, the Prodigal Sons, Roots, and One Family – spend all year in their workshops tirelessly constructing the massive floats and intricate costumes that all fit together into a single theme. But there was no way I could have imagined the astounding level of artistic expression I was witnessing. Showering the crowd with $100 bills (which we quickly snatched up even though we knew they were fake), the Valley Boys mocked humanity’s love affair with money and fame, lampooning celebrities and world leaders such as Queen Elizabeth and President Trump. Paying homage to the Christian faith at the foundation of Bahamian society, Roots reminded us that “heaven is real” with angels, demons, miracles, and prophetic visions.[7]

During the long break between groups, we made the brilliant decision to visit the food vendors behind the grandstands. To our surprise and delight, we could buy a serving of freshly fried conch fritters (the island specialty) for only $3.00 accompanied by a side of fried plantains for only $2.00 and 2 traditional desserts called peanut cake and benny (sesame seed) cake for $2.00 each; they weren’t really cakes, but rather homemade candy patties, like peanut brittle only harder. We shared and enjoyed everything immensely.

The street food was especially appetizing when washed down with the local brew called Kalik, which I purchased for $5.00 from a young man tending a makeshift bar who was thrilled to teach me all about the guys on the back of the Bahamian currency. Admittedly, I didn’t have high expectations; I popped open the can expecting a tasteless swill, but I was pleased to discover a medium-bodied golden lager with a refreshing bite, not unlike Yeungling.

When we got back to the grandstands, I realized that the Commonwealth Brewery, the manufacturer of Kalik, was an official sponsor of the Junkanoo parade. Blue banners advertising Kalik were hanging all over the judges’ platforms and the parade marshals were giving away cans of Kalik to the winners of trivia contests and foot races who had been pulled out of the crowd to entertain weary spectators during breaks between groups. Successful marketing has made Kalik almost symbolic of Junkanoo; it’s been said that the beer’s name was derived from the distinctive sound of the cowbells.[8]

Despite the omnipresence of Kalik, I observed very little public drunkenness at the Junkanoo parade. A few of the young men volunteering for the contests and some older men dancing to their own drumbeats in the street during the breaks may have been inebriated, but the police tolerated them,[9] maybe because nobody was getting out of hand. I can attest to the fact that the crowd at the Junkanoo parade was a remarkably well-behaved bunch. I didn’t see a single violation of the prohibition against glass bottles. I witnessed very little smoking – just the occasional cigar – and no drugs. No cursing, no lewd and lascivious gestures, and no nudity either. The centrality of religion in Bahamian culture is undoubtedly a contributing factor to the unexpectedly wholesome atmosphere, which is most likely a side effect of colonialism. After living under British rule for generations, Bahamians are accustomed to behaving like proper subjects; stiff penalties for violations of the law still serve as deterrents to crime. The result is that Junkanoo is a family friendly event, folks, not a bacchanalia.[10]

I was astounded by the number stalwart spectators still standing when the last group One Family started making their way down Bay Street around 9:00 am. A group of newcomers joined us, invigorating the grandstands with new energy. They bought a bag of roasted peanuts from a Rastafarian man and offered some to me, which I gratefully accepted. “Look, there’s my granddaughter!” exclaimed the lady left and I reached for my camera. I was beginning to see the pattern in the lineup of each Junkanoo group. Children danced on the lead float bearing the group’s name and theme, which in this case was Nursery Rhymes: The Ones We’ll Always Remember.[11] At first, I wasn’t too sure how this seemingly juvenile theme would measure up to the other groups, but then the floats started rolling in, featuring familiar characters such as the 3 Little Pigs & the Wolf, Old King Cole, and the Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe; the crowd started calling out the verses to the rhymes almost instinctually. Then, the individual dancers in their intricately crafted costumes bounced along…and the crowd sang out as they recognized each one: ”Mary, Mary, quite contrary...Jack be nimble, Jack be quick…Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet…Jack & Jill went up the hill… It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring…”

Then came the choreographed dance number that really put One Family’s performance over the top. Two groups of gorgeous female dancers – ­­one group dressed like ballerinas and the other group dressed like Little Bo-Peep shepherdesses – undulated gracefully, interweaving and then separating into distinct lines, like shimmering silk threads in a tapestry. More floats followed the dancers, and then came the musicians – first the shakers, cowbells, whistles, and long horns – then the brass section complete with trumpets, saxophones, trombones, and sousaphones – and last but not least, the drums – big metallic oil barrels with goat or sheep skin stretched over one end – that quite possibly could wake the dead as well as sleepy spectators.

