The Hamar bull-jumping ceremony — Ukuli Bula — is not a single act. It is a full day that builds, hour by hour, toward one young man's moment of truth. I filmed it for my vlog series in the Omo Valley, and here is how the day unfolds, step by step, so you understand what you are seeing.
Morning: the gathering
It starts early. Families walk in from surrounding villages, dressed in their best — the women in beaded necklaces and ochre-covered hair, the men with their feathered headpieces and body paint. Children run everywhere, excited. There is an atmosphere of a festival, but underneath it there is tension, because everyone knows what the day is really about.
The jumper — the young man whose manhood is on trial — is there with his family. He has prepared for this. In Hamar life, a boy grows up knowing this day is coming. His whole childhood points toward it.
The cattle are lined up
The centrepiece of the ceremony is the cattle lineup. A row of bulls is brought into the clearing and stood shoulder to shoulder, held steady by handlers. These are not small animals — they are big, powerful bulls, and they shift and sway.
Choosing and lining up the cattle is itself part of the ritual. The bulls must stand close enough that a running man can cross from back to back. The handlers work to keep them calm and in position. The crowd presses in around the lineup, and the noise rises — singing, shouting, encouragement, prayer.
The whipping of the women
Before the jump comes the part outsiders find hardest to understand. The jumper's female relatives — sisters, cousins, aunts — come forward and ask the men to whip their bare backs with thin, flexible branches.
I want to explain this carefully, because it is easy to misread. This is not violence done to women. It is something the women demand. In Hamar culture, these scars are the highest expression of loyalty a woman can show. She is telling her brother, her cousin, her family: your trial is my trial. I will carry the marks of this day on my body for years, so that everyone who sees them knows I stood with you.
The women blow horns, they sing, they provoke the men to strike harder. The blood runs down their backs. And they are proud. I filmed this with a heavy heart but a steady hand — my job was to witness, not to judge.
The leap
Then comes the silence before the leap. The jumper strips down, rubs himself with sand or dung for grip — the details vary — and takes his position at the end of the cattle line.
He runs. He launches himself onto the back of the first bull, and then he is running across living, moving backs — one, two, three — arms out for balance, the crowd roaring. He must cross the entire line without falling. If he falls, the ceremony fails, and the shame is public and lasting. Every eye in the clearing is on him; even the children go quiet.
When he makes it — and the jumper I watched made it — the release of tension is explosive. The village erupts. He is lifted, celebrated, congratulated. In that moment he stops being a boy.
What follows: a new man
After a successful Ukuli Bula, the young man is a maza. The word means man, but it means more than that — it means he is now eligible to marry, to own cattle, to sit with the elders. His childhood is officially over, and his adult life has truly begun.
The celebration continues into the evening with dancing and drink. Families who came to watch drift home under the stars. And somewhere in the village, a young man sleeps as an adult for the first time.
One thing I noticed throughout the day was how the whole village participated — nobody was a mere spectator. The older men supervised the cattle, the women sang and danced themselves into a state of fierce loyalty, the children ran between the adults absorbing everything. A ceremony like this is also a school: every child present is learning what will one day be expected of them. The boys watch the jumper and imagine their own day. The girls watch the women and learn what loyalty looks like in Hamar terms. Nothing is written down in this culture — everything is taught by witnessing.
I have seen many ceremonies in many countries, but Ukuli Bula stays with me because it is so honest. There is no paperwork, no certificate, no formality standing in for the real thing. A boy faces the bulls, the whole village watches, and the truth is visible to everyone. That is what a rite of passage is supposed to be.
Watch the full vlog here: YouTube
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