GBAGYI: A JOURNEY BEYOND PERFORMANCE

I'm Charis,

Let me take you back to a moment. A moment wrapped in rhythm, colours, language, and sweat. A moment that started as just another departmental assignment, but ended up carving something deep inside me.

We were assigned the Gbagyi culture for our cultural presentation in the Department of Film and Multimedia Studies. At first, I knew nothing about them, not their roots, not their dance, not their food. They were simply a people I had heard of but never truly seen. But that was about to change.

Rehearsals began like a slow-burning fire. Day after day, we gathered. Some days it was under the scorching sun, some days under the burden of tired bones. We had to be present. No excuses. I danced, stumbled, laughed, and sweated through it all. The music was foreign at first. The rhythm, unusual. But gradually, my body started to understand what my ears were hearing. The beat of the Gbagyi drum is not just a beat; it tells a story of pride, pain, and presence. And we were now part of that story.

There were moments I faltered. In fact, during the actual performance, I missed a few steps. I panicked quietly inside. My lecturer was seated right there. I remember thinking, “Please let me find the rhythm again.” And I did. I closed my eyes for one brief second, breathed, and let the rhythm carry me. That moment reminded me that culture isn't about perfection. It's about connection.

One of my coursemates who is Gbagyi helped us truly tap into the culture. From guiding us through the dance to preparing the food (even though I wasn't part of the cooking process), she became a bridge between what we were trying to perform and what was real. And that authenticity meant everything.

We also learned unique things about them, like how they carry loads on their shoulders instead of their heads, a distinctive trait that makes them stand out among many other ethnic groups. It might seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes about their identity, balance, and way of life. They are also widely known for their "hunting" traditions, farming, pottery, and peaceful nature. All these elements quietly enriched our presentation, even if they weren’t explicitly performed on stage.

When we finally stepped out to perform in front of the audience, it felt different from our rehearsals. The atmosphere was charged. Other departments were presenting Yoruba, Igbo, Tiv, Hausa, Idoma, and Akwa Ibom cultures, each bringing something beautiful and unique to the stage. But still, I knew we had something special.

Wearing their attire gave me a glimpse into the pride of their identity. Our dance was a language. The sways, the turns, the stomps it was a poem of motion, telling stories older than any of us. I remember the audience clapping and cheering, but more than anything, I remember how I felt: alive.

Even though we didn't learn their songs, the music we danced to became part of our pulse. The drums spoke, and we answered. In every movement, I felt the Gbagyi spirit pushing through the air, like a whisper saying, “Thank you for seeing us.” What surprised me most was how deeply I connected with something I wasn’t born into. The Gbagyi culture began to feel like a friend I had just met, but instantly bonded with. I began to see the purpose of such presentations: not just to entertain, not just to get grades, but to learn empathy through expression.

This experience reminded me why I chose Film and Multimedia. Our stories matter, whether told through a camera lens or through a dance performance. Culture is not something we should just study; it’s something we must embody. And embody it we did. It wasn’t easy. Showing up every day for rehearsals, managing schoolwork, and dealing with exhaustion. But I enjoyed every bit of it. In fact, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because for once, we didn’t just perform, we became. “And that’s how the Gbagyi left their mark on me.”