African Battle Traditions of Insult: Verbal Arts, Song-Poetry, and Performance (African Histories and Modernities) [1st ed. 2023] 3031156161, 9783031156168

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AFRICAN HISTORIES AND MODERNITIES

African Battle Traditions of Insult Verbal Arts, Song-Poetry, and Performance Edited by  Tanure Ojaide

African Histories and Modernities Series Editors

Toyin Falola The University of Texas at Austin Austin, TX, USA Matthew M. Heaton Virginia Tech Blacksburg, VA, USA

This book series serves as a scholarly forum on African contributions to and negotiations of diverse modernities over time and space, with a particular emphasis on historical developments. Specifically, it aims to refute the hegemonic conception of a singular modernity, Western in origin, spreading out to encompass the globe over the last several decades. Indeed, rather than reinforcing conceptual boundaries or parameters, the series instead looks to receive and respond to changing perspectives on an important but inherently nebulous idea, deliberately creating a space in which multiple modernities can interact, overlap, and conflict. While privileging works that emphasize historical change over time, the series will also feature scholarship that blurs the lines between the historical and the contemporary, recognizing the ways in which our changing understandings of modernity in the present have the capacity to affect the way we think about African and global histories. Editorial Board Akintunde Akinyemi, Literature, University of Florida, Gainesville, USA Malami Buba, African Studies, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies, Yongin, South Korea Emmanuel Mbah, History, CUNY, College of Staten Island, USA Insa Nolte, History, University of Birmingham, USA Shadrack Wanjala Nasong’o, International Studies, Rhodes College, USA Samuel Oloruntoba, Political Science, TMALI, University of South Africa, South Africa Bridget Teboh, History, University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, USA

Tanure Ojaide Editor

African Battle Traditions of Insult Verbal Arts, Song-Poetry, and Performance

Editor Tanure Ojaide Department of Africana Studies The University of North Carolina at Charlotte Charlotte, NC, USA

ISSN 2634-5773     ISSN 2634-5781 (electronic) African Histories and Modernities ISBN 978-3-031-15616-8    ISBN 978-3-031-15617-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023, corrected publication 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the ­publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and ­institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Book cover artwork, ‘Ighomo’ is produced by Bruce Onobrakpeya. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

In memory of Okitiakpe, Memerume, Oloya, and other traditional African poets and performers who blazed the battle tradition of insult.

About the Book

This book explores the “battles” of words, songs, poetry, and performance in Africa and the African Diaspora. These are usually highly competitive artistic contests in which rival parties duel for supremacy in poetry composition and/or its performance. This volume covers the history of this battle tradition, from its origins in Africa, especially the udje and halo of the Urhobo and Ewe, respectively, and other African variants, its transportation to the Americas and the Caribbean region during the Atlantic slave trade period, and its modern and contemporary manifestations as battle rap or other forms of popular music in Africa. Almost everywhere there are contemporary manifestations of the more traditional older genres. The book is thus made up of studies of contests in which rivals duel for supremacy in verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance as they display their wit, sense of humor, and poetic expertise.

Contents

1 I ntroduction  1 Tanure Ojaide Part I African Origins  15 2 Battle  by All Means: Udje as Oral Poetry and Performance 17 Tanure Ojaide 3 Halo: The Ewe Battle Tradition of Music, Songs, and Performance 37 Honoré Missihoun 4 Poetry  and Ping-Pong: Auto/Biographical Verbal Duels in Yoruba Polygamous Households 55 Adetayo Alabi 5 Shairi and Malumbano: The Tradition of Verbal Warfare in Swahili Literature 79 Mwenda Mbatiah

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6 Moral  Authority of Shona Women’s Battlesongs: Revising Customary Law in the Context of Performance Within African Indigenous Knowledge System 93 Beauty Vambe Part II Diaspora Manifestations 113 7 Battles,  Raps, Cappin’, The Dozens: African-­American Oral Traditions of Insult115 Michele Randolph and Maliek Lewis 8 Black  Greek Step Shows133 Debra C. Smith 9 Battle  Rap: An Exploration of Competitive Rhyming in Hip Hop147 Matthew Oware 10 Fighting  Words: Songs of Conflict, Censure, and Cussout in Trinidad and Tobago Carnival165 Funso Aiyejina 11 Oral  Tradition and Cultures in Dialogue: Ondjango Angolano and Jongo da Serrinha183 Tonia Leigh Wind 12 Stanzas  and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley, Rio de Janeiro205 Matthias Röhrig Assunção Part III New Transformations 243 13 Yabis,  A Nigerian Genre of Insult245 Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega

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14 Epistemic  Recuperation and Contemporary Reconfiguration of the Verbal Battle Tradition in the Poetry of Tanure Ojaide and Kofi Anyidoho263 Mathias Iroro Orhero 15 The  Creativity of Abuse: Power, Song and the ‘Authority of Insults’ in Zimbabwean Music, Post 2017281 Maurice Taonezvi Vambe 16 Bongo  Fleva: Its Lyrics, “Inappropriate” Content, Source, and Possible Harm299 Dunlop Ochieng  Correction to: Stanzas and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley, Rio de JaneiroC1 Matthias Röhrig Assunção Index315

Notes on Contributors

Funso Aiyejina  is a Nigerian writer, biographer, and literary and cultural critic. He is Professor Emeritus, Department of Literary, Cultural, and Communication Studies, The University of the West Indies, St. Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago. Adetayo  Alabi  is Professor of English, University of Mississippi, with specialization in African and Postcolonial literatures and the autobiography genre in Africa. Matthias  Röhrig  Assunção  is Professor of Latin American History at the University of Essex, UK, and a specialist of Brazilian history and Afro-­ Brazilian culture, in particular capoeira. Maliek  Lewis  is a student of philosophy at The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, USA. Mwenda  Mbatiah  is Professor of Swahili at the University of Nairobi, Kenya. He is a creative writer and literary critic. Honoré  Missihoun  teaches in the Africana Studies Department, The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, USA. Dunlop Ochieng  lectures at The Open University of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Tanure Ojaide  is the Frank Porter Graham Professor of Africana Studies at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, USA. Educated at Ibadan and Syracuse, Tanure Ojaide has published twenty-one collections of xiii

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poetry, as well as novels, short stories, memoirs, and scholarly work. He has won the Association of Nigerian Authors’ Poetry Prize four times: 1988, 1994, 2003, and 2011. His other awards include the Commonwealth Poetry Prize for the Africa Region, the All-Africa Okigbo Prize for Poetry, and the BBC Arts and Africa Poetry Award. In 2016, he won both the African Literature Association’s Folon-­Nichols Award for Excellence in Writing and the Nigerian National Order of Merit Award for the Humanities. In 2018, he co-won the Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa. He has won the National Endowment for the Arts grant, twice the Fulbright, and twice the Carnegie African Diaspora Program fellowship. Enajite  Eseoghene  Ojaruega is Associate Professor and Department Chair of English at Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria, and specializes in gender, cultural, and literary studies. Mathias Iroro Orhero  is a doctoral student in the English Department at McGill University, Montreal, Canada, doing comparative studies of African and Canadian literatures. Matthew Oware  is Professor of Sociology at the University of Richmond, VA, USA, with expertise in popular culture and hip hop. Michele Randolph  graduated in History and Africana Studies from The University of North Carolina at Charlotte and is currently in the MBA program at Pembroke, NC, USA. Debra C. Smith  is Associate Professor of Africana Studies with expertise in media and popular culture at The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, USA. Beauty  Vambe  is Senior Lecturer and teaches Mercantile Law at the University of South Africa, Pretoria. Maurice Taonezvi Vambe  is Professor of African Literature in English at the University of South Africa, Pretoria. Tonia Leigh Wind  is currently a lecturer in Portuguese and Lusophone Studies at Cardiff University, UK.

List of Figures

Fig. 16.1 Fig. 16.2

A window of MAXQDA 2022 showing the used text and codes 301 The ratio between explicitly and inexplicitly expressed inappropriate content 305

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List of Tables

Table 16.1 Table 16.2 Table 16.3 Table 16.4 Table 16.5

A guideline for coding the inappropriate phrases and clauses in bongo fleva lyrics 302 Types of inappropriate content in bongo fleva 302 Samples of phrases representing inappropriate content in the lyrics303 The use of reflected meanings and ambiguities 306 Dummy reference of sexual organs and sexual movements 306

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction Tanure Ojaide

There are challenges to studies of Africa and the African diaspora because of the extensive spread involved. Paul Gilroy’s canonic The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (1993) emphasizes history and politics but admits that “Black Atlantic culture is so massive” and goes on to say, “The history of the Black Atlantic yields a course of lessons as to the instability and mutability of identities which are always unfinished, always being remade (xi, emphasis mine). He sees “artistic expression” as “the means towards both individual self-fashioning and communal liberation” (40). Cultural practices in the diaspora enable identity with the mother continent. Gilroy’s reference to culture is more in general terms than specific cultural practices. Recently, Akintunde Akinyemi and Toyin Falola edited The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore (2021). This work also has manifestations of some African oral traditions and folklore in the diaspora. This handbook of oral traditions deals with a multiplicity of oral forms.

T. Ojaide (*) Department of Africana Studies, The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_1

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Academic inquiries into individual regions or aspects of the diaspora thus exist but such have not yet mapped out the progression of a specific artistic phenomenon in Africa and its migration through the Atlantic slave trade to different parts of the world where captured Africans settled. African old folkloric traditions have transformed into new and unique but similar forms and in some cases African cultural practices that left the continent come back in new forms. Diffusion takes place in new environments but overall Africa and its diaspora share a cultural identity that such practices affirm. One of such traditions is the battle of words, songs/poetry, and performance. In this tradition of highly competitive verbal arts, song-­ poetry, and performance, the audience is enthralled by its wit, poetry, and spectacle. When Derek Walcott, in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, talks of a culture of flamboyance in the Caribbean, he is mindful of its African origin in many artistic forms that originated in Africa and are still vibrant within and outside the Mother Continent. This work thus sets out to map out and critique the battle traditions of the verbal arts, song-­ poetry, and performance that have established their respective individual uniqueness and significance in the continent and its diaspora as each case of the tradition’s manifestation appropriates elements of the socio-cultural environment in its current and past settings. The folklore of Africa and the African diaspora is replete with traditions, mostly oral but in modern times could be written, that are “battles” of words, songs, poetry, and performance talent. They are usually highly competitive artistic contests in which rival parties duel for supremacy in poetry composition and/or its performance. What this book attempts to establish is the uniqueness of a tradition of insult or abuse couched in verbal exchange, songs or poetry, and performance in Africa and the African diaspora. Usually, the battle of talents involves organizing rival sides or groups, individuals, quarters of the same town, or towns against towns. In the United States, in addition to individual against individual contests, there are colleges against colleges in Greek Step Shows and boroughs against boroughs, and even East Coast engaging the West Coast in Battle Rap. It is a form of verbal and performance combat between designated sides. It is interesting that the metaphor of battle is used in their respective places to describe the Nigerian Urhobo Udje; the Ghanaian, Togolese, and Beninois Halo; the African-American Battle Rap; the Trinidadian and Tobagonian Calypso; and the Afro-Brazilian Jongo. These battles could be prepared for or take place instantaneously. Africa has many of such traditions as the Udje and Halo which need months of preparation and the Zulu and Tswana Izibongo oral poetic performance

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which is done ex tempore. In the diaspora, there are also performances such as Calypsos and Greek Step Shows that need preparation while African-American Dozens, like the Nigerian Yabis and “bad mouth,” tend to follow the off-the-cuff method. The artists thus have to train to respond instantaneously and with wit, humor, and strong images to take part in their competitions or when challenged to do so. It is important to note from the beginning that anthropologists have found cultures where verbal challenges exist in other parts of the world. As Matthias Röhrig Assunção puts it in his chapter: Recent work has shown the importance of verbal challenges, mainly in poetic forms, in countries as diverse as Indonesia, Italy, Fiji, Bolivia and Turkey (Bowen, Mathias, Brenneis and Padarath, Solomon, Dundes et al.,). This suggests the widespread prevalence of ritualized verbal challenges between males. Similarly, stick-play (and fighting with sticks) has been a feature of many societies in Europe, Africa and Asia. Irish and Portuguese men excelled in it, as well as many Southern African peoples such as the Zulu. It was or is also prominent in the Philippines, Southern India and the plantation societies of the Caribbean. (Gallant, Hurley, Coetzee, Ryan, Brereton 167–75, Zarrilli, Oliveira, Wolf)

Flyting contest was said to have been practiced in Scotland from the fifth to the sixteenth centuries. While traditions of verbal challenges existed or still exist elsewhere in the world, the most elaborate satirical and poetic “battle” of words, song-poetry, and performance practices are found in Africa from where they spread out during the slave trade to the Americas and the Caribbean, among other places, where they were practiced in new environments which brought about transformation and syncretization. In most of the African battle traditions, there are meticulous and elaborate preparations of the songs and their performance. The groups keep their songs and performance or dance steps secret until the public outing to produce a sense of surprise and novelty of their artistic work. With varying differences, two known opposing or rival sides are established. In the Udje tradition of the Urhobo people of Nigeria, the battle of songs and performance between Iwhrekan and Edjophe is legendary, as that between Ekrokpe and Ekakpamre. The Ewe people who live in the southern parts of Ghana, Togo, and Benin also have the Halo tradition. In the Ewe Halo battle of songs and dance, the subjects of the satirical butts are invited to the arena to witness what is composed against them performed. It is said that for the subject of the song to express anger, nervousness, or disquiet

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shows that the song has succeeded in its objective of destabilizing its subject. For this reason, the subjects of Halo songs often laugh with the audience as if the songs have had no effect on them. There are continuities and manifestations of the African genre of insult in the diaspora. Like the Ewe Halo, in the Dozens, the two opponents keep a bold face and whoever gets angry or flares up is adjudged to have lost the contest. The Trinidadian Calypso during Carnival also demands weeks or months of preparation from its participants. Like the Udje, the participants keep their songs and performance secret until the time of public performance. That legendary rivalry between Oloya of Iwhrekan and Memrume of Edjophe is comparable to the calypso war (picong) between Sparrow and Kitchener and also between Sparrow and Melody. The tradition of artistic insults or abuse in Urhobo and Ewe societies originates from similar socio-cultural and political objectives of deploying language as a weapon to fight the enemy or rival and concluding with performance to so enrage the other side as to humiliate it. The songs and performance in the form of dance are composed as highly imaginative poetry meant to “wound” the other side. While this is taken as a purely artistic contest in most parts of Africa and the African diaspora, in some of this tradition of insult or abuse, as of Halo in its heydays, it assumed a violent confrontational nature. This turned to violence in many places and might have led to its suppression or abolition as among the Anlo-Ewe of Ghana. The social unrest it caused might have led Kwame Nkrumah to ban its practice as a matter of law and order decision. Among the Urhobo, the colonial government used customary and magistrate courts in Warri/ Delta Province to suppress Udje songs and their performance with stiff penalties against those sentenced for libeling with their songs. In all the regions of the African world where the battle of insults is practiced, the style allows or allowed exaggeration, choice of fictional materials, and underhand techniques to describe the subject in such a way as to humiliate him or her. Among the Ewe and Urhobo even the dead are still subjects of biting songs. A major objective is to describe somebody or the subject of the song so as to be laughed at; hence there is copious use of humor, caricature, burlesque, irony, and other techniques that achieve the objective of being laughed at and humiliated. The attributes of Udje and Halo are carried over into Jongo, the Dozens, and Calypso. A major characteristic therefore of this tradition is a formally or informally arranged schedule of song-poetry performance in which one side has its turn and the other side watches and listens and then the roles are

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reversed the next time. The Udje and Halo are yearly contests and often fall on festival times or other arranged times. One can say the same of Calypso during Carnival time and the African-American Greek letter organizations’ Step Shows. However, in other practices as in Battle Rap or dissing, the responses could be as soon as provoked because of the availability of modern technology, radio, and television. There appears to be an underlying religious aspect to some of the traditional practices as a restraining factor to human excesses in going beyond bounds and causing chaos. This might be seen as necessary with the use of fabricated materials that could be carried too far. In any case, each side plays the role of performer and audience in alternate seasons, years, or times. One can infer from the openness of the performance with known provokers or challengers as a mark of boldness that is related to masculinity as practiced in such societies. Udje, Halo, Capoeira, the Dozens, and Battle Rap seem to be used to express masculinity in their respective societies. Nothing is hidden or taken as personal as such but seen as a communal or social responsibility to attack and be attacked with satiric songs. It is a utilitarian artistic genre with moral and ethical objectives to not only deter folks from breaking established socio-cultural codes but also maintaining normalcy in society where deviants could cause disharmony and chaos. As a result of listening to insults against oneself or one’s side, one is provoked to compose another song or songs to respond or retaliate to so hurt the other person or side as to deter from further verbal assaults. Thus, many songs are responses to earlier provocations in songs and this cycle goes on and on till one side springs a surprise that becomes the beginning of another thread of songs. The tradition has at its roots a dialogic tendency of responding to the latest insult, verbal abuse, or song which itself elicits further responses. So the tradition is self-growing as each song takes off from or builds upon an earlier song as the Urhobo, Ewe, Swahili, and Trinidadian/Caribbean, and Afro-Brazilian song-poems testify. It should be noted that some of the traditions are more restrained than others in provocation. While Udje attacks those related to or who assist the ororile and obo-ole, the poet and performer respectively, it is taken as unethical to insult folks for natural deformity or other forms of natural challenges unless they are seen as assisting the principal actors of their sides in the composition of the song-poetry or its performance. Many works in the form of essays, book chapters, and entire books have been written on specific traditions such as Udje, Halo, the Swahili Malumbano, the African-American Dozens, Battle Rap, Hip-Hop,

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Calypso, and Jongo, among others. However this current project is to put these similar traditions of Africa and the black world in one book so as to foreground the similarities as well as differences and uniqueness arising from their respective socio-political and cultural backgrounds. The essays in this book thus delineate the battle traditions of insult through verbal arts, songs/poetry, and performance from their presence in Africa, especially the Udje and Halo of the Urhobo and Ewe respectively and other African variants, their transportation to the Americas and the Caribbean region during the slave trade period, and their modern and contemporary manifestations as Battle Rap, Yabis, or other forms of popular music in Africa. Almost everywhere there are contemporary manifestations of the more traditional older genres. While this study focuses on socio-cultural subjects, there is a geographical aspect to it. If these traditions migrated from West and Central Africa, where are the “transplants” of the tradition in the so-called New World? The study affirms the vast geography of a diaspora in its dispersion of the Mother Continent’s cultural practices to other lands far away. In this case, the United States, Trinidad and Tobago, Cuba, and Brazil, among others, are new lands in the practice of these artistic confrontational contests. It is instructive to know from this study that cultural practices do not only move from the Mother Continent into the diaspora but transformations and syncretizations of these artistic practices also go back from the diaspora to Africa and back again to the diaspora. This appears in the diasporic continuum as some African musicians play in the United States and black musicians outside the continent visit for crowded shows. This practice is what Gilroy refers to as the “magical processes of connectedness that arise as much from the transformation of diaspora cultures to Africa and the traces of Africa that those diaspora cultures enclose” (199). There is evidently an emergent circulatory nature to practices of insult that go beyond the oral to new media that have the capacity to drive home what can now be termed globalized practices. Similarly, there is a historical aspect to the tradition. Which of the African diaspora practices are the farthest and which the closest to the present in history? The retentions tend to be strongest in the diaspora where there were captured Africans in small islands such as Belize and Surinam or large African populations of the same ethnic group as in Brazil and the Caribbean. There have been studies in history, including Curtin’s and Gilroy’s, which give a good idea where captured Africans of different ethnic nationalities were taken to during the Atlantic slave trade. It has been established in many studies that people from present-day

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Mozambique, Angola, and Congo said to be of Bantu stock were shipped at particular times to Brazil. Maroon communities in the Caribbean and South America seem to recreate ancestral cultural practices without slave master interventions such as banning artistic practices they feared were means of secret communication among the enslaved population. Thus, small islands and physically cut-off African settlements in the diaspora retain more of the African practices. Are some of the practices twice or thrice removed from the original practices in Africa? As often happens in diaspora studies, what are the strengths of the retentions and absorptions? In other words, how much of the original is reflected in the syncretism of cultures from Africa, Europe, Asia, and indigenous America in the diaspora traditions of these songs and performances? There is a measure of absorption of other cultural practices in the Brazilian case of Jongo where Portuguese Christian culture is absorbed into the tradition to have not just Jongo (caxambu) but also Calango and the king’s procession. From the history of the Bantu-speaking people’s forced migration to Brazil, there can be seen a difference in the battle tradition of Jongo which derives from Umbundu for riddle from the tradition that Africans from West Africa, especially the Yoruba, Ewe, and Urhobo, whose songs of insult performed in a public space for communal entertainment and identity. As some of the essays will reveal, these performances enable not just a sense of group solidarity but also a sense of individual and community competition. Having a sense of belonging and a competitive spirit are important values to the African. And there is the language angle to these songs. Sub-Saharan Africa has a plethora of tonal languages. Coincidentally, the Ewe of Ghana, Togo, and Benin Republic have similar myths of origin and language with the Urhobo of Nigeria. While both ethnic groups appropriate a distant Ife relationship and their respective legendary figures of Agokoli and Ogiso seem to have similar traits, their languages have so much in common that some names like Akpome and Kome are the same. They have kp, gb, rh, vw, among other consonant clusters. However, in their “migration” to the Western Hemisphere, the song-poems are composed and performed in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, depending on the nationalities of their composers and performers. The Bantu groups from Kongo-­ Angola seem to have formed 25–30 percent of captured Africans brought to Brazil in the late eighteenth century. Since their languages were mutually intelligible, they were able to practice their cultural traditions. Jongo apparently derives from Umbundu “songo” or Kikuyu “zongo” which

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relate to a “bullet mouth” that tells the aggressiveness of words. Matthias Röhrig Assunção mentions in his chapter on Jongo how the Portuguese language has affected the rhyming contest among blacks in the Paraibo Valley of Rio de Janeiro State. So, what is glaring about the battle tradition of insults through verbal exchange, song-poetry composition, and performance of Africa and the African diaspora is one cultural phenomenon undergoing varieties of transformations and drawing on new realities and experiences to be defined for what it is—a battle of poetry/songs and performance of the African world. And, as will be expected, what are the ongoing new forms of these traditional artistic forms? There is no doubt that a diaspora involves carried-­over practices that entrench the cultural identity of its people and this artistic tradition of songs and performance does that for Africa and its diaspora. Both Halo and Udje, from their respective histories, trace the origin of the artistic battle traditions to social and human efforts to channel their anger, rivalry, competitiveness, and hostilities from the physical to the artistic. Instead of rivalry to be exhibited physically, they surmised it would be better done artistically. The sparring of partners through the resources of the imagination ennobles the two sides in their pursuit of artistic excellence and entertainment. Which of the parties is more quick-witted, poetic, humorous, and performative? The audience always seems to know the rules of the artistic practice and adjudges one side winner of the two-­ side contest. The objectives of the founders of this tradition is to use it as a peace-­ building mechanism to manage the many conflicts that beset them at various levels of social habitation such as individual personalities, quarters of the same town, villages, and even towns. Thus, the tradition is a conflict resolution and peace maintenance mechanism because without it there would be a lot of physical conflicts that undermine the stability and peace of society. In the infinite wisdom of the old in traditional African societies, they devised a means to avoid bloodshed which had depleted many of their communities and worsened the chaotic state during the slave-raiding period for an agreed-upon novel way of settling scores—not by physical fighting but verbal/poetic shots that would bring out the best in their imagination, entertain them, and, in fact, bring them together on occasions, and laugh at each other, and reflect on their own lives. Masculinity was no longer a macho thing of physical prowess of fighting or wrestling,

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violent undertakings, but an artistic contest of the most imaginative, poetic, witty, humorous, and artistically superior. Similarly, the battle traditions of insult in the diaspora play a role in the societies. For example, as both Michele Randolph and Maliek Lewis will emphasize in their chapter, the Dozens is a rite of passage for young blacks. To them, “The Dozens trains a participant in the art of self-control; to remain calm and unfazed when a form of violence is being enacted upon you. Participants learn the value of self-respect and self-love; they learn the value of a sharp mind in order to defend themselves as well as how to disguise their vulnerability and insecurities. The engagement in the verbal game readies the participants to the experiences that are inherent in the oppressive society in which they live.” The Greek Step Show, Calypso, and Jongo also teach discipline and self-control in the face of pressure. For peace to be kept the founding fathers (and mothers) knew that the people, community, and audience must gain something to make turning away from violence worth it. The artistic verbal arts are almost always couched in laughter. As the Urhobo say, laughter is “sweet” (Ewhe vwerhere). The practitioners of these artistic battles expect intellectual and physical forms of delight in the witty and poetic verbal arts and also their sheer humor. Wit and humor are thus essential parts of the tradition. After each performance, the audience/spectators share their responses to the beauty and wit of the songs and performance. They relish the images and stunning tropes deployed to sing about a person. Highly imaginative metaphors are used to describe opponents to elicit laughter in these insults especially in Udje, the Dozens, Jongo, Calypso, and Yabis. As already noted, there is fabrication of materials to meet the demand for humor. A performance of these battle arts without humor is dubbed a failure. It is not surprising about the stretch of facts and the imagination in Calypso, Udje, Halo, the Dozens, and Capoeira and Jongo to deploy so much that would make the audience or spectators to burst out laughing. No wonder, too, many of these practices take place during festivals when folks are expected to be relaxing and having holidays. Laughter, after all, is a good communal medicine to avert physical and violent confrontations. These battle traditions of words, song poetry, and performance migrated from Africa through the European epochal rupture of the people in the three-century-long slave trade in which over 15 million youths were captured and forcibly taken to plantation farms and servitude in the Americas, the Caribbean, and Europe. This study is aware of the Arab/ Muslim slave trade and the fact that Africans were taken as far as Jeddah,

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China, and even Russia. There are also people of African affinity in Oceania. However, the focus here is on Africa and the diaspora in the Western Hemisphere where the Atlantic slave trade brought many Africans for labor to enrich an emergent capitalist Western coalition. A lot of mediations have entered these battle traditions of verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance. As would be expected of diasporic traditions, diverse experiences of history, geography, environment, social adaptations, and innovations have diversified the unique African tradition. Even within the African homeland, colonialism, modernity, and globalization have transformed things to change within the indigenous languages and local settings of verbal and artistic practices. These transformations are foregrounded in foreign languages such as English and Portuguese. In the diaspora, many languages used by blacks are creole or patois and so bear Africanisms especially of Bantu languages and terms in Jongo in the European languages. This unique tradition that exists in Africa and its diaspora in various forms affirms artistic excellence in the verbal arts, poetry, song, and performance. Its practice raises the stakes in its competitive nature to always heighten the tempo. In that way, there is increasing intensity as each side sharpens its wit for maximum impact of attack and counter-attack. The objective of each rival side’s words is to either wound the opponent’s psyche or ego or provoke and challenge so brazenly to elicit a sharp hostile response. Duels such as between Ekakpamre rivals and also between Oloya of Iwhrekan and Memerume of Edjophe in the Udje practice show the dialogic nature of this artistic practice. The same nature of combative rivalry is exhibited among the Anlo and Aja Ewe people of Ghana, Togo, and Benin. The composers of the poems or verbal forays are insistent on not using the same images twice but always keeping their words fresh, poetic, and memorable. Writers and performers in regions of this tradition have a lot to borrow from their works in Africa, North America, the Caribbean, and Latin America. Studies such as Mathias Iroro Orhero’s on reincarnations of Halo and Udje in the respective poetic works of Kofi Anyidoho and Tanure Ojaide show how the tradition is ongoing in recent times. Funso Aiyejina has written on the literary works of Earl Lovelace who is also indebted to the Calypso tradition. There is an enduring contemporaneity to this tradition of insults. What is significant is using artistic, verbal, and performance resources of the past to address contemporary challenges. If traditional Udje and Halo embarrassed social deviants to fall into line, poets,

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dramatists, and fiction writers of contemporary times in Africa and the diaspora satirize to make folks keep to values that hold society together. Writers integrate these traditions into their artistic works to give a cultural identity from subtle to more brazen patterns. Many observers see the influence of Jongo on evangelical songs in their rhythm and general patterns in Brazil. At this juncture, let me summarize the content of the book. After this introductory chapter about the nature, pattern, and significance of the battle traditions of insult in the African Atlantic world, there are three broad sections: African Origins, Diasporic Manifestations, and New Transformations and the Circularity of Diasporic Traditions. About five essays/chapters focus on each section to elucidate the totality of that phase or pattern of verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance. The African Origins consist of Urhobo Udje, Ewe Halo, rivalries in polygamous Yoruba households, Swahili Malumbano, and Shona traditions of abuse. The section on Diasporic Manifestations deals with the Dozens, Greek Step Show, Battle Rap, Jongo, and Calypso. The third part of the book shines light on further new manifestations of the African and diasporic traditions in the global era. This part deals with “New Transformations of Diasporic Traditions.” These new transformations include Yabis, Tanzanian Bongo fleva, and the recuperation and reconfiguration of the battle traditions of verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance in modern literature. Each chapter builds upon preceding chapters to reinforce the battling nature of the specific genre. In some instances, two essays reinforce each other as the two essays on Jongo in which Tonia Leigh Wind’s “Oral Tradition and Cultures in Dialogue: Ondjango Angolano and Jongo da Serrinha” in fact quotes from Matthias Röhrig Assunção’s “Stanzas and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraiba Valley, Rio de Janeiro.” Assuncao’s essay appears to take off from where Wind’s ends to include Calango and Folia which though of African origin have Portuguese and Catholic influences. Similarly, Michele Randolph’s and Maliek Lewis’s chapter on the Dozens presages Matthew Oware’s chapter on Battle Rap. Going through the tradition, there are comparisons as of legendary rivalries as in Nigerian/Urhobo Udje between Memerume and Oloya and in Trinidadian Calypso between Sparrow and Kichener and Lord Melody and Mighty Sparrow at different times. And finally Mathias Orerho’s essay on contemporary African poetry relates to Udje and Halo. There is thus overall connectedness of all the essays which brings out the similarities, varieties, and contextual specificities of each.

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These crosscurrents indicate the diversity that the battle tradition of insults has come to encompass. As already discussed, the essays in this section affirm their African predecessors to which they owe much in style. However, the respective environments in the diaspora establish their role and mode of composition and performance. The case of African-Americans using the Dozens and Battle Rap to overcome the stress of the racist capitalist system of the United States is an example of the adaptability of each manifestation of the tradition in the so-called New World. All the chapters form a cohesive statement about this African tradition and its spread to the diaspora. Historically these traditions started at different times and different places but later time and space are shrunk as the current phenomenon of global hip-hop which appears in  localized versions but remain authentically African and whose roots go deep into pre-­ slave trade and precolonial times through slavery, colonialism, up to the present. The changes will continue to go on in the tradition and one cannot predict what it will look like as artists and people all over the world embrace its composition and practice. The things we share culturally are relevant to today’s demands. The battle tradition grants democratic space to all actors to respond—talk back on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and WhatsApp. It levels speech and makes it “free” in a sense that nobody has the last word and so there is a dialogic sequence that helps to bring to the fore the issues that need to be addressed toward a society of shared views/opinions in which there is often as much disagreement as agreement. One may ask, what is the significance of this book on the African battle tradition of the verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance? Many of these traditions are steeped in indigenous knowledge from which they derive their values, significance, and contemporaneity. The fact that many African societies set up this arrangement of song-poetry contests to avert conflict and maintain peace in the community is a laudable practice. One could imagine if many street gangs of today, as in many cities in Africa and the United States, were to accept to “battle” without guns, so many lives would be saved every day, week, month, and year. This peace mechanism should be studied by NGOs worldwide dealing with conflicts within nations and gang fights within and between streets. Also the emphasis on sharp imagination and humor in the verbal arts, whether of riddles/Jongo, the Dozens, Battle Rap, Udje, or others, is an intellectual development that shows how words have psychological and mystical power in human existence. The use of proverbs and highly

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imaginative metaphors and riddles represents the archivation of African traditional knowledge and wisdom. So much is embedded in these traditions that this book presents. This project relives cultural Pan-Africanism. People of Africa and the diaspora have a unifying culture wherever they might be now in these battles of poetry and wit. In addition to bringing black peoples together, these cultural practices add to other artistic indices to affirm an identity to their practitioners and to those who identify with them. If Anglo-Saxon folks form alliances as AUKUS bringing Britain, USA, and Australia, based on race, why should black nations not form alliances for strategic advantage? One of the objectives of this book is to mend the contemporary rift between groups of Africa-descended folks. In the United States, for instance, there are testimonies of rifts between African immigrants and African-Americans. Often the subalterns are under pressure from the elite class and there are enough problems on economic, class, race, and police, among others, to exacerbate the condition of minorities in the United States of America. The tendency of the low-class folks to vent their anger against immigrants from Africa comes from a simple conclusion as if those who came in recently take away jobs from them. This thinking causes rifts among people of the same ancestry. By studying and being convinced that the connections of verbal arts, song-poetry, and performance in disparate African societies across the world are more than coincidence but direct racial cultural practices will help to mend the rift. Above all, these works of battle poetry earn a big place in world cultural contributions. Udje, Halo, Malumbano, Battle Rap, Calypso, and Jongo, among so many others, are living testaments of arts and culture that are black contributions to world popular culture. It is a genre in multifarious variants that UNESCO should help map out in digital form not to lose one of the most vibrant genres that Africa, its diaspora, and humans have ever created—artistic battle for excellence. This is compelling as there are newer forms in written forms of the once oral-only battle warfare of poetry and its performance. In conclusion, this study looks at the tradition and its manifestations in different places and times. It has refused to die and so transforms into new forms in old and faraway places. There is relevance to its existence in always being there to address new issues and challenges that make life a continuous battle to make things better. There is no last word. Life is competitive and the drive to outperform others in an artistic tradition which does not carry the physical consequences of its content is marvelous.

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Works Cited and References Akinyemi, Akintunde and Toyin Falola, eds. The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore. London and New York: Palgrave, 2021. Bowen, John R., ‘Poetic Duels and Political Change in the Gayo Highlands of Sumatra’, American Anthropologist 91: 1, March 1989, 25–40. Bruhn, John G. and James L. Murray. “‘Playing the dozens’: Its history and psychological significance.” Psychological reports 56.2 (1985): 483–494. Curtin, Philip D. African History: From Earliest Times to Independence. London: Longman, 1995. Dollard, John. “The Dozens: Dialectics of Insult.” American Imago; a Psychoanalytic Journal for the Arts and Sciences, vol. 1, no. 1, 1939, ProQuest, https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-­j ournals/dozens-­d ialectics-­i nsult/ docview/1289738766/se-­2?accountid=14605. Gallant, Thomas W., ‘Honor, Masculinity, and Ritual Knife Fighting in Nineteenth-­ Century Greece’, American Historical Review 105: 2, April 2000, 359–82. Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993. Saloy, Mona Lisa. “African American oral traditions in Louisiana.” Folklife in Louisiana (1998).

PART I

African Origins

CHAPTER 2

Battle by All Means: Udje as Oral Poetry and Performance Tanure Ojaide

“Battle” as both a metaphor and a reality in its adversarial implications is at the core of Udje, the oral song-poetry and performance tradition of the Urhobo people of Nigeria’s Delta State. It is a special kind of dance which takes place annually on an appointed day when rival groups perform songs composed with often exaggerated materials about their opposite sides. Each of the two paired groups performs on alternate years for its rival side and large audiences to watch and listen to. Udje is thus a highly competitive oral poetic performance genre that enacts the form of warfare in an artistic manner. This unique traditional African poetic and performance genre has been studied by scholars from different perspectives. While early works on it as of J.P. Clark in the 1960s, G.G. Darah’s and Tanure Ojaide’s of the 1970s and early 1990s respectively were collections of the song-­ poems and their transcription and translation into English with comments, udje study has advanced into theoretical dimensions in the twenty-first

T. Ojaide (*) Department of Africana Studies, The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_2

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century. One such essay is Ojaide’s “Michel Foucault and the Urhobo Udje oral poetic tradition: madness, power, and resistance” in his Literature and Culture in Global Africa (8–18) on the Foucauldian nature of udje. In other essays, he has interrogated the masculinity in the udje tradition and Henri Bergson’s notion of laughter as regulating human behavior. Also, Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega in “Representation of women in udje, an Urhobo men’s-only oral poetic performance genre” has discussed udje in its minority discourse aspect of excluding women from its major composition and performance activities (Ojaide and Ashuntantang 206–17). Several recent Palgrave and Routledge books have chapters on udje. G.G. Darah’s chapter in The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore (2021) discusses udje among other oral traditions. Ojaide’s “Urhobo udje: an indigenous satiric genre” re-examines udje as satire (The Literature and Arts of the Niger Delta, 60–72). Adetayo Alabi in his work on Nigerian autobiographies, Oral Forms of Nigerian Autobiography and Life Stories (Alabi 2021), discusses udje as appropriating features of the autobiographical genre and sees Ojaide’s poetry as exhibiting elements of the oral poetic genre. These academic engagements of udje as an indigenous oral poetic performance genre affirm udje as worthy of serious intellectual discourse. Udje is a multidimensional traditional genre. It is apparently not only one of the most poetic but also one of the most dramatic/theatrical oral traditions in Africa when compared to the Yoruba oriki and ijala, the Zulu and Xhosa izibongo, and the Ewe halo with which it has many similarities. This Urhobo artistic tradition is based on the concept and practice of battle or war. Udje, as a battle of songs and performance/dance, is the focus of this chapter. To its Urhobo practitioners, “udje ofovwin ile” (udje is a battle/war of songs); hence Ekrejegbe quarters of Orhughworun tells their Ekrekun rival, “Our loaded guns itch for action” (Darah 110). The same song says, “The battle has commenced” and boasts that “Once a ram grows horns, it knows no fright” (Darah 111). The old and udje practitioners also describe udje as “eta warien” (exchange of insults). Battling one another with insults thus summarizes the key concepts of udje whose highly competitive nature makes it a form of combat in its performers’ efforts to showcase imaginative strength at the expense of the rival side. There is thus an adversarial temperament which elicits hostility from the opposing side. However, much as udje shows these aspects of battle or war, it avoids physical violence. It is this intense artistic form which brims with verbal and performance tension but without physical violence that this discussion of udje will focus on.

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Udje’s origin, as will be expected of oral history, has several versions. The two most important versions of udje origin converge in some areas despite the fact that there is no common narrative of its origin. From Darah’s and Ojaide’s research interviews, three then living but very old udje maestros of the 1970s relate it to conflicts, as of land ownership, after whose adjudication the winner or winning side started to celebrate by singing, beating drums, and dancing. In such celebratory songs, the winning side threw jibes or insults at the loser or losing side. That provoked those who lost in the conflict settlement to compose their own songs to satirize those who had insulted them with abuse songs. Darah writes, “This act refueled hostilities and occasionally threatened the peace of the community. In order to contain the tension arising by the situation, the elders advised that thenceforth such song duels be institutionalized as annual events for the entertainment of the public. Consequently, the season of Ogbaurhie festival was chosen for the purpose” (30). Chief Jonathan Mrakpor of Edjophe confirmed the same story of origin to Ojaide on August 6, 1999 (16). During the annual eight-day festival, udje was performed. At Otughievwen, two paired groups competed before a large audience in an amphitheater type of formation and at the end of each day’s performance of songs and dance, one side got acclaimed winner. Udje performance of songs thus arose when in the Ughievwen part of Urhobo society, “it became necessary to exercise some form of communal control over the conduct of the use of songs in this manner. The introduction of annual song duels between constituent segments of Otughievwen metropolis was part of this control” (Darah 30). Another version of udje’s origin acknowledges frequent conflicts which brought about physical clashes in town or villages. However, according to Chief Dozen Ogbariemu, udje must have started after the abolition of slave trade which brought the instability of the phenomenon to an end. At the end of a period of internecine and intra-tribal warfare of slave capturing, a mechanism was put in place for local conflict resolution and peace maintenance. The mechanism of an annual festival of songs transmuted physical violence into artistic rivalry, hostility, and competitiveness. Folks bragged about artistic superiority in the composition of poetic songs and performance that brought laughter. This change, the elders agreed, brought a measure of enlightenment after the savagery of bloodshed in war. Masculinity in Urhobo land changed from capturing or kidnaping folks into servitude or headhunting to competition of song composition

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and dance. What underlies the two versions of udje’s origin is one type of conflict—the physical—changed to the artistic and done by paired rivals who showcased their talents. The Ughievwen and Udu clans of Urhobo land that most practice udje have a sense of fair play in their arrangement of the adversarial or oppositional pairs for the battle of songs. What two groups are paired against each other? The principle of parity underlies the two sides of the duel. Udje is not just a battle but a competition in which one side wins by public acclamation. There is thus an allocation or selection process so that the two groups against each other could have an even chance of winning the artistic contest. A quarter is matched against a quarter in the same town as Uto versus Ekreserho in the town of Ekakpamre. Sometimes, a quarter of one town is matched against a quarter of a nearby town or village. Okwagbe Waterside is paired against Okwagbe Otor. At the same time Okwagbe-­ Erhurun is paired against Egbo-Ide, a close village. Also, an Ekakpamre quarter is matched against nearby Ekrokpe, a small Ughievwen village. The pairing of groups for the artistic combat of poetry and performance is done to ensure equity of effort and impact. Eyara versus Erhunwaren, Oginibo versus Ohwahwa, and Iwhrekan versus Edjophe in Ughievwen are separate pairs of nearby villages of about equal population when udje was in vogue in the mid-1950s. Darah describes some other elaborate rationale in the pairing of udje combatants. He finds out that “Two principal methods were employed in establishing a rivalry relationship. These were attack-and-rejoinder, and mutual agreement between the prospective partners” (33). Pairs of rival groups tend to be close as nearby quarters in the same town, since “close social interaction among the omesuo groups was desired for the songs to have maximum satirical effect. … if the distance was such that this degree of interaction could not be sustained, then a viable partnership was impossible” (33). Groups also sought other groups as rivals bearing in mind the status or reputation of the group or quarter. Darah explains the choice by Esaba of Ophorigbala as a rival instead of Obubu is because of their closeness and the heavy traffic to Ophorigbala’s market by Esaba folks which afforded “communication channels [that] were favourable to the flow of meaty gossip that the udje satirists depended on for making good songs” (34). In the two principal clans of Urhobo where udje is practiced, it falls within the festival period. This is a period of leisure when people who have gone out to other places to make a living come home. Two major groups

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of migrant workers who return home are the Ughievwen people who have gone further into the Niger Delta to Ijo land to fish and those that went to Yoruba land to farm or produce palm oil. Close to the festival time, each home udje side invited its talents outside to come home for the elaborate preparation for the performance. This means their poets (irorile) and performers/dancers/cantors (ebo-ile) would be summoned home. In cases that those gone abroad for economic reasons could not afford the transport fare and the needs of the festival, their sides would go as far as collecting money to assist the coming home of the man to lead them to triumph over their rival side. Yet, this dependence could also become the subject of attack or mockery used by the rival. Umolo town composed a song against Okpari Town’s Isheja who was still indigent despite his migrant work: It’s been a year Isheja is wanted but can’t be found. Money can really hold you down, It’s been a year Isheja is wanted but can’t be found. Money can really hold you down. The old and young ones got together to raise money to bring him back home. He heard of this plan, and cried out: “If you are raising money for my return, then you might as well provide me clothes; plan for a bicycle together with a gramophone.” (Ojaide 98)

The Ughievwen had their festival centered on udje and in fact it became known popularly by the people and outsiders as Udje festival. Since the udje performances of songs and dance were in honor of Ogbaurhie, the tutelary god of the clan, the divine association of events restrained the people from getting involved in violence. All involved in udje, including performers and audiences, took the contest as a form of entertainment. The Udu clan’s udje performance coincided with the bridal circumcision period. So, udje created a festive mood when indigenes living outside came home and there were many guests who came to relish the battle of insults couched in highly poetic songs and the dexterous dance steps that

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had been practiced for public display. Udje is a battle but not a dirty trench type. Rather, the festive atmosphere reduces the tension from violence to a competition of laughter-provoking expert verbal and dance artists. Preparation for udje in the forms of composing songs and learning new dance steps, like preparation for battle or war, took place in secrecy. Several months to the festival in which udje would be performed, the quarter notified its poets and those knowledgeable in udje to get ready. Utmost secrecy was paramount to keep their songs and dance steps fresh and for their attacks against their rivals to have an element of surprise. Each group attempts to spy on each other by gathering materials about scandals in a surreptitious manner. Married women could spy for their husbands’ sides or for their native home side. A lot of inter-village, inter-town, and other forms of interaction take place at this time to facilitate spying on the rival side. The women go to markets of their husbands’ rival sides and in the process get gossips and scandals to carry home to become materials for satiric songs. Men go to marriage and burial ceremonies in other places with eyes and ears primed for materials that would feed their humorous songs. Each Urhobo village established some grove-like space a little outside the living space for such gatherings that took the form of a workshop setting for the song composition and dance practice. Up to two to three, or even four songs could be composed about one rival person or quarter. There at the workshop, the experts “straighten” the song-poem and there are occasions in which several poems are edited into one song. Two figures comprise the major players in the udje oral poetic performance tradition: ororile (poet/composer) and obo-ile (cantor/dancer/ performer). The poet and the performer might or might not be the same person. In the workshop, a good poem when completed would be given to obo-ile, a sweet-voiced person or expert dancer to sing or perform. Since the performer enjoys the glare of publicity and fame, many poets practiced to become great performers themselves. Some of the best known udje poets were also performers and these include Oloya of Iwhrekan, Memerume of Edjophe, and Okitiakpe of Ekakpamre. Often, irorile (poets) were older, unlike the performers who were men in their prime. This is understandable as in battle or war, the tacticians who plan moves could be older while those who execute such risky plans were younger. Udje thus follows this strategy of warfare in the composition of songs and their performance. One would ask, if udje is a battle or warfare, what are the rival sides fighting for? The Urhobo society traditionally has values and virtues that

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they want kept. This is to ensure that harmony and peace prevailed. Udje thrives as the traditional intellectual struggle to preserve the soul of the ethnic group. The songs seem to be an effort to deter folks from desecrating the land with abominations and taboos. Each side of the battle claims the moral and ethical high ground to commit the rival side to doing the right thing for the good health, prosperity, children, and long life which are the four cardinal wishes of Urhobo people. Most of the songs condemn what could be described as immoral habits, anti-social behaviors, and attributes that the society frowns at. Udje songs condemn figures who commit, among the long list of ills, adultery, fornication, incest, licentiousness, witchcraft, and theft, and who are greedy. Bad and weird behaviors and manners such as laziness and dirtiness are condemned. In what the Urhobo regard as anti-social, poverty is highly attacked. In a song, Oloya’s rivals present him not only as ugly like a gorilla but one who was so weird that he “would sing for mud fishes” and he “performs Udje with monkeys” (Darah 165). There is a litany of names, especially poets and performers, who are tagged in udje as paupers. To the Urhobo, poverty is not good for a society as it could breed bad acts like theft, envy, and witchcraft. In the desire for a harmonious society, many of the ills they condemn in the songs could give rise to conflicts which they want to avoid. Since Urhobo is a patriarchal group, the societal ethos was weighed against women; hence the blistering criticism of women for such things as laziness, dirtiness, ugliness, and barrenness. Men are not held to the same high moral and ethical standards that women are subjected to. Ironically while women are criticized in songs, they are not active participants in the genre. Men expect so much from women but women are never given the opportunity in a men’s-only genre of udje to articulate their wishes or respond to personal abuses. Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega criticizes this aspect of udje which marginalizes women in its creation and yet have them as subjects of many songs in her chapter, “Representation of women in udje, an Urhobo men’s-only oral poetic performance genre,” in The Routledge Handbook of Minority Discourses in African Literature: they are treated as a collective group in their subjugation as a lower-class gender as compared to the male gender … they are presented as underlings whose voices may not be heard or, if heard, not as loud as men’s. From a feminist perspective, Urhobo women suffer voiceless-ness in the highly articulate udje repertory of performance songs. They are present as objects

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and enablers of the songs and never as composers or main singers themselves. (206)

Men are at the center of udje performance of songs. The Urhobo cherish handsomeness in men, healthy living, strength, and a measure of economic independence the lack of which they condemned in the songs. The subjects of the udje songs and performance reinforce the battle analogy of the genre. The principal officers of poets (irorile) and performers (ebo-ile) are considered the most valuable targets in this war of words and dance. Many udje songs are attempts to “wound” or destroy these figures at the core of the other side’s powerful army of composers, cantors, and dancers. In the long list of renowned poets and performers who were subjects of songs are: Oloya, Memerume, Okitiakpe, Gbariemu, Gbogidi, Inono, and Vphovphen. In a song Oloya is described as a gorilla. Okitiakpe in his rival’s song was accused of selling his own child into servitude. Oloya of Iwhrekan aimed a memorable song against Inono, a spectacular Edjophe performer. Inono was so poor that he had the same piece of cloth as a work and outing dress which he washed and placed outside to dry. At this time when naked, a falcon swooped down to seize and fly away with it: Look at Inono crying, dashing after a falcon. “Falcon, I beg you; I sincerely beg you.” Inono is insane And the street folks console him: “Inono, go indoors.” He is stripped naked by a falcon, he pleads he should pursue it; pursue it to the farthest place to where it will drop his cloth so that he can reclaim it. He has no money to buy another piece. Things are really hard for him.

Later the falcon laughs at the stupid man with only one piece of cloth since “the poor really endures a lot of hardship” (Ojaide 113–14). To hurt the poets and performers of one side, their close relatives such as wives and brothers and sisters are subjected to cruel invectives in a battle of unrestrained metaphoric flights of fancy. Two notable such examples

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are Okitiakpe’s brother, Okpoto, who is described as “ogbunegbu ewhare,” a sex maniac, from whom women fled at his sight! By being “ogbunegbu,” Okpoto is a killer who “murders” women with sex! Edjophe singers also attack Oloya’s “filthy wife” who “stinks” (Darah 147). The excuse for most wars is provocation. Iwhrekan side has this song to justify their aggressive songs against their Edjophe opponents: Gbogidi it was who first smeared me with the image of poverty. Unless there are performers, there will be no spectators. The idiot acted in ignorance. You saw a lion asleep and tampered with its tail. Gbogidi we have brought war to you. (Darah 172)

Iwhrekan thus feels justified to attack Edjophe because they first caused them harm by smearing them with the “image of poverty.” The proverbial “Unless there are performers, there will be no spectators” again frees Iwhrekan from culpability in their response. Much as Iwhrekan would like to be peaceful despite the great power of the lion, the opponents disturbed the sleeping lion. Gbogidi, leader of Edjophe, thus caused the problem and “we have brought war to you.” In udje, like war/battle, an attack elicits a reprisal action. For this reason there are songs which were composed because of an earlier one to which it is a response. Once a side is provoked, it fires back with a blistering attack by escalating issues that formed the abuse or insult hurled at it. There is the Urhobo notion that excuses a revenge act as caused by something that happened earlier. In udje, controversies are raised to a higher level by assaulting the honor or integrity of the subject. Since Urhobo culture demands that one has to protect one’s or family’s reputation, one is bound to respond so as not to be taken as a wimp and not to respond would be shameful. This results in the dialogic nature of many udje songs that are responses to earlier songs. In the udje corpus, there is a lot of intertextuality because of the connectedness of materials and issues in the songs over a period of time. There are copious examples of responses to provocation in udje tradition. There is the epic duel between Iwhrekan’s Oloya and Edjophe’s Memerume, who were cousins and ate and drank together after their competition. “Oloya” is subject of Memerume’s song and in it he says: “Oloya talks ill of me behind me” (Ojaide 30). Oloya has to respond to his arch-­ rival Memerume in a song in which he asserts that “Never at any time /

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will a goat’s challenge worry the leopard, / it is impossible” (Ojaide 31). In Ekakpamre, the Uto quarter is pitched against Ekrusierho quarter. In “Shame on Odjelabo,” the Uto poet announces “Tell them that I am more than ready, / the warrior chief is never afraid of war” and goes on a vicious attack of Okitiakpe as ugly and too old for udje performance. It is important to know why the Uto side is so bitter against Okitiakpe whose family belongs to Uto but chose to live in Ekrusierho quarter that he identified with and “fought” for in udje contests. In a response, Okitiakpe, the self-styled Odjelabo (the invincible) sings: Everyone will see for himself; if a child boasts to me, he will feel sorry for it. Everyone will see for himself; if a child boasts to me, he will feel sorry for it. If his tongue is sharper than mine, I know how to silence him: “That was before your time.” will silence that child. (Ojaide 33)

He then escalates the ante by saying “Uto’s challenge has escalated / from revolver shootouts / to aerial bombardment. / Uto is all bush.” Then he extols his personal virtues: Gin may be tasty, but palm wine makes it so…. I am Odjelabo, the invincible. Like Uvwiama, I am ageless. Even when life is hard for a king, he still has coral beads on his neck. When it comes to performing udje, I am the peerless star; first, like Eni among the gods. Uto folks call me an old man; but do they see age in a flying bird? (Ojaide 33–4)

It is important to note that while key composers of songs and performers and their relatives in each side were fair game in these attacks, it was unethical to sing about people who were handicapped such as cripples and

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blind people. However, when the handicapped were seen as assisting their side in the battle, they were subjected to brutal attack with songs. It is believed that the fact that these performances took place during festival time might have mitigated harsh attacks on the physically challenged and helpless. Udje is a war or battle in which the adversaries or combatants use every available weapon in the language and performance arsenal to destroy the opponent. In the effort to defeat the other side by all means, facts get exaggerated or blatant fake news reported that will portray the subject of the song in extremely negative light. In fact, some poets/composers (irorile) fabricate materials to sing about their subjects. In other words, the subject of the song could be tagged with a fabricated offense, scandal, or a negative character trait that he or she might not have. It is not the veracity of the subject that matters but how poetic and satiric the materials used are. As Darah puts it, “It was considered a mark of poetic accomplishment for a composer to fabricate much of the material he needed to make a song. What listeners enjoyed was not exactness of detail or truth but the craftsmanship in the construction, the technical dexterity with which even obviously incredible points were woven together to appear as facts” (46). Basikoro Esha, a respected Edjophe poet (ororile), told Darah in an interview on March 26, 1976: The accomplished song-maker did not have to wait for incidents to occur before creating a song. All of us in the neighborhood knew ourselves. If I wanted to accuse you in a song as a drunkard, I could do so without minding whether the allegation was true or not. Already I know you. Meanwhile it was someone else who was a drunkard that I had in mind, but because you are the one I wanted to humiliate I would mention your name in place of the drunkard’s. That was why many people tended to think that a particular song referred to them. A gifted song-maker creates by deft use of allusions and analogy. As the song progresses, metaphors are introduced. Once a metaphorical remark or proverbial allusion is made and explained logically later in the song, then that piece is acclaimed a poetic success. (46)

Another veteran practitioner of udje, Sikogo, puts it thus: “it is the scandalous things you say about the person that people will remember long after the song has been performed” (Darah 47). That was why each group composed songs against the important figures of the rival side. These compositional and performance considerations of udje affirm it as a battle

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where nothing is held back in an existential confrontation where reputation is concerned. Preparation for udje performance is similar to traditional warfare. Contestants procure charms which they wear to counter any diabolic spells that their opponents might cast against them. This is in addition to the invocation and serving of Uhaghwa, god of inspiration and performance, or any other gods such as war gods that a side believes could help it to triumph over its rivals. Udje appropriates the idiom and features of a battle. This is expressed more in the opening songs of the performance as a strategy to intimidate the rival side similar to what Muhammad Ali did at the boxing ringside against his opponents! This was a kind of sophisticated psychological warfare meant to weaken the opponent before the real battle started. Self-­ praise and boastfulness of the poet and his side went along with total denigration of the other group. This is Otokutu’s song against their opponents: The time has come at last. The chimpanzee boasts it will break the gorilla’s back. If the civet cat cries all night, there must be cause for it. The akpobrisi tree says it is tough, but people bypass it to make offerings to the iroko tree. The boast of prowess between strong and weak will only be settled after a hand-to-hand encounter. The time has come at last. Now that our udje dance is out, will you still contest our superiority? It is sheer delusion, sheer delusion; if not, who will beat his chest that he is everything in the world? The river god says he will dance, says he will dance himself to madness. The ocean god says he will clap for him. When the waves rise in mad turbulence, who dares set in, in a canoe? The time has come at long last. (Ojaide 97)

A similar opening song by Owhawha also touts the superior battle prowess in songs of their side against those they want to fight:

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We have come out. How will sugarcane lack juice? It never does. If I compete against a child, he will go home in tears. Who lives in a glass house boasts of throwing clubs, what do I in a cement home care? I have no fear going to any fight. You already know my might. Once the leopard catches a game, it’s finished. If you miss your way into my net, you will be dried in a kitchen rack. Let us fight it out. When a senior tells a junior something, he should listen; should he not that will be disrespect. (Ojaide 98–9)

The two song-poems are replete with images of battle and war and also affirmation of superiority and experience over an inferior and junior side. The qualities of the two sides are set in contrast: gorilla against chimpanzee, the iroko against other trees, ocean waves against river currents, veteran fighter against child-soldier, cement home against glass house, and sugarcane juice against other plant juices. Each side assumes such an overwhelming superiority to outperform the rival side. It is in the same light that Ekakpamre’s best-known poet and performer, Okitiakpe, appraises himself: “If a child boasts to me, / He will feel sorry for it” (Ojaide 37). Elsewhere Akanabe knows that after the day is fixed for battle, there has to be preparation; hence “I hold clubs to my chest / on my way to the battlefield” and exhorts his followers: “My people, stand close to me; / help me gather more clubs” (Ojaide 101). He emphasizes “I am up for the war” (Ojaide 102). Orhughworun’s “Shame on Ekrabe” sees its contest with its adversary as a “duel” between a leopard and a goat and so brags that “The warrior-chief is never afraid when gunshots are fired” (Ojaide. 2003: 105). Udje is a battle of songs which are highly poetic. Poetry is the arsenal of udje with lethal weapons in the forms of stunning images. Both Darah and Ojaide in their respective studies of udje have discussed the different techniques that make an udje song-poem such a lethal verbal weapon. The

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song-poem is very important because, to the Urhobo people, “Ororile ta vberen phrun / Sieyen obuole o ki yovb’ urhuru” (The song-maker must first compose beautifully / Before the vocalist can sing melodiously) [from an Ohwahwa community song qtd. in Darah 43]. People go to listen intently to the songs as they watch the performance and audiences remember the songs and their quotable parts for decades after. Thus, the poetry of an udje song makes it memorable. As Shekiri Sikogo told Darah at Aladja on March 17, 1976, “The aesthetic consideration of Udje songs is based on the poetic value of the expression in it, the kind which are apt and memorable for all time. It is the expressions that retain classical merit for a long time that define the poetic essence” (63). I will go on to summarize many of the points scholars of udje have attributed to its poetic techniques. Since udje is a poetry competition that should field the best quality, every song/poem is honed to its most incisive state before being performed. Figures such as metaphors, conceits, and similes are common in udje songs. Equally present are rhetorical questions and proverbs that enliven the song. In “Aghwotu,” there is the rhetorical question “If the moon does not shine well, / who will go to the sky to put it right?” (Ojaide 108)

The songs exploit the rich poetic resources of hyperbole, irony, and other stylistic devices to make the poem humorous and hurt the person who is the subject of the acerbic attack. Since most udje song-poems are narratives, the descriptive power of the poetry helps to exacerbate the insults aimed at the subject of the song. Sometimes the poet assumes the persona of the satiric butt to undercut him as in “Tovotayen” who speaks for himself: Wherever I adorn with a new cloth My waist itches terribly If I dare wear a new shirt My body develops rashes Whenever I wear a new pair of shoes My feet become swollen If I wear a golden ring on my fingers The fingers develop rheumatism Anytime I don a new hat By the following morning Ringworm grows on my head. (Darah 107)

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An udje song-poem seeks to degrade a person’s personality and that is why subjects of songs could be described as doing ridiculous and fabulous things such as Gbogidi who calls for udje whenever “a child farts” and yet he has no money to give his deceased mother a proper burial. The poet would want Gbogidi to pursue money-making with the same zeal that he has put into udje so that he would not be so poor. Krekpe, the subject of a famous song, fell from wealth to penury: Krekpe’s wealth is like the cloth used in dressing a shrine, the cloth used in dressing the god is never washed before it tears off. (Ojaide 123)

A major stylistic strategy in udje is the use of “iten” (masking). Urhobo people generally believe that conflict in the household or family is often more terrible than with the outside. For this reason, composers mask the subject of songs attacking their kinsfolks in the same quarter, village, or town. They would tag the name of somebody from the opposing side to their person to avoid physical violence. In the iten tradition, the features of the person masked are known. Memerume, the great poet and performer of Edjophe, had several wives but did not have a child. Knowing that his Iwhrekan rivals would compose songs to sing about his barrenness, he decided to compose a song about Amonomeyararia, a known woman on the Iwhrekan side but who was not childless. The people on both sides knew that the respected poet was singing about himself. By resorting to masking, Memerume diffuses possible attacks on his being childless. Such a poem appeals to the audience through its imaginative flights rather than barbed insults per se. In that song, Memerume sings that it is only in his dreams that the barren man cuddles his baby. Some poets used iten as an avenue of revenge in attacking their own people with names of people from the rival side. Iten serves as a cover for the poet who attacks people in his own side and not wanting to be direct so as not to provoke a family quarrel. On a social level, the use of iten puts everybody on notice that one is not covered from being the subject of a satirical song because one is from the side of the poet. The composers are more likely to be directed by the god of songs and muse, Aridon or Uhaghwa, than any form of close kinship. The audience appreciates the depth of thought and expression in such song-poems. Udje has two parts: the song-poetry and the performance. To the practitioners of udje such as Chief Dozen Ogbariemu, “Echada oye udje,”

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meaning that it is the spectacle that makes udje performance appealing. The two sides compete in dressing flamboyantly to show dignity and affluence. Since the performers often bare the upper part of their bodies, they don expensive wrappers. Each side also fields handsome men; hence the saying that ugly folks don’t perform udje. There is the exception of Okitiakpe of Ekakpamre who was said to be stocky and short but he was a great poet and performer. His poetic and performance talents overcame his physical shortcomings. In its heydays, a new song-poetry performance begins with displaying around the effigy of the person to be attacked in the song. Though abstract art, the effigy gives the audience a first look at the person who appears in caricature and so elicits laughter. The song brought a verbal barrage to the figure that has been damaged visually by the effigy. The performance aspect of udje relies on good dancers who can dramatize the subject of the songs. Gbogidi’s poverty is not just personal but a family inheritance; hence they play draughts (checkers) with poverty that always defeats them! Inono, stripped naked, pursues the falcon that seized and flew away with his only cloth that was both a work-and-outing dress. A masterful dancer enacts the behavior of naked Inono pursuing a bird laughing at his stupidity and crying, “The young man with only one piece of cloth / behaves stupidly, whewhe!” (Ojaide 114). “Kowhiroro” is the portrayal of a woman who was loose and lazy and ends up childless. She is cast dramatically thus: She is pregnant with debts, she is expecting to deliver foursome…. Kowhiroro delivered two but they were both cats. She returns from the farm and looks for a child to send on errands, but she finds none. She calls her cats; when the “children” ran to her, she lovingly calls them by name: “O, my darling Pussy!” and the cats respond: “Ma ma-a!” (Ojaide 164)

This happens in the Urhobo society where the adoption of cats as pets is not common. The song sees an anomaly in a woman of childbearing age giving birth to cats instead of real babies. It is also in the performance

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aspect that new dance formations are introduced and udje so seeks freshness and innovation that over the decades udje assumed a more vigorous and athletic stance. Udje’s battle stretched to war between two adversarial sides. As an artistic battle, udje’s exaggerations were taken in good stride. Did the songs change anything? Darah gives an example of how udje brings changes in Ekrekrun quarter of Orhughworun’s “Djighoke”: Exchange of insults improves people’s conduct Let me reveal in song what I know My songs inspired you to build a zinc house A god that protects deserves tributes Come bearing drinks in both hands to show gratitude. (26)

At the same time, another song states that “Ughere people are ever opposed to progress / We offer to improve them with songs, yet they resist / Let us ignore them in their dejected state / To watch with envious eyes the achievements of others” (Darah 26). This song implies that udje’s insults led many to progress while others did not seize the opportunity of udje’s insults to remedy their plight. There are extant stories of people laughed at in songs for being poor leaving Urhobo land to become migrant workers elsewhere, especially in Yoruba land and working to redeem themselves of the abuse of poverty. Also extant stories talk of women leaving marriage after being abused crudely. Violence at the beginning of the udje tradition might have led to iten, masking, that prevented anyone in one’s side from challenging the poet. Later in the history of udje, it reached a stage where everybody took it as an artistic contest meant for the fun of it. Udje has declined over the years. Colonialism and capitalism were hostile to the oral poetic performance genre. Colonial courts were interested in libel and insulting people of the other side with songs became a criminal offence. However, udje started to be more indirect to avoid libel. Many of its features appear in popular Urhobo music. Also, modern Urhobo writers, as Tanure Ojaide in his poetry and Peter Omoko in his plays, have deployed elements of udje in their creative works. Udje is significant in deflecting physical violence into an artistic competition of established rival sides. Without udje performed at the behest of Ogbaurhie’s priest, there would be too many conflicts and acts of violence arising from pent-up or suppressed emotions for the elders to cope with in

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traditional Urhobo society. Commuting physical conflicts to flights of the imagination in song-poetry and its performance was a bold and unusual solution to an intractable human problem of rivalry and its attendant destabilizing violent repercussions. Udje is able to bring out the best in poetry, art, and performance/dance in its practitioners. It is a human assertion of enlightenment over crude force; a display of the superiority of the mind over that of the body. Its battle formation is sustained in its images and figurative language as well as in its performance to show the superiority of one side over the other. It is an art that fulfills intellectually as well as raising laughter that keeps Urhobo land the bastion of new battles that instead of bringing tears from bloodshed brought a lot of laughter and a great measure of mental agility in poetry.

Works Cited and References Akinyemi, Akintunde and Toyin Falola, eds. The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore. London and New York: Palgrave, 2021. Alabi, Adetayo. “The Auto/biographical Images of Africa in Udje and Tanure Ojaide’s Poetry,” in Oral Forms of Nigerian Autobiography and Life Stories. London/New York: Routledge, 2021. Avorgbedor, Daniel. “The Turner-Schechner Model of Performance As Social Drama: A Re-Examination in the Light of Anlo-Ewe Haló.” Research in African Literatures, Vol 30. N0 4 Winter, 1999, 144–155. Clark-Bekederemo, J.P. “Poetry of the Urhobo Dance Udje,” Nigeria Magazine, no. 87, 1965. Darah, G.G. “Creativity and Performance in Oral Poetry” in Akinyemi, Akintunde and Toyin Falola. The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore. London/New York: Palgrave, 2021. ———. Battles of Songs: Udje Tradition of the Urhobo. Lagos: Malthouse, 2005. D’Azevedo, Warren. ed. The Traditional Artist in African Societies. Bloomington, Indiana: UP, 1989. Finnegan, Ruth. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1970. Furniss, Graham. The Power of the Spoken Word. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Ojaide, Tanure. “Urhobo Udje: an indigenous satiric genre” in Ojaide, Tanure and Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega. The Literature and Arts of the Niger Delta. London/New York: Routledge, 2021, pp. 60–72. ———. “Michel Foucault and the Urhobo Udje oral poetic tradition: madness, power, and resistance” in Ojaide, Tanure. Literature and Global Africa. London/New York: Routledge, 2018, pp. 19–33.

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———. “Revisiting an African Oral Poetic Performance: Udje Today” in Ojaide, Tanure. Indigeneity, Globalization, and African Literature: Personally Speaking. London/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, 237–54. ———. “Deploying Masculinity in African Oral Poetic Performance: The Man in Udje,” Masculinities in African Culture and Literature, eds. Helen Mugambe and Tuzyline J. Allan. London: Ayebia, 2010. ———. Theorizing African Oral Poetic Performance and Aesthetics: Udje Dance Songs. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2008. ———. Poetry, Art, and Performance: Udje Dance Songs of the Urhobo People. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 2003. ———. “Poetry, Performance, and Art: Udje Dance Songs of Nigeria’s Urhobo People,” Research in African Literatures, vol. 32, no. 2 (Summer 2001), pp. 44–75. Ojaide, Tanure and Joyce Ashuntantang, eds. Routledge Handbook of Minority Discourses in African Literature. London/New York: Routledge, 2020. Ojaruega, Enajite Eseoghene. “Representation of women in udje, an Urhobo men’s-only oral poetic performance genre” Ojaide, Tanure and Joyce Ashuntantang, eds. Routledge Handbook of Minority Discourses in African Literature. London/New York: Routledge, 2020, pp. 206–17. Okpako, David Tinakpoevwan. Kpeha’s Song: Ethics and Culture in Urhobo Udje Poetry. Ibadan: Book Builders, 2011. Okpewho, Isidore. African Oral Literature: Background, Character, and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992. Omoko, Peter. Battles of Pleasure. Ibadan: Kraft Books, 2009.

CHAPTER 3

Halo: The Ewe Battle Tradition of Music, Songs, and Performance Honoré Missihoun

Introduction This chapter is an analysis of halo, a poetic and performance art among the Adja-Ewe of Ghana, Togo, and Benin. Avorgbedor finds Halo “a multimedia event, as well as sociomusical drama that involves songs of insult, dance, drumming, mime, poetry, spoken forms, costume, and variety of visual icons” (It is a Great Song! 2001). He also describes it as “characterized by the spectacular, the unusual, the precarious, havoc, danger, and challenge.” Further, in an interview with the popular Anlo-Ewe composer-­ poet and lead singer of Atrikpui, Asomo Seku, he clearly lays out the collective socio-psychology of halo. Seku rhetorically asked: “Can strong men stand and stir while weak and uncertified warriors humiliate them through songs? Not among us [Ewe],” he answered. “For it is even more painful and unbearable for the Ewe to be insulted through music than to be verbally abused. This is because the song lives on for generations; so does the

H. Missihoun (*) The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_3

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insult,” Seku added. According to him, musical activity, particularly halo poetry and the potential social impact its theatricals encapsulate is a reliable means of documentation that lives for posterity. Every Ewe would avoid their negative depiction in song. Also confirming the psychological havoc of the song of insult among the Adja-Ewe as the composer of the Atrikpui war song presents, “I would rather fight, die in war and be buried in white calico than to be humiliated in song” (Seku). It is a common practice to portray people in song, positively and negatively in Ewe and many other indigenous African societies, as the practice is a deterring tool, a reliable corrective means that serves as both punishment and reward (Agawu and Dor 2007 and 2001). Halo contest involves two villages or two wards from one village, and its characterization is direct or comic forms of provocation, aggravation, and sung and spoken invectives, which sometimes show verbal exaggeration through dramatic enactments. It is highly emotional and involves the two factions and their supporters who compete at physical, verbal, and musical levels (Avorgbedor 17). Oral accounts and research data show that most of Ewe towns, particularly in the Volta Region of Ghana have a history of halo, and rivals/opponents have engaged in the genre multiple times. The data and the official ban, and the lingering of veiled forms of insult in contemporary practices of halo vindicate the social significance of the genre in Adja-Ewe society. A synopsis of the geographic, historical, musical, and cultural background of the Adja-Ewe is necessary for a good understanding of the discussion of this battle genre. Prior to the nineteenth century, the Adja-­ Ewe people of West Africa were unified in one of the most powerful pre-­ colonial states. As a result of the 1884–1885 Berlin Conference, the Adja-Ewe have been arbitrarily split into smaller entities, multi-ethnic modern nation-states that inhabit the areas between the Volta River in modern-day Ghana and the Mono River on the western borders of the ancient kingdom of Dahomey now Benin (Nukunya 1997). Presently, Adja-Ewe land is located along the southeastern corner of Ghana, the southern halves of Togo and Benin up to latitude 8° N. The Adja-Ewe people therefore live in southeastern Ghana, southern Togo and Benin, and southwestern Nigeria in the Atlantic coast fishing settlements of Badagry. Adja-Ewe neighbors to the east include the Fon, who are still regarded as part of the Adja-Ewe stock (the two groups divided by the Mono River) and the Yoruba of Nigeria. To the west, Volta River divides the Adja-Ewe from their neighbors, including the Dangbe of Adangme,

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Ga, Krobo, and Akan (Akwapim, Akwamu, Akyem, and Asante). Their northern neighbors are the Buem, Akpafu, and Akposo in Ghana, Kebu, Boasu, and kabre in Togo and Benin. To the south, the Adja-Ewe land is bordered by the Gulf of Guinea. Despite their separation by national boundaries, political ideologies, and rules, the Adja-Ewes keep steadfast to their ancestral affinities through language, music, trade, religion, cultural values, and cross-national but intra-ethnic marriages. Awareness and recognition of a common ancestry and linguistic background is the strongest cultural, social, and political link among all Adja-Ewe. The high degree of commonality notwithstanding, Adja-Ewe land is not completely homogeneous. There are some dialectal differences in intonation, accent, and a few vocabularies. For example, Ghanaian Ewe may find some difficulty understanding the dialects of the Ewe in eastern Benin and western Nigeria. However, largely, the various West African Adja-Ewe dialects are mutually intelligible.

Hypotheses Any attempt at tracing the cultural background of a people, especially societies that have a long-standing oral tradition, must consider many areas, components, and aspects of the people’s lives and culture including musical practices. Most of the studies on Ewe music in particular and African music in general have mainly focused on drumming and rhythm. Kofi Agawu, approaching rhythm from a different perspective in his 1995 book, is unequivocal of “the conviction that song rather than drum lies at the heart of Northern Ewe modes of expression” (Agawu 2). Agawu’s statement confirms the views of some earlier researchers, including J. H. K. Nketia’s insistence that “pride of place be given to songs” (Nketia 1974). In the same vein, others called for attention not only to songs but also more specifically to song texts, language, and speech-based musical creation. Klauss Wachsmann held the view that “there is hardly any music in Africa that is not in some way rooted in speech” (187). Reiterating Wachsmann’s view, John Chernoff stated in general term: “African music is derived from language” (75). David Locke, writing specifically on Ewe music underscored “song is the heart of African music performance” (128). On the same topic, Francis Bebey wrote: “vocal music is truly the essence of African musical art” (African Music 1975). Notwithstanding the clear awareness of the importance of song, song text, language, and

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speech in the musical culture of Africans, much of the research has focused on drumming and rhythm even until today. Kofi Agawu questions this scholarship trends in the prologue to his book African Rhythm: A Northern Ewe Perspective, which also focuses on rhythm but from a broader and all-­ inclusive perspective and modes of songs and language. On this, Agawu wrote: “There is, then, something of a dissonance between the overwhelming emphasis in the popular imagination on ‘African drumming’ as the site of ‘complex rhythms’ and the considered statements by experts that song holds the key to understanding these musical cultures” (2).

Adja-Ewe Concept of Music and Dance Like in many sub-Saharan African languages, there is often no one word, term, or lexical item that designates all that constitutes “music” in the western conventional sense. Scarcity of a single word for “music” does not mean Ewe language is not developed enough to coin a word for it. It is due to Adja-Ewe’s conceptualization of music as a holistic performing art form (Agawu 1995). The concept “music” is an enactment of life, an art of play, which incorporates other socio-cultural and philosophical concepts besides its aesthetic and artistic relevance. Hence, the philosophical thoughts, concepts, and terminologies or other expressions, including vu (drum) that refer to and underscore music as a general artistic phenomenon incorporate all the related creative expressions.

Halo: Songs and Dance Performance Among the Adja-Ewes In Adja-Ewe tradition, public offensive remarks may be expressed in a controlled environment through song and dance as a kind of way of purging of resentment and ill will. Sometimes these songs aim to praise a chief; they may also aim at making leaders aware if they have made a decision or taken action that has caused the public’s disapproval (K.  Nketia 149). According to K. Agovi (n.d.) these songs are often full of ridicule that they would not otherwise be free to express (Women’s Discourse 206). Daniel Avorgbedor’s studies in 1994 and 2001 look at halo “insult songs” as literary production and its influence on social violence. Through the analysis of halo, and discussion of the range of literary devices used by Ewe composers, Avorgbedor shows the power and relevance of song texts in the Adja-Ewe socio-political arena. Although the articles center only on the halo musical genre, his presentations on Ewe composer’s poetic

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artistry and the extent to which the composers employ songs and song texts in information dissemination make them relevant to this work. In the performance of halo, two opposing groups take turns directly and publicly, confront each other through songs laden with insults and verbal abuse. In the Anthropology of Music, Alan P. Merriam (1964) indicates, “it does seem probable that obscene songs are sung among almost all peoples” (193), yet halo is distinctive thanks to its competitive and confrontational nature and gratuitous use of overkill. In their effort of nation building in the 1960s, the Kwame Nkrumah government officially banned halo in Ghana due to the rifts that it caused between rivaling villages and groups within villages. There is scarcity of studies on halo. The few research work done on this cultural genre is mostly from Anlo-Ewes of the southern Volta Region of Ghana. Few scholars from outside the culture and folklore know that halo existed. Indeed, its proscription in Ghana where it was deeply rooted in the indigenous culture exacerbates the scarcity of its knowledge. My work will fill some intellectual gap on halo and bring to it important feeders from the Eastern side of Adja-Ewe ethnic groups of Benin and Togo. Scholarship on halo from French-speaking Ewe land of Togo and Benin barely includes any account in the vast work of the Anlo-Ewe scholars of the southern Volta Region of Ghana. I will dwell on the problematic nature and practice of halo and demonstrate how in its indigenous setting it is not a sustainable tradition, and examine ways in which verbal abuse is still present in Adja-Ewe society.

Halo: Dramatization of Music Text Through Song and Dance Performance Among the Adja-Ewes Halo, or songs of abuse, is performing art among the Adja-Ewes. The name halo is comprised of two words: ha, which is the Adja-Ewe word for song, and lo, which means proverb. It is an exchange of insult through song between two rivaling peoples. In her work A War of Words: Halo Songs of Abuse among the Anlo Ewe, Corinna Campbell identified the following characteristic traits for halo: • The opponent must be present. • The song is performed in front of the public. • The opponent must have the opportunity to respond. • There is a rope or other barrier to demarcate the audience from performers.

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Notwithstanding the fact that halo is no longer performed in its traditional form and setting and officially abolished in Ghana in the 1960s, halo practice still exists and its performance happens in modern, urban, and more conciliatory social environments.

Target of Halo It is important to note that nobody is exempt from ridicule in halo. It most often happens between neighboring villages but not limited to this setting. Rivaling groups within a village use songs of abuse to express aggression. Halo can be highly political. In her work, Campbell mentions one Ahiakpote, a leading composer and cantor in Apegame, Klikor, in Volta Region of Ghana who even composed a song about his own wife. In another of his songs, he likens himself to a gun that does not consider relations when it aims and declares himself an instrument for justice (Massiasta, interview, April 02). A colonial British officer who ordered the building of a canal that turned out to be a disaster, as many homes were flooded and people killed as a result, the officer included, was posthumously ridiculed through song. The deceased receive the same merciless treatment as the living. Poets and performers can concoct lies and insults against a dead person and present them as fact, as they could when they were alive. In the practice, composers may disregard the respect given to an elder or chief who may commission a group to respond on his behalf while he cannot respond personally to a song against him. Kofi Anyidoho (1980) highlights that with an elder’s high respect, exemplary behavior is expected. He wrote, “Indeed, at his death a stupid and worthless elder is sent to his grave with the warning that he should never reincarnate with such abominable behavior” (Anyidoho 92).

Causes In her work A War of Words … Campbell reported the following incident: “One woman told me of a halo rivalry started by a female goat breaking a neighbor’s pots. According to this woman, it is part of the female condition to raise conflict” (Azasu, interview 30 April 02). The most common situation described to her was that of two men courting the same woman. “The two opponents would engage in halo” to prove their rival’s worthlessness, and win the woman’s favor as a result. Reportedly, after even a couple had married, it would be quite possible for a woman to leave her

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husband, using evidence provided through halo as proof of his bad character. Of all the causes for halo, arguments over women are the most common. Competition over natural resources, thievery, long-standing rivalries between individuals or groups, homicide through witchcraft, and issues of wife snatching and inter-ward marriage are also some of the most common causes for halo. Livelihood in Adja-Ewe region particularly in the southern part on the Atlantic coast is highly dependent on the land and its natural resources. Disputes over fishing rights or farmland are therefore very serious. Other rivalries could happen between different organizations within a town, for instance political parties or drumming groups. The Adja-Ewes typically believe that people have the capacity to send their spirit out to harm others. This can lead to unexplained sickness or even death. Therefore, if a person falls seriously ill or dies, that person’s known enemies could easily become the target of suspicions to have played a part.

Types of Insult Halo targets physical appearance, deviant behavior, personal histories, or obscenities. Campbell said an unattractive person would often find himself or herself insulted in halo from forehead to toe-nail (Dzigba, interview 17 April 02). In my research, songs have people being harangued for having a long mouth, big ears, “legs like Scissors,” “scrotum redound,” a shiny forehead and sagging buttocks. Halo performance makes frequent use of overkill, making a heavy person a bulldozer or steamroller, big ears becoming the sails of a ship, and a shiny forehead that of a person just struck by lightning. While these insults are humiliating, they are not always “good halo.” A person has no control over the face or body he or she was born with. That person’s appearance is God’s design; hence, an insult portraying his or her physical makeup is actually an insult against God. Defamation of character is even worse. These include proclamations that the opponent is dirty, greedy, and lazy, a thief, prostitute, drunkard, or glutton. Halo performer’s creativity will create stories to exaggerate and fabricate altogether human flaws to demonstrate a person’s bad character. Embarrassing personal and family histories, particularly involving slavery, are some of the most virulent insults. In the judgment of halo, these are highly valued because they are the proof of the deep investigation a group has carried out on their victim’s past. The category of obscenities is kind

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of a catchall. Here, only the composer’s imagination can limit insults and invectives. Halo practice may not observe any strict taboo; however, some communities may have highly sensitive topics and generally avoid them. Halo in general avoids insults on the female reproductive organs, thanks to it being the origin of every human being, and there is no shame in the subject. Notwithstanding Campbell reported that from the same town of Amedzikope where she heard the truism about the reproductive organs, another informant sang a song to her insulting a man as being “extra black” because after conception, his “mother did not “wash her woman””. (Massiasta, interview 16 April 02). However, the practice allows some flexibility in such issues. Adja-Ewes are deeply rooted in the afa traditional religion, as some people move to certain designated areas to initiation into the shrine of the Thunder God in search of religious asylum. After the initiation, it is inappropriate to dig into these subjects’ past lives. Because of this, halo’s construction upon misdeeds of their subjects’ pasts would not occur in those regions.

Methods of Embellishment Just as a poetic text uses literary devices and poetic outlets to enhance its communication, a halo song enhances its virulent bite with several visual aids or theatrical devices. Prior to the actual performance, a group may hand out flyers boasting of past victories and bragging about its performing abilities. It could render a caricature sculpture for display during a song, highlighting a person’s unsavory physical features (Azasu, interview 30 April 02). If a song narrates the story of some misdeed or embarrassing incident, the construction of an artifact could vindicate evidence. Campbell reported that a man was caught sleeping with another man’s wife. He was so scared of the man’s wrath that he fled, farting uncontrollably as he left. For this particular song, the performers procured a piece of cloth and punched holes in it, claiming that this was the cloth he wore and the holes resulted from his violent flatulence (Agovi 207). Another song claimed its subject never went to the bathroom, and then produced a cloth to represent her “tarred” undergarments as proof of her filth. Livestock could also be part of the performance as “proof, against a person”. For example, if a person stole a fowl, a bird might be part of the performing arena to tell the audience that this is the animal he stole. If a

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person is insulted as a “fucker of goats,” an impregnated goat could be brought forth as the unfortunate object of that man’s transgressions (Akpabla, interview 5 May 02). A group might also choose to act out an event, such as a theft or some instance of extreme cowardice (Azasu, interview 30 May 02). As with the actual song texts, these skits would make use of overkill to exact as much laughter from the audience and anger from their target as possible. A song could also incorporate multiple languages. A Fulani man, for example, may be performed against partly in Fulani. The use of other languages could be a way for a performing group to show off their education and to mark their subject as an outsider as well.

Social Roles Three social roles characterize halo performance: the performers, the song subjects, and the audience. Halo performance clearly defines all the three roles. The audience partakes of the performance by handclapping, dancing, or wiping sweat from a person’s face. A rope separates the performers from the spectators. It is a precaution to contain an insulted person who could no longer master his/her anger. Yet even if this barrier were not present, the performers arrange themselves in such a way that it would be difficult for the aggressor to reach the cantor. The cantors make an inner circle facing out to the audience, enclosed by a circle of benches in which chorus members, dancers and drummers are sitting. The closed circle of performers has another role other than that of a strict barrier. Campbell (2002) quotes K. E. Agovi as emphasizing how this layout also promotes unity and support among performers: “It sets the performers apart, simultaneously heightening their sense of togetherness and separateness” (A war of Words, 22). Those targeted in song play a part in the performance as well. Their presence is typically required at their opponent’s production. Prior to the staging of a song, the subject of the song must acknowledge his/her presence for the performers and the audience. This entailed coming forward from the crowd to face the cantors, raise himself or herself onto a platform or chair, or simply raise a hand; a practice that varied from one sub-­division to the other. In any case, the song’s target’s reaction would be closely monitored. The abused would appear indifferent or even laugh along with the audience. For an opponent to betray feelings of anger or embarrassment would equate to a victory for the performer. Physical violence in such occasions signified surrender.

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At last, the audience is of great importance. The hano (composer) would create the halo song with both their targeted character and the audience in mind. Each insult came equipped with a warning to those following similar lifestyles that they were running the risk of facing similar treatment. These performances were very competitive, and the audience’s approval was important in admonishing and warning against bad lifestyles. One quality of Adja-Ewes is their ability to find the humor in most every situation. This is apparent in halo. Amid anger and a host of other feelings, they still find an outlet for comic relief. The composer would calculate insults to exact the most laughter out of the audience, for it is not just the insults that cause the abuse, but also the laughter of one’s peers.

Religion Halo necessarily implies religion. For both inspiration and protection against evil spirits, a hano would look to a god of song, or hadzivodu. A hano’s hadzivodu could serve to protect an entire group, yet while a hadzivodu has protective powers, it cannot ensure protection unless combined with the powers of another protective deity. Performers seeking protection could only be confident of their safety if they paid tribute to their gods and broke no taboos. Additionally, at the performance ground, the performers could place or hide tributes or talismans. Cantors would also carry flywhisks, the hadzilashi to ward away evil spirits while singing (Dale Massiasta, interview 15 April 02).

Editing and Performing Procedure Halo songs are an elaborate work through a series of revisions and rehearsals prior to performance for the public. Competition and serious scrutiny by foes require particular concern with producing a quality work. The process begins when a composer or hano goes into hangble, a song meditation. After he/she has produced a satisfactory draft, the hano will go to the hadada or mother of song, or master songster to fine-tune the text and rhythm of the words. This meeting is the hagoso. From here the work is brought to a havolu or meeting of the executive members of the group for further revision and preliminary rehearsal. These processes edit the song and add bits of incriminating information. The next step is the hakpa, or larger group rehearsals. Hakpas occur until all the members of the group

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have mastered the tune and the lyrics (Togbi Addo VIII, interview 3 May 02). The entire process is secret to ensure the opposing side will not overhear. The performers must all be trustworthy; otherwise, a member could leak information or spy for the opposition. In the event that they do discover the insults created against them, a group can make a counterattack, concocting responses to shout during the performance to make the insults and abuses look inconsequential. The performances themselves vary in length and content, typically they are a mixture of new material and older songs of particularly high quality. The presence of new compositions is essential because the entertainment is partly dependent on shock. In general, the performance starts with ayo, or “throat clearing songs,” which are shorter and typically have a thicker texture. Hatsiatsia songs follow, which are longer and less dense. The master cantor performs hafloflo, another song type used in halo, sometimes with a person singing a supporting vocal line. Halo songs are a verbal art form and they existed in a community largely illiterate. However, as halo song creation and production demonstrated, it is not right to view intelligence and learning as qualities only attained through formal schooling. The deployment of proverbs and imagery in some of these songs indicates a highly sophisticated command over language, regardless of whether the composers had the capacity to write them down themselves. The usage of multiple languages in a song further serves to demonstrate that those with limited schooling could in some ways be extremely educated.

Features of Halo and Social Problematic Personal experience in consonance with Corinna Campbell’s “Features of Halo and Anlo Ewe Society that Prevent its Continuation” in A war of Words…, had halo not been abolished, there are features inherent in the songs that still have prevented them from living on as oral tradition. Of these, the most significant is the highly individualized, highly personal nature of the music. The songs often left in their wake permanent victims. A catchy phrase or particularly potent insult could haunt a person until his/her death. Even today, when so many of the direct victims have died, it is still not safe to sing their songs, should a friend or relative overhear. Furthermore, the natural environment of songs of abuse is conflict. Many of those who still remember the songs are understandably reticent

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to bring up old rivalries or to unearth offensive or embarrassing phrases from a person’s past. Even the slightest provocation could flare up an old conflict. Cases appeared and two opposing groups went beyond halo and sought to harm each other physically. The involved faction chiefs called for the banishment of existing songs. While halo as a practice has suffered official abolishment since the 1960s, as part of the process of conflict resolution in all Ewe land in Ghana, communities abolished songs on an individual basis throughout halo’s lifespan. Inter-ward marriage contributed to refraining from singing halo songs. Once a man and a woman from two disputing sides united and started a family, to sing against the opposing group meant singing against family. Therefore, family unity sometimes stopped halo in an effort to preserve peace. The above attributes of songs of abuse show some obstacles that serve to prevent those who know a song from relaying it to others. Moreover, some elements work against the transmission of those songs. It is noteworthy that halo songs classify as ayo, or “throat clearing songs,” which are short, or hatsiatsia, which are considerably longer. It is common for the latter type to reach over a hundred lines in length. A hatsiatsia therefore takes considerable dedication to learn. In learning a song after its burial or banishment, the frequent repetition required to commit these songs to memory would be exceedingly hard to come by. In addition, while a person of any age would witness a halo performance regardless of the songs’ crude content, nowadays, parents take measures to prevent children from hearing the songs because of the language vulgarity inappropriate for children’s good social education. Halo, in its intended form, could only continue to exist through active practice as old compositions are carrying forth the elimination of this tradition. That is, it heavily rests on the continuous creation and performance of new material. Nevertheless, here as well, halo’s survival has faced outside factors besides its demise by politics, factors that are outgrowth of changes in the dynamic Adja-Ewe social structure over the past century. These factors include the change from colonial rule to national independence, the nature and frequency of the use of the court systems, time management within the culture, changes in gender balance in the population and in the nature of marriage in Adja-Ewe society.

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Halo: Positive and Negative Aspects Members of society with vices such as promiscuous behavior, laziness, poor hygiene, drunkenness, thievery, or any other social ill are easy targets for a hano. Insults could be used not only to criticize an individual but all his/her whole family, making an individual’s poor behavior a matter of concern for his/her relatives as well. An upcoming performing event would cause people to be on their best behavior in order to avoid being the target of criticism. Halo is a form of social control and reform. It was a controlled arena for conflict; however, halo did not always prevent violence. In this regard, Avorgbedor writes, “In the absence of halo, there would have been physical violence” (Freedom to Sing 87). In some cases, these songs allowed time for hot tempers to cool down thus causing the demise of physical aggression. For the Anlo-Ewes, Halo meneye dzre o. Ne nosiwo dzi de woa, woha nadzi adee. “Halo is no quarrel. When someone addresses you in song, you also reply in song” (Freedom to Sing 87). As the saying implies, the medium of song helps to sever abuse from physical violence. In halo, to have recourse to aggression is to accept defeat. Violence connotes weakness instead of power. Halo is also a positive social function as a channel for resolving problems that a federal or a tribal court cannot easily settle. Daniel Avorgbedor presents many of these cases in his essay, “Freedom to Sing, License to Insults: The Influence of Halo Performance on social Violence among the Anlo Ewe.” One such case is the practice of “black magic by an imagined or real opponent” (Merriam 194). When modes of spiritual violence are expected reasons for a person’s serious illness or death, an aggrieved family will be unlikely to go to court, which requires tangible physical evidence, such as an autopsy in the case of a death. Social function aside, halo songs possess an artistic function as well. A hano has to be a master of description to provide the likeness of his/her victim and deploy a considerable amount of imagination to extrapolate or altogether coin a personal history. As the word halo implies (ha = song, lo = proverb), a composer is expected to have command over a large repertoire of proverbs, traditional images, and stories to help illustrate the song’s target. Tangibly, in translating several of his father’s halo compositions, Dale Massiasta found 34 proverbs in a single song. Professor Kwakuvi Azasu maintains that halo, owing to its complex system of editing, is the most sophisticated of Anlo-Ewe poetry.

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In addition to the words used in halo, a performance value rests on the cantor’s art skills, the group dancing ability, and musical prowess. These songs of abuse provided an entertainment arena with comic value even in the midst of an emotionally charged and potentially explosive situation. The family unit in Adja-Ewe society, similar to just about any culture in sub-Saharan Africa, is a web of shared responsibilities and accountability. A conflict initially involving one family member will be quick to involve the family at large. Halo songs enhance this shared accountability by extending insults to the entire family, including ancestors. This is effective in delocalizing the conflict and spreading it out to the surrounding community. Owing to the size and extended nature of AdjaEwe family, a dispute between two people can easily escalate to involve entire localities. In this way, halo allows conflict to spread instead of dissipate. Halo song craft aims to cause their rival’s anger. While performers deployed skills to respond to this anger through the composition and performance of halo song, this is not always the case. Halo has often led to the practice of black magic and physical violence. Many view halo as a musical deployment that literally kills people. The victims of halo songs feel their lives ruined forever by these calculated compositions. Lies about a person assimilate to truth; families break up or form permanent rifts with other families forcing people to leave their homes. To those affected most acutely by the halo songs, some of the harm done by these songs is unforgivable.

Lobalo and Hama: Heritage of Halo in Modern Adja-Ewe Society While halo practice may have substantially dwindled in recent years in Adja-Ewe culture, it would be entirely false to conclude from this that insults are absent from Adja-Ewe music tradition or that it no longer serves as a social control. Halo, defined as direct verbal attack through song, has given way to lobalo and hama musical traditions, where a person is insulted indirectly. It is a bit confusing when those who believe halo can be indirect as long as it is common knowledge who the subject is. The easiest way to consider this was by defining halo as a verbally abusive song where the victim is known and given the opportunity to respond. With lobalo and hama, there is no way for a person to prove he or she was

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slandered in the composition, and therefore given no way to respond to the aggressor. I will conclude with some semantic pun or play with Adja-Ewe word prefix and suffix. As we have learnt ha in Adja-Ewe means song. Ma refers to covering a person’s private parts. This makes the literal translation of hama something along the lines of “covered,” or “shrouded song,” referring to the hidden insults in the text. Lo means proverb. Therefore, the literal translation of lobalo is “a proverb that is interpreted by another proverb.” In conversational Adja-Ewe, lobalo equates to riddle. These names in and of themselves seem to imply some difference in their usage.

Conclusion Halo songs or songs of insult will live on through other mediums, yet Adja-Ewe society has changed in such a way that a tradition founded on this style of confrontation and social interaction became unsustainable. Echoing Corinna Campbell in her research conclusion in A War of Words…, the more pressing issue becomes, should knowledge of halo be preserved and discussed with the younger generations of Adja-Ewe, or does the damage done in its practice warrant its complete demise? Tradition and continuity at the heart of Chinua Achebe’s concept of “extravagant aberration” holds halo preservation important. Halo casts light on the Adja-Ewe peoples’ past, the things that could be uttered to hurt a person worst, the religion that served as halo’s foundation, the strength of character, and self-control these people must have possessed in order to stand up to these competitions and not react with despair or let anger overtake them. Taking halo as a cornerstone of Adja-Ewe culture, tradition, and folklore, I engage in the process of Henry Louis Gates’ “signifyin(g).” According to Gates (1988), signifyin(g) “functions as a metaphor for formal revision, or intertextuality” (xxi); it is repetition with a difference. If in some texts, revisions foreground homage and continuity rather than disjuncture, they still, like Achebe’s models of cultural production, entail significant, perhaps even extravagant aberration. I also agree with Campbell that “most of all, halo is a lesson to all people about our own susceptibility to the power and the potency of words” (48).

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Notes 1. Diop (1974, 1978). 2. Wiredu (1980, 1990, 1991), Hountondji (1983), Second International Conference of Negro Writers and Artists, Rome, March 25–1 April 1959 (Presence Africaine, Paris, 1954. 3. See Nukunya (1997: 8). 4. See Davidson (1998) and Shillington (2005). 5. Agawu (1995: 2). 6. Ibid. See also Nketia (1974). 7. See Ki-Zerbo (1981) and Akyeampong (2001). 8. See Awoonor (1974, 1975), Dzobo (1975, 1997a, b, 2006), Anyidoho (1982, 1983, 1997). 9. J. H. Kwabena Nketia. Folk Songs of Ghana. 1963, p. 149. 10. K. E. Agovi. Women’s Discourse on Social Change in Nzema Maiden Songs. n.d., p. 204. 11. Anyidoho, Kofi Awoonor and the Ewe Tradition of Songs of Abuse. 1983, p. 92. 12. Azasu, int. 30 Apr 02. 13. Dzigba, int. 17 Apr 02. 14. Akpabla, int. 5 May 02, 34. 15. Addo VIII, int. 3 May 02, 34

References Agawu, Kofi. “To Cite or Not to Cite? Confronting the Legacy of (European) Writing on African Music.” Fontes Artis Musicae 54/3 (2007): 254–62. Agawu, V. Kofi. African Rhythm: A northern Ewe Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Agovi, K. E. Women’s Discourse on Social Change in Nzema (Ghanaian) Maiden Songs, Oral Tradition, 1 Sep 94. Pp. 203–228, n.d. Akyeampong, Emmanuel K. Between the Sea and the lagoon: An Eco-Social History of the Anlo of Southeastern Ghana, 1850 to Recent Times. Athens: ohio University Press, 2001. Anyidoho, Kofi. Kofi Awoonor and the Ewe Tradition of Songs of Abuse: Toward Defining the African Aesthetic. Ed. Lemuel Johnson et al., Washington, DC: Three Continents Press, 1983, pp. 17029. Anyidoho, Kofi. “Kofi Awoonor and the Ewe Tradition of Songs of Abuse (Halo).” In Towards Defining the African Aesthetics, edited by Johnson et al, 17–29.

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Washington, D.C.: African Literature Association and Three Continents Press, 1982. ———. Traditions of Verbal Abuse Art in Africa. PhD. Dissertation, University of Texas, Austin, 1980. Avorgbedor, Daniel K. Freedom to Sing. License to Insult: The Influence of Halo Performance on Social Violence among the Anlo Ewe. Oral Tradition. 1 Sep 1994. Pp. 83–112. ———. “It’s a Great Song!” Haló Performance as Literary Production. The Landscape of African Music (Summer), 2001, 17–43: Indiana University Press. Awoonor, Kofi. Breast of the Earth. Garden City, NY: The Anchor Books, 1975, pp. 86–87, 120–25. Awoonor, Kofi. Guardian of the Sacred Word: Ewe Poetry. New York: Nok Publishing, 1974. Bebey, Francis. African Music, A People’s Art. Trans: Josephine Bennett. New York: Lawrence Hill Books, 1975. Campbell, Corrina. A War of Words: Halo Songs of Abuse among the Anlo-Ewe. Chicago: Northwestern University. (School of International Training Study Abroad—Ghana. Arts and Culture, 2002. Davidson, Basil. West African Before the Colonial Era: A History to 1850. New York: Longman. 1998. Dor, George, W.K. Tonal Resources and Compositional Processes of Ewe Traditional Vocal Music. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Pittsburg, 2001. Diop, Cheikh Anta. The African Origin of Civilization. Westport, Conn.: Lawrence Hill, 1974. ———. Cultural Unity of Black Africa. Chicago: Third World Press, 1978. Dzobo, N. K. African Proverbs, A Guide to Conduct: The Moral Value of Ewe Proverbs, Vol.1. Cape Coast, Ghana: University of Cape Coast Press, 1997a. ———. African Proverbs, A Guide to Conduct: The Moral Value of Ewe Proverbs, Vol. II. 2nd ed. Accra, Ghana: Waterville Publishing House, 1997b. ———. African Proverbs, A Guide to Conduct: The Moral Value of Ewe Proverbs. Vol. III. Accra: Woeli Publishing Services, 2006. Gates, Henry Louis. The Signifying Monkey. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1988. (xxi). Ki-Zerbo, Jacqueline, ed. General History of Africa, Vol.1: Methodology and African Prehistory. Paris: UNESCO and London: Heinemann, 1981. Massiasta, Dale. Choosing among Colours. Klikor: Lissavi Print, Ghana, 2001. ———. Voices from the Heart. Lissavi Print. Klikor, Ghana, 1997. Mbiti, John S. African religions and philosophy. 2 rev. ed. Oxford: Heinemann, 1990. Merriam, Alan P. Anthropology of Music. Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 1964. Nketia, Kwabena J.H. The music of Africa, New Yor: Norton, 1974. Nukunya, G. K. “The Land and the People.” In A Handbook of Eweland, Vol.1, edited by Francis Agbodeka, 8–13. Accra: Woeli Publishing Services, 1997.

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Shillington, Kevin. History of Africa, 2nd rev. ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Wiredu, Kwasi. Philosophy and an Africa Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. ———.”Morality and Religion in Akan Thought.” In African-American Humanism: An Anthology, edited by Norm R. Allen Jr. Buffalo, New York: Prometheus Books, 1991.

CHAPTER 4

Poetry and Ping-Pong: Auto/Biographical Verbal Duels in Yoruba Polygamous Households Adetayo Alabi

Polygamy is one of the unique features of many marriages in Africa. Some men marry several wives in different African societies, and this is documented in many African novels like Things Fall Apart (1958)  where Okonkwo and others marry multiple wives and in plays like Wole Soyinka’s The Lion and the Jewel (1963) where Baroka has many wives. Some of the consequences of polygamous marriages are jealousy and rivalry among the competitors. The co-wives articulate their appraisal of polygamy, their colleagues, husbands, and environment in combative songs and stories that contain innovative poetic and auto/biographical features. Just as the oral, communal, poetic, and auto/biographical aspects of the co-wives’ songs educate the society about polygamy, they also form part of the postcolonial educational framework against the Eurocentric context of defining the autobiographical genre as an exclusively individualistic and written genre.

A. Alabi (*) University of Mississippi, Oxford, MS, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_4

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This chapter will focus on the poetic “battles” and auto/biographical components of the co-wives’ tales and songs. The chapter will analyze some of the narratives and song-poems of the co-wives to show them as adversarial auto/biographical texts of individuals and part of a community. Along with content analysis of the texts will be a contextual discussion and an examination of their formal and structural qualities that are comparable to other battle traditions of insult. The polygamous environment is a very competitive terrain; hence it is virtually impossible for everybody to get along and do so all the time. There is a lot of rivalry and jealousy in the polygamous context. The affected women and men typically do many things to raise, enhance, and protect their statuses in the setting. Some will become extremely religious and spiritual in the contemporary Christian, Islamic, or traditional sense. Others will be spiritual and religious in a negative sense by seeking occultic powers like those of witches or Christian or Islamic powers to protect themselves and their children and position against their rivals. The aspect that I am particularly interested in is the artistic and creative context of polygamy. The women and men react to polygamy in this context by becoming accomplished literary artists by composing songs about themselves and their families, co-wives, and husbands. The songs highlight excellent auto/biographical qualities of the composer and accentuate the negative qualities of the co-wives and their husbands. The songs are typically in a dramatic ping-pong style directly or surreptitiously confrontational between the wives and between the wives and the husbands. There is a lot of insult in the songs. A particularly successful man or woman in this context has to be really sharp-mouthed and witted and be exceptional in using epithets and imagery to describe himself, herself, the co-wives, or the husband. The features of these songs that include the representation of the self and the other, the auto and the biographical, as well as formal stylistic devices like figures of speech, tone, rhyme, etc. make the song-poems literary like written poetic auto/biographies. The Yoruba and African societies use the songs in polygamous contexts to control or influence the nature of the relationships that exist in the settings. They can be used to educate the co-wives on how to behave and relate to one another. Do not abuse each other if you don’t want to be like so-and-so can come up in the discourse. Sometimes, the songs lead to physical fights between the co-wives and their husbands. When this happens, the female chiefs in the community will be invited and the women will be publicly sanctioned. An additional punishment that is applied

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under the most egregious circumstances is that they will pour water in a mortar and give each woman involved a pestle and ask her to pound the water without it getting out of the mortar. Anybody who gets the water out of the mortar through pounding gets additional punishment, including flogging or fines in cash or kind. Some women are reported to have lost their life savings or livestock through this process. Polygamy as a system that engenders jealousy, a battle of insults, and auto/biographical texts in patriarchal societies attracts attention in the Yoruba Ifa divination corpus. Ifa, the Yoruba divination system, according to Wande Abimbola (1997) in “Images of Women in the Ifa Literary Corpus,” “is the most authoritative and sacred form of literature. Based on two hundred and fifty-six chapters with hundreds of verses in each chapter, Ifa is the most extensive form of oral literature found in Africa. The interesting thing about Ifa among the Yoruba is how it has been carefully preserved and transmitted from ancient times to the present day by a semi-secret society of priests known as babalawo who have transformed it into an intellectual and academic system of knowledge” (401). In the essay, Abimbola mentions Orunmila’s involvement in polygamy as follows: “Qrunmila is believed to have married many women. One of the best known wives of Qrunmila was Ààbò, who was a citizen of Ijero” (407). Abimbola then narrates the story of Aabo and how she protects Orunmila in Eji Ogbe, a chapter in Ifa discourse. Qda-owo, awo Koro. Aabo, obinrin re, Qmoo won oke Ijero. Bi oda owo ti n da mi. Bee ni Aabo mi n bo mi. A dia fuu Orunmila Nijo ti olojo meta O wo silee baba Ifa o si nii ni ookan a a yoo na. Ni Orunmila ba pe Aabo, obinrin re Pe ki o ko awon nkan ini oun Lo soja lo ta… Ni Aabo ba ta awon oja naa ni itakuta Lo ba mowo ra onje wale. Awon olojo meteeta naa, Iku, Arun, ati Esu je Won si yo. (Abimbola, Wande. Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa. Apa Kini, 1968, 21)

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The translation is as follows: Scarcity of money, lfa priest of Koro. Protection, his wife, Their daughter at Ijero. Aabo, my dear wife, protects me. Ifa divination was performed for Orunmila On the day three strange men would sojourn in his home. But Ifa did not have any money at home. Orunmila therefore called Aabo, his wife, To take all his belongings to the market to sell. Aabo sold the materials at give-away prices. She then used the money to bring food home. The three visitors, Death, Disease, and Esu, ate the food To their satisfaction. (Abimbola, “Images of Women” 407–408)

The above story does not mention any other Orunmila wife apart from Aabo. It also does not state categorically that Orunmila was polygamous and favored Aabo out of his wives. What the story illustrates is the support Orunmila got from his wife Aabo that prevented him from being afflicted by death, disease, and Esu who visited him. The verses support a version of monogamy perhaps because of the rivalry, insults, and destruction often associated with polygamy. The support for monogamy possibly because of rivalry and insults in the Eji Ogbe chapter becomes more explicit in “Oyeku Meji” as shown below: Ọ ̀kan ṣoṣo poro lobìnrin dùn mọ lọ́wọ́ ọkọ. Bí wọ́n bá di méjì, Wọn a dòjòwú. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́ta, Wọn a dẹ̀ta ǹtúlé. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́rin, Wọn a di ìwọ lo rín mi ni mo rín ọ. Bí wọ́n bá di marun, Wọn a di Lágbájá Ni ó run ọkọ wa tán lóhun susuusu. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́fà,

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Wọn a dìkà. Bí wọ́n bá di méje, Wọn a dàjẹ́. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́jọ, Wọn a di ìyá alátàrí bàmbà Lo ti kó irú èyí ṣe ọkọ wa lọ́wọ́. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́sàán, Wọn a di ìyáálée wa ò níṣẹ́ kan, Kò lábọ̀ kan, Bó bá ti jí. Aṣọ ọkọ wa níí máaá ṣán kiri. Bí wọ́n bá di mẹ́wàá, Wọn a di ilé lọkọ wa jókòó, Ni wọ́n ńwá ọkọ waá wá.

Translation: It is one and only wife that brings pleasure to any man When there are two wives, They become rivals. When they increase to three, They destroy the home. When they increase to four, They laugh one another to scorn When they increase to five, They will accuse someone among them Of monopolizing their husband’s property. When they increase to six They become wicked people. When they increase to seven, They become witches. When they increase to eight, They will say the fat-headed favorite Has thought their husband his evil way. When they increase to nine, They will say that the favorite wife has no other work, No other occupation, Except to wake up in the morning,

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And wrap herself with their husband’s cloth. When they increase to ten, They will say that even when their husband stays at home Women come in to visit him. Abimbola, Wande, Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa, 2015: 94–97 and Abimbola, Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa, Apa Keji, 7 (for the Yoruba version) (emphasis mine)

The above verses state very clearly that the best-case marriage scenario is monogamy obviously to avoid accusations and laughing each other to scorn. It is this idea of laughing each other to scorn that comes from the insults that are generated in representations of the encounters in polygamy. The support for monogamy is also very explicit in Ofun Meji where Orunmila worries about whether he will be able to control his wives as follows: Ope teere igbo yii A dífá fún Ọ ̀rúnmìlà: Ifá ó ṣọkọ Ẹmọ́lólóló-abẹ́-òpó;1 Ifá ó ṣọkọ Àbẹ̀jẹ́ẹ̀rù;2 Ọ ̀rúnmìlà ó ṣọkọ Àkòráhùn-ọmọ-dídan-dídan.3 Obìnrin Ọ ̀rúnmìlà ni àwọn mẹ́tẹ́ẹ̀ta wọ̀nyí; Bẹ́ẹ̀ sí nì apáa rẹ̀ ò ká wọn, Nwọ́n sì mba nǹkan rẹ̀ẹ́ jẹ́. Ni Orunmila ba gbe oke ipori araa re kale, O ni apa oun le ka awon obinrin oun bayii? Nwon ni ebo ni o waa ru. O si ru u. O si ni isegun. 1 Ẹmọ́lólóló-abẹ́-òpó = Oruko inagije fun eeyan bubuuru 2 Àbẹ̀jẹ́ẹ̀rù = Oriki obinrin ni Àbẹ̀jẹ́ 3 Àkòráhùn-ọmọ-dídan = Oruko yi je oruko agan

My translation: The slim palm tree of the forest Ifa divination was performed for Orunmila Ifa is the husband of Ẹmọ́lólóló-abẹ́-òpó 1 Ifá is the husband of Àbẹ̀jẹ́ẹ̀rù;2 Ọ ̀rúnmìlà is the husband of Àkòráhùn-ọmọ-dídan-dídan.3 The three women are Ọ ̀rúnmìlà’s wives He was unable to control them

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They were destroying his properties. Orunmila performed divination for himself, He asked whether he could control his wives now? They said he had to make a sacrifice. He did. He secured victory. 1 Ẹmọ́lólóló-abẹ́-òpó = This is the appellation for a wicked person. 2 Àbẹ̀jẹ́ẹ̀rù = This is a praise name for a woman. 3 Àkòráhùn-ọmọ-dídan = This is the name for a barren woman. Abimbola, Wande, Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa, Apa Kin-in-ni, 2014b: 166–167

The criticism of polygamy is more explicit in the above excerpt from Ofun Meji because Orunmila’s three wives in the chant rivaled one another. Orunmila was caught in the middle and the women destroyed his things. This destruction could have been both spiritual and physical and insults against one another and the husband. The remedy for Orunmila in Ofun Meji is to offer sacrifices, and he became victorious over the women. Interestingly enough, Orunmila’s success here seems unique and isolated because many polygamists are not as successful, and this results in the insults that greet the rivalry in the relationship. Wande Abimbola also argues that it “is interesting to find a Yoruba poem dealing with the virtues of monogamy because Yoruba traditional society is polygamous. However, this part of the poem is not a condemnation of polygamy but rather an analysis of the problems involved in it such as rivalry, fighting, wickedness, and witchcraft. Polygamy creates a favorable atmosphere for these marital problems which are not absent but minimal in a monogamous family situation. The most important point made here is that ‘one and only one is the number of wives that brings pleasure to a man’” (Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa, 90). What happens in many polygamous families is that the warring factions of the family engage in verbal duels of insults against one another and in the process provide oral auto/biographical representations of themselves in the examples provided below. An example I got in Ekiti from Pastor Sola Adebayo who heard it from the community is about two rabidly jealous and competitive women during the precolonial days of inter-town and inter-ethnic wars. The two wives Kékélurè (Iyale or first wife) and Oríkorokògó (Iyawo or younger wife) were renowned singers. They were described as those wives who were perpetually at each other’s throat. They abused each other always. The situation reached its climax during a war

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when Oríkorokògó (Iyawo) was captured by the invaders and was being taken away, and she started singing that she has been captured and was being taken away but she couldn’t find her co-wife so that she could also be taken as well. The expectation, ordinarily, should have been that the first wife Kékélurè would just keep quiet wherever she was, but she didn’t because she must always respond to her co-wife’s songs in their traditionally confrontational encounters. So, she responded and the kidnappers heard her from her response and discovered where she was hiding and captured her too. Their insult-filled songs below tell their stories: Oríkorokògó (Younger wife): Ogun mo mu mi lo, me me ri Kékélurè Ogun mo mu mi lo, me me ri Kékélurè

Translation: The invaders have captured me, but I can’t find Kékélurè. The invaders have captured me, but I can’t find Kékélurè. Kékélurè (First wife): Emi mere libe o Oríkorokògó àyà kere kègé

Translation: Here I am Oríkorokògó, the one with the oblong head The one with the flat chest

A second example of the co-wives’ songs happened most likely in the 1960s or 1970s in Ekiti. Here is the song: The older wife to the younger one: Iyawo mi so mi leru. My wife, help remove the load on my head. The younger wife replies: Emi ko ni mo gberu le e lori, peteki peteki ori. I’m not the one who gave you a load to carry on your oblong head. The first wife (Iyale) then replied: Gbangba aya Big-chested being.

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The third example involves the husband. The husband quickly becomes the subject of the insult because he gets involved in the altercation between the two women. Husband: Orogun meji eemo le ri. Two rivals are disastrous wives. Younger wife replies: Tani tenu oko bo? Who invited the husband? First wife: Talo teju oko boo, dooro (no tonal marks) epon. Who invited the husband to the discourse? The man with the drooping balls.

A contemporary example of a verbal duel in a polygamous setting is the relationship between Alhaja Salawa Abeni, renowned Waka exponent, and Alhaji Kollington Ayinla, eminent Fuji maestro, who are two of Nigeria’s most celebrated and polygamous couples. Their marriage was at different times peaceful and acrimonious. A particularly unique feature of the relationship was the auto/biographical artistic and musical productions that showcased the rivalry in the marriage as well as the discursive and counter-­ discursive currents in their relationship. These currents approximate to a battle of songs that is in a way comparable to the Udje battle of songs that has the focus of singing a rival to a fall (Clark 1965: 283; Darah 2005: vii; Alabi, Oral, 2022: 182–183). Their rivalry can also be discussed as an encounter of insults infused with the Yoruba panegyric tradition. City People of August 31, 2020, summarizes the relationship between Alhaji Kollington Ayinla and Alhaja Salawa Abeni as follows: “A new and equally public rivalry emerged in the mid-80s, this time with Waka star Queen Salawa Abeni, who exchanged bitter personal insults with Kollington over a series of album releases and counter-releases. Sadly, for non-Yoruba speakers, the verbal fisticuffs remain unintelligible, though the drum-­ heavy, hypnotic music was universal in its appeal.” Akindare Okunola, writing for thenet.ng on March 2, 2020, provides the (long) background to the polygamous relationship that Salawa Abeni and Kollington Ayinla were involved in below: “Salawa Abeni and Kollington Ayinla are not back together. This is contrary to what recent news would have you believe. The Nigerian music legends, who were married for 8 years before an acrimonious separation and divorce spent time together in February, as part of commitments for an infomercial project they are working on for real estate company Adron Homes. And the media went wild with news of a reunion. ‘If this interview is about my alleged

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reunion with Kollington, I am not ready to say anything about it. It was just an advertisement. I don’t have time for things like that,’ Salawa told Punch Newspaper in an interview. According to The Nation, ‘Real estate Company, Adron Homes and Property, has reunited the one-time lovebirds in its forthcoming Valentine promo for Nigerians. At the ceremony, the duo was spotted sharing cozy hugs and smiling at each other as if they never had a rough relationship.’ Before Salawa and Kollington got married in 1986, she was married to Lateef Adepoju who had signed her to her first recording contract under his Leader Records label. The relationship wasn’t quite fulfilling for Salawa and she soon rekindled the affair she had with Ayinla Kollington before she married Adepoju. But she and Kollington had a falling out and in 1981 she released ‘Ikilo’ (‘Warning’) followed by ‘Eni Tori Ele Ku’ (‘The Man Who Died Because of A Babe’) in 1982. Kollington responded by claiming paternity of Salawa’s child with Adepoju on his ‘Tani O Jo’ (‘Who Does The Child Resemble’) record. Adepoju then got involved and threatened to sue Kollington for defaming his wife. However, in a plot twist of epic proportions, Salawa dumped her older husband Adepoju and pitched her tent with the younger Kollington. They got married in 1986 and she celebrated the union with a new record ‘Ife Dara Pupo’ (‘Love Is Good’). Along with marrying Kollington, Salawa also signed to his label Kollington records. When they had their first child, Kollington released the record ‘Emi Ni O Jo’ (‘The Baby Resembles Me’) to welcome the child. Together, Salawa and Kollington were the most high profile celebrity marriages of the 80s and early 90s. Unfortunately, by the early 90s cracks were starting to show again in the relationship. They had survived really tough times like when Kollington’s mansion in Alagbado (the entire neighborhood is named in his honor) got burnt in 1990. But she wasn’t happy—she was one of at least 15 women who were married to the mega star, Kollington Ayinla. Salawa was faced with a choice—stay in an unhappy marriage or face her career? After all, she also had her own audiences and pulled her own crowds. She chose the latter. She had three kids with Kollington—two boys and a girl. By the time the marriage ended in 1994, Salawa had recorded 27 albums and released a couple more before the turn of the millennium. She also had a short stint with SONY music and appeared in a couple of Yoruba movies. In a 2014 interview with The Nation, Kollington said, ‘In my case, I regret marrying many wives. If I knew things would later turn out like this, I wouldn’t have married so many women. Human beings are unpredictable! Don’t also forget that women

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are very jealous; they don’t like rivalry in any way. But we were too young and ignorant to know all these at that time.’” Some of the milder clips of the songs detailing vituperative contents are reproduced and translated below followed by additional comments. Clip 1 from “Ikilo”: Mo gbele mo gbo Kele tigbe awon ota mi Oro agbaagba Olorin wewe to ba soro ti o mogbon dani A feti gbokobakugbe oro Oro kandi agbo fowo diti lo Mi a gbo Ebora orin a boso lorun awon ota

Translation: I heard the news at home My enemies are in trouble Words from the elders Childish musicians with senseless lyrics Will be heavily insulted They will hear loaded words that will force them to seal their ears The musical muse will remove the enemies’ clothes

Clip 2 from “Ikilo”: Gbogbo aye lo mo yin lo olori buruku Won ti bu awon agba alare to ju won lo Orin eebu loponu fi nsayo Mo ro pe won dagbe lu e Tabi ori e loyi Won n wo e lawosunkun ninu olorin O senu bi oun ti awon agbe fi n ko ebe O se bi nka èyę lo n gbe dani Seru eyi la o fi mo pe o mo ere se Araye e wa wo eleya Alhaji Boys Quarter O dagba je Raufu, olori buruku

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Translation: Everybody knows that you are an unlucky person He has abused senior musicians The foolish man thrives on songs of insults I thought they threw feces at you Or are you crazy? They look at you crying among musicians Look at your mouth like a hoe You think you have something beautiful in your hands Is this how we will know you are a good singer? People should come and look at this contemptuous Boys Quarter Alhaji A foolish adult, unlucky person

Clip 3 from “Ikilo”: Ijekuje buroda ko je ko logbon lori Awon Alhaji to fi Mecca se ise ibi O da bi nkan ti won fi n bogun ni Ile Ife Gbogbo alare awon egbon lo ti sa lo tan Iwa ibi tan wu lo n jabo fun won Rikisi o je ki adiye buroda le fo Kagba alare elominran iyen la ri won si Won fe gba mi kuro lowo alaanu mi Ni mo ba yari kanle fun awon alabosi Iyen na fi ni ki Zombie ma bu wa Lawon agba iya n puro ohun ti o sele o

Translation: He is senseless because of his irresponsible eating An Alhaji who uses Mecca for evil activities He looks like an Ogun sacrificial item in Ile-Ife All his band members ran away This is the result of his evil behavior His hen cannot fly because of intrigues He is good at snatching other musicians’ band members He wanted to snatch me from my destiny helper And I said no vehemently to the hypocrite That’s why they said the Zombie should be abusing us That’s why the stupid elder is lying about what didn’t happen

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Clip 4 from “Eni Tori Ele Ku”: Won si n ba yin bebe pe ka danu duro Awon omo tenikan o bi tun yanu si wa Abuku n run lara yin, egbon oni Fuji

Translation: They are begging because of you that we should stop People without parents are still insulting us You smell of disgrace, brother, the Fuji musician

Clip 5 from “Eni Tori Ele Ku”: Mo ti fogbon pa won je awon alariwo Mo fede yi won mole pata nile odu Oro kanti bi majele fun baba alatika

Translation: I killed the noise makers with wisdom I defeated them with music Serious words like poison for the thug

Clip 6 from “Eni Tori Ele Ku”: Ka jo ma bura wan niso nile orin Awon egbon deni èsín nile odu Ka jo ma boro bo, ka weni ma ke

Translation: Let us continue to abuse each other in music The brother has become a man of ridicule among us Let us continue and see who will cry

Clip 7 from “Eni Tori Ele Ku”: Amo sa bi ti igi nla ko, e ti kere lati fesi Eni tori ogun ku, iyen lo ku iku oro Eni tori ele ku o, iyen lo rorun iya Ohun lo difa fun iponri alaseju, baba alatika

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Translation: Not like the big tree, you are too small to reply He who died in a war died a painful death He who died because of a girl will go to hell This is the source of the Ifa divination for the wayward person, father of the thug

Clip 8 from “Eni Tori Ele Ku”: A n reti esi ke le mo wa loga orin A n reti esi ke le ma Abeni loga orin

Translation: We are waiting for your reply so that you will know we are master musicians We are waiting for your reply so that you will know Abeni as a master musician

Clip 9 from “Tani O Jo” Olorin wéwé e so funra yin E so fun ra yin o ni tile toko Wipe orin asiko lowo wa lowa Baye se n lo si lorin wa n lo si… Tiwa yato si tiyin Formula lorisirisi LAlayinla fi n gbodu jade Ilu asiko lowo wa lowa

Translation: Mini musicians, tell one another Tell one another everywhere That we sing contemporary songs Our songs move as the world moves … Ours are different from yours Different formulas Ayinla uses for singing Modern drumming is ours

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Clip 10 from “Tani O Jo” Gbogbo okunrin ebe kan ni mo be yin; e wa gbo Alayinla, mo ni ma shu ma to obinrin inira lo nko ba oko E je kobinrin o shu, ko to, ko yagbe sile Bo pe boya, oju e a ja

Translation: All men, I plead with you on one issue; come and listen Alayinla, I said don’t go to the toilet for a woman brings problems for the husband Let a woman go to the toilet, pee, and defecate in the house She will regret it at some point

Clip 11 from “Tani O Jo” Obinrin bimo fun ni ko ni ko ma pani Obinrin ko bimo fun ni ko ni ko ma pani Awon obinrin male mefa Ale mefa won o mora won Isowo elegbelehin mi, mo fe bere lowo yin ni Ke wa da mi lohun ki n ma gbo, e seun Nje o ye kalaya bimo fun oko re ko ma jo oko? Ko je oju loju Kola Apa lapa Social Ese lese Aromire Ori lori Jimoh Agogo Eti leti Marcus Tani e jo? Tani e jo? Iwo ni e jo Eyin ni e jo Emi ni e jo? Bo ba bimo na tan o tani e jo? Tani e jo? Tani e jo? Bo ba bimo na tan o, tani e jo? Mo ni tani e jo? Tani e jo? Kii se mi ni o jo Iwo ni e jo Bo ba bimo naa tan o, tani e jo?

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Translation That a woman gives birth to a child for someone doesn’t mean she can’t kill the child’s father That a woman didn’t give birth to a child for someone doesn’t mean she can’t kill the man Women with six concubines Six concubines who do not know one another My backup singers, I have a question for you Answer me and let me hear you, thank you Should a woman give birth to a child and the child doesn’t resemble the father? That the face is like Kola’s face The hand is like Social’s hand The leg is like Aromire’s The head is like Jimoh Agogo’s The ear is like Marcus’s Who will he resemble? Who will he resemble? He will resemble you He will resemble all of you He will resemble me When you give birth to the child, who will he resemble? Who will he resemble? Who will he resemble? When you give birth to the child, who will he resemble? I said, who will he resemble? He won’t resemble me He will resemble you When you give birth to the child, who will he resemble?

Clip 12 from “Tani O Jo” E je o lo Obinrin to dara yi o niwa E je o lo

Translation Let her go This beautiful woman is mannerless Let her go

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Clip 13 from “Tani O Jo” Gbogbo eniyan lo mo teletele to daju pe Orisa je n pe meji obinrin Kolawole, iyen o ma denu o Alayinla, iyen o ma denu o

Translation Everybody definitely knows from time That a woman wants another woman in the house Kolawole, that is superficial Alayinla, that is superficial

Clip 14 from “Tani O Jo” Kolawole o, yo wule subu ni Oko iyawo oni mogana won Yo wule subi ni To ba wa subu tan Yi o yoke To ba yoke tan Yo wole

Translation Kolawole o, he will fall down The groom she likes He will fall down After he falls down He will grow a hunchback After the hunchback He will enter

Clip 15 from “Emi Ni O Jo” Mo ti korin naa ni igba kan E wa gbo labari ti mo tun gbe de, ti mo gbede, ti mo gbede E wa gbo nafia ti mo gbe de o o Mo ni nje o ye kalaya bimo fun oko e ko ma jo oko? Nse na shi mi gbo nile odu o

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Kolawole, kii se eebu ni mo fi ko Kolawole, emi ni o jo Emi ni o jo, Kollington ni e jo Ki sawon ni e jo… Ibiwumi aya wa ni Ibiwumi aya wa ni E ma ba n pa o, Salawatu Aya wa ni; e ma ba n pa

Translation I sang the song before Come and listen to the story that I brought, that I brought, that I brought Come and listen to the story I brought I said should a woman give birth to a child who will not resemble the father? They misheard me in the music industry Kolawole, I didn’t sing it as an abuse Kolawole, he will resemble me He will resemble me He will resemble Kollington He won’t resemble them Ibiwumi is our wife Ibiwumi is our wife Don’t help me kill her, Salawatu She is our wife; don’t help me kill her

Clip 1 from Salawa Abeni’s “Ikilo” is a very clear warning to the unnamed enemies and musicians to be cautious around her. If they don’t, she warns them to expect heavy and loaded insults. She ridicules her antagonists and competitors by referring to them as childish musicians whose musical accomplishments will be decimated and such people will become naked. The second clip contains more invectives than the first. Using deliberate exaggeration, Abeni refers to her competitor here as someone known by the whole world as an unlucky person who has abused more accomplished musicians. She also calls the competitor a foolish person who specializes in insults. Through the use of rhetorical questions, Abeni further denigrates the unnamed competitor by asking whether they threw feces at him and whether he is crazy. Using a simile, she compares the mouth of the competitor to a hoe. She also calls him a foolish adult,

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and refers to him contemptuously as Alhaji Boys Quarters who by inference is always in the back like the Boys Quarters and not the main attraction of any event. The implication of this is that the competitor here is male because of the use of Alhaji which is a title for male Muslims who had returned from Mecca. In the third clip, Abeni refers to her absent interlocutor as a glutton whose irresponsible eating made him foolish. She continued with the Mecca theme by calling him an Alhaji who does evil while in Mecca. A simile follows when she compares him to an Ile-Ife Ogun ritual object. She also claims that all the musicians’ band members ran away from him because of his evil tendencies. She uses a metaphor to compare him to a fowl that cannot fly because of intrigues. She then introduces a major bone of contention which is that he wants to snatch her from her helper. This is probably a reference to the relationship she was interested in unlike her new suitor who she is criticizing here. (This is mentioned by Akindare Okunola in the quoted background information above.) She then refers to the man she is attacking as a liar and a Zombie which is a popular way of referring to soldiers and other law enforcement agents in the society. The next five clips are from “Eni Tori Ele Ku.” “Eni Tori Ele Ku” starts with name invocation and supplication. Salawa Abeni invokes Allah’s name, begging Him on the kind of child she wants. She then drops the names of famous and accomplished musicians like Ebenezer Obey, Sunny Ade, Ayinde Barrister and Dele Adawa as the kind of people she wants her children to be like. She states clearly that she does not want an “alatika” (thug) or “alusi” (mischievous) child. Abeni’s rejection of the thug and the mischievous is a direct abuse on Kollington Ayinla who is called alatika. However, when Ayinla calls himself alatika, he uses it in a positive way to mean a valiant street-smart achiever and not to mean a thug and an irresponsible person insinuated in Salawa Abeni’s song. Clip 4 informs the audience of the auto/biographical story of how some people have intervened in the relationship between the two adversaries, but she quickly shows the futility of the effort by referring to his competitors here as people without parents. She then states categorically that the adversary is a Fuji musician who is smelling of disgrace. In Clip 5, Abeni describes her competitors as noisemakers who she has outsmarted with wisdom and her music. She then declares that the serious words she has for her adversary is like poison. Here, she describes her competitor as alatika which she uses to suggest a thug, but the musician who claims that epithet uses it positively. The sixth clip shows Abeni’s determination to

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continue the rift and insults to see who will cry while describing the adversary as a ridiculed musician. Using a simile, Abeni taunts her competitor by comparing him to a small tree who is too little to respond to her. She then invokes the title of the song through some Yoruba proverbs by stating that the person who died in a war died a painful death while the person who died because of a woman will go to hell. Abeni brings Ifa divination to the discourse by stating that the proverbs are like Ifa verses for the wayward person who is a thug’s father or the thug himself (baba alatika). Clip 8, the final clip from “Eni Tori Ele Ku” taunts Abeni’s adversary by reminding him that she is expecting a reply so that he will know her as the master musician. She brings in her praise name, Abeni—she who someone begs to have—to perhaps insinuate that the crisis can be resolved easily if the competitor can only take the cue from her praise name and beg her instead of abusing her. The responses from Kollington Ayinla are equally abusive like the original songs he responded to. In Clip 9 from “Tani O Jo,” Ayinla, like Abeni, refers to his competitors as childish musicians and asks them to inform their colleagues that he is the master singer whose songs are contemporary. He claims to have different strategies for singing and drumming. In Clip 10 from “Tani O Jo,” Ayinla makes the battle of insults one that is beyond him to include all men. This is why he invites all men not to restrain women, but to allow them to misbehave as much as possible by peeing and defecating in the house so that they can regret it. Like Clip 10, Clip 11 from “Tani O Jo” has some negative images of women in general, not just Ayinla’s competitors. In Clip 11, Ayinla suggests that a woman can kill a man whether she has a child with him or not. He sings about women and illicit lovers in the clip, suggesting that women may have six illicit lovers without any of them knowing the other. He then raises the most fundamental question of the clip for him through repetition, piling, and rhetorical questions which is whether a woman should have a child with a man with the child not resembling the man with different parts resembling different men to suggest promiscuity on the part of the woman. Although this insult is not directed at a named person, people believed it was his former lover that he was insulting. He later acknowledged this in another song. Clip 12 continues the insult on women with the singer claiming that a beautiful woman without manners should be allowed to leave, presumably, her marriage. Through the use of repetition, Clip 13 raises the fundamental question this chapter is engaged with which is how polygamy engenders rivalry and insults. Ayinla sings that everybody

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knows that a woman cannot tolerate another woman in the home. He also brings his name Kolawole and his praise name Ayinla into the discourse to further emphasize women’s resistance to polygamy. Clip 14 is directed against a male rival of the musician. In the song, Ayinla wishes the man will not only fall down but will develop a hunchback. Clip 15 is from “Emi Ni O Jo.” This is where Ayinla retracts an earlier insult about female promiscuity, claiming that he was misheard and that he did not intend to insult anyone. In this new song, he asserts, through the use of repeated anaphora, that the child will not look like different men but will look like him and his family. He then brings in Salawa Abeni’s name Ibiwumi into the song and asserts that she is his wife and that people should not help him to kill her. This song was released after the two lovers had reconciled and were back together. Salawa Abeni also released songs with comparable themes of reconciliation and love in “Ife Dara Pupo.” The Yoruba Ifa divination system that I started this chapter with through Orunmila’s life illustrates the choices of monogamy in Eji Ogbe and polygamy in Oyeku Meji and in Ofun Meji as possibilities within the Yoruba world. While Orunmila prospers more in Eji Ogbe because of monogamy, he faces more problems in Ofun Meji because of polygamy. Wande Abimbola interprets these possibilities to mean that while rivalry and jealousy may be limited in monogamous encounters, polygamy by its nature allows contestation between women and between men and women. One of the consequences of the conflicts in polygamy is the production of songs that include verbal duels with the intention to sing a rival to a fall as seen in the texts discussed in this chapter. Several of the texts that I discussed are still available and preserved because of modern technology. I discussed the important role of modern technology in preserving oral songs and other literary artifacts in the conclusion of Oral Forms of Nigerian Autobiography and Life Stories. I credited electronic technology of the cassette, CDs, and contemporary recording and preservation outlets like YouTube, WhatsApp, Facebook, etc. for being major sources of preservation of oral forms of Nigerian oral auto/biographies. This is particularly true in relation to the musical texts of Salawa Abeni and Kollington Ayinla. Without the cassettes and CDs that preserved their songs and the social media that later also preserved and amplified them, we wouldn’t have been able to find the songs to be able to discuss the encounters in them. The songs show very clearly the musicians as the subject matter of their songs. They document both the rancorous and blissful times. When one reflects on only their songs about their joyous times, it is as if there

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was no time their relationship was dominated by insults, but as the Yorubas say, eyin lohun, to ba bale, se lo ma fo. The human voice is like an egg; it breaks into pieces and becomes unsalvageable when it hits the ground. There are several other texts that foreground women’s agency in polygamous relationships like the example of Oríkorokògó and Kékélurè that I started this chapter with. An example like that, even though sounds mythical now, clearly shows how women viewed themselves in relation to each other in polygamy. We can multiply the examples in various polygamous homes in various parts of Yorubaland and other parts of the world. The fictional examples that are available in Nollywood movies and related musical genres also show these polygamous encounters.

Works Cited Abeni, Alhaja Salawa. Ikilo, 1981. ———. Eni Tori Ele Ku, 1982. ———. Ife Dara Pupo. n.d. Abimbola, Wande. Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa. Apa Kini. Glasgow: Collins, 1968. ———. “Images of Women in the Ifa Literary Corpus.” Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences. 810.1.6 (1997): 401–413. ———. Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa, Apa Keji, Ibadan: University Press PLC, 2014a. ———. Ijinle Ohun Enu Ifa. Apa Kin-in-ni. Ibadan: University Press PLC, 2014b. ———. Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa, Ibadan: University Press PLC, 2015. Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann, 1958. Alabi, Adetayo. Oral Forms of Nigerian Autobiography and Life Stories. London and New York: Routledge, 2022. ———. Telling Our Stories: Continuities and Divergencies in Black Autobiographies. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Ayinla, Alhaji Kollington. Tani O Jo, 1981. ———. Emi Ni O Jo, n.d. Clark, J.P. “Poetry of the Urhobo Dance Udje.” Nigeria Magazine 87 (1965): 282–287. Dada, Abimbola Oluwakemi and Mobolanle Ebunoluwa Sotunsa. “A Literary Analysis of Invectives Among Polygamous Families in Ibadan, Nigeria.” Fieldwork in Nigerian Oral Literature. Eds. Mobolanle Sotunsa and Akinloye Ojo. Ilishan Remo: Write Right Academic Publishing for Babcock University Gender and African Studies Group, 2014, 110–123. Darah, G.G. Battle of Songs: Udje Tradition of the Urhobo. Lagos: Malthouse Press Limited, 2005. “How Salawa Abeni and I Ended Our Age Long Rift—Alhaji Ayinla Kollington Tells City People.” City People of August 31, 2020.

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Okunola, Akindare. “The Complicated Love Story of Salawa Abeni and Kollington Ayinla.” https://thenet.ng/complicated-­love-­story-­salawa-­abeni-­kollington-­ ayinla/. March 2, 2020, Accessed on November 16, 2021. Raji, Tolulope Olabimpe. “A Stylistic and Aesthetic Analysis of Co-Wives’ Invectives.” Fieldwork in Nigerian Oral Literature. Eds. Mobolanle Sotunsa and Akinloye Ojo. Ilishan Remo: Write Right Academic Publishing for Babcock University Gender and African Studies Group, 2014, 124–146. Soyinka, Wole. The Lion and the Jewel. London: Oxford University Press, 1963.

CHAPTER 5

Shairi and Malumbano: The Tradition of Verbal Warfare in Swahili Literature Mwenda Mbatiah

In his study of East African poetry, Njogu challenges the Bakhtinian view that the novel is a distinctly dialogic form, and therefore, it is superior to poetry which is a monologic genre (37–38). Mikhail Bakhtin is the Russian theorist who is well known in literary circles for his theory of the novel as a polyphonic genre as opposed to the monologism of poetry. Njogu uses oral poetry from both the Kikuyu and Swahili communities to demonstrate that contrary to the Bakhtinian postulation, oral, and indeed written poetry, is dialogic in the sense that it constitutes two contending voices. Even in cases where there is only one performer, the voice of his or her opponent is subsumed in the composition. A good example of this is Okot p’Bitek’s Song of Lawino. This composition which was originally written in Acoli and translated into English by the author has also been translated into Swahili as Wimbo wa Lawino: Ombolezo by Paul Sozigwa.1 In the introduction to the English version, G.A. Heron emphasizes the fact that though it was produced in book form, Song of Lawino retains most of the

M. Mbatiah (*) University of Nairobi, Nairobi, Kenya © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_5

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features of the oral tradition which is rooted in the Acoli culture (4–10). In the poem, Lawino is the performer who lashes out at her husband (Ocol) for abandoning the culture of his people and embracing Western culture. She admonishes him thus: “Listen Ocol, you are the son of a Chief. Leave foolish behaviour to little children” (37). Swahili literature is rich in the kind of composition mentioned above where there is a single performer whose work constitutes a verbal battle with his opponent. The best example is the collection of songs that are attributed to Fumo Liyongo—the legendary hero of the Swahili-speaking community. The Liyongo Working Group2 asserts that: Liyongo is one of the most impressive personalities in the oral and literary tradition of the Swahili Coast….the legends of Fumo Liyongo and his entourage, his mother Mwana Mbwasho, the maiden Saada, his concubine, Kundazi, and in particular his arch-enemy Mringwari, are strongly preserved in the memory of the Coastal people, and have become an integral part of the national cultural heritage of Kenya and Tanzania. (University of Dar es Salaam 5)

The Liyongo tradition is so rich and influential that contemporary writers draw from it to write poems, novels, and plays. For example, Muhammad Kijumwa’s 232-stanza poem entitled “Utenzi wa Fumo Liyongo” (“Narrative poem on Fumo Liyongo”) is a poetic rendering of the Liyongo legend. Kithaka wa Mberia’s play: Kifo Kisimani is a dramatization of the same legend. The most recent work that draws from the Liyongo tradition is Rocha Chimerah’s trilogy entitled Siri Sirini and published between 2013 and 2014. It is the longest novel in Swahili so far. This predominance of Fumo Liyongo in all the genres of oral and written Swahili literature confirms the assertion of the foregoing quotation. Going back to the Liyongo songs as representations of verbal battles performed by one artist, we see that the bard addresses his adversary directly, the same way Lawino does, though he does not expect a response from him. In one of the songs entitled “Utumbuizo wa Uta” (“Bow Song,” we read: Sifu uta wangu wa chitanzu cha mpingo Upakwe mafuta unawiri kama chiyoo Mwanzo ch’ondokeya nifumile nyoka umiyo Hafuma na ndovu sikiyole kama uteyo Wanambia hepe mwana Mbwasho nacha matayo?

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Let me praise my bow, made from the twig of the ebony tree, Let it be smeared with oil so that it may glitter like a mirror. I started shooting at the neck of a snake and an elephant whose ear is like an uteyo basket; I also hit a deer and the swift antelope. You are telling me, the son of Mbwasho, to avoid you: am I afraid of your weapons? (Dar es Salaam 46–47)

In this song, Liyongo—the warrior—begins by praising his weapon: an arrow made from the best wood. Then he brags about his hunting accomplishments. In the last part of the song, he addresses (without mentioning his name) the person who has threatened him, concluding with a rhetorical question that emphasizes his defiance and fearlessness. It is obvious that the unnamed enemy is Daudi Mringwari the king. Liyongo and Mringwari had a long-running contest for the throne. The source of the fight was that Liyongo, who was also from the royal family, believed that he was the rightful king, while Mringwari was a usurper. The conflict ends in the tragic assassination of Liyongo. Subsequently, the community elevated him to a martyr. This ancient oral tradition where a single performer uses poetry as a weapon in the fight with his opponent gained momentum in the nineteenth century as evidenced by the compositions of Muyaka bin Haji of Mombasa. Muyaka lived between 1776 and 1840 (Abdulaziz 106–113). Njogu states correctly that “Muyaka is the most popular pre-twentieth century poet and most poets aspire to compose as he did” (65). He popularized the shairi subgenre and became the most outstanding composer of his time. Abdulaziz describes the shairi subgenre as follows: A verse of a shairi is made up of four lines of two hemistiches each with eight vocal syllables to the hemistich and a rhyme pattern ab, ab, ab, bx. In the different verses of the poem rhymes ab may be varied to cd, ef, gh, etc., but x remains constant throughout as the master rhyme.

The form described here is evident in the following three-stanza poem: Tumwi ukifika Zinji, Zinji la Mwana Aziza Wambile waje kwa unji, unji tutawapunguza Hawatatupiga msinji, jengo wakalitimiza Wakija wakitekeza, maneno ni ufuoni Wakija wakitekeza, katika nyumba na fungu

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Wataona miujiza, vituko vya ulimwengu Wambaje watayaweza, kuvumilia matungu? Wemapo simba wa bangu, maneno ni ufuoni Wemapo simba wa bangu, wenye utambo na vimo Watalia “ole wangu,” wangie ndani ya shimo Watakatika manungu, mtemo hata mtemo Panga zao na mafumo, hazifai ufuoni O messenger! When you reach Zanzibar, the home of Mwana Aziza Tell them (the Omanis) to come in large numbers, so that we may take (our) toll of them They shall not lay the foundation of their empire here (in Mombasa) and complete the colonization of the Coast If they do make good their threats we shall certainly meet them on the beaches! If they truly come, and appear on the reefs and beaches they will meet with a big surprise, the shock of the world! What do you think, will they bear the bitter struggle? When the lions of war begin to fight The result will be seen on the beaches When the lions of war, strong, tall men, begin to fight The enemy will cry, “Woe to us!,” before they sink on the reef of gloom! They will be cut into pieces, stroke by stroke! Their swords and lances will be of no avail on the beaches. (130–131)

The boundary of the two hemistiches forming each line is indicated by a comma. Each stanza is made up of four lines, and each line has 16 syllables: eight per hemistich. The actual syllables or rhymes that constitute the rhyme scheme can be shown as follows: 1 2 3 nji  za     za  ngu     ngu  mo nji  za     za  ngu     ngu  mo nji  za     za  ngu     ngu  mo za  ni       ngu  ni        mo   ni

In line with the explanation above, “ni” is the master rhyme that does not change in all the three stanzas. The rhyme scheme enhances the musicality of the poem which is a critical aspect of traditional Swahili poetry.

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Melodiousness is so important that poetry is defined in terms of its musicality. Hence, Abedi, who exemplifies a staunch traditionalist, avers that a shairi is a song, and if it cannot be sung, it is useless (1). As we shall see later, this was one of the contentious issues in the verbal war between the pro-change poets and their conservative counterparts in the 1960s and 1970s. The progressive school of poets refused to accept the rigid prosodic rules—as exemplified in the quotation above—as the essence of a poem. After making passing remarks about the prosodic features of Muyaka’s poem, we now turn to its content which is of more consequence to this study. The question we need to answer is about how the poem represents verbal warfare. Like Liyongo’s poem discussed earlier, Muyaka has directed his composition to his enemy. However, the circumstances in which Muyaka composed his poem are very different from those of Liyongo. While Liyongo was fighting a single enemy, Muyaka was fighting an actual army of potential invaders from Zanzibar. The historical context was the attempt by Seyyid Said, the sultan of Zanzibar, to subdue Mombasa and colonize the entire coast of East Africa. Said’s army are the Omanis referred to in the poem. In 1840, the sultan had relocated his capital from the Omani city of Muscat to Zanzibar, making it his headquarters. His ambition was to control the entire coast of East Africa, and that was why Mombasa was anticipating an invasion. In the poem, Muyaka is like a one-man army facing the invading troops from Zanzibar. In reality, Muyaka was the voice of his people. He articulated their fearlessness, defiance, and readiness to fight Said’s troops. He poses a rhetorical question asking whether the Zanzibari fighters will bear “the bitter struggle.” This is meant to emphasize the fact that the Zanzibaris are no match to Mombasa warriors (lions of war) whose prowess in fighting is well known. He goes ahead to prophecy that Said’s forces will be defeated and his dream of colonizing Mombasa thwarted. Muyaka emerges as a patriot who uses his art to fight the enemy of his community. He is a fighter against colonial forces that threaten the independence of Mombasa. Apart from using his art to fight the enemies of his community, Muyaka also threw poetic barbs at his artistic rivals. One example of such compositions is the following one-stanza poem: Ushairi mbwa welevu, jadi ya Mwenyi Malindi Usambe watoka Jomvu, kwa Ngao na Mwachifundi

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Silino Jitu pumbavu, nguo livete mapindi Ujaonapi mnandi, kujenga nyumba kutwani? Poetry is an art only for the gifted ones, descendants of Mwenyi Malindi It’s not from Jomvu, where Ngao and Mwachifundi live There he is the silly one with folded garments have you ever seen a cormorant building its nest on land?

