One evening in March our neighbor, Mama Yewa, sent a child to summon us to her home. She had earlier promised to perform dɔmɛisia, but we had been instructed to wait until her inclination and the proper occasion to do so coincided. This late dry-season time, just before the heavy work of rice planting began, was proving itself the theatre season in Mattru. Promises of performances which had been extended but deferred during the harvest and the time of first clearing were being honored by neighbors and acquaintances throughout the town. Mama Yewa's invitation had been especially awaited, for she seemed to have the strong clear voice, the sly sense of humor and the commanding presence which marked many of the finest performers we had seen in Mendeland.

She had set the stage before our arrival. Three adult women and several children were seated on small stools around a fire which would later cook Mama Yewa's evening meal. She herself was seated a little apart from her audience, forelighted by the fire. As soon as we had settled outselves and adjusted our recording paraphenalia, she called out the ideophone Tjatjala and so began her performance in this way: