THE ‘KOMOLE’ PHENOMENON

Dance enthusiast or not, you cannot but be fascinated by the kind of weird and funny dance steps and routines we have nowadays. Since dance involves the movement of the body and its parts, we can be sure we would see more bizarre, creepy and eerie movements in our lifetime. Dance is inexhaustible.

            Fads come and go, trends are never here to stay, and patterns are particular only the first time they appear. Same can be said for dance – they are only for an exact season. How long the season might be is the unpredictable factor. But in all these, I’ve seen an exception to the rule. It was around before I was born. This present generation met it on ground. Heck, when the world ends in 3012 and this world is filled with nobody living now, it would still be going strong, I’m sure of it. Presenting… a movement far more than a dance step… the happened… the happening… the experience… the phenomenon… the KOMOLE.

            Komole (Yoruba name), literarily means to ‘touch or reach the floor’. That more than explains the dance. It is a dance that neglects the concepts of time, weight and space. This widely known dance is achieved by allowing gravity to dictate your movement from whatever position you were in. And the only way gravity moves, in case you do not remember, is down, down, down. That’s the joy of the komole. It doesn’t start or finish any dance, but it interludes into another dance, giving the dancer an unprecedented crescendo needed for the travel in the path of exiting a gyrated orchestra and entrancing another one.

We all know that the person or people who start a revolution are not the ones who finish it. And the ones who finish it bear the brunt of the decline even though they enjoy most the benefits accruing from the insurrection. The luckiest, to me, are the people who gave the revolution the momentum, got the uprising to the highest point of victory and acceptance before backing off. It is said that the flower start dying at the highest point of its blossoming. The apex of the mountain signals that the only way to keep moving is go downwards. The point of the greatest peril, the inevitable decline begins at the achievement of the utmost victory. My point is, the komole is the only dance that is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it leads you to that climax in your dance routine making it exotic. A curse, because once you’ve reach that zenith, no matter how hard you try, any other dance step doesn’t just add up, Any other dance parody just doesn’t improve the overall dance. A very good one might maintain the tempo and pace but none can augment or amplify on the whole. Komole, although lasting a few seconds or minutes (if you have an inhuman stamina), is what is supposed to be called the total dance application. Why? You ask. Your answer lies in last three paragraphs (were you even reading this at all?)

            Everything has a history, the reason why it is what it is and how it is. Honestly, the exact times-gone-by of the komole beats me. To know about an old, you go to the old, right? Well, from a woman reported to be over a hundred years old (there is no I-got- to-Russia-using-my-grandpa’s-bicycle-powered-by-nitro-boost story here, I promise), I learnt a few things. Apparently, in the olden days of old, young maidens moved with their mothers or female masters from town to town selling wares. The sale of the merchandise was just a means to an end. They were always sure to arrive at towns or villages during market days or market seasons. These days were usually busy by any standard – just imagine a Brazilian carnival but instead of scantily feather-dressed ladies and booze, there are a lot of buying and selling and negotiating going on. Most communities on these market days take time off (usually a day or two) to relax. The chillaxing involved the young maidens in the market square dancing to bata, gangan and the sort to entice the young men of that village to take notice of them and ask for their hands in marriage. The end to which the sale and purchase of goods is the means, is marriage. So, women sell their wares as long as they still have daughters or female servants ready to get hitched. The catch? Their dance moves (something about a very good female dancer being a very wife. Don’t ask me how). The most successful dance application? If you don’t know it by now, you should stop reading this article.

            Tales that touch, ehn? Here’s another one. In my secondary school, I was involved in an ethnic contemporary dance - in other words, traditional dance. I never had the slightest idea I would soon be slyed by my so called friends and dance colleagues. We had practiced for weeks and we were all sure of a perfect performance. I was placed in the strategic position of the middle of everybody. No, I was neither the tallest nor the slickest dancer. I was the only boy in the group. The other male students bolted (pun intended) when they discovered we would perform the cultural songs in front of the whole school. I was not deterred and I stayed behind, coupled with the fact that I would be the only dancing guy among dancing girls which would give me the title, Balogun awon Obinrin. It turned out to be the second worst decision I’ve ever made. On the d-day, we were set more than ever. When we started our routine, everybody was enjoying it – the audience, us, and me. The hype and excitement suddenly got to our lead singer and she decided to up it a notch. Down she went with the komole and stayed down. It only took a second for the remaining of us get the hint. I wanted to scream “NO! Please NO!” I could dance but komole was a hard bit for me. Everybody around me went down like they didn’t have bones (females seem to have an easier time dancing the komole. Don’t ask me why). I kept standing in my ‘strategic’ position in the middle like a fool. Okay, they would soon get up. I thought. I was wrong. They kept dancing while almost on squatting. I tried to move down but it was too late. The lead singer had to rise up not because she was tired but because I was pitied. I got laughed at but I learnt my lesson: when the komole starts knocking, you should not be caught asleep because it won’t wake you up. You should be caught standing, ready to go below, konko below.