According to Abdulaziz, Muyaka belonged to the clan of Mwenyi Malindi (106). This means that he is referring to himself in the first line where he brags that he belongs to the clan that produces poets. Since his rival, Mwachifundi comes from Jomvu, he cannot claim the status of a poet. The last line is the climax of Muyaka’s demolition of his rival. The rhetorical question delivers a knockout by asserting that it is as unnatural for a poet to come from Jomvu as a cormorant building its nest on land. This vicious attack on a rival poet’s artistic credentials ratchets the battle another notch by describing him as “the silly one” and satirizing his shabby attire in line three. As pointed out above, Muyaka had great influence on later generations of poets. His masterful use of the shairi as a verbal weapon against his opponents gave rise to the malumbano form which constitutes exchanges between rival poets. Henceforth, malumbano became a means of waging verbal superiority battles among poets. Sometimes poets debated publicly on topical issues; engaged in competitions on knowledge about a particular subject; battled on ideological differences. There are occasions when a poet composes on a particular subject, and by expressing his opinion inadvertently invites sharp responses. The notable Swahili poet, Shaaban Robert, has recorded such an occasion in his memoir which was published posthumously in Njogu. He explains that the motivation for his composition was a new tendency among young people to avoid marriage and remain single. He saw this as a serious threat to his underpopulated country. In the 15-stanza poem which is reproduced in the book, the poet argues that widowhood is ungodly (in the context of the Islamic faith) because God intended every man and woman to have a companion. The composition is an example of a shairi with a refrain that lends weight to the main idea. It says: “Ujane una matata si jambo la kutumia” (“Widowhood is a troublesome thing which should not be tolerated” (84–86).

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The poet says about the reaction to his composition: Tokeo la shairi hili katika gazeti lilitimua dhoruba ya ukinzani. Magazeti mazuri yalichafuka kama bahari shwari iliyoingiwa na tofani, giza na mawimbi. Mashambulio hayakuwa juu ya kazi yangu tu, hata mimi mwenyewe sikupata msamaha. Mafundi na wanafunzi, wazazi, wana na mabinti wao: wote walinijalidi. (86) The publication of this shairi in a newspaper exploded into a storm of opposition. Good newspapers became stormy like a calm sea that is befallen by a hurricane, darkness and waves. The attacks were not just directed at my work but also my character. Bards and apprentices, parents, their sons and daughters: all flogged me.

The raging exchanges between poets who supported Shaaban Robert on the one hand and those who opposed him on the other hand, went on for a long while and revealed the competitive nature of malumbano. The topic in question was a matter of national concern, and so it drew poets from all parts of the country. Though Shaaban Robert admits that he was fighting numerous rival poets, he is keen to show that he emerged the winner eventually. Hence he mentions his rivals in passing and does not include their compositions in his book. On the other hand, he praises his supporters and reproduces their pieces in the memoir. The poets who composed in support of Shaaban Robert included S.H.  Kikwato, Bibi Mwanaidi binti Salim (a poetess), Ahmad Akilimali, Mwinyihatibu Mohamed, and Sheikh K.A. Abedi. These indeed are outstanding poets who are well known throughout East Africa. On Sheikh K.A. Abedi, the memoirist says: “Sheikh Amri Abedi was a very articulate scholar who possessed deep knowledge” (98). The import of this strong endorsement of Abedi is that with the support of such a personage, no one could beat Shaaban Robert in malumbano. The inclusion of so many shairi compositions in a prose work gives it a unique form. Half of the book is in prose while the other half is in verse. This mixture of prose and poetry generally characterizes Shaaban Robert’s works and marks him out as an outstanding poet and writer of poetic prose. The tradition of verbal warfare in Swahili literature arguably reached its climax between the 1960s and the 1970s. This was the time when the birth pangs of a new form of poetry were being felt throughout East Africa. A new group of poets, mainly based at universities, emerged and started challenging the traditional conventions of versification. They were

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opposed to the rigid prosody of the traditional shairi and advocated free verse. Subsequently, two groups of poets emerged. On the one hand there were the conservatives who wanted to preserve the traditional prosodic conventions; on the other hand there were progressives who wanted the traditional prosody to give way to free verse. The two groups were engaged in a bitter struggle that epitomized an historic period of verbal warfare. This event is well-documented in anthologies, critical essays, books on literary history, and many other studies of Swahili poetry. Njogu and Chimerah trace the origin and development of the historic conflict in Swahili poetry thus: A few years after independence, particularly starting from 1968, Jared Angira, Euphrase Kezilahabi, Ebrahim Hussein, Crispin Haule, Mugyabuso Mulokozi, Kulikoyela Kahigi started writing compositions that lacked rhyme scheme and metre, and referred to their works as “Modern Poetry.” The compositions looked different from traditional poetry….Some people interpreted this as artistic development while others saw it as a step backwards. (112)

Although most of the pioneering writers and defenders of free verse are mentioned here, there are others, including Alamin Mazrui, Kithaka wa Mberia, and Kineene wa Mutiso—all from Kenya. All the three poets have published collections of their works. As part of their vociferous campaign in support of free verse, Kahigi and Mulokozi outline the circumstances in which the new artistic movement was born. It was a result of the socio-­ economic and political transformation of East Africa following decolonization. They proceed to explain that: Apart from the economic and political environment, even the linguistic environment is appropriate and it enriches this revolution. Today, Swahili is no longer a language of the coast as it was two centuries ago and instead it continues to be a cultural agent of the entire East African region. Today, the meaning of “Swahili literature” or “Swahili poetry” is not the poetry or literature of coastal people but poetry and literature of the people of East Africa that explores the reality of this region in Swahili language. (3)

The two poets who double up as Swahili scholars based at the University of Dar es Salaam argue convincingly that the conservatives’ opposition to free verse was a result of their ignorance of the nature of poetry and the underlying reasons for the emergence of the new poetic movement.

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Because of their narrow-mindedness, the conservatives believed that there was only one style of writing poetry, and that style conformed to the traditional form. A colleague of Kahigi and Mulokozi who was also a fellow poet and Swahili scholar satirizes the rigidity of the conservatives in the following poem: Mtu yeyote akiniuliza Kwa nini vina na mizani Situmii na mistari na Beti sitoshelezi nitamwambia: Rafiki Kuna njia nyingi za kwenda Bustanini Lakini kama mtu yule yule Kunizoza akiendelea na kuniambia Njia niliyoitumia ni mbaya Nitamwambia: Rafiki, twende nyumbani kwangu kwa mguu na nyumbani kwangu Tukifika jaribu kunifunza Kutembea If anyone asks me Why I do not use rhyme and metre Why my stanzas are incomplete I will answer him: My friend There are many routes To the garden But if the same person Nags and goes on arguing The route I used is wrong I will tell him: My friend, let’s go to my house By foot, and once we arrive Try teaching me How to walk. (Kezilahabi xiii)

In this poem as in other compositions, Kezilahabi emerges as a master satirist who writes in everyday and direct language to mock his poetic rivals. He uses the persona of an experimental artist who gets into an argument with a conservative who has not grasped the true nature of art. The malleability of art, including poetry, is metaphorically likened to the various

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paths that one can use to get to one’s garden. This means that poetry can accommodate the kind of experimentation that proponents of free verse like himself were engaged in. In the last four lines, the poet uses humor to characterize his rival as a ridiculous person who might want to teach his host, with whom they have walked home together, how to walk. The message that Kezilahabi is sending to the conservatives is that they cannot teach the progressives anything about poetry because they are masters of versification. Among all the progressives mentioned above as being members of the free verse movement, Kezilahabi was not only the most prolific but also the poet who engaged the conservatives in verbal battles the most. He can, therefore, be used as a representative of the artistic movement to which he belonged. Kichomi, from which the poem quoted above is derived, was his first collection. In his second collection entitled Karibu Ndani, he continues with his war with the conservatives. In the poem entitled “Mbegu” (“Seeds”), his attack is more specific since it is directed at a particular member of the conservative movement. The last two stanzas of the poem are as follows: Andanenga ndugu Andanenga Yalikuwa ya zamani mvi kuwa hekima Ya zamani vina kuwa shairi Huu ni wakati wa mawazo kutawala Kilichotangazwa si ukaidi nakwambia Ni uhuru wako wewe na mimi Na asiyetaka uhuru hujui jina lake? Wavina nudhumu imewapwaya Waiteni wa jadi waje kitali waone Zana zenu mikuki na mawe! bunduki mwaziona bado mwataka shambulia! Mtazikwa kwenye majumba ya makumbusho Na juu ya yenu makaburi, tutaandika: Washairi wa mapokeo! (23) Andanenga brother Andanenga It is an outdated idea that white hair signifies wisdom It is an outdated idea that rhyme is equal to poetry This is the time for thoughts to dominate What has been proclaimed is not obstinacy I tell you It is freedom for you and me And whoever does not want freedom don’t you know his name?

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Traditionalists have lost their grip on their art Let them come for a fight and see Your weapons are spears and stones! You can see our guns and you still want to attack! You will be buried in memorials! And on your graves we shall write: Traditionalist poets!

As in the earlier poem, this is also a satirical composition that laughs at the conservatives for their backwardness. In the first stanza, the poet mocks his rivals for clinging to worthless prosodic rules that prevent thoughts from flowing freely. He declares that the thoughts transmitted by poets through their compositions are more important than prosodic conventions that were so highly valued by the traditionalists. The poet uses war imagery in the second stanza to describe the triumph of the progressives over the conservatives. He confidently declares that his rivals could never win the war because they use primitive weapons such as spears and stones while the movement he belongs to uses guns. This is a metaphorical reference to the superior artistic skills that the progressives use when composing poetry. Unlike the conservatives who rely on the traditional prosodic conventions, progressives employ a broad spectrum of literary devices. The last two lines suggest that the work of traditionalists belongs to the museum for it has no value in modern society. At this juncture, it is in order to turn to the conservatives and explore the fighting skills they used in their verbal war with the progressives. We begin by answering the question of who Andanenga—the subject of Kezilahabi’s poem—was. Amiri Sudi Andanenga was Kezilahabi’s contemporary poet in the conservative movement. In one of his publications, Andanenga poses as a preserver of Swahili poetry who is duty-bound to ward off spoilers. In the second stanza of one of the poems he says: Kuuhami ushairi, washairi yatubidi Washaingia mathori, wajinadio weledi Kwa kupotoa nathari, sanaa yetu ya jadi Washairi yatubidi, kuuhami ushairi (46). To protect poetry behoves us poets Impotent men have come proclaiming their skills Turning into perverted prose our traditional art It behoves us poets to protect poetry

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From this verse, it is quite clear that the conservatives believed that firstly, they were the only ones who possessed the skills of versification, and secondly, it was their duty to fight those who wanted to spoil their art. This means that they did not regard what the progressives composed as poetry, simply because it was not within the traditional prosodic conventions. Andanenga’s views were echoed by several other conservatives. In his book, Mgogoro wa Ushairi na Diwani ya Mayoka (The conflict in Swahili poetry and Mayoka’s anthology), Jumanne Mayoka rebuts the progressives in two ways. In the first part of the book he argues that what the progressives stood for was alien to Swahili poetry. In the second part he presents his compositions as if to teach the progressives how poetry should be written. He rubbishes the work of Kezilahabi and other progressives in the following words: In this book, compositions like those of Kezilahabi, Kahigi, Mulokozi, and others who write prose devoid of artistry have been cast aside. The reason for doing this is that poetry cannot be written in colloquial language. Poetry is formal language and diction that the artist uses to communicate his thoughts artistically. (x)

The views of the conservatives on the language of poetry are graphically captured here. Contrary to this ideology that poetry has a special, dignified language which must not be contaminated with colloquialisms, the progressives advocated ordinary language. On the whole, the conservative movement viewed a poem as an unchanging artefact which must be preserved for the present and future generations. As pointed out above, the progressives were completely opposed to this rigidity. What is the situation half a century since the historic verbal battles of the 1970s? The malumbano tradition endures and provides poets with a platform to compete. On the other hand, the war between the conservatives and the progressives ended rather inconclusively. Throughout East Africa, there are still good poets who continue to compose following the traditional prosodic conventions. Free verse has also largely been accepted, and there are many new poets who continue to follow the path of the progressives. It is likely that the traditional and the modern poetic movements will continue existing side by side for a long time.

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Notes 1. See Sozigwa, Paul. Wimbo wa Lawino: Ombolezo. Dar es Salaam: East African Publishing House, 1975. 2. This is the group of researchers based in Germany and in collaboration with their East African colleagues whose work resulted in the publication of the book: Nyimbo za Liyongo/Liyongo Songs. The group, who are also the editors, constitute the following: Gudrun Miehe, Abdilatif Abdulla, A.S. Juma Bhalo, Ahmed Nabahany, Angelica Baschiera, Clarissa Dittemmer, Mohamed H.  Abdulaziz, Said A.M.  Khamis, Yahya Ali Omar, and Zeina M.F. Al-Bakary.

Works Cited Abedi, Kaluta A. Sheria za Kutunga Mashairi na Diwani ya Amri. Nairobi: Kenya Literature Bureau, 1954. Print. Abdulaziz, Mohamed H. Muyaka: 19th Century Swahili Popular Poetry. Nairobi: Kenya Literature Bureau, 1979. Print. Andanenga, Amiri Sudi. Diwani ya Ustadh. Ndanda: Benedict Publications, 1973. Print. Institute of Kiswahili Research. Nyimbo za Liyongo/Liyongo Songs. Dar es Salaam: University of Dar es Salaam, 2006. Print. Kezilahabi, Euphrase. Kichomi. Nairobi: Heinemann Educational Books, 1974. Print. ———. Karibu Ndani. Dar es Salaam: Dar es Salaam University Press, 1988. Print. Ma Yoka, Jumanne. Mgogoro wa Ushairi na Diwani ya Mayoka. Dar es Salaam: Tanzania Publishing House, 1984. Print. Mulokozi, Mugyabuso M and Kulikoyela Kahigi. Kunga za Ushairi na Diwani Yetu. Dar es Salaam: Tanzania Publishing House, 1979. Print. Njogu, Kimani. Reading Poetry as Dialogue. Nairobi: Jomo Kenyatta Foundation, 2004. Print. Njogu, Kimani and Rocha Chimerah. Ufundishaji wa Fasihi: Nadharia na Mbinu. Nairobi: Jomo Kenyatta Foundation. Print. p’ Bitek, Okot. Song of Lawino and Song of Ocol. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers, 1972. Print. Robert, Shaaban. Maisha Yangu na Baada ya Miaka Hamsini. Nairobi: Thomas Nelson, 1966. Print.

CHAPTER 6

Moral Authority of Shona Women’s Battlesongs: Revising Customary Law in the Context of Performance Within African Indigenous Knowledge System Beauty Vambe

Introduction: The Creativity of Battlesongs of Abuse and Rebuke For far too long, Zimbabwean songs have been described as protest songs (Kahari 1981). This critical shorthand in appreciating the creativity involved in composing songs tends to hide the fact that protest is a political category that can concern itself with supervising oppressive social frameworks without imagining how to break the cycle of oppression. The tag “protest” music can be used on any songs, and so, it tends to say too much and too little at the same time. An impression has been created in scholarship on Zimbabwean songs that they cannot be imagined as

B. Vambe (*) Department of Mercantile Law, University of South Africa, Pretoria, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_6

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aggressive to a point of abusing, rebuking and repudiating oppressive social orders. Furthermore, battlesongs that are imagined as alternatives to real struggles have been debated as if they are a cultural phenomenon confined to East Africa and West Africa (Masoti 2012). Other critics have tended to suggest that battlesongs are sui generis to African American rappers who have established a long musical tradition of dissing (Khan 2011). However, on scrutiny Zimbabwean music contains elements characteristic of battlesongs. Battlesongs are “verbalised lethal venom that exploit and usurp creative impulses and inventiveness” (Masoti 14) but remain under-­ researched. Only some songs composed by male freedom fighters appear to have been described as battlesongs that responded to colonialism. In addition, in some post-independence scholarship, battlesongs have been depicted as the provenance of male artists who respond to state-sponsored battlesongs against Zimbabwean citizenship (Chikowero 2015). My aim in this chapter is to interpret Shona women’s songs of rebuke as performed in contexts not necessarily of women’s control, as well as in situations where Shona women answer back to patriarchal and colonialist narratives that define Shona womanhood in narrow terms. I avoid a dubious claim that Shona women are naturally endowed with the skill to generate songs of abuse that men cannot access. Shona women have also tended to appropriate songs created by men which they inflect with new meanings in new contexts of performance. Where Shona women could not create their own songs of rebuke, the women re-inserted their musical voice into existing traditions and used their songs to berate the conditions under which they performed their songs. What qualify as songs of abuse can vary from context to context even within Zimbabwe’s cultural spaces. Some contexts of production and performance of songs have, to some extent, been birthed and structured by capitalist forces that permit abusive language to guarantee maximum sales without seeking to dislodge relations of inequality. Songs that foreground the scandalous and the spectacular have tended to be admitted as songs that bear the authentic identity of what is abusive and vituperative. However, the uniqueness of Shona women’s songs of rebuttal is that they are recognizable by their use of the complaint genre to “demarcate the contestants” (Masoti 17). Shona women’s songs tend to make use of iconic tropes. An icon does not image the thing it represents; rather iconic tropes produce their moral authority from the ways in which they are structurally ordered, and this points to or suggests what the reader should think about what is contained in certain images. Although Shona women

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have sung songs of rebuking colonialism, there is not a single volume of such printed songs. Unlike in East Africa, West Africa, and amongst African American rappers, vulgarity and obscenity does not seem to define Shona women’s songs of censure. Considering the above scholarly gaps, I seek to provide well-argued and evidenced responses to the questions posed below.

Research Questions What are the written and unwritten sources of the moral authority of Shona women’s battlesongs? How do context, performance and audience influence Shona women’s literary and cultural “strategies of selving” in their songs of rebuke? What do Shona women’s songs rebuke?

Statement of the Problem Zimbabwe’s popular songs have been studied for their value in enforcing conformity to social ideologies (Chimhundu 1995). Some critics have studied songs to affirm preconceived notions of struggle for liberation (Pongweni 1982). Many of the songs studied have been created by Shona men and this re-enforces a male-centric musical cultural tradition (Naidoo 2010). Little attention has been paid to how Shona women’s songs have acquired the moral authority to rebuke wayward social behaviour. Other studies exclusively focus on analysing lyrics outside the contexts of their performance. This has produced a certain amount of critical output which fails to explore the connectedness of the social context of performance with the production of certain symbolical tropes. This study seeks to address this scholarly gap to balance the influence of contexts of performance on chosen images of expression just as selected images can influence the contexts of social performance. This task requires critical immersion in some theories of performances.

Methodologies of the Study This study is based on purposive sampling. This method enables one to “select information-rich cases for in-depth analysis” (Chari 2008, 96). To minimize bias, this study analyses Shona women’s songs performed within socially recognized institutions of rainmaking ritual myths, songs that

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Shona women have created and appropriated from men and songs that reject restrictive roles ascribed to Shona women by society. In total, the study content analyses about twelve songs namely, “Dai Beche Riine Mazino” (If the Vagina had teeth), “Mapudzi” (Squashes), “Nhai Ishe” (Oh, Chief), “Vachibaya” (Mr Chibaya), “Tondogare Kupiko”, “Musemwa wee” (You Musemwa, “Vamwene Vangu Godo Vanaro” (My mother-in-­ law is troublesome), “Chengeta Chikwama Chababa,” (Keep Father’s Purse), “Handirorwe” (I will not be married), “Aya Mahobo” (Here are my bodily features), “KwaMurehwa” (In Murehwa), “Baba Vabhoi” (Father of my son, “Mai VaDhikondo” (de Kock’s Mother) and “Nyatsoteera” (Listen carefully). The songs above which were performed by Shona women are my unit of analysis. Biri’s (2021) study shows that Zimbabwean women comprise of rich and poor, young and old, single and married women. Women’s social precarity regarding the unequal spaces they occupy is both evidence of their marginality. However, marginality is “often precisely such a position that enables the speaker/artist to attack and occasionally to devastate” (Furniss and Gunner 1995, vii). Feminist methodologies of learning how to know suggest that African women deal with “the method question” (Harding 1987, 1) in research, by appropriating many songs made by men or represented for women by men.

Theorizing the Moral Authority of Women-Centred Songs Insult and rebuke are performed largely through speech or acts to offend and have been with humanity since time immemorial. Some recent studies on insult focus on rebuke in face-to-face communication between individuals. Other scholars have argued that insults can be performed through song to maintain relations of inequality through cultural stereotypes (Wasike 2011). In certain situations, insults and rebuke can induce reform in an individual’s ways of thinking and acting. Insults can redefine new contours of moral authority. Taylor (2007) suggests that moral authority is a set of social values of what is right and wrong and what is culturally lawful in “fulfilling certain ethical expectations” (Diabate 340). The Venice Commission (2008) attempted to lay down the difference between blasphemy, religious insult and incitement to religious hatred considering the need to regulate freedom of expression and the necessity to prosecute. A song of insult can easily turn into a linguistic battlefield in

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which one racial group’s “symbolic reaffirmation of its national greatness is interpreted as a requiem” (Cannadine 1983, 105) by another racial group within the same nation. Therefore, to fully appreciate the text of insults, it is important to re-locate them within the socio-economic and cultural milieu within which the insults were uttered. This perspective should not ignore the importance of extra-linguistic features of performance such as voice, and scat vocals that can be seamless resources in defining the moral authority of battlesongs (Attali 1985). Khan’s (2011) study of African-American hip-hop music argues that Black people in America learnt how to compose the features of their language and manipulate their cultural symbols in such ways that one linguistic voice seemed to placate the plantation owner, while another subversive register was embedded in specific language usages that the dominant power could not always detect and then police. Henry Louis Gates (1992), adds that “talking Black” (83) in America tends to draw on “Black vernacular, the language we use to speak to each other when no outsiders are around” (ibid 83). African-Americans have well-established traditions of dissing in places like Bronx, Compton and South Central in Los Angeles where the Eastlando youth hustle daily to make a living under precarious circumstances (Wasike 26). In Kenya, Taarab or songs of abuse (Masoti 2012) tend to carry sharply offensive meanings and convey direct meanings. Thus, theories that emphasize context, performance and language of expression can assist in understanding the extent to which Shona women have generated songs that rebuke unacceptable human behaviour.

Institutionalized Forms of Rebuke and Insult Many African/Black cultures from sub-Saharan Africa have institutionalized social practices of communal rituals in which song and drama are key symbolical vehicles to spiritually journey back into people’s historical pasts. Ritual texts may remain unaltered over time, but their meanings can be changed profoundly depending on the context of performance (Cannadine 1983). New participants in certain communal rituals tend to introduce new vocabularies of expressions which contribute to re-­inventing new meanings for rituals based on song and drama. In periods of change, conflict or crises induced by nature, the essence of ritual is reconfigured together with identities of participants that can change places, rendering it possible for the community to inseminate new values.

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Vambe (2018) has observed that the Shona people of western Mozambique mediate their intervention to offset the negative effects of spells of drought through the rainmaking ceremony commonly known as Mukwerera in Zimbabwe. These Mozambican Shona women and men invoke the ritual song “Dai Beche Riine Mazino” (If the Vagina had teeth) to conjure rain to fall. Amongst the Shona people of western Mozambique, Mukwerera ritual takes place outside the village, in the forests with the Chief, elderly women, men as main participants. In “Dai Beche Riine Magina” elderly Shona women sing in bewildered tones that signal them complaining of being tired of servitude from holding men’s “mboro nejenje” (penis and testicles). During the ritual women sing, run towards men, get hold the Chief Chassuka and some of his counsellors and imitate sexual intercourse. Shona women describe and attack men’s penis as a stinking object. Women strut like men, drink beer and imitate touching and holding Chief Chassuka’s genitals. This is meant to symbolize Shona women’s sexual triumph over men. Shona women sing; “Ndashaya musungo, ndisunge mboro” (“I cannot find a rope to tie the penis.” The ritual myth implies that Chief Chassuka’s indulgence is the cause of drought and dryness of earth because he abuses his cultural authority and material position when he uses money to buy sex from some women. The women wish perdition to visit errant men when women sing that “Dai beche riine mazino mboro dzose dzaipera” (If the Vagina had teeth, All penises would be finished). Imagine women themselves as possessing power to sexually castrate men, which is a symbolical process that might extend to reducing and controlling men’s social authority over women in real life. In the second segment of the “If the Vagina had teeth” men wake up from the enforced positions of slumber and re-assert their authority over women by pursuing women. Men grab the women, pin them onto the ground and imitate sexual intercourse. As men do so, they also sing back at women’s lyrics, complaining about women’s private parts: “beche rinonhuwa mukati maro” (The inside of the vagina stinks). Contexts of ritual performances permit men to temporarily lose their authority over women. Shona women use language in ways that they would not do even in their bedrooms with their husbands. The world of ritual upends social norms. Women assert labial authority in gestures that reveal that the fecundity, fertility and social regeneration depend on the women’s female principle imagined as the primary source of life through the wetness of the vagina. The moral authority of “If the Vagina had

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teeth” derives from “genital power” (Diabate, viii), both imagined as the inert and active authority with which women must usurp the sexual powers of men. In the ritual song, women’s contempt of how men conflate their sexual and political power is ridiculed through verbalized sexual insults and curses by women who “warn that there is nothing that men can do to extend their patriarchal lineage without women” (Vambe 107). At the end of the Mukwerera, Shona women re-assert their central role in reproductive politics, appear to confirm men’s authority over women’s procreative role. However, Shona women have already subverted men’s authority in the song-drama. An awareness by Shona women about the importance of their bodies can be transferred to demands for social equality. Even though after the ritual of Mukwerera women return to their subordinate status under men (Diabate 2019), the insults women have hurtled on men have temporarily disrobed men of their self-assumed authority. During the ritual performance, men are reduced to mere mortals. Titles of chieftaincy are depicted as not based on natural attributes because they arise from socially constructed ideologies that can be contested in certain situations inside and outside the purview of the ritual of rainmaking ceremony. The preponderance of images of women contains their strategies of assuming new authority. Women associate themselves with life-giving energies that perpetuate human life. Women’s sexuality and role in agricultural labour tend to re-calibrate the authority of women. “If the Vagina had teeth” introduces the idea of textual interruption that implies inserting “women’s vocality” (Oldfield, 2013, 20) in the song text that focuses on women’s conversations. This envisaged form of cultural authority can advance women’s images of self-confidence. Temporal/ territorial alteration of roles in the ritual myth involves “changing the subjects that have dominated nationalist text—and therefore questioning the centrality of the male-defined nation as key historical player” (Boehmer quoted in Oldfield 2013, 20). That is, women’s moral authority they gain within the ritual of rainmaking ceremony can be remembered differently beyond the performance. Neither the Shona women nor men of western Mozambique appear to come out of the performance of the ritual myth of rainmaking with a claim to uncontested moral authority. The ritual confirms women’s activities and relations to men, as metaphors of “men’s projects …in men’s conceptual economy” (Kittay, 1988, 1). There exists a “lack of equivalent metaphors of where men are the metaphoric vehicles for women and women’s activities” (ibid 1). However, when Shona women sing “If the Vagina had

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teeth” they represent their inchoate and nascent narrative voices of resistance to male authority. In mythic songs, social texts cannot totally affirm male dominance. The context of ritual performance enables and permits participants to experience something akin to an “equal and impartial protection of the law” (Mills 1996) inscribed in the creative principle of the malleability and symbolical instability inherent to cultural performance. Shona women are emotionally present and spiritually aware of their participation as subjects and not necessarily objects within the context of rainmaking ceremonies. This is contrary to the legal authority emphasized in some ethnocentric copyright laws emphasized in the West and postcolonial Africa where music and song tend to be viewed as individual property (ibid). Ngara’s (2018) study on the Shangwe people of Zimbabwe reveals that ordinary men and women can use poetic licence guaranteed by the context of performance to question the Chiefs’ authority for a variety of failures to lead. In the songs, “Mapudzi” (Squashes), “Nhai Ishe” (Oh, Chief), “Vachibaya” (Mr Chibaya) and “Tondogare Kupiko” (Where are we going to Live?) women speak about the ravages of persistent droughts and castigate the male figures of chiefs for the failure of rain. Ngara (81) explains the moral authority of women’s songs in terms of how the worried women can chastise “chiefs who collect various gifts in the form of grains and money in order to give them to Nevana (people), yet they continue experiencing drought.” Rain functions both as a metonym of water necessary to make crops grow and as a metaphor of material goods needed in the lives of the ordinary citizens. Ngara’s study further complicates the picture of power and powerlessness often assumed to exist between Shona women and their spirit mediums. In the song “Musemwa wee” (You Musemwa) Shona women can insult rain spirit mediums who fail to supplicate to Musikavanhu (Mwari or God) to intervene and ameliorate the suffering of the people from persistent drought. Muchemwa is ridiculed and shamed because he cannot maintain a life-affirming connection between ancestors and ordinary people. The import of this song is apparent in the lyrical words, “Muchemwa wee! / Wanyara wee, nhumbu yaoma / Muchemwa wee! / Wanyara weeNdatadza kuenda” loosely translated into “Muchemwa wee / You should be ashamed, my stomach is empty / Muchemwa wee, you are ashamed because I failed to go” (Ngara 87). The moral power of this song derives from the African people’s understanding of how human subjects perform acts that shame leaders who fail to deliver to those they rule.

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Writing about shame in the context of African literature, Diabate (2019) observes that shame is a moral category triggered by failure of certain leaders to fulfil certain ethical expectations. Thus, in traditional African communities the extreme socio-economic and political conditions song is considered an appropriate moral whip often cracked on errant powerful people. The moral legitimacy of shaming as forms of insult and ridicule constitute a critical weapon of the weak within the ritualized moral economy of the weak and poor people (Scott 1985).

From the Oral Tradition to the Modern Colonial Culture A major development in the expansion of the repertoire of Shona women’s songs of complaints and insult is that some of the “traditional” songs have found their way into written literature. This is what I earlier on described as the “modernity” of “traditional” songs; their capacity to migrate from one cultural context of performance to another. This creative phenomenon variously known as literary itineracy, or imaginative peripeteia is concretized as “cultural migrancy” (Muponde 2020, 116–129). This form of oral artistry can “ gather and discard meanings and purposes originally designed for them, and from them” (ibid 121). The most appropriate terminology that can account for cultural shifts in musical composition is iteration. Iterative texts suggest a possibility of miscommunication in the transitions of one text into another context. This miscommunication might not deter unauthorized iterations in oral texts. Every repetition re-orders a symbolical process, such cultural repetitions are never pure, introduce difference, semantic instabilities and “always leads to alteration” (Lucy 2004,  59). Shona women have exploited the phenomenon of cultural migrancies by adopting new vocabularies to old songs, performing old songs of abuse in new contexts and honing in on women’s vocality. The Shona song, “Vamwene Vangu Godo Vanaro” (My mother-in-law is troublesome) is a case in point. This song predates colonialism, and, in its oral form, is not ascribed to any known creator. On the surface of its lyrics the song satisfies what Masoti (2012) views as key in battlesongs, which is that they directly address a real or imagined antagonist. The song complains against a very demanding mother-in-law who does not seem satisfied with whatever social activity carried out by her daughter-in-law.

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In Shona culture, “Mwene” means “owner of,” and in the song the fact that a woman is married into another family makes the mother-in-law a senior female to the daughter-in-law, who is considered a junior female, although both “Vamwene” and “Muroora” (daughter-in-law) can be considered outsiders into the family they are married. The daughter-in-law captures the mother-in-law’s fastidious response to nearly every activity performed by the Muroora. When the daughter-in-­ law fetches firewood, her “owner” (Vamwene) complains that she has brought twigs (tsotso); when she fetches water, Vamwene sulks that it is dirty (mabvondwe); when she cooks thick porridge (Sadza in Shona) Vamwene says its half done (imbwezhu); when the daughter-in-law grinds pepper, Vamwene says it is too granulated (mamhazhu); when muroora is mirthful, Vamwene says she is loose and dangerous (inzenza); when she rests, Vamwene says she is lazy (tsimbe); when she socializes, Vamwene says she is an enemy (Imhandu); when she rubs the floor with cow-dung, Vamwene says she has left fresh cow shit (ndove). The list of complaints is inexhaustible. What is dramatized in the song is an unequal and conflictual relationship between senior and junior women. This song and its female protagonist reconfigure essentialized feminist discourses in African feminism (Kolawole 2002; Amaefula 2021). Since in Shona culture Vamwene and Muroora can lay claim to differential authorial voice and space, the daughter-­in-law indirectly lodges her complaints through Marianga. This confirms Yankah’s (1995) view that in situations of differential allocations of power, the less powerful person can rebuke superiors through intermediaries or appeal to the community to intercede on her behalf. It is not easy to demarcate where a complaint begins and where rebuke or insults start because a complaint is a form of cultural censure and reproach. While Vamwene transgresses by overcrowding the physical spaces that the daughter-in-law inhabits, she responds intellectually by constructing a transgressive text that refuses subjugation from another woman. The daughter-in-law does this without shouting political slogans or uttering visible vituperative. This does not diminish the gravitas of her indictment of Vamwene. A story of domestic abuse is elevated to the universal and it acquires its political agency because the song marks a shift from criteria of just distribution to the issue of social recognition (Fraser quoted in Fluck (2003, 97). When the daughter-in-law sings against Vamwene, there may not be immediate “political change or judicial reform to make up for the injustice she has experienced. The major compensation

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is cultural. It consists in a different cultural perception, a recognition of her person as being valuable” (Fluck, 2003, 389). Thus, the moral authority of this song of rebuke is its creative reach that criticizes another woman who is individualized because she has become part of the oppressive apparatus speaking for men. Under a patriarchal system underwritten by colonial inventions of African womanhood, the “mother-in-law has been transformed into the ‘human ideological tool’ to guard female sexuality using the instrument of invented customary laws, but for the benefit of men” (Schmidt 106–107). The text of the song, “Vamwene Vangu godo vanaro” (11–12), I have used is derived from Emmanuel F Ribeiro’s novel, Muchadura (You shall Confess) (1967). The male author uses the figures of women to legitimize male projects. In another sense, the existence of oral songs that focalize women in the narrative interstices of the Shona novel gives the women-­ centred songs a permanent existence which can enable future reflection and interpretation. My analysis of “Vamwene Vangu godo Vanaro” suggests that “if verbal art is a source of power, power can also be a source of verbal art” (Yankah, 1995, 211).

Shona Women’s Songs that Deride Control of Female Sexualities in Colonial Rhodesia There is no scholarly work that explores how women sang songs that derided African patriarchal efforts to control African women’s sexualities. Schmidt’s (1992) study presents the vulnerable identities of Shona women. Yet Shona women participated in communally organized night vigils called Jit. Here, Shona women creatively reconfigured their identities in ways that mocked African rural patriarchs. In the song, “Chengeta Chikwama Chababa” (Look after father’s purse) Shona women’s voices tended to affirm African males’ view that insisted on enforcing discourses of virginity and purity on Shona women. Shona women appear aware of the competition between rural and urban men in wanting to exploit women’s sexuality. Thus, “chikwama chababa” can refer to women’s vagina from which rural patriarchs expected to reap dividends from prospective sons-in-law when they confirmed that the women they married were virgins. The song enjoins women to be weary of being sexually taken advantage of by roving rural African men. This rural African male is described as rustic and he cannot make his own bed (kumuka hariwarure). The roving man spends

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time by the fireside where his head and foot nails are burnt by fire. This rural drunkard is a threat to Shona women’s sexuality, especially during the dark where men could rape women (Kunyengwa nerovha Murima). If Shona women tended to appear to speak on behalf of rural patriarchs who complained to colonial native commissioners that their daughters were being corrupted by roving men (Schmidt 1992), it was because African women were also increasingly becoming aware of the value of their bodies. With increasing industrialization in Rhodesia, some young African women ran away from their fathers who wanted to marry them off to old rural patriarchs. Since African women were not permitted to roam the cities such as Salisbury (Harare), many of them escaped rural control and found new homes in the emerging peri-urban townships. Here, women entered new sexual liaisons with men who worked as labourers on European farms and at nearby mines. Another song popular with African women in 1950s and 1960s was “Handirorwe,” (I will not be married). The mobility of female characters intensified contestations to control of African women’s sexualities manifest in the song by them. One such woman rejects marriage that she sees as a trap and favours multiple sexual relations. Women’s physical mobilities between semi-urban centres are further signalled in the song by reference to “bhazi” (bus) ferrying people to and from a place known as KwaBhora towards Murewa district in present-day Mashonaland East province. The social mobility of women tipped rural patriarchs off-balance as the women insisted that even if the bus breaks down at KwaBhora centre, the woman would enjoy herself with new friends. The unchecked sexual exploits of the new Shona woman are signature in the song “Aya Mahobo” (“Here are my splendid body parts”). This song “notoriously” reveals how the Shona woman inhabiting the space of sprouting urban centres decided to break with the African rural past. In the song, it is implied Shona women took advantage of a developing colonial industry to slot themselves into urban spaces where their presence was viewed by both the colonial and African patriarchy as a social threat. Shona women who cooked for the African industrial labour force (Kubika mapoto), paraded their bodies as objects of consumptions by urban men with money. Hence, “Mahobo” refers to African women’s prodigious breasts and buttocks that men could access at a fee (Vambe 2012), just as the same men lived on food cooked by Shona women who had stormed Rhodesia’s urban centres. “Handirorwe” and “Aya Mahobo” were sung to oppose the dictates of African patriarchs and colonial agents, especially,

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white women who viewed African women in the city as temptresses. White women also feared cultural miscegenation as a result of the Black peril (Schmidt 1992). Although many Shona women in the urban contexts rebuked men who attempted to control female sexualities, some of these women grew rich and were able to send their children to better schools using money accessed through prostitution (White 1990). It appears the discourses that enjoined African women to gain respectability through marriage were strained by chimanjemanje or colonial modernity. The context of rapid economic change through urbanization is sung about by Susan Mapfumo in the song, “KwaMurewa” (In Muremwa). The song seems to attack rural patriarchs for encouraging Shona women to realize their sexualities within the marriage institution, only for the men to abandon the old married women in favour of young, nubile city girls. In the song, the female protagonist has birthed eight children, “vana vasere” with a man who now has turned his back against the old wife in favour of chimanjemanje urban fast women. African marriages also came under stress from the colonial exploitation that meanly rewarded African men working at European farms and in the mines. Again, Susan Mapfumo found herself singing “Baba Vabhoi” (Father of my son), a song that berated African men for accepting pittance from colonial masters. At another level, the song rebukes the colonial narrative of progress and civilizing Africans which was a project predicated on exploitation of African labour at little cost to new colonial landowners. The radicalization of African politics emerged promising to deal a blow on White settlers who had stripped African people of social dignity. Mapfumo’s songs recentred African experience around the rubric of colonial time, thereby making colonialism the cultural determinant of Shona women’s songs. Hence, the moral authority of Shona women’s songs of rebuke derived from being bound up with, and as a rejection of colonial exploitation of African people.

Songs that Recentre Images of Powerful Shona Women During Zimbabwe’s Armed Liberation Struggle The period of the armed struggle saw many men composing songs in which women were projected as metaphors of African male’s nationalist project. The “Ode to Nehanda” in Feso (1967) appealed to Nehanda, the

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Shona people’s female ancestor who inaugurated the First Chimurenga. The song reminds the spirit of Nehanda to honour its promise that her bones shall rise in the new form to combat colonialism. In the actual armed struggle, freedom fighters recalled the heroic deeds of Nehanda and called upon her to spiritually fortify African fighters against the heavily armed Rhodesian security forces. And yet, even though some Shona women participated in the armed struggle as freedom fighters, there is no single volume of songs created by Shona women which insulted the colonial system. This discrepancy suggests that the history of the struggle has been written by male authors. There are glimpses that during the struggle women sang songs that rebuked male comrades who sexually molested African women (Nhongo-Simbanegavi 2000). While Pongweni’s Songs that Won the War (1982) teems with voices of men who mocked colonialism, there is not even a single song attributed to African/Shona women. It is against this background that some Shona women in post-independence period such as Mbuya Maduve have authorized discourses that question male-centred conceptions of nationhood. Freedom T. V Nyamubaya’s anthology of poetry, On the Road Again talks back at African men’s politics that undermine the agency of Shona women. Some Shona writers such as Tsitsi Dangarembga also produced Nervous Conditions (1988), The Book of Not (2006), and This Mournable Body (2018) as a rebuttal of male conceptions of nationhood that dwell on the visible politics of the armed struggle at the expense of the gendered inequalities that Shona women in the novel experience under African patriarchy.

Political Satire, and Women’s Songs that Rebuke Personality Cult in Post-Independence Zimbabwe In post-independence Zimbabwe Shona men created songs in which women feature as the cultural metaphor that justify ethnic politics through which the Shona-dominated ZANU PF imagined Zimbabwe as an expression of a purely Shona cultural identity. One song, “Mai VaDhikondo” (de Kock’s Mother) was sung by Mugabe’s Fifth Brigade during the Gukurahundi genocide in Matabeleland and some parts of the Midlands province between 1981 and 1987. This point suggests that metaphors of music based on cultural migrancies are contingent and can be manipulated by African men to decommission or represent Ndebele people as not

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Zimbabwean citizens. On one hand, Shona women’s songs of abuse have themselves been abused by powerful political men who have channelled the songs’ moral authority towards praising men who control the state apparatus in Zimbabwe. This means that Shona women who dominated Mbare Choir suggest that the songs contained in the Album “Nyatsoteerera” (Listen Carefully) largely work to consolidate hegemony of masculine authority. It is indisputable that the songs were sung to shore up the waning political fortunes of ZANU PF and its aged leader, Robert Mugabe. On the surface, the songs lionize Mugabe, projecting him as unconquerable and larger than Zimbabwe. This cultivation of a personality cult is what is said to undermine Shona women’s musical agency. However, it seems to be that the Album, “Nyatsoteera,” like its title, enjoins male critics to listen carefully to how Shona women can encode linguistic signifiers that subvert the very people that the lyrics appear to be praising. I argue that unwittingly, the Mbare Choir inseminates discourses of satire whose butt is Robert Mugabe, the leader who controls everything, making intellectual, physical and economic independence difficult to achieve for the majority. However, with the benefit of hindsight, the irony in “Nyatsoteerera” is that the Robert Mugabe who is lionized in songs from “Nyatsoteerera” album is one who was deposed from power by his military underlings on 16 November 2017. Beyond 2017, political repression has intensified but this has not prevented Shona women from singing against tyranny, although it is difficult to identify all the cultural circuits in which Shona women’s songs are circulating. One of the reasons why Shona women’s songs of rebuke appears to be non-existent or has gone underground may be that Shona female artists fear to lose face or seek to save face by evolving new linguistic codes that range from avoidance, deflection, metaphrasis that they use to reroute what Yankah describes as “delicate talk as face-saving strategy in the conduct of culturally delicate business” (212) when in proximity to a bellicose military junta intolerant of public criticism.

Conclusion This chapter aimed to explore the sources of moral authority that informs Shona women’s songs of abuse and rebuke. Shona culture permits the existence of institutional spaces where women can use song to rebuke conduct that they deem threatening to their wellbeing. Shona women also exploited the songs made possible by the phenomenon of cultural

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migrancies defined by historical shifts in themes found in traditional communities. Colonialism brought new challenges that enabled Shona women to use their songs as a source of power for the songs of abuse. Armed with new themes and vocabularies not always of their making, Shona women appropriated certain images with which they battled cultural assumptions of the superiority of African patriarch and its twin force of colonialism. Although the liberation struggle re-energized African songs that attacked and challenged the colonial system, many of the songs that won the liberation struggle have been ascribed to male singers. This absence is surprising because at the Pungwe night vigils Shona women sang songs that they and some men had created. However, away from the male gaze, some women sang songs that criticized the patriarchal notion of nation in which women were imagined as metaphors of men’s nationalist project. The absence of a single volume of Shona women’s songs that repudiate male conceptions of social justice is a function of male-authorized discourses that survive through suppression of female creativity. In the post-independence period, Shona women and creative authors have composed their art in an atmosphere of cultural intolerance of the women’s voices in nation building. Some Shona women appear to have been co-opted when they sing in praise of powerful men, even though these men openly promote socio-economic policies that undermine the expansion of democratic spaces. This chapter, therefore, laboured to argue that changing contexts of cultural performance have the effect of supplying new Shona women with new cultural resources to re-­ imagine their identities. At the same time, this chapter avoided to argue a dubious claim that Shona women have certain natural cognitive differences from men which only Shona women can access. As Ahikire (2014) observes in relation to African feminism, Shona women’s songs of rebuttal could fruitfully be considered as a creative reflection on legitimation battles, victories and reversals (7–17).

References Ahikire, Josephine. African Feminism in Context: Reflections on the Legitimation Battles, Victories and Reversals. Feminist Africa, Vol, 19, 2014, pp. 7–23. Amaefula, Rowland Chukwuemeka. African Feminisms: Paradigms, Problems and Prospects. Feminismo/s, Vol, 37, 2021, pp. 289–305. Attali, Jacques. Noise. The Political Economy of Music. Manchester University Press, 1985.

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Biri, Kudzai. “The Wounded Beast”: Single Women, Tradition and the Bible. University of Bamberg Press, 2021. Cannadine, David. The Context, Performance and Meaning of Ritual. The British Monarch and the ‘Invention of Tradition, c 1820–1977.’ The Invention of Tradition. eds., Hobsbawm, Eric and Ranger Terence, Osborne, Cambridge University Press, 1983, pp. 101–164. Chimhundu, Herbert. Sexuality and Socialization in Shona Praise Poetry and Lyrics. Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature, Furniss, Graham and Gunner, Liz eds., Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 147–162. Chikowero M. African Music, Power, and Being in Colonial Zimbabwe. Indiana University Press, 2015 Chari, Tendai J. Representations of Women in Male-Produced “Urban Grooves” Music in Zimbabwe. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, Vol 5, No 1, 2008, pp. 92–110. Diabate, Naminata. “The Forms of Shame in African Literature”. Routledge Handbook of African Literature, ed., Adejunmobi, M and Coetzee C. Routledge, 2019, pp. 339–353. Furniss, Graham and Gunner, Liz, eds. Introduction: Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature. Cambridge University Press, 1995a, pp. 1–25. Furniss, Graham and Gunner, Liz., eds. Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature. Cambridge University Press, 1995b, pp. 1–25. Fluck, Winfried F. Fiction and Justice. New Literary History, Vol 34, No 1, 2003, pp. 19–42. Gates, Henry Louis. Loose Canons: Notes on the Culture Wars. Oxford University Press, 1992. Gunner, Liz, ed. Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa. Witwatersrand, 1994. Khan, KB. Post 9/11 constructions of muslim identities in American Black Popular music. PHD Thesis.Pretoria, University of South Africa (UNISA) English studies. 2011. Harding, Sandra. The Method Question. Hypatia, Feminism and Science, Vol 2, No, 2, 1987, pp. 19–35. Kahari, G W.  The History of Protest Song in Zimbabwe: A Preliminary Study. Zambezia, Vol 9, No, 1, 1981. Kittay, Ever Fedder. Woman as Metaphor. Hypatia, Vol 3, No, 2, 1988, pp. 63–86. Kolawole, Maru Modupe. Transcending Incongruities: Rethinking Feminism and the Dynamics of Identities in Africa. Agenda, Vol 17, No, 54, 2002, pp. 92–98. Lucy, N. A Derrida Dictionary. Blackwell Publishing, 2004. Masoti, Edwin. “Taarab or Songs of Abuse? Verbal Duels in East Africa.” Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, Vol 9, No 1, 2012, pp. 13–34.

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Mills, Sherylle. Indigenous Music and Law: An Analysis of National and International Legislation. Yearbook for Traditional Music, Vol 28, 1996, pp. 57–86. Muponde, Robert. Cultural Migrancy: Provisional Thought on Two Song-Dramas in the ‘Matter of Zimbabwe’. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, Vol 7, No 1, 2020, pp. 116–129. Naidoo, Salachi. Male Perspectives of ‘Womanhood’ in Selected Songs by Thomas Mapfumo. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, Vol 7, No 1, 2010, pp. 88–98. Ngara, R.  Shangwe Mukwerera: Systems and Hierarchies of Communication in Gokwe, Zimbabwe. Performing Zimbabwe: A Transdisciplinary Study of Zimbabwean Music, eds., Amoros L G and Vambe M T, University of KwaZulu Natal Press, 2018, pp. 76–92 Nhongo-Simbanegavi, J. For Better for Worse?: Women and ZANLA in Zimbabwe’s Liberation Struggle. Harare: Weaver Press, 2000. Oldfield, Elizabeth F. Transgressing Boundaries: Gender, Identity, Culture and the “Other” in Postcolonial Women’s Narratives in East Africa, Rodopi, 2013. Pongweni, AJC. Songs that won the liberation, Harare: The College Press, 1982. Ribeiro, Emmanuel. Muchadura. Mambo Press in Association with the Literature Bureau, 1967. Schmidt, Elizabeth. Peasants, Traders, Wives and Shona Women in the History of Zimbabwe, 1870–1939, Baobab Books, 1992. Scott, James C. Weapons of the Weak: Every Weapons of Peasants Resistance. Yale University Press, 1985. Taylor, Diana. The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas. Duke University Press, 2007. Vambe, M T. If the Vagina had Teeth: Song, Film and the Reshaping of Female Identities through Rituals of Rainmaking Ceremonies among the Shona People of Western Mozambique. Performing Zimbabwe: A Transdisciplinary Study of Zimbabwean Music, eds., Amoros L G and Vambe M T, University of KwaZulu Natal Press, 2018, pp. 93–110. Vambe, Maurice T. “Aya Mahobo”: Migrant Labour and the Cultural Semiotics of Harare (Mbare) African Township, 1930–70. Colonial Architecture and Urbanism in Africa: Intertwined and Constested Histories. Fassil, Demissie, ed., ASHGATE, 2012, pp. 153–172. Venice Commission. Blasphemy, Insult and Hatred: Finding Answers in a Democratic Society. Science and Technique of Democracy, No 47, 2008, pp. 1–314. Wasike, Chris. Jua Cali, Genge Rap Music and the Anxieties of Living in the Globalized City of Nairobi. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, Vol 8, No 1, 2011, pp. 18–33.

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White, L. The Comforts of home: Prostitution in Colonial Nairobi. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990. Yankah, Kwesi. Power and the Circuit of Formal Talk. Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature Furniss Graham and Gunner Liz, eds., Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 211–224.

PART II

Diaspora Manifestations

CHAPTER 7

Battles, Raps, Cappin’, The Dozens: African-­American Oral Traditions of Insult Michele Randolph and Maliek Lewis

Introduction “The Dozens” is a diasporic African-American oral tradition that constitutes, in praxis, a methodology for survival among a marginalized and oppressed socio-economic class and race in the United States of America. African oral tradition and its communal prevalence, both diasporic and indigenous, were borne out of communal values and nurtured in response to colonial imposition and racial capitalist-imperialist hegemony, and the subsequent socio-economic stratification and racial oppression inherent in the institutions. The practice of “The Dozens” serves to foster values deemed necessary to survival (as well as to eradicate undesirable qualities or deviant actions), to strengthen the psyches, and to sharpen the intellect and tongue of the members of a community to withstand the structural and physical violence to which they are subjected.

M. Randolph (*) • M. Lewis The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_7

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Prevalent in Black communities, “the Dozens” is a verbal game featuring the ritual, consensual exchange of insults. Players verbally attack, insult, and abuse each other until one participant forfeits or resorts to physical violence in retaliation. The act of verbally exchanging insults is known in the community under various names such as “dissing,” “capping,” “roasting,” or “clowning.” Overall, the act is known as playing “The Dozens.” The Dozens can be played “Dirty” or “Clean.” The form in which the game is played constitutes the nature of the insults. The “Dirty Dozens” incorporates expletives and profane language as well as sexual content; the “Clean Dozens” would involve the omission of such. The Dozens game of insult showcases the intellect, sharpness of tongue, and wit of the competitors. The most fierce of players exudes confidence and observational awareness that is unmatched by others. The verbal exchanges are insults ranging from making fun of the outward appearance, known actions of a participant, and one’s character to most famously the opponent’s mother. Insults or “jokes” of this nature are appropriately titled “Yo mama” jokes. “Yo mama” jokes are of cultural importance to Black African and African-American communities; the mother is sacred and revered in Black cultures. Insulting one’s mother is sure to elicit an emotional response from the subject of insult, the victim. The Dozens is played by two competing groups in a “battle” fashion. Insults are exchanged between two players, one from each of the opposing groups at a time—“one-versus-one” in rotation among members. The Dozens is most famously played in front of an audience. The reception of the spectators is imperative to the nature of the game; the integrative aspect concerning participants and the crowd is an important part of the performance of The Dozens—the audience, in conjunction with the reception of the participant under attack, helps to crown a victor.

History The Dozens, with the act and nature of the game, is of historical and cultural significance to the Black Community in the United States. While the etymology of the game is unknown and highly theorized, poet laureate Mona Lisa Saloy, in African American Folk Traditions in Louisiana, posits that the name “The Dozens” is derived from an aspect of the US Slave Trade, more specifically, from the enslaved peoples of Louisiana. Saloy writes:

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The Dozens has its origins in the slave trade of New Orleans where deformed slaves—generally slaves punished with dismemberment for disobedience— were grouped in lots of a “cheap dozen” for sale to slave owners. For a Black to be sold as part of the “dozens” was the lowest blow possible. (African American Folk Traditions in Louisiana)

Saloy continues: In an effort to toughen their hearts against the continual verbal assault inflicted on them as part of the “dozens,” Blacks practiced insulting each other indirectly by attacking the most sacred “mother” of the other. The person who loses his “cool” and comes to blows with the other loses the contest. The person who outwits and out-insults the other while keeping a “cool” head is the winner. (African American Folk Traditions in Louisiana)

In their examination of “The Dozens,” J. G. Bruhn and J. L. Murray briefly surmised the antiquity of Black verbal games, tracing their roots to West African tone riddles, curses, and their retorts (Playing The Dozens, 483–486). Timeless cultural traditions such as “Halo” of the Ewe people of Ghana, Togo, and Benin and “Udje” of the Urhobo people of Nigeria, incorporate traditional satirical attacks of verbal abuse as a performance which corroborates the notion of verbal games, such as “The Dozens,” having West African roots. The presence of an audience, the performance as a contest or “battle,” the practice of verbal assaults and an opportunity for reply, and the utilitarian function of the tradition as an intra-communal method of social regulation make the apparent “coincidences” between the African and African-American folk traditions too great to be written off as such. In the February 11, 1994, issue of The Baltimore Sun, Gregory Lewis posits the origins of The Dozens similarly to Mona Lisa Saloy. He writes that the tradition has roots within the interactions of enslaved peoples, more specifically the interactions between “House” slaves and “Field” slaves. The two disparate groups led contrasting lives, though both were enslaved by the same system. Even under chattel slavery, the subjugated Africans being from varying ethnic backgrounds lived within a stratified system; those who were imported from the Senegambia were often lighter in complexion, figured to be of mixed (Arab) ancestry, and thus employed in the “House” as servants. It is worth noting that the “House” slaves were often victims of rape and sexual abuse at the hands of slaveholders.

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The slaveholder’s Black offspring were stereotypically “House” slaves. Enslaved Africans from Central Africa and Bantu regions were relegated to the “Fields” due to their features juxtaposing those of the Senegambians, whose complexions made them more White-adjacent (Africanisms in American Culture, 39–45). So, one may conclude from Saloy and Lewis’ explanations, in conjunction with Ojaide’s delineations on Udje, that oral traditions like “The Dozens” are of both historical significance and intrinsic value to Black communities, as a means to reclaim the “sense of self” as well as to strengthen the mind to withstand the physical and psychological cruelty experienced in a post-colonial capitalist system, as with chattel slavery, as well as exercising the wit and intellect of members in the community.

The Dozens as Social Regulation Similar to the functions of other African oral traditions as presented by Ojaide and Jemie, “The Dozens” trains a participant in the art of self-­ control: to remain calm and unfazed when a form of violence is being enacted upon you. Participants learn the value of self-respect and self-love; they learn the value of a sharp mind in order to defend themselves as well as how to disguise their vulnerability and insecurities. The engagement in the verbal game readies the participants to the experiences that are inherent in the oppressive society in which they live, e.g., psychological/emotional denigration and verbal abuse. The game also deters deviant action. The deterrent being the acknowledgment and scrutiny by peers of one’s engagement in cultural taboos, vices, or actions that reflect negatively on the community as mandated by the system in which they are subjugated, e.g., poor hygiene, infidelity, truancy, or drug use. The submission of self, i.e., the willful submission to the external perception of one’s [physical] being (and actions as ridiculed by those of the community), is an attestation to the pragmatism of the methodology in playing “The Dozens.” The aforementioned notion of “submission of self” makes the participants and the spectators, who are arguably participants themselves, privy to the communal and cultural necessity of cognizance of “humanity.” The multifaceted involvement in the verbal game of insult edifies the community, namely the youth, in a generational conception of one’s individuality and existence as a human; one who is inherently endowed with flaws and subject to the perception and judgment of others. This is culturally significant.

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The Dozens as a Methodology for Survival The Dozens, a form of engagement in ritual insult, teaches one how to maneuver within, exist, and ultimately survive in an oppressive system in the midst of racism, socio-economic stratification, as well as physical and structural violence. The Dozens acts as commentary; an attestation to the systems of power, material conditions, and one’s place in the system. The participation in the game constitutes a methodology for survival, insofar as the spectatorship, engagement, and cultivation of verbal finesse coupled with a calm disposition serve as weapons and defenses against subjugation, violence, and oppression. C. Eric Lincoln wrote of The Dozens: Seeing the dozens as a rite of passage is of course a part of my own sociological baggage, my own sociological background. I have played the dozens, I have seen the dozens, but I never did think seriously about what the dozens implied… But as I thought about it, and spent time trying to understand precisely what was going on, it became clear to me that these boys were in effect steeling themselves against the kind of life, the kind of reality that they were destined to experience… Life in the black community was negative. People who were black were nonentities. There is nothing positive in this culture about black people, at least from the overview of those who are not black. So in making the realization that blacks are a debased group, and in doing the deprecating themselves as fun and games, one somehow builds up a resistance to the real hurt that comes when someone else does it. If you can make fun of your women, of your parents, or really of yourself, then when someone else does it you are kind of immune to it, and it doesn’t hurt quite so badly… So what I mean by the rite of passage is that these kids under the streetlight are preparing themselves for the time when the society will not only say what they are saying, but will treat them and their folk in terms of this kind of interpretation. (The Universal Black Experience, 114–115)

One may thus conclude that playing “The Dozens” and the subsequent exchange of insults is symptomatic of (1) the existence within a system as a marginalized person, or “nonentity” as contrived by Lincoln, (2) material conditions in which a disenfranchised class of people are condemned to exist, and (3) the inter-racial/inter-class relations between the marginalized group and its oppressors, or generally, those of the domineering class.

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One can observe purely through the substance and/or subject of the insults exchanged the values, or societal norms that are hegemonically imposed by the domineering race and class of people in the racial-capitalist system that breeds the stratified society. One may examine the “dualist” nature of the insults exchanged between the game’s protagonists. The dualism persists as the insults being a testament to the imposed values (that are inherently racist, sexist, and oppressive) of a society that marginalizes a community, and the subsequent sense of inadequacy that it produces, while simultaneously acting as verbal “sparring”; a preparatory contest and readiness for the violence that will inevitably be perpetrated onto an individual possessing a black body/brown skin. A few of the themes that are prevalent in the insults are poverty and economic disparity, anti-blackness (which manifests as denigration of one for having black features or one’s renunciation of them), and misogyny. The themes are reflective of racial-capitalist hegemony: the condemnation of black existence, marginalization, and contempt one may face as a byproduct, and structural inequalities.

Poverty and Material Conditions of the Impoverished “Your house is so cold the roaches fart snowballs.” (Jemie 2003, 4) “You are so poor you can’t even afford to pay attention.” (Jemie 2003, 4) The defamation of one with cold and the presence of roaches is a testament to the material conditions endured by members of a marginalized community. Roaches and the cold are reflective of uninhabitable dwellings and the dilapidated quarters many are forced to live in such as housing projects, government subsidized housing, and urban ghettos. Insults such as these are antagonistic due in part to the economic disparity of a stratified caste society. Poverty is rampant and disproportionately affects the Black community. The scrutiny of poverty is inherent in a racial-capitalist system. The employment of these insults intra-communally is a reality of the social-cognizance of a community; the knowledge of the material conditions and repercussions of a condemning socio-economic status. Poverty is surely perceived as an abject, personal failure within the system that is capitalism. The employment of insults against one’s socio-economic invisibility, class status, and impoverishment is meant to warn and build a

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defense against the attacks of verbal and psychological violence that one may attribute to the structural and institutional violence one may face.

Anti-Blackness “You are so black, your piss looks like motor oil.” “Your hair is so nappy when you comb it it sounds like someone biting an apple.” “You are so black at night when you blink you disappear.” In a racial capitalist society, the subjugated are perceived as objects; their existence is scrutinized and their “otherness” relegates them to a specific caste, low in the societal hierarchy. Insults of one’s complexion and ethnic features may be perceived by members outside of the community as intra-racial conflict (even then, the source lies in the dynamics of power within a racist system), though it is anything but that. Rather, the insults reflect the cognizance of the dichotomous human existence as experienced by Black and White people. These insults are derived from the phenomenon of “otherness” and more specifically an understanding that within the system that they live, the “otherness” is equivalent to “non-­ whiteness.” Consequently one’s own ethnic features and scrutinized “non-whiteness” will be employed against one—one’s very features are damning within the societal construct in which one is subjugated.

Misogyny “Your mother is like a cup of coffee: hot, black and ready to be creamed.” “Yo’ mama must be a cake because everyone has gotten a slice.” The vilification of one’s mother and the phenomenon as it is employed in “The Dozens” is not a rejection of an Oedipal attraction in an adolescent’s quest for a masculine identity within a matriarchal familial structure, as posited by Abrahams (Playing the Dozens, 213–216). This notion and Abrahams’ conjectures describe the historical context from which the phenomenon (of abuse to one’s mother) is derived. Historically, the Black man has been stripped of his autonomy not only in relation to the domineering class or the oppressors themselves, but also in relation to his family and more specifically the women present in his life, including mothers, sisters, wives, lovers, and friends. The act of defense from abuse inflicted upon themselves and loved ones (predominantly women), such as the beating, capture, torture, molestation, and rape at the hands of

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slaveholders and traders, police, infantrymen, and correctional officers, i.e., the purveyors and strong arms of the racial-capitalist system, has historically been fatal for Black men. Jemie writes that “the black male child has needed not only to disengage emotionally from the mother, but to stay alive and sane in the face of what is done to his mother” (Yo’ Mama! New Raps, Toasts, Dozens, Jokes and Children’s Rhymes from Urban Black America, 26). The denigration of one’s mother with insult is a lesson in the inevitable; the lack of autonomy inherent in the system in which the members of the oppressed and marginalized Black-community are reared. The phenomenon as it appears in “The Dozens,” coupled with the necessity for placidity, is a generational, cultural didactic mechanism. The verbal abuse, degradation, and sexualization of one’s mother make one privy to the misogyny of the patriarchy that is integral to the structurally oppressive system. Thus, the insults necessitate the emotional detachment from one’s mother for the failure to do so could condemn one to death if he/she reacts.

The Dozens: Shifting Regionally and Adapting to the Times The African-American oral tradition of “The Dozens” has a long history that has shifted and changed as the socio-economic limitations and constraints within a class society have evolved over time as well. The tradition is highly identifiable within American society; it is one that is prevalent throughout the entire sphere of an ethnic group, i.e., the Black community. As a strategic game, and as an answer to counter boredom among friends, former Civil Rights activist Imam Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin (also known as H. Rap Brown) compared Black youth playing The Dozens for recreation to White youth playing Scrabble. Dozens continued to be an integral part of Black society recreationally and as a rite of passage throughout each generation of Black Americans since slavery. Playing “The Dozens” has been a staple pastime throughout many generations. Amid the socially polarizing presence of poverty and the inherent socio-­ economic stratification of the imposed system, there has been and will always be a need for both an outlet for expression and frustration and simultaneously the preservation of self, identity, and pride. The contest of exchanging verbal assaults is overwhelmingly personal, as the attacks are

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face-to-face between two solitary opponents: the “survival of the fittest.” As previously outlined, the Dozens is multi-purposeful in that it helped members within the Black community to create skill sets necessary to withstand the daily oppressive environment in which they could not physically escape but allowed a methodology for the self-development of self-­ love, self-respect, and self-restraint against their oppressors in order to survive in the face of disenfranchisement with the American racial-­capitalist society. The Dozens has transformed and adapted regionally according to the particular psychological and socio-economic struggles of the region. One may examine the “regionality” and subtle differences that are present in this oral tradition.

Regional Analogues for Playing “The Dozens” In 1939, Psychologist John Dollard wrote The Dozens: Dialectic of Insults. Dollard was one of the first academics to study the Dozens game in connection with class and geographical locations within African-American communities. Dollard researched and compared the prevalence of the game across all social classes and age groups and locations in different types of African-American communities from small southern towns to large urban cities in the northern states and southeast. What Dollard concluded was that the game was adaptive to the area in which it was played, based in part on the regional norms of that particular regional location within African-American communities. The adaptability of the game allowed for regional variants in the synonyms used in reference to The Dozens (e.g., sounding, joaning, slipping, capping, dissing, roasting, cracking, ranking, and shining all being analogues for the term for “performing the act of exchanging insults”). In the urban neighborhoods of northern states such as New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, as well as the District of Columbia, the Dozens was often called “ranking” or “capping.” In the south, (North Carolina, Georgia, and Mississippi), it was often called “joining,” “slipping,” or “cracking.” African Americans in Texas often referred to the game as “shining” while further west, especially in California, the colorful terminology used is/was “dissing,” “bodied,” or “murdered” in reference to opponent besting a challenger in the battle of insults. As recently as the 2000s “The Dozens” game was still being played in Black communities across the country. In the southern region during the early 1990s it was called “cracking” on, while in the northeast the Dozens

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was popularly termed “ranking.” Elijah Wald in his books The Dozens: A History of Rap’s Mama and Talking ’Bout Your Mama: The Dozens, Snaps, and the Deep Roots of Rap, expands on regional differences in Afro-­ Diasporic insult battle arts and the influence that the Dozens had on music, from the Blues and Jazz all the way to today’s modern Hip-Hop culture.

Hip-Hop as the Adaptive “Dozens” The adaptability of the Dozens and the intersection with every facet of existence within African-American communities is what gave birth to modern-day Hip-Hop culture, whose inception dates to 1979, in the Bronx, New  York, and rapidly spread nationwide; from coast to coast, eventually permeating global borders. “The Dozens” slowly transforms into “Freestyle” battle-rap music (which almost comes full circle in comparison to African oral folk traditions such as the aforementioned “Udje,” due to the rhythmic incorporation of music). Battle-rap is the predecessor to Hip-Hop. Oral traditions such as “The Dozens” serve as a vehicle for mitigation within Black communities. Thus, “Freestyle” battle-rap, which subsequently became Hip-Hop, serves the same function throughout the African diaspora. Though it is significant to note, the themes found in “The Dozens” such as poverty, racism, misogyny, systemic disparity, and oppression are also found in Hip-Hop music. There was not an immediate leap from the historical inception of “The Dozens” to Hip-Hop. Instead, the Dozens shifted and permeated every era and artistic medium in [Black] American History from Vaudeville of the early twentieth century to the literary works by Zora Neale Hurston and Richard Wright during the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s, and even the Jazz era born in New Orleans in the 1940s. African Americans that grew up in the cities of New York, New Jersey, and even the ghettos on the west coast of California played the Dozens in order to have a respite from everyday life in poor inner cities. The Dozens allowed Black youths an outlet by making fun of each other or jokingly putting down an opponent’s family member in order to get a laugh or feel a kinship to their neighbors and friends. The skills learned in the game are to be able to take on an insult bravely and give a quick comeback in answer to the insult in order to try to get the opponent off his best game. The use of satire as an art form has always been an important outlet in Black

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communities in dealing with racial oppression in such a way as to lighten the hearts and lift the spirits of those faced with the daily psychological effects of racism and socio-economic disparity. It is part of African oral tradition especially found in African-American satirical elements of the “Dozens” game and the more recently popular battle-music phenomenon. In America, the Dozens, and later battle rap music served as an outlet for young performers and artists to speak about their disenfranchisement and discrimination through releasing wrath and stress on an equally versed opponent living in poverty. Where they could not really strike out against the majority in society, they did so by showing their skill in verse in playful insults of those also well versed in the art in their own community or other African-American neighborhoods. Racism and the frustration caused by the institutions of both slavery and Jim Crow laws possibly led to the development of the Dozens in order for slaves and former slaves to vent their misplaced anger toward their oppressors toward those closest to them in a game of counterattack in order to vent and gain respect. Oral traditions are common in African countries in order to pass down historical and cultural information. Since the 1980s Hip-Hop and free-style battle-rap took center stage as an outlet for urban youth engulfed in poverty within inner-cities as Black Americans as a whole began to experience increased upward economic mobility nationwide. This phenomenon, others making it “out” while some are left behind, culminated in intra-ethnic struggles, conflict, and (true to the nature of capitalism) competition. The individual struggles that are byproducts of the macrocosm of struggles for self-determination and survival breed intra-ethnic conflict or rivalries, contemporarily known colloquially as having “beef” or “beefing.” The act of insulting one in a rhyme is, more or less, unilaterally known as a “diss” or “dissing.” Staying true to the historical roots of ritual insult and “The Dozens,” artists/ “rappers”/“MC’s” (Master of Ceremonies) insult one another, taking turns, in a group featuring an interactive audience. The main derivation from playing “The Dozens” would be the employment of insults to instrumental music, other phenomena such as rhyme scheme and metaphor remained. The earliest of Hip-Hop performances and acts are analogous to both “Freestyle” battle-rap and “The Dozens”; these traditions are, in essence, one and the same. In 1981, Kool Moe Dee was one of the earliest known Hip-Hop artists to use “freestyle” battle-rap when he responded to MC Busy Bee’s “diss” that no one could beat him at the Harlem World Rap convention. An

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example of Kool Moe Dee’s improv performance excited the crowd as he skillfully dismantled Busy Bee’s credibility as a master “MC” and bringing free-styling to rap he “dissed” Busy Bee by freestyle battling and rhyming: If you was money, man, you’d be counterfeit I gotta give it you, though, you can rock But everybody know you’re on the Furious’ jock And I remember, Busy, from the olden-times When my man, Spoonie G, used to sell you rhymes Remember that rhyme called, “Ditty-Ba-Ditty”? Man, goddamn, that shit was a pity! …

They’re all set up before he comes in But in a battle like this, you’d know you’d lose Between me and you, who do you think they’ll choose? Well, if you think it’s you, I got bad news Because they hear your name, you’re gonna hear some boos. (Battle w/ Busy Bee [Harlem World 1981], 2006)

It is evinced in the pioneering rap-battle, the origin and essence of the performance which is quite literally “The Dozens.” Kool Moe Dee’s “rap” contains the aforementioned components that are essential to “The Dozens.” Kool Moe Dee insults Busy Bee via the use of metaphors, even alluding to his opponent on a personal level, having interacted with his opponent within the community. The insults were vilifying to his opponent’s personal character, ability, and actions within their own community. The nature of these insults was expressed as essential components and overarching substance of the ritual insults and provocation associated with “The Dozens.” Given the examination of the composition and substance within Kool Moe Dee’s primordial rap, it is evident that it prevails as an analogue of engaging in “The Dozens.” Furthermore, Dee refers to his rhyme as a “battle,” which is undoubtedly derived from the competing nature of “The Dozens” game. One final aspect to Kool Moe Dee’s exercise that substantiates the claim of Hip-Hop/battle-rap being an adaptation to the anachronistic “Dozens” is his mention of the integrative reception of the crowd of spectators of which he asserts his opponent will be met with contempt by their “judicial” spectators.

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The Dozens, evolving and adapting through time, underwent a metamorphosis insofar as the way the intrinsic values and societal functions were both manifested and exercised. The social regulation, nurturing of psychological defenses, and sharpening of mind, intellect, and wit remained—it is the manner in which the social commentary was delivered that experienced the most significant transformation. Normatively, “jokes” or “snaps” subsisted as clandestine, implicit examinations of hierarchical social relations, marginalization, poverty, and psychological violence via the insults hurled between participants. With the passage of time, the commentary shifted from socio-political and socio-economic satire to narrative commentary in which one delineated firsthand the physical, structural, and institutional violence within the subjugating system they reside in. Hip-Hop is now the generational equivalent of “The Dozens” whose roles and devices evolved.

Inequality, Dynamics of Power, and Oppressive Institutions Fuck Tha Police by N.W.A. (1988) Fuck the police coming straight from the underground A young nigga got it bad ’cause I’m brown And not the other color so police think they have the authority to kill a minority…

Fight The Power by Public Enemy (1989) Got to give us what we want Gotta give us what we need Our freedom of speech is freedom or death We got to fight the powers that be…

To revolutionize, make a change, nothin’s strange People, people! We are the same no— We’re not the same ’cause we don’t know the game What we need is awareness, we can’t get Careless! You say, “What is this?” My beloved, let’s get down

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To business mental self-defensive fitness…

The N.W.A. verse, performed by Ice Cube, alludes to the oppressive nature of policing within Black communities, as well as the racism and inequality within the criminal justice system, which culminates in Black people and other people of color being disproportionately arrested and incarcerated, even murdered at the hands of law enforcement officials. According to a recent study conducted by Ashley Nellis, PhD, Black Americans are incarcerated nearly five times the rate of their White counterparts (The Color of Justice: Racial and Ethnic Disparity in State Prisons, 6). Public Enemy’s Fight The Power is equivalent to a song of protest, one in which the cognizance of disparity within a race and class of people is at the forefront. True to “The Dozens,” there is an intrinsic message that lies within both verses. Public Enemy’s Chuck D is explicit in his proclamation of an ethnic group’s right to self-determination. He opposes the powers that be, which is a commentary on the dynamics of power with regard to the marginalized and institutions that perpetuate marginalization and systematic oppression. Chuck D also provides satirically the objections and privileged-class scrutiny of members of the subjugated class (Black people) are met with response to their grievances about inequality. Chuck D also necessitates a component of the very methodology expounded upon in this essay: “mental self-defensive fitness” (Fight The Power 1989). The two songs or “raps” were constructed by members of the Black community, but on completely opposite sides of the United States; N.W.A. from Compton, California, and Public Enemy from Long Island, New York. This substantiates the proposed regionality in relation to the spread of the African-American oral tradition. The two groups sharing similar experiences subsisting within a class society presents to us the homogeneity of experience within the racial-class society.

Poverty and Effects of Marginalization The themes of poverty and the struggles and effects of living within the confines of a marginalized class are present in Hip-Hop, as it constitutes the generational iteration of “The Dozens.” Though in narrative form, lacking the direct insult and verbal abuse to one’s “immediate” opponent insofar as it was expressed that “The Dozens” had evolved in form and the

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roles within the tradition shifted. In addition to the proximity of the opponent, there remains the social-cognizance of the material conditions one faces. The “submission of self,” as posited earlier, prevails as well. The submission is not to one’s immediate opponent, it is to the audience, consumers outside the communal-nucleus and social-racial/ethnic strata, i.e., those who perpetuate the systemic, structural, or physical violence. Both artists relay their personal struggles as being impoverished and marginalized within their society. Within Wu-Tang’s C.R.E.A.M, Inspectah Deck delineates his personal struggles, his psychological and physical battle to survive, the depression attributive to one’s material and psychological condition, and even the repercussions of the fight for survival (i.e., incarceration and crime as a mechanism for physical survival). As “The Dozens” was borne out of a will to survive and the communal necessitation of certain principles and action, Wu-Tang’s Inspectah Deck and Outkast’s Andre 3000 exemplify the methods of social regulation and societal-rearing, similar to “The Dozens.” One may also examine the similar yet deviating experiences between the two insofar as they reside in two different geographical regions of the country, though belonging to the same social/economic strata. Inspectah Deck likens the world in which he lives to a “cell.” This is a metaphor for housing projects, as found in the urban neighborhoods of Staten Island, New York. Andre 3000 shares a similar narrative, though he resided in the southern state of Georgia, where he was employed as a child in manual labor to supplement income for his family. In true “Dozens” fashion, these two artists both forewarned others of what not to engage in (social regulation) and delineated the perils of deviating from such imposed norms, even in the face of poverty and adverse living conditions—a phenomenon so familiar to those in the Black community. From East Coast to West, the rap tradition brings to the forefront these issues of poverty, police brutality, unemployment, and disenfranchisement in American society to the cognition of communal counterparts (which could constitute as didactics) as well as provide the commentary regarding the existences within the manufactured confines to those prevailing in the system that confines them.

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The Dozens: Back to Its Roots and Out to the Global Masses The increasing usage of advanced technologies (digital-communications avenues such as the Internet and portable mass-communication devices), African-American oral traditions like battles of insult came out of the shadows and took center stage in mainstream American entertainment and piqued the interest of a new generation across color lines. Television shows such as In Living Color (1990–1994) and movies such as White Men Can’t Jump (1992) depicted “The Dozens” in its authentic form, featuring the essential components: two competing protagonists, insults using metaphor that touch upon several facets of personal and communal life, and an integrative audience of spectators consisting of peers. The depiction in Hollywood and national television subsequently brought the authentic, formally coveted, African-American tradition to mainstream audiences in the midst of Hip-Hop’s burgeoning popularity. An entire decade later, Hip-Hop has proven to be the most consumed and all-pervasive genre of music and sub-culture worldwide. As prefaced, the popularity and intrigue of the cultural traditions and machinations of the marginalized (e.g., “The Dozens,” battle-rap, and Hip-Hop music) compelled the mainstream media to explore, and arguably lay claim to, the traditions and the culture in which it was cultivated. This permitted the African-American tradition of “The Dozens” to be observed, consumed, practiced, and enjoyed in longevity via the MTV program, Wild’n Out (2005–). Wild’n Out may be the most accurate and authentic depiction of the amalgamation of African oral traditions in the United States. It incorporates the indigenous tradition of satirical battle as well as presents an amalgamation of urban African-American oral traditions of insult and abuse. It is therefore of historical importance that the Dozens subsequently became part of the American arts framework. It is seemingly evident that the tradition of The Dozens is a diasporic one; one carried from the motherland of Africa during the slave trade and is one that has adapted, shifted, and transformed itself into the very fabric and fiber of African-American oral tradition and rites of passages for Black youths. While the essence of self-­ preservation, self-expression of ability, reclamation, societal-rearing, and perseverance in the face of obstacles still remains, yet the Dozens as a battle tradition of insult has transformed to global acceptance of Hip-Hop culture, an Afro-Diasporic phenomenon that breaks barriers. The Dozens

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serves as an authentic cultural and ancestral practice in itself and has over the years transformed to join back not only Africa and the diaspora but the entire world to its resilient heritage of battle traditions of insult.

Works Cited Abrahams, Roger D. “Playing the Dozens.” The Journal of American Folklore 75.297 (1962): 209–220. Bruhn, John G. and James L.  Murray. ““Playing the Dozens”: Its History and Psychological Significance.” Psychological Reports 56.2 (1985): 483–494. Dollard, John. “The Dozens: Dialectics of Insult.” American Imago; a Psychoanalytic Journal for the Arts and Sciences, vol. 1, no. 1, 1939, ProQuest, https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-­j ournals/dozens-­d ialectics-­i nsult/ docview/1289738766/se-­2?accountid=14605. French, Kenneth. “Geography of American Rap: Rap Diffusion and Rap Centers.” GeoJournal 82.2 (2017): 259–272. Web. Holloway, Joseph E. Africanisms in American Culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005. Jemie, Onwuchekwa, ed. Yo Mama!: New Raps, Toasts, Dozens, Jokes, and Children’s Rhymes from Urban Black America. Temple University Press, 2003. Koepke, Deanna J. “Race, Class, Poverty, and Capitalism.” Race, Gender & Class, 2007, vol. 14, no. 3/4 (2007). Jean Ait Belkhir, Race, Gender & Class Journal. (189–205). Lefever, Harry G. ““Playing the Dozens”: A Mechanism for Social Control.” Phylon (1960-) 42.1 (1981): 73–85. Mavima, Shingi. “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap.” The Journal of Hip Hop Studies 3.1 (2016): 86–105. Print. Nellis, Ashley. “The Color of Justice: Racial and Ethnic Disparity in State Prisons.” (2016). 5–6. N.W.A. “Fuck Tha Police”. Straight Outta Compton. Priority; Ruthless. (1988). Ochillo, Yvonne and C.  Eric Lincoln. “The Universal Black Experience: An Interview with C.  Eric Lincoln.” The Journal of Negro History, Summer– Autumn, 1990, vol. 75, no. 3/4. University of Chicago Press. 112–119. Ojaide, Tanure. Poetry, Performance, and Art: “Udje” Dance Songs of Nigeria’s Urhobo People. Carolina Academic Press. (2003): 4–75. Public Enemy. “Fight The Power.” Fear of a Black Planet. Motown. (1989). Saloy, Mona Lisa. “African American Oral Traditions in Louisiana.” Folklife in Louisiana (1998). Retrieved November 7, 2021. https://www.louisianafolklife.org/LT/Articles_Essays/creole_art_african_am_oral.html#tab2 Wald, Elijah. “Talking ’Bout Your Mama: The Dozens, Snaps, and the Deep Roots of Rap.” Journal of Pan African Studies 2017: 392–. Print.

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Wu-Tang Clan. “C.R.E.A.M.” Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). Loud. (1993). Wynona, J. (April 30, 2020). “A Brief History of Hip Hop Rivalries and Why They’re No Longer Relevant—Office Hrs.” Retrieved from https://medium. com/@writerontheradio/a-­brief-­history-­of-­hip-­hop-­rivalries-­and-­why-­theyre-­ no-­longer-­relevant-­office-­hrs-­e0a798ca60c8

CHAPTER 8

Black Greek Step Shows Debra C. Smith

African dance has historically had utilitarian purposes including for religious ceremonies, rites of passage, and storytelling. The percussive form of stepping is a dance form that is said to have originated in the 1800s as a communication tactic among slaves when slave owners refused to allow them to use drums. Since the 1900s, stepping to boast of group pride and unity has been a tradition among African American fraternities and sororities who are referred to as Black Greek Letter Organizations (BGLOs). With its blend of chanting and dancing, stepping is stylistically akin to the South African gumboot dance and the Urhobo udje dance in its elements of competition, creativity, skill, and synchronicity. Though Black Greek Letter Organizations step primarily for one-upmanship and to show pride in their organizations, the oral tradition of its African roots is indisputable and consciously embraced. In the twenty-first century stepping has grown to be a global movement performed by all ages. Recent iterations of stepping portrayed in popular culture reflect its fusion with hip-hop, its incorporation into drill teams, school and church competitions igniting concern

D. C. Smith (*) The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_8

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that the commercialization and commodification of stepping will disconnect it from its African roots.

Introduction Many researchers concur that stepping, with its rhythmic and synchronous slapping of arms, legs, and chests is a legacy of African culture and West African dance forms like udje with its combination of performance, song, and dance by performers in costume (Fine 2003; Brown et  al. 2012; Whaley 2010; Ojaide 2003). Further, stepping is regularly associated with the South African gumboot dance or isicathulo which translates to the word “shoe” (Fargion 107). The gumboot dance is a lively, percussive, and exciting team performance incorporating meticulous and creative body movement teamed with songs and chants. Gumboot dancing originated with South African miners in the twentieth century who toiled in dark mines doing tedious, repetitive, and brutal work in silence (Renaud 17). Out of these oppressive conditions emerged defiance in the form of art. Using their employer-issued gumboots, the South African miners, working in darkness, began communicating with each other by boot-­ stomping and hand slaps. This form of communication transitioned to entertainment to help the workers cope with the severe conditions (Renaud 17). Remnants of the high energy of gumboot dancing combined with more contemporary moves and music have been passed down to Black Greek Letter Organizations that have ushered it into the art form of stepping. Much like miners whose human imagination and originality prevailed in the grimmest of times, Black Greek Letter Organizations have embraced the art form. In fact, while widely considered to be one of the factors that bond black fraternities and sororities, stepping became popular in the 1940s and 1950s, more than thirty years after the founding of the first black Greek fraternity Alpha Phi Alpha. In its early iterations, stepping was largely focused on singing and chanting with some stylized moves. More contemporary versions of stepping incorporate drumming, not created by an instrument, but instead by using the body to generate musical sounds by clapping, slapping the body, and stomping the feet. This rhythmic stepping is accompanied by singing and chanting in group synchronization. Tap dancing, complex footwork, childhood games like patty-cake, and the moves of black high-stepping marching bands and drill teams are all components of stepping (Bronner 261).

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Black Greek Letter Organizations are known for their unique step moves that are emblematic of their group identity within the National Pan-Hellenic Council, an organization formed on May 10, 1930, and whose member organizations prioritize community activism and service that support educational, economic, and cultural advancement. The National Pan-Hellenic Council serves as the canopy organization under which are nine organizations referred to as the Divine Nine (Brown 181).

The Divine Nine: Fraternities In response to a hostile racial climate and a desire to unify in solidarity, black students founded fraternities and sororities on their respective campuses. Founded at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, on December 4, 1906, Alpha Phil Alpha Fraternity, Incorporated, was the first Black Greek fraternity. Seven black male students now referred to as “jewels” sought to unite black men and preserve African heritage on the campus of Cornell where they suffered racial prejudice. The fraternity’s vision was to never lose sight of the fact that they must develop not only themselves, but also all of humanity. The fraternity emphasized “scholarship, fellowship, good character, and service to humanity,” and encouraged black students to persevere with their education in the midst of racial strife in 1906 (qtd. in Brown 181). Five years after the founding of Alpha Phi Alpha, ten male students at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana, founded Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Incorporated (formally Kappa Alpha Nu). Much like the plight of students at Cornell in 1906, black students at Indiana University were segregated from campus housing and social activities and sought to form an organization among young men with common interests. The fraternity’s principles were “to promote the spiritual, social, intellectual and moral welfare of its members at its founding on January 5, 1911” (qtd. in Brown 184). In the same year that Kappa Alpha Psi was established, Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Incorporated was founded on the campus of Howard University in Washington, DC, becoming the first Black Greek Letter Organization to be founded at a historically black university. Three Howard University students collaborated with their college faculty advisor on November 17, 1911, to form an organization dedicated to the cardinal principles of “manhood, scholarship, perseverance, and uplift” (qtd. in Brown 186).

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Yet another black Greek fraternity was founded on the campus of Howard University in 1914 when Phi Beta Sigma was organized on January 9 around similar themes of the previous three fraternities. Brotherhood, scholarship, and service were emphasized, and the fraternity focused on serving surrounding communities and being inclusive, hence their motto “Culture for Service and Service for Humanity” (qtd. in Brown 193). Iota Phi Theta was founded at Morgan State College (now Morgan State University) on September 19, 1963, in Baltimore, Maryland, as a social service fraternity. Many of the twelve founders already had close, social ties and were students of non-traditional age. Some of the men were husbands, fathers, military veterans, and part of the workforce all while balancing their roles as students. Against this backdrop, Iota Phi Theta was founded in the spirit of “the development and perpetuation of Scholarship, Leadership, Citizenship, Fidelity, and Brotherhood among Men.” Further, the founders created the motto “Building a Tradition, Not Resting Upon One!” Just as black males longed for support networks as they navigated racial tension, economic shortfalls, and educational access, black women collaborated to provide mutual elevation for one another (McKenzie, Andre, et al. “In the Beginning: The Early History of the Divine Nine.” African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision, edited by Tamara Brown et al.).

The Divine Nine: Sororities On January 15, 1908, Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated was founded at Howard University thus becoming the first Black Greek Letter Organization for black collegiate women. The founders of Alpha Kappa Alpha wanted the sorority to represent the highest ideals of education and enlightenment and cooperated to live out their motto “to be supreme in service to all mankind” (Yeboa 10). In the 1930s, Alpha Kappa Alpha became the first organization to become life members of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (Brown 184). Education and activism continued to be themes of Black Greek Letter Organizations with the founding of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated on January13, 1913. Like many Black Greek Letter Organizations that preceded them, Delta Sigma Theta was founded on the campus of Howard University by black, female, college students and

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its focus was on scholarship, sisterhood, and service. One of the organization’s first acts of political activism was their participation in the Women’s Suffrage March in March of 1913 despite being segregated from white marchers and being the only group of black women present at the event that supported a constitutional amendment to guarantee women the right to vote (Brown 191). Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Incorporated became the next sorority to become incorporated at Howard University. On January 16, 1920, five founders set on raising the consciousness of African Americans, promoting high ideals of educational achievement and a sense of unity in like fashion to the black fraternities and sororities that preceded them (Brown 195). The last Black Greek Sorority in the Divine Nine, Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Inc. was founded on November 12, 1922, at Butler University in Indianapolis, Indiana. They continued the themes that were most profound among Black Greek Letter Organizations including education and service to mankind (Brown 198). Each of the Black Greek Letter Organizations, whether fraternities or sororities has symbols, mottos, principles, and colors that distinguish them. The members are fiercely proud of their group identity which often plays out in collaborative service efforts and friendly competition popularly in the form of Black Greek Step Shows.

Black Greek Step Shows: Shimmying, Cutting, and Cracking Whether to utilize as a fundraising performance, to informally boast of their membership in a particular fraternity or sorority, or participating in a formal competition, Black Greek Letter Organizations celebrate their culture in the form of stepping. While earlier forms of the art included singing and marching, the practice of stepping is more vibrant and exciting as it replicates African traditions. The body is used as an instrument as feet and hands move in rhythm and precision similar to military and drill teams (“Step”). Stepping is connected to African folk tradition and African American verbal creativity as well. Call and response, rapping, handclapping, and the dozens or one-upmanship and playful insults fuse with signature steps for which each organization is known (“Step”). The competition of step motivates sororities and fraternities to be original, athletic, creative, and costumed as groups of three or more

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organizational members perform. Themes among Black Greeks include loyalty to their organizations, superiority of their organizations with respect to other Black Greeks, unity, and pride. Dressed in their signature black and old gold, the brothers of Alpha Phi Alpha stomp onto the stage in military-style black boots to declare their loyalty to their fraternity. Alpha Phi Alpha prominently features King Tut and Egyptian-themed décor and dance in their step show performances; and The Great Sphinx of Giza, the fraternity symbol is often present as they cite their motto, “First of All, Servants of All, We Shall Transcend All.” Being first, best, most masculine, and most desirable are often themes for black fraternity step shows. For example, Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity members proudly exclaim that they were the first black fraternity. Rhythmic, synchronous foot stomping, clapping, and back bend tapping of the floor are accompanied by prideful chants: A-L-P-H-A P-H-I We are the ice cold brothers of A-Phi We’ve been around since 1906 And ever since then, we’ve been steppin like this…

Iota Phi Theta is identified by a red-eyed, mythical beast called The Centaur of which their “Centaur Walk” is representative. This “signature” step is representative of belonging to the fraternity and features call and response followed by creative breaks of four to eight bars that can be updated and changed to meet contemporary times (Fine 2003): I say, my bro-thers…. Yeah? I say, Who’s fly? I Phi! I say my….Iota-Phi brothers… I say we’re going to do… What are we going to do? I say the Norfolk Slide! He said the Norfolk Slide!

The number of performers in a sorority or fraternity varies according to both membership and those who elect to be on the step team. Those group members who are not on the step team sit in the audience cheering on their organization’s execution of unified steps as they ridicule other

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organizations. During step shows, Kappa Alpha Psi’s (Kappas) often perform their signature shimmy dance where they lustfully shake their torso and chest. The shimmy is rooted in dance rituals that African slaves preserved and as Kappas shimmy they play the dozens with other black fraternities: Omegas you are sorry You always do everything wrong Alphas sit Sigmas had to quit But Kappas still going strong Omega Psi Phi responds: I got a feeling I got a feeling, brothers, That somebody’s trying to sneak in my frat And it ain’t gonna be no shhhh like that

The fraternity brothers of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity exhibit a Crescent as their symbol. Much like Alpha Phi Alpha’s Sphinx, the Crescent descends from the fertile crescent of the Nile and Tigris-Euphrates rivers. The Crescent is a symbol of becoming a member of the fraternity and thus being superior to other fraternities as they demonstrate in the following expletive-laden put-down of other Black Greeks: Chew tobacco, chew tobacco, chew tobacco. Spit If I wouldnt have pledged SIGMA I wouldnt have pledged You Alphas (You monkey) You Kappas (You rabbit) Omegas (You Dog) Iotas (Who gives a ****) But Phi Beta (We are the ****) Phi Beta’s great Phi Beta’s grand Every woman wants a Phi Beta man Aooah (Aooah) repeat(singing) The Blue and White of Phi Beta Sigma are the only colors I see! The other frats work good for the others, but they wasn’t good enough for me! I don’t want to be no Alpha or no mother f-in Nupe! I don’t want to be a Kappa or a doggone “Q”! I just want my Blu Phi till the day that I die! Ah Blu Phi! Ah Blu Phi! Ah Blu Phiiii!

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Two forms of communication often involved in stepping are that of saluting and cracking (Fine 48). Saluting is the sarcastic, yet respectful way that one Black Greek Letter Organization greets another by imitating their distinct style. During step performances, fraternities salute members of Black Greek sororities. They also salute their sweetheart or little sister affiliate organization. Sweethearts and little sisters are not authorized Black Greek Letter Organizations themselves; but rather they host at parties and organize volunteer events for fraternities. Their names indicate their affiliation with fraternities: Alpha Angels, Kappa Sweethearts, Que Pearls, Sigma Doves, and Iota Sweethearts (Stombler and Padavic, qtd. in Brown 233). In contrast to saluting, cracking or cutting is not meant to be as collegial. Cracking on or cutting down another fraternity or sorority is accomplished by imitating their steps and sampling their chants. Cracking is akin to the dozens and illustrates the competition between Black Greek Letter Organizations. Generally, fraternities crack on other fraternities, sororities on other sororities (Fine 62). While cracking, female sorority members sometimes step in a counter-­ clockwise pattern commemorative of the ring shout and patting jumba African dance patterns (Fine 2003). Strutting, spinning, and stomping, they too claim the superiority of their sorority as in this example of Zeta Phi Beta cracking on other sororities: You know those AKA’s, better known as Federal Express Because they got their letters in three days or less “This is a serious matter” Ha, Ha so they say This is a serious matter for an AKA Alpha Kappa Alpha, the 1st sorority You couldn’t keep your members So you founded DST You couldn’t keep your members You couldn’t keep your man Now your man wants a ZETA And you just don’t understand You know those Deltas; they think they got it going on They got more members than the Nation of Islam They don’t even know each other How the hell could this be? ’Cause I saw one at the Union, and she tried to oo-oop me

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You know those outcasts in that blue and gold Their letters aren’t real because the SIGMA they stole!

An important part of step show lyrics, as demonstrated above, is to refer to the colors, symbols, or calls of rival sororities. Further, some step performances begin with one step leader inside a circle formed by their sorority sisters or fraternity brothers. This symbolic circle is analogous to the African circle dance that showcased solo dancers, singers, or musicians in the middle of the ceremonial dance. When Black Greek Letter Organization members are in a circle, it is never meant to be broken by outsiders. While the sorority or fraternity forms the inner circle, the largest circle is that of the audience surrounding them. They may be standing or seated. If there is a stage present, the audience may stand or be seated in a half circle as they view the step show. Including the non-performing audience into the circle is symbolic of round dances from African societies including the eseni, yango, and adzobo (Branch, Carol D. qtd. in Brown 323).

Strolls/Party Walks, Chants, Group Identity A further iteration of stepping performed by Black Greek Letter Organizations is strolling, or as they are sometimes called “party walks.” Strolls, like stepping, are done in synchronous groups usually at a social gathering. Black Greek Letter Organizations perform strolls to popular music as they strut. Strolls imitate the competition between Black Greek Letter Organizations as one organization strolls-off with another. Yet, sometimes Black Greek Letter Organizations are known to unify in non-­ competitive strolls to showcase historical African culture, community, and pride. During initiation into one of the Divine Nine organizations, prospective members are taught how to step and stroll. During pledge processes prior to the twenty-first century, prospective pledges would march around college campuses, dance, and recite poems of devotion to their fraternity or sorority with their fellow initiates. The concept of the African Circle dance prevails with strolls as well. When Black Greek Letter Organizations are strolling in a straight line, anyone who wishes to pass through must go around the line rather than break it as is the same when Black Greek Letter Organizations members are in a circle. Chants are two-lined rhyming verses that the pledges sing in unison. Pledges are prospective members of sororities and fraternities. The chants may sound familiar as the lyrics and tune are modified from popular music,

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spirituals, and rhythm and blues. Sometimes chants, which are arranged in two lines of rhyming verse, are performed as call and response. Thematically, the chants cite devotion to the Black Greek Letter Organizations of which the pledge is affiliated, their passion to become members, and playful dozens with other organizations. Black Greek Letter Organizations often culminate their initiation process with a step show performance for the college campus to introduce the new members who have pledged. Prior to the time of the step show, which has been historically termed a block show or probate, the initiation process is commonly shrouded in secrecy including who the new initiates will be. Public spectators learn who the new sorority or fraternity members are in an elaborate step show presentation that features matching clothing and face coverings. After each new initiate is revealed and has removed their face covering (sunglasses, masks, headscarves, caps, etc.) the performance continues with the new initiates stepping under the watchful eyes of their big brothers and big sisters who are already members of their respective fraternities and sororities (Bronner 260). Group identity is a primary component of step shows as certain characteristics, calls, and colors are indicative of each group. For example, the brothers of Alpha Phi Alpha wear black and old gold, the brothers of Kappa Alpha Psi wear crimson and creme, and the brothers of Omega Psi Phi consider royal purple and old gold to be their fraternity colors. The brothers of Phi Beta Sigma wear royal blue and white as does their sister organization Zeta Phi Beta. Meanwhile the brothers of Iota Phi Theta wear charcoal brown and gilded gold. The sisters of Alpha Kappa Alpha wear salmon pink and apple green while Delta Sigma Theta members wear crimson and creme. Finally, the members of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority consider royal blue and gold to be their colors. The colors of fraternities and sororities are worn by members during step performances. For instance, it is common to see members of Omega Psi Phi wear gold military style boots and bark like a dog, while Kappa Alpha Psi members often feature skillful steps using crimson and creme striped canes. During step shows sorority members of Alpha Kappa Alpha yell “skee wee,” while the brothers of Phi Beta Sigma shout “blue phi.” Delta Sigma Theta is known for the “oo-oop” call as in this chant (Egan 1985, 120–121): A Delta is what an AKA ain’t What a Zeta wanna be What a Sigma Can’t

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What an Alpha Like What a Kappa Love What a Que Psi Phi Can’t Get Enough Of Ooo-Ooop, Ooo-oop, Ooo-Oop, Ooo-Oop, Ooo-Oop

In response, a member of the sorority Alpha Kappa Alpha at a step show may also incorporate their call into their step show lyrics: When I woke up this morning and got out of bed I looked in the mirror and I shook my pretty head We are conceited And that’s no lie We’ll be conceited AKA ladies ’til the day we die. I’m so pretty on my left I’m so pretty on my right I’m so damn pretty I can’t sleep at night I’m pretty on my right I’m pretty on my left I’m so damn pretty I can’t stand myself Yes! I possess a Special quality… That Pink & Green looks so good! It’s Beautiful to me….Do you know why? It’s because we’re loved by the Alphas Chased by the Kappas too… Put on a pedestal by the Sigmas… And worshipped by the Ques! Skee Wee, my Sorors Skee Wee

While these calls are not officially recognized by Black Greek Letter Organization national offices, they do function as an informal means of voicing support or affirming the presence of members of the fraternity/sorority especially when they are stepping. Group handshakes and signals, symbols like shields and accessories like pearls and monogrammed sweaters, are also specific to each organization. References to Black Greek Letter Organizations’ names being derived from the Greek alphabet are evident when fraternity members from Omega Psi Phi throw up their hands in a symbolic Omega sign or when sorority members from Delta Sigma Theta connect their index fingers and thumbs in a triangle to form Greek symbol for Delta. Group identity is intensified during the step

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show when one-upmanship and friendly competition in call and response and African oral tradition resonate.

Stepping as a Global Movement Black Greek Letter Organization step shows have gained prominence over the past decades and claimed a national and international stage. For example, Alpha Phi Alpha members performed a step show at the inauguration of President Bill Clinton in 1993 (Santana 2008), and stepping was also a highlight of the Opening Ceremony of the Summer Olympics in Atlanta in 1996. Films like Stomp the Yard, School Daze (Bronner 260) and the television show, A Different World, have all prominently featured stepping within its cultural context. Thus, stepping’s popularity is undeniable as crowds are drawn to its affable competition, its ties to African and African American culture and folklore, and its visual appeal. The art form continues to evolve as newer iterations of Black Greek Step Shows feature fraternities and sororities dancing in sync to popular rap and pop music or creating a mini-theatrical performance. Even rap artists have begun incorporating step moves into their on-stage choreography, most likely due to their own affiliations with and exposure to Black Greek Letter Organizations. As stepping becomes more popular, it is no longer just practiced primarily on college campuses. Even before stepping began to branch out to other organizations, the shows had become so popular that they were held in large facilities to accommodate large audiences beyond simply a student audience. The interest in stepping has grown to include church groups, drill teams, and marching bands that have developed step forms that replicate those of Black Greek Letter Organizations. Stepping has also spread to other cultures, especially multicultural fraternities and sororities on college campus. Tenets of these modern forms of stepping utilize features like clapping, stomping, chanting, dance, gymnastics, and elaborate light shows. Participation in stepping by Latino Greek organizations has led to the added effect of music genres like Salsa, Merengue, and Bachata (aaregistry.org). The popularity of stepping lends itself to the art form becoming unrecognizable and marginally distorted and disrespectful to the legacy of Black Greek Letter Organizations. To reiterate, BGLOs were born out of a necessity to create spaces where black students could thrive in often oppressive racial conditions. Stepping was an homage to their African

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culture and roots. Step shows also generated funds for fraternities and sororities to sow into their communities. Thus, as stepping is embraced by multicultural groups who have no knowledge or ties to the historical intent of the performances, it is vulnerable to cultural appropriation. Instances where primarily white fraternities and sororities integrated moves akin to cheerleading can be perceived as distasteful and devoid of black culture and historical connections. Black Greek Letter Organizations have expressed fear of the tendency to separate stepping from its history and purpose to the extent that it becomes unrecognizable as stepping becomes more detached from college campuses. As more and more multicultural and diverse populations become involved in stepping, the conception and proprietorship of step moves become blurred together with the culture and tradition. The widespread availability of stepping on media platforms has increased its popularity and global reach. Preserving its rich history and cultural nuance will complement its appeal as the legacy of stepping continues to expand and reach new generations.

Works Cited Branch, Carol D. “Variegated Roots: The Foundations of Stepping.” African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision, edited by Tamara Brown, et al., University of Kentucky Press, 2005. Bronner, Simon J. Campus Traditions Folklore from the Old-Time College to the Modern Mega-University. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2012. Print. Brown, Tamara L., et al. African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision. 2nd ed. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 2012. Print. Bryant, Rebecca A. “Shaking Things Up: Popularizing the Shimmy in America.” American Music, vol. 20, no. 2, University of Illinois Press, 2002, pp. 168–187, https://doi.org/10.2307/1350139. Egan, Robert. From Here to Fraternity. London: Bantam Books, 1985. Print. Fargion, Janet T. “The Gumboot Dance: Sell-Out or Symbol?” Música oral del Sur: revista internacional, vol. 3, 1998, pp. 107–111. Fine, Elizabeth C. “Stepping, Saluting, Cracking, and Freaking: The Cultural Politics of African-American Step Shows.” TDR: Drama Review, vol. 35, no. 2, 1991, pp. 39–59. Web. Fine, Elizabeth C. Soulstepping: African American Step Shows. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2003. Print.

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Foster, Kevin Michael. “Black Greeks and Underground Pledging: Public Debates and Communal Concerns.” Transforming Anthropology 16.1 (2008): 3–19. Web. Goss, Devon R., et  al. “Teaching and Learning Guide for Black Greek-Letter Organizations.” Sociology Compass 8.5 (2014): 571–587. Web. Kappa Alpha Psi. A Brief History. https://kappaalphapsi1911.com/page/History McKenzie, Andre, et  al. “In the Beginning: The Early History of the Divine Nine.” African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision, edited by Tamara Brown, et al. University of Kentucky Press, 2005, p. 181. Nelson, Jill. “Stepping Lively.” Washington Post, May 29, 1990. Ojaide, Tanure. Poetry, Performance, and Art: Udje Dance Songs of the Urhobo People. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 2003. Print. Renaud, Anne. “These Boots Were Made for Talking.” Skipping Stones, vol. 13, no. 2, Mar. 2001, p.  17. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/ A72867722/ITOF?u=char69915&sid=bookmark-­I TOF&xid=0a671832. Accessed December 27, 2021. Richmond News Dispatch. Step. October 6, 2017. https://richmond.com/step-­ show/article_c28899bc-­aaac-­11e7-­adb9-­9baff89ddd68.html. Accessed November 1, 2021. Santana, Marco. “Step Dates Back to Slave Days.” The Daily Eastern News. [Charleston, Illinois], October 30, 2008. Shivers, K. “Beyond the Black Greek Step Show: Understanding the Roots of Stepping.” Los Angeles Sentinel, 2000. Stepping or Step Dancing, a Story. African American Registry. https://aaregistry. org/story/stepping-­or-­step-­dancing-­a-­brief-­story/ Stombler, Minday and Padavic, Irene. “Sister Acts Resistance in Sweetheart and Little Sister Programs.” African American Fraternities and Sororities: The Legacy and the Vision, edited by Tamara Brown, et al., University of Kentucky Press, 2005. Whaley, Deborah Elizabeth. Disciplining Women Alpha Kappa Alpha, Black Counterpublics, and the Cultural Politics of Black Sororities. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2010. Print. Yeboah, Amy. A Blueprint for Black Girl Magic: The Leadership of First Woman Dean of Howard University Lucy Diggs Slowe. Journal of the National Association of University Women, Spring 2017–18.

CHAPTER 9

Battle Rap: An Exploration of Competitive Rhyming in Hip Hop Matthew Oware

Emcees deploying clever and pointed wordplay in order to outduel an opponent remain a staple of rap music. Originating in the South Bronx in the mid-1970s, hip hop started in local parks but grew in popularity, leading to commercial success for many musicians. Now, artists receive record contracts, play in concert venues, and appear on audio streaming and digital platforms such as SoundCloud. Nevertheless, the practice of “battling” or engaging in spirited hyper-competitive banter by insulting adversaries continues (Alim et al.; Mavima). This chapter unpacks “battle” rap. First, we trace its beginnings to New York and the structural and cultural dynamics that influenced it. Next, we focus on early “beefs”—verbal jousts among male and female lyricists. In addition to exploring same-sex battles, we also address cross-gender clashes and the rise of women in rap (Keyes; Rose). Next, we turn to one of the most controversial “battles” in rap lore—the East Coast versus West Coast conflicts of the mid-1990s. Here, we witness bi-coastal combatants from California and New York praising

M. Oware (*) University of Richmond, Richmond, VA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_9

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their home state’s rap supremacy while demeaning the other. Sadly, this regional rivalry led to the tragic deaths of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. These fatalities reveal the dark underbelly of verbal confrontations, specifically, moments where intended slights provoke violent retaliation. Nevertheless, clashing on the microphone remains popular and lucrative despite instances of physical violence. Officially sanctioned, battle tournaments featuring local artists exist. Moreover, in 2020, famous rappers entered “Verzuz” battles—the newest cultural expression of the subgenre. Overall, “dissing” or insulting your opponent stays true to the art form and is here to stay.

Introduction A core aspect of hip hop culture—a movement started in the mid-1970s consisting of graffiti, breakdancing, and rhyming—is its hyper-competitive nature (Mavima “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap”; Rose “Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America”). Emerging from the dilapidated conditions and impoverished neighborhoods in the Bronx, New  York, Black and Latinx youth sought a mode of expression for articulating their triumphs, joys, challenges, and pain. They drew ostentatious and complex spray-­ painting—or graffiti—on buildings, trains, and subways. Another element of hip hop is breakdancing, a rhythmic and stylized dance incorporating salsa, capoeira, and other Afro-diasporic body movements. Hip hop’s final component is rapping, spirited rhyming between competitors that may devolve into insult or degradation (Chang “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation”). This chapter focuses on this third. “Battle” rap emerges as a response to individuals yearning to be seen and heard, with the goal of winning verbal jousts against one’s opponent. This chapter historicizes battle rap, tracing its origins to the birth of the genre in New York. The conditions in the Bronx impact the mentality of its residents and thus inform confrontations between artists. To a great degree, this rhetorical strategy is gendered; men tend to compete with men, and women battle other women. However, there are instances when cross-gender verbal clashes occur on records. Several examples of same-sex and cross-sex exchanges discussed in this chapter further demonstrate the importance of this lyrical approach. Although battling first happened in parks, streets, or the hallways of tenements, competitive rhyming transformed into high-profile disputes between individuals and groups on wax.

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One of the most well-known adversarial “beefs” occurred between New York musicians and California artists. Known as the East Coast versus West Coast conflict, this hyper-competitive rhymefest became an all-out war in the mid-1990s. Headlined by Tupac Shakur, representing California, and Notorious B.I.G. standing in for New  York, musicians rapped for dominance and supremacy in these regions. Sadly, the hostilities between these two artists led to their deaths. Thus, we witness instances where slights read as disrespect end in fatal casualties. The tale of the East Coast versus West Coast rivalry reveals the unfortunate consequences of personal attacks. Despite these deaths, rappers continue to insult one another in their songs. Indeed, official tournaments featuring up-and-coming individuals have taken place. Moreover, in 2020, “Verzuz” contests were created—freestyle battles during the Coronavirus pandemic. In the end, battle rhyming remains a crucial ingredient in hip hop culture.

Environment The Bronx provides the structural context for understanding the ideology of rap battles. During the mid-1970s, large urban areas like Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, and the Bronx lost large manufacturing and factory jobs to overseas regions like Mexico and India (Wilson “When Work Disappears: The World of the New Urban Poor”). As a result, employers could pay lower salaries in these areas and offer poorer quality health insurance, allowing companies to exploit workers’ labor. Before this point, employment in many northern and western parts of the United States primarily consisted of jobs not requiring a college degree. Moreover, those who did not finish high school could find viable employment (Wilson “More Than Just Race: Being Black and Poor in the Inner City”). These jobs offered working-class and middle-class wages and were largely unionized. Moreover, unions could negotiate worker pay. There was movement of these occupations from urban locations to the suburbs or overseas, which hurt the typical city resident. Furthermore, the economy shifted from a manufacturing sector to a service one. Post-industrialization, a growing technological boom with decreasing reliance on manufacturing and factory work, left many low or poorly skilled individuals behind. This was especially the case for Black and Latinx workers who depended on blue-­ collar jobs. As a consequence of the loss of employment, areas such as the Bronx saw high unemployment rates (Chang “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A

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History of the Hip-Hop Generation”; Wilson “When Work Disappears: The World of the New Urban Poor”). While joblessness skyrocketed, many northern cities also implemented urban renewal programs. Urban renewal initiatives created by city developers, realtors, politicians, city officials, and others acquired and cleared dilapidated and blighted buildings in large cities to develop highways and expensive residences. As a result of these endeavors, primarily Black and Brown residents in Chicago, Detroit, and the Bronx experienced forced relocation. Their houses were destroyed. For example, in the Bronx, developer Robert Moses created the Cross Bronx Expressway, which ended up demolishing 159 buildings and displacing 170,000 residents. As a result, many ended up moving into overcrowded housing and under-­ funded communities in the South Bronx, where jobs were scarce (Chang “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation”). On top of increasing poverty, joblessness, and urban renewal programs, residents who had the resources moved out of the city to the suburbs, removing a critical tax base from the area. As a result of these dynamics, school quality decreased in these locations. For instance, in the South Bronx school system, programs in the arts and music were eliminated from the curriculum, limiting the outlets students could employ to express themselves. In the end, macro-structural forces, that is, economic shifts, urban renewal plans, and white flight hurt Black and Brown adults and youth who lived in the Bronx. This context frames the tone and tenor of artists’ music. The environments were gritty and dangerous, while jobs disappeared and schools became drop-out factories. One needed to make one’s way and protect oneself in this new world.

Culture Structural conditions inform battle rap; however, the culture of hip hop primarily drives this rhetorical style. Key to the genre is the expression of one’s supremacy and skill over an opponent. The progenitors of this aesthetic emerged from the disc-jockeys (DJs) of hip hop. DJ Kool Herc, of West Indian roots, battled DJs such as Grand Master Flash—whose family migrated to the United States from Barbados—to see who had the loudest and “freshest” music emanating from their large sound speakers. Each musician would play the current jams layering in sound techniques such as extending the breakbeat and cutting or scratching the record. Kool Herc relied on a mix of songs from the New York and Jamaican music scenes,

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while Grand Master Flash mirrored this strategy. Each played to crowds trying to outperform the other. Audiences determined who won through cheering and feedback (Chang “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation”). DJs relied on emcees who used call-and-response techniques when interacting with audiences as part of their performances, stating a command—“Somebody say ho!”—and urging audience members to respond in kind—“Hooo!” Smitherman contends that this activity continues West African oral traditions. Emcees were essentially hype “men” who worked for and promoted their DJs. The hyper-competitive nature among the DJs transferred to the emcees who “moved the crowd” through their witty wordplay (Smitherman “‘The Chain Remain the Same’: Communicative Practices in the Hip Hop Nation”). The aggressive nature between lyricists grew as they promoted their DJs. As rappers became popular, they moved from the periphery to the forefront of the culture. Whereas audiences would attend parties and clubs to see DJs work their magic on the turntables or breakers contort their bodies on the dance floor, soon they came to hear rap artists express fantastic tales about themselves and their crews. For example, the DJ Grandmaster Flash became the rap group Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. Group members such as Melle Mel and Cowboy rhymed about their fancy clothes, verbal skill on the microphone, womanizing, and besting their competitors. Rap battles became official events in local neighborhoods and downtown Manhattan clubs, such as the Latin Quarter (Chang “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation”). Audiences came out in large numbers to see rap battles between groups such as the Cold Crush Brothers and the Fantastic Five at the local club. The element of the clash now centered on the emcee. The individual and their group overcame adversaries on the microphone through clever lyrics and verbal skills. Rappers drew on the African oral tradition of signifying, denigration of an opponent through a play on words and the use of irony. Artists also deployed the African-American cultural phenomenon known as “playing the dozens”—insulting an opponent’s mother or other family members—as part of their repertoire (Mavima “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap”; Smitherman “‘The Chain Remain the Same’: Communicative Practices in the Hip Hop Nation”). Finally, lyricists employed double entendre, self-deprecation, and humor in their rhymes. Yet, battling was light-hearted, hardly edgy, or mean-spirited.

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Rap battles happened in Brown and Latinx neighborhoods at parks, parties, and clubs. Alim et al. write that these residential freestyle rap battles were “improvisational verbal duels that often emerge from ciphers or competitive circular arrangement of emcees who take turns rapping with each other” (425). Crews’ received bragging rights, a little money, along with street credibility, based on spectators’ responses. The winners found themselves in the situation of defending their honor. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not. As rap became popular, it moved from the “streets” to records; yet, “battling” remained central to the form.

Men and Rap Battling A key element of one’s performance was braggadocio or exalting one’s self at the expense of a competitor. Often battles were gendered; men battle men while women compete against women. Among men, the contestants were often hyper-heterosexual, homophobic, violent, and misogynistic (Kubrin “Gangstas, Thugs, and Hustlas: Identity and the Code of the Street in Rap Music”; Rose “The Hip Hop Wars”). Young males often rhymed about money, lavish lifestyles, physical and mental strength, the harm inflicted on others, and the women they sexually conquered. An example of strident heterosexuality appears in the music of the Sugar Hill Gang’s multi-platinum selling single, “Rapper’s Delight.” “Rapper’s Delight” is considered one of the first commercial hits in the genre. In it, the artists rave about their sex appeal. Big Bank Hank rhymes, “Well…I’m the ladies’ pimp, the women fight for my delight.” He goes on to tell a fictional female reporter named Lois Lane that “He [Superman] can’t satisfy you with his little worm, but I bust you out with my super sperm” (Sugar Hill Gang “Rapper Delight”). Hank portrays himself as a ladies’ man with substantial sexual prowess. The lyrics are light yet boastful, rooted in hypermasculinity. As rap became more of a mainstream art, the bravado grew more hard-edged. Rappers began deploying more explicit and degrading language to describe their opponents. Often male artists belittled each other using pejoratives such as “fag,” “homo,” “bitch,” and “pussy.” The intent was to depict one’s opponent as weak and fraudulent; fundamentally, this characterization relied on homophobia and the degradation of women (Rose “The Hip Hop Wars”). This construction of masculinity drew on Richards and Majors’ notion of the “cool pose,” defined as a “ritualized form of masculinity that entails scripts, physical posturing, impression

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management, and carefully crafted performances that deliver a single, critical message: pride, strength, and control” (4). Thus, males felt compelled to present themselves as strong, overbearing, sexually potent, and credible. The “code of the street” or the implicit rules of urban neighborhoods often dictated male artists’ lyrics (Anderson “Code of the Street: Decency, Violence, and the Moral Life of the Inner City.”; Kubrin “Gangstas, Thugs, and Hustlas: Identity and the Code of the Street in Rap Music”). Such rules stated that “real” (heterosexual) men never back down from a challenger and maintain their dignity and respect. This rationale shapes male rap battles. This mode of “dissing” became prominent within the sub-genre of “gangsta rap” in the 1990s and early 2000s. As an example, in his song “Where the Hood At,” DMX rhymes, “Last I heard, y’all niggas was havin’ sex, with the same sex / I show no love to homo thugs / how you gonna explain fuckin’ a man” (DMX “Where The Hood At?”). The artist describes his competitors as gay in order to denigrate them. According to him, legitimate men do not engage in sexual relations with other men. Moreover, homosexuality is inexplicable and dangerous. In the end, DMX achieves dominance because he is heterosexual and anti-gay. Ice Cube mimics DMX’s rhetorical delivery and substance while thrashing his former rap group, Niggaz Wit Attitude (NWA), who he views as having disrespected him. In the infamous song, “No Vaseline,” the artist rhymes, “Cuz you gettin’ fucked out your green by a white boy, with no Vaseline” (Ice Cube “No Vaseline”). Cube’s diss takes two forms, one homophobic and the other an implicit racial critique. The artist demeans his former group by claiming their white manager, Jerry Heller, assaults them figuratively and literally. The racial component conjures up notions of whites cheating Blacks out of their money, while the sexual remarks express explicit homophobia. Cube reinforces this trope rhyming, “Gang-­ banged by your manager, fella / Getting money out your ass like a mothafuckin’ Ready Teller” (Ice Cube “No Vaseline”). Again, the rapper references NWA’s white manager conning artists out of their cash. In the end, Ice Cube positions himself as the superior male because he left the group to start a solo career and thus avoided racial exploitation and ultimately dishonor. The song’s potency lies in Cube’s linkage of homophobia, which he depicts as rape throughout the song, with racism. Due to their ignorance, the remaining members of NWA fall prey to both. In one verse, he rhymes, “Eazy-E turned faggot” (Ice Cube “No Vaseline”). For Ice Cube, the dominant and powerful heterosexual male stands alone and handles his finances.

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Harder edged rap transitioned to especially violent lyrics in the late 1990s and 2000s. Artists referenced firearms they possessed and the harm they could inflict on their opponents. As seen in the song “Piggy Bank,” 50 Cent rhymes, “I’m in the hood, in the drop, Teflon vinyl top / Got a 100 guns a 100 clips” (50 Cent “Piggy Bank”). During this period, rap artists stated that they owned “gats,” “Glocks,” “semi-automatics”—all types of high-powered weapons. Artists used their guns to “spit” / deploy “rounds” / bullets against their competitors. Continuing with 50 Cent’s “‘Piggy Bank’,” he says, “When I get at you—I’ll punch out your grill / I’ll get at you—let off that blue steel / I’ll get at you—could get yo’ ass killed” (50 Cent “Piggy Bank”). The artist intends to bring physical harm resulting in the death of his enemies. Hence, he ups the ante on hypermasculinity. 50 Cent supposedly wins the verbal duel by invoking violent imagery and death threats. He maintains his street credibility while undermining his opponents. This is far from the genre’s origins in the 1970s. However, this style and strategy had lasting power. Of the commercial rap songs from 2005 to 2015, one-third to a half of the male rappers’ lyrics included violent imagery (Oware 48). The articulation of violence even appeared in the songs of individuals in freestyle battles in local neighborhoods (Lee “Battlin’ On the Corner: Techniques for Sustaining Play”). Men often referenced women in sexist and misogynistic ways if they were not family members. It mattered little if the woman was a lyrical opponent or a sexual partner, although men rarely battled women one-on-­ one due to the belief that they were less formidable (Tyree and Williams “Black Women Rap Battles: A Textual Analysis of U.S. Rap Diss Songs”). Women were called demeaning names such as “ho” and “bitch.” Moreover, some artists simulated sexual violence against women as a form of dominance. In his 2008 song, “Bust It Open,” Lil Will asserts that he will “beat that pussy up” (Lil Will “Bust It Open”). Although metaphorical, Will uses sexually violent imagery targeting women. Demonstrating the degree to which the level of violence permeates the music, some artists forsake allusions to aggression altogether. For instance, in his song “Bounce It,” Juicy J rhymes that he “grab[s] ass with both hands” at a strip club, while in his music, Juelz Santana states, “I don’t need to ask, I proceed to grab” (Juicy J “There It Go”). Women are objects for male enjoyment. Access to their bodies constitutes male privilege. Thus, mainstream rap became synonymous with the degradation and cruelty toward women. Indeed, many male rappers made their mark in the genre using this strategy (Rose “The

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Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop— And Why It Matters”).

Women and Rap Battling Like men, women rappers boasted, bragged, and signified in their music. They also discussed material possessions, street credibility, and attraction from the opposite and same-sex. However, women saw women and men as competitors. Rose (“Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America”) argues that women were in dialogue with other men and women rappers, Black women fans, and non-rap audiences. Due to the sexism in the rap music industry, women had a more challenging time making a name for themselves even though they were present at rap’s inception (Guevara “Women Writin’ Rappin’ Breakin’”; Tyree and Williams “Black Women Rap Battles: A Textual Analysis of U.S. Rap Diss Songs”). Paralleling men, women began in parks and local parties engaging in high voltage freestyle battles. However, initially, women had to be part of male rap groups in order to be recognized and respected. Moreover, during the early years of rap, women refrained from sexualizing themselves to win mass appeal. Guevara cites artist Lisa Lee: “When they [men] get up there, they’ll say something smart to a girl in the crowd, something nasty…they start taking off their shirts and their pants just to win…We [women] can’t do that” (58). Due to the patriarchy and sexism within the genre, women artists faced constraints in their expression and performance. By the mid-1980s, with the introduction of groups like Salt-N-Pepa and Roxanne Shanté, women rappers displayed more agency in their rhymes. And they spoke to the sexism they saw from males in the music industry (Rose “Black Noise Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America”; Keyes “Rap Music and Street Consciousness”). A prime example is Roxanne Shanté’s—who identifies as a battle rapper—song “Roxanne’s Revenge,” a direct response to the male group U.T.F.O.’s “Roxanne Roxanne.” In their record, the men belittle a fictional woman— Roxanne—for rebuffing their advances. They refer to her as “stuck-up” and a “crab.” In her response diss track, Shanté, who takes on the Roxanne moniker, rhymes that the men “ain’t really cute” and that they articulate “bullshit rap.” Further, she says that their lyrics are “wack” or unappealing. Finally, she characterizes the rappers as “not real” men (Roxanne Shanté “Roxanne’s Revenge”). All the while, she boasts about her lyrical

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skill and sexual appeal. When asked about the record’s significance, she commented, “‘Roxanne’s Revenge’ is saying that guys should stop talking about girls because…[i]t’s played out…Why do you gotta say girls are stuck up!?’” (Guevara 57). Shanté is one of the first women—a 14-year-­ old girl at the time—artists to openly challenge denigrating characterizations of women by male rappers on a record. Other women artists continued this approach. Queen Latifah responds to male rappers who call women derogatory names in her classic song, “U.N.I.T.Y.” She rhymes: “But don’t be calling me out my name / I bring wrath to those who disrespect me like a dame.” In the song’s chorus, Latifah yells, “Who you callin’ a bitch / You gotta let’em know / You ain’t a bitch or a ho” (Queen Latifah “U.N.I.T.Y.”). The rapper decries the sexism and misogyny conveyed by men, especially Black men, against Black women. Moreover, she criticizes and challenges violence against Black women. In a later verse, she emphatically states: “You put your hands on me again, I’ll put your ass in handcuffs / A man don’t really love you if he hits ya / … I’m not taking it no more” (Queen Latifah “U.N.I.T.Y.”). Responding to men and rappers who express violence toward women in their music, Latifah dictates that these behaviors must stop, and such individuals will face punishment. She undermines the belief that dominance and control of women make an ideal “man,” a trope in male rap music. Both Shanté and Queen Latifah express a form of female empowerment and feminism conveyed by many women in rap music (Rose “Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America”). As a result, Keyes classifies women artists into four categories: Queen Mother, Fly Girl, Sista with Attitude, and The Lesbian. Yet, female rappers also clashed with other women rappers. Indeed, battling other famous women lyricists could lead to greater notoriety and name recognition (Tyree and Williams “Black Women Rap Battles: A Textual Analysis of U.S. Rap Diss Songs”). In an early recording featuring a battle between Roxanne Shanté and Sparky D, Shanté refers to her competitor as a “ho” and a “bitch” who is “wack” and “much too fat.”1 Then, suggesting that Sparky D sleeps around, Shanté rhymes: “Getting fucked in the ass ’cause you do it mighty fast / And you’re the only girl who ain’t got class.”2 Here, the lyrics were harder-­edged and mean-spirited. Moreover, the artists played on tropes of female promiscuity and respectability politics; that is, displaying appropriate sexual behavior and comportment around other people (Higginbotham “Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist

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Church, 1880–1920”). Male artists’ echoed these themes in their songs (Rose “The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop—And Why It Matters”). Yet, Shanté, from her perspective, deployed lyrical invective toward her opponent, demonstrating her dominance as a skilled artist. Queen Latifah also engaged in battle rap. In her song “Name Callin’,” Latifah assails: “Bitches that think they hard get snuffed,” and “Come by this Pisces, your life cease” (Queen Latifah “Name Callin’”). The rapper suggests physical harm to her opponent. Like male emcees, she uses demeaning, misogynistic language to humiliate her foe. Moreover, Latifah intimates that her rival is an illegitimate rapper who relies on men to write her rhymes: “Fuck you and that nigga / Who wrote the rhyme for you too” (Queen Latifah “Name Callin’”). Aside from suggesting promiscuity, impugning a woman’s lyrical skills damages her credibility. This slight harms women more than men because of the rampant sexism within the music industry. Women are already perceived as inauthentic, so an insult from another female artist holds significant weight. Indeed, this is a theme among female competitors (Tyree and Williams “Black Women Rap Battles: A Textual Analysis of U.S. Rap Diss Songs”). Demonstrating her range, Latifah also disses non-female rappers. In the same song where Queen Latifah chastises Black men for their behavior, she scolds women in general. In the track, “U.N.I.T.Y.,” Latifah raps, “What’s going on in your mind is what I ask ya / I saw you wilding, acting like a fool / You barely know your ABCs, please” (Queen Latifah “U.N.I.T.Y.”). Perhaps reinforcing respectability politics (Higginbotham “Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880–1920”), Latifah expresses her concern over the alleged poor behavior of another Black woman. In the end, while conveying her contempt for this woman, whom she depicts as immature and foolish, she presents herself as the superior person. Black female rappers speak to audiences beyond Black men and Black women. As Rose contends, Black women rappers also challenge white women (Rose “Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America”). Popular artist, Nicki Minaj, critiqued the MTV music awards for honoring videos of slim white women, such as Taylor Swift, but dismisses those featuring curvy women of color. When Swift responded by stating that the rapper was pitting women against each other, Minaj retorted, “Black women influence pop culture so much, but they are rarely rewarded for it” (Hunter and Cuenca 38). Here, Minaj references the

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racist treatment of Black women’s impact on American popular culture but receives little recognition for their talent and effort. Indeed, Western popular culture is rife with examples of white individuals appropriating or outright stealing Black cultural creations; for instance, Elvis modeling himself after Chuck Berry, the pioneer of Rock ‘n’ Roll. According to some Black female rappers, white female artist Iggy Azalea appropriated hip hop, paralleling Elvis’ theft of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Black lyricists Nicki Minaj and Azealia Banks criticized rapper Iggy Azalea, a white blonde woman born in Sydney, Australia. Azalea migrated to Miami, Florida, at the age of 16. Eventually, moving to Atlanta, the artist affected a southern Black dialect and rhymed. She signed with Black rapper T.I.’s record label and won a Grammy award for her song “Fancy.” The critique of cultural appropriation rang loud after this achievement. Nicki Minaj employs the conventional diss strategy by rapping, “Bitches is lyin’, they lyin’, they lie in they bio,” in the song “Danny Glover (Remix)” (Nicki Minaj “Danny Glover (Remix)”). Here, Minaj forcefully undermines Azalea’s claim that her southern dialect is “natural.” More directly, in a radio interview, Azealia Banks stated: “Here’s the thing with Iggy Azalea. I feel, just in this country, whenever it comes to our things, like black issues, or black politics, or black music or whatever there’s always this undercurrent of…Fuck y’all…Y’all don’t really own shit…Y’all don’t have shit” (Oware 141). Further, Banks remarked, “That Iggy Azalea shit is not better than any fucking black girl” (Oware 141). Albeit not through rap lyrics, Banks attempts to define her superiority to Iggy Azalea; however, the artist relies on racialized politics instead of Minaj’s lyrical bravado. In rap battles, opponents also draw on racial politics to demean each other (Lee “Battlin’ On the Corner: Techniques for Sustaining Play”).

East Coast Versus West Coast Beef Battle rap on wax came to a head with the deaths of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G., members of the so-called East Coast versus West Coast rap rivalry. On September 7, 1996, while driving down a Las Vegas street, Shakur was shot in a drive-by shooting. On September 13, he died from internal injuries sustained from the shooting. A few months later, on March 8, 1997, B.I.G. was murdered in a drive-by attack in Los Angeles. Shakur was 25 and B.I.G. was 24. To this day, both cases have not been solved. Their murders represent the nadir of the East Coast versus West Coast rap battle.

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Igniting the feud between the coasts, Suge Knight, CEO of Death Row Records out of California, commented at the 1995 Source Awards to a New York audience: “If you don’t want the owner of your label on your album or in your video or on your tour, come sign with Death Row” (Lang 56). The statement was a subtle jab at Sean “Puffy” Combs, the CEO of Bad Boy Records operating out of New York. At the time, “Puffy” appeared in artists’ videos dancing in their songs, adlibbing, or rapping. Although not a devastating critique, the remark exacerbated tensions between the two camps created by Tupac, who believed that Combs ordered a violent attack on him. The tensions also provided fodder for hip hop magazines like “The Source” and “Vibe.” Such outlets played up the antagonisms between the two groups, profiting off the supposed beef (Guida “Bad Rap, Hip Hop Symposium Misses Mark”). As a result, the schisms between these groups became a larger bicoastal battle for supremacy. Tupac’s song, “Hit’em Up,” raised the stakes in the conflict. Referring to Notorious B.I.G., he rhymes, “You claim to be a player, but I fucked your wife / We bust on Bad Boys” (Tupac “Hit’em Up”). In the verse, Tupac asserts that he slept with Notorious B.I.G.’s estranged wife, Faith Evans. Within the realm of hypermasculinity, this utterance, whether true or not, expresses a deep level of disrespect toward one’s rival. Moreover, Tupac invokes violence against individuals signed to his competitor’s label, Bad Boy Records (Lang “The Notorious B.I.G.: A Biography”). In short, he crossed the line. Understanding the nature of his lyrics, Tupac continues, “This ain’t no freestyle battle / All you niggas getting’ killed with your mouths open” (Tupac “Hit’em Up”). Most battle rap competitions typically include one opponent against another, with the winner decided by, in this case, record sales. However, Tupac’s verses veer past traditional one-on-one dust-ups, venturing into the realm of graphic violence. “Hit’em Up” called out other New  York artists, creating a bicoastal conflict. Tupac raps, “Well, this is how we gonna do this: Fuck Mobb Deep! Fuck Biggie! / Chino XL, fuck you too!” (Tupac “Hit’em Up”). He directs anger, abuse, and viciousness against his perceived enemies—a dark turn from the original intent of battle rap that relied on witty wordplay and light-hearted insults. Further, Tupac would diss Jay Z, Nas, and other prominent East Coast artists in television and magazine interviews. Hence, a clash between a few emcees grew into an all-out war between New York and California rappers.

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As part of Death Row Records, Snoop Dogg put out a song with the group Dogg Pound entitled “New York, New York.” In it, he raps, “New York, New York big city of dreams / And everything in New York ain’t always what it seems” (Snoop Dogg and Kurupt “New York, New York”). The artist’s verse snubs the city of New  York and the rappers from the region. In response, Capone-N-Noreaga, featuring Mobb Deep, released the song “L.A., L.A.,” which interpolates the “New York” track, switching the “L.A.” in for “New York” in the chorus. Thus, the bicoastal clash emerged, with various artists and fans taking sides (Lang “The Notorious B.I.G.: A Biography”). With the deaths of Tupac and Biggie, calls for calm and decreased references to violence proliferated among emcees. Artists Doctor Dre and Snopp Dogg would eventually leave Death Row Records because of this violent rhetoric (Lang “The Notorious B.I.G.: A Biography”). Other rappers and magazines such as The Source and Vibe magazines called for eliminating the vitriolic language that overshadowed the artistry of the genre. And for a short period, violent talk receded. Specifically, there was no explicit and direct name-calling, and high-profile “beefs” between California and New York artists. Despite these high-profile clashes, battle rap remains a crucial ingredient of rap culture.

Rap Battle Leagues Notwithstanding the deaths of Tupac and the Notorious B.I.G. and the East Coast versus West Coast rivalry, organized battle tournaments popped up in the mid-2000s. This solidified verbal duels as the central aspect of rapping. Arguably, Eminem’s semi-autobiographical film, 8 Mile, revealed battling’s importance to the genre. Viewers witness his character, B-Rabbit, overcome personal insecurities and tragedy while beating his opponents through witty insult and self-deprecation in a rap contest. Essentially, the intricacies of battling came to mainstream audiences via cinema. Mavima writes that actual battle leagues such as “Let’s Beef” and “Grind Time” featured mainstays and up-and-comers (Mavima “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap”). After making his name-selling 1000s of DVDs that featured artists sparring with one another, entrepreneur Tony Mitchell, from Queens, New  York, created a rap tournament called the Ultimate Rap League (URL). In this competition, winners earned thousands of dollars. Moreover, lyricists found this outlet appealing because of the presence of

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famous artists such as Drake, Method Man, and Sean Combs—new rappers hoped to receive a record contract based on their performance. Due to URL’s success, other rap battle groups popped up worldwide. For example, “King of the Dot” (KOTD) appeared in Canada, and “Don’t Flop” was created in the United Kingdom. As Mavima writes, the advent of YouTube helped spread rap battles across the world; anyone with internet access can comment on an artist’s skills (or lack thereof) (Mavima “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap”). Hence, these outlets and the new world of the internet further cemented this rhetorical style as part of rap culture.

Verzuz Battles The Covid-19 pandemic shut down venues in March of 2019. All events where large groups gathered for concerts, football games, and other indoor events closed to decrease the deadly virus spread. Rap tournaments were also shuttered; even ciphers on the streets disappeared. However, in 2020, during the height of the pandemic, Verzuz virtual battles filled this vacuum. Conceived of by hip hop DJs Timbaland and Swizz Beatz, emcees engaged in head-to-head competitions with one another using the live stream option on Instagram. Verzuz battles featured famous rappers with well-established profiles. The goal remained the same, one person bests another, though combatants drew on their past music catalog in the contest—there is not the off-the-cuff creativity that one finds in organized matches. Onlookers using Instagram determine who wins through their comments, likes, and dislikes. These virtual competitions could last for hours. The popularity of Verzuz grew among fans mid-Covid pandemic. It continued even when individuals were allowed to reassemble for large gatherings. Rappers and rap groups such as Young Jeezy, T.I., Fat Joe, Ja Rule, The Lox, and Dipset have participated in these contests.

Conclusion Despite the negativity associated with verbally insulting someone and the unfortunate deaths of two hip hop icons, battle rapping remains a critical element of rap music. An artist’s ability to degrade and belittle their opponent while self-aggrandizing is part of the culture. Continuing elements from African and African-American oral traditions, aspects such as signifying and playing the dozens, constitute important rhetorical devices that

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emcees have at their disposal—deploying them at crucial moments to defeat their competitors. Beginning as primarily gendered, currently, cross-gender battles occur, especially by women who challenge the sexism and misogyny of men. Audiences fully embrace the competitive nature of battle rapping, as seen by the growth of rap competitions at local venues and on social media during the Covid-19 pandemic. Artists display their verbal skill, wit, and lyricism. Like other contests, the goal, whether in a small group or a large setting, is for one individual to defeat another on the microphone (or one group to crush another one). As was the case at the beginning of rap music, audience members and judges decide the winner. The art of insult remains true to rap music and is here to stay. Yet, artists should not “cross the line” into violent retaliation because this tarnishes the creativity and complexity of the art form.

Notes 1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw5cyJ2otUU. 2. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw5cyJ2otUU.

Works Cited Alim, H. Samy, Jooyoung Lee, and Lauren Mason Carris. “Moving the Crowd, ‘Crowding’ the Emcee: The Coproduction and Contestation of Black Normativity in Freestyle Rap Battles.” Discourse and Society, vol. 22, no. 4, 2011, pp. 422–439. Anderson, Elijah. “Code of the Street: Decency, Violence, and the Moral Life of the Inner City.” W.W. Norton, 1999. Chang, Jeff. “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation.” Picador, 2005. Higginbotham, Evelyn. “Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880–1920.” Harvard University Press, 1993. Hunter, Margaret and Alheli Cuenca. “Nicki Minaj and the Changing Politics of Hip-Hop: Real Blackness, Real Bodies, Real Feminism?” Feminist Formations, vol. 29, no. 2, 2017, pp. 26–46. Guevara, Nancy. “Women Writin’ Rappin’ Breakin.” Droppin’ Science: Critical Essays on Rap Music and Hip Hop Culture, edited by William Eric Perkins, Temple University Press, 1996, 48–82. Guida, Humberto. “Bad Rap, Hip Hop Symposium Misses Mark.” Miami New Times, vol. 17, no. 112, 2004.

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Keyes, Cheryl. “Rap Music and Street Consciousness.” University of Illinois Press, 2004. Kubrin, Charis. “Gangstas, Thugs, and Hustlas: Identity and the Code of the Street in Rap Music.” Social Problems, vol. 52, no. 3, 2005, pp. 360–378. Lang, Holly. “The Notorious B.I.G.: A Biography.” Greenwood Press, 2007. Lee, Jooyoung. “Battlin’ On the Corner: Techniques for Sustaining Play.” Social Problems, vol. 56, no. 3, 2009, pp. 578–598. Majors, Richard and Janet Mancini Billson. “Cool Pose: The Dilemmas of Black Manhood in America.” Touchstone, 1992. Mavima, Shingi. “Bigger By the Dozens: The Prevalence of Afro-Based Tradition in Battle Rap.” The Journal of Hip Hop Studies, vol. 3, no. 1, 2016, pp. 86–105. Oware, Matthew. “I Got Something to Say: Gender, Race, and Social Consciousness in Rap Music.” Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. Rose, Tricia. “Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America.” Wesleyan University Press, 1995. Rose, Tricia. “The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop—And Why It Matters.” Civitas Books, 2008. Smitherman, Geneva. “‘The Chain Remain the Same’: Communicative Practices in the Hip Hop Nation.” The Journal of Black Studies, vol. 28, no. 1, 1997, pp. 3–25. Tyree, Tia and Melvin Williams. “Black Women Rap Battles: A Textual Analysis of U.S. Rap Diss Songs.” Women and Music, vol. 25, no. 1, 2021, pp. 64–86. Wilson, William Julius. “More Than Just Race: Being Black and Poor in the Inner City.” W.W. Norton, 2009. Wilson, William Julius. “When Work Disappears: The World of the New Urban Poor.” Vintage Books, 1997.

Discography 50 Cent. “Piggy Bank.” The Massacre, Shady Records/Interscope Records/ Aftermath Entertainment, 2005. Capone-N-Noreaga and Mobb Deep. “L.A., L.A.” The War Report, DOLO Records/25 to Life Entertainment, 1996. DMX. “Where The Hood At?” Grand Champ, RAL/Def Jam Records, 2003. Ice Cube. “No Vaseline.” Death Certificate, Priority Records, 1991. Juelz Santana. “There It Go.” What the Game’s Been Missing. Roc-A-Fella Records, 2005. Juicy J. “Bounce It.” Stay Trippy, Kemosabe Records/Columbia, 2013. Lil Wil. “Bust It Open.” Dolla$, TX, Asylum Records, 2008. Nicky Minaj. “Danny Glover (Remix).” Artist Publishing Group/Young Stoner Life/Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corporation/Reservoir 416/Atlantic Records/300 Rainwater Music, 2014.

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Roxane Shante. “Roxanne’s Revenge.” Roxanne’s Revenge, Pop Art Music, 1984. Queen Latifah. “Name Callin.” Set It Off (Original Soundtrack), East/West Records, 1996. Queen Latifah. “U.N.I.T.Y.” Black Reign, Motown Records, 1993. Snoop Dogg and Kurupt. “New York, New  York.” Dogg Food, Death Row Records/Interscope Records/Priority Records, 1995. Sugarhill Gang. “Rapper’s Delight.” Sugarhill Gang, Rhino Entertainment Company/Sugar Hill Records, Inc./Sugar Hill Records, 1980. Tupac. “Hit’em Up.” 2Pac Greatest Hits, Death Row Records/Interscope Records, 1998.

