TRAVEL WRITER
The sound reached me before the ceremony itself.
As I approached Ludzidzini, waves of singing drifted across the valley, rising and falling above the movement of thousands of people making their way towards the royal arena. Then came the colour. Groups of young women in vibrant traditional attire stretched across the landscape, their songs carrying on the warm September air.
This was Umhlanga, the Reed Dance, Eswatini’s most celebrated cultural event and one of the largest gatherings of its kind on the continent.
Nothing had prepared me for the scale.
From a distance, the procession seemed endless. Columns of participants advanced towards the arena in disciplined formations before dissolving into a sea of colour, song and movement. Spectators lined every available space, while vendors, families and visitors from across Southern Africa added to the festive atmosphere.
Yet the deeper story of Umhlanga begins long before the dancing.
Over eight days, young women from chiefdoms across the kingdom gather for a ceremony that combines tradition, service and celebration. After registering, they travel to designated reed beds where they cut and bundle reeds before carrying them back to the Queen Mother’s royal residence.
The journey is demanding. Older participants may cover considerable distances before returning with their bundles. By the time the public festivities begin, many have already spent days walking, working and preparing.
Those reeds are presented to the Queen Mother, the Indlovukazi, and are traditionally used to strengthen the protective windbreak around her residence. Only then does the ceremony move into its most visible phase.
On the afternoon of the sixth day, groups arrive carrying their reeds before entering the arena to sing and dance. The following day, attended by His Majesty the King, each regiment performs in turn before the royal household and the nation.
This is the moment most visitors come to witness.
Standing among the crowd, I watched as one group after another entered the arena. Their songs overlapped, creating a powerful wall of sound. Anklets rattled in rhythm with stamping feet. The energy was infectious.
What struck me most, however, was not the performance itself but the mood surrounding it.
Families had travelled from across the country. Friends gathered beneath trees sharing meals and stories. Elderly women offered guidance to younger relatives while children chased one another through the crowds. The event felt less like a festival and more like a national reunion.
At one point, I spoke to a young participant resting between performances.
“We are proud to be here,” she said simply.
There was no need for a lengthy explanation. The pride was evident everywhere.
For many participants, Umhlanga is a link between generations. Mothers and grandmothers who once attended now watch daughters and granddaughters take part. Traditions are passed on not through instruction but through participation.
What makes the ceremony particularly fascinating is how comfortably it exists alongside contemporary life. Between performances, participants checked phones, posed for photographs and shared moments on social media. The scene offered a reminder that cultural preservation does not require communities to reject modernity.
As afternoon turned towards evening, the arena became even more animated. Thousands of voices merged into a single chorus while dancers moved in remarkable synchronisation. The atmosphere was celebratory, but there was also a sense of purpose behind the pageantry.
Across much of the world, traditional ceremonies struggle to attract younger generations. In Eswatini, Umhlanga appears to be moving in the opposite direction. Cultural historians often point to its continued growth as evidence of a tradition that remains deeply relevant within contemporary society.
Perhaps that explains why the event feels so alive.
Nothing about it seemed staged or performed for outsiders. Visitors were welcome, but they remained observers of something fundamentally rooted in the lives of those taking part.
As the crowds slowly dispersed and the songs faded into the distance, I thought back to the images I had seen before travelling to Eswatini. They had captured the colour, the dancing and the spectacle.
What they could not capture was the sense of belonging.
That is the true power of Umhlanga. Beyond the music and ceremony lies a gathering that brings together generations, communities and traditions in a shared expression of identity.
