In northern Burkina-Faso near Pouni village, 27 different mask dancers from three different clans converged for a festival. There were representations of buffalo, snake, hyena, gazelle and owl bush spirits. This tribe is famous for their beautiful and powerful wooden masks. These colorful, energetic masked performers danced wildly, swinging their masked heads back and forth; scraping the ground, kicking up the dust, they entered a trancelike state, snorting like animals. Shouting villagers ran away from the large group of masked performers dancing in a moving circle. In between dances, the masked performers would lie under the trees to rest in the shade, watched over by mask "handlers", teenage boys with switches who scare away anyone who dares to come too close.

After two minutes, as I started to work more closely with a 35-70mm Zoom-Nikkor lens, one of the masked dancers jumped up and chased me with the stick he used in the dance. Like one of the villagers, I ran, frightened, trying to escape what might be a real beating. The masked dancer's stick grazed my ankles, slapping at the backs of my knees. As I was running, I understood that in this culture, the mask’s power was more than symbolic; it was real.