Ritual Imagination: A Study of Tromba Possession Among the Betsimisaraka in Eastern Madagascar 9004215247, 9789004215245

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Ritual Imagination

Studies of Religion in Africa Supplements to the Journal of Religion in Africa

Edited by

Benjamin Soares, Africa Studies Center, Leiden, The Netherlands Frans Wijsen, Radbout University, Nijmegen, The Netherlands

VOLUME 40

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.nl/sra

Ritual Imagination A Study of Tromba Possession among the Betsimisaraka in Eastern Madagascar

By

Hilde Nielssen

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2012

Cover illustration: Calming a spirit during the ritual bath of judgement. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Nielssen, Hilde. Ritual imagination : a study of tromba possession among the Betsimisaraka in eastern Madagascar / by Hilde Nielssen. p. cm. — (Studies of religion in Africa ; v. 40) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-21524-5 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Spirit possession—Madagascar. 2. Betsimisaraka (Malagasy people)—Religion. 3. Betsimisaraka (Malagasy people)— Rites and ceremonies. 4. Betsimisaraka (Malagasy people)—Social life and customs. 5. Cults—Madagascar. I. Title. II. Series: Studies on religion in Africa ; 40. BL2480.B49N54 2012 299.923—dc23 2011030950

ISSN 0169-9814 ISBN 978 90 04 21524 5 Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

CONTENTS List of Illustrations ............................................................................ Acknowledgements ............................................................................ Notes on Language ............................................................................

vii ix xiii

1 Introduction ...............................................................................

1

2 The Village ..................................................................................

19

3 The Betsimisaraka, History and the Spread of Tromba ......

37

4 Localising Tromba .....................................................................

57

5 A Spirit World of Movement and Change ...........................

83

6 Making Connections: Spirits, Persons and Places ...............

111

7 Tromba Nights of Clapping, Song and Dance .....................

139

8 The Judgement Bath .................................................................

167

9 Tromba and the Radical Imaginary .......................................

233

10 Tromba, Translocality, and the Magic of the Malagasy Nation ..........................................................................................

251

Epilogue: Magic and Political Imagination ...................................

275

Appendix I

The Spirits’ Ethnic Origin, Kind, Gender and Age ............................................................................

281

The Mediums and their Spirits ............................

283

Appendix III Extracts of Conversations with Spirits— Malagasy Version ...................................................

305

Appendix IV Tromba Vocabulary ...............................................

311

Appendix II

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contents

Bibliography ........................................................................................ Index ....................................................................................................

313 321

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Fig. 1. Fig. 2. Fig. 3. Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig. 6. Fig. 7. Fig. 8. Fig. 9. Fig. 10. Fig. 11. Fig. 12. Fig. 13. Fig. 14. Fig. 15. Fig. 16. Fig. 17. Fig. 18.

Marofatsy. ............................................................................ In the forest. ........................................................................ A sacrificial place ( fisorona) with wooden posts (jïro). .................................................................................... Divination (sikidy). ............................................................ Spirit arrival. ....................................................................... One of Soahita’s spirits. .................................................... Ralahy prepares for invocation. ....................................... Preparing the chickens. ..................................................... The girls make barisa. ........................................................ Piera and his associates search for bad medicine. ........ The spirits are ready to bathe the clients. ...................... A child is bathed by a spirit soldier (miaramila). ........ Lahisoa’s spirit exorcises a malevolent spirit. ............... Calming a spirit. ................................................................. Clients approach the spirits. ............................................. Marofero massages (manotra) a patient to make the blood flow. ........................................................................... The tromba shrine (doany) near the royal palace in Antananarivo. ..................................................................... Ralahy, Ravao’s husband and Marofero sit around the spirit flag. .............................................................................

21 23 31 62 153 155 170 177 180 186 199 201 202 203 205 231 263 265

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS First of all I wish to thank all the inhabitants of Marofatsy for their generous hospitality, for sharing their time and teaching me about the “ways of the Betsimisaraka” during my stays in the village. I thank all the tangalamena and ray aman-dreny for sharing their knowledge and for all the advice and guidance they provided. I owe a special thanks to all the mpañano tromba, particularly those in Marofatsy and those in the nearby villages, as well as their families and clients; they allowed me into their rituals and their daily lives and patiently answered all my questions. Particular thanks go to the mpañano tromba whom I call Ravao, Piera, Rangahy, George, Iandro, Lahisoa, Soahita, Tody, Zafy, Marolahy, renin’i Bera and Jaona. My sincere thanks also go to the late Pelika and the late Marofero for letting me into their rituals and for generously sharing their knowledge. One of the first who taught me about tromba was the mpañano tromba Ravavy, who died in 1998. I shall never forget her colourful and charismatic personality, and her warmth and thoughfulness. I shall also never forget the late mpañano tromba and the 1947 rebel whom I call Ralahy. He and his wife warmly welcomed me into their home at all times, generously included me in their daily and ritual activities, and patiently shared with me their knowledge and experiences of tromba during all my stays in the village. Among the other villagers, I thank my village mentors renin’i Rabia and the late Elisabeta in particular for their continuous warm care and guidance. I also thank Lalao Solange, my field assistant; without her companionship my stays would not have been as nearly enjoyable as they were. Iaban’i Rico, his wife renin’i Sylvie and their children, who were my closest neighbours in the village, deserve special thanks for their friendship and hospitality. Ralahy Jean-Baptiste introduced me to the village and, during all of my fieldwork, answered my questions and provided useful advice whenever I needed. I thank him and his wife for their kindness and hospitality. I also thank all the others in Marolambo who, in various ways, helped me in my work. The late Rabia Felix taught me a great deal about the local history of Marofatsy, and also lent me his house in Marofatsy. Boto Jean Philippe and Pelivao Claude taught me a lot during our frequent discussions. Lahiroa and his brothers kept me

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company and made a pleasure out of the long trips on foot between the highlands and Marolambo, and between Marolambo and the coast. Helga Eikeland opened her home for me in Marolambo, and, in many ways, made it possible for me to carry out the fieldwork. She introduced me to her many friends in Marolambo, and generously shared her extensive knowledge about local culture. For my first fieldwork, the late Professor Ludvig Munthe provided useful advice and contacts at the University of Antananarivo. I thank Professor Manassé Esoavelomandroso and Director Rainibe Dahy at L’UER Histoire, Université d’Antananarivo for helping me obtain a visa in 1992 and 1993. I wish to thank Maurice Bloch and Rita Astuti for an inspiring stay and an all too brief visit at the London School of Economics in 1997. Maurice Bloch also put me in contact with the Institut des Civilisations/Musée d’Art et d’Archeologie at the University of Antananarivo, where I was affiliated during my subsequent fieldwork periods in 1997 and 1998. Seminar participants at the institute provided useful comments on my presentations and reports. I thank the director Rakotoarisoa Bien-Aimé and Michel Razafiarivony for helping me obtain the necessary permission to carry out the research. Michel Razafiarivony shared with me his knowledge on the Betsimisaraka culture, and corrected the worst of my language errors in the transcriptions of tromba ritual speech. Suzanne Razafimasy Olsen helped me in pointing out the linguistic particularities of spirit speech. The Norwegian Research Council, The University of Bergen and Marthe and Bjarne Ree’s Foundation provided financial support for my initial fieldwork in 1992/93, and the Norwegian Research Council and The University of Bergen funded the subsequent fieldworks and Ph.D. scholarship. At the Department of Social Anthropology, I give particular thanks to Bruce Kapferer and Ørnulf Gulbrandsen for great inspiration and advice, as well as friends and colleagues—Graziella van den Bergh, Marit Brendbekken, Ståle Knudsen, Kari Telle, Cecilie Ødegaard and Sigrid Lien—for valuable discussions and comments on my work. I thank Richard Whitehead for his careful copyediting. I also warmly thank my dissertation committee—Michael Lambek, Don Handelman and Bruce Kapferer—for encouragement, valuable comments and advice. Among others working on Madagascar, I want to thank Karina Hestad Skeie and Mona Sorknes for the discussions, critiques and advice. I owe special thanks to Jennifer Cole, whose insightful writings on the Betsimisaraka and invaluable discussions in

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the course of my thesis work have deepened my understanding of the many aspects of the Betsimisaraka world. My warmest thanks go to Rajaona Soanaivo and his family in Antsirabe, in particular Rasoarinirina Hanitriniaina and Raharimalala Norosoa, for their continuous friendship, hospitality and care since my early childhood. They have been one of the main reasons for why I have maintained close ties with Madagascar over all these years. My family’s support throughout the entire process has been invaluable. The support and assistance of my parents, Eva and Svein Nielssen, and my parents-in-law, Vibeke and Per Børdahl, made it possible for me to combine family life with research. My husband and friend, Amund Børdahl, has been my best discussion partner, and has also read and commented on parts of the text. His constant enthusiasm and support has been a great help. Finally I thank my children, Maren and Jørgen, for enriching my life and for putting up with a mother who, at times, has spent too little time at home.

NOTES ON LANGUAGE Differences between the Malagasy languages are largely limited to variances in enunciation and regional vocabulary. The Betsimisaraka dialect has a high frequency of the velar nasal /n/, and I have chosen to write it as ñ. The Betsimisaraka tend to suppress the /t/ in the /ts/ of official Malagasy, so that Betsimisaraka is pronounced Besimisaraka, for instance, and tsitsika as sisika. However, I have chosen to write ts in order to avoid misunderstandings. In southern Betsimisaraka the letter “z” is sometimes pronounced like the /j/ in the English “yes”, so that, for instance, zaza becomes yaya, zoky becomes yoky, etc., especially in the initial position. In many other words the “z” is retained, as in razana. The “r” is generally rolled but, as elsewhere in Madagascar, the “tr” as in tromba is pronounced like /tchr/. The “o” is normally pronounced like the /u:/ in “two” in English. The letter “j” is pronounced as /dz/. In Malagasy there is no difference between singular and plural nouns, so that the Malagasy terms I apply throughout the text may refer to both singular and plural entities. Spirit language differs from colloquial speech, and the differences are both lexical and linguistic. I shall comment extensively on spirit speech in chapter 6. All translations throughout the book are my own.

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION (. . .) only the imagination (. . .) is capable of making things real —André Breton, Manifestes It is rombo, one of the tromba nights of clapping, song and dance. Inside of the house are decorations of green tendrils and red lilies. A table covered with red cloth stands in the corner, filled with mirrors, bottles of sugar cane beer and rum. Fastened on the wall are several magical objects and necklaces, signifying that the host’s leading spirit belongs to the Antemoro, a people known for their skills in divination and magic. Red, green and white spirit clothes are placed on a string running across the wall. Spirits appear just after incense is lit and when the beats of sikaiamba make the house tremble while people clap and sing. The spirits of the host come first. Two of his spirits keep coming and going. Originating from the Antandroy people, who are famous for their fierce warriors, one of them dominates the session. He dances roughly with a spear in his hand; he jumps and occasionally hangs by his arms from a rafter in the ceiling, all the while shouting loudly in a hard to understand Antandroy dialect. Once in a while he takes one of the smaller children and dances with them on his arm or holds them upside down by their feet, before blessing them on their forehead. Every now and then he places a hand on someones head—to call a spirit or calm a violent one. The atmosphere is intense, the room crowded and the sound overwhelming. Spirits come out in several mediums, spirits of all kinds: dead people, wood spirits, and earth spirits; spirits who grunt, scream or speak the human language. Different dialects are heard as they come from every corner of the island. They all dance, sing or talk to each other or to the people present, hour after hour, until the early morning.

This book is an attempt to describe the dynamics of ritual practice. More specifically, I explore the spirit possession practice called tromba as it unfolds in Marofatsy, a small village situated in the interior of the Betsimisaraka region of eastern Madagascar. My analysis aims to move towards an approach to ritual that takes into account the creative movement by which rituals gain their force. Ritual dynamics refers to this creative movement that produces motion and change. My intention is to explore ritual dynamics because it is vital for understanding how rituals work—how they shape and alter human worlds.

