Success on Stilts

By Akoli Penoukou

Kankue, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew! This uncomfortable thought zoomed through my head like a buzzing mosquito as my cousin Messan dragged away the stepladder so I could balance myself on six-foot-high stilts. This was the first time I’d ever tried to stilt-walk. What had made me think I could even stand on these things?

The annual Togbewo festival took place every August. As part of the commemoration of the long trek of our ancestors to establish the settlement, the people of my father’s village competed in stilt-dancing. Every year I accompanied my parents to the village to witness the festival. This year’s was special. Messan, who was twelve years old—a year older than me—was going to participate in the twelve-foot-high stilt-dancing competition for his age group.

At the dusty village square the contestants leaned against tall coconut trees. When his turn came, Messan pushed himself from the tree, smiling. Then he glided like a giraffe into the center of the festival grounds. I held my breath, but apparently standing that high didn’t bother him at all. He shook his horsetail whisk and the drums throbbed.

Messan leaned forward, arched his arms and shook to the rhythm. He folded and unfolded his back to the beat as if he stood on firm ground. Soon the music went up a pitch and he lurched from side to side, twisting himself like a scrap of aluminum foil dropped into a fire. Then the rhythm of the drumming increased and got even louder. Now Messan seemed to be in a trance. He swung on the stilts like coconut leaves in a storm. I couldn’t believe my cousin was so good at this!

Messan dropped backward from the hips, shaking himself. Next he flung himself forward like someone diving into a swimming pool. Then he jogged to the beat of the music, throwing his whisk into the air and catching it behind his back. All of a sudden the drums snapped. Messan drop-crouched on the stilts, both arms crossed over his chest. The cheering crowd went wild. Awesome!

But my cousin still had a few more skills to display. He held up one stilt, hopped over to the drummers and bowed. He lifted the other and sprang to the judges and curtsied. Then he faced the spectators, stooping as if he would fall (a gasp from the crowd) and then righted himself again with a leap. Thunderous applause split the torrid air. A wide grin crossed Messan’s face as he floated away. When the winner was announced, it was his name that was called. What an honor! I felt so proud of my cousin, and a desire burned in me to stilt-dance, too.

“I heard people use magic to stilt-dance,” I told Messan that night as we lay on our sleeping mats.

Messan shook his first finger in the air. “Don’t believe all those stories. It’s all a question of balance—and practice.”

“Can I at least learn to stilt-walk?”

“Why not? But it takes time, much time, to master it. You’ll soon go back to the city.”

Messan was right. I had little time. Couldn’t I master stilt-walking in a day? I’m pretty athletic, and I’m good at skateboarding. Isn’t that an advantage? I wondered. Besides, I was taller than Messan and I looked stronger than him. If he can stilt-dance twelve feet high then I’m sure I can stilt-walk half that height. How tough could it be?

“Can we start tomorrow?”

Messan looked at me with creased brows. “Sure. With beginners’ stilts.”

“How high are they?”

“Three feet.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you have a bit higher?”

“Six is next.” Messan shook his head. “Crawl before you walk.”

“Six feet isn’t too high. I already know how to balance myself on a skateboard! You’re just afraid I’ll be better than you!”

Messan face grew stony, and he shrugged. “As you wish.”

And that’s why I was standing on those stilts. As soon as Messan pulled the stepladder away, I felt light like a feather in the wind. I looked down at the ground far below. My feeling quickly changed—now I felt more like a brand-new learner suddenly let free on a very tall bike hurtling downhill!

“Ready to walk?” Messan called.

I couldn’t answer. I swallowed hard as the stilts seemed to tilt backward. I swung forward to compensate. Immediately the stilts pitched forward. I threw my hands into the air, trying to maintain balance. Then the sky whirled. And I felt the ground drop from under me. Am I floating up or plunging down? I wondered in a split second as I lost all sense of direction. Before I knew it, the earth was rushing to meet me. I heard myself scream for dear life, and then there came a jolt. Messan had caught me.

“Kankue, you’re safe,” Messan said, and my eyes flew open as he set me carefully down on the floor. Then he loosened the rope bindings that still held my feet to the stilts.

“Thanks, Messan,” I croaked. “I think maybe you were right about this—it is going to take a lot of practice!”

“I’m glad you’re not hurt. Do you want to try the beginners’ three-foot stilts?”

My heart still pounded. I looked at the stilts. Even the beginners’ were way up above a skateboard. This wasn’t going to be so easy. I opened my mouth to say no.

But then I remembered something. It hadn’t been easy learning to skateboard, either. Yet I had finally gotten the hang of it, and now I found it lots of fun. Hadn’t Messan said one could master stilt-walking with perseverance? And wasn’t this an ancestral skill I should try to acquire?

“Yes,” I decided, getting up with a smile.

Messan smiled too as he helped me onto the beginners’ stilts. I still fell a few times, but being three feet above the ground wasn’t quite as scary as six feet! And Messan is a really good teacher. I still need to practice—a lot—but I found out I can join the National Cultural Troop and continue training back in the city.

So next August, if you happen to be in West Africa, in the country of Togo, come on over to my father’s village for the annual Togbewo festival. There just may be a new challenger in the stilt-dancing competition!

If you enjoyed this story, you will love getting your own copy of My Friend--The Catholic Magazine for Kids  each month, filled with stories, comics, puzzles, and lots more! Click here for information on subscribing.