Later that evening, when everyone gathered at the Fish Fry[12] for the official announcement of the Boxing Day Junkanoo parade winners, I wasn’t surprised at all to hear that One Family came in 1^st place and the Valley Boys came in 2^nd place.  Amid cries of joy, I overheard plenty of emotionally charged complaints, but that’s to be expected. People have invested the very fiber of their being into this event, so it’s become customary for the losers (and their fans) to cry “We’ve been robbed!” prompting the winners (and their fans) to defend their title.

As a newcomer, free from the biases that deep loyalties inspire, I can honestly say that Junkanoo is a form of communal creative expression like no other you will ever experience; from the grandstands, you can literally feel the essence of each Junkanoo group as it “rushes out” down the street. And from my perspective, One Family succeeded in their grandiose attempt to convince us that we all speak a common language, our similarities are far greater than our differences, and that we really are one giant human family - a message consistent with the group’s name. And I can’t think of a more appropriate message for Junkanoo. Because nobody is treated like a foreigner or an outsider at Junkanoo. No matter what country you’re from or what color you are, you’re respected simply for being there before the chickens wake up and you’re immediately welcomed into the celebration. You may even find yourself part of the parade. And suddenly people are saving you from killer parrots … and making room for you ... and introducing you to new friends … and feeding you peanuts. And so together, in unison, you sing nursery rhymes, the ones you’ll always remember.

[1] There are actually 2 Junkanoo parades – the Boxing Day Junkanoo parade that starts late at night on December 25th and goes on until the morning of December 26^th and the New Year’s Junkanoo parade that starts on New Year’s Eve and goes on until the morning of New Year’s Day. All the locals told me that the New Year’s parade is bigger I believe them. (Bahamians seem to be very earnest people, generally) but it’s hard for me to believe how anything could be bigger than the Boxing Day parade I witnessed.

[2] To my knowledge, no one else died either. Bahamians are very flexible people, I discovered. I saw some mighty close calls, though, and fascinating physical contortions and grimaces, especially the big man standing to my left carrying a tall pole, like a king’s scepter. One of the parrots was literally on top of him and I thought for a second there he might bash the bird’s head in with his pole but instead, he just made like an accordion - sucked in his gut, tucked in his chin, and gently nudged it out of the way.

[3] It’s a good thing too because tourism accounts for more than 1/3 of the GNP and employs 2/5 of the workforce. The majority of tourists come from the U.S. and flock to the big resorts in New Providence and Grand Bahama islands in droves. The U.S. dollar is accepted everywhere on the islands as well as Bahamian currency. At the time of this writing, 1 Bahamian dollar was equivalent to 1 American dollar. For more on the Bahamian economy, see https://www.britannica.com/place/The-Bahamas/Economy

[4] For more on the history of Junkanoo, see https://www.trubahamianfoodtours.com/bahamas-special-events-and-festivals/junkanoo/. Other Bahamian islands host Junkanoo parades but Nassau’s are by far the largest, with corporate sponsors making substantial contributions in recent years.

[5] No one know for sure where the word Junkanoo originated, but it’s commonly believed to have been derived from an African chief of the Ahanta people named John Canoe who became a legend for opening up a can of whup-ass on the Europeans in the 1700s. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Canoe

[6] Technically, you’re supposed to pay for grandstand seating but by 4:00 or 5:00 am, the stands have cleared out there’s room for newcomers to slide in.