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The description given above is taken from one of the many nightly tromba rituals that I attended during the first year I spent in the village of Marofatsy. It illustrates how the particular character of tromba possession makes focusing on dynamics and creativity a pressing task. Tromba rituals are complex and unpredictable events. Improvisation and play characterise both their cosmology and ritual practice. They are multiple and unstable. The spirits connected to this world are highly individuated and not part of a fixed pantheon. Each medium has a unique group of spirits, and each of these spirits posess individual stories, distinctive features and abilities. Rituals are never performed exactly the same way across groups and across time. The various groups of followers each tends to develop their own ways and styles of engaging the spirits. These manners and styles also change with time. Thus, tromba possession is a practice continuously in the making. This book enquires into the specificities of a local way of practicing spirit possession. Still, a focus on the explosive creativity of tromba, however specific, opens up into broader and fundamental issues of the study of spirit possession and ritual in general. The key to understanding how rituals work, I argue, lies in exploring their specificity: the way their forms are inseparable from their contents, the composition and configuration of ritual realities, and the principles of these processes. Spirit possession is a phenomenon that exists all over Madagascar. The most well-known and widespread term that is used to refer to spirit possession is “tromba”. The term is used to refer both to the kinds of spirits and to the ritual practices connected to these. Tromba appears to have originated among the Sakalava peoples of west coast Madagascar, where it is closely related to the rise of the Sakalava royal dynasties, as early as the sixteenth century. During the period of French colonialism tromba started to spread to other groups. Variants of tromba possession are now practiced all over the island, although there seems to be a higher incidence among coastal populations (Estrade 1985). Spirit categories and ritual practices vary considerably. Thus, tromba may be seen as a generic term for certain variants of both spirits and cults of possession in Madagascar. In the Betsimisaraka region, tromba is practiced widely (Althabe 1969; Emoff 2002; Estrade 1985; Nielssen 2004). I shall attend to several aspects of the tromba practice and its relation to Betsimisaraka social life and history. However, the main focus is on the ritual practice itself, analysing the creative and imaginative aspects of the ritual processes, which I term ‘ritual imagination’.

introduction

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A main concern is to identify and describe the properties that are vital to the ritual dynamics. In my work, a basic premise is that ritual activity does more than simply reflect and respond to the realities within the society. Rather, the activity itself is vital to the construction of these realities. By examining in detail the ritual activities and the imaginaries they produce, and relating them to a variety of social and historical circumstances as well as to local and individual experiences, I aim to show the significance of the creativity that characterises tromba in Marofatsy. This creative process is linked to the forces of cosmos. Thus, tromba imagination contributes to “making things real” in the Betsimisaraka world. Issues in the study of spirit possession and ritual practice The fluidity of tromba rituals is the main puzzle to which I have dedicated my research. How could I make sense of that which to me appeared as a display of a free flow of creativity? When observing tromba rituals, I had difficulties fitting what I saw with what I had read about rituals. Could I speak of them as rituals at all or were the occasions when the spirits appeared events of another kind? Tromba rituals escape and transgress established definitions and ways of understanding ritual. This is a common feature of spirit possession in general. Spirit possession rituals have been included in the category of ritual that is describable in terms of ecstatic, charismatic, and spontaneous form. Such practices have been interpreted as marginal and peripheral, as subculture, anti-structure, carnival, contestation and resistance, and as standing in a dialectical as well as deconstructive relation to culture and society. Two aspects of spirit possession represent a particular challenge when trying to grasp the phenomenon. First, ritual practices of spirit possession often operate on the margins of the dominant institutions and structures of culture and society. Second, the ritual practice of spirit possession does not easily fit into the typical definitions of ritual as repetitive, invariant and stereotypical behaviour. Consequently, spirit possession has been difficult to explain with reference to simple functional explanations, as well as difficult to describe and analyse with reference to ritual theory and approaches focusing on ritual as a specific form of expression. However, the challenges encountered when analysing spirit possession also expose a more general problem of anthropological approaches

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to ritual: the tendency to analyse ritual in terms of phenomena external to itself. The study of ritual has primarily been regarded as a means to explore significant dimensions of culture or society. Thus, on the one hand, diverse forms of analyses have been applied to ritual, with the aim of uncovering important social processes that support social integration by producing or reproducing social structure or political power. Such approaches range from classic structural functionalism to a focus on political economy or political action. In line with Durkheim, ritual has been viewed as the prototype of the social, or as a basic social act which establishes, guards, and bridges boundaries between public systems and private processes. On the other hand, an alternative tendency has been to regard ritual as a ‘window’ to culture, and to study it as a means to uncover webs of significations. Ritual itself was viewed as a reflection, expression or enactment of culture. To Victor Turner, for instance, ritual was a specific way of communicating about the social reality that surrounds ritual reality (Turner 1982; 1988). Common to these otherwise diverse theoretical stands is the fundamental assumption that ritual is representation. Studies of rituals have aimed to uncover the substance, reality or truth of what rituals actually represent. Hence, rituals have been defined with reference to their content or function. The way spirit possession has been subjected to completely different and even opposing interpretations throughout the history of anthropology, highlights the problem of representation. Spirit possession has been explained both as a psychological disorder and a therapeutic practice; as a collective working out of fundamental cultural dilemmas and contradictions or as a channel for oppressed and marginalised voices; as a cultural theatre, a form of resistance or cultural memory device. Today, it is generally acknowledged that spirit possession is a complex phenomenon with multiple meanings. Still, even approaches that emphasise multiplicity or multivocality entail the implicit assumption that it is still possible, however unattainable that possibility may appear, to produce a complete analysis of spirit possession. Moreover, the idea that spirit possession or ritual is basically a means of expressing these multiple meanings uncovered in the analysis still lingers on. The various anthropological efforts to tame the phenomenon and make it understandable reveal the dangers of losing sight of spirit possession as a phenomenon in its own right. As Don Handelman phrases it, “If all rites are representations, reflections, expressions of moral

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and social order, what, then are they good for across time and space?” (Handelman 1990, xv). Together with Galina Lindquist, Handelman pursued this question in the 2004 book entitled Ritual in its own right, where they challenged several contributors to reflect on whether or not rituals are constituted by features that are not representations of cultural and social orders. My study of tromba possession seeks to contribute to this ongoing exploration and discussion on the ontology of ritual. For me, the problem of representation, as well as my theoretical orientation, was not as much actualised through the reading of philosophical texts or ritual theory as through the experience of the particular character of the tromba practice itself. Tromba possession, I found, resisted analysis along such established terms. Tromba seems in many ways to form a world separated from the rest of society. It does not appear to be a way of enacting or displaying local culture in the sense of local myths or any other well-known story. Nor does the practice seem to be directly tied to the social and political organisation of village society. It is a relatively new institution that emerged locally at a specific point of time, during the late phases of colonialism. However, while it is in one sense detached from society, tromba is also a part of society, as one of several religious practices and institutional complexes in this locality. A main concern, therefore, came to focus on how to make sense of the way tromba seems to constitute a world of its own, and, at the same time grasp the ways it is linked to its surroundings. Questioning ritual as form While many anthropological works have treated rituals as a mirror or window, and defined them in terms of their function or content, considerable attention has also been dedicated to ritual as a specific form. What makes ritual a ritual, it has been asked, and what is the specificity of ritual as opposed to other forms of human behaviour? Most definitions emphasise ritual as a specific genre of human behaviour characterised by a certain formality. Among the features of ritual, the most distinguishing has typically been that it is conventional, repetitive, determined and fixed. In short, ritual is something that is ‘formalised’. While defining rituals in terms of formality does not necessarily cover all kinds of public events conventionally termed ritual, such

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as spirit possession rituals, this definition also causes problems in a more general sense. Ritual has not only been seen as a specific form of action, but also as an aspect of certain actions, or even as an aspect of all action. According to Edmund Leach (1964), every social act has a ritual aspect. Likewise, Erving Goffman (1972) argued that all social interaction is ritualised. One problem, therefore, has revolved around establishing definitions that make it possible to distinguish theoretically between events that are normally labelled “rituals” and ordinary or non-ritual actions. How do we distinguish rituals from other symbolic actions and from the routines of everyday life? As a consequence, some have argued that ritual activities are framed; they are demarcated in space and time from non-ritual reality. Ritual is characterised by closure in contrast to the openness of the course of everyday life. Moreover, within this frame, or demarcation, ritual actions tend to be structured, organised or sequenced in specific ways. Ritual has a diachronic structure, with sequences of distinctive phases. A ritual, Turner argued, is a performance of a complex sequence of symbolic acts: a recognised public event (Turner 1988). Facing the difficulty in establishing an essential difference between ritual and non-ritual, it has been argued that ritual is condensed; it has, so to speak, more form or formality when compared to the actions of everyday life. It has been argued that the level of formality implies a loss of meaning; within a ritual there is an emphasis on form at the expense of content (Bell 1992; 1997; Rappaport 1999). Humphrey and Laidlaw (1994) go as far as to argue that ritual, or ritualisation, should not be considered a means of expressing anything at all outside ritual itself. The formality of the ritual directs the attention towards the composition or form rather than towards any message. Form becomes an end in itself. An analysis that focuses exclusively on formality is, however, no less insufficient than an analysis that focuses on content as the substance of ritual. The isolation of either form or content relies on an opposition between form and content. How can we still label as ‘ritual’ those types of heterogeneous and irreducible practices that lack a universal singularity of ritual and instead consist of a multiplicity of rituals differing according to their rhythms, forms, symbols, contents, etc.? How can we determine the minimal kernel that rituals must have in common if it is not by pure convention or pure confusion that the common name of ritual is conferred upon them? The various attempts to define ritual, whether in terms of content or form, have no doubt been important. Still, a

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specific answer to the question of the specificity of ritual will always be wrong. That we cannot define ritual, however, does not imply that we should stop using the word altogether. Instead, the questions of what rituals are and what they mean should be rephrased into a question of how rituals work, and thus, a focus on their formational and transformational capacities. Making real If rituals are not simply copies of realities, but instead constitutive of realities or, stated differently, if rituals transform rather than represent, then a main concern is to find alternative ways to conceptualise and describe these transformational processes. This necessitates an effort in going a step further from simply stating that reality is socially constructed or constituted through practice. Arguably, the concept of ‘practice’ found in the numerous versions of so-called ‘practice theory’ is still bound up with notions of repetition and representation, or the imitation of what already is. Furthermore, practice theories tend to see human beings as locked up in the structures that practice both generates and results from. “What do we do with this old insight”, Michael Taussig asks in his book Mimesis and Alterity. “If life is constructed, how come it appears so immutable? How come culture appears so natural?” (Taussig 1993, xvi). The task then, is to aim at grasping the productive aspect of the dynamics of practice, the processes by which human beings constitute their realities, the processes of becoming, of bringing-into-real. Through a dynamic concept of mimesis, Taussig aims to approach the processes by which human beings constitute their realities. Mimesis is then understood not as a representation or a copy but as a mimetic faculty, a human ability to transform, alter, or, as he says, an ability to “Other”. Mimesis is a socially constitutive force, an alteration of reality. It factualises imagined worlds. In spirit possession, he argues, it is the mimetic faculty that brings the spirits into being. He likens this process with the work of magicians, who “worked images to effect other images, who worked spirits to affect other spirits which in turn acted on the real they were an appearance of ” (Taussig 1993, 255). Mimesis, however, may be seen as only one aspect of a broader process of becoming. Thus, Michael Lambek (2003) prefers the concept of poiesis, since it offers a more general notion of production in his analysis of spirit possession in Madagascar. Mimesis can then be seen