CHAPTER 10

Fighting Words: Songs of Conflict, Censure, and Cussout in Trinidad and Tobago Carnival Funso Aiyejina

Carnival is home to many cultural performances, especially in the context of the Caribbean—a complex crossroads of cultures. In Trinidad and Tobago, Carnival is a provenance for cultural affirmation, reformation, transgression, fusion, and recreation. Trinidad and Tobago’s Carnival is the location of calypso, mas’ (masking), stickfight, and performance poetry, to name the major ones. In each of these art forms, verbal dexterity is either at its core or tangential to its realisation. In each of the verbal art forms, there is an implied concept of competition/war between individual performers to determine the monarch or groups of performers to determine the winning band. There are pan shootouts to determine the best pan player; steelband clashes (at the level of musical dexterity as well as, in the nascent era of its development, physical clashes between rival steelband groups); mas’ parades, judged both on the streets and at the Queen’s Park Savannah, to determine the best band and the winning king and queen;

F. Aiyejina (*) The University of the West Indies, St. Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_10

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extempo(re) competitions to determine which calypsonian is the most verbally nimble, intellectually agile, and the most adroit rhymer; performances in which midnight robbers recite grandiloquent and bloodcurdling self-praises to frighten the audience and challenge their opponents; the unique Tobago Speech Band in which performing groups trade rhyming comments on social issues to the rhythm of the music of hand-drums, tambourine, fiddles and the triangle; the devil bands with their chant of “You fraid the devil / jab jab; / pay the devil / jab jab” with which they extort money from frightened spectators; and stickfight competitions in which the battle lavways (chants) of the chantwell and the chorus inspire the stickfighters to excel. Trinidad, known by the indigenous inhabitants of the island (Taino and Kalinago) as Kairi/Iere, was renamed and claimed in 1498 by Christopher Columbus for the Spanish monarch. The Spaniards would eventually cede Trinidad to the British in 1802. Columbus sighted Tobago on the same 1498 voyage but it would not be settled by any European power until in the eighteenth century. It was ceded to Britain in 1763 but continued to change hands between Britain and France until 1814 when it finally became a British colony. The most significant date in the development of carnival culture in Trinidad is 1783. As a policy for addressing the dire economic situation on the island, which was less prosperous than Tobago, the Spaniards promulgated the 1783 Cedula (Decree) of Population designed to entice Catholic French planters who were nervous about their future in French Caribbean colonies, which were under the influence of the revolutionary fervour and inherent anti-establishment violence inspired by the French revolution. Each French planter who relocated to Trinidad was given thirty-two acres of land and an additional sixteen acres for every enslaved African they brought with them. Some Free Coloured from the French Caribbean colonies took advantage of the Cedula and also got land, albeit half of the allotment to white planters. In addition to generous tax breaks, the French immigrants were provided with free materials and equipment by the government. The enslaved Africans who were brought by the French planters and the Free Coloured swelled the African population of Trinidad significantly. On their part, the French planters enhanced the carnivalesque pre-Lenten Catholic revelries beyond the level at which they had been practised by the small Spanish population. Enslaved Africans were, of course, excluded from the pre-Lenten revelries and fancy balls; they were outsiders, watching from their service posts as wet-nurses, cooks, stewards, waiters, etc. in the Big Houses or, for the field hands, as

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observers from behind the social and metaphysical fences separating them from the Big Houses and whites-only public spaces. But this did not prevent enslaved Africans from parodying the parodies of their enslavers, in the privacy of their own spaces, away from official restrictions. With Emancipation in 1838, the formerly enslaved and the free coloured population had become the majority group in the colony and were poised to take over the streets with their versions of masquerading and, in doing so, began the process of injecting their interpretations of European social masking and the introduction of their hitherto secretly practised/remembered African ritual masquerade, martial art, and verbal and musical traditions. On the plantations, in order to prevent armed rebellions, Africans were not allowed access to defensive or offensive weapons. They were, however, allowed to carry sticks to deal with snakes and for use in cane-cutting operations. This carrying of sticks would become a habitual item of African dress, especially during holidays, and they were deployed as weapons in violent quarrels among them (Hill 1997: 25). The use of sticks as weapons would not have been strange to enslaved Africans since stickfighting and whip-wielding were common practices in many regions of Africa, either as war games/training or as tests of manhood. No wonder then that the art of stickfighting easily became a pan-West Atlantic phenomenon. Its existence has been recorded from Bequia in St Vincent and the Grenadines, Cuba (mani/bombosa), Brazil (capoeira), Barbados (sticklicking), Guyana (setu), Haiti (mousondi), Curacao (wega di palu), to Martinique (rivie/ laja). (See Elder 1966; Warner-Lewis 2003: 199ff.). In Trinidad, by 1810, as a result of the prevalent physical violence initiated with the sticks, Africans were banned from carrying them, with defaulters subjected to “one month imprisonment for free persons and twenty-five lashes for the slave” (Hill 1972/1997: 25). As in Africa, stickfighting sessions in the West Atlantic are accompanied by music, songs, and dance. In Trinidad, large bands of stickfighters would go up against each other in the period leading up to Carnival, with their supporters singing, chanting, and dancing to spur them on, in the tradition of praise singers who accompanied traditional African warriors to battle to chant their genealogies, past achievements, and wealth of mystical powers to inspire them to fight. The champion stickfighter in every community doubled as a community defender/hero and was an object of desire and respect. When emancipation was announced in 1838, signalling the official end to slavery, stickfighters, as a warrior class, with their

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drummers and their mainly female bands of chorus/chanters were at the forefront of the celebrations (Henry 2008: 28). Some of the earliest battle/stickfighting songs from Trinidad have been preserved in Trinidad Loves to Play Carnival: Carnival, Calinda and Calypso from Trinidad 1914–1939 (1993). The liner notes identify calinda (kalinda/kalenda/calenda), originally sung in patois (French Creole), as the music of stickfighers and as a forerunner of calypso. Kalinda, “originally a male female drum dance, in Trinidad by the 1890s it had come to denote the activities of stickfighters, whose combats were accompanied by percussion and songs relating to their exploits.” In the 1870s, bands of stickfighters went up against each other, in the period between Christmas and Carnival, in “flambeaux-lit procession[s] called ‘camboulay’ (cannes brulees)” (Trinidad Loves to Play Carnival: Carnival, Calinda and Calypso from Trinidad 1914–1939). While the stickfighters/battoniers took turns to challenge each other, the musicians played rhythms on their drums and chac-chac and the women sang to spur on their champion fighters. The songs are designed to celebrate the courage and strength of the fighters, to frighten opponents, and to warn of the “burst-head” (bloodied head) and metaphorical death that awaits anyone stupid enough to challenge the hero of the group, etc. The stickfight gayelle (combat zone) is the place to demonstrate agility, strength, dexterity, footwork, dance moves, stealth, speed, rebellious spirit, and manhood (majority of the stickfighters are invariably male but there are some historical and contemporary female stickfighters). Because of the violent nature of the stickfight clashes and the fear that the organised bands of stickfighters that often acted as the lines of defence for their communities were posing a challenge to the colonial authority, stickfighting has suffered periodic banning, beginning in 1884 when two ordinances were enacted banning the use of drums during their processions and restricting the “playing of sticks” (stickfighting sessions). All that the ban succeeded in doing was to force the practice underground, with the occasional guerrilla performances on the fringes of carnival, and to inspire the use of tamboo-bamboo in place of the banned skin-drums, as the new musical accompaniment—a development that would eventually evolve into the development of the steelpan in the period just before and soon after World War II. The line from kalinda to calypso and steelpan affirms a trajectory of rebellion and a systematic New World African reinvention of self and culture. (See Quevedo 1983, Elder 1969, and Rohlehr 1990)

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A stickfighting session begins with the pouring of libation (rum) to the four cardinal points and the centre of the gayalle/ring to invoke ancestors and the spirit of departed stickfighters, after which the contending stickfighters enter the gayelle to sing, dance, and shadow-fight. This is followed by the bouts, overseen by the ring master and his assistants. One of the popular opening English lavways (there are French-Patois lavways, recalling the French-Caribbean channel for the art form in Trinidad) warns fighters who cannot make the grade to stay away from the gayelle: If you can’t brakes, don’t play    Don’t play. If you can’t brakes, don’t play     Don’t play. (Clifton 2015)

Another lavway celebrates the need for endurance and is often used to mock a fighter who has been dealt a devastating blow and is writhing in pain: If the poui [stick] burn you    Don’t cry. If the poui burn you    Don’t cry. If the poui hurt you    Don’t cry. If the poui sting you    Don’t cry. If the young boy hit you    Don’t cry. Take it like a boisman    Don’t cry. Take it like a stickman    Don’t cry. Take it like a gunman    Don’t cry. Water in the eye     Don’t cry. (Clifton 2015)

Stickfighters see themselves as fearless; men who are not afraid to die. When they go into the ring to fight, their last will and testament is a

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message to their mothers: “When Ah dead bury mi clothes /Ah don’t want no sweetman to wear mi clothes / When Ah dead, bury mi clothes” or “If Ah lose a finger / Don’t cry / If Ah lose an eye / Don’t cry.” And to the mother of any challenger, a warning of impending bereavement: “Mooma, Mooma, your son is in the grave already / Your son in the grave already / Take a towel and band your belly.” A champion stickfighter sees himself and is portrayed as indestructible, as a rampaging tiger: Trinidadian Tiger    Walk on them! Walk on them    Walk on them! Walk on them boy    Walk on them! O God, O God    Walk on them! O Lord, O Lord     Walk on them! (Clifton 2015)

Despite their individual bravado, self-adulation, self-aggrandisement, boastfulness, and mockery of challengers, every stickfighter knows too well not to disrespect other stickfighters, and never to underrate another stickfighter, because “No boisman doh fraid no boisman / Any boisman could cut any boisman” (Clifton 2015). The inspirational function of a chant like “Trinidadian Tiger” is reminiscent of the role of praise songs in Africa such as the Yoruba oriki and iwuri, which operate as motivators, ignitors, and kick-starters of the individual/communal egos. The chants that warn challengers of the dangers awaiting them (“If you can’t brakes, don’t play”) or those that mock the defeated (“If the poui burn you”) echo the challenger-demeaning invocations deployed by traditional Yoruba warriors, designed to psychically cripple their opponents. Such verbal magic and contestations would find further manifestation in the verbal art of traditional carnival characters like Pierrot Grenade, Jab Jab, and the Midnight Robber. The Midnight Robber is perhaps the one who best manifests a warriorhood that is synonymous with the stickfighter. The Midnight Robber wields a whistle and, sometimes a toy gun in place of the stick of the stickfighter. While the stickfighter inspires fear in his challengers through his physical strength and footwork in the gayelle, and the rhythm and lyrics of songs, the

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Midnight Robber generates fear through his attire, his often black cape imprinted with skulls and crossbones, his broad-rimmed hat echoing the esoteric eyọ masquerade of Nigeria, and various death-signifying accoutrements hanging around his neck, his ear-splitting whistling, and the grandiloquence of his bombastic speeches. The Midnight Robber is a spoken word artist, a performance poet. He is the master of exaggeration, grandiloquence, self-adulation, and self-celebration. He claims knowledge of dark powers and presents himself as the possessor of superhuman and supernatural powers. He is pompous and believes himself to be invincible. He is a merchant of the superlative. He gives off an aura of a deluded, self-­ absorbed individual. When two midnight robbers meet and challenge each other, the goal is to see who could out-talk whom, whose claims are grander, whose knowledge of the fantastical is deeper and broader, whose rhymes are more inventive, and whose speech is more in sync with their rhythms of movement and delivery. This is a battle that does not depend on how well you put down your opponent but on how much you build up yourself and how much more captivating is your response to your opponent’s challenge. The Midnight Robber is at once the African griot telling stories of the kingdom and the African warrior poetically chanting his exploits to plant fear in his challenger. His weapons are verbal dexterity and mental alertness. As with African verbal artists, a Midnight Robber is self-referential and self-celebrating. His verbal art is as metaphorically and metaphysically complex as the ọfọ of the Yoruba and the masquerade chant of the Igbo. In his opening salvo, he announces himself and his pedigree:      Stop! Drop your keys and bow your knees, and call me Prince of Darkness, Criminal Master.      For if I gather my teeth and stamp my feet, it will cause a disaster. So bow your knees, you inferior traitor, and call me Master. (Crowley 1956/1988: 172)

The Midnight Robber is without compassion, he is the “Master of Masters; King of Kings, Man who can compel men and women to die.” The Midnight Robber boasts of his prowess: When I clash my feet together the earth crumbles, famine follow. Wherever I stand grass never grows, sun never shine, far more for mankind to go. I Ben Bow take my right hand and bar the sun and made it night. I bite out bits of the moon to lengthen the days and shorten the season. I am the

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­ nliest monster who walked upon the surface of water, so mark me well, o with those dark brown eyes of yours. There’s no gun, dagger made of steel, can make me feel or heal. My motto today is to kill plunder and slay. I have no sympathy upon human being. All the sympathy I have today is to bury you alive. When I was the age of three, my mother, she whispers to me, and said, “Son, what would you like to be your occupation?” I say, “Ma, take me to the dark and dismal jungle of Africa,” where then I become a Robber. I wheeze in the wasp, heal the lame, give the blind sight, make the dumb speak, and bury them six feet deep. (Henry 2008: 82–83)

The suggestion by Daniel Crowley in the Caribbean Quarterly (vol. 4 number 4, 1956) that the Midnight Robber tradition had been influenced by American cowboy films that were popular in the region from early in the twentieth century may not be farfetched. The very essence of carnival is the freedom to appropriate from different sources. What, however, is not contestable is the fact that the primary ethos and philosophical foundation behind the art of the Midnight Robber is African. His verbal boast, his elemental metaphors, his claim to magical and diabolical powers, and his self-affirmed invincibility are all elements of the rhetoric of African interpersonal/group challenges. Evil Forest, the lead masquerade in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, approximating the fearsomeness of the egwugwu masquerade among the Igbo, introduces himself as follows: “I am Evil Forest. I kill a man on the day that his life is sweetest to him. … I am Evil Forest, I am Dry-meat-that-fills-the-mouth, I am Fire-that burns-without-faggots” (Achebe 1958: 83). The performative relationship between the Midnight Robber and the earth also echoes the spiritual relationship between Africans and Mother Earth. As Jeff Henry points out: the Robber continually draws attention to the power of the feet. His feet can control the universe. Each movement he makes should be in solid contact with the earth. One’s feet are the closest part of the body to the earth, which represented the universe. The emphasis on the feet and their contact with the earth seems to relate to African belief that mother earth is the centre of energy and the giver of life. (Henry 2008: 83)

The Tobago Speech Band is another Carnival-related genre of performance poetry that mirrors the griot tradition of social commentary and satire. A team consists of four to six performers in multi-coloured satin tops and three-quarter short pants, accompanied by a band of musicians. The performers celebrate individuals or condemn unbecoming behaviours

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in rhyming iambic pentameter. In the 2019 National Speech Band Competition, under the auspices of the Tobago House of Assembly and the Integrity Commission of Trinidad and Tobago, with the theme of “Capture a Mind, Change a Life and Impact a Community,” Signal Hill Secondary School delivered the following to clinch the title: Good were the days when honesty was the best policy When everybody in the community was all kind-hearted and happy. Those were the days when we had some sort of integrity Nobody stalking out shop to put in a robbery. But now it’s all about fame and not an ounce of compassion To spoil somebody girl-child are their one and only mission. You remember when it tek a village to raise a pickney Interfere with a soul and e go tek the whole village to find your body. (Office of the Chief Secretary 2019)

After the political upheavals of the Black Power Movement in the early 1970s and the ideological realignment of many artists, a number of Midnight Robbers moved away from the use of grand and bombastic sobriquets like Two Gun Langford, Tombstone, One Shot Burke, and Agent of Death Valley of the older generation. They embraced names that were in sync with their social consciousness and ideological stance. One of the most enduring performers of this generation was Brian Honore, whose sobriquet, Commentor, signalled his artistic vision and social credo. In him, the Midnight Robber became as much of a social commentator and analyst as the Calypsonian. The Calypsonian is a reporter, a social critic, a praise singer, an admonisher, and an entertainer. In the words of Gordon Rohlehr, calypso performs the “functions of praise, blame, satire, moralising, instruction, social control, celebration, cut-arse and catharsis” (Rohlehr 1990: 523). More often than not, the calypsonian pitches his ideological tent among the ordinary people, either because he hails from amongst them or because he identifies with their class struggles. Calypso is primarily a song of resistance and rebellion; and, like stickfighting, a narrative about individuals (heroes and villains alike) and communities, song of satire, song of abuse, and song of censure—a distillation of the cultural traditions brought to the New World by Africans. The urge to battle and to conquer in stickfighting is replicated in the power-signifying sobriquets adopted by calypsonians: Atilla [sic]  the Hun (a sobriquet that recalls Attila the Hun, a

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powerful empire builder and exceptional ruler in Europe), The Growling Tiger, King Radio, The Lord Kitchener, The Mighty Duke, etc. Even Little Sparrow would be repurposed to the Mighty Sparrow to invoke a sense of power and might. Calypsonians operate as the newspapers of their societies; they take the day’s scandals or highlights and turn them into tomorrow’s songs and history on the days after. They censure the deviants, the power-drunk, and the drunk-drunk. They reduce the untouchable to the despicable and laughable. They lionise ordinary people imbued with extraordinary courage and sensitivity. They are considered the “true opposition” (See Regis 1999). The response of Kitchener and Sparrow to the departure of the Americans after their occupation of Trinidad during World War II demonstrates how calypso can be an effective tool for delivering insults in a humorous manner. Many young girls had abandoned calypsonians, hitherto the most desirable men in town, and gone behind the Yankees because they had more money and were free spenders. This move came with a heavy prize: an epidemic of venereal diseases. In “Elsie’s River” (late 1950s), Kitchener presents the now abandoned prostitutes as polluted rivers, home to deadly viruses. He warns others not to fall victim to Elsie the way he had: So I am giving you a reminder Don’t bathe in Miss Elsie’s river. The price is too heavy And the water isn’t sanitary. If you try to swim round the corner You may get bitten by a lobster. Boy! Miss Elsie is stealing. Ten dollars, one minute bathing.

Sparrow, in the immortal “Jean and Dinah” (1956), celebrates the decline of the Yankee-loving girls and the re-establishment of calypsonians to their previous preeminent positions as the lover-boys of Port of Spain: It’s the glamour boys again We are going to rule Port of Spain. No more Yankee to spoil the fete Dorothy have to take what she get. All of them who used to make style

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Taking their two shillings with a smile. No more hotel and Simmonds bed. By the sweat of thy brow shall thou eat bread.

Despite Kitchener’s carefully chosen metaphor of a polluted river and Sparrow’s palpable humour, there is no mistaking the gleeful pleasure in their censure of the camp-followers. Gordon Rohlehr sees in their performances “vengeful joy” and “savoured malice” (Rohlehr 1990: 367). Both Kitchener and Sparrow set out to ridicule the prostitutes of Port of Spain, a tradition that is a central flank in the practice of calypso. Two groups that have been subjected to ridicule/picong in calypso are what Trinidadians disdainfully call “small islanders” (people from Barbados, Grenada, St Vincent and the Grenadines, St Lucia, etc.); and non-African nationalities (Indo-Trinidadians, Chinese, Syrians, etc.). In pre-independence Trinidad and Tobago, the ridiculing of Indo-­ Trinidadians was achieved mainly through the caricature of Indian names, food, and other cultural practices, often to get laughs, in the same way that African ritual practices, especially Oriṣa, were ridiculed. “Small Island, Go Back Where You Really Come From” (1943) by Lord Invader is a good example of the calypso of ridicule directed at “small islanders”: No flour, no rice in the land Believe me, too much small island Yes, they come by the one, the two and the three Eating our food and they leaving us hungry So small island, go back where you really come from. The Grenadians is the worst of all Hear they talk: Me na goin’ back at all Yes, they land in Trinidad in a fishing boat Now they wearing a saga coat So small island, go back where you really come from.

Even Sparrow, who was born in Grenada to Grenadian parents and brought to Trinidad as an infant, ridicules Barbadians in his eponymous calypso, “Barbadians” (1955). His is a sad case of an Other othering Others:

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Barbadians, Barbadians too bad Barbadians, Barbadians too bad Making trouble in Trinidad Some of them come here since they small They ain’t decide to go back at all Instead of going back to their native country They telling you how they born in Laventille.

From the colonial period to the present, calypsonians have always trained their satirical gaze on members of the political elite, especially the governors and the prime ministers. Eric Williams, the first prime minister, is tagged as “Deafy” in a number of calypsoes, on account of his use of hearing aids but more to imply his stubborn streak and his disdain for the views of others; George Chambers is portrayed as a leader who sees all the ills around him but does nothing to correct them such that the “Chambers Done See” title and chorus in Plainclothes’ 1984 calypso comes across as “Chambers Duncy”; Basdeo Panday is immortalised in Watchman’s “Panday Needs Glasses” as a blindman needing glasses to see the corruption in his government. But, wielding the double entendre technique, the glasses also reference drinking glasses, herein used as a metaphor for an affinity to alcohol. ANR Robinson is one of the most calypso-vilified prime ministers  of Trinidad and Tobago. Of the thirty-one calypsoes on ANR Robinson identified by Zeno Constance in “The Calypsonian and ANR Robinson” (2014), only seven portray Robinson in a positive light. Of these seven, four are by Brother Valentino; one by Lady B, deploying the rhythm and structure of Tobago Speech Band in calypso to celebrate both herself and Robinson as Tobagonians (“Castara Kid”); one by Pink Panther on Robinson’s initial rejection of Panday’s recommendation of losing candidates for Senate appointments, contrary to conventional (but not constitutional) wisdom; and an obituary calypso by the Original Defosto Himself). The others either castigate him over his structural adjustment economic policies or ridicule him on account of his physical humiliation during the storming of the Parliament by the Muslimeen in 1990. Sugar Aloes tags Robinson as an “obeah man,” a “mad man” (The Argument 1988), and as a man “pushing a demon head” (“Public Advice” 1989). Chalkdust characterises him as an incompetent driver (“Chauffeur Wanted” 1989). In the tent version of “Why Ah Change” (1992), extemporising on Robinson’s investiture as Chief Olokun Igbaro by the Ooni of

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Ife, Pink Panther caricatures Robinson as Chief Kunumunu (Nincompoop), underscoring the disdain that African cultural practices often engender in Trinidad and Tobago. The last word on calypso attacks on Robinson as a quintessential politician goes to Smiley, whose acerbic calypso could easily have come from the mouth of an Urhobo (Nigerian) Udje poet: A politician my friend is a hell of a guy He like to promise, he like to mamaguy And is so the damn scamp could lie He like to old talk, he like to bad talk He like to promise you work And he would bad talk he own mother to just get in power Robbie promise so much in 90 days, that was old talk to get we vote And after we put the man in power, he start cutting we throat (Constance 2014)

The Mighty Sparrow is perhaps the most iconic calypsonian of the modern age. He exemplifies most, if not all, of the qualities of a calypsonian, ranging from being a praise-singer to being a censurer as well as a supreme entertainer. In the pre-independence years of self-government (1956–1962), Sparrow sang praises of Eric Williams, the Chief Minister, and lambasted those who were opposed to or critical of Williams. The lumpen proletariat self-identified with Sparrow since, like them, he was a product of the street. They treated his perspective as gospel truth. This made him a key unofficial advocate of the myth of Eric Williams, the Conqueror (“Williams the Conqueror” 1957). Those who were critical of Eric Williams’s private or public life got a tongue-lashing from the Mighty Sparrow. When some citizens and some calypsonian expressed dissatisfaction at the fact that Eric Williams married secretly and abandoned the bride soon after, Sparrow came to his defence in “Leave the Damn Doctor” 1959): Leave the damn Doctor He ent trouble allyuh Leave the damn Doctor What he do he well do Leave the damn Doctor And doh get mih mad Leave the damn Doctor Or is murder in Trinidad

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He recommended that such critics should, instead, focus their attention on the opposition party that “can’t handle they own affairs” and are “stumbling with their plans.” Even when he had cause to express dissatisfaction with the policies of Dr Williams’s People’s National Movement (PNM), he softened his criticism by blaming the opposition and the labour movements for not supporting the government and thus making it difficult for the government to succeed (“The island as you see / Suffering politically / Because the present government / Have some stupid opponents” (“Present Government” 1961)). But in 1986, he caused consternation when he switched his support from the PNM to the Organisation for National Reconstruction (ONR), a rival party created by Karl Hudson-­ Phillips, a former PNM Attorney General. When ONR lost the elections in a spectacular style, Kitchener castigated Sparrow in song as an ingrate biting the fingers that fed him (“Not a Dam Seat for Them” 1981). This was not the first verbal duel between Sparrow and Kitchener. In 1964 when Kitchener returned home from London, he had returned with a plan to reclaim his preeminence as the leading calypsonian. At this time, Sparrow, who had won his first calypso title in 1956 with “Jean and Dinah” and his fourth by 1963, announced his retirement. Kitchener surmised in public utterances that Sparrow’s decision was based on his waning musical prowess and goaded him to defend his title to prove otherwise. Kitchener announced that he would not compete in the Calypso Monarch if Sparrow was not defending his title. For weeks leading up to the competition, Kitchener kept up his goading of Sparrow whose only response was: “They are talking too much… so I will beat them to frazzle. The licking they will get they will never forget” (Rohlehr 2015: 25). On the night of the competition, Sparrow gave his response to Kitchener, the “old man,” in a calypso aptly titled “Clear the Way Let Me Pass, Mr Kitchener.” Interestingly enough, the two calypso giants failed to win the title that year. They tied for third place! (For a full account of this clash, see Rohlehr 2015: 25–29). Perhaps the most memorable calypso war in the 1960s was the picong war between the Lord Melody and the Mighty Sparrow. Lord Melody was essentially a comedic calypsonian, but what made him dangerous as an antagonist in a calypso war was the fact of his self-directed picong and deprecation. Self-deprecation is a long-standing weapon of traditional satirists and exponents of songs of abuse. When a performer starts by drawing attention to his own shortcomings, real or imaginary, before launching attack on his antagonists, he denies the antagonists of fresh

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materials with which to retaliate and takes some of the shine off the repartee. Some of Melody’s famous self-deprecating pronouncements are to be found in “Boo Boo Man” (1956), “Creature from the Black Lagoon” (1957), and “The Jumbie” (1952). While the combination of newspaper and calypso clash between Kitchener and Sparrow was both inspired by some deep-seated professional rivalry and a dash of marketing strategy, the calypso war between Melody and Sparrow was genuine good-humoured banter between two friends. Of course, there is no doubt that the public song-slugging would have increased their standing in the consciousness of their fans. The exchange of insults between Sparrow and Melody can be said to have peaked with Sparrow’s “Madam Dracula” (1961), an unflattering depiction of Melody’s wife as an old and ugly woman. The following year, Melody gleefully returned the compliment in a song about Sparrow’s wife—“Belmont Jackass.” The following 1957 cussout between Sparrow and Melody is a masterclass in extempore calypso war/picong: Sparrow:      Well, Melody, come close to me      I will tell you plain and candidly      Don’t stop in the back and smile      Because you have a face like a crocodile. Melody:                    

Sparrow, you shouldn’t tell me that at all I mind you when you was small Many a night I use to mash your head In crossing to go on your mother’s....

Sparrow:      I know you think you looking sweet      Posing here with your old false teeth      Is a lucky thing your uncle kick out      For you to get the false teeth to put in your mouth. Melody:                    

That is all you could say In every angle and every way But the way how you’re watching at me I go buss a right hook in your belly.

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Sparrow:      It look like if you want trouble here tonight      All you always looking for fight      I’ll tell you this candidly      That is why the jail never empty. Melody:                    

You know I’ll be really proud and glad If “Samson and Delilah” come back to Trinidad But when they come, I wouldn’t go in the theatre Because look the jawbone of the ass right here.

Sparrow:      Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll tell you this for sure      When the circus was here they had a big uproar     Walking hand in hand      The female chimpanzee take Melo for she man. (Calypso Kings and Pink Gin, 1958)

In the modern carnival scenario, Extempo (Extempore/Calypso War) has become a distinct sub-genre with an enthusiastic followership. When it is a competition as opposed to ordinary entertainment, each pair of competitors is given a topic on the spot on which to compose their songs. In the first round, each singer sings four verses on a selected topic and in the second/semi-final round, they go head-to-head. The two highest scorers then face-off for the title. It is a test of artistic dexterity, especially in the treatment of the assigned topic and the effective use of rhymes. No topic, local or international, concrete or intangible, is out of bounds. Invariably, no matter the subject matter, extempo artists will find ways to slide in snide comments about their opponents, more often than not, to elicit laughter but also to throw off opponents. Some of the leading contemporary extempo artists are Gypsy, Lady Africa, Lingo, Black Sage, Myron B, and Brian London.

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One thing that unites stickfighters, spoken word carnival characters, and calypsonians in Trinidad and Tobago is the undisputed subterranean spirit of Africa, especially in the recognition of the revolutionary and psychological power in words. Carnival is the mega-ritual that provides New World Africans the platform to perform their multi-layered personalities, to battle, to cut hifalutin leaders to size, and to laugh at self and others.

Works Cited Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart, London: Heinemann, 1958. Calypso, Kings and Pink Gin, Cook 1185, CD-R.  Cook Records/Folkways Records US Cook 1185, 1958. (https://www.discogs.com/ release/4459804-­Various-­Calypso-­Kings-­And-­Pink-­Gin) Clifton, Hollis. Regional Carnival Commission Stick Fighting Competition Feb 05 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFY3hvlDITw Constance, Zeno. “The Calypsonian and ANR Robinson.” Unpublished Manuscript, 2014. Crowley, Daniel J. “Midnight Robbers.” Trinidad Carnival: A Republication of the Caribbean Quarterly Trinidad Carnival Issue, Volume 4, Numbers 3 & 4 of 1956. Port of Spain: Paria Publishing Company Limited, 1988. 164–185. Elder, J.D. “Kalinda—song of the battling troubadours of Trinidad”, Journal of the Folklore Institute 3:2, 1966: 192–203. Elder, J.D. From Congo Drum to Steelband. St. Augustine, Trinidad: University of the West Indies, 1969. Henry, Jeff. Under the Mas’: Resistance and Rebellion in the Trinidad Masquerade. San Juan, Trinidad: Lexicon Trinidad Ltd., 2008. Hill, Errol. The Trinidad Carnival: Mandate for a National Theatre. London: New Beacon Books, 1997. First published 1972 by the University of Texas Press. Office of the Chief Secretary-THA.  Tobago Notes National Speech Band Competition, 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGZOyk UhYQw&t=126s Quevedo, Raymond. Atilla’s Kaiso: A Short History of Trinidad Calypso. St. Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago: University of the West Indies, Extra Mural Studies, 1983. Regis, Louis. The Political Calypso: True Opposition in Trinidad and Tobago 1962–1987. Barbados. Jamaica. Trinidad and Tobago: The Press University of the West Indies, 1999.

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Rohlehr, Gordon. Calypso & Society in Pre-Independence Trinidad. Gordon Rohlehr: Port of Spain, Trinidad, 1990. Rohlehr, Gordon. My Whole Life is Calypso: Essays on Sparrow. Gordon Rohlehr: 47 Glenside Gardens, Tunapuna, Trinidad and Tobago, 2015. Trinidad Loves to Play Carnival: Carnival, Calenda and Calypso from Trinidad 1914–1939, (Matchbox Calypso Series, MBCD 302-2), 1993. Warner-Lewis, Maureen. Central Africa in the Caribbean: Transcending Time, Transforming Cultures. Barbados. Jamaica. Trinidad and Tobago: University of the West Indies Press, 2003.

CHAPTER 11

Oral Tradition and Cultures in Dialogue: Ondjango Angolano and Jongo da Serrinha Tonia Leigh Wind

Introduction Jinóngonóngo, or riddles in the Kimbundu language, are part of an Angolan oral tradition which, like other African traditional cultural elements, experienced transfer to Brazil during the centuries of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. As is the case with many cultural and spiritual traditions of the African diaspora, particularly throughout North America, South America, and the Caribbean, the genesis for this particular cultural element is deeply rooted in the trifecta of traditional African beliefs and practices, the fluvial transfer of the thousand-year practice which is tied inextricably to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, and the “sea change,” as noted by Raboteau (1999), experienced by these cultural elements which flourished despite the harsh reality of the plantation life in which the thousands of enslaved Africans found themselves in the Americas. Expounding on a renewed interest in the cultural memory traditions of present-day Quilombos, Brazilian settlements founded by people of African

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origin including the Quilombolas, or Maroons, by academics in Brazil and the United States alike in recent years with a notable mention of Pedro Meira Monteiro and Michael Stone with Congama Calling (2013) and Silvia Hunold Lara and Gustavo Pacheco with Memória do Jongo (Memory of Jongo) (2007)  and their own contributions to the edited collection Congama Calling (2013), the resurfacing of wire recordings of enslaved Africans carried out by Stanley J. Stein in 1949 on the Vassouras coffee plantation, and the Brazilian Institute of Historic and Artistic National Patrimony’s decision in 2005 award Jongo da Serrinha the title of National Cultural Patrimony, this chapter aims to contribute to current research on this fascinating and enduring cultural performance that blossomed out of the harsh environment of slavery in Brazil. Notwithstanding the paucity of direct correlation between Ondjango Angolano and Jongo da Serrinha, this chapter adopts a transatlantic and comparative approach to analyzing this rich oral, musical, and dance tradition of the African diaspora. As such, it explores the origins of Ondjango as part of Angolan folklore and an oral and circle gathering tradition, the transposition of this cultural tradition by the three and a half million enslaved Africans throughout the nearly 300-year period of the Trans-­ Atlantic Slave Trade to Brazil, and the influence and legacy of the coffee plantations in the Paraíba Valley region of Brazil on the new form of riddles or oral battle poetry, Jongo, that flourished in the face of the harsh reality of plantation life and endures today in the Quilombola communities of the region.

Ondjango Angolano: Oral Tradition in Angola My exploration of the cultural dialogue between Ondjango and Jongo begins with a brief reflection on the varied forms of folklore in Angola, with a focus on the oral tradition of riddles. Subsequently, I set forth an overview of circle culture and its significance on culture sharing and community building in Angola. These two important elements underpin the analysis and comparison that I propose later in this chapter. Remitting to John Mbiti’s (1970) ideas on oral tradition, in African societies orality is something that exceeds mere words on paper; it touches the very soul of the people and the heart of the community. In traditional African communities, the elders are the ones who maintain the oral tradition: keeping histories alive in the collective imaginary of their community, which

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explains the African proverb: “every time an elder dies a library burns to the ground.” The performative Afro-Brazilian oral tradition Jongo is deeply rooted in the original oral tradition of its Angolan ancestor, Ondjango. In its original form, it served as a way in which to, akin to other oral traditions prominent throughout Africa, preserve and pass down history, teach moral lessons, and cement the importance of community. Moreover, the Belgian historian Jan Vansina reminds us that “most precolonial African civilizations were ‘oral civilizations’” (442). Likewise, according to Estevão Kalei Chingunji in his autobiographical article, “Folk Tales of Angola”: “one of the best ways to restore our cultural heritage is to recall the myths, stories and fables that we have inherited from our ancestors and to be aware of their influence in our everyday lives” (55). As such, African oral tradition allows a cultural group to communicate and to share ideas and knowledge, as well as to preserve ancestral knowledge and wisdom. Oral tradition also serves as a conduit through which a group or society can communicate with the spiritual world and is, within African traditional religion, related to a religious vision of the world. In the field of Luso-African Literary Studies, a topic of significant importance is the enduring influence of African oral tradition on the literature of these countries as evidenced in such texts as Gerald Moser’s “Oral Traditions in Angolan Story Writing.” In exploring elements of folklore in the works of Angolan writer Pepetela, Daniel Colón affirms the effectiveness and importance of African proverbs and oral tradition in exerting social control and conveying the morals of a social group. According to Colón, folklore is generational in nature and “presents a particular worldview of a culture that has been developed over time” (29). This worldview is of particular significance when, as highlighted by Colón, “it belongs to populations marginalized from the centers of power, (as) the result is that folklore presents an alternative interpretation of historical events” (29). The term Ondjango comes from the Kimbundu jinóngonóngo, also jinongongo, which are “riddles” or, as discussed in the following, “enigmas” within the prominent literary category of proverbs. Gerald M. Moser highlights two authors who contributed greatly to the study of oral tradition in Angolan literature: Joaquim Dias Cordeiro da Matta and Héli Chatelain. In the latter part of the nineteenth century, the Swiss Protestant missionary Héli Chatelain contributed to research on the Kimbundu language with his text Kimbundu Grammar—Gramática Elementar do Kimbundu ou Língua de Angola (1888–1889) as well as to Angolan

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literature with Folktales of Angola (1894). Likewise, during the same period, Joaquim Dias Cordeiro da Matta contributed to the study of Angolan language and literature with his texts Jisábu, jihéng’êle, ifika ni jinóngonongo, josó-néke mu kimbûndu ni pûtu, kua mon’ Angola or Popular Philosophy in Angolan Proverbs (1891) and Ensaio de Diccionario Kimbúndo-Portuguez or An Essay on the Kimbundu-Portuguese Dictionary (1893). In his study of Angolan folklore, as well as African folklore in its entirety, as it relates to that of other countries around the world, Chatelain asserts “the myths, favorite types or characters, and peculiar incidents, which have been called universal, because they recur among so many races, can also be traced through Africa from sea to sea. African folk-lore is not a tree by itself, but a branch of one universal tree” (Folktales of Angola 19–20). Notwithstanding the universal nature of African and, consequently, Angolan folklore, Chatelain classifies the literature of Angola into six main categories. These categories range from the first one of purely fictitious stories, mi-soso, which must contain, according to Chatelain, “something marvelous, miraculous, supernatural” and “are always introduced and concluded with a special formula” (20–21) to the last one which is of particular interest to this chapter: jinóngonóngo. The author highlights that this sixth class of riddles is used “only for pastime and amusement, though eminently useful for sharpening the wits and strengthening the memory of adepts … Like the mi-soso they are introduced and concluded with traditional formulae” (Chatelain, Folktales of Angola 22). In Kimbundu Grammar (1889), Héli Chatelain refers to jinóngonóngo, as well as the unique call and response nature of the riddle “game.” According to Chatelain, the person who presents the riddle, or nongonongo, begins by saying the phrase “nongonongo jami.” The other members of the group respond with “nongojoka” and the riddle initiator begins or releases their riddle to be deciphered. If anyone present believes they know the answer to the riddle, they solve the riddle and subsequently propose their own nongonongo, or riddle to be solved. Conversely, if no one is able to decipher the original riddle, one person from the group tells the person who proposed the original riddle the phrase “Sob’oio o soba.” The original riddle teller then provides the answer to the riddle and responds with the phrase “Soba io Kute-Kange,” which translates loosely into the riddle being “amarrado” or bound/knotted. In the third section of this chapter, we explore how this particular element of the cultural tradition reappears in Jongo in the form of the jongueiros using their riddles

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to cast spells on their opponents when they were unable to unravel/ unknot, or decipher, the proposed riddle. As previously stated, riddles, like proverbs, fables, and myths, are one form of folklore or oral tradition. In general terms, we can define riddles as a problem or question to be solved oftentimes by relying upon logic or unraveling figurative language in order to do so. In Riddles: Perspectives on the use, function and change in a folklore genre, Annikki Kaivola-Bregenhøj defines a riddle as “a traditional, fix-phrased verbal expression containing an image and a seeming contradiction. It consists of two parts: an image and an answer” (9–10). The author contends that “Riddles clearly say something about the material culture of the community in which they are used” (Kaivola-Bregenhøj 10), which is of great significance, particularly when considering the material culture of the community out of which Jongo emerged on the coffee plantations of Colonial Brazil. The imagery, puns, and metaphors utilized in the riddles or battle poetry of Jongo, such as those which protest slavery or ridicule the plantation owner, consistent with Kaivola-Bregenhøj’s assertions, “are related to the objects, methods and animals known to all the riddle users” (14). Expounding on the prominence of riddles in the African context, Stanley Madonsela posits that “riddles are an essential part of folklore in that it embodies the inherited wisdom (social, personal and moral) of the people whose world we see through the filter of folklore” (45). Likewise, the author affirms the importance of community in traditional African philosophy and that “individuals owe their existence to the existence of the group (ubuntu)” (Madonsela 50), and puts forward the notion that “riddles serve as a cryptic but entertaining form of communication that encourages either collaboration or competition, depending on the particular kind of riddle employed” (Madonsela 59). Without overly diverging from the scope of this chapter, it is interesting to note that jinóngonóngo are posed as statements rather than questions, as is more common in English language riddles, and also follow a call-and-response format, which is highly prevalent in many performance elements of religions of the African diaspora. The wider category of riddles can be subdivided into two categories: enigma and conundrum. In the case of jinóngonóngo, they are best classified as enigmas, as they are statements that require the person attempting to solve them to use skill, creativity, and, at times, cunningness to decipher the allegorical language and hidden clues to arrive at a solution. Common examples of enigmas or riddles in the English language are “What gets

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wetter and wetter the more it dries?” or “If you speak its name, you break it. What is it?” We can see how at first consideraton, the questions posed might be unclear or seemingly unanswerable. However, a more skillful or creative approach to the questions leads to the answers of “a towel,” and “silence.” In Popular Philosophy in Angolan Proverbs, Jiheng’ele Jisabu Jakim Ria Matta, also known by his Portuguese name Joaquim Dias Cordeiro da Matta, dedicates an entire section to jinóngonóngo providing the original enigma in Kimbundu along with its Portuguese translation, as well as the answer to the same. In total, he includes 90 enigmas with their corresponding resolutions, of which I am highlighting two in this chapter. The first, riddle number 18, states “Iô úia, iô úiàla (Este vae, este fica)” (Cordeiro da Matta 161), which translates literally to “This goes, this remains.” The answer given for the riddle is “Mènhá ni kisékèle (Agua e areia),” or “Water and sand.” The second, riddle number 23, poses the enigma “Ín úenda, keniê rikànda (Um caminheiro que anda sem pegadas)” (Cordeiro da Matta 162), or “a walker who walks without footprints.” The solution for this enigma is “Úlúngu (Canôa)” (Cordeiro da Matta 162), or “a canoe.” In both of these examples, we can see how a person attempting to resolve the enigma would need to use creativity and skill to decipher the allegorical language of the adage. Echoing the assertions of Daniel Colón on the importance of oral tradition, Esteväo Kalei Chingunji recounts the significance of listening to stories of his ancestral lineage from his grandfather during his childhood in Angola. He highlights taking part in folkloric festivals and traditional dances, as well as listening to folk tales recounted by community elders in the Onjango, which he defines or describes as “a meeting place beside a fire where elders and children meet at night to discuss current and past events” (Chingunji 55). This childhood recollection provides a greater context to the oral tradition by establishing its significance as a cultural element that serves as a binding force within the community. In their text “Freire and Ondjango,” Brazilian educator and researcher, Gomercindo Ghiggi, and Angolan educator and researcher, Martinho Kavaya, detail the origins of the term Onjango. They set forth how in the Umbundu culture, Onjango is a compound word comprised of the two Umbundu terms ondjo (home) and ohango (conversation); or rather, “ondjo y’ohango”: a home or place of/for conversation. According to Ghiggi and Kavaya, ondjo is the space where life takes place and where individuals can come together to discuss matters of common or communal

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interest. Ohango is the dialogue or serious conversation that takes place between two or more individuals that is mediated by the elder of the community with the greatest amount of life experience and knowledge. This discussion takes place in a circular fashion, such as in a round, ondjango or circle of culture setting. (Ghiggi and Kavaya, “Freire and Ondjango” 103). Ghiggi and Kavaya highlight how Ondjango represents the reality of the “home” of the community and classify it as “a starting point and a confluence point, where people can sit, and join elders. That is why it is a meeting place” (“Freire and Ondjango” 216). Ondjango is both the physical space where the community congregates to share knowledge and experiences, as well as the emotive nucleus of the communal group. In traditional Angolan culture, the physical space of Ondjango was circular in nature with open walls on the sides, covered by greenery, and contained large logs inside with which to build a communal fire. The authors describe the varied uses for the ondjango including for “ohango” (dialogue or conversation), “ulonga” (community status update), “elongiso” (teaching and learning), “ekuta” (food sharing), “ekongelo” (decision-making), and “ekanga” (meeting to do/carry out justice), among others (Ghiggi and Kavaya, “Freire and Ondjango” 216). As such, it can be viewed as a “home” or place for a cultural group to meet, communicate, and pass down knowledge from one generation to the next for the betterment and continuation of the community. In addition to the communal significance of Ondjango, Ghiggi and Kavaya underscore the prominence of the person who leads or guides this form of culture circle. The authors highlight how in Ondjango, the person chosen to lead the discussions is generally the one with the greatest amount of life experience or, according to the authors, “an elderly person: the osekulu, usually an illiterate man, rather than a woman (there is no space for women in the ondjango)” (Ghiggi and Kavaya, “Freire and Ondjango” 226). Depending upon the topic of discussion, only the adult men of the group are permitted to take part in Ondjango, with younger males being allowed during special events such as initiations. In his article “The Place of Speech: Dialogues between Brazilian Jongo and Angolan Ondjango,” Brazilian musician, ethnomusicologist, and folklore researcher, Paulo Dias, sets forth the nature and significance of collective speech in Ondjango and postulates that Jongo could represent “a diasporic rebuilding of African institution of spoken word, shaped by the restrictive conditions of slavery” (330). Within this element of cultural reconstruction, according to Dias, Jongo preserves the fundamental

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character of the collective nature of dialogue speech (Dias 333). The author describes Ondjango, from the Umbundu term Onjango, for the Ovimbundu in Angola as the space or social institution understood as being a house or place of conversation (Dias 338). Likewise, among the Ambundu people, an analogous structure can be found which is referred to as njango or jango in the Kimbundu language and in Nganguela villages in the eastern portion of Angola, it can be found as ndzango in the Mbwela language. In the representations of this culture circle element, Ondjango, plural olonjango, serves as a form of village support system that, according to Dias, centralizes the majority of the communicational activity of these traditional populations and now sees itself sharing space with institutions of European origin such as schools and churches (338). In these group settings, the members of the community sit in a circle to talk around the central element of a fire. According to Dias, in Ondjango, the bonfire is kept alight thanks to piles of wood brought into the meeting place by younger members of the community. The smoke from the bonfire serves as both a mediating element of communication between the world of the living and the spiritual world of the ancestors, as well as a reaffirmation of the continuity of ancestral ties (Dias 349). Within this space, lived experiences are shared by the collective in an act of solidary communication. Paulo Dias highlights how in Angolan Portuguese the Kimbundu term jango also signifies “association, collective or group” and can be found when referencing a literary group (jango literario) or sport collective/ group (jango esportivo) (338). Notwithstanding the aforementioned meanings for Ondjango, it is primarily a meeting place, or casa de ekongelo, within traditional African community life. Revisiting the topic of oral tradition and its significance in Olondjango, Dias underscores the prominence of proverbs and riddles in the intellectual and cultural training of the younger members of the group. Akin to proverbs, riddles are used as enigmas to be resolved and are generally associated with entertainment that are most commonly employed in competitive oral events (Dias 351). Oral tradition is continued in Jongo through the frequent use of metaphors, along with African expressions and words, which makes the pontos near impossible for those outside of the Jongo community to understand.

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Transatlantic Crossing and a Sea Change: From Ondjango to Jongo da Serrinha The second part of this chapter shifts its focus from Ondjango and African oral tradition to the transfer and syncretization of these cultural elements by the enslaved Africans who were forcibly taken to Brazil. The institution of slavery began in the 1500s to supply the ruthless demand for labor on the large sugar plantations of the northeastern state of Bahia in Brazil and Cuba, among others. Slave Voyages:  The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database estimates that overall, 12½ million captives were transported in approximately 35,000 transatlantic voyages from Africa to the Americas. Of this number, most of the enslaved Africans carried out the rest of their days toiling on the sugar plantations in the region. According to Reis and Mamigonian, the bulk of the slave trade in Bahia in the 30 years leading up to the end of the official Brazilian slave trade in 1850, and subsequent “Imperial Law” being signed on May 13, 1888, by Brazilian Princess Isabel of Bragança, came from Yoruba regions in Africa. The religious beliefs and oral traditions of the Yoruba arrived in the New World along with the enslaved Africans. It is interesting to note that, despite the adversities faced by Africans throughout the diaspora and the oppressiveness of those who enslaved them, the African culture persevered. French sociologist and anthropologist Roger Bastide illustrates the binding capability of adversity stating, “Slavery united the African civilizations, now detached from their substructures, mutilated in the process and transformed from communal civilizations into class sub-cultures… This produced the new phenomena of religious syncretism and cultural crossbreeding” (67). African culture, in particular folklore, language, and religion, were transplanted into the New World and underwent certain adaptations in their new environment to the different countries or regions of origin. Many enslaved Africans practiced different forms of African traditional religion and had their own dialects and traditions. It is estimated that approximately four million slaves were taken to Brazil over the 400 years of the slave trade. According to John Mbiti, “Religion is the strongest element in traditional background, and exerts probably the greatest influence upon the thinking and living of the people concerned” (1). The idea that religion is present in the life of the African wherever he or she may be in the world is highly relevant in considering the religious diaspora of the hundreds of thousands of Africans who came under enslaved conditions to the New

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World. Also, according to Mbiti, for Africans “traditional religions permeate all the departments of life, there is no formal distinction between the sacred and the secular, between the religious and the non-religious, between the spiritual and the material areas of life” (2). Jacob K. Olupona reaffirms the diversity and import of religion in the life of adherents of African traditional religions and highlights that “Religious worldviews, often unique to distinct ethnic groups, reflect people’s identities and lie at the heart of how they relate to one another, to other people, and to the world at large” (1). Religious beliefs, according to Olupona, are inextricably woven into the patchwork of life for many Africans and are “a varied and diverse set of components touching upon every aspect of life” (2). The passing down of myths and religious rituals from one generation to the next is integral to the continuation of the African diasporic religions in the New World. Likewise, oral tradition is of utmost importance in maintaining ancestors “alive” in the collective memory of the African diasporic communities during the centuries of their enslavement, as well as post-enslavement. When we consider the countries or regions of origin of most enslaved Africans who were forcibly taken to Brazil, in particular the southeast region of the country, it becomes clear that they shared a common linguistic-­cultural background: Bantu. Many of the enslaved Africans who toiled on the coffee plantations in the Paraíba Valley region of Brazil had their origins in the West-Central region of Africa, specifically a large area known as Kongo-Angola. It was the Bantu peoples and their descendants who sang and danced Jongo on the coffee plantations of the Paraíba Valley. The hidden messages contained in the Jongo songs, or pontos, sung on the plantations grew out of the lived experience of the enslaved individuals. Many of the same words of African origin used by enslaved Jongo practioners during the nineteenth century can still be heard sung in the Jongo circles of the southeast region of Brazil still today. In his text Na Senzala, uma flor (In the Slave Quarters, a Flower), the historian Robert Wayne Slenes has identified essential elements that are still evident in Jongo practiced in the southeast region of Brazil today, albeit with resignification, which have their roots in Central African cultural traditions. The presence of a bonfire in the jongo tradition evokes key symbolic elements of traditional African religiosity, such as ancestral veneration. Another element emphasized by Slenes is the significance of drums such as caxambu/angoma, often referred to as ngoma, derived from the Kongo word for “drum,” throughout the entirety of the Atlantic

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region and inward toward Central Africa. Jongo, along with other traditions such as Capoeira and Candomblé, incorporates drums and drumming as a key component of these Afro-Brazilian cultural traditions. The round dance which is central to Jongo retains vestiges of couples’ round dance traditions described by travelers who observed these performative expressions in the interior area of Luanda and the southeast region of Angola during the nineteenth century. In Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu (Down the Paths of Jongo and Caxambu), Hebe Mattos and Martha Abreu highlight how the “call and response” nature of Jongo used in moments of work of recreation on the coffee plantations of colonial Brazil characterized a typical feature of Central African songs. (17) Furthermore, according to Mattos and Abreu, the song leader, known as the cumba, was typically an elder member of the community, had knowledge of other times and customs, and seemingly held special religious roles and powers (Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu 17). It is interesting to note how the word for a gathering or large number of cumbas, or Jongo song leaders, is macumbas, which nowadays refers directly to an Afro-Brazilian religious practice with strong ties to ancestral worship: Macumba. Mattos and Abreu underscore the significance of the tradition of paying homage to elders and seeking permission from the “pretos velhos,” or “old Blacks,” and the elder jongueiros, or Jongo practitioners, before beginning any Jongo round and the Central African tradition of valorization of guardians and counsellors of an ancestral group who are the interpreters of proverbs (Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu 17). It is noteworthy that, according to Mattos and Abreu, many of the topics of the pontos used in Jongo today in Brazil were sung among religious figures in the region of Kongo and Angola as challenges in the beginning of the twentieth century. Among these original challenge songs, banana plants that were able to miraculously ripen their fruits overnight, and animals, such as snakes, bees, and armadillos were summoned to weaken a competitor. Banana plants represented the reproductive capacity of humans and generational cycles, snakes represented transformational ability, and bees and armadillos were believed to create a strong bridge or connection with the spiritual world and the world of the dead through their buzzing and ability to dig. Mattos and Abreu highlight how all these elements held significance among the people of Central Africa (Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu 17).

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On the subject of maroon communities, Mattos and Abreu underscore how, until the eighteenth century, groups or collective gatherings of fugitive slaves were known as mocambos, or “hiding places” in Ambundu, a language from the region of Angola. The term Quilombo, which signifies a “fortress,” “stronghold” or “military camp” in the Bantu languages, only began to be used to describe these maroon communities beginning in the eighteenth century (Mattos and Abreu, Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu 18). The official end of slavery arrived in Brazil in 1888 and had a significant effect on the key function of many Quilombo communities: the escape from the slave-holding plantation system. However, as pointed out by Mattos and Abreu, the idea of a Quilombola struggle did not disappear following the end of slavery in Brazil, as this event did not assure improvements for the free-slave and Afro-Brazilian populations (Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu 21). Brazilian educator and researcher, Matthias Röhrig Assunção, contends that “the various types of verbal and physical challenge were crucial to the development of original cultural forms in the Paraíba Valley” (105). These verbal challenges were, according to Assunção, central to three cultural practices which, after emancipation in 1888, “represent the most widespread and important forms of rural folk culture in that region. They are: the jongo, the calango, and the folia de reis” (105). Jongo, whose origins are, as previously stated, in West-Central Africa and contains both oral and dance elements could also include physical challenges. Physical challenges were also central to the game “jogo do pau” (stick play), which typically broke out at social events. Assunção likewise asserts that “the verbal and physical challenges that developed during the post-emancipation period in the Paraíba Valley reflect very specific processes that can be linked to the formation of the ‘Black Atlantic’” (106). Or rather, they are adaptations by enslaved Africans and the descendants of these peoples of cultural elements in a New World setting during the time of slavery and post-emancipation. The author details how enslaved Africans would sing in the form of jongos or calangos while working, affirming: “The leaders of working groups challenged each other or poked fun at the master and overseer. After Abolition, ‘duel singing’ remained important in all communal work” (Assunção 108). It is important to keep in mind that, while seemingly similar in nature, calangos and jongos did differ in the sense that one was inherently religious, and the other was not. According to Assunção, “jongos had links to Afro-Brazilian religion and acknowledged African ancestors in the

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form of pretos velhos (‘old blacks’) … jongueiros maintained close ties with macumba, later umbanda, and prominent singers were often priests or held other offices at Afro-Brazilian shrines” (110). An interesting point is that an additional similarity can be established between stanzas in Jongo oral tradition, which are referred to as “pontos,” and the Macumba and Umbanda religious traditions. Within the Jongo tradition, there is a more serious or powerful song duel which is the “ponto de demanda.” One of the definitions for the word “demanda” in Portuguese is “dispute,” which correlates to the duel-­ related significance of the “ponto de demanda.” Matthias Röhrig Assunção highlights that “demanda” also has a similar meaning in the Afro-Brazilian religions of Macumba and Umbanda “where it refers to putting a spell on somebody … jongo challenges between singers could result in the loser having to hand over his drums or even being ‘tied up’ (amarrado), that is, ‘bewitched’ and physically immobilized until the end of the performance at dawn” (112). It is easy to see how one of these Jongo matches could possibly result in a dangerous situation for the jongueiros, or competing Jongo practitioners, involved in the song duel. Assunção details the structure of the Jongo challenge which “consisted in an exchange of sung verses (strophe and antistrophe) between two individuals. Each contribution had to be deciphered by the opponent, who then had to reply with another appropriate stanza” (118). The author underscores the dangerous nature of the Ponto de Demanda in the case of one of the Jongo practitioners failing to resolve the enigma set forth by the challenger. According to Assunção, in a Ponto de Demanda match, “the one who failed to reply satisfactorily to a challenge risked remaining ‘tied’ (amarrado) for the rest of the night. For that reason, it was crucial to ask older and more experienced singers for permission before singing oneself in a jongo circle, in order not to provoke the more powerful” (118). In her article “Slavery in the Age of Emancipation,” Kim D.  Butler details a shift in the internal slave trade in Brazil after the close of the Atlantic slave trade in 1850 until reaching its peak in the 1870s. According to Butler, over 200,000 enslaved people were transferred “from struggling northeastern plantations to the south-central region, where commercial coffee agriculture was quickly becoming the nation’s principal export sector” (969). The author also highlights how the construction of a new railway which supplied access to the port of Santos from the coffee growing areas of the state of São Paulo aided in “creating increased demand for labor to support what was rapidly becoming Brazil’s most

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important export industry” (Butler 971). As such, during these two decades the internal slave labor market relocated to the coffee plantations in the Paraíba Valley, which encompasses portions of the Brazilian states of São Paulo, Minas Gerais, and Rio de Janeiro. Practitioners of Jongo, or jongueiros, and maroons and their descendants, or quilombolas, are concentrated primarily in three regions of Brazil: the Paraíba Valley, the southern coastal region of Rio de Janeiro, and the northern coastal region of Rio de Janeiro. The root of this concentration can be traced back to the time of slavery in the country. Throughout this period, predominantly in the first half of the nineteenth century, these three regions experienced a significant influx of enslaved Africans. It was during this same period that coffee plantations transformed the Paraíba Valley and the product it produced into the most profitable of all Brazilian exports. As such, the slave trade significantly influenced the region, as well as the cultural elements that developed out of the plantations. As a result of the boom in coffee production in the Paraíba Valley and plantations’ incessant need for slave labor to keep up with demand, and despite the formal prohibition of slave trade in 1831, vast numbers of enslaved Africans arrived at coastal Rio de Janeiro in the first half of the nineteenth century. Slave trade operations continued, albeit illegally, during this period until it was ultimately outlawed in Brazil in 1850, which resulted in numerous clandestine ports along the southern coast of Rio de Janeiro in places such as Mangaratiba, Paraty, and Angra dos Reis, and along the northern coastline of Rio de Janeiro in Búzios and Cabo Frio. An interesting point made in Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu which speaks directly to the aim of this chapter is how if places where Jongo is practiced today were overlayed on a map of the clandestine ports and coffee plantations from the nineteenth century, they would match exactly. Or rather, the communities that grew out of original quilombos and many of the Jongo groups in the southeast region of Brazil represent what was historically the movement and forced migration of the last enslaved Africans that arrived in Brazil by means of the clandestine coastal ports to the coffee plantations of the Paraíba Valley.

Voices from the Paraíba Valley: Songs of Resistance The last section of this chapter explores the syncretic performative cultural elements that developed in Afro-Brazilian communities on plantations during the time of slavery in the country, as well as the transformation of

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these cultural elements into forms of resistance and binding forces within, evoking Benedict Anderson, the newly formed “imagined communities” (1983) in the New World setting. After more than a hundred years since the abolition of slavery in Brazil and numerous social movements by Afro-­ Brazilians in their continued fight against discrimination, the idea of the Quilombo has taken hold as an instrument of definitive access to land and valorization of Afro-Brazilian culture. By the end of the twentieth century a new form of Quilombo has emerged that can be thought of as the “modern Quilombo.” This modern-day Quilombo is associated historically or ideally with historic quilombola struggles of the past and, along with Jongo and Caxumbu, comprises a cultural patrimony of Afro-Brazilians and strengthens the community ties among its practitioners. In 1948, the North American historian, Stanley Stein, carried out field research in the Paraíba Valley region of Brazil to better understand the economy of the region, primarily that which was centered around the production of coffee. As such, he interviewed residents of the Valley, among whom many had been enslaved or were descendants of enslaved peoples. In addition to the oral interviews, Stein also recorded regional songs that were mainly examples of Jongo. These recordings comprise one of the most important collections of cultural music that belongs to the Paraíba Valley: Vassouras, a Brazilian Coffee County (1985). While Stein’s initial interest was in understanding the economic and social changes of the coffee plantation region, the jongos that he recorded during his time in the Paraíba Valley resulted in a treasure trove of previously undocumented cultural manifestation. Jongo is part of a larger group of Afro-Brazilian dances which are generally referred to as sambas de umbigada, as defined by the Brazilian folklorist Edison Carneiro (1961). Carneiro pinpoints a series of elements that these dances have in common, such as the use of two or more drums, a vocal style that is composed of short phrases that are sung by a soloist and repeated or responded to in chorus by the other practitioners, a poetic-­ metaphoric language, and the presence of the umbigada dance style. In his article “African Influences on the Music of Brazil,” David E.  Vassberg highlights the significance of the umbigada to Jongo and other Afro-­ Brazilian dance styles asserting: “An essential feature of both dances was the umbigada—a navel-to-navel bump (either real or stylized) which is a characteristic of African choreography. The Bantu name for this gesture was semba, from which the word ‘samba’ was derived” (43).

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In her thesis on Jongo in quilombola communities, Ione Maria Do Carmo details the current ritual phrases associated with pontos such as they are started by one of the participants who “throws” (tira/joga) an enigma and waits for one of the other participants to put their hand over the drums and shout “axe” or “waterfall” (machado or cachoeira), giving the signal that a new ponto has begun. Throughout a night of Jongo festivities, the pontos can take on different functions as they are sung to liven the dance, to greet people or spiritual entities, to transmit a challenge to another Jongo practitioner to be deciphered (ponto de demanda, guramenta or porfia), or to end the jongo match. In his introduction to the dossier on Jongo do Sudeste, the President of the Institute of Brazilian Historical and Artistic Patrimony, Luiz Fernando de Almeida, describes Jongo as a form of expression that integrates drumming, collective dance, and magical-poetic elements. He further points out that Jongo has its roots in African beliefs, rites, and folklore, above all those of the Bantu tradition. De Almeida asserts that Jongo consolidated itself among the enslaved Africans who worked on the coffee and sugar plantations in the southeast region of Brazil, mainly in the Paraíba do Sul River Valley. The author likewise highlights the importance of Jongo as both an element of cultural identity and resistance for many communities of the region. (11) Brazilian researcher Ione Maria Do Carmo echoes the points set forth by De Almeida and furthermore describes Jongo as a form of cultural performance that is manifested through ring dance, drumming, metaphoric verses, and ritual practices, such as paying homage to the drums when a jongueiro, or Jongo practitioner, enters the circle. The author asserts that Jongo, also known as tambu or caxambu, was first recorded by travelers and folklorists in the first half of the nineteenth century (Do Carmo 31). According to Do Carmo, the existence of Jongo in a determined region is generally associated with that area having a slaveholding past. As such, Jongo transformed into one of the points of reference for members of those communities to reaffirm their identities, as well as to assume their right to possession of the quilombo land. In the dossier Jongo do Sudeste, compiled by IPHAN researchers, we see how the seemingly obscure language used in Jongo is associated with, as witnessed in all of the quilombola communities visited by the researchers, the needs of the former enslaved Africans to communicate among themselves without the plantation masters understanding what they were discussing (58). This is one of the most relevant dimensions to the memory

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of Jongo practitioners: the freedom of expression achieved by their ancestors, under the most adverse of conditions, thanks to their wise and cunning manipulation of words. This strategic use of obscure words and speech during the time of slavery to allow for secret conversations among the enslaved peoples is highlighted by Jongo practitioners today. However, it is not disassociated from the magical powers attributed to the same pontos and which came back on competing practitioners. The stories or legends of the bewitching powers of Jongo have been passed down through pontos from the times of slavery to modern-day practices. In his chapter, “A Marvelous Journey,” Stanley Stein reminisces on the field interviews carried out with descendants in Vassoras, asserting: “I believe that one day when I questioned an informant on how news of emancipation in May 1888 had been received by slaves, he hummed two jongos. The first concerned how slaves had reacted to the news of emancipation: ‘I was sleeping, Ngoma called me / Arise people / Captivity is over’” (22–23). According to Stein, the jongos were a form of “sarcastic improvisation” used by the informants that expressed their reactions to the coffee plantation society at Vassouras (“A Marvelous Journey” 23). The dossier on Jongo do Sudeste illustrates the history of Jongo as narrated by jongueiros, or Jongo practitioners, including supernatural tales of practitioners losing their voices, falling unconscious, fainting, falling over, and nights spent sleeping under a banana plant all due to the failure to acknowledge or demonstrate obligatory respect to the drums and the elders present. Of these practitioners who failed to perform these introductory rites, the dossier details supernatural occurrences such as when they threw their belt up into the air, it would transform into a snake upon hitting the ground, or when they would throw up their hat into the air, it would turn into a hawk and peck the snake. The meeting of cumbas, or Jongo masters, was reportedly the moment in which the pontos became the most dangerous. The dossier further details a confrontation between two sorcerers in a Jongo match. One of them filled his mouth with hard liquor and sprayed his opponent’s son’s eyes with the liquid, immediately blinding him. The opponent took red hot cinders from the bonfire, doused them with water from the river, and blew the ashes on the man who had been blinded by the liquor. When asked what was in the liquor, the Jongo practitioner responded that it was seasoned with “Just water. It didn’t need anything else” (Jongo do Sudeste 59). Robert W. Slenes affirms that pontos, or “knotted stiches” needed to be “untied” by the dueling jongueiros. According

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to Slenes, “contending jongueiros felt the need to “untie” (decipher) their opponents’ “pontos” lest they themselves become victims of o ponto de encante [sic] que amarra (“the stitch of enchantment that binds tightly”)” (“Like Forest Hardwoods” 54). In their article on the coffee plantations of the Paraíba Valley, Luís Cláudio P. Symanski and Flávio dos Santos Gomes explore the materiality of rebellions on these geographic spaces, as well as the nonmaterial cultural elements of the enslaved Africans on these plantations. Some of these nonmaterial elements include oral and corporal performance, such as histories, jokes, and songs. The authors detail how, during the first part of the nineteenth century, coffee plantations took root in the region of the Paraíba Valley and “In the 1830s, these plantations already occupied an extensive territory… The epicenter of this coffee economy was the city of Vassouras” (Symanski and Gomes 178). While the enslaved Africans in Vassouras shared many linguistic similarities, they were forced to navigate differences in traditions through the syncretization and reinvention of cultural elements. Walter de Lima Mendes Junior details the transition of Jongo to Jongo da Serrinha, and from Jongo da Serrinha to a new urban variant of the tradition in the hills surrounding Rio de Janeiro. According to Mendes Junior, “Following the abolition of slavery, there was an enormous migration of freed people who left the economically declining sugar and coffee plantation regions and headed for the city of Rio de Janeiro, then Brazil’s capital” (191). During this geographical displacement, Jongo practitioners brought individual variations of this cultural tradition to the hills of Rio de Janeiro. This displacement process had three main consequences that Mendes Junior details as: “a deterritorialization of the jongueiro and jongo form, … a process of reterritorialization … in the hills and marginalized communities of Rio de Janeiro, … and new forms of symbolic, political, economic, social, and cultural reproduction” (191). In the new geographical space of the hill communities, Jongo experienced a severe decline and, after the 1930s, samba came to represent the Afro-Brazilian form of cultural expression par excellence. Mendes Junior further asserts that “the most significant vestige of urban jongo is found on Serrinha Hill, located in the neighborhood of Madureira in northern Rio de Janeiro. There, a jongo group, Jongo of Serrinha, has made some changes to the rhythm and dance” (191). It is interesting to note that, while the presence of drums in this new form of

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Jongo continues to remit to the African origin of the cultural tradition, according to Mendes Junior, “the most significant change in urban jongo was the elimination of all ‘magical elements’ and … ‘wounding words’ … to attract the middle-class youth market” (191). These changes assured the endurance of this reterritorialized version of Jongo in the city of Rio de Janeiro. Hebe Mattos and Martha Abreu posit on nature of Jongo with regard to its significance as an Afro-Brazilian material cultural patrimony. The authors associate the cultural form with “the struggle against racial discrimination, with the goal of securing cultural recognition and title to traditional lands, which have been worked by black peasant communities organized along kinship lines” (Mattos and Abreu 87). They also highlight the importance of Article 68 of 1988 Brazilian Constitution which guarantees the rights of the descendants of the quilombo communities to the land titles of these territories. On December 15, 2005, Jongo was awarded the status of immaterial patrimony by the Brazilian Institute of Historic and Artistic Patrimony (IPHAN), which consolidated its significance as an Afro-Brazilian act of resistance.

Conclusion The comparative analysis of Ondjango Angolano and Jongo da Serrinha set forth in this chapter has, albeit briefly, explored the origins of Ondjango as part of Angolan folklore and a circle gathering tradition, the transfer via the transatlantic slave trade to Brazil of this cultural tradition, and the emergence of a new oral battle poetry, Jongo, despite the oppressively cruel nature of the slavocracy of the Paraíba Valley region of Brazil. Notwithstanding the specific focus on Jongo and the coffee plantations of the Paraíba Valley, variants of the Afro-Brazilian dance and oral tradition can be found on Quilombola communities throughout Brazil still practiced by the descendants of the original areas. One common thread that binds the various oral traditions, however, is that of resilience. These Afro-Brazilian enigmas comprised of coded verses gave voice to members of society who have been historically silenced and thrive as living remnants of a continued struggle for equal rights in contemporary Brazil.

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Work Cited Almeida, Luiz Fernando de. Introduction. Dossiê: Jongo no Sudeste, By Almeida, Brasília, 2007, pp. 12. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Verso, 1983. Assunção, Matthias Röhrig. “Stanzas and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley, Rio de Janeiro.” History Workshop Journal, Issue 77, 2014, pp. 103–136. Bastide, Roger. The African Religions of Brazil: Towards a Sociology of the Interpenetration of Civilizations. 1960. Translated by Helen Sebba, Johns Hopkins, 1978. Butler, Kim D. “Slavery in the Age of Emancipation: Victims and Rebels in Brazil’s Late 19th-Century Domestic Trade”. Journal of Black Studies, vol. 42, no. 6, 2010, pp. 968–992. Carmo, Ione Maria Do. O caxambu tem dendê”: Jongo e religiosidades na construção da identidade quilombola de São José da Serra. 2012. Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UFF), Master’s Thesis. Carneiro, Edson. Samba de Umbigada. Campanha de Defesa do Folclore Brasileiro, 1961. Chatelain, Heli, collector, and editor. Folk-tales of Angola: Fifty Tales, with Kimbundu Text, Literal English Translation, Introduction and Notes. Boston and New York, 1894. ———. Gramática Elementar do Kimbundu ou Língua de Angola. 1888–1889. Chingunji, Estevão Kalei. “Folk Tales of Angola.” Africa Report, vol. 20, no. 3, May–June 1975, pp. 55–56. Colón, Daniel. “The Role of Folklore in Pepetela’s Historiography of Angola.” Luso-Brazilian Review, 2012, vol. 49, no. 1, 2012, pp. 27–45. Cordeiro da Matta, Joaquim Dias. Jisábu, jihéng’êle, ifika ni jinóngonongo, josó-­ néke mu kimbûndu ni pûtu, kua mon’ Angola [Philosophia popular em proverbios angolenses]. Lisbon, 1891. Dias, Paulo. “O lugar da fala: conversas entre o jongo brasileiro e o ondjango angolano.” Revista do Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros, Brasil, no. 59, 2014, pp. 329–368. Ghiggi, Gomercindo and Martinho Kavaya. “Freire y Ondjango: diálogos con la experiencia vital del mundo angoleño [Freire and Ondjango: Dialogues with the Experience of Life of the Angolan World].” Recerca, Revista de Pensament I Anàlisi, no. 9, 2009, pp. 103–121. Ghiggi, Gomercindo. “Otchiwo, Ondjango and Culture Circles: From Ovimbundu and Freirian Vital Experiences to Angolan Education. Experiencing Intercultural Dialogue as a Revitalisation of Action Research.” International Journal of Action Research, vol. 8, no. 2, 2012, pp. 213–230

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Kaivola-Bregenhøj, Annikki. Perspectives on the use, function and change in a folklore genre. Finnish Literature Society, 2001. Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional—IPHAN (Brazilian Institute of Historical and Artistic Patrimony). Dossiê: Jongo no Sudeste. Brasília, 2007. Lara, Silvia H. “Vassouras and the Sounds of Captivity in Southeast Brazil.” Cangoma Calling: Spirits and Rhythms of Freedom in Brazilian Jongo Slavery Songs. Monteiro, Pedro Meira, and Michael Stone, editors. Luso-Asio-Afro-­ Brazilian Studies & Theory, 2013, pp. 25–34. Lara, Silvia H., and Gustavo Pacheco, editors. Memória do Jongo: as gravações históricas de Stanley J. Stein. Vassouras, 1949. Folha Seca, CECULT, 2007. Madonsela, Stanley. “Riddles, Meanings and Cognitive Development of the African Child in the Siswati Tradition.” African Journal of Rhetoric, vol. 12, 2020, pp. 44–64. Mattos, Hebe, and Martha Abreu. “Jongo, Recalling History.” Cangoma Calling: Spirits and Rhythms of Freedom in Brazilian Jongo Slavery Songs. Monteiro, Pedro Meira, and Michael Stone, editors. Luso-Asio-Afro-Brazilian Studies & Theory, 2013, pp. 77–87 ———. Editors. Pelos Caminhos do Jongo e do Caxambu: História, Memória e Patrimônio. http://www.pontaojongo.uff.br/. Accessed 04 Jan 2022. Mbiti, John S. African Religions and Philosophy. 1969. Anchor Books, 1970. Mendes, Junior, Walter de Lima, et al. “Territory, identity, music and popular rites in the city of Rio de Janeiro.” Canadian Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Studies / Revue canadienne des études latinoaméricaines et caraïbes, vol. 44, no. 2, 2019, pp. 188–203. Monteiro, Pedro M., and Michael Stone, editors. Congama Calling: Spirits and Rhythms of Freedom in Brazilian Jongo Slavery Songs. University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, 2013. Moser, Gerald M. “Oral Traditions in Angolan Story Writing.” World Literature Today, vol. 53, no. 1, 1979, pp. 40–45. Olupona, Jacob K. African Religions: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press: 2014. Raboteau, Albert J. African-American Religion. Oxford University Press, 1999. Reis, João José, and Beatriz Gallotti Mamigonian. “Nagô and Mina: The Yoruba Diaspora in Brazil”. Yoruba Diaspora in the Atlantic World. Falola, Toyin, and Matt D. Childs, editors. Indiana University Press, 2005, pp. 77–110. Slave Voyages: The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database, www.slavevoyages.org/ voyage/about. Accessed 06 March 2021. Slenes, Robert W. Na Senzala, uma flor. Rio de Janeiro. Esperanças e recordações na Formação da Família Escrava. Brasil Sudeste, Século XIX. Nova Fronteira, 1999. ———. “Like Forest Hardwoods: Jongueiros Cumba in the Central-African Slave Quarters.” Cangoma Calling: Spirits and Rhythms of Freedom in Brazilian

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Jongo Slavery Songs. Monteiro, Pedro Meira, and Michael Stone, editors. Luso-­ Asio-­Afro-Brazilian Studies and Theory, 2013, pp. 49–64. Symanski, Luís Cláudio P., and Flávio dos Santos Gomes. “Iron Cosmology, Slavery, and Social Control: The Materiality of Rebellion in the Coffee Plantations of the Paraíba Valley.” Southeastern Brazil, Journal of African Diaspora Archaeology and Heritage, vol. 5, no. 2, 2016, pp. 174–197. Stein, Stanley J. “A Marvelous Journey”. Cangoma Calling: Spirits and Rhythms of Freedom in Brazilian Jongo Slavery Songs. Monteiro, Pedro Meira, and Michael Stone, editors. Luso-Asio-Afro-Brazilian Studies and Theory, 2013, pp. 19–24. ———. Vassouras, a Brazilian Coffee County, 1850–1900: The Roles of Planter and Slave in a Plantation Society. 1958. Princeton University Press, 1985. Vansina, Jan. “Once upon a Time: Oral Traditions as History in Africa.” Daedalus, vol. 100, no. 2, 1971, pp. 442–468. Vassberg, David E. “African Influences on the Music of Brazil.” Luso-Brazilian Review, vol. 13, no. 1, 1976, pp. 35–54.