[7] A profoundly religious country, it’s been estimated that there are more churches per capita in the Bahamas than anywhere else in the world. Baptists, Anglicans, Catholics, Methodists, and Seventh-Day Adventists are the most popular denominations, in that order. Home-grown congregations known as “over-the-hill” churches are also popular. Obeah, a form of spiritualism with African origins, is also practiced on its own or blended into Christian ritual. For more on Bahamian religious and cultural beliefs, see http://www.my-bahamas-travel.com/bahamasculture.html

[8] Of course, in our beer-soaked world, there are other varieties of Kalik to choose from. Check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalik

[9]  Law enforcement officials in the Bahamas appear to be well respected in Nassau, where it is common to see women as well as men in smartly tailored uniforms.  They’re ranked similarly to the Scotland Yard system, several levels of officers above the constables at the bottom rung. None of them are armed and only some of the officers carry billy clubs.

[10] Comparisons can be made between the Mummers parade in Philadelphia and the Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans in that you’ve got hard-working crews competing annually for prize money who make their own unique style of music as they march down the street in ornate costumes surrounded by ridiculously elaborate floats. But this is where the similarities cease. The revelry of Junkanoo is not fueled by alcohol, which gives the celebration a palpably less sleazy, less violent, and less dangerous quality - killer parrots notwithstanding.

[11] Children are an integral part of Junkanoo groups, demonstrative of the community’s commitment to pass on their legacy to the next generation.  New Providence and other Bahamian islands even host Junior Junkanoo contests to further that aim. A noble goal indeed, but I’m still left wondering how everyone copes with the glaring reality that the entire event occurs past their bedtimes. Do the kids take periodic naps or are they expected to pull all-nighters like everyone else?

[12] The Fish Fry on Arawak Cay is a strip of little shacks that serve up the local catch along with libations. Initially envisioned as a local hang-out spot, prices skyrocketed when tourists started coming, and sadly, it’s deteriorating into another tourist trap. For a foodie’s perspective, see https://www.eater.com/2016/11/10/13557214/fish-fry-bahamas-nassau

You’ll hear the sound of the drums if you take a late Sunday afternoon stroll near Meridian Hill Park - known as Malcom X Park by local residents – in the Columbia Heights neighborhood of Washington, DC. If you let curiosity be your guide, your ears will follow the sounds growing louder as you climb the formidable uphill staircase. Resist any temptation to turn back. If you start feeling winded, just slow down your pace or take a moment to catch your breath and watch some birds take flight. Whatever you do, keep on climbing! What you’ll find at the top will be worth it!

If you stand facing the statue of Joan of Arc riding into battle, to your left you’ll see anywhere from 25 to 75 drummers seated more or less in 2 long rows.[1] The vast majority of the drums, such as the djembe and bougarabou, originate from West Africa, with some Afro-Cuban derived instruments, such as the conga, bongo, and timbales interspersed throughout. Thrown into the mix are percussion instruments of all shapes and sizes, such as the cowbell, claves (wooden sticks), fish-shaped guiro, shekere (gourd rattle), egg shaker, and of course, the tambourine. To the right of the statue is a much smaller circle of players, consisting of maybe 6-8 congeros, some percussionists, and maybe even a vocalist or 2.

The large drum circle adheres primarily to West African rhythms and is louder and more frenetic than the small one, which delves into Afro-Cuban rhythmic territory and is softer, subtler, more syncopated. Think of the large drum circle as the main dance floor at a club, and the small drum circle as the lounge. Each has its own special energy and force that compels you to move your body, so that’s what you’ll see people do in a spectacular way! On any given Sunday, you might see dancers (some amateur and some obviously trained), jugglers, yogis, hula-hoopers, tight-rope walkers, and little kids writhing, jiggling, twirling, and shaking to the beat.

On the periphery, people are engaged in all kinds of activities that one might expect to encounter in an urban park landscape: picnicking, dog-walking, riding bikes and scooters and skateboards, and curling up in a hammock with a sweetheart or a good book.  And with America being the entrepreneurial nation that it is, wherever people gather, DIY salespeople will eventually show up.  On any given Sunday, you might find local artisans selling hand-crafted jewelry and paintings, old-timers selling bottled water and snacks, and hippie chicks selling cannabis-infused baked goods. The scent of burning sage fills the air. . .