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as a specific kind of creative production, while poiesis terms the creative production in a more general sense. This way of thinking, though, does not provide a simple answer to the question of what ritual is, or does, in contrast to the practices of everyday life. Human beings are always and everywhere engaged in the creation of their worlds. Although a ritual is marked by its time and space, and in a sense can be said to constitute its own reality, the dynamics of this reality is not radically different from the dynamics of everyday life. But, like formalist analyses that argue for a certain condensation or density of “form” displayed in rituals, Bruce Kapferer has argued that the dynamics of ritual is marked with a certain density, as a compression or intensification of human dynamics; since rituals exist in extension of everyday life, they are productive of the realities in the lived-in world (Kapferer 1997). Perhaps one could say that ritual becomes a place where the creative potential of human beings is exploited, where the dynamics of everyday life are brought into play. Thus, instead of being a window to culture or society, or a mode of their representation, ritual is one of the most forceful ways by which humans communally engage the dynamics of life in order to engender transformation. Ritual imagination Imagination is a key concept in my analysis of the creative production taking place within the tromba practice. Imagination is a concept with a long and complex history, and it has been used in ways that shift according to context. It is commonly acknowledged that imagination (a translation of the Greek term phantasia) was introduced as a philosophical concept by Aristotle. Imagination, according to Aristotle, was the process by which an image is presented to us. The soul never thinks without a mental image. Thus, imagination has been seen as playing an essential role in all kinds of thinking. It has also been linked to perception—the process by which what we perceive is made intelligible to us. According to Kant, imagination is what makes the phenomenal world possible, by synthesising the manifold of sensations into representational images that can be conceptualised. With the Romanticism of the 18th century, the focus of discussion concerning imagination moved away from perception and epistemology to the role of imagination in creative thinking, thereby connecting imagination to aesthetic theory. Later, the concept of imagination turned up

introduction

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again in various fields, from psychology and psychoanalysis to neoKantianism and phenomenology. Although the conceptual history of ‘imagination’ certainly informs my understanding of it, my use of the concept is mainly inspired by the Greek-French philosopher Cornelius Castoriadis. Of particular importance is the way he situates imagination in the realm of the social, by seeing it as the vital force in the formation of society. Born out of a critical assessment of Marxism, Castoriadis’ philosophical project turned towards what he found to be a neglected aspect of Marx’s thinking: the creative aspect of the concept of praxis. It is precisely the creative aspects of human behaviour that make the social extend beyond the non-causal, Castoriadis argues. Human beings respond to new situations, they provide new responses to the ‘same’ situations, and they create new situations. This process of creation, rooted in the human ability to imagine something other than what is, is what he terms imagination. Protesting against the dominant philosophical view that rationality is the core constituent of human nature, Castoriadis instead sees imagination as the necessary condition for rationality itself to take shape, to constitute order out of chaos (Castoriadis 1997a, 162–163). Imagination is not representational, nor is it a way of drawing people into a world of fantasy as an escape from reality. Castoriadis aims to dissolve the conceptual break between imagination and reality. Imagination is not the power to represent, as conceptualised by Kant, but the power to present, to bring into being. It is this ontology of creation that forms the basis for Castoriadis’ understanding of social formation. In The Imaginary Institution of Society (1975), Castoriadis outlines a theory of the social-historical, which he characterises as the tension between the instituted society (the given structures and established institutions) and the instituting society (the society creating itself through transformation of existing institutions and establishment of new institutions). His intention is to grasp the dynamics of the society as it constantly creates itself. A key concept in Castoriadis’ thinking is that of the ‘radical imaginary’. On the one hand, this concept refers to the creative capacity of the individual psyche to imagine other than what is. On the other hand, the radical imaginary is the social-historical force in society. Thus, history is a form of imaginary creation. The levels of the individual psyche and the social are considered to be two mutually irreducible poles, and the radical imaginary has its proper effect on the social

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chapter one

or collective levels.1 The radical imaginary is largely self-generated and provides a resource for the radical historical innovation and development of new structures and institutions. It is the flux of the social-historical that brings the ‘social imaginary’, or the instituting society into being. Castoriadis uses the term “radical” to indicate that he considers imagination to precede any distinction between the “real” and the “fictitious”; “it is because radical imagination exists that ‘reality’ exists for us” (Castoriadis 1997b, 321). Through the social imaginary, “society institutes the world as its world or its world as the world” (ibid., 359). The social imaginary exists in and through the creation of the instituted society, with its significations and institutions. It is the institutions (such as language, norms, family forms, tools, production modes, etc.) and the social imaginary significations (such as the underlying principles, laws, values and world views embedded in the institutions) that hold society together and make it appear as a totality, or, as Castoriadis terms it, a quasi-totality. Furthermore, a society can exist only as perpetual selfalteration. The social reality or the social-historical “is the union and the tension of instituting society and of instituted society, of history made and of history in the making” (ibid., 108). It is this process that emerges from the imaginary. In the context of tromba, this raises additional issues of how society creates these institutions, and how these processes of self-alteration can be approached and described. Social and cultural complexity is another issue raised by focusing on tromba as one of several religious and institutional practices in the local society. One of the most important achievements of modern anthropology is the recognition of the fact that humans do not live in bounded worlds, and that the social worlds we create are multiple, complex, open and changing. Castoriadis’ vision of society as a network of institutions and social imaginary significations is helpful for conceiving such complexity. Instead of thinking of the social merely as a unity of plurality, Castoriadis employs the image of “magma”, a flux that tends to coalesce or merge and make a society into a closed world of its own. This process of merging and closure could also be related to institutional complexes within a society (Arnason 1994, 166).

1 For Castoriadis there is no opposition between the individual and society; the individual is a social creation, and “walking and talking fragments of a given society” (Castoriadis 1997b, 332).

introduction

11

A society may consist of multiple social imaginaries, existing side by side, with varying degrees of openness and closure. Thus, transferred to the context of a small community in eastern Madagascar, tromba possession exists on the edge of the other social imaginaries and institutional complexes in the local society, side by side with ancestral ritual practices, Christian churches, but also the various tentacles of the post-colonial state, such as school and health care. In this light, tromba possession is a phenomenon that extends the singular ritual events, but appears as a social imaginary with its own institutional complex. As such, it contributes to the institutional and imaginary complexity of the Betsimisaraka world. Together with the other institutional complexes, it forms part of the social world, which, like magma, may exist in varying degrees of flux and solidification. However, if tromba possession is a social institution, it is also a ritual practice, and, important to my analysis, the rituals are the main sites for creative production, critical to the creation of the social imaginary connected to this particular social formation. Castoriadis does not offer a theory of ritual. Still, his ontology of the social out from his philosophy of imagination provides the ground from which I develop my own analysis. I find his concept of imagination useful in the development of an approach to ritual that seeks to avoid the dichotomy between representation and reality, and the concomitant reduction of ritual to a mere reflection of something else. Castoriadis sees imagination as fundamentally social. Recognising imagination as a societal capacity for self-transformation opens up for an exploration of ritual imagination as conditioned but not determined by what is given. The concept of the radical imaginary informs the way I understand the significance of creative production within the context of ritual. Inspired by Castoriadis, I term the creative production taking place in rituals as ritual imagination, or more specifically, tromba imagination. Earlier I stated that there is no such thing as one ritual as a universal technique that works everywhere in the same way. Each ritual practice has its own mode of organisation, its own ways of making connections, and its own way of managing the problems that impose themselves on the living. Therefore, it is not sufficient to just state that ritual presents and constitutes. We have to inquire into this process more closely. A move towards a focus on how rituals work implies a shift from the quest for the specificity of rituals in general to the examination of the characteristics of rituals in particular. Thus, the following explorations aim to identify the distinctive character of the creative production as it

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takes place within tromba practice, its dynamics and the way it works. The pursuit of the specificities of tromba imagination raises the following questions: What resources and techniques are used? Where does this process of creative production lead? What is being created? To me the aesthetic properties provide a key to the dynamics of tromba rituals. I follow Kapferer (1981; 1997; 2004) in that the focus on rituals’ transformational capacity requires attention to ritual aesthetics. A focus on aesthetics in ritual analysis should not imply privileging form over content, as the content of ritual is inseparable from the aesthetic content or the content of the form. Instead, I see aesthetics as integral to the dynamics of creation. The aesthetic activity is not just significant, but also intrinsically connected to the specific dynamics of this ritual practice and the specific ways by which this particular practice is engaged in the creation of people’s lives and worlds. Ritual aesthetics is not a secondary quality, but is the means through which the ritual shows or presents itself. A further understanding of rituals’ force, therefore, requires a rigorous examination of their aesthetic properties and the process of their creation. In order to grasp the particularity of the tromba practice the analysis also involves a quest for the specificities of tromba aesthetics, and my aim is to identify the specificities of tromba aesthetics on various levels and scales. I am particularly interested in those elements of ritual practice that often have been ignored or paid little attention to in anthropological studies of ritual: creative innovation and elements of disorder, variation and change. Such features are particularly conspicuous in the practice of tromba possession. While tromba rituals depart from typical designations of rituals as repetitive and invariant forms, they nevertheless have their own formal qualities. This is describable in terms of a transgressive aesthetics with a fluid form. Rituals are complex events engaging all senses in the guise of colours, forms, smells, sounds, rhythms and vibrations. They combine a multitude of aesthetic forms, including music, words, material objects and bodily movement. Various properties and qualities from multiple domains transform into a new synthesis or a totality. It is this movement and the principles of composition that I seek to trace. I describe the various configurations created in ritual practice, and explore how the rituals configure time and space in the production of imaginaries. This book is an ethnography aimed at exploring the local tromba practice in its unity and diversity. I unveil in detail the specificities of tromba imagination and explore how it brings into being the world of tromba as a lived reality. Tromba develops its own territory with its

introduction

13

own boundaries, which makes it distinguishable and demarcated from other practices and domains. Still, focusing on ritual imagination, and on ritual as a phenomenon in its own right, does not imply that I intend to ignore the broader surroundings of the tromba practice. Ritual is not a self-contained activity in the sense that it is disconnected from its surroundings. Although standing for itself, ritual always points beyond itself. However, it points beyond itself from a position within itself rather than a position defined from other domains. While it invokes its own reality, ritual also affects changes on that which it invokes beyond itself. Importantly, tromba imagination is situated in the realm of the social. Thus, my analysis also attends to the fact that tromba is a social practice that involves the dynamics of power and hierarchy, conflict and struggle. Throughout the book I situate tromba within its cultural, social and political environments and demonstrate the various ways that tromba contrasts with, engages, relates to and interferes with all these aspects of the Betsimisaraka world. Tromba possession is a curing practice that addresses people’s existential concerns. To the people engaged in this practice, tromba rituals are sites where the forces of cosmos are brought into play. It is these forces of nature which affect changes in every sense, including changes in the lives and worlds of human beings. People join tromba in order to deal with existential concerns of their everyday lives; they seek to engage and control the constituent forces of cosmos in order to shape their worlds. Thus, I pursue the explosive creative production going on in tromba practice, and explore the ways it coheres with the provocations posed by cosmological forces. As I hope to show, understanding how rituals work necessitates taking into consideration peoples’ own ontologies, the way they see ritual practice as an active engagement with the dynamics of cosmos, or, if you like, their theory of what goes on. Some notes on tromba and my stays in the field My arrival to Marofatsy early 1992 was the first of several stays in this village between 1992 and 2001.2 During all these periods I was based

2 My fieldwork periods are as follows: February 1992 to January 1993, September 1997 to February 1998, September to December 1998. The total time spent was twenty-one months, in addition to three weeks in July/August 2001. The fieldwork in 1992/1993 resulted in my Cand. polit. thesis (Nielssen 1995). These were not my only

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in Marofatsy, where I spent most of my time. I went to Madagascar in 1992 with the intention of studying the Betsimisaraka, a group that at that time had received minimal scholarly attention from anthropologists. This was especially true in the area of spirit possession. I was not sure what I was going to find. However, I soon found out that the village I had chosen was a local centre of tromba activity, with a large number of mediums and several ritual circles. Although I was introduced to the village as a student of Malagasy “ways of living” ( fiara-monina) and the “ways of the ancestors” ( fomban-drazana), word soon spread that I was interested in tromba. A month after my arrival, I received my first invitation to a tromba ritual, which took place in one of the main tromba circles in the village. In Marofatsy, tromba possession is organised in twelve small circles, each headed by a leading medium, a mpañano tromba. Each circle consists of several spirit mediums, and a more or less stable group of clients, together with their families, associates and observers. While spirit possession elsewhere is often associated with women, in Marofatsy both mediums and other participants belong to both sexes. Cult activity centres around regular rituals with two distinct rites: a night ritual of song and dance (rombo) and a day ritual called the “bath of judgement” (misetra am-pitsaràna). By the end of my first stay, I regularly attended rituals in five of the tromba circles of the village. When I returned in 1997, I was invited to join the other circles (except for one where I was not welcome, the reason for which I shall return to later), as well as those in nearby villages. I frequently had to turn down invitations, since all the rituals are held around the same time, following the cycle of the moon. Therefore, I decided to concentrate my attention on the groups within Marofatsy, as this also made it easer to maintain contact with the groups on a daily basis. I decided to limit my tromba engagements in other villages to occasional conversations with mediums, except for one circle in the neighbouring village of Sambiaravo, where I twice attended rituals.

stays in Madagascar, however, as I spent most of my childhood there between 1967 and 1977. My childhood experiences from highland Madagascar clearly influenced my choice of field site, although at the time I consciously decided to stay among another ethnic group, and in another part of the island. Malagasy was the first language I learned properly, and although much of this had been forgotten by 1992, it soon came back and probably made many aspects of my fieldwork easier.