CHAPTER 12

Stanzas and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley, Rio de Janeiro Matthias Röhrig Assunção

The original version of the chapter has been revised. A correction to this chapter can be found at https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_17 This article was first published in History Workshop Journal, 77, 1 (Spring 2014): 103–136. Research was supported by a grant from CAPES (Coordenação de Aperfeiçoamento de Pessoal de Nível Superior), the Brazilian Federal Agency for the Support and Evaluation of Graduate Education, in 2007. It also greatly benefited from my participation in the research project ‘Jongos, calangos e folias. Música negra, memória e poesia’, sponsored by Petrobrás during 2007–2009. I am grateful to Martha Abreu and Hebe Mattos, the project co-ordinators, and their team, located at the Laboratório de História Oral e Imagens (LABHOI) at the Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF) in Niteroi, for allowing me to share this experience, in particular Luana Oliveira, Edmilson Santos, Eric Brasil, Paulo Rogério da Silva, and Isabel Castro. In the following I draw mainly on interviews I conducted myself but also rely on material gathered by other researchers on this project. The research resulted in the documentary film Verses and Cudgels (37 mins., Rio de Janeiro: LABHOI, 2009), which is accessible online. M. R. Assunção (*) University of Essex, Essex, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023, corrected publication 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_12

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My father was a tenant farmer And a great sharecropper He sang calango all night through And never lost at rhyming —Martinho da Vila (‘Meu pai era colono / e meeiro muito bom / Calangueava a noite inteira/ Não perdia verso não’: from ‘Linha do ão’, Martinho da Vila, O Pequeno Burguês, CD Track 2) Benedito Gonçalves, after a challenge game with one of those present, left with Salvador for the road, and on this occasion he, the witness, saw Benedito assault Salvador with a number of blows. —Guaratinguetá (1890, From a criminal record, quoted in Franco 39–40)

Approaching Male Challenges In her seminal work on free men in a slave society, Maria Sylvia de Carvalho Franco (35) emphasized the pervasiveness of violence among free poor men in the Paraíba Valley during the nineteenth-century Brazilian Empire. Physical aggression happened frequently between men who were neighbours, co-workers, friends, or even related to each other, she wrote, and these ‘violent altercations were not sporadic’, but part of ‘the flux of everyday life’. For Franco, that violence ‘permeates the entire social organism, emerging in the less regulated sectors of life, such as leisure relations, and projects itself on to the codification of fundamental cultural values’. On the basis of nineteenth-century criminal records in the municipality of Guaratinguetá, she notes that while fights originated in various contexts, they always derived from verbal challenges. It is these ‘poetic disputes’, and their relationship with physical challenges between males, that I examine in this chapter. Although Franco perceived the importance of the desafio (challenge) in the popular culture of the region, she greatly underestimated, in my view, its creative potential and the variety of its social functions. Perhaps her reliance upon criminal records, combined with a curious neglect of other types of source, conditioned her somewhat negative assessment of popular culture in the Brazilian ‘valley of slavery’.1 I argue, in contrast, that the various types of verbal and physical challenge were crucial to the development of original cultural forms in the Paraíba Valley. Verbal challenges were at the heart of three cultural practices which crystallized after emancipation, in 1888, and which represent the most widespread and

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important forms of rural folk culture in that region. They are the jongo, the calango, and the folia de reis. Jongo refers to a rhythm, a type of lyric and a dance whose origins are located in West Central Africa.2 Calango stands for a sung duel accompanied by music and a couple dance. Folia de reis (Kings’ Folly’) is a theatrical performance, or ‘folly’, inspired by medieval Iberian mystery plays about the three wise men or ‘kings’ who visited the newborn Jesus.3 Physical challenges were present in all three, but were also at the core of jogo do pau (stick play) and the fighting that erupted at social gatherings. Limited communication between historians and anthropologists/folklorists in the decades after the Second World War may explain why Franco showed no interest in further exploring the role of challenge in the caipira, or rural culture, of the Paraíba Valley.4 Thirty-five years before the publication of her work, however, the European or African origins of the desafio or challenge had already been the subject of academic debate between outstanding sociologists and folklorists such as Luís da Câmara Cascudo, Roger Bastide and Mário de Andrade. Cascudo explored the Iberian origins of the desafio in his classic Vaqueiros e cantadores (1938), and categorically asserted that: ‘The improvised challenge (desafio), accompanied by musical instruments, does not exist in African lands’ (192). Roger Bastide, while praising Cascudo’s book and acknowledging the Iberian origins of the desafio of north-eastern Brazil, indicated that poetic challenges existed in many societies (Dos duelos, 66–73). By transforming apparent hostility into play, they contributed to social cohesion and to ‘smoothening of customs’ (Dos duelos, 68–9). Furthermore he wondered: ‘Is it not curious that these duels, in which the caboclo and the black take part, should contain nothing from the more primitive Indian and African societies?’(72).5 Mário de Andrade took this further, asserting: ‘As to the Africans, I think it is impossible to accept that they had no custom of poetic-musical bouts.’ His research on the rural samba of São Paulo led him to believe that ‘a satirical attitude’ is one of the characteristics of African and black singing.6 Bastide pursued the debate in another article, where he suggested that the Brazilian desafio was located, like the mutirão (the work exchange between equals in rural communities), at a ‘crossroads, where three roads coming from Africa, the Indies and Portugal meet’. He concluded not only that poetic challenges were known in Africa, but that ‘the Brazilian black, influenced by whites, transformed and enriched the African challenge’ (‘Ainda o desafio brasileiro’, 76–8). Bastide

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thus raised an issue that I shall pursue here: the interaction between various forms of challenges and their insertion into new cultural practices. Half a century later it is of course possible to discuss verbal-poetic challenges in the light of a much more copious literature. Recent work has shown the importance of verbal challenges, mainly in poetic forms, in countries as diverse as Indonesia, Italy, Fiji, Bolivia and Turkey (Bowen, Mathias, Brenneis and Padarath, Solomon, Dundes et al.,). This suggests the widespread prevalence of ritualized verbal challenges between males. Similarly, stick play (and fighting with sticks) has been a feature of many societies in Europe, Africa and Asia. Irish and Portuguese men excelled in it, as well as many Southern African peoples such as the Zulu. It was or is also prominent in the Philippines, southern India and the plantation societies of the Caribbean (Gallant, Hurley, Coetzee, Ryan, Brereton 167–75, Zarrilli, Oliveira, Wolf). Interpretations of verbal and physical challenges have been many and various: displaced aggression, conflict resolution, social control, the construction of male identity, adolescent rite of passage, conferral of status, and development of verbal and physical skills have all been identified as underlying reasons for contests. In fact, the social context of verbal challenges differs so much in each case that generalization is often inappropriate. Here I argue that the verbal and physical challenges that developed during the post-emancipation period in the Paraíba Valley reflect very specific processes that can be linked to the formation of the ‘Black Atlantic’. That is, they represent creative adaptations of various kinds of materials developed by enslaved Africans and their descendants in Brazil in the context of slavery and post-emancipation. Studies of verbal challenges in the specific context of plantation America or post-emancipation societies initially focused on ‘playing the Dozens’ in the USA. According to Roger D. Abrahams (214), these verbal duels are typical for an African-American boy growing up in a ‘mother-orientated family’, where the construction of his masculinity requires a ‘violent reaction against the world of women which has rejected him, to a life filled with expressions of virility and manliness’. Henry Louis Gates, expanding on the work of Abrahams and others, demonstrated in his seminal work how verbal duelling such as ‘playing the Dozen[s]’ belonged to the rhetorical strategies of African Americans generically known as ‘signifyin(g)’ (80–1).7 My aim here is to describe the context and explain the various types of challenge in the popular culture of the Paraíba Valley, drawing both upon the existing literature and on fieldwork carried out since 2005 in various

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communities of that area. After sketching the social context of the ‘games’ (brincadeiras or folguedos) during which poetic and physical challenges took place, I discuss the different types of challenge, and the circumstances in which they could turn into rougher contests or violent brawls. The analysis of so dynamic a phenomenon as popular culture requires some kind of chronological framework. Establishing precise temporal boundaries is however very difficult when dealing primarily with oral memory. The abolition of slavery in 1888 is of course a landmark, but when does ‘post-emancipation’ end? I am inclined to see the 1960s as the turning point when important processes of modernization, from the introduction of electricity to access to television, started to change daily life in the Brazilian interior. Obviously the timescale for these changes differed for each town and hamlet in the state of Rio de Janeiro. Interviewees themselves provide clues regarding the time frame. ‘Sidoca’, a former participant in Folia de rei (Kings’ Follies) in Miracema, recalls: ‘I saw a lot of stick fighting, when I went to these dances, in those up-country villages. I was a young chap then’ (2008). Since he was born in 1933, we can safely assume that the calango dances followed by stick fighting took place at least until the 1950s. Interviewees refer to that past as ‘formerly’ or ‘in days of old’ (antigamente, de primeiro), but at the same time leave no doubt that they are not talking about the ‘times of slavery’. While the oldest informants experienced those ‘days of old’, and for that very reason are called the ‘ancients’ (antigos) the younger generations only know this period from hearsay.

Social and Cultural Contexts of Male Challenges Challenges between males were as much part of everyday life as they were features of the special events that marked out the seasonal rhythm of the life of rural communities—for instance the celebrations of patron saints such as Saint Benedict, particularly worshipped among black communities, Abolition (of slavery) Day on 13 May or the Christmas cycle from 24 December to 6 January. Challenges could either take oral poetic forms, or consist of physical contests. Both types had their rules and did not necessarily descend into violence—that is, result in physical harm. However, according to all testimonies, brawls did happen quite frequently, the outcome usually being a generalized fight between all men present at a venue. They used swiping kicks (rasteiras or pernadas), sticks and even knives and

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sickles. These brawls were seen as a continuation or a ‘normal’ consequence of the non-violent verbal and physical challenges. Verbal duels at work were most common during the mutirão, the traditional labour exchange between peasants that exists in many parts of Brazil. Because the mutirão brought together people from the community or neighbourhood, it provided an excellent occasion for challenges. Maria Sylvia Franco (35) already reported that ‘the challenge [desafio] occurs between the factions which coincide with the working parties that have been allocated specific tasks.’ Folklorists also highlighted the competitive spirit that prevailed among participants in a mutirão. The rural worker who finished his task first initiated the brão, that is, the challenge song whose function was to stimulate the other workers (Araujo, III, 85–86). Singing during work took the form of jongos or calangos. It seems that the former were particularly used in slavery times. According to Stanley Stein (163), slaves worked close enough to be able to hear each other singing. The leaders of working groups challenged each other or poked fun at the master and overseer. After Abolition, ‘duel singing’ remained important in all communal work, yet it seems that the jongo lost ground to the calango in the working context, even in predominantly black communities. Teresina de Jesus, from the maroon community of São José, for example, remembers calangos being sung while the hay was mown.8 According to Alceu Maynard Araújo (III, 88), the last worker to finish his task in the mutirão was called caldeirão: ‘It was common for the others to poke fun at the caldeirão. Nobody wanted to be the caldeirão.’ Typically whoever finished first would provoke the caldeirão with jibing verses, to which the latter had to respond in kind. In other words, in the context of the mutirão, a physical challenge (who worked harder) was combined with a verbal contest, and seems to have occurred predominantly between males. Masculine identity was hence constructed as much through hard manual labour as through the ability to sing and rhyme. These desafios during communal labour could also result in stick play between two men or even whole working parties. Roads were another arena for daily encounters, and for that reason also became the scene of challenges and brawls. These arose, for example, when two groups of muleteers met. As Jorge Fernandes remembers: In the old times [de primeiro], things were odd to this point. Every fazendeiro [owner of a big estate] milked his cows, collected [the milk] in the can, and had an employee to take it to the cooperative, on the donkey’s back.

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That group, right, went together, and another group came from there to here. Everybody tied up his donkey to a pole to be able to fight, and then they hit each other, right, in the middle of the road. A wooden handle… Holy Mary! … They went for the stick, one on the receiving end, the other hitting. And then, fine, they untied their donkeys, mounted their animals, and everyone went their own way. (Fernandes e Seabra, Interview)

All sources concur, however, that both poetic and physical challenges were particularly associated with leisure. From slavery times on the challenge was a feature of sites of social encounter, ‘appearing again as the link between entertainment and aggression’ (Franco, 39). Yet the challenges that were part of recreation in communities were usually friendly, and clearly non-violent. The jogo do pau (‘stick game’), for example, was played on Sundays by peasants and rural workers employed on estates. On the two Cardoso fazendas, in the municipality of Vassouras (RJ), workers played on a stone or cement floor. According to one interviewee (Silva), the owner even encouraged the practice, because he recognized its recreational value for his employees. ‘Sticks’ was also played on Sundays in the black community of São José. The aim was to measure various types of skill in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere. As Manuel Seabra likes to tell: When Sunday dawned, we went to play sticks. People came together. Then we played until… When one left the game, another one entered. Then we played malha [a kind of bowling of Portuguese origin] … After the malha game, we went to bathe at the waterfall. The whole bunch of people went. After the bathing, they came here, and played football. It was fun. (Fernandes e Seabra, Interview)

It was also common for adolescents and young men to play sticks in front of a grocery shop (venda). On that occasion, the game was accompanied by alcohol consumption and the audience commented on the skills of individual players or the current game. In these circumstances people started to bet and the competition would become more serious. The regular dances (bailes) were another unfailing occasion for challenges. There were various pretexts for them—for example the end of a mutirão (Araújo, I, 193; III, 51). In the rural areas of Brazil television was not available until the 1970s and even radios were rare until the 1950s. Hence bailes were an important source of entertainment, which took place about every fortnight. Neighbours and family members organized them

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together (Fernandes e Seabra, interview). Dance, during this period, meant calango above all. The term refers to both a musical genre and a dance. An accordion, a tambourine (pandeiro) and a drum accompanied the singers.9 Men and women danced in couples holding each other. The steps, according to folklorists such as Cascudo (entry Calango, 146), are similar to the urban samba. Yet the calango was, at its core, ‘a form of challenge’ (Silva, O desafio calangueado, 22). And according to Jorge Fernandes, it was the challenge of the calango that often led to a brawl: There was singing, there was the calango. They started to sing calango, and there was this contest. The one who defeated the other in the calango… the one who was defeated didn’t like it, and there a fight started, and the guys who were in the audience, right, they always booed… The one who lost was booed, and of course that was difficult for him, right? Then the stick hit hard… The fight started, and the cudgel struck with no holding back. (Fernandes e Seabra, Interview)

The regularity of the fights explains why every man came ready-armed with a cudgel. They hid them when entering the house where the event was happening. As Jorge Fernandes explains: When there was a dance, everyone carried his stick, right? When the guys arrived, some slipped the stick in the top of the hut, in the roof of the hut. Others hid the stick in a thicket of cane, or grass. They used this for self-­ defence because once midnight arrived, the fighting broke out. It was rare to have a dance without a fight. Then the dance stopped, everything finished. (Fernandes and Seabra, Interview)10

Jongos also took place on weekends or holidays, in particular 13 May, Abolition Day. In contrast to the calangos, this dance was always performed in the terreiro, that is, the courtyard next to the house, consisting of stamped clay or earth. Whereas calangos were not religious, jongos had links to Afro-Brazilian religion and acknowledged African ancestors in the form of pretos velhos (‘old blacks’). For that reason jongueiros maintained close ties with macumba, later umbanda, and prominent singers were often priests or held other offices at Afro-Brazilian shrines.11 There are also a number of formal similarities. Jongo strophes, for instance, are called pontos, as in macumba and umbanda. Indeed this association between jongo and macumba is precisely one of the reasons for the decline of jongo until its revival in the 1980s: the Catholic Church actively discouraged its

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practice, and the Protestant churches that spread after the Second World War vehemently opposed it. Hence after conversion to Protestantism the jongo disappeared even in many close-knit black communities. For the same reason jongueiros today tend to stress its secular character (Penteado Jr. 198–201). Jongo is a ring dance accompanied by two or three drums, with substantial regional and local variations. In the most common type, dancers form a great circle in front of the drums, with a woman and a man in the middle.12 According to Ribeiro, ‘these two engaged in real dance and tap-­ dancing duels’ (16). More serious than the physical challenges in the dance performance, however, were the sung duels, called pontos de demanda. The term demanda has again a similar meaning in macumba and umbanda, where it refers to putting a spell on somebody. Accordingly jongo challenges between singers could result in the loser having to hand over his drums or even being ‘tied up’ (amarrado), that is, ‘bewitched’ and physically immobilized until the end of the performance at dawn. The atmosphere of a jongo could hence become potentially dangerous. Maybe for that reason children were not allowed to participate in them until quite recently. As in the dance, women as well as men participated in pontos de demanda (although the former never beat the drums).13 Often a jongo in the courtyard was complemented by a calango inside the house, and might similarly lead to challenges and fights.14 The annual celebrations of the Nativity cycle created a context of intense social interaction which also favoured challenges, especially between men. In many regions of Brazil, the folias de reis (‘Kings’ Follies’) brought together men and women of all ages who shared a devotion to the Biblical Magi or Three Wise Men. Revellers (foliões) for a Kings’ Folly usually had to commit themselves for at least seven consecutive years. They came together at Christmas, and paraded each night until Epiphany (6 January). Participants often did not return home during this period, but stayed with the Kings’ Folly, especially if they lived at a distance from its headquarters. The consumption of large quantities of food and alcohol was part and parcel of these celebrations, which intensified social interactions not only between the members of the group and their families, but also between the folia and the wider world. Some folias travelled over great distances to perform, expanding their everyday social relations. The Christmas period thus facilitated moments of communion and reasserted social links, but it also opened up wider horizons and allowed approaches to hitherto unknown people. Consecutive nights of celebration, lack of

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sleep, alcohol consumption and religious exaltation might well induce peculiar states of mind, and lower many barriers.15 No wonder then that some aspects of the folguedo (revelry) also bred challenges, confrontations and brawls. It is possible either to argue that fights in this context only expressed the memory of previous clashes or latent conflicts, or, on the contrary, that the Kings’ Follies specifically favoured hostilities. Whatever the reason, any serious mestre (headman in charge) would inevitably insist on the Folly’s rules of conduct, which every reveller (folião) was supposed to observe. These included limits on alcohol consumption, as well as rules of social etiquette when revellers entered other homes, such as not invading the kitchen or not spitting on the ground.16 In contrast with the calango and the jongo, the folia de reis was characterized by formally structured groups of between twelve and twenty men, who followed the same banner (bandeira), led by the owner (dono) or master (mestre). It was the responsibility of the mestre to maintain instruments and uniforms, and to arrange visits to private houses that had agreed to receive the folia. The Kings’ Folly was a men’s pastime, and the role of women was limited to support, providing clothes and food.17 As in the calango, the accordion holds a central role in the folias in the state of Rio de Janeiro. It is accompanied by a guitar, a cavaquinho or viola (small guitar) and percussion instruments (triangle, tambourine, chocalho and a range of drums called bumbo, caixa and tarol). In some locations wind instruments (trumpet, saxophone and clarinet) were and are still used.18 Alongside the master a clown character (palhaço) is particularly relevant here. There are various explanations of his role. In the state of Rio de Janeiro, the clowns are usually identified with the soldiers of the biblical King Herod, which confers ambiguity.19 Many people believed that the clowns had signed a pact with the devil. Most clowns today resist any such association. Their ‘uniform’ (farda), however, includes a ‘helmet’ (capacete) and a mask whose function is clearly to instil fear in the audience, in particular the children. In previous times the clowns used masks made of leather from wild animals, such as the tamandua. Today the masks are made of plastic and hair, their appearance reminiscent of a dog’s head (a metaphor for the devil). Some clowns also decorate their cudgels with a real dog’s skull, which reinforces their association with ‘the dog’, that is, the devil. A whole set of taboos and prohibitions is aimed at controlling the clowns and the dangerous forces they represent during the journey of the

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folia. In the procession their place is at the front, but they are not supposed to walk ahead of the folia banner. In many groups the clowns do not sing together with their companions. In the old days, when a Kings’ Folly was received in a house, the clowns did not enter but remained outside and played with the children. In some cases they were only allowed to enter once the folia had performed. They are also not allowed to play inside the house. Many clowns did not enter churches, and if they did, they had to take off their masks. In former times they were also not allowed to put on or take off their masks in public. During the Folly’s closing ceremony the clowns ritually take leave of their uniform.20 The money they earn for their performance does not have to be shared with the other members of the group—they can give them a portion, but there is no obligation. The clown represents subversion, whilst the ‘owner’ or mestre of the Kings’ Folly defends order. The clown is a complement to Catholic devotion, the other face of the Kings’ Folly. He not only terrifies the children, but also disconcerts the authorities, who fear his irreverence. According to Andrade, ‘his mission was to scare the children and to insult the plantation owners where the folia found shelter.’21 The clown obviously represents the less orthodox element within the ‘Catholic’ folia. His role within the Folly is that of the trickster, a ubiquitous character in the popular cultures of plantation America.22 Was there any significant difference between the performers of jongos, calangos and folias? In Brazilian folkloric studies it has been common to equate specific cultural traits with ‘race’. Since the pioneering work of Sílvio Romero, the quest for identifiable origins has dominated the various strands of historiography and has resulted in stereotyping of most popular forms accordingly. Hence the jongo has either ‘originated in Africa’ or is closely associated with ‘the Black’ (o negro).23 The folia, in contrast, is everywhere classified as of Portuguese origin because of its insertion into the Christian cycle of the Nativity.24 Racialization has been more ambiguous in the case of the calango.25 Yet overall the calango has become a symbol of miscegenation and fusion, like the mestizo. Martinho da Vila, for instance, sings that the calango is a ‘caboclo samba’.26 In other words, the racial ascription is made on the basis of supposed ‘origins’, rather than the performers’ class and colour backgrounds, or even the core characteristics of each form. These three forms of expression have in fact much more in common than is usually assumed. Jongo and calango verses, for example, can be

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identical. According to participants, mironga, or magic, permeates jongo as well as folia and is even taken into calango.27 The same rural workers, in the majority Afro-descendants, performed jongos, calangos and folias and played sticks.28 Their ancestors were enslaved on the coffee plantations, and lived in the communities, villages or towns of the Paraíba Valley or at some stage migrated to the suburbs of cities such as Rio de Janeiro. Hence it is hardly productive to focus on each of these cultural forms in isolation.29 Yet the characterization of the three forms in terms of contrasting racial stereotypes continues today.30 Beyond Nova Friburgo everybody is a calango singer.31 —Martinho da Vila

Demandas and Martelos: Poetic Challenges In Brazil, verbal duelling is not only integral to the north-eastern desafio, but is also present in many other cultural forms, such as capoeira or bumba-­ meu-­boi.32 Most of these are strongly identified with the Afro-Brazilian heritage but have also appropriated Iberian oral traditions. In jongos and calangos, as well as in folias, verbal challenges take the form of rhymes. Stylistic elements of their poetry may of course help to understand how far their formation is based on continuity or rupture with previous traditions, as well as illuminating their development after Abolition and the close relations of the three with each other. Any reflection upon the character of the poetry in these verbal challenges needs to address the linguistic rupture caused by slavery. The loss of African vernaculars occurred all over plantation America, but with significant regional variations. The descendants of enslaved Africans created Creole languages on many Caribbean islands, yet in the United States, the Spanish colonies of the Caribbean and Brazil, the colonizers’ languages prevailed more. The linguistic rupture apparently weakens Bastide and Andrade’s argument in their dispute with Cascudo regarding the ‘African origins’ of the verbal challenge in Brazil: how far could African poetic forms be translated into the colonizer’s language? No doubt linguistic structures shape literary forms. The poetry used by Afro-descendants in the three regions of the Americas listed above relied on the Spanish, English, or Portuguese literary canons, and for that reason is often seen as an example of ‘miscegenation’ or ‘acculturation’ that cannot be ‘purely African’, rather than as forms that were appropriated and

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further developed by them.33 The Portuguese literary traditions of rhymes, length of lines, and stanzas shaped the poetics of the challenges examined here. At the same time, European sources for the nineteenth century have emphasized the richness of Angolan oral literature, suggesting links between jongo rhymes and equivalent Angolan forms of the past.34 Rhyming was central to calango and folias, and figures in jongos as well. The calango has no specific metre, although lines of five or seven syllables predominate. As Cáscia Frade highlighted, these types of verse—redondilha maior and menor—can be found in many other popular forms in Brazil (Cantos 23). Folia and the jongo also use them, but in folia lines of eight or more syllables are also frequent. The structure of stanzas is again quite open. Jongos and calangos both use short strophes of four lines (quadrilhas), but longer stanzas are common, especially for challenges, and are also widely used in folias.35 In other words, the poetry in all three forms does not seem to have been constrained by a rigid metre, allowing reappropriation and insertion of other cultural contents. Jongo verses seem to be the most informal, as they can even occur without any rhyme. Yet how important is this formal structure in defining the character of the poetry? For a start, what is or not ‘poetry’ is difficult to define independently from cultural context. The distinction between prose and verse can be quite arbitrary and in many languages there was no equivalent to the European concept of poetry (Finnegan 26–27). Accounts from Congo and Angola emphasize improvised character and solo/chorus structure rather than providing details about poetic forms (Lopes, Partido Alto, 32). The languages of enslaved Africans had considerable impact on the American versions of the colonizers’ languages, however, to the extent that Brazilian Portuguese or Cuban Spanish can be considered as creolized forms of their Iberian matrix. The Portuguese spoken by the free lower classes in plantation areas was very similar to the vernacular of the Creole slaves (Alkmin 259). Poetic forms had to change accordingly, but we do not really know what slaves and freed people sang. According to one of Stanley Stein’s informants, an ex-slave, jongos were originally sung in ‘African language’ and were called quinzumba, while those in Portuguese, which became more common in the Paraíba Valley as the Africans died out, were called visaria (Vassouras 163). Unfortunately no transcription of any jongo verse in a Central African language is known. The distinction is not absolute, of course, as many older pontos in Portuguese incorporated African terms.36 This means important Central

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African concepts and meanings could be retained. We need moreover to be careful not to focus exclusively on the form, or even the content of oral poetry, but to take into account their role and meaning in the overall performance. Jongo de demanda Jongo verses have only been systematically collected since the mid-­twentieth century. Various types of ponto were then sung during a celebration—specifically for instance to greet, praise, enchant or say farewell (saudação, louvação, encante, despedida). Only pontos de demanda (duel songs) contained a challenge to other singers in the audience. In most communities, singers distinguished friendly challenges (which kept the older term visaria), where the elder challenged the less experienced jongueiros or the audience in what was still a friendly atmosphere. Pontos de gurumenta, by contrast, called for a proper fight.37 The jongo challenge consisted in an exchange of sung verses (strophe and antistrophe) between two individuals. Each contribution had to be deciphered by the opponent, who then had to reply with another appropriate stanza. Another form consisted in one singer presenting a ponto to challenge the general audience with a riddle. If after the repetition by the chorus someone stood up and sang a stanza that provided the solution, he or she had the right to sing another ponto. If nobody stood up to solve the riddle with another stanza, the first singer repeated it until the riddle was ‘untied’. This could provoke a real fight, if for instance someone stood up and sang a ponto that deliberately failed to provide the hidden meaning.38 Furthermore, in a verbal duel between two singers, the one who failed to reply satisfactorily to a challenge risked remaining ‘tied’ (amarrado) for the rest of the night. For that reason it was crucial to ask older and more experienced singers for permission before singing oneself in a jongo circle, in order not to provoke the more powerful. As Manoel Seabra explains: Yes, one sang for the other, right? He tied [cast a spell on] the drum. The other knew that the drum was tied, so he untied it, right? It was like that … In the old times, if someone arrived and right away challenged at the drum, he would be tied. If he arrived, and asked the oldest, the headman of the terreiro for permission, then nothing would happen. But if he entered [the jongo circle] without permission, he was immobilized until dawn. Only after everybody had left would the old jongueiro untie him, walk around him,

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strike him, pass his hat over him [to lift the spell], and then he could stand up and leave.39

Similarly to the Cuban puya, the singers who stood out by virtue of their improvisation were called galos (cockerels). The most respected and feared for the magic power of their pontos were called cumbas, that is, sorcerers.40 As Robert Slenes has shown, this symbolic world of guessing riddles maintained close links with Congolese and Angolan traditions of the last generation of enslaved Africans in the Paraíba Valley. The pontos reproduced and developed upon ‘traditional’ Central African themes, images, and mindsets in the Americas. Slenes (138) suggested that the term jongo is derived from Kikongo and Umbundu expressions meaning ‘fight with the mouth’ or ‘the word is an arrow.’ If the Central African input is beyond doubt for jongo, it is important to acknowledge that this magical ‘tying’ of an opponent was also a feature of the folia, and to some extent even of the calango. The Calango The calango has received much less attention from folklorists and anthropologists than the jongo.41 It is performed in the states of Minas Gerais, Espírito Santo and Rio de Janeiro and displays great variation in rhythmic structure and musical aspects. In Rio de Janeiro, calango is most of the time performed by two solo singers, who challenge each other. Cáscia Frade notes that in Rio de Janeiro, the characteristic of the calango is the challenge sung in strophes of four lines–quadra–with rhymes in the second and fourth verse; and of six lines– sextilhas–with rhymes in the second, fourth and sixth verse, or with a changing number of lines; the latter happens when the rhyme is easy. (Guía do Folclore 47)

The calango challenge is characterized by singers adopting one basic rhyme or ‘line’ (linha). There are thus calangos following the ‘á’, ‘é’ or ‘ão’ lines.42 Dexterity in improvization distinguishes a good calango singer, but in the interior of Rio de Janeiro state verses known by heart are also sung—at least today. As Zé Epifânio explains, ‘the calango singer recites verses and improvises at the same time.’43 In fact the distinction is artificial, since

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singers of various forms of popular culture combine their own improvised verses with others from the public domain in a creative bricolage. Calango is just another example of the oral-formulaic style of composition found in many cultures, which makes a linear genealogy of ‘origins’ a risky enterprise.44 In the calango one singer typically has to use the last verse of the opponent as a starting point, and so on until one errs or gets tired, and gives up. According to other testimonies, various people in a circle could participate in a calango, which would make the outcome less foreseeable. There were no limits as to the themes used in the challenge, but it seems that disparaging comparisons with animals were very common, or verses that described negatively the skin colour of an opponent.45 Calango, thus, was less bound by rituals and its free form meant poetry content depended more on the ideas and world-views of individual performers. It was important, however, to maintain a minimum of decency so that the families in the audience were not disrespected, and this was one of the main reasons why verbal challenges could result in real fights. When it was thought that a singer had been offensive and demonstrated a lack of respect for the audience, the poetic challenge could become a physical confrontation. Sidoca remembers the case of a calango that degenerated into a fight when a drunken man used a swear-word in his strophe: And in those days, for God’s sake, man, you couldn’t say a thing, not one little thing like that, OK, if the ladies at the dance heard it, you were expelled or you had to start a stick fight. Once we were singing a calango, you understand? I too was part of the calango, the calango was beautiful, right? And this guy said a foolish verse, you understand? … We were four in a circle like that, and there was a drunken man sitting here, next to the accordion player. The accordion player there, the guy here, and me standing here by one end of the bench. And then the [calango] round was coming from there to here. One sings, the next sings, the other sings, and here it comes. … When it came to the man next to me, and it was going to be my turn to sing the drunkard stood up: ‘Oh, what a beautiful calango, I want to sing in this calango too.’ I said, ‘Hey, you can’t sing now, you have to wait for your turn’. … When it was my turn, I sang like this: Mr Mané Bento, tuck your shirt inside your trousers It was the police sergeant who gave the order Then the drunkard said his verse:

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Boning knife closes the bite of the vulture I’ll get mad, your old smell of arse [Laughs] The circle … they broke the guitar over his head: it went through it up to his neck. Man, I never saw so much hitting, pieces of bamboo, pieces of pindola, this thing you cover huts with, and all together they hit the man. I laughed so much about the verse, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. But I said: they’re going to kill him.46

The calango consisted in a verbal challenge with clear and formal rules. Yet the borderline was thin between what was acceptable and what was an insult and an attack on the honour of the opponents or of the families in the audience. For that reason, the calango represented a chance for tough guys to show what they were made of, without the risk of appearing aggressive and looking for a fight. But calango singing was not limited to men only. Women could and did participate, and could challenge men.47 The Encounter Between Kings’ Follies, and the ‘Clown’s Hammer’ Rhymed verses also have a crucial function in the folias. They can be recited or sung, and there are different types of chants according to each phase of the revelry. The master of the folia needs to have a good knowledge of the Bible, and to be able to learn by heart or invent verses that relate to relevant episodes of the Old and the New Testaments. According to Castro and Couto, the chants are inspired by the traditions of popular Catholicism, but also by the ‘conceptions that are current in the Afro-­ Brazilian cults (macumbas) from Rio de Janeiro, and the sufferings of Saint Sebastian (patron saint of the city)’.48 Even today many folias are still associated with umbanda shrines. The verses in the folia have a mnemonic function. The rhyme helps the mestres and clowns to remember histories, episodes from the Bible, or more general themes of public interest. When reciting, they transmitted knowledge and their own reflections to their communities, where the majority used to be illiterate. Illiterate clowns asked people to read verses out to them and in this manner some of them learned whole books by heart. As in the case of the calango, the clown’s poetic performance tended therefore to be formulaic in style. Challenges in the Kings’ Folly could take oral poetic forms or not, but they were always inserted into a complex ritual. The most propitious moments for physical and poetic challenges

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were the so-called encounters of two folias in the public space.49 Two basic types of poetic disputes characterized this occasion: the challenge between mestres and the challenge between clowns. The challenge between masters was based on their knowledge of the Bible, in particular the birth of Christ and the episode of the Three Wise Men. As Sebastião Teresa, the owner of a folia in Miracema, describes it: The masters of the Folly start to sing, more or less a dozen of verses each. When one stops, the other sings. After the singing, the master of the banner [of the Folly] offers a gift [a small sum of money] to the other one. The other one does the same. In the prophecy, if there was one incorrect verse, the other one can say, ‘Listen man, the verse here should go like this!’50

The better their ‘foundations’, that is, knowledge of the ‘prophecies’, the easier it was for one mestre to catch the other out. One very common method was to stop singing one’s verses at the most complicated moment of the plot, and leave it to the other master to continue. He would only be able to do so if he knew that particular episode well. Otherwise the first master could point out his mistake, and consider himself the winner of the dispute. Another technique was to produce a riddle, as in the jongo, and leave the other to solve it.51 Once the masters of the Folly had finished, the moment came for the clowns to play. These ‘games’ (brincadeiras) were as much physical as poetic. The clowns used a whole range of verses in their game: thanks to the host, jokes to entertain the audience, trovas (verses prepared in advance), romance and peleja (verses taken from a book), biblical episodes (e.g. Abraham being tested by God to prove his faith, or the end of the world), improvisations, calango (improvisation on the basis of the text of a known song)—and the martelo (‘hammer’), a challenge.52 Their repertoire consists of a combination of strophes learnt by heart and improvised lines.53 The martelo or challenge between two clowns is thus less a competition in knowledge (although this is also possible), than a provocation of one by the other in poetic form.54 The challenge between the clowns Cascadura and Mamut might serve as an example: (Cascadura) In the hammer I don’t know Of any poet that can eat me

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Scratching the earth in front of me Does not cut any ice with me I have a hot tongue To utter any disgrace A lash with my whip Leaves marks on the skeleton (Mamut) I like to play with clowns I don’t like to play alone My fellow-countryman is inciting well Can I provoke a little bit more? (Cascadura) Colleague you’d better get prepared I came here to poke your tongue I came here to destroy your fame I came here to pull out your tongue In the factory of my verse I put an end to your witchcraft (mandinga) I don’t believe in grumbles You can go your way If you want to dispute with me, my friend You’d better take it slowly Because I have more weight And I’m surrounded by thorns I’m going to cut you in small pieces Like meat for a sausage Call the priest, confess yourself And say mass Because the vulture will eat your carcass.55

The result of the Follies encounter depended as much on the performance of the masters as on that of the clowns. Sometimes the members of a Folly recognized that their knowledge of the Bible and the arts of rhyme were inferior, and admitted defeat. Various statements record that an experienced master could thus destroy a weaker opponent, and even question his knowledge of the ‘foundations’ and his capacity and legitimacy to lead a King’s Folly. The term ‘burial’ (enterro) was used to describe the

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situation where a Folly was taken by surprise in a house due to a lack of vigilance of its clowns, who were supposed to check if other Follies were approaching. In that situation a folia could not leave without going through a series of tests. The ‘burial’ of a Folly was hence another opportunity to challenge the knowledge of its master and clowns. Yet outcomes of challenges were not always so clear cut. As with the calango, it was for the audience to decide the winner. These were delicate moments, and poetic disputes could easily erupt into physical challenges and fights. A clown in particular could so provoke, or as Sebastião Teresa says, ‘damage’, his opponent that the latter would lose his temper, and respond not only with verses, but with his stick. Clowns carried sticks for a good reason.

Physical Challenges: Cudgelling, Swiping Kicks and Chulas Physical challenges were exclusively male in the popular culture of Rio de Janeiro state, with the exception of dance.56 Challenges included playful modes as well as more aggressive forms, as in fights and brawls. Popular games were played according to unwritten rules. Jogo do pau (stick play), pernada (swiping leg), chula de palhaço (game between clowns) and the malha game were the most popular games by which men measured their strength and physical dexterity.57 Stick play and the clowns’ games represented the most ritualized forms of physical challenge. Jogo do pau and pernada Sticks for playing and fighting were of medium size, about a metre long. Techniques varied significantly according to the location. The most common strokes are estocada (thrust), quebra-queixo (jaw breaker), and mata-­ cobra (snake killer). Two men or boys played against each other; each had to defend himself from the other’s blows. Training and playing developed dexterity of manoeuvre and appropriate responses (defence or counter-­ attack), developing the resources available for deployment in a game or in a fight. Women did not usually play sticks, but as with capoeira, there were some exceptions. The late spouse of Manuel Seabra, for example, learned stick play from her husband, and it seems that she was good at it.58 The game had its rules and rituals. If two men met and wanted to play, they greeted each other and maintained a kind of friendly dialogue whilst

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starting to play sticks. Another rough game between men or adolescents was the pernada, which consisted in throwing the opponent to the ground by swiping at his leg(s). Africans and their descendents used this technique in various regions of Brazil, from the punga dos homens in Maranhão to the batuque in Bahia. Clearly these throwing techniques have been absorbed into contemporary capoeira.59 In the Paraíba Valley too the pernada was a feature of male recreation and a precious resource in fights. João Batista Azedias remembers: My father also taught us, he put us in the backyard, and gave swiping kicks. [He taught us] to defend yourself against a stick blow, to hit with the cudgel, to take the stick from the opponent. To play sticks. So he could hit us with a cudgel, give a swiping kick, we knew how to protect ourselves from that.60

The pernada could be a game in its own right. But it often went together with stick play or fighting: You could do both together. Sometimes with only a stick in the hand, if you didn’t want to hit another person, you didn’t. If you wanted to give a swiping kick, if I thought that the cudgel would not be useful, I would swipe with the leg.61

Since stick play and the rasteira were also the main resources in violent conflicts, both were seen as much more than an innocent game. The better a man was at both techniques, the better were his chances of not getting hit or thrown in a fight, be it in a dance venue or on the road. That is why the father of João Batista Azedias insisted so much to his sons that ‘a man never walks around unprepared’; and he was not joking: My father was like that: if I got a beating somewhere, when I arrived home I had to keep quiet, otherwise he would give me another beating. He said that this was for me to learn how to hit.62

The athletic Sunday games, in particular stick play and the rasteira, thus fulfilled an important function. They prepared adolescents or young men for any contingency; they taught how to defend oneself and one’s family against offence and provocation from peers. In other words, these skills were fundamental to defend male honour and assert masculinity.63

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Physical Challenges in the Kings’ Follies Physical challenges also complemented poetic disputes in the folia. The procession, the reception by supporters in their homes, and the meeting of two Follies constituted highly ritualized events. The role of the clowns was to protect the folia, and for that reason their place was at the front of the procession, next to the banner. When one Folly met another, the clowns drew a dividing line on the ground just ahead of their banner. The clowns of the other folly were expected to respect that line. Crossing it meant they were lacking respect and usually resulted in a fight.64 When the banners of the two Follies crossed, the encounter started. Each clown had to stay put next to his banner. When the poetic bout between the masters of the follies had ended, it was time for the clowns to play. They challenged each other not only through verses, as described above, but also through a physical performance, called the chula.65 They jumped, crouched, turned somersaults and mimicked each other. In short, the chula was a theatre-like performance, which allowed each clown to display the full range of his acrobatic and theatrical skills. Each bodily technique had a name, often inspired by the movement of the animals the clowns mimicked, for example the ‘chula of the monkey’, or the ‘cuddle of the vulture’.66 Clowns made good use of their sticks in their performance by jumping over them or using them to keep the audience at bay. Various interviewees point out that in former times, the clowns’ performances were more physical, while today they mainly recite verses. I believe that the chula also prepared clowns for more serious physical confrontations. Former clowns assert that in ‘olden times’, the encounters between Follies frequently resulted in fights, to the point that the police intervened and prohibited Follies altogether. The reasons for the brawls varied, but generally they resulted from the challenges that were issued when two folias met. The fight could begin with a disagreement over the performance of the masters or the clowns. Nobody liked to admit defeat, especially when losing had such dramatic consequences: according to tradition, the winner took all the instruments of the folia that lost. Since contests often had no clear outcome, discussion followed, which usually involved the audience, and the result was commonly decided by violent means, including use of the clowns’ sticks. If clowns got carried away in the poetic contest, the martelo, and the challenge went beyond what was considered acceptable; at some stage a clown would reach for his stick to reply to his

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opponent. Fights also occurred when men from the audience took offence at the clowns’ games. We can now sum up the various modes of physical challenge between males, and reflect upon their rationale. Individual fights and collective brawls broke out for a variety of reasons, but challenges or insults usually figure as the most prominent—at least in criminal records.67 It is of course to take explanations offered by the accused in a criminal enquiry at face value. Courts generally wanted to find out whether there was some resentment between protagonists prior to a fight, or instead a brawl arose ‘spontaneously’ from the circumstances of the dance and excess of alcohol consumption. In the first case the prosecution could argue for premeditation, which increased the penalty. In the second, the defendant could invoke the influence of drink, and escape a severer sentence.68 Several oral testimonies, however, suggest that often fights were not just between individuals but involved larger groups: extended families, workers on an estate, or whole communities such as São José da Serra. So when a fight erupted on the dance floor, the reason for the quarrel mattered little. The dispute quickly generalized, and each side formed according to existing networks, opposing ‘outsiders’ to ‘insiders’.69 The provocation of outsiders could start with calango verses such as the following: Hey guys! Look at this All come here and see I never saw old cows Grazing on other people’s pasture.70

In such a case the outsiders could ‘untie’ the challenge with another verse. But if they did not know one or did not want to ‘undo’ the provocation, they attacked the singer physically. In that sense, confrontations during dances reproduced those in the fields or on the roads. They were part of the relations between groups and communities, which could co-operate for survival, but also competed for resources (land or labour) or for the right to court women, in particular those of another village. In other words, these fights—and more generally all the challenges—represented one side of the ambivalent relationships between men and communities. Ritualization can meanwhile explain why brawls, though frequent, typically did not go beyond established limits. Fights rarely resulted in deaths, because usually no firearms were used. The most common weapon was the

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stick. An experienced player knew how to defend himself from blows and avoid injury. And those who got hit rarely wanted to show off their wounds. As Jorge Fernandes explains: The guys were all good. They played, and fought with the cudgel. It was with the cudgel and the arm. There wasn’t any of the violence of today, no… Today there is a lot of violence, right? Any little row, and one takes the life of the other. But in the old days no, they beat the head of each other bloody, and the blood stuck on their heads. But it all ended there, in the brawl, during the dance… They spent a few days [curing their wounds], and everything was fine.71

For those who were not at ease with the stick, the rasteira (swiping kick) provided a good alternative. That is how João Azedias earned his nickname of ‘cabrito liso’ (‘smooth goatie’): I gave a lot of swiping kicks… I never gave a blow with a stick or a knife. I never aimed to hurt anybody, thank God. People even called me ‘smooth goatie,’ sometimes they came to hit me with a cudgel, I lay on the ground and brought them down with a swiping kick. They fell in the middle of the crowd.72

The rasteira technique is also mentioned in the north-east of Rio de Janeiro state. Even though many clowns hit with the stick they always carried with them, others fought with the rasteira. As Sebastião Teresa explains, when a clown provoked another clown, if the latter retaliated on the same level, everything could end peacefully. But if one lost his temper, a fight broke out: Clowns fought with rasteira. They gave it with the left or the right foot. They sat on the ground, supported by one hand and gave rasteira.73

Rural workers even used tools such as sickles in fights, but given their dexterity, these seldom caused deaths.74 The use of knives, in contrast, was more likely to result in serious injuries, if still much less than firearms. A case study for neighbouring Minas Gerais shows that firearms had been used in 62 per cent and blades (armas brancas) in 26 per cent of homicides.75

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Without idealizing the ‘olden times’, it is necessary to emphasize that this violence was very different from the violence of today. As informants such as Jorge Fernandes point out: No, it was good, because there was no violence like now. Today one really wants to kill the other. But in former times, no… fights were with sticks… … If you knocked somebody down, that was it. The guy who could still bear it, endure it, would find a stick and take revenge. He would hit with the stick as well. The guy who was the best, then, did win, but he only won the fight, there was not all this violence of one killing the other, no. … there was a moment when the head of a guy cracked [rachar] and the blood dripped… that’s right, from the head, but one thing was clear: nobody would go and call the police. The disagreement ended right there, at the dance. … The police only came if there was some death, if there was some violence, some death. But this thing of cracking the other guy’s head with a stick, that was nothing, that was normal.76

In other words, in most cases the brawls that originated during dances had no serious consequences. They were seen as a diversion or almost a sport, an occasion for a man to show his worth. There was no intention to kill or to maim the opponent, only to distinguish oneself and to ‘shine’ (brilhar). For that reason we have to be careful when extrapolating attitudes and behaviour from criminal sources, because they usually record only the cases when a fight did turn into ‘real’ violence, that is, went beyond the acceptable boundaries.77 The cases of physical injury registered in criminal records only signal those moments at which the ritualization of poetic and physical challenges failed. Indeed, the increasing dissemination of firearms (revolvers) among the poor male population of the countryside was to render fights as a ‘normal’ continuation of male challenges during dance functions no longer viable.78 Numerous episodes heard from informants suggest that the rules of the game changed with the wide availability of firearms.

Conclusions The Brazilian song-writer João Bosco extolled the capacities of the cavaquinho (Brazilian ukulele), which can ‘wound, maim, hurt like a dagger’ and even incite a general brawl (‘pega na geral’).79 In the Paraíba Valley, poetic challenges accompanied by music also provoked and excited men to the point that they started fights. Rather than seeing this as an expression

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of uncivilized roughness, I have tried to argue here that these challenges and brawls constituted fairly ritualized encounters through which male rural workers, most of them descendants of slaves, could ‘shine’ in a number of ways. What is more, the violence of physical challenges between friends in communities, competing groups of young men or strangers on the roads needs to be relativized. A bloody head, a swollen knee or a hematoma seemed acceptable risks for young men in return for social recognition. Living in a social order that relegated them to menial labour and low pay, forced them into patron-client relationships, and demoted them to the bottom of the post-emancipation social and racial hierarchy, the assertion of their own worth through physical challenges could become crucially important. Excelling in verbal duels likewise allowed participants to assert their dignity and prove their equality to others. As Elisabeth Travassos concluded in her analysis of the north-east Brazilian desafio, the verbal challenge has sustained its popularity and vitality by promoting a horizontal ethic among individuals whose weapon is their poetic talent, and the singers strive not to contaminate their identity as poets with the social identities they carry outside the performance area.80

From today’s perspective, hitting each other may seem an odd way of promoting one’s dignity, but such practices were previously very common in both European and African societies.81 Given that in some places men steal the cattle of people they want to impress, these rustic duels do not stand out as particularly extraordinary or violent.82 In fact, as the stick players’ testimonies substantiate, they were clearly seen as fun, making fighting an ‘agreeable recreation’ as, for example, in nineteenth-century Ireland.83 These practices and their cultural meaning can hence be compared to ‘traditional sports’ in other Atlantic societies or to some forms of duelling in Europe.84 As a recent analysis of the wider meaning of violent contests asserts: ‘A challenge is, in other words, a form of respect’.85 So the widespread use of challenges in rural Afro-Brazilian culture in Rio de Janeiro state afforded practitioners respect and a sense of equality that was otherwise denied to them. At the same time these physical and verbal challenges promoted social cohesion among emancipated slaves who squatted on land belonging to their former master, among the free workforce on larger estates, or within the hamlets and towns that developed in the post-emancipation period.

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Furthermore they helped to pass on to younger people sets of values and precious experiences of older generations.86 So what made the physical and poetic challenges of the Paraíba Valley special? It was, I would argue, the fascinating combination of very different types of challenge within a complex web of Afro-Brazilian cultural forms. Some challenges were exclusively male, in particular within the folia. But women could shine as much as men in the pontos de demanda of the jongo and in calangos. One could of course argue that Catholic patriarchy dictated the rules of the folia, but let us not forget that there was substantial variation in Central African societies too regarding gender roles and family structures. Gender roles in Afro-Brazilian culture still await more detailed analysis. The examination of jongos, calangos, folias and jogo do pau shows not only the richness of cultural expression in the Paraíba Valley, but also that each of these forms cannot be analysed in isolation. Their performance by broadly the same social actors has produced an intensive circulation of all kinds of material since their formative period: they share instruments, verses and rhymes, images and even aspects of their spirituality. At the same time, the prevailing religious and political power structures ensured differentiated treatment (repression, tolerance, support) and contributed to the compartmentalization of these forms. Jongo is still performed in the courtyard and calango under a roof. The Bible knowledge of the folia coexists but does not merge with knowledge of the African-derived ‘foundations’ of the jongo. The jongo evokes Central African world-views, whilst in the calango verses that demote black people can be part of the rhetorical strategy or attack in a challenge. One should beware, however, of jumping to easy conclusions regarding ‘resistance to’ or ‘accommodation of’ these practices. As Muniz Sodré has demonstrated, we should pay as much attention to the ‘performative’ as to the ‘constative’ side of the poetic challenge.87 Fusion and convergence were complemented by juxtaposition in what can be described as a broad, and often contradictory, process of creolization. The ample circulation of elements and the overlapping identity of performers (the same people involved in the different forms) invalidate the classification of these practices along strictly ethnic or racialized lines, although such classification remains integral to much contemporary discourse and policy. Thus not only the recently revitalized jongo, but also the calango and folia are significant expressions of Afro-Brazilian heritage deserve to be treasured and supported as much as the former. Fortunately

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a recent decision to incorporate the folia into the official ‘intangible cultural heritage’ of Brazil is a step in the right direction, and will no doubt enhance its visibility.88

Notes 1. Franco, p. 35. 2. Edison Carneiro (15) distinguishes three types of belly-bouncing dances from Congo/Angola that have developed in Brazil: the côco, the samba and the jongo. 3. For the origins of folias, see Silva, 18–43; and Reily, 5–6, 29–31. 4. Caipira is the term (noun and adjective) commonly used in the states of Minas Gerais, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro for the poor inhabitants of the interior. It does not have a racial ascription. See Candido, p. 28. 5. Caboclo means a person of Native Brazilians ancestry. It can also refer to a peasant more generally, or to spirits identified with Brazilian Indians. 6. Andrade, 163–7. Câmara Cascudo wrote a reply a month later, asserting that it would have been his ‘greatest happiness’ to record that the challenge was part of African customs, but that he could not do so because ‘all the books that I have read studying the black in his continent have been silent regarding this intellectual form of poetic competition’. Moreover, he noted, all the examples quoted by Bastide were of recent origin, and therefore ‘uncharacteristic’: ‘Desafio africano’, pp. 168–70. It should be pointed out nevertheless that Cascudo was often keen to assert the African origins of Brazilian art forms. He passionately defended, for example, the African origins of capoeira against Brazilian nationalists who maintained that this martial art was invented from scratch by slaves in Brazil. 7. Irony, deception and other rhetorical strategies, which Gates subsumes under the umbrella term ‘Signifyin” are equally common in Brazil. A good example is the figure of Pai João (Father John), usually identified as a Brazilian version of Uncle Tom or Uncle Remus—though as Martha Abreu has shown, this is largely due to a misinterpretation by folklorists and academics, who did not grasp the irony of his apparent subservience. Pai João often challenged the constraints imposed on black people in the aftermath of emancipation, and used rhetorical strategies that are clearly equivalent to Signifyin’. See Abreu, 235–76. 8. Interview with Manuel Seabra, Teresinha de Jesus and Joao Batista Azedias in São José da Serra (Valença), 17 March 2007. 9. In São Paulo, Alceu Maynard Araújo (III, 91) saw calango accompanied by a guitar (viola). 10. There are many other similar testimonies.

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11. Macumba is the Afro-Brazilian religion that developed in Rio de Janeiro; umbanda evolved from macumba incorporating European Spiritism (Allan Kardec). 12. Maria de Lourdes Borges Ribeiro (58) distinguishes three types: jongo de roda, jongo de corte or carioca, and jongo paulista. For further descriptions of various types, see Araujo (II, 219–21, 227–9). Important variations also exist regarding the musical instruments and other aspects. In some areas the overall denomination is caxambu, not jongo. This has led some folklorists to distinguish between these two forms. 13. References to women challenging men can be found in Ribeiro, O jongo, p. 48, and to their exclusion from drumming, p. 20. Robert Slenes (109, note 2) asserts that ‘Jongueiro women, today a significant minority, were rare during the middle of the twentieth century, and probably extremely rare during the nineteenth century’. 14. Camilla Agostini (90) studied the murder of a slave after a jongo. The homicide probably arose from a ‘dispute in words’ that took place during a caxambu outside and continued in the slave barrack, where twenty workers slept. Hebe Mattos (346) also briefly examines a homicide during a jongo. 15. Reily (3) refers to the musical mode of ritual orchestration in folias as ‘enchantment’ promoting intense emotional experiences. 16. See Frade, p. 43, for the rules of conduct of a Kings’ Folly. 17. Whilst the exclusion of women from the core group wearing uniforms was quite systematic in former times, today folias usually include women. See Andrade, entry ‘Folia’, 229; Frade, 104; and the survey by Almeida. 18. There is considerable variation in the musical instruments of folias. See Araújo, I, 135, and Ribeiro, O jongo 19–21. 19. ‘The folly preaches the birth of Christ, and theoretically, aims for Bethlehem, to pay homage to the Child, but the soldiers of Herod—the clowns—try to divert them from the road marked out for them by the Star of the East’: Castro and Couto, 3. 20. This information was provided by active clowns and elderly former clowns in the town of Miracema, in November 2007 and January 2008. For more details on clowns, see also Castro and Couto, 3, 15. 21. Andrade, Dicionário musical, entry ‘Folia-de-reis’, p. 230. 22. For an analysis of the clown in terms of Turnerian liminality, see Bitter. The association with the devil has also led to the identification of the clown with the Afro-Brazilian trickster Exú. 23. For an analysis of the historiography of jongo and its ascription as a ‘black’ art form, see Mattos and Abreu, 69–106. 24. For example Côrtes.

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25. Luis da Câmara Cascudo avoids this kind of classification in his Dicionário, 3rd edn. [1972], entry ‘Calango’, 228–9. 26. Martinho da Vila, ‘Calango longo’, on his Martinho ao vivo 3.0 turbinado, Columbia CD, 1998. Caboclo denominates an acculturated descendent of Indians as well as a mestizo, and has acquired a range of further meanings, most of which overlap with the idea of hybridity. 27. It seems to me that calango can take on board these magical aspects especially in communities who no longer have the jongo. This again reinforces the argument for the intense circulation of discrete elements within the cultural forms examined here. 28. The only difference is that the practice of jongo is more restricted to a dozen or so communities of Afro-descendants in the state of Rio de Janeiro. 29. This is the central argument of the documentary film Jongos, calangos e folias: Música negra, memória e poesia, directed by Hebe Mattos and Martha Abreu (Rio de Janeiro, 2007). 30. Since 1988, there has been an interesting reversal in the use of racial ascriptions. The jongo used to be the most despised of the three. But black communities that preserved the jongo can now capitalize on this patrimony to claim the status of ‘maroon community’ (quilombo) and with that claim rights to the land they occupy. During the last twenty years the jongo has greatly increased its visibility. 31. Nova Friburgo is a town in the mountains that divide the coast of Rio de Janeiro state from the Paraíba valley. 32. The origins of both bumba-meu-boi and capoeira are hotly disputed. See, for example, Mukuna for the former and Assunção, chap. 1 for the latter. 33. A good example—already discussed by Bastide—is the Cuban punto. The punto is based on classical Spanish décima verses, developed in medieval Spain mainly by Jewish and mozarabe (Muslims living under Catholic rule) poets. Yet precisely because of its Iberian origin, the use of décimas in Afro-­ Cuban rumba is usually understated. As Philip Pasmanick (260) explains, ‘if the décima experts ignore the rumba because it is “too black”, I believe the Afrocubanists, if I may use the term, ignore the décima as too Spanish, too colonial, too white.’ 34. Ribeiro, O jongo, 29–30. 35. Frade, Cantos, p. 23. According to Araujo (II, 206), jongo verses used to be longer in the past. 36. Ribeiro (O jongo, 30–1) provides a glossary of African terms used in pontos such as angoma, cacunda, cumbi, lambari, macota, piquira, vadelaque. 37. For the different types of pontos, see Araújo (II, 222), Ribeiro (O jongo, 23–31); IPHAN, 55. 38. Ribeiro, O jongo, pp. 24, 41; Penteado, Jongueiros, p. 57.

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39. Interview with Manuel Seabra, Teresinha de Jesus, João Batista Azedias. See also the documentary Jongos, calangos e folias. 40. IPHAN, p.55. Macumba hence means the reunion of cumbas. For more on ‘macumba, magic and jongo’, see Ribeiro, O jongo, 49–58. 41. Câmara Cascudo says very little about the calango in his piece on oral literature in Brazil (Literatura oral no Brasil), and dedicates to it only half a page in his dictionary of folklore. Mário de Andrade (entry ‘Calango’, 82) also disregarded the calango, since the annotations for his Dicionário musical brasileiro only contain one brief reference to it, as a dance with ‘whirls, unhinging and languishing movements, which induced him to classify it as a ‘dance of African origin’. 42. Lopes, O negro no Rio de Janeiro, 29–30. 43. Interview with José de Souza (‘José Epifânio’) and Marcos Vinicius Gomes Barbosa (‘Marquinho’), Miracema, 5 Jan. 2008. 44. For more on this style of composition, see Finnegan, 58–72. 45. See, for instance, the calango between Fofão and Feijão recorded by the research project Jongos, Calangos e Folias. For the use of racial insults in the north-eastern desafio, see Cascudo, Vaqueiros e cantadores, 158–64. Silva (69) denies the use of derogatory racial terminology in calango. 46. Interview with Lielcides José da Silva (‘Sidoca’), Miracema, 4 Jan. 2008. 47. Interview with Marli Teixeira by Antônio Carlos Gomes, Isabel Castro, and Edmilson Santos, 14 Jan. 2007, Acervo UFF Petrobrás Cultural, LABHOI, Tape 55. 48. Castro e Couto, Folia de reis, p. 3. Folias in Rio de Janeiro extended their performance to 20 January to pay homage to Saint Sebastian. 49. For folia encounters, see Reily, 67–9, 67–77; Bitter, 181. 50. Interview with Sebastião Raimundo (‘Teresa’), Miracema, 17 Nov. 2007. 51. See the episode told by one master of a Kings’ Folly from the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro (Baixada): ‘In the Bible there is no answer to this question’, in the documentary Jongos, calangos e folias. 52. Interview with Marcos Paulo (Marquinho ‘Cascadura’) and Aristoteles de Souza (Tobim ‘Mamut’), Miracema, 6 Jan. 2008. 53. Castro and Couto, Folia de Reis, p. 19. 54. Martelo is also a form of poetic challenge in north-east Brazil. See Cascudo, Vaqueiros, p. 206 and throughout. 55. Challenge between Marcos Paulo (Marquinho ‘Cascadura’) and Aristoteles de Souza (Tobim ‘Mamut’), during the encounter of folias at the house of Dona Aparecida Ratinho, Miracema, 6 Jan. 2008. This annual event is of an entirely friendly nature and hence very different from spontaneous folia encounters of the past. Both clowns improvised the challenge at my request, making it clear that this was for research purposes only and not for real.

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56. The great exception here might be the umbigada (belly bounce), given or only suggested by both sexes in jongo/caxambu. It is possible that belly bouncing formerly contained challenges, as is still the case in belly bouncing dances of other Brazilian regions. In the tambor de crioula from Maranhão, for example, the umbigada can be given with such power that it throws a person to the ground. 57. Malha is a kind of bowling originally from Portugal, which required dexterity but did not involve direct physical confrontation. Another form of stick play, the mineiro-pau, is practised in the north-east of Rio de Janeiro state; its movements follow a set choreography, however, and there is no challenge. Practitioners have no memory of it being used for fights. Moreover it is not widely known in the other parts of the Paraíba valley, and therefore I have decided not to include the mineiro pau in the discussion here. In a variety of the cana verde danced in the municipality of Vassouras participants also use sticks in their choreography in a very similar way to the mineiro pau. 58. Interview with Manuel Seabra, São José da Serra, 21 Sept. 2005. Seu Manuel also told me he stopped teaching her when she became ‘too good’. 59. See, in particular, the contributions by Mestre Bimba and Burlamaqui. 60. Inteview with João Batista Azedias, São José da Serra, 1 April 2007. 61. As previous note. 62. Interview with João Batista Azedias, São José da Serra, 1 April 2007. 63. For close analysis of the relationship between honour, masculinity and violence in the north-east, see Martha S. Santos, Cleansing Honor with Blood: Masculinity, Violence and Power in the Backlands of Northeast Brazil, 1845–1889, Stanford, 2012. 64. Interview with Sebastião Raimundo ‘Teresa’, Miracema, 17 Nov. 2007. 65. See Frade, Guia, p. 73. 66. Interview with Zé Epifânio, Miracema, 17 Nov. 2008. 67. A recent study found that they were given as motive for 52 per cent of homicides and 43 per cent of physical assaults. Marcelo de Souza Silva, ‘Homicídios e justiça na comarca de Uberaba, 1872–1892’, PhD, History, Universidade do Rio de Janeiro, 2008, p. 104. 68. Drunkenness was the most common excuse given in court for fights. For statistics, see for example Edna Maria Resende, Entre a solidariedade e a violência. Valores, comportamentos e a lei em São João Del-Rei, 1840–1860, São Paulo, 2008, p. 114. 69. Interview with Manoel Seabra and Jorge Fernandes, 1 April 2007. 70. Interview with João Azedias Batista, 1 April 2007. 71. Interview with Manoel Seabra and Jorge Fernandes, 1 April 2007. 72. Interview with João Azedias Batista, 1 April 2007. 73. Interview with Sebastião ‘Teresa’, Miracema, 17 Nov. 2007.

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74. Interview with Manoel Seabra and Jorge Fernandes, 1 April 2007. 75. Silva, ‘Homicídios’, table p. 157. The same is suggested by the material analysed by Ivan de Andrade Vellasco, ‘A cultura da violência: os crimes na Comarca do Rio das Mortes—Minas Gerais Século XIX’, Tempo 9: 18, Jan. 2005. 76. Interview with Manoel Seabra and Jorge Fernandes, 1 April 2007. 77. Criminal records certainly make fascinating material for the historian of male violence, however. Regarding stick fighting, I have attempted to reconstruct the early history of this art from such sources in CentralWestern Venezuela in Assunção, ‘Juegos de Palo in Lara. 78. Interview with João Azedias Batista, 1 April 2007. 79. See lyrics of song ‘Kid Cavaquinho’, João Bosco, Caça a Raposa, LP, 1975. 80. Travassos, 91. 81. See, for example, Gallant. For honour in pre-colonial Central African societies, see Iliffe, chap. 6. 82. Herzfeld. 83. See Conley. 84. See Baker, ‘Traditional Sports, Africa’, and Sport in Africa. There is a vast literature on duelling in Europe. See, for example, Robert Nye. 85. LaVacque-Manty, 6. 86. For the case of the folia, see Pessoa, 71. 87. Sodré. 88. http://www2.cultura.gov.br/site/2010/02/01/um-­novo-­patrimoniocultural/.

References Documentary Films Jongos, Calangos and Folias. Black Music, Memory and Poetry/Jongos, Calangos e Folias. Música Negra, memória e poesia. Directed by Hebe Mattos & Martha Abreu, 45 mins., Portuguese; English & Portuguese subtitles. LABHOI/NUPEHC (UFF), 2007. Available online: http://www.labhoi. uff.br/passadospresentes/en/filmes_jongos.phpFor direct access: https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=6npRXQiQGbc&list=PL1-1ZfnSk3LM TzI6-­GfTxvTytwykYbgBL&index=6 Verses and Cudgels. Stick Playing in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil)/Versos e cacetes. O jogo do pau na cultura afro-­ fluminense. Directed by Matthias Röhrig Assunção & Hebe Mattos, 37 min., Portuguese; English & Portuguese subtitles, LABHOI (UFF)/Essex University, 2009. Available Online: https://youtu.be/JrWa-Cnxn_Y

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Interviews Interviews were conducted in various locations in Rio de Janeiro state and are filed at the Acervo UFF Petrobrás Cultural, LABHOI. Azedias, João Batista. Interview by author. São José da Serra, 1 April 2007. Fernandes, Jorge and Seabra, Manoel. Interview by author, in São José, 1 April 2007. Paulo, Marcos (‘Marquinho Cascadura’) and Souza, Aristoteles de (‘Tobim Mamut’). Interview by author, Miracema, 6 Jan. 2008. Raimundo, Sebastião (‘Teresa’). Interview by author. Miracema, 17 Nov. 2007. Seabra, Manoel. Interview by author, São José da Serra, 21 Sept. 2005. Seabra, Manuel, Jesus, Teresinha de and Azedias, Joao Batista. Interview by Hebe Mattos, Martha Abreu and author, São José da Serra (Valença), 17 March 2007. Sidoca (=Silva, Lielcides José da). Interview by author, Miracema, 4 Jan. 2008. Silva, José Inácio Coutinho da. Interview by author. Santa Isabel (Valença), 9 Sept. 2007. Souza, José de Souza (‘José Epifânio’) and Barbosa, Marcos Vinicius Gomes (‘Marquinho’). Interview by author, Miracema, 5 Jan. 2008. Teixeira, Marli. Interview by Antônio Carlos Gomes, Isabel Castro, and Edmilson Santos, 14 Jan. 2007.

Works Cited Abrahams, Roger D., ‘Playing the Dozens’, Journal of American Folklore 75: 297, July–September 1962, pp. 209–220. Abreu, Martha, ‘Outras histórias de Pai João: conflitos raciais, protesto escravo e irreverência sexual na poesia popular, 1880–1950’, Afro-Ásia 31 (2004), 235–76. Agostini, Camilla, ‘Africanos no cativeiro e a construção de identidades no além-­ mar’, MA dissertation, History, UNICAMP, 2002. Alkmin, Tania, ‘Falas e cores: um estudo sobre o português de negros e escravos no Brasil do século XIX’, in Ivana Stolze Lima and Laura do Carmo (eds), História social da língua nacional, Rio de Janeiro: Casa de Rui Barbosa, 2008. Almeida, Antonio Soares de, ‘Pesquisa da manifestação cultural do Rio de Janeiro’ (Angra do Reis, Araruama, Mangaratiba, Parati e Saquarema), Relatório Final. Rio de Janeiro: Governo do Estado do Rio de Janeiro and the Instituto Estadual do Patrimônio Cultural/Divisão de Pesquisa da Manifestação Cultural, 1979. Andrade, Mário de, ‘O desafio brasileiro’, Estado de São Paulo, 23 Nov. 1941. Reprinted in Cartas de Mário de Andrade a Luis da Câmara Cascudo, Belo Horizonte, Rio de Janeiro: Itatiaia, 2000.

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Andrade, Mário de, Dicionário musical brasileiro, edition co-ordinated by Oneyda Alvarenga and Flávia Camargo Toni. Belo Horizonte, Brasília, São Paulo: Itatiaia/MinC/EdUSP, 1989. Araújo, Alceu Maynard, Folclore Nacional, 2nd edn, 3 vols., São Paulo: Melhoramentos, 1967. Assunção, Matthias Röhrig. ‘Juegos de Palo in Lara. Elementos para la história social de un arte marcial venezolano’. Revista de Indias 59, 215 (1999), 55–89. Assunção, Matthias Röhrig. Capoeira, the History of an Afro-Brazilian Martial Art, London: Routledge, 2005. Baker, William J., ‘Traditional Sports, Africa’ in Encyclopaedia of World Sport: From Ancient Times to the Present, ed. David Levinson and Karen Christensen, Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 1996, 1062–67. Baker, William J. and Mangan, James A. (eds.), Sport in Africa. Essays in Social History, New York and London: Africana, 1987. Bastide, Roger, ‘Dos duelos de tambores ao desafio brasileiro’, in Bastide, Roger, Sociologia do folclore brasileiro, São Paulo: Anhambi, 1959a, pp.  66–73 (Reprinted from his Psicanálise do cafune: estudos de sociologia estética Brasileira, Curitiba, 1941). Bastide, Roger, ‘Ainda o desafio brasileiro’, reprinted in Bastide, Sociologia do folclore brasileiro, São Paulo: Anhambi, 1959b, 76–8. Bitter, Daniel. A bandeira e a máscara. A circulação de objetos rituais nas folias de reis, Rio de Janeiro: 7 Letras, 2010. Bowen, John R., ‘Poetic Duels and Political Change in the Gayo Highlands of Sumatra’, American Anthropologist 91: 1, March 1989, 25–40. Brenneis, Don and Padarath, Ram, ‘“About Those Scoundrels I’ll Let Everyone Know”: Challenge Singing in a Fiji Indian Community’, Journal of American Folklore 88: 349, July–September 1975), pp. 283–91. Bridget Brereton, Race Relations in Colonial Trinidad, 1870–1900, Cambridge: CUP, 1979. Candido, Antonio, Os parceiros do Rio Bonito: Estudo sobre o caipira paulista e a transformação dos seus meios de vida, São Paulo: Duas Cidades, 1987. Carneiro, Edison. Samba de umbigada, Rio de Janeiro: MEC, 1961. Cascudo, Luís da Câmara, Vaqueiros e cantadores, São Paulo, [1938] 2004. Cascudo, Luís da Câmara, ‘Desafio africano’, manuscript dated 28 Dec. 1941, Cartas de Mário de Andrade a Luis da Câmara Cascudo, Belo Horizonte, Rio de Janeiro: Itatiaia, 2000, 168–70. Cascudo, Luís da Câmara, Literatura oral no Brasil, 2nd edn, Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio Editora/INL, 1978. Cascudo, Dicionário do folclore brasileiro. 1st edn., Rio de Janeiro: INL, 1954. 3rd edn, Rio de Janeiro: Tecnoprint/EdiOuro, 1972. Castro, Zaíde Maciel de and Couto, Aracy do Prado, ‘Folia de Reis’, Cadernos de Folclore (nova série) 16, Rio de Janeiro: Arte-FUNARTE, 1977.

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Coetzee, Marie-Heleen, ‘Zulu Stick Fighting: A Socio-Historical Overview’, Journal of Alternative Perspectives, Sept 2002, http://ejmas.com/jalt/jaltart_ Coetzee_0902.htm (accessed 29 April 2003). Conley, Carolyn, ‘The Agreeable Recreation of Fighting’, Journal of Social History 33: 1 (1999), 57–72. Côrtes, Gustavo Pereira, Dança, Brasil!: festas de danças populares, Belo Horizonte: Ed. Leitura, 2000. Dundes, Alan, Leach, Jerry W. and Özkök, Bora, ‘The Strategy of Turkish Boys’ Verbal Dueling Rhymes’, Journal of American Folklore 83: 329, July–September 1970), 325–49. Finnegan, Ruth, Oral Poetry: its Nature, Significance and Social Context, Cambridge: CUP, 1977. Frade, Cáscia, Folclore brasileiro. Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE, 1979. Frade, Cáscia (coord.), Cantos do folclore fluminense, Rio de Janeiro: Presença, 1986. Franco, Maria Sylvia de Carvalho, Homens livres na ordem escravocrata, 2nd edn, São Paulo: Ática, 1976. Gallant, Thomas W., ‘Honor, Masculinity, and Ritual Knife Fighting in Nineteenth-­ Century Greece’, American Historical Review 105: 2, April 2000, 359–82. Gates, Henry Louis, The Signifying Monkey: a Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism, New York and Oxford: OUP, 1988. Herzfeld, Michael, The Poetics of Manhood: Contest and Identity in a Cretan Mountain Village, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Hurley, John W., Irish Gangs and Stick-Fighting in the Works of William Carleton, Xlibris (print on demand), 2001. Iliffe, John, Honour in African History, Cambridge: CUP, 2005. IPHAN (Instituto do Patrimônio Historical e Artistico Nacional), Jongo do Sudeste, 2005. LaVacque-Manty, Mike, ‘Duelling for Equality: Masculine Honor and the Modern Politics of Dignity’, Political Theory 34:6 (Dec. 2006), 715–40. Lopes, Nei, O negro no Rio de Janeiro e sua tradição musical. Partido-Alto, Calango e Chula e outras cantorias, Rio de Janeiro, 1992. Lopes, Nei, Partido-alto. Samba de bamba. Rio de Janeiro: Pallas, 2005. Mathias, Elizabeth, “‘La Gara Poetica: Sardinian Shepherds’ Verbal Dueling and the Expression of Male Values in an Agro-Pastoral Society”, Ethos 4: 4 (Winter 1976), 483–507. Mattos, Hebe, Das cores do silêncio. Os significados da liberdade no sudeste escravista, Brasil, século XIX. Rio de Janeiro: Nova Fronteira, 1988. Mattos, Hebe and Abreu, Martha. ‘Jongos, registro de uma história’, in Memória do Jongo: as gravações históricas de Stanley J. Stein, Vassouras (1949), eds. Sílvia Humold Lara and Gustavo Pacheco; Rio de Janeiro & Campinas: CECULT, 2007.