So now that you’ve gotten a feel for the scene, what’s it all mean?

For some people with African heritage, the drum circle connects them to their cultural roots and invigorates them spiritually. For Lunhoco Lee, a D.C. resident originally from Angola said that for her, visiting the drum circle is “like going to church. It gives me the energy for the rest of the week."[2] For others, the drum circle provides a safe space for venting negative emotions and soaking up positive emotions. According to a June 2017 Facebook post by Rashid Ali, “I was there last Sunday. I walked in with a heavy heart, worries, sadness, hopelessness. I walked out light hearted, happy, joyful, inspired!”[3]

That’s not surprising once you know the history of the drum circle, which allegedly started as one man’s means of self-expression. After Black activist Malcolm X was assassinated in 1965, Baba Ngoma, the house drummer at the Howard Theatre,[4] started drumming alone in Meridian Hill park every Sunday. Before long, Mr. Ngoma was joined by other African-American men from the surrounding predominantly Black neighborhood who used drumming as a method of releasing pent-up stresses and frustrations.  According to William Caudle, a D.C. native who has been drumming at the circle for more than 40 years: “It was good therapy for African Americans.”

Meridian Hill Park became more than just a natural gathering place in the heart of the hood; it morphed into a geographic symbol of protest. In 1968, race riots erupted in DC in the wake of the MLK assassination that devastated the 14^th St. Business District north and east of the park and the U Street Corridor south of the park.[5] As part of the effort to rebuild their shattered community and instill a sense of pride, local residents petitioned Congress to change the name of Meridian Hill Park to Malcolm X Park.[6] The Sunday drum circle persisted and took root, growing into a cherished tradition that supported the community and bound it together during unsettling times.  The period from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s were particularly bleak due to the rapid crack cocaine boom with its associated gang violence and soaring homicide rate, which earned D.C. the notorious title of the “murder capital.”[7]

At the same time, the city began to gentrify quietly, below most people’s radar.  White guys started showing up at the drum circle. Kevin Lambert was one of the first to arrive in 1992 and he was not readily accepted. “There was a kerfuffle,” Lambert recalls, but Barnett Williams, one of the founding members of the circle, welcomed Lambert into the fold and the other players eventually deferred to Mr. Williams out of respect.[8]

From the late 1990s up to the present, the winds of gentrification have torn through D.C. at hurricane speeds, wreaking havoc on the African-American community that has always called it home but increasingly finds itself unable or barely able to afford to live there. By 2011, the town affectionately nicknamed “Chocolate City” after George Clinton’s 1975 funk classic had lost its Black majority.[9] Still, the drums keep on beating.

But the feeling’s not the same for some of the elders of the circle. For William Caudle, the influx of newcomers - many of whom are unconnected to African cultural traditions - don’t always understand the importance of technique or respect the seniority of expert players. Instead, they create a free-for-all tourist attraction, thereby diminishing the spiritual value of the experience.[10] Similarly, Obar Moyo, who’s been faithfully attending the drum circle for many years as if it were Sunday service, feels that some of the original spirit has been lost.  "Brothers needed a way to heal. This influx of other people that think they can just jump in here and make this thing happen," Moyo said. "This thing has been going on for 400 years and you need to fit in. The circle belongs to the Africans and the Native Americans."[11]

You can easily empathize with the elders. Too much hoopla has the tendency to erode authentic expression, both spiritually and culturally. A carnival atmosphere certainly has the potential to transform what was once sacred ritual into performance art. The elders’ genuine grievance notwithstanding, there’s another way to view the situation.

Change happens to all cultures just as it inevitably happens to individuals. The transformation precipitated by the presence of the newcomers - who also tend to be Gen-Xer’s and Millenials - is not insidious; on the contrary, it’s light-hearted and playful. And improvisational performance art, while it may appear silly or even ridiculous to people accustomed to more conventional forms of expression, is not automatically a secular act devoid of all spiritual significance. If you believe in the existence of the soul, any individual act of self-expression can be viewed as a form of spiritual practice, and when performed on a consistent basis in a communal setting, a beneficial new ritual may emerge.[12] After all, if it were not for one man’s individual act of self-expression, the drum circle in Malcolm X park would not be here today more than 50 years later.