introduction

15

I came to Marofatsy with the assumption that every anthropologist doing rural fieldwork should study “village life”. It turned out that this was to be more difficult than I had imagined simply because the actual village was virtually empty most of the time, as people prefer to stay in their houses scattered throughout the fields. Although I attended as many of the village social gatherings as possible, I realised that the only way to carry out fieldwork in this place was to spend time with people where they worked and lived. Thus, much of my fieldwork was spent walking. I soon learned to appreciate these walks, climbing up and down the hills of Marofatsy, crossing rivers in canoes, either alone or in the company of others. A typical day would start early in the morning with a long walk to one of the more remote settlements. Then I would return for lunch, use the siesta period to make notes, and spend the rest of the afternoon with people in the nearby settlements and in the village. From my first day in the village, two elderly women took on the responsibility of introducing me to people and teaching me about Marofatsy life, ranging from general conduct to aspects of local culture and society. The first woman was a widow who lived alone in the middle of the village. She knew everybody and everything that was going on in the village, so she kept me oriented and helped me to arrange appointments. The other woman was married to one of the most important tromba mediums in the village. It was she who invited me to the first tromba ritual. She and her husband lived close to the village, just across the river. Becoming two of my teachers in the village, I came to spend many afternoons in their company and I grew to value them the most. In several ways, my first fieldwork period was the most challenging, not only because of the slow process of gaining access and winning the confidence of people whose former experiences with Europeans were not all good, but also because the practical matters (such as running a household on my own) took up much of my time, and because communication was difficult in a place where people lived in such dispersed fashions. The situation greatly improved when I returned in 1997. Lalao, a young woman I came to know in 1992, said she wanted to work for me. She moved in with me and helped me with everything from cooking to transcribing recordings. I benefited a lot from her extensive network of friends and relatives, whose constant visits made it a lot easier to send and receive messages and make contacts and appointments. Most importantly, she became a conversation

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chapter one

partner with whom I could reflect upon the events of the day. With her pungent wit and great humour she has contributed significantly to my understanding of many aspects of life in Marofatsy. My then three-year-old daughter and later my husband joined me during my six-month stay in 1997 and 1998. They spent part of their time in Marolambo, but every other week my house became a crowded extended household filled with my own family as well as the children and relatives of Lalao. Tromba rituals are crowded and provide a good opportunity to get to know people. People who were active in tromba circles inevitably came to dominate my social network: the mediums, the clients and their families, and other participants. However, villagers would constantly remind me of the importance of maintaining relations with all groups in the village, so that I would get all viewpoints and not offend anyone, they said. In fact, people never hesitated to tell me what they thought I should do or not do, something I often, though not always, appreciated. I tried as best I could to keep in touch with the churchgoers, the heads of village ancestries tangalamena, the teachers and the nurse, and the families temporarily living in the village, as well as people I met in the market and at funerals, cattle sacrifices and other ritual occasions. As my house was situated along the main kianja, many would drop by whenever they were passing through or had an errand in the village. During my first fieldwork I deliberately kept a broad focus, trying to learn as much as I could about general ethnography and tromba. During the subsequent stays in the village I concentrated on exploring the tromba practice in more detail. These stays were timed so that I could be in the village when tromba activity was at its peak, that is, in connection with the larger October and December rituals. I recorded ritual speech and, together with Lalao, transcribed the recordings. During these stays I participated in activities more selectively than my first trip, conducted a series of interviews, and worked systematically with specific issues and problems. Much of my time was spent with the leading tromba mediums. With great patience they endured my ignorance and continuous questioning, and generously shared their knowledge. Returning to the village several times over the span of almost ten years has clearly influenced my work. Changes were noticeable each time I returned to the village, including changes in the ways the rituals were carried out by various groups or changes in which persons chose

introduction

17

to attend the tromba rituals or the churches. These alterations, as well as changes in village life in general, became a focal point for reflection. Each return also made things easier for me. As people gradually became familiar with having a white woman living amongst them, people became more eager to keep in touch, to talk, even about difficult matters, and more and more tromba circles wanted me to join their rituals. Outline of the chapters The next chapter introduces the reader to the local community. Chapter 3 outlines the broader historical background of tromba possession in the region and shows how the introduction of tromba into the local community is connected to historical forces. Chapter 4 situates tromba in the local community and discusses how its practice is both distinguished from, and intersected with, other local practices. In chapter 5 I begin my investigation of the dynamics of tromba practice by exploring the world of tromba spirits. I examine the principles that structure the spirit identities, and the different elements constituting their identity configurations. Here, I also demonstrate how the tromba world is a social construction containing elements of rank and hierarchy, how human authority intersects with spirit authority, and how spirits take shape as social personages. Through this close reading of the tromba universe, chapter 5 provides the reader with a first picture of some key features of the tromba imagination and how it works. Chapter 6 discusses the relationship between spirits and their mediums. The point of departure in this chapter is certain connection points between mediums and their spirits. Drawing on these points of connection, I go on to discuss relatedness and personhood, focusing on relations between spirits, places, and people. I describe how the relation between mediums and spirits is marked by the interplay of sameness and otherness, or inside and outside, and how this interplay is a significant feature of the tromba imaginary. The argument is directed at showing how tromba imagination feeds on aspects of the mediums’ personal experiences and perceptions of the world as a resource in the constitution of tromba imaginaries. The argument also focuses on revealing how such imaginaries may in turn affect peoples’ lives. The next two chapters situate tromba imagination in the context of rituals. Chapter 7 concentrates on the night rituals called rombo.

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chapter one

Tromba rituals are the primary context in which the spirits are called into being, and join a community of other spirits and human beings through various forms of ritual imagination. I examine this process by analysing the various aspects of the ritual, such as trance and communication, song and dance. Chapter 8 focuses on the second ritual, the bath of judgement, which is perceived by the tromba practitioners as the most important of the two. I discuss the dynamics of tromba rituals by closely examining the ritual structure, order and disorder, and imagery and events—including the predictable and the unpredictable. My aim is to demonstrate that the distinctive character of tromba imagination is linked to cosmology and ritual dynamics, and that people engage this dynamics in their effort to control and shape their lives. The last two chapters situate tromba in history and discuss tromba in relation to local and translocal processes. In chapter 9 I compare the local tromba with other versions of tromba elsewhere in Madagascar. Much of the literature on tromba in Madagascar focuses on history and sees the practice as a mnemonic device form. I argue that tromba in Marofatsy resists descriptions in terms of remembrance, or as a history production with a past inhabiting a living present. Tromba in Marofatsy transcends history and presents itself as a transhistorical world. As such it differs from other ways people inscribe themselves in the passage of time, both in other versions of tromba in Madagascar, and other ways of instituting historical temporality in the local society. Tromba is a translocal phenomenon and translocal connections are recurrent elements of tromba imagery. Chapter 10 provides the final step in my investigation of tromba imagination. In it I discuss the translocal character of tromba in the light of larger political processes connected to questions of identity, ethnicity and nation in Madagascar at large. Following from this discussion, and building on the analyses of the previous chapters, I argue that the distinctive form of connectivity that characterises the ritual dynamics of tromba articulates how tromba possession is intrinsically linked to the changes in the world and the critical necessity of maintaining continuity and flow in the midst of these changes.

CHAPTER TWO

THE VILLAGE In the ways of the ancestors, the village is one. —People in Marofatsy

The Marolambo district is situated in the southern part of the eastern province of Toamasina, between highland Madagascar and the coast. For the past twenty years the road to the coast—which was constructed during the colonial period—has only been passable by three tractors owned by the local merchants and used for carrying locally needed merchandise and other goods.1 Some other local roads that were constructed in the same period are no longer passable by any vehicles and they now resemble the other small paths in the area. This is the case with the path between Marolambo, the district centre, and the village of Marofatsy, where I decided to do my fieldwork. In the sixties, there were taxi-brousses driving regularly between Marolambo and Betampona further south, passing Marofatsy on the way. Today, traces of the road are hardly visible. Lack of road maintenance and the difficult climate means that much of the region is relatively isolated from the rest of the country. During my first fieldwork in Marofatsy, I walked the 130 kilometers from the highlands, or the same distance from the area to the coast, to get in and out of the area. As a three-day walk, it was at that time the fastest method to get to Marolambo. The tractor trips, which take up to six days to reach the coast, are hazardous and accidents are frequent. By contrast, between the mid-forties and the early seventies, one could easily drive back and forth between Marolambo and the coast in a day. In 1993, a small aircraft company (MAF) built a small airstrip in Marolambo, and a ten-seat airplane arrives at least once a week for the purpose of transporting medical personnel, medical supplies, and other church workers. In addition, the plane carries passengers (the few who can pay for the trip) as well as other important goods, such as the mail and school equipment for the

1 The road was being repaired during my trip to the area in 2001, but the road is now again impassable due to damage caused by a cyclone in early 2003.

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chapter two

private and public schools. The poor infrastructure and the relative difficulty in reaching the area makes the region unattractive for outsiders, such as government workers and medical personnel, who seldom stay for long. Marolambo is popularly regarded by highlanders as a “poste disciplinaire”, a place to which troublesome and drunken government employees, functionaries or military personnel are banished. The peoples in this area consider themselves to be members of the ethnic group called Betsimisaraka. The Betsimisaraka constitute the second largest of the twenty officially recognised ethnic groups in Madagascar. They inhabit the east coast in some of Madagascar’s most densely populated regions, from Vohémar in the north to Mananjary in the south. The climate in this part of Madagascar is hot and humid. While the region was formerly covered with rainforest, there is now little to be seen of the virgin forest, as most has been replaced by cultivated land and thicket, locally termed the savoka. The region is naturally separated from the highlands by a steep, north-south running rainforestcovered escarpment in the west, and Lake Alaotra in the north. The inner part of the region is undulating, and the landscape is dissected by a number of smaller and larger rivers that eventually pour their waters into the Indian Ocean. With its frequent river crossings, along with the rainy climate, the rugged landscape makes travelling difficult. The few roads that exist are in poor condition. They are mostly located along the coast, except for the paved road between Antananarivo and the provincial capital Toamasina (Tamatave), where there is also a railway connection. Toamasina also has the country’s most important international port. For the most part, the villages are only connected through a network of small paths, and travelling is generally on foot or in small dugout canoes. Spread out across the landscape, along the rivers and the many tiny paths, is a network of villages with an hour or two walk between each. Marofatsy is a village of about one thousand inhabitants situated twelve kilometers south of Marolambo, between the highlands and the coast in the southern part of the region. Marofatsy falls within the jurisdiction of Marolambo, which is both the headquarters for the district (district, fivondronana) and the sub-district (commune, firaisana) administration in the province of Toamasina (province, faritany). Having public and private high schools (lycée, college) as well as public and private hospitals, Marolambo is also the local centre for education

the village

21

Fig. 1. Marofatsy.

and health. With a few merchants selling elementary goods, it is also the district’s commercial centre. Thus, people from Marofatsy visit Marolambo on a regular basis, whenever they have an errand in the markets or shops, with the government bureaus, at the post office, at the hospitals or at the larger monthly services in the churches. A few of the children from Marofatsy continue their schooling beyond primary school, and thus stay in Marolambo, where relatives visit them regularly and them bring food supplies. Village and forest Like Marolambo, Marofatsy is situated on the banks of the Nosivolo, which runs from south to north before it finally pours into the larger Mangoro River. Like the other villages in the area, Marofatsy is largely a colonial creation. In order to facilitate administrative and military control, people were forced from their small lineage-based settlements into larger, often multi-lineage villages along the main roads and paths. However, most of the year the village agglomeration is almost empty, as people also have houses in their fields. According to general rule, every adult man over eighteen is supposed to have his own house in the village. In practice this is not always the case. House building