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Nye, Robert, Masculinity and Male Codes of Honor in Modern France. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Oliveira, E.  Veiga de, ‘Stockspiel in Basto’, Publikationen zu Wissenschaftlichen Filmen, Sektion Ethnologie, 9: 38, Göttingen: IWF, 1979. Pasmanick, Philip, ‘Décima and Rumba: Iberian Formalism in the Heart of Afro-­ Cuban Song’, Latin American Music Review 18: 2 (Fall–Winter 1997), 252–77. Penteado Júnior, Wilson, Jongueiros do Tamandaré: Devoção, memória e identidade social no ritual do jongo em Guaratinguetá, SP, São Paulo: Annablume, 2010. Pessoa, Jadir de Morais Pessoa, ‘Mestres de caixa e viola’, Cadernos Cedes (Campinas), 27, 71 (Jan.–April 2007), 63–83. Reily, Suzel Ana, Voices of the Magi: Enchanted Journeys in Southeast Brazil, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. Ribeiro, Maria de Lourdes Borges, “O jongo”. Cadernos de Folclore 34, Rio de Janeiro: FUNARTE, 1984. Ryan, Michael Joseph, ‘Hard Knocks on a Thick Skull: Training the Body for a Closed Habitus in a Venezuelan Civilian Combative Art’, PhD thesis, Anthropology Department, Binghamton University, 2007. Ryan, Michael Joseph, Venezuelan Stick Fighting; The Civilizing Process in Martial Arts. Latham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016. Santos, Martha S., Cleansing Honor with Blood: Masculinity, Violence and Power in the Backlands of Northeast Brazil, 1845–1889, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012. Silva, Affonso M. Furtado da, Reis Magos: História, Arte, Tradições: fontes e referências, Rio de Janeiro: Leo Christiano Editorial, 2006. Silva, Francisco Pereira da, O desafio calangueado. Monografia folclórica, São José dos Campos, São Paulo: Conselho Estadual de Artes e Ciências Humanas, 1976. Slenes, Robert W. ‘“Eu venho de muito longe, eu venho cavando:” jongueiros cumba na senzala centro-africana’, in: Sílvia Humold Lara, Gustavo Pacheco (eds.), Memória do Jongo: as gravações históricas de Stanley J. Stein, Vassouras. Rio de Janeiro: Folha Seca, Campinas: CECULT, 2007, 109–56. Sodré, Muniz, ‘Cordel, um jogo de formas’, in A verdade seduzida. Por um conceito de cultura no Brasil, 2nd edn, Rio de Janeiro: Francisco Alves, 1988. Solomon, Thomas, ‘Coplas de Todos Santos in Cochabamba: Language, Music, and Performance in Bolivian Quechua Song Dueling’, Journal of American Folklore 107, 425 (Summer 1994), 378–414. Stein, Stanley, Vassouras, a Brazilian Coffee County, 1850–1900: the Roles of Planter and Slave in a Plantation Society, 3rd edn, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Travassos, Elizabeth, ‘Ethics in the Sung Duels of North-Eastern Brazil: Collective Memory and Contemporary Practice’, British Journal of Ethnomusicology 9, 1, (2000), 61–94.

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Vellasco, Ivan de Andrade, ‘A cultura da violência: os crimes na Comarca do Rio das Mortes—Minas Gerais Século XIX’, Tempo 9: 18 (Jan. 2005), 171–95. Wa Mukuna, Kazadi, An Interdisciplinary Study of the Ox and the Slave (Bumba-­ Meu-­Boi), a Satirical Music Drama in Brazil. Lewiston NY: Queenstom and Lampeter, 2003. Wolf, Tony, ‘Juego de Palo: Stick Fencing of the Canary Islands’, Journal of Western Martial Arts, May 2000. http://jwma.ejmas.com/php-­bin/jwma_ content.php?LLM=0&Tab=articles&MD (accessed 24 Jan. 2012). Zarrilli, Phillip B., ‘“Doing the Exercise”: The In-Body Transmission of Performance Knowledge in a Traditional Martial Art’, Asian Theatre Journal 1: 2 (Autumn 1984), 191–206.

PART III

New Transformations

CHAPTER 13

Yabis, A Nigerian Genre of Insult Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega

Introduction There are quite a number of African oral literary traditions that boast of aesthetics that come from a culture of competition of verbal insults. Some examples include the Ewe Halo songs of Ghana, Togo, and Benin, the Urhobo Udje dance-song performance of Nigeria, and the Izibongo of South Africa. Outside Africa and the Diaspora, there is the flyting contest popular in Scotland between the fifth and sixteenth centuries and African-­ American Dozens. All of these artistic forms constitute part of the popular culture of a people because of their origins, performance structure, target audience, and social functions. Speaking on the importance of the verbal arts especially in pre-literate societies, Maureen Warner-Lewis (2008) admits that “orature genres, themes, styles, and performance techniques have historically been primary vehicles of communication, enculturation, entertainment, and societal acclamation. (117)” While modern exigencies and influences of colonialism, postcolonialism, and globalization greatly diminished their practice and popularity over time, some have evolved and

E. E. Ojaruega (*) Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_13

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taken new forms in tandem with contemporary demands. Yabis falls into this taxonomy. Yabis (also spelt ‘Yabbis’ and sometimes referred to as ‘bad mouth’) is a Nigerian genre of insult that belongs to the contemporary battle traditions of insult. This chapter identifies it as an example of how African traditions such as the Urhobo Udje and Ewe Halo exported to the African Diaspora through the Slave Trade to the so-called New World transformed in the new environments to forms like the Dozens, Battle Rap, and Dissing, and were later taken back to Africa to assume new identities and formations. Consequently, in many of its known features, Yabis has similarities with the oral traditions in Africa and the diasporic Black world. This genre will also be examined in great detail as a staged performance involving a verbal banter or sparring session between two competitors mostly for entertainment even as it also yields valuable insights into some rhetorical and performative skills of the Nigerian youth outside the domains of formal education.

What Is Yabis? The word “Yabis” derives from “yab” in Pidgin, a Nigerian variant of English. “Yab” means to make fun of or abuse someone in a light-hearted but cruel manner meant to hurt or demean the person’s ego or personality. Myke Olatunji (2009) supports this definition when he says that “Yabis is the noun of the Pidgin English word, “Yab” (which literally means to make fun of a person or thing)” (109). Angela Oji (2017) sees Yabis as simply meaning “to tease a person or thing” (n.p.). On the other hand, Sola Olorunyomi (2003) defines Yabis as “verbal rebuttal that could move from light-hearted banter to a crude ribaldry” (xxvii). The implication of Olorunyomi’s definition is that opponents are conscious of the importance or imperative to not only lash out at the rival with wounding words, but also ensure they drive back or cancel out the effect of the opponent’s verbal attack on them. The ‘insult’ factor in such genres, as Corinna Campbell points out, is that it builds and rests on the “the damaging potential of language/words” (2002, n.p.). Therefore, Yabis also stems from and relies heavily on an adversarial or confrontational nature as it adopts features of a competition or war of words or abuses, akin to a verbal warfare between rivals as in Udje, Halo, the Dozens, and Battle Rap. Unlike other popular African battles of insult, the contemporary form of Yabis is predominantly a spoken exchange of abuse rather than a

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repertoire of lyrical songs. However, in this sense of insulting but not through song, Yabis is close to Odjango and the Dozens. Yabis also has the damaging potential of adversarial language in its deployment of literary forms such as deflation, exaggeration, humor and other combative words that specifically accentuate real or imagined physical, mental, or associated shortcomings of the opponent. This genre of insult admits the use of offensive remarks within a controlled environment even as it discourages physical fighting or the use of supernatural charms for fortification as is the case with other African genres of songs of abuse like Halo and Udje. Yabis emerged in Nigeria in the 1980s. The late Afrobeat maestro, Fela Anikulapo Ransome-Kuti, was credited with having introduced it into his music after his sojourn in the United States during the Civil Rights period where he was believed to have been influenced by African-American traditions of insult. Thus, in the circularity of diasporic traditions that move to and from the diaspora into the original home (Mother Continent), Yabis has assumed a significant place even if through different manifestations or genres in African diasporic studies and consciousness. The diasporic influences made it more popular as it gave it a wider and diverse stage for performance and audience. Yabis was, therefore, first reenacted in the homeland through Fela’s music. But as it is today, Yabis is mainly a mode of playful insults among Nigerian youths. Yabis in its formal structure and as shown in some examples this study will later focus on is a staged performance involving a verbal banter or sparring session between two opponents or competitors. It is built on a spoken exchange of abuses or insults by selected contestants. It is therefore a sort of verbal confrontation or battle of wits that demands the adroit use of words deliberately to wound or shame the abused. It does not encourage physical assault as reaction or in retaliation. Rather, competitors are required to be more brutal in their rejoinders in response to their opponent’s attacks. Thus, participants are expected to be proficient with poetic or metaphorical words and possess mental acuity as these skills when deployed create the maximum effect required to win in such a contest of wording. Spontaneity or witty rejoinders are hallmarks of this competition as opponents are expected to be able to respond within the shortest possible time to insults. Again, this is a factor that sets this genre of insult apart from a traditional form like the Urhobo Udje in which each side has a gestation period to retreat into groves or special enclaves to compose and practice their songs in preparation for the appointed day (Ojaruega 2020: 208). In many

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recordings of this contemporary genre in Nigeria, the competition is often tagged as “Badmouth” to underscore the centrality of insults for effective delivery. This study, therefore, examines Yabis as an artistic genre from two perspectives: first, its evolution, as a medium of social criticism through Afrobeat music, and second, its prevalence as a more contemporary competition of insults amongst Nigerian youths.

Nigerian Pidgin and Yabis Pidgin English is the variety of Nigerian English used during Yabis or Badmouth competitions. The choice of Nigerian Pidgin as the language used for Yabis is very significant. The language’s convenience as a “contact language” (Elugbe and Omamor (1991) quoted in Akande (2021) makes it quite popular across social class and status especially since it eliminates or reduces linguistic barriers in the Nigerian multilingual society. Berly Ehondor (2020) further asserts that “Nigerian Pidgin speaking is currently more popular compared to the 3 regional languages, Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba and English language” and that “Pidgin English cuts across all socioeconomic classes, ethnicities and literacy level” (69). Ifechelobi & Ifechelobi (2015) believe that as part of an intricate sociolinguistic process, pidginisation allows the indegenous and English language influence each other in a sequential manner. The factors above give this language its popularity and acceptability and are also what this research identifies as justification for the adoption of Pidgin as the language of Yabis as this makes it possible to easily admit competitors from different backgrounds, cultures and linguistic competences. Perhaps too, this genre’s similarity with stand-up comedy that mostly uses Pidgin is another reason for its use of this language. Yabis as a contemporary genre enjoys the advantage of the contestants’ mutual intelligibility over other cultural battles of insult where the competitors and their audiences are only able to interact effectively and instantaneously because they belong to the same ethnic or cultural group. The use of Pidgin also makes Yabis lively and entertaining through its deployment of sound qualifiers or onomatopoeia, slangs and expressions that are apt, mellifluous and rich in imagery. Pidgin in Yabis creates lighthearted humor in the course of delivering hurtful barbs. Yabis delivered in Pidgin allows for a more lasting impact of the contestants’ lines. In Nigeria, Pidgin is generally the language of comedy, and Yabis, in its use of Pidgin, inadvertently adopts a language that has the proclivity for humor,

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lightheartedness and rewards the efforts of the practitioners to maximally embarrass their challengers and entertain the audience during a playful competition. Some functions of Yabis include its ability to promote verbal skills as participants are those who are able to express themselves clearly and respond through active thinking. It encourages a participant’s dexterous use of metaphoric language to respond to the opponent’s attack within the shortest possible. Powerful punchlines elicit instantaneous reactions from the audience and the latter often act as informal judges of the winner. Yabis also encourages creativity with words as in the course of delivery, competitors task their intellect in producing insults with the longest-lasting impact and impression as well as projecting participants’ ability to connect multidisciplinary subjects within one performance. As a humorous verbal performance tradition, it has come to provide another avenue for recreational engagements for Nigerian youths. Yabis serves also as an informal test of oral and intellectual competence even as it is a source of entertainment and social criticism through its accompanying humor.

Yabis in Modern Nigerian Music Many contemporary African musicians have harnessed the advantages of music as a means for solidarity, mass mobilization, and advocacy for justice and therefore made themselves social critics. The Nigerian Afrobeat maestro, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, whose music dominated the Nigerian pop culture between the 1970s and the 1990s is credited with being the originator of the Yabis form of music in Nigeria. Fela’s music focused on ridiculing bad governance, faulty social policies, and other official malfeasances that were detrimental to the people’s well-being. Michael Olatunji’s pioneering and extensive studies of Fela’s Yabis music as a phenomenon because of its place and effect on both contemporary Nigerian music and political scenes is worthy of reference and acknowledgment here. According to Olatunji: The word Yabis became very popular among residents in Lagos State of Nigeria in the 1970s, when Fela started his musical shows at his “African Shrine” which was located around Moshalashi Bus Stop in Lagos Mainland. Fela had a total of three shows every weekend, with a show per day, starting from Friday to Sunday. On Friday, it was “Yabis Night”…. Although each of these shows was well attended, many people believed that the Friday’s “Yabis Night” had the largest crowd. During this particular show, Fela

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would take time to “yab” himself (most often starting from his alleged “big head”), members of his band, the audience, as well as the government officials at all levels (Federal, state and local government); revealing their various corrupt practices and their money wasting programmes. (308–309)

Consequently, Yabis music is essentially a musical form of biting satire as lyrics, which serve as words of insult intentionally composed and directed at “correcting an atrocity, a misdemeanour or sacrilege committed by either an individual or a corporate body within a particular society” (Olatunji, 2007: 27). Fela’s resort to singing Yabis music using Pidgin English was as a result of his efforts at reaching the common folks through the language they understand and can use to liberate themselves from the forces of oppression and injustice. This also endeared his music to this set of people who saw it as a form of “mass expression” (Idowu 95). According to Olatunji, it was also through Yabis music that many Nigerian contemporary musicians ridiculed those who governed them and subjected them to derision” (26). Olatunji’s examination of Fela’s Yabis music as “a biting satirical song” (26) puts this genre in the group of similar oral traditions of battles of songs as a “power regulator” (35). But while the latter (halo and udje, for example) are performances involving two rival groups with one ultimately winning the battle, Yabis in Nigerian contemporary music is almost a one-sided affair and delivered as if a rhetorical discourse replete with political consciousness. However, during his live performances, Fela sometimes accommodates interjections from the audience and members of his band thereby promoting a form of interaction and connectivity, even though the direct butt of the attacks are not physically present to respond or give immediate rejoinders. However, this is not to say that the attacks have not elicited any form of reactions from their perceived targets. Part of the new transformations and new realities evident in this genre of battle tradition of songs is the military government as the opponent’s attacks on Fela, his band, and family. Thus, the Government responds through its soldiers, police, and agencies. In fact, those familiar with Fela’s life’s trajectory can easily deduce that many of his run-ins with the authorities were as a result of his outspokenness through his Yabis music. The singer clearly identifies with the masses as his trenchant music expresses his angst with activities of public officials, military juntas and even some private individuals. In the course of his delivery which mostly outlines the failures and misconducts of his subjects of attack, Fela also robustly abuses them through name-calling, invectives,

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parody, derision, etc. In one of his most famous songs, he tags soldiers who blindly carry out the orders of their superiors as “zombies,” an allusion to their lacking the mental perspicacity of discernment. Like M.H. Abrams’ (1988) impression of satire, Yabis music elicits “attitudes of amusement, contempt, scorn, or indignation” (320) from the listeners towards the target. Similarly, Thompson Olusegun Ewata (2015) concludes that Fela’s use of pidgin socially places him and his audience in the same class—the oppressed of the world. Therefore, the message is meant to get to the addressed with the aim of engendering positive transformations, while the audience or listener feels a sense of satisfaction in being able, albeit through the lyrics of the songs, to partake in insulting or venting against those who have oppressed and impoverished them. Fela himself sums it up in an interview where he says: Music is supposed to have an effect. … When you hear something, you must move. I want to move people to dance, but also to think. Music wants to dictate a better life, against a bad life. When you’re listening to something that depicts living a better life, and you’re not having a better life, it must have an effect on you. (Bordowitz, 2004: 170)

As the forebearer of the Yabis genre of Nigerian music, Fela had many songs through which he spoke against injustice, corruption, and violation of human rights by successive Nigerian military juntas. Some of his Yabis-­ styled songs include “Zombie,” “Beast of no Nation,” “V.I.P. (Vagabonds in Power),” “Coffin for Head of State,” “Original Sufferhead,” “Suffering and Smiling,” and “Sorrow, Tears and Blood.” As part of his opening montage during live performances, Fela initiates a dialogue with his audience where he asks them: “Make I yab dem?” to which the audience excitedly replies “Yab dem!!” Another pattern of his yabis style follows the call and response where he is the lead singer who states a position that his chorus reinforce with repetition meant to mock the subject of attack. Other Nigerian musicians who have followed this Yabis genre include: Eedris Abdukareem, African China, Daddy Showkey, Falz, Patoranking, and Tekno. Fela’s style of Yabis music has since percolated down to a fast-growing younger generation of Nigerian musicians who also have taken to criticizing the leaders through their lyrical compositions. Augustine Miles Kelechi who goes by the stage name “Tekno” has a song titled “Rara” where he condemns the insensitivity of inefficient leaders of the country to the

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plight of the people. By insisting that people “forget about the big things / make we talk about the small things,” he underscores the abysmal conditions the poor masses contend with in the face of the near nonexistence of even simple social amenities. The song singles out the unending challenges with public power supply that have made alternative but more deleterious sources the norm and the big or rich men the ones mostly able to afford such. He complains of the incessant noise pollution (“Generator wan tear my ear”) coming from the generators of these “plenty greedy men” who “take the projects” but abandon the work. He continues his “yabbing” of this class of elites by accusing them of unpatriotic acts of “packi [packing] our money/ dem take it to other nation” after which he enjoins them to “investi for your country oh, make it a better place.” Perhaps it is in the lyrics and beats of songs by another contemporary Nigerian musician, Falz the Bad Guy (real name Folarin Falana) that we can identify a greater influence of Fela’s style of Yabis music. In line with Fela’s denunciation of a morally bankrupt leadership, Falz’s “E No Finish” outlines: Many don kpai go many dey depression Somebody tell baba Fela say e too talk truth Say the government still dey shoot on youth Animal dem still dey put on suit and agbada Our leader dem still confuse Nothing wey dem talk dem never talk before Political robbers all of them be fraud Big thief talk my people dey applaud Wey dey still dey cause sorrow tears and blood Baba Fela talk am But e no finish e no finish e no finish oh oh When e go finish Baba Fela talk am But e no finish e no finish e no finish eh eh My brother when e go finish

Those familiar with some of Fela’s popular Yabis songs will decipher the intertextuality inherent in Falz’s song as expressions such as “Animal still dey put on suit and agbada,” “political robbers,” “sorrow, tears and blood,” and even the title “E no finish” are all borrowings from Fela’s music. His disgust for their imperviousness to the sufferings of the masses is evident in his passionate prayer that “I hope you choke on your dinner

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this evening!” On the converse side, some lyrics of Yabis music and competition could contain insults that reflect on the frailties of self and are part of reflexive humor meant to amuse others by making light of oneself (Zekavat 2019). The aim of such self-deprecatory abuse is to “demonstrate modesty, … put the listener at ease, … or … ingratiate oneself with the listener” (Martin quoted in Zekavat 2019). This device is common in Urhobo Udje songs by Memerume and Okitiakpe who are known for singing about themselves before attacking others and by so doing forestalling the opponent’s attempts to ridicule their known defects.

Yabis Among Nigerian Students Another level of engaging Yabis in contemporary Nigerian society comes in the form of organized verbal sparring between two student opponents in Nigerian tertiary institutions. Some call this variant “wording” while others call it “badmouth” (also spelt as “Bad mout”). “Bad mouth” is a Pidgin word that means to speak badly or insultingly of someone or thing in order to criticize, attack, disparage, or belittle him, her, or it. The competition takes place in a pre-arranged rendezvous where a moderator acting as a referee oversees the trading of insults between two persons in alternate order. In Appendices 6 and 7, the moderator in his introductory remarks describes the competition as “an organized platform with rules and regulations where you insult your opponent to stupor.” Spectators play the dual role of audience and judge as their reactions go a long way in deciding which opponent has the upper hand or better delivery during the competition. This feature of yabis makes this genre closer to the traditional types of battle of words competitions such as udje. The ‘battlegrounds’ are usually informal settings as in Appendices 1 and 2. The participants could gather together in the open in a corner of a compound as seen in some video clips of this performance organized in Warri and Benin City, two major cities in the Niger Delta region of Nigeria known for strong traditions of stand-up comedy mostly delivered in Pidgin English and laced with invectives and wit. In some other instances, the competition is staged within the campus setting of a tertiary institution like the car park or around the hostel environment and students from any of the academic units are staged against one another. Many of the video clips on badmouth available online reveal the University of Benin, Benin-­ City (Appendixes 3 & 4) and Delta State University, Abraka (Appendices 5 & 6) as settings for this competition. Sometimes too, the competition is

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arranged in such a way that participants are selected from different halls of residence (Appendix 11) with observers cheering on their own or a preferred representative from a particular hostel. In this case, it can take on a flexible membership as residents of a particular hostel can join at any point during the game to increase the winning chances of their group. Whichever the form is, this competition is strictly for sport or fun among peers. Male participants are the dominant contestants and audience, but on some occasions, we see a male versus female sparring (Appendices 6, 7, & 9) and as well as a handful of females in the audience. It is interesting to note that in the competitions between boys and girls in Appendices 7 and 9, the females won as decided by the reactions of the spectators! The performance mode of the badmouth form of Yabis favors the extemporaneous back-and-forth exchanges of one-liners between two (or sometimes more) competitors. These exchanges are called “bars.” Insults are freely traded during the performance with each contestant dwelling on the other’s foibles, excesses, and vulnerabilities. These insults, though one-liners, are metaphors or witty observations. Even though the insults are meant to be provocative, participants are not expected to show any form of violence through their tone or body language. Emphasis is rather on the effective deployment of figurative language to best create a lasting impact or image. Badmouthing shuns long retorts as the shorter and sharper the lines, the more compelling and effective they are. A particular example is seen in one of the video clips (Appendix 8) where after the first contestant introduces himself, the next immediately takes him on with a verbal jab while the third participant comes in uninvited and directs his insult at the second. After this, it becomes like a free for all as another opponent jumps in to badmouth the second challenger. Hence, in the video clip referenced above, after the first person introduces himself as Kizito claiming he does not know why they have been assembled together, the second called Crusher responds to him by appealing to the audience not to take offence at Kizito’s claim of ignorance since “for their family dem dey inherit sense; e never reach im (Kizito’s) turn!” Immediately after he says this, the third competitor comes up and without even first introducing himself attacks Crusher by saying “At least dem dey inherit something for the guy family. I hear say your mumsy dey buy teddy bear dey slim-fit the dress dey give you.” Boffin, the fourth contender who steps into the middle of the arena uninvited, also faces Crusher to whom he offers some money and enjoins to “take, use am take buy height!” A

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significant part of the craft is each opponent’s deftness in dishing comebacks that are crushing and outweigh the preceding verbal attack. A careful study of the parley shows the participants’ ingenuity in building counter-attacks as each person takes up the rejoinder from where the previous person stops. Thus, even though there were no prior rehearsals or formal preparations among the participants, nevertheless, they were quick to come up with individual but related responses as they yab one another. Therefore, both attacks on Crusher are aimed at his size as he seems short. Clearly, the allusion to being able to wear clothes meant for a teddy bear and the jibe at buying height are indirect ways of insulting him through what they observe as his physical shortcomings—his body size. Even before the competition takes off properly, contestants in the group have started badmouthing one another drawing their materials from observable as well as perceived physical appearances and defects of the other. That they are able to deliver their ripostes on the spur of the moment or unrehearsed attest to their adroitness in this art. Word play or puns are a veritable part of this game of banter and often are effective in delivering the viciousness in the attack. For example, Oceno Black in one of the competitions (Appendix 10) yabs Sir Boffin that “your brain get two parts, left and right. For the left part, there’s nothing right and for the right part, there’s nothing left.” Apart from bringing in an aspect of the anatomy of the brain into the abuse, he cleverly plays the words “right” and “left” to depict the vacuousness of his rival’s brainpower. In another edition (Appendix 11), Crusher in reference to his opponent, tells the audience that “Bill Gates buy sense for am so tay Bill Gates broke!”. This implies his rival is a very foolish person as even as rich as Bill Gates is, he ends up being bankrupt spending money to buy him some sense. The message this line of yabis passes across is the near impossibility of his rival ever being intelligent. Insults can be vituperative with the ones that hit their mark eliciting instantaneous reactions of cheers while those that fall flat are met with jeers from the audience. So, sometimes, much as it is a contest of wit and a supposedly harmless form of entertainment, you see the hurt in an opponent’s facial expression that shows the barb hit home harder. Yet, no participant is expected to resort to physical violence no matter how provocative the insult is. In fact, insults are delivered in a controlled and measured manner for maximum effect. The contest does not allow for a display of anger even through an aggressive tone. Sometimes, an opponent, egged on by the audience, is forced to concede defeat after a series of unrequited

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responses delivered by a rival. Apart from jokes or yabis that fall flat, another evidence of an impending defeat for a contestant is the inability to quickly respond or cancel out a previous attack. Attacks are mostly contrived with fabrications that are not necessarily truthful accounts or descriptions of the subject, but these banters are still capable of striking a raw chord when they hit too close for comfort. This is essentially because they are primarily meant to hurt, diss, discount, deflate, and prove intellectual superiority in a war of words and battle of wits among supposedly equals. Yet, at the end of it all, contestants are made to shake hands to show there are no hard feelings. Even though it is an informal contest, it is also important for participants to be able to deliver their insults within specified categories, themes or subject-matter as this is a test of his or her ingenuity in badmouthing or yabbing. In some video clips of the contest organized by students at the University of Benin, competitors grouped as they progress from one stage to another. Each stage has three sessions and the contenders are expected to attack their opponents based on a specific theme. Thus, there is the freestyle session that entails yabis based on any topic. Next is the “Your Father” jokes where each rival directs the insult to the opponent’s father; while the last is the “Topic” category that is further determined by the choice of topic a participant picks from a ballot. These topics could be on “Career” or “Relationships,” or “Academics,” which simply means the Yabis poetic or metaphoric responses should strictly be based on them. In a particular exemplar, the third category dealt with a profane topic tagged “Soapy,” a Nigerian euphemism for masturbation and made popular by Naira Marley, a young Nigerian hip hop musician with a large fan base who call themselves “Marlians.” Insults in this particular category are sexually explicit, often meant to emasculate or undermine the sexual prowess or performance of the target or those related to him. As a performance with laid-down rules and regulations, a point is awarded to the winner at the end of each round underlining the competitiveness and impetus to win. Also to show that there is some measure of structure to this informal contest of wits, for each round, each contestant has to deliver four lines or bars in alternate order at the end of which a winner emerges based on the highest scorer. Usually, the moderator in his opening remarks spells out the rules of the competition to ensure the contestants are duly informed, guided, and abide by them. He is expected to be neutral but is free to make comments about any of the insults that appear quite catchy. Materials used to abuse are created from often

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exaggerated personal/physical and other perceived shortcomings or foibles of the rival. In many other cases, everything is made up. It is an unbridled competition at this point, which means that parents, family members, or even intimate friends are not spared from being badmouthed. As a result of this last factor, you encounter very offensive and sexually related insults directed at competitors’ relatives. For example, in the “Your Father” section of Appendix 3, Crusher words Saint Cube that “if Failure be faculty, na your father for be the Dean of that Faculty!” Saint Cube’s quick rejoinder to this is that “You know say na because my father be the Dean of the Faculty, na im make your father never graduate!” An initial attempt to ridicule the intellectual aptitude of an opponent’s father is upturned by a counter attack to the other’s father that is even more crushing. Similarly, in another video clip involving Wild Animal and Sir Boffin (Appendix 4), the former insults the latter that his “father is so broke that na orphanage dey sponsor your (Sir Boffin’s) school fees.” Sir Boffin’s reply is that Wild Animal’s father is also so poor that a beggar on the road stopped him and offered him some money adding the consolatory words “We rise by lifting others.” This last insult appears to be a technical knockout as the image of a beggar giving out handouts to someone else implies his (the beggar’s) condition is better, a situation that is difficult to imagine. Capping it with that particular sentence alludes to a magnanimity that places the beggar above whom he has just helped as well as the expectation of a reward in form of better fortunes for his act of charity to someone whose needs were greater than his. Still continuing his yabis of his opponent’s father in the same video clip, Sir Boffin avers that Wild Animal’s father is so fat that when he stands on a weighing scale, the machine records “to be continued” which is an insulting allusion to an alarming proportion of being overweight. Ordinarily, within the African world order, fathers or parents are generally highly revered and respected such that an insult to one’s parent can trigger aggressive reactions or responses. However, within the context of yabis, parents are dragged into the fray and thoroughly ridiculed without any repercussion or physical assault on the attacker. The best an opponent can do in defense is to dish out a more crushing comeback against the other’s parent. The video referenced above even has instances of the rival himself laughing at such insults!

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Conclusion Yabis is essentially oral in nature. However, much of the data used for this study relied on a secondary form of orality accessed through digital/visual media. In other words, the video clips of the performances are mostly available through internet viewing platforms such as YouTube. Despite its fairly recent origin in Nigeria, Yabis or Badmouth has older traditional African antecedents such as udje and halo and even izibongo. Interestingly, as intimated earlier, yabis, through its practice by Fela appears to have some connections with the African-American Dozens as evidence of its diasporic circularity. As a battle of words and wits competition, it includes derision or shaming based on real or fabricated physical, mental, and even sexual weaknesses of the opponent. All of these attacks are ultimately geared toward proving superiority over a rival in a contest of wits. The exchanges also reveal these young generation’s intellectual acumen and dexterity as they fluidly connect inter-/multidisciplinary subjects in the course of their delivery. Embedded in their sharp responses is a consciousness of contemporary and social realities that they ingeniously link to their rivals’ foibles. Yabis reflects the user’s skillful linguistic manipulation of figurative language to create lasting or damaging images. The point of conclusion is that contemporary genres of insult like Yabis are manifestations of how the Black world has dispersed and is now connected in a cultural pop tradition of battle of insults that serve as veritable means of pasttime, contemporary acculturation, as well as learning skills for the Nigerian youth.

Appendices: Video Clips 1. BAD MOUTH KID EP 18—HOUSE OF BORO TV (YOUR FATHER // WORDING—YABBING COMPETITION)— Bing video 2. BADMOUTH KID—(YAB BATTLE // YOUR FATHER // WORDING—YABBING COMPETITION) HOUSE OF BORO TV—Bing video 3. CRUSHER VS SAINT CUBE BADMOUT || EPISODE 1 UNIBEN QUARTER FINAL—YouTube 4. WILD ANIMAL VS SIR BOFFIN BADMOUT || EPISODE 2 UNIBEN QUARTER FINAL—YouTube

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5. A MUST WATCH!!! (BADMOUTH COMPETITION) EPISODE 2 #banter #badmouth #echo—Bing video 6. BADMOUTH COMPETITION | EPISODE1 Part 2……#badmout #viralvideo #fyp #brainjotter #comedy #viralvideo— Bing video 7. FUTO BADMOUT COMPETITION PART 1 ZOCO VS ROSEMARY—Bing video 8. INTRODUCING THE 8 QUARTER FINALISTS FROM UNIBEN EDITION—YouTube 9. A MUST WATCH!!! (BADMOUTH COMPETITION) EPISODE 2 PART 1 #Banter #badmout #gbob #hakim— Bing video 10. OCENO BLACK VS SIR BOFFIN BADMOUT || EPISODE 4 UNIBEN QUARTER FINAL—YouTube 11. BAD MOUT—YouTube 12. https://www.google.com/search?q=falz+e+no+finish&client=fire fox-­b-­d&ei=1yOuYvHCD%2D%2DJur4PvoGxwAE&ved=0ahUK Ewixio3T2rf4AhXvhM4BHb5ADBgQ4dUDCA0&oq=falz+e+n o+finish&gs_lcp=Cgdnd3Mtd2l6EAxKBAhBGABKBAhGGABQ AFgAYABoAHABeACAAQCIAQCSAQCYAQA&sclient=gws-­ wiz(Falz’s “E No Finish”) 13. Tekno’s “Rara” https://www.google.com/search?q=Tek no%27s+Rara&client=firefox-­b -­d &ei=nySuYpzxD8CCur4P1 Zir8A4&ved=0ahUKEwjcvLyy27f4AhVAgc4BHVXMCu4Q4d UDCA0&uact=5&oq=Tekno%27s+Rara&gs_lcp=Cgdnd3Mtd 2l6EAMyBwguENQCEA0yBAgAEA0yBAgAEA0yBAgAE A0yBwguENQCEA0yBAgAEA0yBggAEB4QDToKCC4Q6gI QtAIQQzoKCAAQ6gIQtAIQQzoOCC4QjwEQ6gIQ jAMQ5QI6DggAEI8BEOoCEIwDEOUCOgUILhCRAjo ECC4QQzoFCAAQgAQ6CAguELEDEIMBOhEILh CABBCxAxCDARDHARDRAzoICAAQgAQQsQM6Cwg A E I A E E L E D E I M B O g g I A B C x A x C D ATo K C C 4 Q s QMQ1AIQQzoECAAQQzoFCAAQkQI6CwgAELEDEIM BEJECOgcIABCxAxBDOggILhCABBCxAzoLCC 4QsQMQgwEQkQI6BwgAEIAEEAo6BwguEIA EEAo6BwguELEDEAo6BAgAEAo6BwgAELED EAo6CgguELEDENQCEAo6CgguELEDEIMBEAo6Cgg AELEDEIMBEAo6BwguENQCEAo6CAgAEB4QDRAKOg YIABAeEBZKBAhBGABKBAhGGABQlw1Y 3Tpg4kRoAnABeACAAYsGiAHqKZIBCzItMi41Lj QuMS4xmAEAoAEBsAEKwAEB&sclient=gws-­wiz

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Works Cited Abrams, M.H. A Glossary of Literary Terms. Chicago: Holt, Rinehart and Winston Inc., 1988. Bordowitz, Hank. Noise of the World: Non-Western Musicians in their own Words. New York: Soft Skull Press, 2004. Campbell, Corinna. A War of Words: Halo Songs of Abuse among the Anlo Ewe. Published Project at School for International Training, Spring 2002. School for International Training (sit.edu) Accessed 07 October, 2021 @ 3.15pm. Ehondor, Beryl. “Nigerian Pidgin English: A Cultural Universal for National Communication and Policy Enactment.” Journal of Philosophy, Culture and Religion, Vol 50, 2020, 69–74. (50) Nigerian Pidgin English: A Cultural Universal for National Communication and Policy Enactment | Beryl EHONDOR—Academia.edu Accessed 23 March, 2022, @11:09am. Elugbe, Ben & Augusta Omamor. Nigerian Pidgin English: Background and Prospects, Ibadan: Heinemann Books, 1991 quoted in Akande, Akinmade T. “Introduction.” Current Trends in Nigerian Pidgin English: A Sociolinguistic Perspective, (Eds.) Akande, Akinmade T. and Salami, Oladipo, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021, pp. 1–8. Ewata, Thompson Olusegun. “Music and Social Criticism in Nigeria.” International Journal of Humanities and Cultural Studies, Vol 2, Issue 3, December, 2015, 262–282. Idowu, Mabinuori. Why Black Man Carry Shit. Opinion Media, Ltd., Lagos: Ikeja, 1986. Ifechelobi, J.N. and Ifechelobi, C.U. “Beyond Barriers: The Changing Status of Nigerian Pidgin English.” International Journal of Language and Literature, 3(1), June 2015, 208–216. Ojaruega, Enajite Eseoghene. “Representation of Women in Udje, An Urhobo Men’s-Only Oral Poetic Performance Genre,” Routledge Handbook of Minority Discourses in African Literature. (eds.) Tanure Ojaide and Joyce Ashuntantang, New York: Routledge, 2020, 206–217. Oji, Angela. “Comedy and Nigerian Pidgin English” WhatGoodIsComedy, November 13, 2017 Comedy and Nigerian Pidgin English | by Angela Oji | WhatGoodIsComedy | Medium Olatunji, Myke. “Yabis Music: An Instrument of Social Change in Nigeria.” Journal of African Media Studies, Vol 1(2), 2009, 309–328. Olatunji, Michael. “Yabis: A Phenomenon in Contemporary Nigerian Music.” The Journal of Pan African Studies, Vol 1, No.9, August 2007, 26–46.

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Olorunyomi, Sola. Afrobeat: Fela and the Imagined Continent. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2003. Warner-Lewis, Maureen. “The Oral Tradition in the African Diaspora” in African and Caribbean Literature Volume 1, (Eds.) Abiola Irele and Simon Gikandi, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, pp 117–136. Zekavat, Massih. “Reflexive Humour and Satire: A Critical Review.” European Journal of Humour Research, 7(4), 2019, 125–136. Accessed April 6, 2022 @8:34am dorotabrzo,+8+Zekavat.pdf.

CHAPTER 14

Epistemic Recuperation and Contemporary Reconfiguration of the Verbal Battle Tradition in the Poetry of Tanure Ojaide and Kofi Anyidoho Mathias Iroro Orhero

Most readers of African poetry are not unfamiliar with the continuities between oral poetic traditions and written poetry. Studies have also demonstrated this link strongly. Edoama Frances Odueme makes this point in her comment that “Conscious of the need to sustain the functional role of the oral poetic art in the written art form, writers of modern African poetry adopt elements of the traditional poetic art techniques and skillfully fuse these into the creation of their scripted pieces” (149). Interestingly, Odueme’s defends her thesis using Tanure Ojaide’s poetry. This confirms that written poetry in Africa is inspired by oral tradition. Couched as the poetics of orality by Ezenwa-Ohaeto, this mediation of written poetry by oral forms is explained in terms of the transformation of Nigerian poetry

M. I. Orhero (*) Department of English, McGill University, Montreal, QC, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_14

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from its perceivably Euro-Modernist occult mode to a more democratic and participatory form (103–104). What Ezenwa-Ohaeto’s theorization confirms is that African poets occupy an important position between an older poetic order and a written tradition, and they navigate this terrain by inscribing orality in the written text. Although Ezenwa-Ohaeto’s focus is on framing a theory of poetics that is inherent in the works of the Niyi Osundare and Obiora Udechukwu, he also reveals how an indigenous epistemic basis is recovered and reconfigured in written African poetry. Similarly, this chapter demonstrates the specific ways the verbal battle tradition has been recuperated to confront epistemic violence and its reconfiguration to suit contemporary African realities. I read the poetics of the verbal battle tradition in Tanure Ojaide’s In the Kingdom of Songs and Kofi Anyidoho’s A Harvest of Our Dreams and position both texts as examples of epistemic recuperation. The concept of epistemic recuperation or epistemic recovery is central to the work of decoloniality scholars. Working with the assumption that modernity harbors the logic of epistemic coloniality, scholars like Walter Mignolo argue for a “de-linking” of the epistemic basis of the colonized people with that of the colonizer and instead assert epistemic disobedience, which Mignolo theorizes as the turn away from the dominant European center to “a different place, to a different ‘beginning’ (not in Greece, but in the responses to the “conquest and colonization” of America and the massive trade of enslaved Africans), to spatial sites of struggles and building rather than to a new temporality within the same space (from Greece, to Rome, to Paris, to London, to Washington DC)” (45). Mignolo proceeds to demonstrate his position by drawing on the writings of Waman Puma de Ayala and Ottobah Cugoano to show instances of epistemic disobedience. In many ways, what Mignolo does in this essay is not simply to dismantle the coloniality of power in a performative sense but also to recover a subaltern episteme by shifting the location of the production of knowledge. Like Mignolo, I am interested in how African poets reconstitute knowledge in their recourse to oral tradition. While I do not necessarily follow the theoretical paradigm of decoloniality as spelt out by Mignolo, I am interested in the concept of epistemic recuperation, and I define this as the recovery, retrieval, or rehashing of specific epistemic values and worldviews that are threatened by the postcolonial moment and its implication of epistemicide. Both Ojaide and Anyidoho belong to a generation of African poets that Senayon Olaoluwa describes as “second generation of Anglophone African

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poets.” Olaoluwa is not the first to refer to the writers in this sense. Scholars like Femi Osofisan (162), Funso Aiyejina (24), and Niyi Okunoye (64) have deployed names like “alternative tradition” or “second generation poets” to refer to writers in this group. However, Olaoluwa, following others who have described the poetry of this generation, accentuates the place of orality and performativity in their poetry (474–475). Through what he describes as the “poetics of simplicity,” Olaoluwa foregrounds the collusion of performance and orality in the style of the second-generation poets (479); however, he deemphasizes the peculiarity of orality in the writings of the second-generation poets in his bid to insert the works of the first-generation poets, described as Euro-modernist by the Bolekaja critics (Chinweizu et al. 163), into an indigenous epistemic order to which he ascribes “cultic lingo” (479). My contention is that the very form of written poetry in Africa stages epistemic violence against the oral tradition. The first-generation poets may have been aware of this violence and may have even, as Olaoluwa suggests, drawn from indigenous epistemic repertoires to resist the modernity of the form they worked with; but it is the second-generation poets that attempted to recover indigenous epistemic paradigms in the fabrication of a form of African poetry that is hybrid in many ways. One lens through which we can examine how African poets recover indigenous epistemes and recontextualize oral forms is through the verbal battle tradition. Many scholars have studied the verbal battle tradition in Africa, particularly in West Africa. These verbal battles, otherwise called songs of abuse, have been the subject of numerous theorizations from the perspective of anthropology, folklore, and oral literatures. Ruth Finnegan, one of the earliest theorists of African oral literature, explores the place of songs of abuse in her analysis of the political songs of Guinea in the 1950s. She emphasizes the utility of songs of abuse in the Guinean political context and reproduces a few examples (282). While she does not explicitly theorize the form, her exploration of its utility is significant. Other takes on the verbal battle tradition or song of abuse genre have been specific. Interestingly, Udje and Halo, the traditions that influence Ojaide and Anyidoho, respectively, have received much attention. John Pepper Clark’s theorization of the Udje dance poetry of the Urhobo is one of the earliest takes on verbal battle traditions in an academic sense. In his 1966 essay entitled “Another Kind of Poetry,” Clark submits that

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This poetry, also composed in the head with its due share of demonic possession, is not written down; nor is it directed at the eye. In other words, it is a poetry that does not depend on some celebrated system of caligraphics known as an alphabet, that magnificent cleric set-up without which no people, from the times of the Pharaohs to the present, can lay claim to any high civilization having for its chief shrine and repository a revelatory religion and a great body of writings or literature. From the engendering of the word to its rendering as a poem, this is poetry that is delivered by mouth and aimed at the ear to move the whole body. In place of paper, it relies for its propagation and preservation on performance and memory. (17)

Clark’s introduction of this form of poetry emphasizes its orality and innate difference from written poetic traditions. He positions this difference as something positive and worthy of attention. In terms of its epistemic value, he inserts his work into recent attempts to document and recover oral traditions in Africa. Describing the Udje “song-poetry” as an epistemic form, Clarke highlights its verbal battle function in his comment: “This then is topical poetry of social comment and inter-­community competition composed by the season.” (18). Although Clark’s focus is on revealing some of the aesthetic features of the tradition, his essay pioneered the study of a verbal battle tradition in Africa. Following Clark’s pioneering attempts, G.G. Darah explores satirical song-poetry in Africa and situates the Urhobo Udje in this genre. Interestingly, Darah’s theorization of the verbal battle tradition among the Urhobo utilizes Urhobo epistemic bases for conceptual categories. In many ways, his method foreshadowed Mignolo’s approach of changing the location of epistemic sources as a decolonial strategy. Darah identifies different forms of the verbal battle tradition among the Urhobo and justifies his theorization of these forms with the Udje corpus. Some of the forms he theorizes are the erhere, which involves peers, and the ekenharhon or otewarien, which involves serious adversaries (18–19). In connecting the Udje tradition with the cultural institution that it operates from, Darah asserts: “The supreme aim of Udje satire, therefore, is censure, a censure capable of causing the victims social and psychological discomfort. An Udje song that does not achieve this purpose is considered unsuccessful. Both the savagery of diction and the gross exaggeration of even minor misconducts characteristic of the songs are an expression of this central objective” (19). Here, Darah’s purpose is to unearth the adversarial nature of Udje, connecting it with a cultural licensing of verbal violence capable

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of inflicting real damage. In thinking of the Udje as cultural production, Darah comments: “The Urhobo conceive of the satirical song (ule ekan) as one in which the intention is to degrade and humiliate through words” (21). He further accentuates the roles of the verbal battle tradition in regulating the social life of the Urhobo and its ability to convey the epistemological and ontological systems of the culture. Similarly, Ojaide’s research into the Udje tradition emphasizes it as a satire based on insults. He quotes his interview with Chief Jonathan Mrakpo, “Wars and fights led to disputes, and the accompanying judgment led to udje. When there was a war or fight, one side won—the victorious group jubilated. In the process, the victorious sang songs about the defeated—they boasted about their prowess and the weakness of their opponents. When sung, the defeated got angry and retaliated with songs about the other group. Udje was the result of the retaliation of abusing who abused you” (48). What is accentuated here is that the Udje tradition has rivalry and warfare at its core, but over time the songs simply replaced or stood in the place of the violence that usually preceded them. Furthering this position, Ojaide comments that Udje later developed into a festival of songs and dance in a theatrical performance. It was arranged in such a way that once a year there was a festival of udje performance. One year one side sang about the other side, the following year the other side retaliated or responded to the earlier songs. The practice reined in raw emotions. It established order, as you had your turn to sing about the other side and also your turn to listen to songs about you from your rivals. In my research, I only heard of the other side described as rivals and not enemies. This is because of the acknowledgment that the performance is an artistic exhibition. (49)

Ojaide’s position foregrounds the regulatory function of Udje among the Urhobo. Beyond describing the content and form of the Udje battle tradition, Ojaide also demonstrates how the Urhobo epistemic order is inscribed in the tradition by treating themes of witchcraft, illness, aging, crime, etc. Of particular interest is the ascription of the decline in Udje performance to the rise of colonial modernity and its consequent capitalist regime. Darah emphasizes this in his suggestion that Udje’s decline can be traced to the increase of praise poetry, or ile ejiri, which became popular due to the new mobilities, urbanity, and commodity economy of the colonial and postcolonial Urhobo society (97). In essence, Urhobo

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song-­poetry became commercialized and functioned more as a commodity in the era of Western capitalist modernity instead of continuing its communitarian outlook. Ojaide also captures this in his comment that “colonialism and modernity with their attendant need of a money economy and Christianity worked against the modes of life that the songs and performance encouraged” (71). Both Ojaide and Darah agree that Udje contains an epistemic base ruptured by colonial modernity. The Halo song-poetry tradition of the Ewe people has also received much theorization. Kofi Agovi’s comparative take on Halo and Dirty Dozens foregrounds the centrality of verbal insult in Halo. In general terms, he asserts that “[t]he development of verbal insult in Ghanaian society is not unrelated to the speech peculiarities of language communities in the country” (6). This position confirms that insults or abuse play essential roles in how certain languages operate in Ghana. He demonstrates how speakers use innuendoes and other rhetorical devices to insult within the framework of languages that structure politeness. Regarding the Halo, he comments that “In the Ewe halo, poets are specially commissioned to dig ‘into the history of opposing groups for juicy bits about whose grandmother was a whore or whose grandfather built a wealth on stolen goods’” (11). Here, we can see the verbal battle tradition as an important aspect of the Ewe society, and in clear ways, similar to the Udje as an adversarial literary form. Like the Udje that was performed for entertainment, Agovi confirms that Halo’s primary aim is “to reconcile negative feelings and emotions through laughter and wit” (12). As a conveyor of epistemic values, Agovi comments that Halo is “deeply rooted in the culture as a creative tool for defining the moral priorities and sense of direction of the culture” (19). Here, the verbal battle tradition is not only a form of entertainment but a crucial regulator of being. Daniel K. Avorgbedor’s definition of Halo as a multimedia form that is characterized by “direct or comic forms of provocation, aggravation, and sung and spoken insults, which are sometimes exaggerated through dramatic enactments” (84), further situates it in the verbal battle tradition. Although he treats the form from a more musicological and performance-­ oriented perspective, he highlights the roles Halo plays in the Ewe society as a mediatory mechanism in situations like “wifetaking, interward marriage, and homicide through black magic” (88), thus positioning the form as a cultural way of addressing injustice and maintaining a certain level of morality. Corinna Campbell confirms some of Avorgbedor’s postulations of Halo’s nature, content, and form. However, she also foregrounds

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Halo’s utility in the transformation of what would be physical violence into verbal violence which in turn demands a verbal response (35). Furthermore, she accentuates the proverbial nature of Halo and comments that “a composer is expected to have command over a large catalogue of proverbs, traditional images and stories to help illustrate the song’s target” (37). The implication of this is that Halo is a deeply proverbial form, and as proverbs also carry crucial epistemic value, Halo is further enriched as cultural production. Both Avorgbedor and Campbell confirm that Halo was banned shortly after Ghanaian independence in 1962. Avorgbedor connects the ban with previous bans by colonial authorities (84), confirming its rupture by the epistemic violence of colonial modernity. Campbell complicates this timeline by asserting that colonial authorities banned haloga, the announcement of halo performances, in 1918 (12), implying that colonial measures of control and eradication were already in place before the total proscription in 1962. Like Udje, Halo suffered from the new sociopolitical and epistemic order of British colonialism and the subsequent postindependence coloniality. What writers like Ojaide and Anyidoho have done is to resist this coloniality by modeling their written poems after Udje and Halo in order to recover the epistemic values in them and use them to confront the realities of the postcolonial state. The written tradition, despite its strong colonial implication in West Africa, is ruptured by a type of orality that draws from traditions like Udje and Halo. Ojaide confirms this in his comment that There is a symbiotic relationship between the oral and the written in modern African poetry in which the poetic aim, vision, and practice have fused to produce a poetry that is distinctly oral though written. The oral character of written poetry is generally strong because of the vocal nature of its transmission, being essentially composed to be read aloud. This is more so in West Africa with a strong folkloric tradition which feeds these poets with stylistic models before and during their writing careers. (“Orality in Recent West African Poetry” 303)

Here, Ojaide thinks of written poetry as not only influenced by oral poetic forms but as writtenness with distinctive and inherent orality. African writers perform resistance against the overarching effects of colonial modernity by recovering oral traditions that faced proscription or decline due to the coloniality of power and knowledge.

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Ojaide’s In the Kingdom of Songs is divided into three segments. The first section, which I am primarily concerned with, has the name of the collection, and this title alludes to the Udje tradition where the Urhobo clans of Udu and Ughievwe are referred to as the kingdom of songs. The title is also performative in the sense that it speaks to the primacy of orality that Ojaide weaves into the collection and sets the stage for the poetics of the verbal battle tradition to come alive. In the foreword to the edition I have, Ojaide comments that “I conceived this series of poems when I was in Njgeria to collect udje dance songs in the summer of 1999. The Ughievwe and their close kins, the Udu, created and developed one of the most poetic and theatrical traditions in traditional Africa. With an array of poets like Oloya, Memerume, Okitiakpe, and Ope, among others, to deal with, I realized that I had entered the kingdom of songs.” Ojaide goes on to establish his rationale for this collection, and what is clear is his intention to position himself in the same tradition as the aforementioned poets. Here, Ojaide manifests what I describe as transtemporality. I use this word to describe a writer’s ability to move beyond the colonial or statist temporality, or as Benedict Anderson would phrase it, “homogenous time” (24). By invoking another temporality that correlates with orality, Ojaide moves beyond the temporality of the written poetic form he operates with and inserts his work into another temporal configuration that recovers the declining Udje tradition of the Urhobo. Ojaide’s transtemporality influences his paeans to Oloya and Ope in the poems “Oloya” and “Ope.” The former is a lyrical poem of three parts, with the first and third parts in unrhymed couplets and the second part in unrhymed tercets. The speaker inscribes his resistance to colonial modernity in the opening lines: I seek you through labyrinths of learning fields to sharpen my ears and tongues with resonance for who has sung well or heard melodies without listening to your ringing voice? I listen to the singers of the mapped world and find no voice that matches yours (In the Kingdom of Songs 6)

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Here, the speaker invokes auditory images through words like “ears,” “tongues,” “melodies,” and “ringing” and uses them to encode a sense of orality that is juxtaposed with the “labyrinths of learning fields.” This juxtaposition establishes the speaker’s resistance against the complexity of modernity and its writtenness. The rhetorical question in the excerpt also inscribes the primacy of orality and follows the Udje invocatory tradition where poet-singers invoke Aridon or Uhangwa, the god of memory (Ojaide, “Poetry, Performance, and Art” 52), or show respect to well-­ established singers. The speaker further reveals the sense of transtemporality by circumventing the “singers of the mapped world,” with the image of “mapped world” alluding to the global world-system that is built on the logic of colonial modernity and neoliberal capitalism, and instead recovers Oloya, a performer of the Udje verbal battle tradition, as his source of inspiration. In the third part of the poem, the speaker emphasizes the song nature of the poem through transtemporality: “Every song must come to a pause, if not stop / & for now I place near-hand my ivory trumpet” // The world ululates for the bride / & we install the king of songs to serve with songs” (9). Here, the poem configures Oloya as a “bride” and a “king of songs” to accentuate the tradition from which Ojaide works. Furthermore, the materiality of the text is ruptured by the speaker’s description of the poem as a “song” that is accompanied by the “ivory trumpet,” symbolic of royal song performances. All these images encode what Chike Okoye, following Ezenwa-Ohaeto, aptly terms as the “poetics of orality,” especially in the context of how the text takes up the “terra, flora, and fauna characteristic” (135) of oral poetic traditions, and in this case, the Udje tradition. By locating Oloya as a master maestro to whom obeisance and honor must be paid, Ojaide inscribes an epistemic order that faced hegemonic attack. Similar to “Oloya,” Ojaide’s “Ope” demonstrates transtemporality in its recovery of the Udje form and the maestro figure, Ope. Through the interplay of past and present tenses, the speaker encodes the poem’s attunement with the older Udje form despite its decline in the contemporary moment. The speaker also carves an image of one who is recovering that which is lost through the performance of orality and a romanticization of the Udje as a cultural production: “Today I heard your patented songs / from Kpekpetuke’s unrehearsed mouth, / after stopping in dozens of places / to taste what poets have to offer” (11). In these lines, the speaker inscribes dual temporalities: a present of “Today” and a past which is seen

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both in the tense “heard” and the orality encoded in the word and the “unrehearsed mouth.” It appears then that the speaker is aware of the decline of Udje and stages a performance that recovers the tradition from the realities of the present. The allusion to Aridon midway in the poem also implicates Udje aesthetics. Elsewhere, Ojaide comments on the place of Aridon in Udje: “The poet serves Aridon, the god of memory and the muse; the performer also serves Aridon, but more so Uhaghwa. Aridon requires an individual’s service or sacrifice to have inspiration and also retentive memory. Thus both poet and performer seek Aridon’s virtues, one for poetic inspiration and fertile memory; the other for retentive memory in the performance” (“Poetry, Performance, and Art” 51–52). Here, Aridon is positioned as the patron god of Udje poets, and it is in line with this that the speaker in “Ope” says, “The songs bubble with zeal that / Aridon bestows on most favoured” (11). Although he mentions Aridon here to assert Ope’s mastery of the form, it is also performative in how it recovers the centrality of Aridon to the Udje tradition and the form in which he operates. Furthermore, the poem’s transtemporality reveals the importance of the verbal battle tradition even while subtly lamenting its decline: I now know why after your death, in the bush an assembly of spirits entertain themselves with your songs & farmers come to town to report your invisible conductor’s adulation. What lilting voices, these imitators of your inimitable voice of flavours! (11)

In this excerpt, the speaker emphasizes not just the artistry of Ope but also the centrality of the verbal battle tradition. By redirecting attention to the “assembly of spirits” and “farmers,” Ojaide inscribes the ontological basis of the Urhobo and how art mediates this ontology. This is in light of how Udje performers acknowledge and establish the co-presence of the metaphysical and physical in their songs. In the last two lines, the speaker satires the “imitators,” alluding to the rise of modern performers who usurp Udje aesthetic features for praise-singing, with wealthy merchants as their primary focus. Here a subtle critique is staged against this new colonial modernity-influenced form that is, at best, a blatant imitation of a declining form.

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In “Kingdom Of Songs,” Ojaide critiques the capitalist modernity that obliterated the Udje verbal battle tradition. This poem has the form and tenor of the Udje tradition, especially in terms of its satirical form, conversational style, and ironic undertone. The speaker is an Udje performer who hurls verbal abuse at another singer even while foregrounding aspects of the people’s cultural ethos: At Okpari I chatted with the leader of songs who, to escape penury, renounced his engaging call for the renegade mission of quick money-returns. He blamed modernity, not himself, for the poor choice. Once he composed a beautiful song, undeniably about his brother though he tagged it with a rival town’s name he didn’t sing out this sort of song that incited poison. But he sang out a childless relation, the only child who blew away the mountain inherited from parents – the abused cousin raised a machete against him, but singers and spectators saved him from execution. (12)

In this excerpt, the speaker addresses two issues: the enabling atmosphere of colonial modernity that makes it easier for Udje performers to follow the lure of “quick money-returns,” and the use of Udje by some performers to serve other interests instead of what it was meant to do. In presenting these issues, the poem becomes transtemporal and takes the form of Udje, with its speaker as an Udje performer (obo-ile) who launches an attack at a rival performer. This verbal battle is an attempt to recover the Udje tradition from the path of obliteration, and in doing it, the poem’s form becomes performative in the way it responds to the decline of Udje by staging Udje. Some typical themes of Udje are also present in the poem. In his “Poetry, Performance, and Art,” Ojaide notes that “Witchcraft is a common subject of udje dance songs. Individuals or families who have lost people in abnormal circumstances are accused of bewitching their relatives and causing their death. This theme is so commonplace that udje songs sometimes look like satirical dirges, because death is often involved” (55). Enajite Eseoghene Ojaruega also accentuates this point in her comment that “The Urhobo also believe in the supernatural. For example, that witches operate in their coven world to cause mischief or harm to those they are envious of. However, they can be countered by acts of good living

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or traditional medicines prepared to fortify one mystically” (141). We can glean from these comments that the notion of witchcraft has epistemic value among the Urhobo, and this value is encoded in the Udje verbal battle tradition through its adversarial form as well as in its content. Ojaide presents this theme in referring to the attacks that the “leader of songs” received: “He survived daily threats by grace of his mother / who deactivated charms and spells against him” (In the Kingdom of Songs 12). These lines inscribe the epistemic value of witchcraft that would typically be transmitted in the Udje song-poem, further inserting the poem into a transtemporal matrix. The final lines of the poem use the trope of abuse and satire to present the object of the verbal battle as one who gave up the true art of Udje to pursue the type of glory associated with the regime of colonial modernity and its monetary lure: Now chief, not of his native kingdom of songs but by virtue of coral beads, name-inscribed fan and red hat, he lights up recounting his practising days as a poet when not this caricature but the real king of songs; poor but so loved, people covered him with their bodies. (12)

In this excerpt, Ojaide employs the image of “coral beads” to symbolize the affluence that comes with the capitalism of the modern system, and he juxtaposes this image with an older image of the humble poet who finds pleasure and contentment in their vocation regardless of material benefits. In essence, he foregrounds two temporalities: before the widespread commodification of song-poetry and its epistemic value and after the epistemic violence of colonial modernity. True to the transtemporal nature of the poem, Ojaide prioritizes the older, original order through his speaker’s stance and tone. Kofi Anyidoho’s poems reveal how aesthetics can be transtemporal in how it recovers the past to address the present. Okunoye corroborates this point in his assertion that “Even though the halo tradition may have suffered serious decline among the people due to its official proscription, it remains a major type of poetry which continues to impact the work of some modern Ewe poets that employ English” (“We too Sing” 92). Here, Okunoye locates modern poets of Ewe extraction like Anyidoho and Kofi Awoonor in the Halo tradition. However, he also stresses that Anyidoho does not merely undertake an “unproblematic transference of indigenous

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practices” but is driven by the need for “contextual adaptation” (109). Anyidoho himself confirms how the Halo tradition is reconfigured in the poetry of Kofi Awoonor by redirecting the object of insult from the rival wards and “perverted individuals” to “most of our contemporary world” as well as changing the form to deemphasize “physical imperfections” (“Song of Abuse” 95). Just like Awoonor, Anyidoho has also altered the nature of Halo in his poetry to suit contemporary needs. Instead of individuals and wards, Anyidoho’s insults are directed at corrupt leaders and those who are complicit in creating social malaise. Instead of abuses based on one’s appearance, Anyidoho’s insults lean more toward the object’s personality and morality. In essence, he recovers Halo but puts it to other uses that speak to the needs of contemporary society. Anyidoho’s transformation of the Halo verbal battle form into a tool for social commentary is evident in “Oath of Destiny.” Okunoye’s insightful reading of the poem deserves to be reproduced at length: Anyidoho, in the spirit of the halo, decries the inconsistency in the principle and practice of Christianity in Africa, underscoring the implications of this for the moral health of society. He asserts the moral superiority of the indigenous African religious order. To suggest the failure of the Euro-Christian ethical system, he underscores its inability to modify the conduct of erring Ghanaian leaders who profess Christianity and the fact that its seeming lack of the retributive potency that energizes the indigenous religio-ethical order renders it irrelevant. The ravage visited on the traditional religious system through the tragic incursion of the colonial establishment (the religious wing of which the Christian mission was) then becomes a constant reminder of an enduring loss. The poem at once bewails the loss of an old order and decries the corrupting influence of the new. (102–103)

Even though Okunoye’s focus is not on the epistemic recovery of Halo or other indigenous systems, his thoughts indicate the way writers can stage “epistemic disobedience,” as Mignolo (44) puts it, by critiquing the colonial and statist establishment of modernity. Similar to Okunoye, I read Anyidoho’s “Oath of Destiny” as a resistance of modernity in the way it imbues its addressee with the trappings of coloniality. Significantly, this addressee is not just an epistemic regime but also representative of the oppressive leaders who perpetuate epistemic and physical violence against the people. Describing the home-grown epistemic violators, the speaker says, “they perch upon the parapets, these renegade sons of our soil, / hurling profanities at the pedlars of decency / pouring vulgarity into the

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council chambers of the moralists” (A Harvest 60). The speaker’s sense of oral immediacy is inscribed through the run-on lines and building up of images, and Halo is encoded in the negative or adversarial position and tone of the speaker. Further building on this, the speaker continues: You cover your rotten sores with borrowed velvet robes, coat your diseased teeth with stolen gold, and walk our corridors with the Bible on your tongue, selling the gospel for weekly collections of silver. […] Your mouth you wash thrice a day, but your bowels you never purge, and our air stinks with the stench from your guts. (60)

The use of “You” here creates a sense of oral immediacy, and the insults that are body-oriented like “rotten sores,” “diseased teeth,” and the stench from the “guts” demonstrate the poem’s transtemporality in their encoding of Halo’s style of abuse that focuses on the body. However, unlike the original Halo, the poem’s referent is not one person but a group of oppressors who wield colonial, statist, and capitalist modernity as a weapon against the people and their epistemic order. In the following stanzas, the speaker juxtaposes “Chukwu” with “Jehovah,” and invokes “Oduduwa,” “Obatala,” “Xebieso,” and “Sakpana” to resist the oppressors and inflict damage. Here, the poet employs Halo’s form and its epistemic value to confront the apparent epistemicide led by the forces of modernity. In “Ghosts,” Anyidoho uses the symbolism of ghosts to configure the image of tyrants and the oppressive modern system. A poem of four stanzas of unequal lengths, the first lines accentuate the negative position of the speaker, encoded in a collective voice, and positions it against the ghosts: “[A] thousand ghosts haunt our soul in birth waters / this life would drown in blood / hammer falls on anvil of / this head, calabash cracks” (A Harvest 68). Here, the negative consciousness of the speaker accentuates the need for a verbal battle where the speaker must confront the “thousand ghosts” and all the attacks that are presented. In resisting the invasion of the ghosts, which I read here as an attack on an older epistemic order by colonial and statist modernity, the speaker carves the image of the attackers:

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they stole our sleep in a daylight siege and in our brief madness we exchanged lullabies for anguished cries we were away on the farm when prowlers of night sneaked into our pillows oh they would ambush our sleep and strangle our dream the vampires! I saw them (68)

Here, we can discern the poem’s Halo nature through its simplicity and run-on lines, creating the effect of speech. The use of “they” also encodes the object of insults into the poem, and verbs like “stole,” “sneaked,” and “strangle” construct the object of verbal abuse as criminals who operate with violence. These constructions are essential in thinking about the attack not only in terms of physical abuse but also epistemic abuse, and the image of being away “on the farm” further inscribes the epistemic dualities here: on the one hand, the speaker clings to an order that is not alien to the Ewe society through the image of the “farm,” and on the other hand, the attacker is described as a “vampire,” accentuating not just violence but extraction, the type associated with capitalist modernity. The speaker in this poem recovers Halo’s speech patterns and modalities to resist physical and epistemic violence. Significantly, the verbal battle here is not based on direct insults but on extended metaphors and images that suit the context of the text. Similarly, Anyidoho’s transtemporality is evident in “Finale for Evil Ones.” Here, the poetics of Halo is employed to direct insult at sham trials organized by the state to prosecute those accused of treason and “eliminate legitimate dissent and play out underlying ethnic conflicts” (Okunoye 106). In the same vein as “Ghosts,” this poem is conversational and uses run-on lines to establish its orality. In this poem of seven stanzas of unequal lines, the speaker is a collective voice, echoing the collective nature of Halo song-poetry. In the first few lines of the poem, the speaker deploys images of the body to represent the oppressor and oppressed: The heart of our father is an open casket of free pardons The ache of our jaw would be appeased with a sacrificial extraction of raging canine teeth

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Teeth of gold are false but they are decorations to a mouth fouled by belch of ill-digested feasts (70)

In this excerpt, the body images of “heart,” “jaw,” “teeth,” and “mouth” are used symbolically to represent aspects of the oppressor and the oppressed. The first two lines of the excerpt metaphorically liken the heart of “our father” to an “open casket,” conjuring the image of death or destruction and positioning the “father” as an emblem of oppression. This image is further crystallized with the metaphor “the ache of our jaw,” referring to the oppressive father. The “raging canine teeth” conjure resistance and encode the oppressed in the context of the tribunal, hence their “sacrificial extraction.” The metaphor “teeth of gold” inscribes the image of wealth and opulence and refers to the oppressive father. We can see how human body parts are used to assert certain features and to insult the oppressor. We can compare the way the insults work in this poem with another Halo poem that Awoonor translated: She with the jaw-bone of a cow Falling upon her chest like sea-egret’s beak Her waist is flat, earlobes hanging, oversize intestines. It was you who took my affairs to Sokpe and asked him to sing against me (cited in Anyidoho “Song of Abuse” 91).

Although the insult is far more direct in this excerpt, we can observe the use of body parts in the verbal battle. In Anyidoho’s poem, body parts do not simply refer to an individual’s physical features, but they are personified and employed to metaphorize the condition of the Ghanaian people. The place of irony, humor, and hyperbole cannot be ignored. In the fourth stanza of the poem, the speaker reveals a man in the “witness box” who “tells of how his blood-brother / sharpened a dozen new matchets / swore to shave heads of state / he claimed had grown unwieldy on our shoulder” (70). Here, the speaker’s ironic tone and the exaggeration of the entire situation enhance the humor. However, the purpose is to draw attention to the resistance strategy of the people who have been invited to testify and confess at the kangaroo courts. What Ojaide’s and Anyidoho’s poems demonstrate is that African writers are interested in recovering indigenous epistemic values and oral forms that have faced various threats and systematic eliminations by the forces of

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modernity. The verbal battle tradition is a rich repertoire of Urhobo and Ewe cultures and traditions, and both suffered greatly in our modern and postcolonial moment. By modeling their poems to resemble the declined song-poetry traditions, they reveal a transtemporality that recovers the past and its epistemic values even as they apply them to present society. Indeed, the very act of resisting the written poetic tradition by encoding orality into it is significant and performative. Udje and Halo are no longer performed as they were, but they exist nonetheless in the written tradition, and their very presence in this form is a kind of epistemic resistance. Although both forms are different and indeed both poets, Ojaide and Anyidoho, utilize the poetics of the verbal battle tradition in varying degrees, they are both noteworthy in the recent effort to rethink epistemic decolonization and resistance, especially in the domain of decoloniality studies.

Works Cited Agovi, Kofi. “Black American Dirty Dozens and the Tradition of Verbal Insult in Ghana.” Institute of African Studies Research Review, vol. 3, no. 1, Jan. 1987, pp.  1–23. journals.co.za (Atypon), https://doi.org/10.10520/ AJA19852007_16. Aiyejina, Funso. “Recent Nigerian Poetry in English: A Critical Survey.” Kunapipi, vol. 9, no. 24–36, 1987, p. 15. Anderson, Benedict Richard O’Gorman. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Verso, 1991. Anyidoho, Kofi. A Harvest of Our Dreams: With Elegy for the Revolution. Hienemann Educational Booms, 1984. ———. “Kofi Awoonor and the Ewe Tradition of Songs of Abuse (Halo).” Ghanaian Literatures, edited by Richard Priebe, Greenwood Press, 1988, pp. 87–102. Avorgbedor, Daniel K. “Freedom to Sing, License to Insult: The Influence of Haló Performance on Social Violence Among the Anlo Ewe.” ORAL TRADITION, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 83–112. Campbell, Corinna. “A War of Words: Halo Songs of Abuse Among the Anlo Ewe.” African Diaspora ISPs, Apr. 2002, https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/ african_diaspora_isp/44. Chinweizu, et al. Toward the Decolonization of African Literature: African Fiction and Poetry and Their Critics. KPI, 1985. Clark, John Pepper. “Another Kind of Poetry.” Transition, no. 25, 1966, pp. 17–22. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2934279.

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Darah, G.  G. Battles of Songs: Udje Tradition of the Urhobo. Malthouse Press Limited, 2005. Ezenwa-Ohaeto. “Orality and the Craft of Modern Nigerian Poetry: Osundare’s Waiting Laughters and Udechukwu’s What the Madman Said.” African Languages and Cultures, vol. 7, no. 2, Jan. 1994, pp.  101–19. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1080/09544169408717780. Finnegan, Ruth. “Oral Literature in Africa.” Oral Literature in Africa, Open Book Publishers, 2014. OpenEdition Books, http://books.openedition. org/obp/1154. Mignolo, Walter. “Epistemic Disobedience and the Decolonial Option: A Manifesto.” TRANSMODERNITY: Journal of Peripheral Cultural Production of the Luso-Hispanic World, vol. 1, no. 2, 2011, pp. 44–66. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.5070/T412011807. Odueme, Edoama Frances. “Orality, Memory and the New African Diaspora Poetry: Examining Tanure Ojaide’s Poetics.” Afrika Focus, vol. 32, no. 1, Feb. 2019, pp. 149–58. brill.com, https://doi.org/10.1163/2031356X-­03201010. Ojaide, Tanure. In the Kingdom of Songs: A Trilogy of Poems, 1995–2000. Africa World Press, 2002. ———. “Orality in Recent West African Poetry.” CLA Journal, vol. 39, no. 3, 1996, pp. 302–19. ———. “Poetry, Performance, and Art: ‘Udje’ Dance Songs of Nigeria’s Urhobo People.” Research in African Literatures, vol. 32, no. 2, 2001, pp. 44–75. Ojaruega, Enajite Eseoghene. “The Place of Urhobo Folklore in Tanure Ojaide’s Poetry.” Tydskrif Vir Letterkunde, vol. 52, no. 2, 2015, pp. 138–58. SciELO, https://doi.org/10.4314/TVL.V52I2.10. Okoye, Chike. “A Practical Poetics for Orality: Nnabuenyi Ugonna’s ‘Igidi’ and Ezenwa-Ohaeto’s Poetics and The Voice of the Night Masquerade.” Research in African Literatures, vol. 52, no. 1, 2021, pp. 127–38. Okunoye, Oyeniyi. “‘We Too Sing’: Kofi Anyidoho and Ewe Poetic Traditions in Elegy for The Revolution.” The Journal of Commonwealth Literature, vol. 40, no. 1, Mar. 2005, pp.  91–111. SAGE Journals, https://doi. org/10.1177/0021989405050667. ———. “Writing Resistance: Dissidence and Visions of Healing in Nigerian Poetry of the Military Era.” Tydskrif Vir Letterkunde, vol. 48, no. 1, Sept. 2011, pp. 64–86. Olaoluwa, Senayon S. “From Simplicity to Performance: The Place of Second Generation Anglophone African Poets.” English Studies, vol. 89, no. 4, Aug. 2008, pp.  461–81. Taylor and Francis+NEJM, https://doi. org/10.1080/00138380802011891. Osofisan, Femi. “The Alternative Tradition: A Survey of Nigerian Literature In English Since The Civil War.” Présence Africaine, no. 139, 1986, pp. 162–84.

