Carved Spirits

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Collection

01

Bekom Mask

This specific mask comes from the highlands of Western Cameroon, specifically from the Bekom chiefdom. People call this one a "cap mask" because of the way it’s worn, it sits horizontally on the head and doesn't even have eyeholes. It’s pretty unique. Its whole purpose is tied to various traditional ceremonies, especially the ones focused on fertility and honoring the original ancestors who started everything. It’s their way of staying connected to where they came from.

Cameroon Bamileke Bekom
02

Mbangu Mask

In the Kasaï region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Pende people are famous for some pretty remarkable masks, but the Mbangu is easily one of the most unique. It represents the kind of suffering you get from sorcery or illness, and that twisted face—usually split between black and white—makes it stand out immediately. It’s a lot more than just something to look at, though; it’s a tool for spiritual and social work. For the Pende, the Mbangu is mostly about healing. During ceremonies, a dancer would wear it to act out the illness or pain. The mask basically acted like a container, drawing the sickness into itself so it could be kicked out of the person and the community. It was all about settling the pain and getting things back into balance. Even though it looks a bit unsettling, the Mbangu was also used for a bit of social commentary. Those exaggerated features were a way to poke fun at people's flaws or bad behavior in a humorous, indirect way. It kept everyone in check while making them think. The mask was also seen as a shield against bad vibes. By personifying deformity and sickness, the Mbangu would attract those negative forces just to neutralize them, protecting the village from spells or malevolent energy. The black and white colors are there to show how opposites exist together—good and evil, health and sickness, beauty and ugliness. It’s a reflection of how complicated life is and how you have to find an equilibrium. Finally, the Mbangu played a big part in initiation rites for young men. It represented the tough challenges life throws at you and, more importantly, the fact that you can actually overcome them.

Kasaï DR Congo Pende
03

Songye Mask

The kifwebe cult gets its name from the Songye word for "mask." It started around the turn of the last century, mainly to keep some social order. These masks vary a lot in shape and color depending on who they’re supposed to be, and they show up everywhere—from funerals and secret society initiations to healing rituals and warding off enemies. You can usually tell the difference between the spirits they represent. Male masks (kilume) have these high crests for wisdom and are covered in red, black, and white stripes. They’re meant to be the dominant ones who enforce the rules. Female masks (kikashi) are usually white, which connects them to the moon, and they’re often larger with no crest at all. They represent balance and kindness, and you can sometimes see surface scratches that look like scarification. Even though all the dancers are men, they use these different styles to play out different roles. In Luba traditions, the fertility dances happen during the new moon, often alongside mankishi figures. Most masks have holes along the edges for long fiber beards, but if those holes are missing, they’re called Kabemba, or "hawks." It’s a whole system of symbols just to tell a story or keep the peace.

DR Congo Songye Luba
04

Ngbaka Mask

This one, from the Ngbaka people of the Ubangi region, in the North of DR Congo. It’s almost certainly tied to an initiation rituals, mostly as a way of showing that someone actually finished the whole thing.

DR Congo Ngbaka
05

Gouro Mask

The Gouro people live over in West Africa, mostly in the center-west part of Côte d'Ivoire around places like Bouaflé and Sinfra. Their dances are basically split into two groups: the sacred ones—like Djè or Loh—and the ones they do just for the fun of it, for celebrations. You might see masks at these dances, or you might not; it depends on the occasion. Among the celebration dances, they have a bunch of different ones like the Djéla or the Flaly, but the big name everyone knows is the Zaouli. That name actually covers three things at once: the mask, the costume, and the whole traditional dance itself. Then you’ve got the Flaly, which is a mask with a woman’s face from the town of Gohitafla. It looks a lot like the Zaouli mask, but it’s got toucan feathers on it, which gives it its own look.

Yeah ok i didn't find what kind of mask it exactly is but i will soon enough ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Gouro Ivory Coast
06

Ogbodo enyi Mask

In Southeast Nigeria, the Igbo people have created a huge, diverse variety of masks. Like most places in Africa, wearing them is strictly for the men. But there was this one time in 1975, in the village of Izzi, where an oracle actually suggested a woman should wear a mask like this several times a year to stop a tragic wave of infant deaths. This one is an elephant spirit. There’s a human head called an ntekpe popping out of the back, which marks it as either a "child of the spirit" or the spirit of a notable person. When these masks come out, it’s a sign that the ancestors are present—and they’re the ones responsible for the well-being of the living. Unlike most masks that move in packs, the ogbodo enyi performs solo, following a hierarchy based on age. It mixes human and elephant features and usually shows up during the dry season when the community has been purified and the paths are clear. It also makes an appearance at funerals for members of the specific age group it represents. Originally, the Ogbodo enyi character was pretty violent, roaming the village in a massive raffia robe and shouting threats. Nowadays, it’s much more benevolent, visiting the community to receive prayers and offerings. Some people also call these striking pieces "Wawa" masks.

