Dinagyang Festival

I thought the festival was in the afternoon and so in having a lazy morning I missed most of it.  To be be honest I had limited interest so didn't properly research the event's start time, and was somewhat undecided whether to actually make the effort to go or not.

In the end I went but not until around 1:30pm, by which time all the singing and dancing had ended and most of the performers dressed as tribal warriors were on their way home or milling about in the street market posing for photographs.  Every other stall seemed to be a temporary or henna tattoo shop and the number of tattooed people, including tiny kiddies, was unbelievable.

Finished for the Day

Walking around I saw a pedestrian footbridge over the parade route that I thought would make a good vantage point for taking some photos but was curious as to why no one else had thought of using it as it was deserted.  I soon found out.  I climbed the steps and turned the corner onto the bridge thinking primarily about what I was going to photograph, when there was that unmistakable sensation of treading in something extremely unpleasant.  I looked down and the whole of the bridge deck was covered in mole hills of poo  - it looked as though it been used as improvised public toilet for the past year. Everyone knows how disgusting it is standing in dog's poo but it's difficult to describe the feeling of repugnance having stood in human excrement.  Of course, going up the stairs the smell should have giving me a clue to what lie ahead but then there so many unpleasant and similar smells about that you kind of become immune to it.  However, having stood on one "landmine" the stench released was gagging and so holding my breath I had to delicately tip-toe off the bridge to avoid standing on another.

I came down off the bridge and looked for some grass to wipe my shoe on.  I persevered with the event and wandered around the street vendors but couldn't really relax and enjoy myself as I was always watching out for who was behind me and/or who might be following me with a view to pinching my camera.  Of the vendors, those who weren't offering their services as tattooists were mostly selling barbecued chicken, pork or fish and not much else.  Or a few were selling souvenir tribal masks and trinkets.

Watching From A Safe Distance

On several junctions there were walls of massive speakers stacked up several yards high and set up facing each other on three sides.  Once they started up the noise (you couldn't call it music) was astounding and easily the loudest thing I have ever heard (no exaggeration).  When walking between one set I had my fingers in my ears and it was still incredibly loud, hideously painful and felt like it was turning my innards to mush and shaking my fillings out.  The odd thing about this was there were groups of young men stood rooted to the spot in front of the speakers, not moving, not dancing, not doing anything, just gawping at the speakers with empty expressions.  Without a shadow of a doubt their hearing would have been damaged.  Hang on a minute, I'm having a eureka moment . . . . perhaps that would explain why half of our employees don't do what you ask them: perhaps they're stone deaf and can't actually hear what you're saying to them.