Despite the intellectual appeal of this theory, it does not address the emotional pangs of loss that the elder members of the drum circle are experiencing. Not only do they feel that their neighborhoods are being taken away from them by the ravages of gentrification, but they are witnessing what seems to be the erosion of the distinctly African-American cultural and spiritual tradition in Malcolm X Park that they helped to create and maintain. There’s a palpable element of tragedy in that.

But that’s not the whole story. The Asians, Caucasians, and Hispanics who reside in the neighborhoods surrounding the park pay taxes and support local schools, businesses, religious institutions, and community organizations, thereby giving them the right to hang out in the park on Sunday afternoons too. Instead of setting up a Kabuki theater or a carousel or another loud diversion that would compete with the drummers and ultimately drive them away, they appreciated the drum circle for what it is – the heartbeat of the neighborhood. And they embraced it as a way to get to know their new neighbors, and in so doing, many of them learned about the central place Malcom X Park had in the Civil Rights movement, leading to a deeper understanding of African American history and culture, which is still undertaught in our schools.[13] And by welcoming the newcomers into the drum circle, many of the African American members began to see them as human beings seeking to add value to the community instead of invading locusts trying to detract from it. In this way, the drum circle helps to break down barriers of race, class, religion, sexual orientation, and political division, and has a profoundly unifying effect, which is a desperately needed counterpoint to the shenanigans on Capitol Hill, which have a polarizing effect.

For better or for worse, the drum circle in Malcolm X Park has evolved into a place of refuge where everyone can go to try and heal whatever is broken inside them. Is it an accident that the lifeblood of this sanctuary is the rhythmic pulse of African drums? Not when you consider 2 generally accepted, interconnected scientific theories. The first theory is that DNA strands extracted from racially distinct individuals are virtually indistinguishable from one another, making racial differences a man-made construct, not a genetic reality. The explanation for our genetic similarity pertains to the second theory that humanity descended from a common African female ancestor.[14] So, unless your reliance on faith requires you to reject science, the only logical conclusion you can come to is that we’re all part of one big family and Africa is our ancestral home. Even if we’re thousands of years removed and so culturally divergent that we’ve become strangers to one another, the sound of the drums will bring us back together every time, if only for a few hours on a lazy Sunday afternoon in the park.

[1] This is just a rough estimate. Participation depends on the weather and what else is going on in the world. “Hundreds” of drummers have been rumored to show up, but this is unsubstantiated.

[2] For more about Lunhoco Lee and other D.C. residents’ feelings about the Malcolm X Park drum circle, see http://www.dbknews.com/2017/06/15/african-drum-circle-washington-dc-columbia-heights/

[3] Although drum circles are based on deeply rooted traditions, participants use modern technology to communicate. The Malcom X park drum circle has its own Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sunday-Drum-Circle-at-Malcolm-X-Park/404173559607946

Drum circles can be found in many cities across the U.S. Go to  http://drumcircles.net/circlelist.html to find a drum circle near you!

[4]About a mile away from the park, The Howard Theater is a legendary performance space that hosted major African-American artists as well as a theater company affiliated with Howard University, where professors and students have been studying African history and culture since the emergence of Pan-Africanism after World War I. According to Blair Ruble, historian and author of Washington’s U Street: A Biography, these fields of study were ignored by White-dominated universities at that time, which put Howard University at the vanguard of growing African cultural movements in the U.S. For more or the origin of the Malcolm X Park drum circle, see https://wamu.org/story/15/11/06/why_some_meridian_hill_park_drummers_say_the_beat_isnt_what_it_used_to_be/  For more on the Howard Theater, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Howard_Theatre

[5] The superb journalistic standards of the Washington Post are evident in this brilliant, interactive photo-essay called 1968 Riots: 4 days that Reshaped D.C. at https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2018/local/dc-riots 1968/?utm_term=.5efe8bf0ea79

