Ten days at Kisama

Ten days is a strange length for a festival. By day three you have a routine; by day seven you have opinions. Here is the shape of it.

Mornings belong to the arena

The gates at Kisama open early, and the arena programme starts with the light. Each day belongs to different tribes — war dances from the Konyak, harvest dances from the Zeliang, the Angami in full black and red. Photographers stake the front row before the first drum. You will recognise the regulars: they are the ones who stopped taking photos and just stand there.

The thing nobody films properly is the sound. Sixteen tribes’ worth of log drums, chants and brass, and it does not stay in the arena — it walks the whole ground with you.

Afternoons are for the morungs

Each tribe keeps a morung at Kisama — a communal house built in its own style. In the afternoons these come alive: elders by the fire, kids everywhere, rice beer moving in bamboo cups, and conversations that start with “where are you from” and end wherever they end. Sit down in a morung and an hour disappears.

The food stalls are the fastest education in Naga cooking there is — smoked pork, bamboo shoot, axone, snails if you are brave, all coming off wood fires in front of you.

Nights go down the hill

When the arena closes, the festival moves to Kohima. The night carnival takes over the town’s main stretch — food stalls, games, families, everyone from everywhere. The rock concerts and competitions run late. Buses and taxis shuttle the 12km between ground and town all evening; this is why your base matters (our stays guide breaks down the options).

Day ten

The last morning is quieter than you expect. Stalls pack down, the tribes travel home, and Kisama goes back to being a village on a hill between Kigwema and Phesama. The strange part is walking out with a routine you now have to break.

We will be there the whole ten days — come with us.