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chapter two

has become increasingly difficult and expensive. The virgin forest is gradually disappearing, and one has to go further and further away to find the hardwood needed to construct a longer-lasting house. Thus, several households often share the houses in the village. Except for a few families, such as the teachers and the nurse, who live permanently in the village, people come to the village for short periods only. In spite of the fact that the houses in the village are larger and more comfortable, people prefer to live in their farmhouses. Most people come to the village for specific reasons. During funerals people come to the village to participate in the wake. They also return for certain larger rituals, such as the circumcision ceremony (sambatra) and the cattle sacrifices, when the ancestry responsible for the sacrifice, as well as representatives from the other ancestries, gather in the village. In the event of illness and childbirth, families move into the village and others come to visit. House building and the inauguration rituals for new houses (mamela-dafika), the birth of a tenth child ( foloanaka) and marriage are other social events that involve ancestral rituals and festivities where the ancestry participates. For the Independence Day and the New Year celebrations, a large portion of the area’s population moves to the village for a few days or even up to a month.2 Churchgoers come to the village during the weekends. Sunday is also a market day, and the only day when the village is really crowded. The school children live with their parents in the fields and on a daily basis they attend the school in the village, even when it means walking several kilometres each way. In addition, people visit the village for community council meetings or communal work, for instance at the school or health clinic. The preference for life in the fields reflects more than the practical benefits of living close to work. Even people whose fields and farmhouses are situated close to the village prefer to live outside it. The life in the fields or “in the forest” (añaty ala) as people say, is idealised in contrast to life in the village. People often say that they do not feel comfortable in the village (tsy tamana any an’tanana). Life “in the

2 Prior to 1992 participation in the Independence Day celebration was obligatory, and failure to show up was punished with a fine (5,000 FMG—Malagasy Francs), according to the villagers. According to my field notes from June 1992, many failed to show up.

the village

23

Fig. 2. In the forest.

forest” is praised as cool (mangatsiaka) and peaceful (mangina).3 People associate their life in the forest with the way their ancestors used to live in ancient times, before the French colonisation, and they continue to associate the village with contact with the outside world, notably the government. Ways of making a living People in Marofatsy are subsistence farmers, and their most important crop is dry rice. The dry rice is grown on the steep hills in the vicinity of the village, based on a system of rotation using slash and burn techniques (tavy). When I stayed in the village in 1992–93, only a few

3 The preference for life in the fields in contrast to the village life seems to be widespread among the Betsimisaraka. According to Cole: “People often described living in the fields as peaceful, cool, and spacious, a reference not only to the expanse of rice land they could see around them but how living in one’s fields contrasted with the heat and crowding of the town. The heat they referred to was more than just the literal heat of the burning, sun-soaked sand on which the town was built, for it also included the metaphorical heat of social relations and the awareness that daily intimacy inevitably led to fights” (Cole 2001, 78). In Marofatsy this heat was also associated with the presence of the state ( fanjakana).

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chapter two

families also had small paddies of irrigated rice. This pattern of cultivation has recently changed. When I returned to the village in 2001, there were wet rice paddies (oraka) in terraces in the small valleys and in the marshes along the river. After the cyclone Eline had destroyed the harvest in early 2000, people supplemented their dry rice production with wet rice wherever it was possible. Being less vulnerable to the weather and with the possibility of yielding two harvests a year, wet rice provided a more secure food source. However, dry rice is considered tastier, easier to cultivate and more suitable for the steep hills and thus remains the staple food. In addition, people grow manioc, sweet potatoes, beans, peanuts and taro, as well as a variety of green leaves, which are used as a vegetable (ro). Close to their farmhouses and on the edges of the village, people have more permanent gardens for the cultivation of sugar cane, coffee, bananas, pineapples, avocados, breadfruit, mangoes, oranges and lychees. As in most places in Madagascar, rice is considered the most proper food, and ideally at least two meals a day should consist of rice. For breakfast, people often eat manioc, sweet potatoes, taro or cooked banana, after the obligatory morning coffee. The first sound heard in the morning is that of women pounding sugarcane to sweeten the strong black coffee believed to provide strength for a hard working day. People’s daily work follows the cycle of the seasons. In Marofatsy, October is the beginning of the agricultural year, when the men start to cut the forest or bush in preparation for burning. In late October and November, the air is grey with smoke while the fields are being burned. In November and December, the women climb the steep hillsides. They carry digging sticks and baskets of grain, and start planting the rice. This is a very busy time, since the planting should be finished before the first rain and hail storms mark the start of the wet season in December. The rice is ripe in May. In the months that follow, when food is plentiful and the cold season reduces the agricultural work, the prime time for larger ancestral rituals, such as cattle sacrifices, sets in. Meat is only eaten in festivities. Most people have some poultry, and some rear pigs to sell in the market. Thus, people eat pork occasionally on market days, but always during the Independence Day celebrations. Cattle are only eaten at sacrifices. Few people own cattle since it requires considerable capital investment and since the very hilly terrain is generally unsuitable for pasturing. On a more daily basis people supplement their diet with fish, shrimp and crabs from the river, and certain insects and variants of hedgehogs (sokina) caught in the fields.

the village

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Although the frequency of hunting has declined with the disappearance of the forest, once in a while some men gather in a hunting party, taking their spears and their dogs to go searching for wild boar.4 Some men are still able to use the blowpipe with poisoned arrows to catch birds and lemurs. However, the disappearing forest also means that the old hunting techniques are slowly vanishing. Nevertheless, hunting seems to still constitute a feature of manhood, associated with male strength and virility. For instance, men would proudly show me their weapons, explain their use and tell stories of hunting. Considered to be a trophy of a difficult and dangerous catch, women would sometimes tell me about the wild boars caught by their husbands, brothers or fathers. Betsileo people bring goods from the highlands by foot and hold markets in the villages in the area. Since the mid-nineties they have come to Marofatsy every Sunday. The locals use the occasion to sell cakes, hot sugarcane-sweetened coffee, homebrewed rum (toaka) and sugarcane beer (betsa), as well as rice, coffee beans and vegetables. In fact, since the market first began, Sunday afternoons and evenings have evolved into rather noisy times, as men drink and play games, fights occasionally break out, and at night young people sometimes arrange balls (bal ). With the coming of the market, the number of regular churchgoers has declined, and the market has become a cause for complaint for the more devoted. Since 1998, a couple of young men have even established small shops in the village, selling items such as kerosene, soap, salt and sugar. To buy and sell, however, people often prefer to go to markets elsewhere in other villages or in Marolambo. In the past, the production of cash crops—like coffee, clove and pepper—constituted an important supplementary source of income for the people of Marofatsy. However, the difficulties in distributing goods to the market due to deteriorated roads, the fiasco of the state run coffee distribution cooperative (corruption and bad administration) established by the Ratsiraka regime (“Operation Café,” situated along the road between Marolambo and Marofatsy), and the fall in coffee prices on the world market, have all translated into diminished

4 On the day of my first arrival to Marofatsy, I was met by a group of men at the entrance of the village, all carrying spears, and with a bunch of dogs running before them. They were heading for a wild boar hunt, and they made a huge impression on me at the time. This was the only time I saw a hunting team, though people would tell me of occasional hunts that had taken place in the periods I was away.

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cash-crop production. During my fieldwork intervals most people picked coffee for their own consumption only, and the rest of the crop was left to rot. The clove trees in the village were not harvested at all. Even when the coffee prices rose in the late nineties, few bothered to pick coffee for the market since the small profit did not compensate for the work required. The Marolambo storekeepers, who bought the coffee from the producers to sell it on the coast, paid little because of the high transportation costs. The lack of road access means that people have limited access to a market for whatever they produce. Many people dream about the future, for instance about fruit production, if and when they ever get a paved road. Gold and precious stones (mostly semi-precious stones such as garnets) are other sources of income in the area. Panning for gold in the river or digging for stones are labour-intensive activities and leave little time for farming. It is, therefore, mostly young men who engage in these activities, though other men sometimes participate on a seasonal basis. Both men and women occasionally act as middlemen, buying from the diggers and selling to buyers from the highlands. Until 1998, this was an important source of income for many of the villagers. However, in 1997 a Frenchman living in Antananarivo bought the rights to the garnet quarry situated south-east of Marofatsy.5 In an effort to stop the illegal small-scale trade and protect his interests (the diggers working for the former owner, a merchant in Marolambo, had been selling stones off-record in the village on a fairly large scale), he urged the authorities in Marolambo to increase their control over the local trade. At the same time, other powerful people were also interested in stopping the local small-scale trade, including government employees and those in Marolambo who were, legally or illegally, engaged in the business at the time and, when compared to the villagers, had more capital to invest on larger operations. In January 1998, a few weeks before I left the village, nine persons from Marofatsy were arrested. They were

5 At the stone quarry, the diggers form a small society of their own, almost like a small village of young men, sometimes with wives and children, coming from all over the area in search for money. However, money earned on gold washing and stone digging are considered as easy earned and easy spent. Much is spent on drinking and gambling as well as commodities such as ghetto blasters, jeans and so on. The diggers, therefore, tend to be continuously out of money and always eager to sell in between the times when the dealers from outside come to the area. People in Marofatsy do not consider this as a proper way of making a living, as they see it as morally inferior to farming.

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all fined, and some of them were imprisoned for a couple of days, being severely beaten before their release. In Marofatsy all the villagers were terribly upset, claiming the action taken by the gendarmes (and not least by those who encouraged the gendarmes to make a move) was totally unreasonable. The stone quarry was located on land owned by villagers, and during the more than ten years of its activity, the village had received nothing, people argued. Nevertheless, the incident seemed to have scared people enough to stop most of the small-trade. When I returned in September 1998, most villagers did not dare to engage in the business anymore, although some still continued clandestinely. During my stay, local dealers from Marolambo occasionally turned up at the Sunday market and seized stones from any unauthorised person who tried to sell, and fights sometimes broke out. Money plays a limited role in the village economy. People themselves produce most of what they need. Farming technology is simple. Knives, machetes, and spades are produced locally, as many of the villages have a local blacksmith. The men spend their free time producing farm tools and fishing tackle. The women make baskets, often very beautiful with intricate patterns, and floor mats. They weave colourful raffia cloth (tenina), from which they sew akanjo-be (shirts) for the men and sembo (traditional wrap) for themselves, as well as covers for straw mattresses (kodoro) to sleep on. The baskets, mats and woven cloths are normally not for sale, since every “proper” woman is supposed to produce what is sufficient for her family’s needs. They occasionally, however, make some on order. The money people earn in the market from selling shrimp and fish, rum and beer, and occasionally rice and vegetables, is mostly used to buy commodities, like schoolbooks for the children; factory made items such as cloth, clothes and soap; kitchen and cooking supplies such as salt, utensils, pots, dishes and buckets; and kerosene for small house lamps. There is little chance to accumulate wealth in the village. The government employees are somewhat better off, but their low salaries force them to farm in order to make ends meet. Almost every family owns land, but due to the increase in population, land has become a scarce resource. Disputes over land have become a part of everyday life and the most important source of conflict. Life is hard and people struggle to keep going. The crops depend upon the weather. The rain may arrive too late, or heavy rains and hailstorms, not to mention cyclones, may destroy the harvests. Recently, swarms of grasshoppers have also become a threat. There are times of the year when most of the villagers are hungry, as

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they say. This is when they have little or no rice left, and when they have to survive on a poorer diet of bananas, manioc and taro. The spatial organisation of the village The farm settlements are spread across the landscape on both sides of the river Nosivolo. The village is situated on the eastern shore, divided by the main path (lalana, within the borders of the village called kianja) coming from Marolambo, and continuing southward. The houses are organised along a north-south axis, and the spatial organisation corresponds to the hierarchical order of the village ancestries. As elsewhere in Madagascar, the Betsimisaraka consider the north, or north-east, to be the most significant and superior direction, associated with the ancestors and their spiritual and political dominance. The tombs, situated along the river to the north of the village, follow the same pattern as the spatial organisation of the hierarchical order of village society— as a material map of the social order (Bloch & Parry 1982). The highest ranked lineage tomb is situated furthest north, and the others are placed in the landscape according to the hierarchical order. The Betsimisaraka peoples are organised in a variety of named exogamous clans or “kinds” (karazana), which I will term ancestries, following the use of the term established by Cole (2001) and Thomas (1998). In contexts where a specification of organisational level is not necessary, I will use ancestry as the general term for descent group. These named ancestries form large translocal groups extending beyond the borders of the village; for instance there are Andrianolona living in the village Ambohitelo further north, as well as in Marolambo. Apart from sharing a common ancestral origin and common taboos, they rarely function in practice as a group. Two such ancestries are represented in Marofatsy: Andrianolona and Andriafañahy. In accordance with the order of arrival to the area, the Andrianolona occupy the northern part of the village while the Andriafañahy live in the southern part. People call the two parts of the village as “the first Marofatsy” (Marofatsy voalohany) and “the second Marofatsy” (Marofatsy faharoa). According to local oral history (tantara), the Andrianolona came first to the area, and had lived there for generations before the arrival of the Andriafañahy.6 The Andriafañahy, 6 According to the stories (tantara) of the Andrianolona, by the time the French came, the Andrianolona were in control of a large area (though they for some decades