[6] Although the petition failed because Federal regulations prohibit the park to be re-named after another person when a memorial to President James Buchanan exists within the confines of the park, its unofficial title became Malcolm X park. That’s what everyone in the neighborhood calls it. It’s even listed on street signs as Meridian Hill/Malcolm X Park. For local viewpoints on the Meridian Hill/Malcolm X Park naming controversy, see http://dcentric.wamu.org/2012/05/malcolm-x-or-meridian-hill-park-on-symbolism-and-accuracy/index.html and https://dclifemagazine.com/reviews/heres-meridian-hill-park-renamed

[7] For more on the socio-economical effect of the crack epidemic on D.C., see https://wamu.org/story/14/01/27/crack_1/

[8] For more about the cultural evolution of the Malcolm X Park drum circle, see https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/magazine/the-rhythm-of-the-city-the-meridian-hill-park-drum-circle-evolves/2014/08/27/ed2de94c-1e73-11e4-ab7b-696c295ddfd1_story.html?utm_term=.9547a1359e77

[9] From the New York Times article Farewell to Chocolate City at https://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/24/opinion/sunday/farewell-to-chocolate-city.html

[10] For more viewpoints on how changing D.C. demographics have impacted the Malcolm X Park drum circle, see https://wamu.org/story/15/11/06/why_some_meridian_hill_park_drummers_say_the_beat_isnt_what_it_used_to_be/ 

[11] University of Maryland students interviewed Mr. Moyo for this article in their school paper, the Diamondback, at http://www.dbknews.com/2017/06/15/african-drum-circle-washington-dc-columbia-heights/

[12] Check out this fascinating article on the relevance of ritual in our increasingly secularized society. https://www.sbs.com.au/topics/life/culture/article/2016/06/27/why-rituals-are-still-relevant

[13] For more about the Ticona family’s involvement in the Malcolm X Park drum circle, see  https://wamu.org/story/15/11/06/why_some_meridian_hill_park_drummers_say_the_beat_isnt_what_it_used_to_be/ 

[14] If you can’t get enough of science, see https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2018/04/race-genetics-science-africa/  and https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg22429904-500-found-closest-link-to-eve-our-universal-ancestor/

The photo above of head male dancer Keith Anderson was taken by Milt Savage.

If you think Native American culture is something that can only be found behind museum exhibition glass or in romanticized Hollywood films, then you have never been to a powwow.

The word powwow is derived from the Narragansett[1] word pauwau, which literally means “he who interprets dreams.” While the earliest powwows were healing ceremonies performed by medicine men and spiritual leaders, the significance of the powwow has evolved over time so that a modern powwow can be defined as any opportunity for tribes to come together for the purpose of celebrating their cultural heritage.

Powwows have become so popular that they are held all year round nationwide. They usually last for one weekend and can draw participants and visitors from hundreds of miles away. Because my Mom lives in Lewes, DE, we decided to attend the 40^th Annual Powwow hosted by the Nanticoke Indian Tribe located in nearby Millsboro, DE on September 9 and 10.[2]  Check out https://calendar.powwows.com/ to find a powwow near you.

An impressive amount of time and energy goes into hosting a powwow, which is organized by a committee of dedicated individuals who are already planning next year’s event now that this year’s powwow is over. The Nanticoke powwow is held outdoors on private property where visitors can park their cars in grassy fields and get shuttled through the woods to the powwow grounds in long wagons hitched to farm tractors driven by friendly volunteers. Refreshingly, you don’t have to pay to park and you only have to pay $5.00 for admission and kids 12 and under get in for FREE.  Practical tips to keep in mind – bring your own portable folding chair because although some seating is provided, there is not enough for everyone, especially during popular dance events. Also, bring your own snacks, because while the food sold by the vendors is excellent (the Nanticoke succotash is my personal favorite), lines tend to be long at some of the booths, especially when there was a lull in the dance activities. Be forewarned that no alcoholic beverages are sold and no smoking permitted on the powwow grounds, which came as a surprise to me when you consider the long history of tobacco use by Native Americans for ceremonial purposes.

