A Fat Purple Fig

The Morongo Band of Mission Indians is a sovereign nation on almost 40,000 acres of land in Banning, California, whose business ventures include two casinos, a bowling alley, a golf club, and a Taco Bell, amongst numerous others. Their annual Pow Wow, which attracts 25,000 spectators, is hosted in an area beside the newly-refurbished Casino Morongo, a 27-story resort which stands before the rocky backdrop of the San Gorgonio Mountain.

After a parking faux pax (trying to park in the dancer’s section) we locate a far-flung spot in the casino car park and follow the trickle of people walking towards an enormous shed in the centre of a wide, open, dirt plain, its perimeter lined with stalls. We have finally arrived, to the ‘Morongo 33rd Annual Thunder and Lighning Pow Wow’.

Kitty and I complete a circuit of the stalls, admiring their wares as we read the signs and learn the lay of the land. My research tells me that we are welcome here, and especially so if we spend some money and are respectful, photographing politely and standing when asked during performances. We are notably white, but not nearly as white as my poorly-chosen shoes. Kitty, predictably, looks like a local girl from the neighbouring county. I hate my button-up shirt, and wish I had worn jeans.

Having identified the best entry points, we enter the shed, park ourselves on a metal bleacher, and watch the bird singers.

The songs of the bird singers are said to be from ‘the beginning’, handed down over generations and sung to honour the deceased. They sound like chants, and are accompanied by rattles, constructed by filling gourds with palm seeds. The men step forward and back as they sing, and the women break into swaying movements to accompany them. The songs have complex rhythms that fall both on and off the beat, and appear to change constantly. I later discover there are over 300 different songs, sung to ‘remind the people of their history so that it would not be forgotten’.

After listening for a time, we venture out for another wander, and see the last remnants of the sun behind Casino Morongo, aglow in purple, and with lights that flash ‘POW WOW’ across its tower. We want to try frybread, and eventually settle on the ‘Yellowhorse Frybread and Indian Tacos’ stand. I choose a vegetarian to Kitty’s strawberry, and we make out way back to our chosen section of the bleachers (zone out-of-the-way) to eat.

My frybread Indian taco tastes like our home-made nachos topping on the unhealthiest, and most delicious, bread ever. 10/10, will never eat again.

We purchase a beaded gift and a commemorative jumper for Kitty and, upon returning, see that zone out-of-the-way is filling, and fast. Large, wrapped drums are carried through and placed in the circles of chairs that line the arena. The sound of bells begins to fill the space, and we spot the bright colours of regalia, as the dancers begin to make their appearance.

I take a panoramic video, to try and capture the sense of anticipation that is growing. People are filtering in, many of whom have timed their arrivals to catch the Grand Entry. The dancers have come from all around the USA and Canada to perform tonight. Their regalia is magnificent. Performers are donning headdresses and tying eagle-feather bustles into place, greeting one another with handshakes and pats on the back. I see a woman in regalia holding a baby across her arm. Impromptu warm-up sessions are springing up.

Soon, the sound settles, and each of the drum groups is given the opportunity to perform with a microphone, which carries their sound through the speakers positioned throughout the area. This group is my favourite. Their sound raises the hairs on my arms.

They may be my favourite in sound alone, but Kitty and I feel a certain loyalty to this group, who are positioned closest to where we are seated. We have observed their preparations up-close, and can sense their camaraderie. I will spot the man in yellow regalia during the Grand Entry, and feel a deep sense of admiration. Kitty is impressed when she notices one of the men drumming with his single arm.

Finally, the Grand Entry begins. Everyone stands as the procession enters, led by military representatives carrying flags. I am enthralled about now, and love seeing the range of ages, from children to the wise, and the variety of movements made by the performers. A boy on the bleachers close to us begins stamping his feet on the metal.

After the women enter, they form a line across one side of the arena. When the arena seems quite full, Kitty leans over and says, ‘Look, there are so many more!‘ I glance over to the far entry point and see a gathering of dancers there, lined up and waiting for their moment to enter.

Eventually, all the dancers fill the arena, in a cacophony of bells, drums, and singing, and a riot of colour. It is an extraordinary spectacle and I am incredibly moved. The dancers are unique, yet united, twirling and spinning in their own ways, bound by the heartbeat of the drums. Their regalia is colourful and beautiful, but also so finely-crafted as to be a striking symbol of artisanship and pride. It is a powerful celebration of culture, and of life.

Much later, when we arrive to our LA home, after a hair-raising turn on a full and fast-moving freeway, Kitty gives me a fist bump. ‘It didn’t start out very well,‘ she says, ‘but it turned out to be really great day.‘

Yes. Yes, it did.