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it is said, are the descendants of a small group of migrants who came to the area and settled on the small island Nosibe in the river just north of Marofatsy, what was then the centre of the Andrianolona. According to the stories, they developed amicable relations with the Andrianolona, and formed an alliance with them by virtue of blood siblingship ( fatidrà). Being the latest arrivals and fewer in number, they had to accept the position of “second” to the Andrianolona in the social order, and the leaders of the Andrianolona would always have more authority than the leaders of the Andriafañahy.7 Within the village the ancestries are divided into minor branches or lineages (often called firazana or fianakaviana), whose hierarchical order is also reflected in the spatial organisation of the village. The branches form residential groups, hierarchically situated in the village following the north-south axis. Each lineage is associated with a tangalamena, a senior male member of the lineage who is chosen to act as head of the lineage in certain respects and is responsible for communication with the ancestors. Often they also have a speaker (mpikabary) who is responsible for speeches made to the audience of living people during the rituals. Like other peoples in Madagascar, the Betsimisaraka trace descent through both their paternal and maternal lines. However, the emphasis is on the father’s line, so that ideally and often also in practice children stay with their father (at least when they reach a certain age if the couple has separated, which they often do), and people should be buried in their father’s tomb. This also means that, although there is a preference for virilocality, unlike the Merina people of the highlands (Bloch 1971), women are buried in their father’s tomb, not in their husband’s. Though people have rights and obligations connected to their mother’s group, such as participation and contributions to ancestral rituals, the rituals of the father’s group are considered as more important. There is, however, had been under the Merina Kingdom) ranging from what is now called Marolambo in the north to Soavina in the south. Before the colonisation the clans were always fighting among themselves, and the main seat of the Andrianolona warriors was on Nosibe. In those days they would have warrior chiefs (mpitarik’ady, mpitari-tafika) in addition to the tangalamena. There was once a village there surrounded by palisades to protect it against enemies. Today the island is a powerful, sacred place. 7 According to the tantara, the Andrianolona ruled (nitondra) over the Andriafañahy, the tangalamena of the Andriafañahy being the second, or deputy (lefitra) tangalamena. Similarly, in the beginning the zanan’ny vavy did not have a tangalamena of their own; it was zanan’ny lahy who ‘ruled’ (nitondra). Mitondra derives from the root ‘tondra’ and means rule, conduct, direct, lead or bear, carry.

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considerable room for individual choice and negotiation. Some people live with their maternal kin, and in cases of serious conflicts, a child may be buried in the mother’s lineage tomb if a bull is exchanged for sacrifice to the paternal group. To some extent, a father’s right to his children has to be acquired, and fatherhood implies certain duties and obligations toward the mother and child. If he fails to fulfil his obligations, his rights may be disputed. Such disputes are not uncommon, especially since marital relations are unstable and people usually have several partners in the course of their life. Like many of the Betsimisaraka ancestries, the Andrianolona is divided into two major branches, associated with a brother-sister pair of the early “great ancestors” (razam-be taloha).8 People say that these branches traditionally functioned as an alliance of inter-marriage, a way of crosscutting the rule of exogamy and keeping the marriages within the ancestry. The descendants of the brother (zanan’ny lahy— descendants of the male) live in the northernmost tip of the town, followed by the descendents of the sister (zanan’ny vavy—descendants of the female). The zanan’ny lahy and zanan’ny vavy are in turn divided, so that the northern part of the village consists of first two zanan’ny lahy branches and then two zanan’ny vavy branches, each having their own tangalamena.9 Each tangalamena has a great house (trano be) in the village, while other members of the lineage have houses situated nearby. The great house is filled with ancestors’ sacred power (hasina), “almost as powerful as the tombs”, as one elder said. It is surrounded by taboos, for instance one should never kick its walls or tie a dog in it, the young cannot arrange balls in it, sexual intercourse between unmarried couples is forbidden, and if it burns down a bull must be sacrificed. People gather in the great house whenever there is a sacrifice in the village, a funeral (the corpse is placed here during the wake), a circumcision, or a marriage; or when serious matters (for instance disputes over land or other conflicts, sorcery accusations, taboo transgressions, thefts etc.) are formally discussed in a kabaro (public discourse). Close to the

8 See Cole (2001) and Razafiarivony (1995) on similar ways of creating branches among Betsimisaraka elsewhere. 9 A zanan’ny vavy branch may also be created when children come to belong to their mother’s group because their bonds to their father’s group are broken due to conflict. In “second” Marofatsy a brother and sister, their children and grandchildren are called zanan’ny vavy since they belong to their mother’s lineage.

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Fig. 3. A sacrificial place ( fisorona) with wooden posts (jïro).

great house there is often an open space for sacrifices ( fisorona), where prayer posts ( faditra) and posts cut in a y-shape (jïro) like a bull’s horn are erected during circumcision rituals. The plant called hasina (embodying sacred power) grows here, as it does around many of the houses in the village. The sculls of sacrificed bulls are often placed on top of the jïro. Like the great houses, these sacrificial posts may also be desecrated, for instance by dogs and pigs. Thus pigs are always kept outside the village. The lineage also usually shares the same tomb, and constitutes a ritual community connected to ancestral rituals. Lineages often split, sometimes because the members grow in number, but often because of conflicts. The groups then establish their own great houses, and eventually their own tombs. Such a minor branch is sometimes referred to as foko.10 The person in charge of a great house is called the “head of people” (loholona). The loholona is in many cases identical with the tangalamena, as he also is in charge of a great house. However, it is the tangalamena, not the loholona, who functions as communicator with the ancestors in the larger rituals. The

10 The terms firazana or fianakaviana and foko refer to various organisational levels of subgroups within the ancestry, and in daily speech these distinctions are often blurred.

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loholona assists the tangalamena, and has a central role in funerals as well as in minor ritual occasions. Thus, in the “first” Marofatsy, there are seven great houses, of which only four are associated with a tangalamena, and five tombs. The two zanan’ny lahy branches have three great houses and three tombs (in two different places), while the two zanan’ny vavy branches have four great houses and two tombs (in one place). Furthermore, they have three sacrificial spaces, of which two belong to the zanan’ny lahy,11 and one to the zanan’ny vavy. In the “second” Marofatsy there is one tangalamena, but three great houses, including two places for sacrifice and one tomb.12 The second Marofatsy is physically split in two. People explain this by referring to certain events following the anti-colonial rebellion in 1947, when the colonial troops burned the southern part of the village. Among other things, the prayer post and great house burned down. This caused ancestral anger and a blockage of the flow of ancestral sacred power (hasina). People were afraid to move back and instead built an enclave outside the village to the south. However, one branch was struck by a series of misfortunes. A diviner advised them to sacrifice a bull and move back to their original location. Although those moving back built a new great house and their own sacrificial place ( fisorona), they continued to share the tangalamena and the tomb with the others. To construct a separate tomb, and, even more significantly, to “raise” (mitsangana) a new tangalamena—which would be the ultimate sign of a split lineage—is considered far more serious and drastic than establishing a separate great house. Branches of an ancestry may quarrel for ages without deciding to split. From the stories I have heard, it seems that social conflicts are not enough to cause a split; the ancestors have to be seriously offended. In all the stories I have heard it is the tangalamena who is accused of such offences. According to one story, a branch of one of the village ancestries had decided to construct their own tomb, since the old tomb was becoming too small.13 On the day

11 According to the story (tantara), the second place was made because a now deceased tangalamena suffered from paralyses, and could not manage to walk down to the first. Therefore, they made a new one in front of his house, now a great house. 12 According to the villagers a major part of the divisions unfolded since the independence in 1960. 13 Old tombs in this area look like a mound of stones and earth, with an underground room consisting of separate chambers for men and women. Nowadays, most tombs are built in concrete and undecorated like a bunker. They are surrounded by virgin forest, if only a few square meters, since it is forbidden to cut the trees in

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of the initiation and blessing of the new tomb ( fampidiran-drazana),14 the tangalamena forgot to bring the ceremonial stick to be used for the invocation,15 and brought another, ordinary stick instead. Those who were in charge of the new tomb felt that both they and the ancestors had been terribly insulted, and decided to choose a tangalamena of their own. A few houses, ones larger than the others, are situated in the middle of the village, between the “first” and “second” Marofatsy. These houses are owned by a branch that was said to belong to the Andriafañahy clan. Nevertheless, since a few of the men from this family had married women from both the Andrianolona and the Andriafañahy, they did not constitute a paternal lineage branch of the Andriafañahy. I was told that this was the largest family of slave descendants in the village. They were able to build these big houses, some in colonial style, because many of the members of this family were educated and engaged as professionals and government employees in Marolambo as well as Antananarivo and Toamasina. The fact that families of slave descent are often more educated and, therefore, better off economically than others is typical in this area. The locals explain this as a consequence of the fact that when the villages in the colonial period were obliged to send some of their children to school, it was often the children of slave descent who were sent. I have also heard some suggest that the slaves were less sceptical to school education than others, and used this as a means for social mobility. Moreover, it was easier for slave descendants to move since they were less bound by village obligations. While slaves were formerly buried in the ground on the southern edge of their masters’ tomb, the family in Marofatsy has been granted permission to construct their own tomb (around all the other tombs in Marofatsy there are individual slave graves). This tomb is situated at the southern end of the north-south axis of tombs to the north of the village. Whenever this family needs the services of a tangalamena, for instance for sacrifice, it is the tangalamena of the Andriafañahy who performs the duty. I have been told that slave descendants are the surroundings. Nearby there is also a standing stone (tsangam-bato) where sacrifices are held, as well as a tree with lots of pieces of cloth that were tied to it during sacrifices. 14 Fampidiran-drazana means “entering the ancestors”; when a new tomb has been built, some of the ancestors from the old tomb are moved to the new one. 15 The tangalamena is named after this ceremonial stick, the name meaning ‘red stick’.

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not allowed to have their own tangalamena. However, Cole (2001) describes how slave descendants in Ambodiharina at the coast asked for and were granted this right when slavery was abolished with the colonisation. I do not know why this has not happened in Marofatsy. Perhaps they have asked, but were not being allowed, or perhaps none of them have been interested in holding such a position, as they are all active churchgoers16 and seem to have chosen a “modernist position” in other respects, too. Actually, it was this family that first constructed a church in the village. Like elsewhere in Madagascar, the Betsimisaraka held slaves, but slavery among them does not appear to have reached the same level as it did among those living in the highlands. According to the elders in the village, the area was too isolated, and people here did not have connections with foreign slave traders to the extent found among the chiefdoms and kingdoms further north. Some of the slaves in Marofatsy were war captives, while others were people who became social dependants for various reasons, often coming from places far away and, out of necessity, more or less willingly submitting themselves to a master. Common for them all was the fact that they were people without kin, without ancestors, that is, “without history”. Most of the slaves left the area just after colonisation, people say, though some chose to stay. Slavery is a touchy subject in the village and is never discussed openly. The younger generation seems not to have much knowledge about it.17 However, elders in the village say that slavery still has some significance in the context of ancestral rituals, marriage and death.18 For instance, when village tombs are mentioned in invocations during the larger ancestral rituals, the tombs of the slave descendants are never mentioned unless the lineage in charge of the ritual has ancestors buried there. When this tomb is mentioned, it is always at the end of the invocation. Though people intermarry with

16 Active church membership is normally considered as incompatible with the office as tangalamena. 17 This was also observed by Cole in Ambodiharina on the coast (Cole 2001, 73). 18 Although the family of slave descent in Marofatsy has their own tomb, this is not always the case elsewhere in the area. In some places, people of slave descent are still buried outside the tombs of their masters. For instance, during my fieldwork in 1997, a politician in Marolambo constructed a tomb as the first in her family. As people said, she found it embarrassing for someone like herself, in her position, to be buried at the feet of her family’s former masters.

