When I was about 7 years old, my father introduced me to Gure dancing at a ceremony in Harare. At that tender age, I was instantly enchanted by the dancers’ moves, eye-catching outfits, and grotesque masks. Since that unforgettable first encounter, seeing the real-life faces behind the masks of these extremely secretive dancers had been a lifelong and perilous personal quest.
Gure or Nyau (I’ll stick with Gure for consistency) societies are composed of groups of clansmen mostly of Chewa origin who often come together to perform different traditional rituals that include ancestral and spiritual worship. Secrecy is key in the Gure tradition. To become a dancer, you have to undergo an intensive initiation ceremony in secluded places. In Zimbabwe, Gure culture was introduced by Malawian and Zambian migrants who came to work in farms and mines during the British colonial era. Today Gure tradition is still common in Zimbabwe, especially in farming and mining communities.
Passing through Dalny Mine in Chakari to see an old friend, Mavhuto, I could not resist the temptation to stay long enough to watch a Gure dance session and perhaps fulfil my perennial quest to peek behind the masks. Chakari is a typical Zimbabwean gold-mining settlement and not surprisingly, it is surrounded by man-made hills of unprocessed gold ore and uncovered pits – the fresh scars of man’s relentless search for the precious yellow metal. Here, Nyanja and Chewa, languages synonymous with people of Malawian and Zambian origin, are more widely spoken than in most parts of Zimbabwe.
I arrived at Dalny Mine just after midday, and an excited and cheerful crowd was already waiting impatiently for the Gures to come out and dance. Mavhuto ushered me through the chaotic crowd as we tried to get a good vantage point. “You have to clap your hands when the Gures walk past, and don’t back away when they come close to you,” he murmured to me as he explained Gure-watching etiquette. “And please, don’t say anything negative about these guys or call them by name… even if you think you know them”.
Gures keep most of their activities a closely guarded secret; but when it comes to their dancing ceremonies, they are always a public affair where everyone is free to attend.
To facilitate this, typical of the Gure tradition of secrecy, the “dressing room” where the Gures prepared for the dance was completely concealed from onlookers by dry grass and fresh leaves perched on wooden sticks. In the crowd, nobody could see who was entering, and a flag – red for danger – was hoisted on a wooden pole as a warning for people to keep their distance.
Generally, Gures are feared and revered on equal terms because they are believed to possess supernatural or voodoo powers that can be used against anyone who offends them. True to these local beliefs, nobody in the crowd attempted to gatecrash into this changing room or misbehave at the venue. In the dance arena, a group of men and women passionately sang and beat drums while the crowd continued to cast their eyes toward the concealed dressing room, waiting for what would come next.
When the Gures finally emerged from their hideout, they did it in grand style. Bare-footed and dressed in ineffable attire and different masks that only pictures can properly describe, the Gures arrogantly walked into the dancing arena in a ritual-like procession before sitting right on the ground. Hidden in their masks and attire, their looks ranged from the bizarre to the outrageous, the scary to the funny.
“Without masks, I don’t think Gures would be respected by anyone” mused Mavhuto, who claimed that his father and grandfather were “Gure insiders” as we watched the parading Gures. “These masks make it impossible to know who is who, even if the Gure is your relative or friend”.
But to the Gures, the masks are more than just something to hide their identity or bewilder the beholder. Every mask has some symbolism. It can represent a deity, the spirit of an ancestor, your rank in the Gure society, or even a wild animal regarded as sacred or a totem by that particular dancer. Gure masks differ from place to place, but they inevitably have a perplexing effect on the spectator.
Masks can be in the form of flamboyant headgear made from wild bird feathers or porcupine quills. In Chakari, some masks were caricatures of human faces while others represented imaginary creatures. There was one Gure mask that had a dragon head with human features. It looked so scary that those of nervous disposition ran for cover when the dancer emerged from the changing room.
“The mask is the soul of every Gure,” Mavhuto said when I quizzed him about the real purpose of the masks. “It’s the mask that shows who you are in the spirit world”.
Gure dancers are always backed by drum beaters and singers who provide the rhythm. The Gures too often sing in eerie voices that make it very difficult to decipher the meaning or discern the identity of the singer. During the dances, marshals always assist Gures in securing their outfits and masks, to ensure the anonymity of the dancers is preserved.
If Gure masks are petrifying, their dances have the opposite effect. And just like their masks, Gure dancing moves are quite varied too.
Some are slow and simple while others are aggressively energetic. Here, none of them seemed to be synchronised and the dancers were not trying to outclass each other. There was one particular Gure whose dancing seemed to be suggestive, while another appeared to be fighting an invisible opponent.
”Gure tradition prepares young men for all the challenges they will face in life”. Elson Banda, a friend of Mavhuto who had joined us told me when I asked what those moves have to do with tradition. “This includes keeping your wife happy and protecting your family from bad spirits”.
Long ago, Gures performed these dances at the initiation rituals, funerals, or marriage ceremonies of a society member, as they still do now. However, today Gure tradition – just like many other traditions – has been negatively impacted by Western and Christian influences.
Nevertheless, the tradition is still alive in Zimbabwe and one can watch Gure dances in some towns and cities during cultural festivals and “Gure get-together parties” like the one I attended in Chakari. Farming and mining communities like Dalny Mine are the last bastions of this mystery-filled tradition.
Back at Dalny Mine, there was a bit of confusion as people were leaving the arena after the dance ceremony. I bumped into one of the marshals, gathered my courage, and completely ignored Mavhuto’s sage advice not to worry too much about the true identities of the dancers. I asked the marshal if he could let me talk to or see a “mask-less” Gure. That was a wrong move.
The marshal was not only shocked by my query, but he also suddenly erupted with anger calling other marshals to come and hear my “strange” request. I realised that the situation could quickly get out of control, apologised to the marshal, and permanently abandoned my quest of unmasking Gures before melting into the dispersing crowd.
