‘Disguise’: African masks as social commentary

It seems no museum collection is complete without a few token African masks. Many of us have glimpsed them walking between exhibits, but few of us know what role they actually play to the many cultures on the continent that adopt them.

Why, for instance, do members of Malawi’s Nyau society dance around in an Elvis Presley disguise? The Brooklyn Museum in New York is looking to fill in the gaps with its new exhibition, Disguise: Masks and Global African Art.

“Masks have long been used by African artists to define relationships―between individuals, communities, the environment, or the cosmos―and, sometimes, to challenge the status quo. However, once masks were removed from their original performance context, they were transformed into museum objects, and their larger messages were often lost,” the exhibition blurb reads.

Masks = social commentary

According to the museum’s associate curator, Kevin Dumouchelle, many artists use masks and performance to affect change.

In 2010, photographer Vlad Sokhin gained rare access to the rituals and practices of the Nyau brotherhood, a secret society of the Chewa people that exists in communities in Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia. He reveals how he managed to infiltrate, and ultimately join, this secret group. Photographs by Vlad Sokhin.

Vlad Sokhin: "From 2010-2011, I lived in Mozambique's Tete province, where I was doing different jobs. One of them was for a coal exploration company. One day they asked me to photograph the opening ceremony for a new camp. While I was waiting for the ceremony to start, I saw someone pop out of the bush wearing feathers and a mask. Locals started screaming, 'Nyau,' and started to run."

"I had no idea what Nyau was, so I started to do some research," said Sokhin.
"I learned it was a secret society within the Chewa culture. Chewa people live in Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique. I found out that many locals, and even policemen, were afraid of the Nyau and considered them dangerous. One type of Nyau, known as Nyau 'kampini,' or 'dangerous Nyau,' (pictured) walk around with machetes and have a reputation for attacking people."

"One policeman told me they are never prosecuted. 'How can you put an elephant or snake in jail? The same is with Nyau,' he said. In spite of the rumors, I never heard of any accident involving a Nyau while I was there."

"The performance I witnessed was the Gule Wamkulu, a secret cult and ritual practiced by the Nyau brotherhood during the harvest, as well as important ceremonies, like weddings and funerals. Gule Wamkulu means 'The Great Dance' in the Chewa language. It is performed by the Nyau, who wear masks and costumes that represent the spirits of animals, called 'nyama,' and of their ancestors, called 'mizimu.' The ritual has had UNESCO protection since 2005, when it was included as one of 90 Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity."

"After my first encounter with the Nyau, I spent a year in Mozambique looking for more dances, and trying to find members, so I could photograph them. This proved difficult, since everything about the Nyau is kept secret. If you're part of the Nyau cult, you're not supposed to tell anyone."

"Nyau keep both their rituals and their identity a closely-guarded secret. I later learned that during a ritual, the dancers will rotate so no one can tell their identity.
"If you see a whole family watching a dance, maybe the husband will leave for a bit then go to a secret place to change and dance, then come back so his mother, sister or wife won't know he's a member. If one dancer falls down and injures himself and starts limping, all members of the Nyau will start limping so no one can identify the injured dancer. "

"One day I met a teacher from Zimbabwe named Ofis, who started to ask me why I was so interested in the Nyau. We ultimately became friends, and he confessed that he was a member. I started to learn about the cult from him, but he said if I wanted to know more, I'd have to join."

"Ofis talked to the chiefs, and they agreed I could be a spectator at first, but nothing more. I started to go every week and take pictures of the dances, but I wanted to see more. I wanted to go inside and see how they made their masks.
"First, I had to be accepted as a member of the Nyau. One day, they said they were willing to accept me, but I would have to go through a ceremony."

"First, I had to learn their password system, which involved secret hand signs. If you pass a Nyau on the road and use the hand sign, nothing bad will happen to you; they'll understand you're one of them."

"Afterward, I had to kill a chicken with the other new members, so we could take the feathers and add them to our costumes later. Later, I was brought to a nearby village, where I was covered in a fabric and flowers, and the Nyau came out, already in costume."

"This photograph is of the initiation. When I was initiated, they hit me a little bit with a stick -- hitting is an important part of the ceremony as it serves as a warning not to reveal the secrets of the Nyau.

"They removed the fabric and started dancing and I danced with them. We danced the whole night, then they took me to their hidden place -- the cemetery. They told me, 'Now, you're Nyau.' They gave me my own mask and costume and started to teach me how to dance."

"The next time I met them, I brought my camera. They then told me, 'You're a part of this cult, but you can't take pictures.' It took me another couple of months in the cult before they let me take pictures."

'The day I infiltrated an African cult'

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“Masquerade has long been a tool for African artists to expose hidden issues and to challenge the status quo,” he argues, “the masks physically and functionally disguise, but they allow the wearer to speak to a larger truth. It’s a performance that’s not about the individual, but the role that they’re playing in their community, or a ritual they’re re-enacting.”

The larger truths Dumouchelle cites are various. Racism, corruption and homophobia are addressed by contemporary artists – issues, he suggests that “aren’t always on the surface in public discourse today,” but can be confronted “through the language of art in a way that is perhaps a bit more truthful.”

For instance, the Nyau incorporate masks and dance in spiritual rituals, including “morality plays.” When a member wears an Elvis Presley costume, he is making a statement about the outsider in modern society (The King was just the latest incarnation of a role previously occupied by Arab slavers, British colonial administrators and Charlie Chaplin).

The new exhibit also invites contemporary artists join the fray and use masks to make comment on modern issues. Saya Woolfalk, an artist of Japanese and African American decent, for example, ushers viewers into a twenty-first-century dream world in “ChimaTEK: Virtual Chimeric Space”, an installation complete with mannequins in poses akin to Buddhist monks and, Dumouchelle says, will include performance artists.

“‘Disguise’ aims to reconnect masks and bodies in performance and to use historical objects to understand twenty-first-century art,” he says.

“After all, through masquerade artists can perform the past and invent the future.”

“Disguise: Masks and Global African Art” opens on April 29 at the Brooklyn Museum, New York, and runs until September 18.