At the heart of the powwow grounds is the main stage and dance arena, which is surrounded in loose concentric circles by vendor booths selling either food and beverages or traditional Native American arts and crafts.

Although powwows tend to start in the morning and go on into the evening hours and the Nanticoke powwow is no exception, whichever powwow you decide to attend, be sure to get there before the kick-off event of every powwow called the Grand Entry. This is a procession led by men (usually active duty armed services members or veterans) carrying flags and/or Eagle Staffs.[3]  Next come the male dancers, then the female dancers, and then the child dancers.  At the Nanticoke powwow, the dancers were led into the arena by the head male dancer, Keith Anderson, and the head female dancer, Adrienne Harmon. Then, the crowd was asked to stand while the flag song was sung. Although the flags of several Indian Nations were represented, the Stars & Stripes was elevated above the rest, because despite decades of mistreatment of indigenous peoples by the U.S. Government, the fire of patriotism burns brightly in Native American culture.  Serving one’s country is viewed as the most highly respected thing an individual can do. Thus, it was fitting that early in the program, all veterans – Indian and non-Indian, male and female – were invited into the arena to join the dancers for a special song and dance in their honor.

Speaking of fire, this year’s theme of the Nanticoke powwow was “The Sacred Fire that Continues to Burn within Us.” This ties in with another important aspect of powwows – expressing reverence for the Creator. Because powwows look a lot like other American fairs where cool stuff is bought and sold and consumed, it may not be obvious to visitors that for many participants, the underlying purpose of the powwow is to give thanks to the Creator.[4]  While Native Americans are as diverse in their religious beliefs as the general U.S. population, Christianity predominates due to the effect of early missionary activity and continued religious education on the reservations. But if Christianity is the main course at a powwow, it is liberally seasoned with hallmarks of traditional Native American belief systems such as respect for the natural world and the interconnectedness of all living beings.[5]

But the single most important reason why powwows continue to thrive is that they provide valuable opportunities for Native Americans to pass their rich cultural heritage on to younger generations.  For most tribes, whose ritualistic dances were prohibited by the Federal Government during the first half of the 20^th century because they were viewed as preparations for war, it was a great labor of love to resurrect them before they were lost forever.  Some powwows hold dance contests and offer hefty cash prizes to the winners not only to incentivize students to hone their skills but also to reimburse them for travel costs and lost wages for taking off work.

Young people appear to be embracing the chance to learn the “old ways.” A wide variety of drummers and dancers from numerous tribes all over the country participated in the Nanticoke powwow, including Red Blanket from New Jersey and Stoney Creek from North Carolina. The Master of Ceremonies, Keith Colston, had the important job of selecting the drum group most adept at performing the type of song that best accompanies each dance and educating the audience as to what they were seeing and hearing. The drum sits in the center of a circle of men who play it communally while singing simultaneously. Songs differ in rhythm, tempo, and style, with Northern style singers adopting a falsetto and Southern style singers maintaining the lower register. Many powwow songs use “vocables” such as “he,” “ye,” and “yo” instead of the traditional words due to the intertribal nature of the singers who may not understand the particular language of origin of the song. Regardless of the nuances of each song, the drum serves as the heartbeat of the celebration and can often be heard for miles, especially if the sound is amplified by speakers carefully placed on trees throughout the powwow grounds as the Nanticokes had done.

