By Ibrahim S. Bangura
Kabala, Sierra Leone – In the cool highlands of northern Sierra Leone, the haunting sound of the antelope horn continues to echo through community gatherings, summoning dancers into sacred circles. But behind this powerful tradition lies a quiet struggle for survival among the musicians who keep it alive.
At the heart of the Poro Dance is John Conteh, a traditional horn blower known in Limba as the Batutuyon. His role is indispensable: the carved antelope horn directs the rhythm, spirit, and authority of the dance. “The horn is not just music. It speaks for our ancestors. It tells the dancers when to enter, when to move, and when to stop. Without it, the Poro Dance cannot exist,” Conteh told reporters during a recent performance in Kabala.
Dressed in a Limba ronko tunic and a Koranko hunter’s hat, Conteh guided men, women, and children into the circle with a three-note melodic pattern. The Poro Dance, traditionally performed at a groom’s home to welcome the bride, is a communal celebration of unity and identity. Women lead the songs, drums maintain the rhythm, and the horn provides direction.
Yet sustaining this heritage has become increasingly difficult. Conteh and fellow performers say they face severe economic hardship. “Performances are irregular, financial rewards are minimal, and there is no formal system to support traditional artists,” he explained. Instruments wear out, costumes are costly, and knowledge is passed on without compensation. “Sometimes young people refuse to learn because they see no progress in our lives. This is killing our beautiful heritage.”
Drummer Alhajie Sorie Samura echoed these concerns. “We play because it is our identity. But identity alone cannot feed a family. Many of us survive only when there is a ceremony. When there is none, there is nothing,” he said, calling on the government to extend support to rural performers, not just those in urban centers.
Women are also voicing alarm. Haja Mariama Conteh, a lead singer in the Poro Dance, warned that the tradition may vanish if younger generations continue to turn away. “Young people admire the dance, but they don’t want to learn it. They see our struggle and fear the same life. If nothing changes, this culture will disappear with us,” she said.
Community leaders and cultural practitioners are urging action. They recommend grants for traditional musicians, community cultural centers, regular festivals, youth apprenticeship programs, and integrating indigenous arts into school curricula. Expanding cultural tourism and media coverage could also provide sustainable income opportunities.
For Conteh, preserving the role of the Batutuyon is about more than performance—it is about sustaining living history. As he lifts his horn once again in Kabala, its sound carries both pride and urgency: a call for recognition, dignity, and support for Sierra Leone’s traditional musicians.