Nigeria Igbo
07

We Gere Mask

Made of wood, horns, cowrie shells, hair, spent cartridges, and teeth.

Ivory Cost Liberia Dan
08

Pende Gikhoko Pendant

Back in the day, if you were a "somebody"—like the son of a chief or a big-shot notable—you’d get one of these after finishing the mukanda rites. It’s a whole initiation thing. Along with the pendant, you’d get a givule, which is supposed to be a piece of an ancestor’s soul. They carved them out of bone or ivory to show that these kids were finally men, inheriting all this spiritual and political weight.

DR Congo Pende
09

Dan Mask

Scared women's face

Ivory Cost Liberia Dan
10

Nsembu Mask

A culturally important ritual for the Kumu people is the circumcision of boys as they enter adulthood. The nsembu mask is used exclusively by members of the Nkunda Secret Society for the purposes of adult initiation. They also use the mask for divination under the effects of hallucinogens. The mask itself represents the diviner’s spirit. Kumu masks are somewhat rare, but the known examples tend to have wide open eyes and mouths, frequently with sharp teeth.

DR Congo Kumu
11

Salampasu Mask

These masks really come out for the initiation rites. For the big event, they set up a wooden stage with panels that have these carvings of people on them. The faces on those panels use the exact same design as the masks, which is a pretty cool touch. You see that same look on a few rare painted statues too. Also, the Salampasu people are incredibly talented when it comes to metalwork. They’re basically master blacksmiths, and they really know how to handle a forge. It’s one of those things they’re just naturally great at.

DR Congo Salampasu
12

Muminia Mask

The Lega people originally came from Uganda further to the Northeast, and they were likely the first ones to settle in the Umaniema region of the Congo. Their whole political and religious world is run by the Bwami association. It’s pretty specific to them, even though you see similar groups with different names in other nearby tribes. This particular mask is a muminia type. Each community only ever had one of them, which is a big deal. For any initiation to any grade to actually happen, the muminia had to be there. It’s the mask they use for the very first Bwami initiation, and it represents a bit of a contradiction—it stands for a high-ranking, powerful member of the association, but also a troublemaker. It’s got a bit of both in it.

DR Congo Lega Bwami

I’m Raph. These are some African masks from various ethnic groups that I’ve grown to be quite fond of, for one reason or another. I wanted to show them to you mostly because they’ve been on my mind. Growing up, our house was full of them, and if I’m being honest, I thought they were terrifying. I really did. Lately, though, I’ve felt this need to get a little closer to my roots. This whole project is just a small tribute to that feeling.

I should probably give an actual reason for doing this, other than the lazy but very true one, which is that I think it looks good. The thing is, the older I get, the more everything starts to separate into these sharp little piles in my head. Stuff that used to mildly bug me now really gets under my skin. Stuff I once sort of liked does the same thing, which feels unfair, but there it is.

What really sticks with me, though, is how much simply never showed up. Pre-colonial Africa, for instance, might as well have been a rumor. It wasn’t in the books that were easy to find. It wasn’t on TV. And I can’t pretend I was some heroic kid actively searching for it either. I didn’t know to look. So when I finally did, it felt less like learning something new and more like realizing something had been quietly missing the whole time. Luckily, some people went digging before I ever thought to, and left a trail behind. Otherwise I’m not sure I would have known where to start.

This is probably the part where I’m supposed to explain why this page exists at all. It started on one of those rainy days that make everything look a little more dramatic than it deserves to be. I was at home when I noticed this trippy-looking mask sitting out on the balcony, doing a very convincing impression of something that was about to rot quietly and be forgotten. So I rushed out and rescued it, because letting a wooden thing die slowly in the rain felt wrong in a way I can’t fully justify.

Later, being a 3D enthusiast and all, I opened Blender and immediately faced the important question of what to name the file. It was either african_mask or save_wooden_beauty_from_balcony, which tells you roughly where my head was at. After that, I did what anyone with too much time and an internet connection does. I spent a few hours browsing through various self-proclaimed art galleries and some deeply questionable merchant websites. And the one thing they all seemed to have in common was that they were selling these things. Re-selling them, really. That part stuck with me, and it irritated me more than I expected.

What feels off about it isn’t simply that they’re being sold. Lots of things are sold, and that part alone isn’t the problem. It’s the way it happens. Ownership changes hands without any ceremony at all, like that part never mattered. Profit shows up dressed as appreciation, which makes it harder to call out. And somewhere in the process, the context just slips away.

It feels worse when you realize that many of these pieces aren’t decorative objects to begin with. They belong to someone’s religion, someone’s way of making sense of the world. But online they’re flattened into product descriptions, advertised as a way to bring a little “exoticism” into your living room, as if that was ever the point.