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slave descendants, this is still frowned upon by many of the elders, at least so I was told. The social order is further manifested in the internal organisation of the house. Betsimisaraka houses are typically rectangular and traditionally without windows, but with two doors. The first door is situated in the northern part of the western wall. The second door is placed in the northern part of the eastern wall and is reserved for corpses. As the north-east corner of the house and this door is associated with ancestors, people will sit with their faces turned toward this door whenever the ancestors are invoked during rituals. The main rafter marks the border between the western female side and the eastern male side of the room. During rituals the men sit along the northern and eastern walls, while the women sit along the western and southern walls. The most senior men sit closest to the north-east corner. The hearth is in the south-west corner, unless a separate kitchen or shed has been built. Great houses do not normally have a hearth. The houses rest on poles so that the floor is slightly above the ground. They are built with a framework of hardwood, with walls and floors made of the traveller’s palm (ravinala), and the raffia palm, while the roof is thatched with palm leaves or straw. The farmhouses and most of the village houses look like this. However, some of the houses in the village are built with elements incorporated from colonial style, such as a tin roof, windows and verandas. A couple of the houses even have concrete floors. Houses with elements from the colonial style and the great houses often have a bleached scull hanging on the outside of the northern wall, as a testimony of having received the ancestral blessing through cattle sacrifice.19 In the fields and sometimes in the village, there is a granary close to the house. The schoolhouse and the clinic, together with the teachers’ and nurse’s house, are situated on the plain along the river, a small distance from the other houses in the village. Houses for patients and women in confinement and their families are also located here. The schoolhouse also functions as a community house, where the village

19 European colonial constructions are not the only elements that needed ancestral blessings in order to be incorporated. Roofs made of straw is a technique adopted from the highlands and thus required ancestral rituals at the time when the technique was introduced.

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council ( fokonolona)20 holds its meetings, where elections are held and where the young sometimes arrange balls. Unlike the Anglican church, which lies in the middle of the village between the first and second parts of the town, both the Catholic church and the Lutheran church are separated from the rest of the village, just outside it to the south and east respectively. Near the Catholic church the villagers built in the late nineties a house for the SEECALINE project, designed for a mother and child programme that combats malnutrition. At the entrance to the small path leading to this house is a sign saying: Tia fandrosoana Marofatsy—Marofatsy wants progress. If this sign suggests an orientation towards the future, those anthropological studies of Madagascar undertaken since Maurice Bloch’s path-breaking study entitled The Past in the Present, have tended to emphasise people’s orientation towards the past. While this chapter has provided a general ethnographic background description of the village of Marofatsy, the next chapter situates the village—and tromba possession—within the region’s political history.

20 The fokonolona as a formal and official institution was introduced to the Betsimisaraka by the French colonial regime, modeled on the pre-colonial Merina village administration. As a council it has a limited function, restricted largely to the organisation of communal work, including road maintenance and the construction and the maintenance of communal buildings, such as the school and clinic. The fokonolona also performs other governmental functions, such as procuring information from the government and arranging political meetings and elections. It represents the state order at the village level, and the villagers mainly interact with the state through the fokonolona. In principle, all adult villagers (from the age of eighteen) are members. It is headed by a president (prezidà) elected by the council.

CHAPTER THREE

THE BETSIMISARAKA, HISTORY AND THE SPREAD OF TROMBA We do not obey the orders of others —Village elder

This chapter outlines the broader historical context of tromba possession in Marofatsy. The significance of the regional political history to my analysis is twofold: First, tromba is, like other cultural practices in Madagascar, subject to historical movement and change. The introduction of tromba to the local community is connected to historical forces. Tromba possession spread throughout Madagascar during the colonial period, and appeared in Marofatsy at a significant point in time. Second, history, politics and categories such as ethnicity constitute parts of the raw material that the imagery of tromba possession feeds upon and refracts. The political history of the Betsimisaraka region, therefore, provides an important part of the picture when trying to understand the workings of tromba through time and space. Difference and sameness in Madagascar Although Betsimisaraka nowadays is a commonly heard term in the local region, the way it now refers to the peoples inhabiting the Toamasina Province is a relatively new phenomenon dating back to the colonial administrative order. Nevertheless, the Betsimisaraka counts as an official ethnic group. The division of the Malagasy population into ethnic groups has provoked much discussion in scholarly circles. The question of difference and sameness in relation to culture and identity is not only a recurrent theme in anthropological studies on Madagascar, but it also brings us to the centre of political issues and struggles in the present-day Malagasy society. Both Western academics and Malagasy nationalists speak about a “Malagasy culture” and “pan-Malagasy themes” (Middleton 1999). As Lambek (2001b) notes, “. . . the similarity among the idioms through which society is constructed and imagined across Madagascar is phenomenal” (305).

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Considering the fact that all Malagasy share a common language and there is considerable cultural continuity across the island, some have questioned whether or not it is appropriate to speak of ethnic groups in Madagascar at all (Astuti 1995a; 1995b; Eggert 1986; Lambek and Walsh 1999; Larson 2000; Middleton 1999; Raison-Jourde and Randrianja 2002; Southall 1971; Walsh 2001). Nevertheless, Madagascar is an island with great diversities in social and cultural practice. As Middleton writes (1999), “Like all so-called ‘culture areas’, however, Madagascar poses problems for the scholar: of acknowledging what is held in common while not obscuring the very real differences that exist”. From this, Middleton goes on to write that “The challenge therefore is to find the fertile place between platitudinous generalization and pointless particularism” (6). On the one hand, it has been argued that ethnicity in Madagascar can best be understood as fluid, inclusive and performative, as opposed to essentialist or “kinded” categories (Astuti 1995a; 1995b; Emoff 2002; Lambek and Walsh 1999; Middleton 1999). On the other hand, Malagasy people themselves often talk about ethnicity in essentialist terms (Sharp 1993; Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja 2002). The answer is, perhaps, not either/or, but that the “Malagasy peoples draw on both essentialist and non-essentialist models to think about themselves” (Middleton 1999, 20) in ways that vary and shift according to the context. Again, according to Middleton, the “ongoing processes of creating, sustaining and transforming identities (national, ‘ethnic’, regional and local) in the various regions of Madagascar are diverse, complex and often highly nuanced” (ibid., 20). If ethnicity in Madagascar is fluid, the fluidity is limited by “the relations of forces in society” (Alonso 1994, 392). The production of identity and ethnicity in Madagascar is rooted in complex and diverse processes, in which local- or regional-level processes interact with larger imposed structures. The current classification of the population into twenty officially recognised ethnic groups has its roots in the history of French colonisation, when the population was divided into different groups to facilitate colonial administration. Few of these names were previously in use by the people themselves as labels of ethnic identification. Some of the official ethnic terms are linked to pre-colonial polities, such as the Merina, Sakalava and Betsimisaraka, while others were locatives and ecological descriptions, such as the Antanosy, Antankarana, and Antandroy. Within these groups there are numerous subdivisions of different kinds.

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Still, the processes of ethno-genesis in Madagascar can be connected to pre-colonial times (Larson 2000; Middleton 1999; Wilson 1992). One important factor is the rise and fall of the various pre-colonial dynasties, such as the Sakalava on the west coast and the highland Merina kingdom (Middleton 1999, 5). The expansion of the Merina towards the coasts laid the foundation for tensions between coastal groups and highlanders. Moreover, it was the Merina who initiated the creation of administrative units and the official bureaucratic use of ethnic labels, ones that were further developed by the French. Although processes of ethno-genesis in many cases preceded colonisation, the French bureaucratic division of the population is generally held to be the most decisive factor in the creation of fixed and essentialised ethnicity in a population whose group identity prior to colonisation was far more fluid (Cole 2001, 36). In addition, tensions between groups were intensified because of the way colonial rule, the development of the colonial economy, and access to education and other benefits differed between regions (Middleton 1999, 6). A main line of division is often drawn between the highland and the coastal populations, the Merina and les côtiers. This division is commonly referred to as the most significant ethnic line of conflict in Madagascar, and may be seen as a result of historical events, differences of political interests and the uneven distribution of resources (Covell 1987). In Madagascar today, questions of ethnicity remain important issues of concern and debate, on the local, regional and national levels. The tension between national unity and ethnic particularism is a common theme in political discourse, actualised in most political crises. Ethnicity is constantly made relevant in those conflicts and power struggles that deeply penetrate the Malagasy society (Raison-Jourde and Randrianja 2002). The Betsimisaraka: “we do not obey the orders of others” The formation of the Betsimisaraka identity is a result of local processes of identity formation in interaction with imposed structures. The name Betsimisaraka, which literally means “the many who will not be sundered”, is rooted in a short-lived eighteenth-century federation of northern ancestries (Deschamps 1960; Grandidier 1958). The federation was a military alliance based on local autonomy, and formed as a result of conflicts regarding the control of the growing coastal

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trade and central ports. The federation lasted for only forty years, and it covered only the northernmost third of the region now associated with Betsimisaraka people. The federation never extended to the southern part, and historical sources do not provide clear answers as to when the term was first used to indentify the southern population (Cole 2001). Historical sources are particularly confusing with regard to the inner portion of southern Betsimisaraka, where I did my fieldwork. According to some sources, this area was termed Antanala, or just Ambanivolo, while the term Betsimisaraka was restricted to the population close to the coast (Grandidier 1958). Today, people in the region operate with distinctions between the people of northern Betsimisaraka and southern Betsimisaraka. In addition, the people in the Marolambo region speak of themselves as the Ambanivolo, literally “under the bamboo”, who live in the inland area, as distinct from the Eastern Betsimisaraka (Betsimisaraka atsinanana), who live in the coastal area. The Betsimisaraka are a heterogeneous population. In spite of the ongoing process of reifying ethnic identity, the Betsimisaraka do not regard themselves as a unified “kind” of people based on an essentialised understanding of themselves. They are well aware of the diverse historical backgrounds and origins of the Betsimisaraka peoples. In the village of Marofatsy, some claim that their place of origin is in the eastern highlands, some say their ancestors were Bezanozano from the north, while others still claim to have migrated from the Antemoro people in the south. When people are asked what distinguishes them as Betsimisaraka today, they point to the fact that they share a territory and more or less share core characteristics, including methods of cultivation, house building, dress, dialect, and customs. Perhaps an even more significant dimension of the Betsimisaraka identity is their position vis-à-vis the state. A striking feature of the Betsimisaraka is their ideal and appreciation of local autonomy and their rejection of any form of centralised authority. As a village elder told me: “Marofatsy is wayward” (maditra Marofatsy), and when I asked what he meant, he replied by saying: “we do not obey the orders of others” (tsy manaiky ny beko any hafa). The political history of the southern Betsimisaraka is as fragmented as the landscape they inhabit. They have never had a centralised kingdom, or any other form of centralised authority. Historical sources describe their political organisation as a multiplicity of independent ancestries. The people were described as unruly and disorganised

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(Grandidier 1958). There was no political leadership or organisation beyond the level of the local ancestries; only small, unstable alliances are formed for security purposes (Deschamps 1960, 103–108; Grandidier 1958, 23; Mayeur 1777/1913, 149; Cole 2001, 36). Even today, the core social units are organised on the basis of small independent lineages, and social identity is founded on membership in the local ancestries and shared ancestral practices. A people on the margins Historical sources related to this area are rare, a fact that should be seen in connection with the political history of the island as a whole. Early sources give an impression of an illegible space or a no-man’s land that was situated on the periphery of the pre-colonial chiefdoms, kingdoms and state formations in the north-west (Merina), the west (Vakinankaratra, Betsileo), and the south (Antanala), as well as on the periphery of the events leading to the short-lived Betsimisaraka alliance in the north-east. The major trade routes of slaves and goods that became so important in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries appear to have passed further north (Larson 2000), and the busy ports and commercial communities on the coast were far away.1 The few traces of the area that are accounted for in early ethnographic accounts point to poor, scattered settlements and a way of life based on subsistence production, having no significant trade and no significant resources. In short, this is an area of little importance, having few prospects for future exploitation (Catat 1895; Mayeur 1777/1913). Situating the Southern Betsimisaraka in the larger world leaves the impression of a people on the margins of society, geographically, economically, and politically. Although they belong to the second largest officially recognised ethnic group, and notwithstanding the relatively large area the group inhabits, the Southern Betsimisaraka have been, and remain, marginal in comparison to larger political and economic processes on the island. This is especially true of those living in the inland area.

1 According local oral sources, the coastal towns Mahanoro and Nosy Varika were the local centres of the slave trade, but the trade seems not to have reached the same level as those towns further to the north that had more suitable ports.