An entire book could be written on powwow dancing so there is no way we could possibly give you a detailed description here but we can provide a summary. There are many categories of dances organized by gender, specific physical movements, and the regalia worn by the dancers. According to Shianna Colon, a Nanticoke Indian girl who was 9 years old at the time she wrote this: “People who do not completely understand Indians might refer to regalia as costumes, but I will assure you that ARE NOT costumes. These are the dresses we dance with. These dresses keep our culture alive. These dresses mean everything to our culture and without them we would not be remembered now or in the nearby future. So next time you think of Indians think of this.”[6]

The Nanticoke powwow featured several categories of dances that are commonly performed. For example, the Men’s Traditional dance, which simulates the warrior preparing for battle and the Women’s Traditional dance, which exemplifies dignity and grace. Then, there is the Grass Dance, which supposedly originated from young men stomping down grasses so that lodges could be built on the prairie. Danced by men wearing brightly colored regalia adorned with yarn fringe that simulates grass swaying in the wind, it is mesmerizing to watch. The Women’s Fancy Dance, also called the Shawl Dance, is most often performed by teenage girls and includes some of the fastest motions in the powwow arena when the dancers twirl with their colorful scarves over their backs like butterflies swooping and flapping their wings. The most spectacular dance you will see at a powwow is the Hoop Dance, which is a form of storytelling where the dancer picks up a series of hoops and links them together, often extending them from the body to create wings, tails, or other natural shapes – all this while constantly moving and not missing a beat! But the most spiritually evocative we witnessed is the Jingle Dress Dance, which is performed by women and young girls whose dresses are covered with 365 tiny cone-shaped bells – one for each day of the year – and each one of them symbolizing a prayer.  The bells jingle symphonically with the dancers' motions, thereby releasing a powerful prayer for community healing into the atmosphere.[7]

Whether you have Native American ancestry and you want to get more connected to your heritage or you’re a non-Indian who wants to learn more about your neighbors, we highly recommend attending a local powwow. As Nanticoke Tribal Secretary Kayleigh Vickers said: “One of my elders just told me today that you can have all the degrees you want, but until you get to know people and their culture and their heritage and who they really are, that is when you’ll be complete as a person.”

[1] The Narragansett are a Native American tribe indigenous to Rhode Island who are part of the larger Algonquian language-speaking group.

[2] The Nanticokes traditionally hold their powwow in September after Labor Day. I don’t know this for a fact but I wouldn’t be surprised if it is held on the weekend closest to the September full moon, which is known as the Full Corn Moon. The reason why I suspect this is because prior to attending the powwow, I visited the Nanticoke Indian Museum (in Millsboro, DE) and learned that the Nanticokes, along with the majority of indigenous peoples, used a lunar calendar to plan major events such as planting, harvesting, and holding festivals. They shared this wisdom by asking their children to examine the back of a tortoise shell – the 13 large segments correspond to the 13 moons in the lunar year and the 28 smaller segments around the edge correspond the 28 days between new moons – pretty incredible, right? For more about the Nanticoke Indian Museum, see http://www.nanticokeindians.org/page/museum

[3] The Eagle Staff, wrapped in animal skin and exhibiting eagle feathers, represents the stature and honor of a tribe or tribes bestowed upon it by its people. If an Eagle Staff carrier (an individual chosen for his valor, traditionally a combat veteran) is present for the Grand Entry, he enters the arena before any other flag carrier. For an eloquent discussion of the symbolic importance of the Eagle Staff, see http://www.orilliapacket.com/2009/01/12/the-eagle-staff-a-symbol-of-sacredness-and-nationhood

[4] Former tribal councilman Herman Jackson shares his personal reasons for dancing in the Nanticoke powwow at http://www.delawareonline.com/story/news/2017/09/10/nanticoke-tribe-40th-powwow-delaware/651191001/

[5] The Nanticoke powwow featured a Sunday morning worship service that I was not able to attend. If anyone reading this post was present, we’d appreciate it if you could write in and tell us about it. We guarantee your name will be engraved on the Glitterchicken Wall of Fame for all eternity.

[6] For more of Shianna Colon’s youthful yet wise perspective on the Nanticoke powwow, including details on the types of dances and corresponding regalia worn (and types of food and beverages typically sold), see her educational article on the Nanticoke Indian website at http://www.nanticokeindians.org/page/why-powwow

[7] For a Jingle Dress Dancer’s explanation of the interplay of dance and prayer, see Nanticoke Tribal Secretary Kayleigh Vicker’s statement at http://www.delawareonline.com/story/news/2017/09/10/nanticoke-tribe-40th-powwow-delaware/651191001/