CHAPTER 15

The Creativity of Abuse: Power, Song and the ‘Authority of Insults’ in Zimbabwean Music, Post 2017 Maurice Taonezvi Vambe

Introduction: Literature Review and Theoretical Framework Early scholarly work on African music in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) was inspired by the desire to understand and control African agency (Tracey 3; Berliner 5; and Kauffman 1973). However, Songs that Won the Liberation War shifted the emphasis towards appreciating the role songs played during the liberation struggle (Pongweni 1). The creative ambiguities between Zimbabwean African nationalism, cosmopolitanism and music showed that music did not always affirm authoritarian tendencies within African nationalism (Turino 8; Chikowero 10). The exclusive focus on the partisan nature of Chimurenga music also tends to underestimate nuanced

M. T. Vambe (*) Department of English Studies, University of South Africa (UNISA), Pretoria, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_15

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understandings of contestations over power between ZANU PF and oppositional political parties in Zimbabwe (Vambe 7; Musvoto 13). In addition, some critical studies engage intertextual confrontations between indigenous and Christian-inspired musical traditions (Chitando 121). Recent scholarly work on Zimbabwean songs explore musical border-­ crossing traditions in the creative output of young artists called the Urban Grooves (Amoros and Vambe 6). Thus, these academic studies have tended to shape an appreciation of songs along thematic perspectives (Mutero 56). This said, the scholarship is useful in that it informs old and new readers’ understanding of cultural, socio-economic and political issues that inspired or affected singers’ imaginations. Some scholarship on Zimbabwean songs draw attention to language to show in what ways it is an independent cultural resource, constituted by aesthetic codes and conventions through which it generates meaning that exceeds the specific aim of artists when delivering a message. Kahari (79–101) generalises when he describes Zimbabwean songs as protest songs. The means and the linguistic resources and forms of protest sensibilities that manifest through songs are left unexplored. To rectify this, I expand Parkin’s concept of the creativity of abuse (1) using songs from Zimbabwe as the unit of analysis. I emphasise and elucidate the notion of the content of form in cultural studies (White 5). Without unduly undervaluing a thematic approach, I demonstrate that what is abusive and insulting in songs tends to arise from skilful linguistic manipulations. When language becomes the object of attention and is viewed as reproducible in contexts beyond their original contexts, style in songs becomes the creative dimension enabling songs to be interpreted in ways that exceed the specific aims of any individual artist, while inscribing ‘a virtual implied audience’ (Mosoti 17). Songs of abuse and insult demarcate their contestants flexibly as “alternatives to actual struggles” (ibid., 18), amongst singers, between state griots and independent singers, and within the enclaves of singers and the masses. Abuse and insult may manifest through expletives and vituperative language. However, they can be retrieved in voice, sound and scat vocals through which sound and polysemy can generate unexpected surplus meanings that mock tyrants beyond their expectations (Rwafa 152–159). An explication of what constitutes abuse and insult can begin with a consideration of musical performance as motivated by a spirit of competition and embedded notions of conflict, contest and resolution through songs. Caricaturising excess through irony, sarcasm and innuendo can convey patterns of meanings that hegemonic discourses might not be

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prepared to counteract. Structures of uneven feelings in songs of abuse and insult may reside in “obscene insults, poetic sauciness, sensationalism and exaggerations in musical performances that foreground scandal or the promise of scandal” (Mosoti 17). However, occasions of the coronation of a chief and some ritual contexts of rainmaking ceremonies permit women and other subalterns to mock authorities within the limited confines of the ritual event (Vambe 93–110; Ngara 81). Artists’ manipulation of performance and audience is key to delivering abusive insults. I reconsider how a range of contestants can impose themselves as the voices to be heard ‘when not themselves a theme of popular song whether of loyalty or protest’ (Mbembe 155). That is, while independent artists can inseminate verbal and tonal inflections in their songs to effectively scandalise tyrants, the same tyrants can deploy both the power of the word to insult and the power of the state ideological apparatus (police, army) to suppress singers.

Methodology Many of the songs used for this study were accessed through the technological WhatsApp platform where individuals circulate new songs and improvise with old songs with minimum policing from officials. WhatsApp platforms can be cheaper and tend to encourage individual and group consumption of musical lyrics in real time. Most importantly, through WhatsApp the distinction between composer and receiver can be blurred. Receivers of posted songs can improvise on existing text, twist or add a new dimension to recreate the same song to make it address prevailing social challenges. There is a democratising aspect to songs circulating on WhatsApp. At a rhetorical level, the use of caricature/comic, profane language and sharp rebuke provides a social commentary avenue to artists who experience the shrinking of public spaces of leisure and critical reflection about their being-ness in the world. Some songs composed before 2017 were used to support my perspective, which is that musical texts can generate surplus meanings in new contexts of cultural consumption that differ amongst audiences. An interdisciplinary theoretical perspective can encourage listening otherwise. This is a concept that focalises words, voice, noise, sound, repetition and dissonance (Attali 20) in comprehending popular musical discourses.

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Traditions of Protest Song in Post-Independence Zimbabwe Rural and urban contexts in Zimbabwe tend to afford female singers avenues to oppose mothers-in-law seeking to dominate young women. Songs of abuse and insult composed by freedom fighters at training camps in Mozambique and Tanzania tend to be more open than those of singers inside the belly of Rhodesian censorship in their methods of insulting their opponents. Unfortunately, songs by both freedom fighters and internal artists are yet to reconsider the tendency to project the overwhelming suffering of people as motivation to frame the struggle as a moment of against and not necessarily for something new. Despite this shortcoming, songs in post-independence Zimbabwe are verbal battlefields, ‘replete with direct and blunt insults with instances of allegoric and allusive constructions’ (Mosoti 28). That said, scholarly analyses of traditions of protest songs in Zimbabwe continue to underestimate voice, tone, altered harmonies, irregular rhythms, non-tempered sounds, polyrhythms and scat vocals as useful for meaning making at the point of the audience’s consumption of musical insults (Heble 51). Little has been theorised on songs whose sense of abuse and insult is composed without mentioning tyrants by name. Such songs can sidestep frames of reference potentially infiltrated by dominant structures of feeling and thinking. An imagined romantic, idyllic and arcadian existence could be effective in insulting power because the flight of fancy in such songs decapitates the consciousness of the existence of a tyrant even when that song is inspired by hellish conditions created by autocrats. Songs that remember how to abuse and insult seem to derive their staying power from personifying what exists or is yet to germinate.

Songs of Abuse and Insulting: Playing ‘Dambudzo Wandinetsa’ in Zimbabwe Post the 2017 Coup On 14 October 2019, the Zimbabwe Broadcast Corporation banned the playing of Leonard Dembo’s song of 2006, Dambudzo Wandinetsa, (2006) in public spaces. The song recalls and personifies ‘Dambudzo’— the Shona word for ‘trouble’—as a man/woman who is invasive, violent and anti-­ social. Dambudzo forces himself/herself into other people’s homes and destabilises the peace of the homestead. He/she worsens the poverty in the home of the singer, leaving him with ‘no home, his wife with no decent clothes to wear.’ Deprived of dignity by Dambudzo-poverty—the

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singer bemoans ‘staying in a hostel where he abuses himself with the lungburning Skindo, or Kachasu beer’ and ‘pawns his trousers.’ Dambudzo’s braggadocio is extreme; he/she invaded the singer’s home and intends to occupy it for as long as he/she wants. Dambudzo has also entered the singer’s pocket, emptying it of money and Dambudzo intends to ensure that there is never any money in the singer’s penniless pocket. Why would government officials feel insulted by a 2006 song that criticises poverty in the lives of ordinary people? ‘Dambudzo,’ the bringer of poverty in the song, echoes President Mnangagwa’s middle name, which happens to be Dambudzo. Poverty and president are collapsed into one in the song’s new audience. In 2017, the audience’s Dambudzo in the song deposed Mugabe, manipulated the constitution, captured the economy, shrunk the little ‘democratic space’ enjoyed by the masses, forbade freedom of speech and ruined the singer’s prospects of a better tomorrow. This is the context in which contestations over the meaning of power are mocked and insulted by independent artists whose songs circulating on the WhatsApp platform became openly offensive against Mnangagwa’s administration.

Electoral Fraud and Violation of Rule of Law As if to stage a military coup was not enough violation of norms of democracy, on 31 July 2018 some Zimbabwean soldiers shot six ordinary people protesting delays in announcing results from the harmonised elections. Furthermore, on 1 August 2019 soldiers also killed people and wounded many protesting decline in citizens’ purchasing power. In addition, activists who volunteered to clean Harare’s marara were harassed by some officials and many artists were shocked by government’s insensitivity. Through the song, ‘Marara,’ Taffy Theman objects to the physical intimidation of social activists working for the social good of the city. The song describes the dirty (marara) as the prime cause of serious stomach ailments like cholera. Since the marara (the dirty) are emusangano (belonging to the ZANU PF party), the song insinuates that ZANU PF is itself marara. Some members of civil society and opposition political parties saw themselves as the new and democratic broom needed to sweep ZANU PF into a political dustbin. The above song’s authority to rebuke and insult government and municipal officials derives from its capacity to remember and indirectly reference the crackdown on people during the notorious Operation

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Murambatsvina of 2005. Then, citizens were scornfully described as human maggots and throwaway people. Operation Murambatsvina was carried out in the cold month of July 2005 and resulted in the destruction of ordinary people’s livelihoods (Vambe 5). It is in this politically volatile context in which Sulumane Chimbetu amplifies the metaphor of dirty and depicts Zimbabwe as a diseased country. In Chimbetu’s ‘Chirwere,’ (2021) the military coup that took place in Zimbabwe on 16 November 2017 is described as taboo and associated with Chisi. The taboo or cultural transgression the song challenges is that soldiers installed Mnangagwa in the month of November (Mbudzi). To some Shona-speaking people, neither marriage nor installation of chiefs can be performed in this month. Thus, Mnangagwa’s authority is de-legitimated because it has no cultural resonance with ordinary people’s cultural observances. Therefore, in the artists’ creative imagination, ‘November 2017, a month with potentially game-changing political events … later turned out to be game-­maintenance events’ (Masunungure 53).

Necro Politics and Necrophilia in Zimbabwe, Post-2017 ‘Creativity of abuse’ (Parkin 45) is a fluid concept. Artists loyal to ZANU PF have appropriated and manipulated it to their advantage. In ‘Hatinyari’ (We have no Shame), some youths affiliated to ZANU PF intimidate many citizens by suggesting that those who would not re-elect Mnangagwa as President of Zimbabwe in 2023 would be beaten until they ‘shit’ in their pants. Nelson Chamisa, leader of Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC) is intimidated and warned to not challenge President Mnangagwa. The rhetoric of violence coded in language that intimidates and insult citizens was also expressed in the lyrics of Mai VaDhikondo’ (Maudza 2019) ‘Sendekera’ (Tambaoga 2011) and ‘Nora’ (Manyika 2005). In these songs, ordinary white farmers and black peasants are derided as human waste and dispensable. Despite threats of reprisal from ZANU PF youth, independent artists cleverly use their songs to demarcate ruling elites and ordinary people as contestants over control of the country’s resources. In some songs, the embittered and strained relationship between government officials and the people is framed in terms of ‘them’ and ‘us.’ This imaginative strategy is calculated to manifest “the double-edged nature of poetic insults” that hurt the target while offering infinite pleasure to onlookers (Anyidoho

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237). ‘PATATI PATATA’ uses irony and satire to mock the new leader, named as ‘Emmerson Mnangagwa, Number 1.’ What it is about the new leader for which he is described as number 1 is unfolded in the line that simultaneously praises and denounces the new leader. On one hand, his ‘Scarf’ and Hurumende (government) are described as good (yakanaka). Yet, the moment citizens criticise Mnangagwa’s political heavy hand, he unleashes his security forces and people get hurt (unokuvara). In the song, soldiers and ‘boys’ in plainclothes administer Mambama (slaps) to discipline and punish restless citizens. The vocabulary of death (uchandiuraya) is linked to the new military leader. The frightened artist chides, ridicules disproportionate power of the leader and warns the new leader of untold suffering. Were citizens going to lay hands on the new military leader, he ‘shall also shit in pain’ (uchamama). Referencing a new leader with the anal cavity identifies him with stench from the anus (mhata). In some Shona cultures, this mhata/anus is the ‘accused organ and sign of abjection … it represents not only a potential zone of entrapment, but also the principle of opacity and boldly anarchy’ (Mbembe 202). Nothing can be more abusive and insulting than likening a leader’s political immorality to the anus. Artists who use insults as ‘alternatives to actual battles’ (Mosoti 19) tend to use metaphors that evoke contexts that generally foreground the use of scandal or the promise of scandal in public displays. This linguistic strategy is calculated to hurt the adversary even more in the eyes of the curious audience. However, where and when communicating messages considered sensitive by censors poses a challenge for the artists, some songs of abuse can imagine an active audience capable of supplying the pretextual context to a new song. In ‘Tsvimbo yaBhobho’, a megalomaniac individual wants to exhume the remains of a dead president/human being identified as Bhobho. It is left to the audience to create links or associate Bhobho with Robert Mugabe. The shameless individual urges his quislings to dig up Bhobho’s grave to gain access to Tsvimbo yaBhobho. This Tsvimbo is believed to have occult and magical powers. The morally reprehensible individual is irrational because he believes that with this Tsvimbo as his talisman, he would be able to correct the distortions of the economy that he has caused. The song’s imagery of necromancy, necrophilia and the absurd vison directs the audience to adopt pathos mixed with laughter and outright contempt for this individual whose inane mind is atrophied by supernatural powers with which he wants to gain power.

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‘Tsvimbo yaBhobho’ is a creative exemplar of a song of abuse that stings repugnant appetites that have reached insane proportions. The insult is not in the use of expletives, because there are none in the song. But the song highlights bizarre longings of the underworld where zombies rule. There is no mention of the name of this monster individual. But the audience can make inferences that the individual voice that seeks to control the spiritual world of the ordinary people seems to be that of Emmerson Mnangagwa. Not only did he come into presidency through a military coup—a fact that affronted people’s sense of what is just and democratic. What is repugnant to the audience about this morally depraved individual are the imagined inflationary powers he wishes to possess. Once in control of the Tsvimbo (knobkerry), he would use it to beat up (kuirovesa maenemy) citizens and subdue his enemies both in ZANU PF and in the opposition parties (Ndobva ndati pasi nemhandu). The sado-masochistic leader born of a military coup is not satisfied with merely beating citizens who dissent. This leader who wants to see citizens and enemies suffer painfully knows that to use occult powers dug up from the grave of his master he dethroned is itself wicked. This leader wishes to amplify the creativity of wickedness by salt (munyu) to the Tsvimbo to enhance its stinging effect on citizens. This is the height of the creativity of abuse the perverted individual can perform. When this crazy leader achieves his initial goal to become president, he indulges in conspicuous consumption and moral laxity.

From the Economy of Affection to Economy of Disaffection Hyden has suggested that an ‘economy of affection’ is constituted by “a network of support, communications and interaction among structurally defined groups of people, connected by blood, kin community or other affiliation, for example, religion” (Hyden 3). An affective economy survives on the back of the capture of the state and judiciary, dismantling and weakening of the state. However, the economy of affection has both costs and benefits to the leadership. That is to say that an economy of affection can give way to disenchanted individuals who can stand up to its excesses. As noted by Tokuori (1), ‘[T]hrough its [formal] and informal institutions, the economy of affection facilitates business transactions … fosters

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networking … [but also] encourages relatives and friends to become dependent on entrepreneurs and limits their chances of succeeding’. In other words, the emergence of monster rulers appears to be the condition of possibilities of songs that relentlessly mock excesses by new government officials who strip national resources. ‘Tionesane Vakuru’ mocks the ‘new’ Zimbabwe ushered in 2017. In this new Zimbabwe, some ZANU PF officials politically consort with some fringe members of the reactionary and notorious Madzakutsaku (Pfumo reropa). Their economic policies appear anti-people. Some unconscionable former freedom fighters have also taken to systematically laundering money from Zimbabwe to Dubai. Many local white and black capitalists have become filthy rich, overnight. For their reticence over the military coup, many of these newly constituted business classes are rewarded with patches of fertile land that the ordinary people expected to gain as the fruits of independence. American, British, Australian and Chinese capitalists are welcomed to the new high table composed of army generals who assert their authority through disproportionate power as they punish ordinary people at the slightest evidence of unrest. The new leader’s immediate family consists of some multitude of sons and daughters through whose hands every big tender or many loans borrowed from the International Monetary Fund must pass. It is these young human vultures that decide who amongst the local and international vultures get the most out of the coup loot (Moyo and Phulu 2021). When nationalised corruption grips the nation, revenge by new leaders means viewing the state as a resource to be pillaged. ‘Tionesane Vakuru’ depicts an unnamed ZANU PF leader as the cock (Jongwe) devouring huku. The cycle of violence is unbroken because huku (hens) feed on nhiyo (chicks). The sense of self-destruction is expressed through allusions that frame disproportionate appetites of a “predatory ruling elite” (Masunungure 108). ‘Tionesane Vakuru’ shows that disaffection of citizens hurting from hunger emboldens them to speak against a military government that pillages on the commonwealth of the people. This means that ‘economies of affection may, under certain circumstances, transform themselves into economies of disaffection’ (Lamarchand 34). In other words, networks of extended families based on economic affection can tend to be a disincentive to the masses. Yet still, some conscionable soldiers feel that certain powerful political enclaves are benefiting more than others from the project, that is, loot. Mukudzeyi Makombe’s song ‘Chigaro Cheushe’

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dramatises the paradoxes marked by lines of alliances and divisions when state security get at each other’s throat. For their part, the ordinary people’s anger may not immediately transform into spontaneous revolt. In Chin’ono’s ‘Message to the Youths’, the masses initially expect the new ruler to “fix the hospitals, roads, jobs, schools, drinking water that comes out dirty everyday”. Some audiences listen to Chin’ono’s lyrics with despondency when he appeals to the Lord, God, to have mercy on the masses because the new rulers ‘dem loot’: ‘Hospitals dem loot / Education dem loot / Roads den loot/Dem loot.’ Bakhtin carnivalises the ruling classes. Their newfound sport is “Eating, drinking, defecation, sweating, blowing of the nose, sneezing as well as copulation, all excesses that show how the rulers’ bodies have “swallow[ed] the world and are themselves swallowed by material superfluity” (317). Using new power birthed by a military coup, the soldier-leader steals from orphans (nherera), loots funds set aside for the disabled and stashes (pfimbika) cash stolen from state vaults. The orgies of stealing are accentuated in that soldiers steal from ‘monaz to monaz’ (morning to morning). The exaggerated language that depicts new soldier-leaders as tirelessly stealing is calculated to scandalise the new leaders. Audiences are directed by the song to condemn the new soldier-leaders who steal from the vulnerable widows (chirikadzi). In other words, beneath the façade of the new nation as a zone of plenty, Chin’ono sees ghettoes inhabited by ‘youths with mental depression” and of hospitals with no medicines, and roads that are potholed’. Youths that challenge the military “clansman” are accused of terrorism. The new leaders accuse the youths of destabilising the nation. Abductions are common and the prison is the institution for policing and silencing the restive population. In Justa Dementor’s version of ‘Dem Loot’ changes to “dem shoot dem shoot,” apparently recalling how the military shot dead some ordinary citizens on 31 July 2018. There is a shift in emphasis from looting to shooting. Thus, the new soldier-leaders “beat momma” and “vendors” by scornfully reminding the ordinary people that in the now and the future it is the time of the soldiers to eat, because soldiers claim it is them who assisted the new leader to remove Mugabe from power. Thomas Mapfumo’s ‘Sarudzo’ openly declares that politicians should be made to account for their misdeeds on the electoral ballot. The artist dares the soldier-leaders, warning them that ordinary people would square it up (gore rino tinopedzerana) with corrupt leaders in Presidential elections of 31st July 2018. On the one hand, the strength of songs that

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openly defy authorities is that such songs claim to speak truth to power and, in the process, contribute with redrawing lines of contestations when oppression is challenged. On another hand, songs of visible political criticism can awaken oppressors to refine their ways to anticipate how to control protest sensibilities in songs of insults. These ambiguities in songs of insults accentuate their power to communicate and be interpreted differently by different audiences.

Singer-Ordinary People Paradoxes in Contemporary Zimbabwe In ‘Tionesane Vakuru’, Taffy Theman’s voice inhabits spaces of deliberate ambiguities. On the one hand, the artist describes ZANU PF as ‘bratishiti’ (Bloodyshit) because its insensitive officials destroyed the artist’s home. On another hand, ‘bratishiti, pwanya’ (bloodyshit!) appears as an insult potentially directed at the masses. These are their ‘own enemies’ because some of them continue voting ZANU PF into political office even where ordinary people can see their upwards progress stalled. ‘I Don’t Blame Zanu for Disappointing You’ doubles down rebuke and its criticism of ordinary people who desire change, yet they do not register to vote into power a political party that might bring that desired change. The artist knows ZANU PF has instilled fear in people. However, the artist encourages people to defeat the fear that causes ‘voter apathy’ so that the people empower themselves to become subjects of history with power to unseat ZANU PF in the forthcoming 2023 harmonised elections.

Romance in Songs of Abuse Songs of abuse reproach and censure unsocial behaviour and can imagine romanticised and idealised better societies. The romance genre is enlisted in some songs of abuse to “molest inherited” (Gikandi 311) realists’ portrayal of autocrats as unassailable beings. Realism’s mimesis encourages the use of vituperative language in some songs of abuse. While such realism appeals to certain audiences, the moment we go beyond expletive language, we begin to realise that insult in romanticised moral statements can make “certain statements possible, and others impossible, providing the very site on which questions of power play out” (Goyal 315). This is so because romance’s indeterminate range of characterising multiple

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temporalities concurrently can enable this oral genre to undermine the “paradigmatic struggle between good and evil” (301). Romance also tends to expand its aesthetic appeal to new audiences. In addition, we agree with Ndebele’s assessment that a protest literature can run its course and ends up obscuring the diction of abuse and insults in songs. Some songs of abuse from Zimbabwe have avoided this rhetorical pitfall by registering a shift from merely articulating grievance or appealing to the moral conscience of the rulers. These alternative songs of abuse create and “reveal new worlds where it was previously thought they did not exist, and to reveal process and movement where they were hidden” (Ndebele72). From this perspective, songs of abuse could be most insulting where and when they do not reference tyrants. Undemocratic rulers can allow criticism of them to prevail in songs of abuse to clothe autocrats with legitimacy. There is nothing as shattering and insulting to tyrants as to not mention them often, because their systems of control also depend on imposing themselves on artists and audience, “as a voice that is listened to, when not himself a theme of popular song whether of loyalty or protest” (Mbembe 154). It is from the above interpretation of the agency of social as social narratives that Extra Large’s ‘Wafawanaka’ (Is The Dead Ever Good?) defies Shona and African national traditions in Zimbabwe in which dead tyrants’ misdeeds are glossed over in encomia. Tyrants are named as the rapists, thieves and prostitutes that they were, after they pass on (Vambe 131–144). Chiwoniso Maraire’s song ‘Every One’s Child’ projects doubt, uncertainty, darkness and symbolic instability to a nationalist narrative favoured by dictators (Rwafa and Vambe 66–86). Zhakata’s song ‘Mugove’ re-imagines a new society in which the individual can be empowered to enter into positions of meaningful power from which the ordinary masses are called to equitably enjoy the country’s natural resources as a collective; ‘Nhamodzenyika’ (1996), warning tyrants that artists’ effective weapons are their words that sting ‘like the bow and arrow’. ‘Baba VaChamunorwa’ depicts the migrants from Zimbabwe to neighbouring countries resulting from ‘unfettered’ power to authorise new transnational identities formed in new contexts with different kinds of challenges. ‘Ndipeyiwo Hwahwa’ (May You Give Me Beer) emphasises a man’s love for life, banter and rigorous execution of physical work that benefit him and the community from which he marries and perpetuates his patrilineal line. Biting insult to autocrats in the above songs of abuse manifest in how the song ‘momentarily’ immerses itself in detailing how ordinary people

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redefine themselves away from the “repressive topographies of cruelty” (Mbembe 92). Zimbabwean oral artists can refuse to dwell too much on the power of the dictator to overwhelm ordinary people. Songs can be most abusive and insulting to tyrants when the songs create their own contexts to imagine alternative spiritual worlds. Oral performance is a dynamic space of liminality that can enable artists to step outside the rhetorical provenance of Power. Such songs imagine a different audience with its own interpretive framework. Performance endows songs of abuse and insult with multimodal or hypertextual narratives through which to contest the conditions under which the songs are composed, distributed and consumed. That is, although songs may appear to not contain visible and palpable political themes, certain songs might still censure oppressors using irony, allusion and effective humour to devastate targeted individuals or state officials. In this type of songs of abuse, oppressors can appear in the forms of errant husbands, controlling mothers-in-law, corrupt chiefs and insensitive politicians in the realm of state politics (Vambe 2). This notion of power and insult in songs of abuse has to do with how artists “may tell terrible things in song and poetry [and] set out what is not usually heard and survive with impunity” (Gunner 118).

Conclusion This chapter analysed some songs sampled from the WhatsApp platform. These songs of abuse and insult were created as a creative response to the tyranny of a military that was ushered by Mnangagwa on 16 November 2017. Some of the songs are old, had been circulating but were dusted and given new content and expressive power through WhatsApp. This platform is less amenable to censorship by government officials. The platform can be cheaper, circulate songs in real time and enable improvisation with old songs. This process of adaptation has democratising potential. Many of the new songs created after 2017 tend to be more open in how they create and depict an adversarial relationship with the state. These songs also appear to not hold back their language of abuse and insult. The study focused largely on the exchange of verbal abuse and insult in the songs authorised by state-sponsored artists and by independent artists. Zimbabwe’s poisoned political environment tends to demarcate contestants between internecine battle songs authorised by the state, and the imaginative response in the form of songs from the independent artists. Sometimes popular songs by independent artists take the initiative to

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attack the misdeeds of politicians. In other cases, the low level of consciousness within the community of the oppressed is subject for rebuke. Songs of abuse and insult can be performed within institutionalised contexts of Mukwerera and rituals of rainmaking ceremonies. Here, poor people are permitted to hurl insults at authorities within the limits of the rituals. Freedom-loving artists have used songs of abuse to ridicule and censure government’s anti-pluralistic tendencies. Insults to individuals or authorities are framed in terms of ‘them’ and ‘us’. This technique demarcates contestants and transforms songs of abuse into verbal activities that exceed the specific aims of any individual speaker or individual. Demarcating contestants also “inscribes a virtual audience” (Mosoti 17).

Discography Chin’ono, Hopewell. “Dem Loot”. 12 Feb. https://www.youtube. com>watch, 2021a. Chin’ono, Hopewell. “Message to the Youths of Zimbabwe”. Hi.infacebook. com/hopewelljournalist/posts/3100096143545736, 13 Aug, 2021b. Chimbetu, Sulumani. “Chirwere”. 24 January 2021. https://twitter.com>, 2021. Dembo, Leonard. “Dambudzo Wandinetsa”, ZMC, 2006. Dementor, Jusa. “Dem Loot”. https/open.spotify.com>watch, 2021. EXTRA LARGE. “Wafawanaka”. 15 April, Youtube, https:reverbnation. extralargae,com, 2009. Manyika, Elliot. ‘Nora”. https://zimbamusic.co.zw>elliot-manyika.nora, Gramma, 2005. Mapfumo, Thomas, “Sarudzo”. 28 April. https://thomas.mapfumo.com. Music>, 2018. Maraire, Chioniso. “Every One’s Child” Ancient Voices. https:/youtube. com>, 1998. Prayzah, Jah. “Chigaro Cheushe”. https://www.youtube.com>watch 2 July., 2021. Taffy Theman, “Marara”. Marara emusangano. https://youtube/mcX79ZJpyPA, June 6, 2021a. Taffy Theman. “Tiwonesane Vakuru”, PART 1, 27, October. https://nehanda. com >Videos, 2021b. Taffy Theman. I don’t Blame Zanu PF for Disappointing you”. https:/m.facebook.com, 8 July, 2021c. Taffy THEMAN. “Ndirikuda Tsvimbo YABHOBHO”. Sly Media Productions. https:www.symedianews.com, 15 May, 2021d. Taffy THEMAN.  A letter to Mbuya Nehanda” 10 Dec. https://www.youtube. com> 2021e.

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Tambaoga. “Sendekera” 25 Jul. https://www.youtube.com>watch, 2011. Vambe, T Maurice. “Ndipeyiwo Hwahwa”. Zvirimubwe Musical Productions, 2021. Zhakata, Leornard, “ Mugove”. Zimbabwe Music Production, 1996. Zhakata, Leornard, “Baba VaChamunorwa”. Zimbabwe Music Production, 1999a. Zhakata, Leornard. “Nhamodzenyika”. Zimbabwe Music Corporation, 1999b.

Works Cited Attali, Jacques. Noise: The political Economy of Music. Manchester University Press, 1985. Bakhtin, M. Rabelais and his World. Indiana University Press, 1994. Berliner, F Paul. The Soul of the Mbira. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1978. Chikowero, Mhoze. African Music, POWER, and Being in Colonial Zimbabwe. Indiana University Press, 2015. Chitando, Ezra. “Singing Culture. A study of Gospel Music in Zimbabwe”. Nordiska Afrianinstitutet Research Report no, 121. 2002. Heble, Ajay. Landing on the Wrong Note: Jazz, Dissonance and Critical Practice. Routledge, 2000. Hyden, “Goran. 2006. Introduction and Overview to the Special Issue on Africa’ moral and Affective Economy”. African Studies Quarterly, Vol 9, Issue 1 & 2, Fall 2006, pp. 1–-8. Gikandi, Simon. “Realism, Romance, and the Problem of African Literary History”. Modern Language Quarterly, Vol. 73. No. 3, September 2012, pp. 309–328. Goyal, Togita. “Romance and Realism.” Edited by Gikandi, Simon. The Novel in Africa and the Caribbean since 1950, Volume, 11, Oxford University Press, 2016. pp. 301–315. Gunner, Liz. Politics and Performance: Theatre. Poetry and Song in Southern Africa Witwatersrand University Press, 1994. Kahari, George Wiltshire. The History of the Shona Protest Song; a preliminary study. Zambezia, Vol.9, No.2, 1981, pp. 79–101. Kauffman, R. 1973. ‘Shona Urban Music and the Problem of Acculturation. Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council 4, pp. 47–56. Lamarchand, Rene 1989. “African peasantries, Reciprocity and the Market. The Economy of Affection Reconsidered”. In. Cahiers, d’ ‘etude, africaines, vol 29 No 113, pp. 1989, pp. 33–67 Masunungure, Eldred V, and N. Mataire 2020. “November 2017: Continuity or Rupture?”, Edited by Masunungure, Eldred V, Zimbabwe’s Trajectory: Stepping Forward or Sliding Back? Mass Public Opinion Institute and Waver Press, 2020, pp. 47–78.

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Masunungure, Eldred V. “Zimbabwe’s Predatory Ruling elite Coalition.” Edited by Masunungure, Eldred V, Zimbabwe’s Trajectory: Stepping Forward or Sliding Back? Mass Public Opinion Institute and Waver Press, 2020, pp. 106–131. Maudza, Pedzisai. “Mai VaDhikondo”: echoes of the requiems from the Killing fields”. Social Dynamics: A Journal of African Studies, Vol 43, Issue 2, 2017, pp. 215–229. Mbembe, Achilles. Out of the Dark Night: Essays on Decolonization. Wits University Press, 2021. Mbembe, Achilles. NECRO-POLITICS. Trans: Steven, Corcoran, Duke University Press, 2019. Mbembe, Achilles. On the Postcolony. University of California Press, 2001. Mosoti, Edwin. Taarab or songs of abuse? Verbal duels in east Africa. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa, vol, 9, 1, 2012, pp. 13–34. Moyo, G. and Phulu, K.  The Weaponization of the Coronavirus Crisis in Zimbabwe: Legal and Extra-Legal Instruments. iBusiness, 13, 48–66. doi: https://doi.org/10.4236/ib.2021.131004, 2021, pp. 48–66. Mutero, Tinashe and S. Kaye. Music and Conflict Transformation in Zimbabwe. Peace Review: A Journal of Social Justice, Vol 31, no 1. 3, pp. 289–296. Musvoto, Alfred Rangarirai. “The search for hegemony: Ordering Power after the formation of the government of national Unity in Zimbabwe”. Muziki: Journal of Music research in Africa, Vol 9, no. 1, 2012, pp. 1–13. Ndebele, Njabulo. Rediscovery of the Ordinary: Essays on South African Literature and Culture. Congress of South African Writers (COSAW), 1991. Parkin, David. “The Creativity of Abuse”. Royal Anthropology of Great Britain and Ireland. Man New Series, Vol.15, no.1. 1980, pp. 45–64 Pongweni, Alec J.C. Songs that Won the Liberation War. The College Press, 1982. Ngara, Renius. “Shangwe Mukwerera: Systems and Hierarchies of Communication in Gokwe, Zimbabwe”. Performing Zimbabwe: A Transdisciplinary Study of Zimbabwean Music. Edited by Amoros, Gimenez Luis & M.  T. Vambe. University of KwaZulu Natal Press, 2018, pp. 76–92. Rwafa, Urther, and M.T. Vambe. “Hear our Voice: Female popular musicians in post-independence Zimbabwe”. MUZIKI: Journal of MUSIC RESEARCH in AFRICA, vol,… no…2007. 66–86. Rwafa, Urther. “Sound and Polysemy in Film”. MUZIKI: Journal of MUSIC RESEARCH in AFRICA, Vol 5, no 1, 2008, pp. 152–159 Tomomi, Tokuori. “The Economy of Affection and Local Enterprise in Africa. Empirical Evidence from a Networking Study in Burkina Faso and Senegal”. African Studies Quarterly, Vol 9, Issue 1 & 2, Fall 2006, pp. 1–23. Tracy, Hugh. Catalogue: The Sound of Africa Series, 210, Long Playing Records of Music and songs from Central, Eastern and Southern Africa, Frier and Munro, vol 11, 1973.

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Turino, Thomas. Nationalists, cosmopolitans and popular Music in Zimbabwe. Chicago University Press, 2000. Vambe, Maurice. “A new Song? Subverting discourses of Death and ancestral purity in Zimbabwe’s music”. MUZIKI: Journal of MUSIC RESEARCH in AFRICA, Vol 5, no 1, 2008, 131–144. Vambe, Maurice. “If Vagina Had Teeth: Song, Film and the Reshaping of Female identities through Rituals of rainmaking ceremonies among the Shona People of Western Mozambique”. Performing Zimbabwe: A Transdisciplinary Study of Zimbabwean Music. Edited by Amoros, Gimenez Luis & M. T. Vambe. 1st edition. University of KwaZulu Natal Press, 2018, pp. 93–110. Vambe, Maurice. “Rethinking the notion of Chimurenga in the context of political change”. Muziki: Journal of Music research in Africa, vol.8.no 2, 2011, pp. 1–28.

CHAPTER 16

Bongo Fleva: Its Lyrics, “Inappropriate” Content, Source, and Possible Harm Dunlop Ochieng

Introduction Contemporary bongo fleva lyrics were accused of consisting phrases portraying arrogance, verbal duels, brags, sexism, and sexual content that may be harmful to children (Rizza, 2012; Samwel, 2012). Ochieng and Vambe (fc) say that the genre is slowly but surely shifting its focus from being a motivator, communicator, and a platform for sharing ideas to becoming the encourager of partying, alcoholism, drug abuse, and promiscuity. The latter roles were said to be advanced through the use of inappropriate content; defined here as materials that are profane, vulgar, lewd, obscene, offensive, indecent, sexually explicit, or threatening; advocates illegal or dangerous acts; advocates violence; or contains knowingly false, recklessly false, or defamatory information (Law Inside, 2021). Were the music industry the same as the film industry, people of a certain age would therefore be warned or advised to exercise listeners’ discretion before listening to a bongo fleva song considered to be incommensurate

D. Ochieng (*) The Open University of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_16

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with their age. This is, nonetheless, not the case with music such as bongo fleva. That is, there is no listener’s rating despite the accusation that the content is maladjusted. This underscores the need to critically analyze the content of bongo fleva lyrics to determine the presence, the rate and the source of the “inappropriate content.” The analysis is aimed at uncovering the degree of the toxicity of the lyrics so as to inform responsible authorities to do the needful. Indeed Samwel (2012), who analyzed the content of bongo fleva in 2011, concluded that the content was ordinary and matched the content of similar literary genres of the time. Nonetheless, Samwel’s study was conducted twelve years ago, implying that it does not capture well the contemporary state of a music genre well-known for dynamism and quick adaptation. Likewise, while Samwel relied on a qualitative approach only to arrive at his findings, the current study complements quantitative data with qualitative data, which means that it is more reliable and up-to-date than previous studies. This study assesses and gives current information on the harm of bongo fleva lyrics to the relevant authorities to take the necessary measures to monitor the music.

Methodology This study first analyzes a sample of bongo fleva lyrics to determine their types and categories and the frequency of “inappropriate content” in the music’s lyrics. The sampled lyrics were those released between 2017 and 2021 and were available online (see Bongo Fleva Gospel Mixed Tapes, 2019; Bongo Flava Lyrics, 2021 and Africa Lyrics, 2021). The lyrics were compiled into one document before importing into a text analysis software known as MAXQDA 2022. The uploaded content was coded according to the occurring themes of inappropriate content. The themes (codes) tracked and coded in the text were brag/self-exaltation, reference to sexual organs, disparagement/bullying, sexism portrayal/promiscuity promotion, alcoholism/drug use exaltation, crime/violence promotion, hate/disunity exaltation and falsity/fallacy. To assign a certain phrase to these codes, semantic and pragmatic meaning clues were used to catalogue a phrase or a clause. For example, phrases such as erection, swaying loin, inserting a thing, bending over and embracing were coded as “sexual movements,” whereas phrases such as beat them, kill, destroy, were indexed “promotion of violence.” In addition, phrases such as I have money, I am number one, nobody can surpass me were coded ‘brags.” The codes were later subset into explicitly expressed inappropriate content and implicitly expressed inappropriate content. Figure  16.1 depicts a window of MAXQDA 2022, showing the uploaded texts, marked phrases, and the assigned codes.

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As shown in Fig. 16.1, the upper left sub-window of MAXQDA 2022 shows a compiled list of bongo fleva lyrics. In contrast, a bottom-left sub-­ window shows codes made by the researcher based on the definitions of inappropriate content. The right major window shows text portions coded according to the codes in the left bottom. In the second objective, on the sources of the “inappropriate content in the lyrics” and their possible harm, the researcher relied on the extensive literature review, personal experience as a member of the community, informal interviews and the acquired knowledge of bongo fleva music in the previous research.

The Presence and the Rate of Inappropriate Content in Bongo Fleva The first objective of this study focused on investigating the presence and the rate of the “inappropriate content” in bongo fleva lyrics. To meet this objective, the study analyzed a compiled list of bongo fleva lyrics according to codes shown in Fig. 16.1, namely, brag/self-exaltation, reference to sexual organs and sexual intercourse, promote promiscuity, promote crime and violence, exhibit hate and false information. The researcher would read the lyrics severally and highlight a phrase or a clause whose semantics suggested belonging to one of the working codes shown in Fig.  16.1. Table 16.1 depicts a guideline used to code phrases and clauses in the lyrics.

Fig. 16.1  A window of MAXQDA 2022 showing the used text and codes

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Table 16.1  A guideline for coding the inappropriate phrases and clauses in bongo fleva lyrics Code used

Clues

Brag/self-exaltation

Have money, brain, great, untouchable, uncatchable, first, bright, etc. Foolish, stupid, backward, poor, powerless, inferior Bang, drinking, drunk, beer, boozing

Disparagement/bullying Alcoholism/drug use promotion Sexual organ reference Sexual movement reference Crime promotion

Butt, loin, penis and its slangs, vagina and its slangs Insert, sway, tweak, prick Steal, kill, destroy, uproot, beat

Table 16.2  Types of inappropriate content in bongo fleva Color

Code

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Sexual act reference Brag/self-exaltation Reference to the sexual organ Disparagement/bullying Sexism portrayal/promiscuity promotion Alcoholism/drug use exaltation Crime/violence promotion Hate/disunity exaltation Falsity/fallacy

Frequency 172 37 37 25 24 13 11 5 1

Percentage 51 11 11 7 7 4 3 1 0

Rank 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 9 10

Using the guideline given above, the analysis shows that the lyrics contained different types of inappropriate content and at different degrees. Table 16.2 depicts types of inappropriate content and their frequency of occurrence in the 100 lyrics analyzed by the researcher. As shown, reference to sexual acts, reference to sexual organs, and bragging are the most occurring inappropriate contents in bongo fleva. There is also adequate bullying and sexism portrayal. The analysis shows that the exaltation of drugs and violence promotion are minimal in the lyrics. The same applies to the expression of hate. The conveyance of false information is almost nonexistent, except for exaggerations, which is a genuine literary device and a common strategy in love songs. Table 16.3 presents a sample of phrases portraying inappropriate content in the lyrics. As shown, the lyrics are crammed with phrases representing inappropriate content themes such as promotion of promiscuity, violence, drugs,

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Table 16.3  Samples of phrases representing inappropriate content in the lyrics Codes

Document

Coded Segments

Alcoholism/drug use exaltation

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 222

Brag/ self-exaltation

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 219

Pour me my liquor, lit me more fire Mr. DJ keep on spinning set the roof on fire Kina dada wananipenda nashukuru Mpaka mama anawaomba wapunguze

Brag/ self-exaltation

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 908 Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 1169 Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 1169

Crime/violence promotion Crime/violence promotion

Crime/violence promotion

Disparagement/ bullying

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 1739–1740

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 95 Disparagement/ Bongofleva_ bullying combined, Pos. 415–416 Disparagement/ Bongofleva_ bullying combined, Pos. 420–421 Reference to sexual Bongofleva_ organ combined, Pos. 26 Reference to sexual Bongofleva_ organ combined, Pos. 26 Sexism portrayal/ Bongofleva_ promiscuity combined, promotion Pos. 94

Translation/quote

Pour me my liquor, lit me more fire Mr. DJ keep on spinning set the roof on fire I am grateful, girls love me to the extent that my mother begs them to stop Joh-Joslin am the mover Joh-Joslin am the like Don Gwan‚ down mover like Don Gwan‚ mover down mover Mtie mitama siku Swipe him with your nyingine ashike adabu foot, next time he has to behave Kama message sipendi I do not like message boss namshoot Mpaka boss; I even shoot a messenger (boss messenger namshoot Mpaka messenger) Kuna mchezaji Wa I see a player of young Yanga namwona anapita team passing; I will pita Nitamkata kata slash him with a mapanga yaani namuua machete until dead, na namzik then I bury him Mipango Yako ya Your plans are kishamba boy backwards, boy Girl you should know mi Sio type Only me can turn him on bounce alone, bounce alone Mwiba ukizama nahisi mateso

Girl, you should know, I am not your type I am not type Only me can turn him on bounce alone, bounce alone When a thorn sinks, I feel the torture

Ndizi kwa nyuma

Banana in the back

Mwaga pesa hupati number, ng’o

If you do not pour money, you do not get a phone number (continued)

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Table 16.3 (continued) Codes Sexism portrayal/ promiscuity promotion Sexual act reference

Document

Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 1411 Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 163 Sexual act reference Bongofleva_ combined, Pos. 212

Coded Segments

Translation/quote

Utulie home nakupa vitamu

Stay at home, so I give you sweet

Kitandani nikoleze Kwa miuno ya kingoni

On the bed stimulate me, with Ngoni’s tweak

Take it to the left, take it to the right, give it to me, give it to me baby all night

Take it to the left, take it to the right, give it to me, give it to me baby all night

alcohol, reference to the sexual acts and so forth. Nonetheless, such contents are only inappropriate if underage children can comprehend their intended meanings. In this regard, the study inquired whether these contents were explicitly or implicitly expressed. The analysis shows that 76 percent of inappropriate content are inexplicitly expressed, whereas only 24 percent of the phrases are explicit. Figure 16.2 is a pie chart representing the ratio of the explicit and inexplicit inappropriate content in bongo fleva lyrics. A keen analysis shows that most of the themes that would be explicitly expressed in the lyrics were brags, disparagement, and to some extent, alcoholism/drug use. Rarely would sexual movements or sexual organs be explicitly expressed in the studied lyrics. Rather, the organs and the acts would be referred to using euphemisms such as stick, thorn, hammer, razor blade, banana, or cassava from Jang’ombe for “penis”, whereas “vagina” would be euphemized with words such as sugar, lemon, meat and so forth (food). That is, women’s sexual organs are considered a food that can be eaten by men going by the analogies used to express it. Meanwhile, sexual movements such as fuck, ride and bend over would be disguised with dance movements such as tweak, bend, squat and so forth. For example, Konde Boy, in his hit known as Uno sings as follows, “Wengine mpaka wanywe pombe ndo wanalimwaga” (other people must drink to sway loin). Likewise, Duly Sykes sings, “Nіkоmеѕhе; Mраkа сhіnі wаоnуеѕhе; Ааh, аѕа bеіbу nіkоmеѕhе; Fаnуа kаmа, unаdundа; Aаh unаdundа; Мраkа сhіnі wаоnуеѕhе (terminate me, show them up to the floor, pretend like you are bouncing, Aah you are bouncing, show them up to the floor). In all these examples, the musicians superficially refer to

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Fig. 16.2  The ratio between explicitly and inexplicitly expressed inappropriate content

305

Explicitly exprresed 24%

Inexplicitly expressed 76%

Explicitly exprresed

Inexplicitly expressed

twerking, while underlyingly, they refer to riding during sex at different positions. Apart from these techniques, they also employ reflected meanings or ambiguity to camouflage their inappropriate content. Tables 16.4  presents examples of reflected and ambihous meanings whereas and Table 16.5 present examples dummy references in the lyrics. In the above examples, words or phrases quoted have more than one meaning, whereas one meaning is more appealing to listeners (marked meaning) than the other meaning (unmarked meaning). Listeners would normally rush to the marked meaning upon hearing the word over the unmarked meaning until the ambiguity is cleared by context. Likewise, the marked meaning is normally a taboo word. Bongo fleva artists like such words because they likely attract the attention of inattentive listeners. Normally, the unmarked meaning of the word is indicated by the context later, but after considerable suspense. Further, bongo fleva artists also use several dummy subjects to refer to sexual acts or sexual organs. This is a method involving using a preposition such as “it,” which does not always make its referent definite. Table 16.5 presents a sample of such references in the lyrics. In the above examples, there is a dummy reference “it” whose reference has not been specified by the phrases given; rather, listeners are left to imply the referents of the referring expression using their sociolinguistics resources. The analysis carried out by this study shows that dummy

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Table 16.4  The use of reflected meanings and ambiguities Quote

Translation

Song composer(s)

Nitie, nitie baba Nitie, nitie baba Nitie tunda, niitie Kilege, kilegeze Kilege, kilegeze Kiuno kilege, kilegeze Kilege, kilegeze Napenda unavyokata na kunipa taratibu

Insert it to me, insert it to me, father, Insert it to me, insert it to me father Insert to me a fruit, insert Soften it, soften it; Soften it, soften it Loin, soften it, soften it

Nitie Upofu by Amber Lulu

I like the way you cut/sway loin) and giving me slowly

Wivu by Jux

Kilegeze by Linah

Table 16.5  Dummy reference of sexual organs and sexual movements Quote

Translation

Song_Composer(s)

Ah iweke ah iweke Ipitishe kwa chini Ah iweke ah iweke Miendo ya kazi kazini Nampa taratibu Nampa puta puta Anapenda mwendo ukanyage mafuta I think you like it, princess, you are my number one Underwear mi nafungua na kodi Asa weka, weka, ahaa Asa weka, weka ndani, ayaa Іtаfunе іng’аtе kа Віg G Аааh kаmа Віg G Кіѕhа nіkumbаtе tuјіgіјі

Ah, put it, ah put it from the bottom Ah, put it, ah put it In the style of work at a workplace I give it to him slowly, I give it to him faster He likes speed, more acceleration

Mwanza by Rayvanny and Diamond

Napenda venye nikilogout Nikirudi utamu Tena kutight

I like it by Darasa and Sho Madjozi

I think you like it, princess, you are Weka by dully sykes my number one I open the underwear with tax Weka by dully sykes Asa put it, put it, put, ahaa; Asa put it, put it, put inside, ayaa Chew it, bite it, ahh like chewing gum, then embrace it so that we can jigijigi (a slang for sexual intercourse) I like it, that when I log out, it is tight and sweet when I come back

Nikomeshe by dully sykes

Kilegeze by Linah

referencing is a common way that bongo fleva uses to present the obscene and evade censoring by organizations such as the National Arts Council (BASATA), one of the roles of which is to censor inappropriate content in artworks.

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In conclusion to this section, 68 percent of bongo fleva lyrics contain inappropriate content in varying degrees. The inappropriate content is packaged in slang, metaphors, dummy references, reflected meaning, analogy and code-switching, among other techniques. The analysis shows that a section of bongo fleva artists uses these inappropriate contents proportionally higher than others. Alikiba, for instance, represents artists who portray inappropriate content the least, whereas Diamond Platinum represents artists who use inappropriate content in their lyrics the most. The concealment of inappropriate content using various techniques means that they are less harmful to children, under ten, for example, who have not mastered the pragmatic meanings of Swahili. Nonetheless, the lyrics are still inappropriate in public, for example, in the company of family members such as mother and daughters or father and daughters. This is because the inappropriate content can easily be deduced by the youth and many adults with mastery of non-compositional meanings in Swahili. Playing some bongo fleva music, for example, on public transport is an embarrassment to families traveling together in such vehicles.

Figuring out the Sources of the “Maladjusted Content” in Bongo Fleva Lyrics The confirmation of inappropriate content in bongo fleva lyrics makes it interesting to explore some of the hypotheses that might explain the sources of the content in the music. Based on literature review and experience, the analysis critically presents plausible sources of maladjusted content in the music. Inheritance Explanation One of the plausible sources of the “inappropriate” content in bongo fleva “is the inheritance of the content from hip hop culture. That is, bongo fleva music is said to have developed from hip hop in the 1990s (Suriano, 2011), which is also blamed for containing violence. Analogically, the confirmed inappropriate content in bongo fleva might owe its origin to this source. Rizza (2012), for instance, says that duels in bongo fleva might have come from a Hip Hop Culture derived from “ritual festivities, textual parodies, and Billingsgate language of carnival.” Kubrin’s work, which examined 130 platinum albums with 430 songs released from 1992 to

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2002 found that violence was a central theme of the lyrics along with wealth, violent retaliation, nihilism and objectification of women (Heard, 2009, p.  396). Arrogance, verbal duels, misogynism/sexism and sexual content in hip hop are also corroborated by several other scholars (Fearing, Konkle, Laitsch, Pierce, Rater, Reece, & Varelis (2018). It is claimed that Black Americans had been subjected to oppression, discrimination and deprivation for a long time, which drove many of them to a state of poverty and destroyed their family foundations of marriage (high divorces and singularity) (Sparrow, 2018). These difficulties pushed many Black Americans to gangsterism, crime, and rage, which continue to date. Black rage, in particular, is said to be intrinsic anger in many Black Americans due to many years of dominance and mistreatment (McCann, 2013, p.  409). It is argued that Black rage is manifested in hip hop (hip hop became a form of cultural expression). Hip hop served as an outlet of Black rage after the justice system and democratic principles failed the Black community. Hip hop was intended to rebel status quo and challenge White supremacy. Rap or hip hop is associated with gangsterism. According to Dyson (2005), the ideology of outlaw, such as gangsterism, banditry, and so forth, among Black Americans is an effort to challenge the corruption and injustice directed to them by the system in society. “Hip-hop culture rose out of the gang-dominated street culture, and aspects of the gangs are still defining features of hip-hop” (Fricke & Ahearn, 2002, p. 4). Fricke and Ahearn (2002) claim that “territorialism,” “the tradition of battling,” “graffiti,” and “b-boying or breaking” all came from street gangs. Sparrow (2008) talks of the victimization mentality among Black Americans, which is a tendency of Black Americans to attribute their predicaments to institutionalized racism that curtails their flourishment, and White supremacy. In this regard, they tend to resist norms of the American society (Sparrow, 2018). According to West (2019), most Black hip hop artists manifest the victimization mentality in their rage raps (rapping about violence) without knowing that they could have solved some of their problems had they a right attitude. “What makes rap so remarkable as a site for inquiry into the affective dynamics for Black publicity are the multifarious expressions rage finds in its corpus and within the discourses surrounding it.” McCann (2013, ibid) cites an example that Shakur’s productions “sound less like the shouts of an angry militant than the musings of a young man expressing the most transformational love for his community by diagnosing problems like poverty, misogyny, and teenage pregnancy” (McCann, 2013, p.  411). It is assumed that hip hop was born

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when street gangs in the Bronx, New York, channeled their energy from violence and crime to music and artistic expression” (Aprahamian, 2019, p. 298). Regarding the present study, victimization mentality might explain the brags in bongo fleva music. It is more likely that people who have a habit of blaming their stagnancy on other people will extend it to their rivals even in the same trade. That is, duelling manifested in bongo fleva might result from playing the victim. Cosby and Poussaint (2009) rightly observe that Black American mentality had been to avoid personal responsibility and blame other people for their problems. It is convincing to argue that artists use bongo fleva to tarnish fellow artists and exaggerate their success because they believe they block their industry’s success (victimization mentality). However, the view of gang origin of hip hop culture is contested by scholars such as Aprahamian (2019, p. 298). In his study of the origin of hip hop, he says that gang origin is the attribution of those who wish to defame African-Americans—those who want to portray hip hop as a transformation of barbarism, violence, and gangsterism. Similarly, Fearing et al. (2018), who correlated hip hop with violence, concluded that the conception was a myth. Duelling appears to be an intrinsic characteristic of several living things, including birds. In an experiment carried out in the United States of America, Kroodsma (1979) reported duelling songs among Male Marsh Wrens (bird species). Duels are also common in other genres of literature in Tanzania’s such as taarab and poems. In taarab, it is normal for taarab artists to ridicule each other through consecutive songs they compose. The same is reported in Swahili poetry and even through writings on loincloth (khanga). It is also very clear that “inappropriate content” is a new development in bongo fleva, for it was not present, for instance, in the second generation of bongo fleva hits. It is known that hip hop draws much on life experience, which makes it local (Bennett, 1999). For example, it has already been reported by Samwel 2012) that regional variations of hip hop such as genge in Kenya, kwaito in South Africa, and bongo fleva in Tanzania have evolved distinctive features. In this regard, experiences of American hip hop such as Black rage could not have been carried over to bongo fleva whole, given that contexts of Black Americans in America and Blacks in Tanzania are quite different. Moreover, whereas it is claimed that Black Americans started the hip hop in slums, bongo fleva was started in Tanzania

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by youth from the upper and middle classes, not for conveying rage but for entertainment (Surano, 2011). This explains why it was first sung in English before switching to Swahili. It is in the second phase that bongo fleva was localized and became the mouthpiece of the youth in society by conveying strong messages (ujumbe mkali) against poor leadership that worsens living standards in Tanzania (Ochieng and Vambe (fc). This is to say, bongo fleva had long broken ties with its predecessor by adapting to the local environment (as will be presented in detail in the next section). In this regard, the contemporary characteristics of the music seem acquired than inherited from its American predecessor. Kerr (2014) corroborates that bongo fleva is characterized by the high creativity, inventiveness and ingenuity of rappers, which result in unexpected products. Indeed, bongo fleva is currently sung and enjoyed by a group associated with drug use, promiscuity, arrogance, and all disapproved manners by society (Samwel, 2012). Nonetheless, I believe that this is by coincidence, considering that bongo fleva is currently loved by the youth, mostly from slums. Therefore, the music must reflect its context, which is only by coincidence similar to the context of their Black counterparts in the United States. Borrowing, Creativity, and Adaptation It appears to me that the maladjusted content in bongo fleva is a result of the bongo fleva known adaptation. Bongo fleva is famous for blending codes, styles, and resources from other genres and from different places to constitute fresh and compelling music for the contemporary audience. It is, therefore, high likely that “the inappropriate content” is a loan or adaptation from other genres of African oral literature. Indeed, many African literary forms are rich in sexual content, misogyny, and sexism. Luo praise names (a genre of Luo literature), for example, tend to belittle and mock women, children and the handicapped, but it does so subtly and artistically that audiences are not awakened to focus on the disparagement in the genre. Likewise, African praise poems contain self-exaltation and brag, which are also evident in the contemporary bongo fleva (Yankah, 1983; Kabuta, 1997). In this regard, brags and self-exaltation in bongo fleva likely derive from these old traditions whose focus were to praise and exalt. Brags and bullying shown in bongo fleva lyrics are also evident in other Swahili literary genres such as ushairi (a poem normally performed by one or two people) and ngonjera (a poem performed by several people exchanging messages). The only difference is that the style is different.

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That is, the old genres used to portray the content more artistically and covertly than bongo fleva. This suggests that bongo fleva might have borrowed the content but adapted it to suit its context. The same adaptation is also reported in Shishafwa by Mwashota and Nchimbi (2016). According to the authors, duelling that is contemporarily manifested in Shishafwa modern songs is loaned from bongo fleva, which is more popular in Tanzania today. So, it is like Shafwa (matapo) songs are trying to imitate what is popular in the market to sell. In other words, the duel is a market strategy to make people associate matapo with popular bongo fleva. This theory can be carried over into duels in bongo fleva; it might be an attempt of bongo fleva musicians to associate their music with bestselling American hip hop for the sake of economics (a cascade). The market motivation of inappropriate content is detailed in the next subsection. Market Forces Explanation A keen analysis points out that “maladjusted content” is a market strategy in the crowded and competitive music industry. In the history of hip hop, a parent of bongo fleva, disparaging one another enabled rap artists in the United States to do better in the market in the 1990s (McCann 2013). McCann (ibid., p. 411) adds that “those who rose to commercial success often did so on the backs of their brethren in the form of hyperviolent and misogynistic excesses.” Hip hop artists in America waged wars against each other to sell records and get rich. Herd (2009, p. 402, citing Salaam, 1995) says that “rap music, which had initially been exclusively recorded by independent record companies, became dominated by major recording labels” after 1989. In his view, mass production caused a decline in music’s artistic creativity and quality. The focus then turned to increase profit that violence and graphic sexuality served better. According to Herd (ibid.), “conflicts between rappers appeared a popular industry tactic for increasing the commercial success of rap music. The New York Times published an article entitled: ‘Feuding for Profit: Rap’s War of Words’, which asserted that many of the conflicts or ‘beef’ between rival rappers were often created as publicity stunts to raise flagging careers and sales, or create interest in new releases. Trend data on violence in US society suggest that both societal changes and commercial forces within the music industry contributed to the increases in violent lyrical content that we described for the late 1980s through 1990s.” Mass production and a focus on profit explain the “maladjusted content” in bongo fleva, in my view, better than other

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explanations. By extension, bongo fleva artists seem to have borrowed a leaf of this market strategy from hip hop. There has been an increase in the number of bongo fleva artists, which has created strong competition and difficulty to crack a niche in bongo fleva industry. This has led to the quick making of records for sale, a habit that does not create time for real creativity to take place. As a result, the bongo fleva industry has become a game of releasing more albums and selling them irrespective of their quality. Fame is, therefore, a key asset in cracking the crowded market of bongo fleva music. Consequently, bongo fleva artists seek fame by hook or by crook. In this regard, inappropriate content appears to be a way of attracting the attention of a slumbering audience. In Tanzania, attention-­ seeking by politicians and artists is referred to as “kutafuta kiki” (seeking mileage in music). It is striving to become famous by doing an extraordinary act, irrespective of whether it is good or bad. Likewise, an urge to sell bongo fleva albums beyond the borders drives artists to emulate international hip hops from areas where they want to sell their music. As of now, bongo fleva has blended Kenyan hip hop style, Congolese hip hop, Nigerian and South African music to meet this goal. This greatly affects the local content of bongo fleva. Samwel (2012), for instance, observes Kenyan hip hop’s (genge) focus on entertaining without necessarily conveying a message to the audience. Thus, by blending Kenyan hip hop, bongo fleva’s content is bound to change. Additionally, rivalries, betrayals, and splits among bongo fleva artists explain the disparagement evident in the lyrics. Bongo fleva music turns out to be the medium of communicating personal revenge and grudges. Keen observation shows that those who are feuding in the bongo fleva lyrics are those who split from a single group in their music careers.

Conclusion This study confirms that bongo fleva is rich in contents that qualify as inappropriate in society. The lyrics consist of taboos such as references to sexual organs and sexual acts. The lyrics also contain brags, misogyny, bullying, promiscuity, and drugs/alcohol promotions. Nonetheless, bongo fleva artists still evade censorship by organizations such as the National Arts Council, given that they present such contents disguisedly but purposively. The common techniques employed to conceal the contents are the use of metaphors, reflected meanings, slangs, code-switching, analogy, ambiguity and dummy references, among others. In this regard, the

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content is not harmful to young children but obvious to most children over ten (the age at which children acquire most of the pragmatic meanings). Nonetheless, the contents are quite obvious to teens and adults, making the songs  quite embarrassing in public arenas. The finding that brags, bullying, and alcoholism tend to be explicitly expressed implies that these contents are inappropriate in Tanzania’s context, but still tolerated by society. That is, they are also the content portrayed in other literary genres such as praise songs, praise names, and other genres of music. The study finds that the major propellant of these contents is the striving of bongo fleva artists to sell more records and become famous. It appears that artists know that most of their customers like and approve such content, going by the successes of a few successful bongo fleva artists who have succeeded through using such maladjusted content, such as Diamond Platinum and Zuhura Othman Soud (Zuchu). It appears that the success of these musicians catalyzes more artists to emulate them to succeed in the music industry. Overall, bongo fleva artists need to learn that a considerable section of society does not approve of such content in their lyrics. In the view of this paper, bongo fleva lyrics make it appear that the romantic relationship between a man and a woman is centered on unique sexual experiences rather than helping each other, working together, and enjoying together. That is, it is all about prototypical sexual organs and extraordinary lovemaking techniques.

Works Cited Africa Lyrics (2021). Afrika Lyrics—African Song Lyrics and Translations | AfrikaLyrics. Retrieved from https://afrikalyrics.com/?_gl=1*iwhf4g*_ga*M TAwMzY2NDEyMy4xNjQwOTM3Mjc4 on 15/12/2021. Aprahamian, S. (2019). Hip-hop, gangs, and the criminalisation of African American culture: A critical appraisal of yes y’all. Journal of Black Studies, 50(3), 298–315. Bennett, A. (1999). Rappin’ on the Tyne: White hip hop culture in Northeast England: An ethnographic study. The Sociological Review, 47, 1–24. Bongo Flava Gospel Mixed Tapes (2019). Bongo Fleva Lyrics. Retrieved from http://bongoflavagospelmixtapes.blogspot.com/search?updated-­ max=2019-­1-­03T12:51:00-­08:00&max-­results=7&start=20&by-­date=false on 20/12/2021. Bongo Flava Lyrics (2021). Bongo Flava Lyrics. Retrieved from http://bongoflavalyrics.blogspot.com/ on19/12/2021.

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Cosby, B., & Poussaint, A. F. (2009). Come on people: On the path from victims to victors. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Inc. Dyson, M. E. (2005). Is Bill Cosby, right? Or has the black middle class lost its mind? New York: Civitas Books. Fearing, A., Konkle, T. R., Laitsch, J., Pierce, H., Rater, C., Reece, K., & Varelis, T. (2018). Is hip-hop violent? Analysing the relationship between live music performances and violence. Journal of Black Studies, 49(3), 235–255. Fricke, J., & Ahearn, C. (2002). Yes y’all: The experience music project oral history of hip-hop’s first decade. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press. Herd, D. (2009). Changing images of violence in rap music lyrics: 1979-1997. Journal of Public Health Policy, 30, 395–406. Kabuta, N. S. (1997). Isimu-ushairi: Muundo wa majigambo. Nordic Journal of African Studies, 6(1), 25–25. Kerr, D. (2014). Performing the self: rappers, urban space and identity in Dar es Salaam (Doctoral dissertation, University of Birmingham). Kroodsma, D. E. (1979). Vocal dueling among male marsh wrens: evidence for ritualised expressions of dominance/subordinance. The Auk, 96(3), 506–515. Law Inside (2021). Inappropriate content. Retrieved from https://www.lawinsider.com/dictionary/inappropriate-­material. McCann, B.  J. (2013). Affect, black rage, and false alternatives in the hip-hop nation. Cultural Studies? Critical Methodologies, 13(5), 408–418. Mwashota, P. & Nchimbi, F. (2016). Matapo ya nyimbo za Shisafwa. Kiswahili, 79(1). Ochieng, D. and Vambe, M. (fc). The contemporary focus, language and style of bongo fleva music. Samwel, M. (2012). Bongo fleva inapotosha jamii. Je, ni dai jipya katika maendeleo ya fasihi ya Kiswahili? Kioo cha Lugha, 10(1), 103–121. Sparrow, J.  M. (2018). Rebels with insufficient cause: Americans of African descent, the victim mentality, and value formation through the family. Wipf and Stock Publishers. Suriano, M. (2011). Hip-Hop and bongo flavour music in contemporary Tanzania: Youths’ experiences, agency, aspirations and contradictions. Africa Development, 36 (3–4), 113–126. West, K. O. (2019, November). Kanye West has turned his back on victimisation mentality [YouTube channel]. Retrieved on December 8, 2021, from https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCgYZcgxXY0. Yankah, K. (1983). To praise or not to praise the king: The Akan “Apae” in the context of referential poetry. Research in African Literatures, 14(3), 381–400.

Correction to: Stanzas and Sticks: Poetic and Physical Challenges in the Afro-Brazilian Culture of the Paraíba Valley, Rio de Janeiro Matthias Röhrig Assunção

Correction to: Chapter 12 in: T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_12 In the original version of this chapter, the author’s name was misspelled. The correct name is Matthias Röhrig Assunção. This has been updated.

The updated original version for this chapter can be found at https://doi.org/10.1007/978-­3-­031-­15617-­5_12 © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5_17

C1

Index

A Abeni, Salawa, 63, 72–75 Abimbola, Wande, 57, 61, 75 Adawa, Dele, 73 Ade, Sunny, 73 Adebayo, Pastor Sola, 61 Afa religion, 44 African diaspora, 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, 124, 183, 184, 187, 246 African traditional religions, 185, 191, 192 Alabi, Adetayo, 18, 55–76 Alatika, 73, 74 Alpha Phi Alpha, 134, 135, 138, 139, 142, 144 Anyidoho, Kofi, 10, 42, 263–279 Aridon, 31, 271, 272 Ayinde Barrister, 73 Ayinla, Kollington, 63, 64, 73–75

B Badmouth, 248, 253, 254, 258 Bantu, 7, 10, 118, 192, 194, 197, 198 Battle of wits, 247, 256 Battle rap, 2, 5, 6, 11–13, 124–126, 130, 147–162, 246 Black Atlantic, 1, 194, 208 Black Greek Letter Organizations, 133–137, 140–145 Bongo fleva, 11, 299–313 C Calango, 7, 11, 194, 207, 209, 210, 212–217, 219–222, 224, 227, 231 Calypso, 3–6, 9–11, 13, 165, 168, 173–179

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Ojaide (ed.), African Battle Traditions of Insult, African Histories and Modernities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-15617-5

315

316 

INDEX

Calypsonian, 166, 173, 174, 176–178, 181 Capoeira, 5, 9, 148, 167, 193, 216, 224, 225 Carnival, 4, 5, 165–181, 307 Cedula, 166 Clark, J. P., 17, 63, 265, 266 Columbus, Christopher, 166 Common law Contemporary acculturation, 258 Cracking, 123, 137–141, 229, 312 Cutting, 137–141, 150, 177

Fraternity, 133–145 Freestyle, 124–126, 149, 152, 154, 155, 159, 256 Fuji, 63, 73

D Darah, Godini G., 17–20, 23, 25, 27, 29, 30, 33, 63, 266–268 Decoloniality, 264, 279 Delta Sigma Theta, 136, 142, 143 Diaspora, 1, 2, 4, 6–13, 131, 184, 187, 191, 245, 247 Disparagement, 300, 304, 310, 312 Dissing, 5, 94, 97, 116, 123, 125, 148, 153, 246 Divine Nine, 135–137, 141 Dozens, 4, 5, 9, 11, 12, 115–131, 137, 139, 140, 142, 151, 161, 208, 222, 246, 247, 271, 278

H Halo, 2–6, 8–11, 13, 18, 37–51, 117, 246, 247, 250, 258, 265, 268, 269, 274–279 Hip-hop, 5, 12, 97, 124–128, 130, 133, 147–162, 256, 307–309, 311, 312 Humor, 3, 4, 9, 12, 46, 151 Hybrid, 265

G Gangsta rap, 153 Gayelle, 168–170 Gilroy, Paul, 1, 6 Group identity, 135, 137, 141–144 Gumboot dancing, 134

E East Coast rap, 158 Epistemic, 263–279 Ewe, 3–7, 18, 37–51, 117, 268, 274, 277, 279 Extemporaneous exchanges, 254 Extempo(re), 166, 179, 180

I Ifa divination, 57, 74, 75 Indigenous knowledge system, 93–108 Insult, 2, 4–12, 18, 19, 21, 25, 30, 31, 33, 37, 38, 40–44, 46, 47, 49–51, 56–58, 60–63, 72, 74–76, 96–102, 115–131, 148, 149, 157, 159, 160, 162, 174, 179, 215, 221, 227, 245–258, 267, 268, 275–278, 281–294 Iota Phi Theta, 136, 138, 142 Iten/masking, 31, 33, 165, 167

F Folia de Reis, 194, 207, 214 Folklore, 1, 2, 41, 51, 144, 184–187, 189, 191, 198, 201

J Jongo, 4, 6–13, 184–187, 189–201, 207, 210, 212–219, 222, 231 Jongo da Serrinha, 11, 183–201

 INDEX 

K Kalinago, 166 Kalinda (kalenda/calenda), 168 Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, 135 Kezilahabi, 86–90 King’s Folly, 223 Kitchener, 4, 174, 175, 178, 179 Kool Moe Dee, 125, 126 L Latifah, Queen, 156, 157 Lavways, 166, 169 Lovelace, Earl, 10 M Male challenges, 206–216, 229 Malumbano, 13, 79–90 Masculinity, 5, 8, 18, 19, 152, 208, 225 Mas’/masking, 31, 33, 165, 167 Melody, Lord, 11, 178 Memerume, 10, 11, 22, 24, 25, 31, 253, 270 Military coup, 285, 286, 288–290 Minaj, Nicki, 157, 158 Misogyny, 120–122, 124, 156, 162, 308, 310, 312 Mnangagwa, Emmerson, 285–288, 293 Monogamy, 58, 60, 61, 75 Moral authority, 93–108 N N East Coast rap Notorious B.I.G., 148, 149, 158–160 O Obey, Ebenezer, 73 Obo-ile, 22, 273

317

Ojaide, Tanure, 10, 17–19, 24–26, 29, 30, 32, 33, 118, 134, 263–279 Ojaruega, Enajite Eseoghene, 18, 23, 247, 273 Okitiakpe, 22, 24–26, 29, 32, 253, 270 Okunola, Akindare, 63, 73 Oloya, 4, 10, 11, 22–25, 270, 271 Ondjangoangolano Oral tradition, 1, 18, 39, 47, 80, 81, 101–103, 115–131, 133, 144, 151, 161, 183–201, 216, 246, 250, 263–266, 269 Ororile, 5, 22, 27, 30 Orunmila, 57, 58, 60, 61, 75 P Parnaíba Valley Patriarchal societies, 57 Phi Beta Sigma, 136, 142 Physical challenge, 11, 194 Picong, 4, 175, 178, 179 Pidgin English, 246, 248, 250, 253 Playful insults, 125, 137, 247 Poetic challenge, 207, 216–224, 229, 231 Polygamy, 55–58, 60, 61, 74–76 Postcolonial, 55, 100, 118, 264, 267, 269, 279 Power regulator, 250 Public Enemy, 127, 128 Q Quilombo, 183, 184, 194, 196–198, 201 R Ransom-Kuti, Fela Anikulapo, 247 Recreational engagement, 249 Recuperation, 11, 263–279

318 

INDEX

Riddles, 7, 12, 13, 51, 117, 183–188, 190, 218, 219, 222 S Saluting, 140 Satire, 18, 106–107, 124, 127, 172, 173, 250, 266, 267, 272, 274, 287 Self-deprecation, 151, 160, 178 Self-exaltation, 300, 301, 310 Sexism, 155–157, 162, 299, 300, 302, 308, 310 Shairi, 79–90 Shakur, Tupac, 148, 149, 158, 308 Shimmy, 139 Shona battle songs, 93–108 Social criticism, 248, 249 Song-poetry, 2–5, 8–12, 17, 31, 32, 34, 266, 268, 274, 277, 279 Sorority, 133–138, 140–145 Sparring session, 246, 247 Sparrow, J. M., 308 Sparrow, Mighty, 4, 11, 174, 175, 177–179 Stepping, 133, 134, 137, 140–145 Stick fight, 209, 220 Stick play, 3, 194, 207, 208, 210, 224, 225 Swahili, 5, 79–90, 307, 309, 310 T Taino, 166 Tobago Speech Band, 166, 172, 176 Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, 183, 184 Transtemporal, 273, 274 U Udje, 2–6, 8–13, 17–34, 117, 118, 124, 133, 134, 177, 246, 247, 250, 253, 258, 265–274, 279

Udu, 20, 21, 270 Ughievwen, 19–21 Uhaghwa, 28, 31, 272 Umbundu, 7, 188, 190, 219 Urhobo, 3–7, 9, 17–20, 22–25, 30–34, 117, 133, 177, 265–267, 270, 272–274, 279 V Vassouras, 184, 199, 200, 211, 217 Verbal battle/warfare, 79–90, 246, 263–279 Verzuz, 148, 149, 161 Violence, 4, 9, 18, 19, 21, 22, 31, 33, 40, 45, 49, 50, 115, 116, 118–121, 127, 129, 148, 154, 156, 159, 160, 166, 167, 206, 209, 228–230, 254, 255, 264–267, 269, 274, 275, 277, 286, 289, 299–302, 307–309, 311 W Waka, 63 West Coast rap, 158 Wild’n Out, 130 Wordplay, 147, 151, 159 Y Yabis, 3, 6, 9, 11, 245–258 Yoruba, 7, 11, 18, 21, 33, 38, 55–76, 170, 171, 191, 248 Z ZANU PF, 106, 107, 281, 285, 286, 288, 289, 291 Zeta Phi Beta, 140, 142 Zimbabwe, 94, 95, 98, 100, 105–107, 281, 282, 284–289, 291–293