By Mamadou Cissé
The scorching sun weaves long shadows across the sandstone cliffs of the Bandiagara escarpment. The Dogons, believed to be progenies of ancient Egypt, have called this place home for centuries. In the village of Sangha, referred to as the cultural and spiritual heart of the Dogon, located in the Mopti Region of Mali, the rhythmic thump of drums echo through the narrow pathways between mud-brick houses. A group of masked dancers, their bodies adorned with woven fibres and painted symbols, move in perfect harmony. Their masks, tall, wooden, and carved with precision, tell stories older than memory itself.
This ritual is known as the “dama”, a sacred ceremony to guide the souls of the departed to the realm of the ancestors. The lead dancer, wearing the towering sirige mask, spins in a dizzying spiral, the mask’s long, vertical extension swaying like a serpent reaching toward the sky. Nearby, others don the kanaga mask, its double-crossed beams symbolising the bridge between heaven and earth. The villagers watch in silence, knowing that these dances are more than a performance. They are prayers in motion, a language of the spirit.
The Dogon culture has strong roots in the region. It’s art reveals this. Malian scholar, Ousmane S. Diarra, in his book, “Dogon Art and Symbolism: A West African Perspective.” identifies shared motifs, such as the use of geometric patterns and ancestor figures, across ethnic groups like the Bambara and Senufo, situating Dogon art within a broader regional aesthetic framework. This comparative approach highlights the interconnectedness of West African cultures while emphasising the Dogon’s unique contributions.
The Keepers of Forgotten Stars
Long ago, the Dogon fled here, to these cliffs, escaping the wars and conversions that swept through West Africa. They carved their homes into the rock, built granaries with conical roofs to store their millet, and guarded their secrets closely. Among these secrets was a knowledge so precise it mystified modern astronomers: the existence of Sirius B, an invisible star orbiting Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky.
The Dogon called it “Po Tolo”, the “smallest seed,” and said it was made of a metal heavier than iron. They knew it took 50 years to complete its orbit – a fact Western science only confirmed in the 20th century. How did they know this? Their oral traditions spoke of the “Nommo”, amphibious beings who descended from the heavens in a great vessel, bringing wisdom to humanity.
French anthropologist Marcel Griaule is said to have recorded these teachings in the 1940s from an elder named Ogotemmêli, who revealed a cosmology so intricate it mapped the universe in ways science is still deciphering.
Not everyone believed. Some scholars, Some scholars, like Walter van Beek, suggest Griaule’s portrayal of Dogon cosmology lacks historical dynamism and that it potentially projects Western or esoteric frameworks onto Dogon beliefs.
Some even say that the Dogon must have learned of Sirius B from European travellers. Yet, in the quiet of night, when the stars lit the skies over the desert, the Dogon elders still point to Sirius and speak of the Nommo as if they had walked among them in the past.
The Dance of Life and Death
The masked dances of the Dogon are not mere tradition, they were the heartbeat of their society. When a great elder passed, the entire village prepared for months. The masks, kept hidden in caves, were brought out only for these sacred moments. Each mask had its own spirit, its own role. The kanaga was more than wood and pigment. it was a conduit to the divine. During such ceremonies, the dancers, trained from childhood, moved as if in a trance, their bodies becoming bridges to the unseen world.
Times are changing. Young men now leave for cities, drawn by money and modernity. Some of them return with new faiths – Islam, Christianity – that frown upon the old practices. Tourists also arrive with cameras, offering cash to see the dances that were never meant for outsiders. The elders have come to accept that survival sometimes means compromise. Yet, deep in the cliffs, the masks still wait. The drums still call.
A People at the Crossroads
The Dogon have survived empires, droughts, and wars. But now, new threats appear. The land has grown drier, the rains less predictable. Conflicts with neighbouring herders have turned violent, fuelled by scarce resources and outside forces. The cliffs, once a fortress, do not seem to shield them from everything as they once did.
Yet, in the glow of the night fire, as the dancers leap and the elders chant the old stories, there is an unbroken truth. The knowledge of the stars, the rhythm of the dances, the whispers of the Nommo – these are not just relics of the past. They are a living thread that still connect the Dogon to something eternal.
As the last drumbeat fades and the keepers of the masks return them to their hidden sanctuaries, the night shields the village once more. The cliffs stand silent, as they have for centuries. And high above, Sirius continues to burn bright, watching over its people.
As long as the Dogon still hold on to the memories, their world will endure.
