Thu 18 Nov

On my forth night in Dilling I could hear drumming again. It was hard to tell exactly the direction or the distance. As if he had not heard it the other nights, Adam came up with the idea that we should go and see what was happening. He had been studying, rubbing his face, complaining he was tired. Now he had a new lease of energy. He had been wearing a t-shirt and shorts but had now pulled-on a white jalabeya and black trousers.

We set off at about 10:30pm. The moon was a week old so there was enough light to find our way without torches. We soon left the heady urban area of brick house Dilling with its metal gates and purring generators. As we walked through suburban sprawl we passed mud roundavels with grass-thatch roofs and fences; occasionally a glow of light from within.

Adam's mobile phone was stashed in the watch-pocket of his jalabeya. For some reason he had chosen this evening to set it to light-up every few seconds so, comically, as we walked through the darkness his tunic kept illuminating like a pantomime ghost.

We walked quickly. I was surprised how soon it felt like we were somewhere else: a narrow twisty lane between crops; picking our way past a heard of sitting cows. The lights from the huts somehow eerily lit-up the haze of dust or smoke. Even the hills between us and Dilling now looked distant, silhouetted by the moon above.

Even when the drumming seemed nearby there were still frustratingly a few compounds to walk around. Then, suddenly, in a clearing no more than 15m across we found a crowd circled around some dancing men and women. The drumming came from three guys. One was playing a conventional drum with animal hide across a wooden barrel giving a solid deep thud. The other two were tapping metal rods against a metal jerry can.

The dancing was curious, frantic and brief. A young woman would enter the circle and challenge several young men to out-dance her. Some men would eagerly volunteer themselves. The style appeared to be stomping one's right foot rapidly, a kind of half pogo. The woman would twist her foot back and forth as it hits the ground, giving a slightly sexy gyration. The dancers moved around as if on castors, turning to face different suitors. The competition seemed to be simply who could do it the longest. Apparently some can keep going for five minutes.

The tradition here is that the mother of a new baby returns to the community after 40 days. This drum and dancing session was to celebrate the birth, welcome her back and of course to provide an excuse for young men and women to show-off to each other. I believe the drumming and dancing is called "kiran".

To share this experience there are a couple of links below. The first is a snapshot with sound. http://www.peterbennett.co.uk/herononthenile/gallery/clips/0041_3270_0411182210_Dilling_drum_and_dance.mpg

The second is an enormous 15MB video clip (be warned this could take a long time to load on a slow connection).

http://www.peterbennett.co.uk/herononthenile/gallery/clips/0041_3220_0411182214_Dilling_drum_and_dance.mpg

As we walked home I felt an enormous peace with the world; the lights of the heavens, the silhouettes, the shadows, clear skies, fresh air. It was a lovely temperature to be walking. It was almost silent except for the murmur of voices, lowing of cattle and the occasionally braying of a donkey.

The Nuba Mountains is indeed a beautiful area to enjoy a few days respite. The ceasefire agreement of April 2003 (19 months ago) is still in place. People are free to get on with their humble, everyday lives; though "Security" (secret police) here, seem to be more twitchy than I noticed on my visit six months before.