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chapter three The impact of colonialism

Despite their rejection of outside powers, the history of the Betsimisaraka is also a history of double colonisation. In the early part of the nineteenth century the Merina kingdom of central Madagascar expanded towards the east, and the southern part of Betsimisaraka was finally conquered in 1823 (Cole 2001; Grandidier 1958). Although situated on the periphery of the Merina administration, the district that is now called Marolambo appears to have been under the control of the governor in Anosibe an-ala further to the north, and traces of the Merina colonisation remain vivid in the local memories of the past. The Merina imposed a heavy burden on the local people, both in the form of taxation and forced labour, and in the form of laws and regulations imposed in order to gain control over the population. In 1896, the Merina rule was replaced by French rule, which lasted until 1960. According to the local population, most of this period brought few positive changes for the inner part of southern Betsimisaraka. The colonial administration based their organisation and system of dominance on much of the same structures as the Merina state. Resources, such as education and healthcare, were concentrated in the larger centres, especially in the central highland, thereby reinforcing the antagonism already present between the Merina and the coast. Thus, the majority of government professionals and businessmen were recruited from the highland population, a pattern that still remains today. The Merina continue to form a vital part of the country’s social elite, and hold important positions in the national economy as well as the state administration (Covell 1987).2 The French continued the extraction of local resources in the form of taxation and forced labour, as instituted by the Merina kingdom. However, they went even further than their predecessors in their effort to impose transformations on the various levels of Betsimisaraka society. One of the most drastic changes imposed on the local population was the change in the settlement patterns. The Betsimisaraka were

2 In spite of their dominant position there has been a growing dissatisfaction among the Merina population since the independence; they felt excluded from the national political arena. In more recent times, there has been a growing tendency towards engaging in discourses of ethnic nationalism, also in organised forms. Organised groups based on ethnicity are also found elsewhere in Madagascar (Raison-Jourde and Randrianja 2002).

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forced to move from their small lineage-based settlements to larger, often multi-lineage villages along the main roads and paths. The aim was to fix the people geographically not only for the purposes of easing administrative and military control, but also for creating another kind of society althogether, one based on social solidarity.3 Thus, the village of Marofatsy, like the other villages in the area, is largely a colonial creation. As a result, its inhabitants came to regard the village as a symbol of interaction with the outside world, an interaction that imposed change by force. Today, people spend as little time in the village agglomeration as possible. The preference for the toby anaty ala— the household-based camps in the fields—still prevails; the villages in the Marolambo area, Marofatsy included, remain almost empty most of the year. Another important part of the colonial project was the effort to guide the people into the monetary economy. Consequently, a variety of cash crops were introduced by the French. However, the undulating landscape of the inland region, with its steep hills and valleys cut by rivers and streams, was not suitable for large plantations. Until the mid-forties, there were no roads in the area, and all movement and transport was by foot. Thus, the cash crops never became important in the local economy. With the decline of world market prices for cash crops, especially coffee, and the corresponding national economic crisis and the breakdown in distribution networks, cash-crop production today probably plays a smaller part in agricultural life than at any time since their introduction. Subsistence farming remains the basic means of making living. The town of Marolambo was created by the French, but the colonial presence in this area was limited. In Marolambo there was a minor military (garde indigène) and an administrative post. The local commercial sector was in the hands of a few merchants, one of whom was Swiss and two were Chinese,4 in addition to a few French colons who settled temporarily in the area. Most of these merchants were engaged

3 This was a process already started by the Merina, as the Betsimisaraka responded to the obligations imposed on them by fleeing to the hinterlands. Colonial administrators expressed a deep concern about the Betsimisaraka tendency to “individualism, isolationism and savagery” (see Cole 1996, 218–229), not only as an obstacle to control, but also as an obstruction to the ‘civilising’ project as an effort to create another kind of society altogether. 4 The descendants of these merchants still control a major part of the local commerce, and they also have considerable political influence.

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in the extraction of gold and precious stones and, as far as I know, they had limited success. In contrast to the coastal region, there were no concessions or larger enterprises in this area. Economically speaking, this was an area of little interest from the point of view of the colonisers. The 1947 rebellion It is impossible to describe the Betsimisaraka without mentioning 1947. That was the year of the unsuccessful anti-colonial rebellion, the most traumatic experience of the colonial period, in which the Betsimisaraka played a major part. The rebellion has been interpreted both as a war of independence and as a popular revolt against state structures (Cole 2001, 227; Covell 1987, 27).5 Fuelled by a period of economic and political constraints due to World War II and a growing independence movement, the rebellion began on March 29, 1947, when a number of military garrisons, administrative centres and several French-owned properties along the east coast were attacked by armed Malagasy rebels. The rebels organised quietly and the rebellion spread throughout the east coast. It continued until the end of December 1948, when the last rebel bands were defeated. The total number of lives lost during the rebellion and the subsequent repression is estimated at some 100,000 (Tronchon 1982). The whole area around Marolambo was affected by the rebellion. People say that all the villages in the region were involved, and the entire population suffered from the repression that followed, which lasted almost until independence in 1960. There were several rebel camps in the area and, according to archival sources, this area hosted some of the rebel bands that were among the last to be defeated.6 For Marofatsy villagers this was a period of terror. In the following I shall present a synthesis of the local events, based on

5 Fremigacci refers to the written memoirs of a young administrative student who spent four months at the military post in Marolambo in 1947. He lists the following as the main points of contention for the MRDM (Mouvement Démocratique de la Rénovation Malgache) and the rebels: repression of compulsory school attendance, the obligation to give birth at the natal clinic, repression of the regulations of the slash and burn cultivation (tavy), etc. (Fremigacci 2002, 326). 6 Services Historiques de l’Armée de Terre (SHAT), Serie 8H180, D1 “Pacification, ordre particulier d’opérations concernant les secteurs Sud et Centre (30 avril 1947– 4 novembre 1948),” D4 “Bulletins hebdomadaires de rensegnements sur les opérations (12 juillet 1947–30 décembre 1948).” Serie 8H176, D2 “rébellion de Madagascar (29 mars 1947–31 décembre 1948)”.

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the stories I was told by the villagers. Corresponding archival findings are indicated in the footnotes. People say that the political party MDRM (Mouvement Démocratique de la Rénovation Malgache), which was blamed by the French for instigating the rebellion, had several local supporters and activists in the Marolambo area at the time.7 In February 1947, a delegation of MDRM activists arrived from the north (Anosibe an’ala), called for a mass meeting in Marolambo, and urged the people to stand up to the French. The villagers around Marolambo organised an attack on the military post in Marolambo on the 29th of March.8 Armed with spears and only one gun, the attack was doomed to failure, but they succeeded in burning down parts of the town. The rebels started to set up camps in several nearby villages, including Marofatsy. In the following period, several competing rebel leaders organised the resistance and more or less forced the local population to participate as rebels or by supporting the rebel army (the Marosalohy—the “Many Spears”). People tell numerous stories of how the rebel leader who initially controlled Marofatsy terrorised the population and killed people suspected of being affiliated with the colonial regime. The situation became particularly unbearable when the Garde Indigene (Malagasy colonial troops) were dispached from Marolambo and burned down half the village, sparing the northern part only because a government official had his ancestral home there. The villagers in the northern part were accused of collaborating with the vazaha (foreigners), and, after being publicly humiliated by being harassed and tied to ancestral prayer posts, several villagers were brutally speared. People report that rumours of the brutalities reached a rebel leader further to the south, and he went north to Marofatsy to rescue the people. He succeeded in killing the original leader, and from then on the rebels became better organised. Then government reinforcements consisting of Moroccan soldiers came to Marolambo and began searching the region for rebels.9 Planes

7

MDRM—Mouvement Démocratique de la Rénovation Malgache, was a political party founded in 1946, born out of the growing independence movement, and blamed by the French for organising the 1947 rebellion. For an extensive discussion, see Tronchon (1982), Cole (2001). 8 The date has not been confirmed by archival sources. According Tronchon, there were several attacks prior to March 9, including those in Marolambo on January 31 (Tronchon 1982). 9 They arrived in Marolambo May 9, 1947, according to archival sources (SHAT), Serie 8H180, D1 “Pacification, ordre particulier d’opérations concernant les secteurs Sud et Centre (30 avril 1947–4 novembre 1948).”

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were employed to locate rebel camps from the air. The rebel camp in Marofatsy dissolved and the villagers dispersed. The women and children hid in the forest. Since the Moroccans burned the fields, the villagers were forced to flee to other villages and tried to survive as best they could by working in exchange for food. In order to survive, people moved from village to village, from camp to camp, and hid in the forest trying to escape the colonial forces. Yet, burnt villages and fields resulted in widespread starvation and death. Many of the villagers joined the organisation of general Lezoma, an ancien combattant from Androrangavola, who recently returned from fighting in World War II. According to a villager who had worked as his secretary for a period, Lezoma soon developed a well-disciplined organisation, based on a strict military structure. Unlike many other rebel chiefs, Lezoma seems to have been highly respected. Bands of rebels continued to attack patrols, administrative posts and those accused of cooperating with the French.10 Although the troops slowly regained control over the area, people continued to hide in the forest, still afraid to return to their villages and take up their normal lives. Eventually, the Moroccans succeeded in surrounding a rebel camp close to Marofatsy, in the bush near the village of Sambiaravo. Most of the rebels managed to escape, but eight were caught.11 Some of the captives were released and sent back with gifts in hopes of persuading the villagers to surrender and return to their homes. The villagers slowly returned to Marofatsy, which was guarded by soldiers. Rumours spread that rebels were planning an attack on the village, and the villagers were forced to move to Marolambo. The men were sent on foot to Mahanoro to get supplies for the starved and ill-clothed population. People remained in

10

Archival sources reveal that the attacks continued on villages, outposts (military/ administrative) and patrols until late in the autumn of 1948. Marolambo was attacked at least once on June 2, 1948. (SHAT 8H180, D4 (Bulletins hebdomadaires de renseignements sur les opérations (12 juillet 1947–30 décembre 1948). 11 Archival sources date this event to as late as the December 13, 1948 (SHAT 8H180, D4 (Bulletins hebdomadaires de renseignements sur les opérations (12 juillet 1947–30 décembre 1948). Whether the village population stayed in the forest this long is not clear from these sources. According to the reports, most villages around Marolambo had surrendered earlier. However, late in the autumn of 1948, so-called “aggressive” rebel bands were still being reported in the area close to Marofatsy (between the rivers Sandranamby and Nosivolo). They continued surrendering at least as late as April 1949 (SHAT), Serie 8H180, D6 “Synthèse mensuelle addressée à l’E.M.D.N. (février–septembre 1949).

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Marolambo for several months, well into 1949, long after the rebellion was called to a halt. The year 1947, or quarante-sept since it is the French word that is used, is often mentioned in conversations in Marofatsy. Especially among the elder generation, it is a time marker, a pivotal moment which is used as a point of reference for other events, so that people talk about the “before” and “after” 1947. The detailed memories that many still possess are rarely discussed publicly. One reason for this is the fact that the population was terrorised not only by the French oppressors, but also by the local rebel. Malagasy killed Malagasy, people say; many were killed by their own. The memories are simply too painful to discuss openly. Several stories of such incidences were told to me in private, on the condition that I should not write them down, since they would be too compromising for those involved. Many of the people engaged in tromba possession were also active in the rebellion, including some of the leading mediums—the mpañano tromba. The Betsimisaraka in a post-colonial era From the independence in 1960 up to 1972, the French-backed Partie Socialiste Democrate (PSD) was in power, and France retained strong economic and political ties to Madagascar. The regime slowly lost its credibility and finally lost power in the Socialist Revolution initiated in 1972. The new regime was confirmed in the election of 1975, when president Ratsiraka was elected. With the replacement of the neocolonial regime, all foreign industries and concessions were nationalised. In the years that followed, the country moved into a serious economic crisis, and ran up a massive foreign debt, leading to the collapse of the economy and the infrastructure. The situation is still precarious today and Madagascar is now one of the poorest countries in the world. If anything has changed at all for the peoples in the inner region of southern Betsimisaraka, it has been for the worse. They were marginal during the colonial period, and with the weakening of the state and the deterioration of the infrastructure, they remain marginally integrated into the national economy. As a result, the local population is very much “left on their own”, and the local villages are more or less autonomous, both politically and economically. As for the local population’s engagement in national politics, it remained largely loyal

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to Ratsiraka’s regime throughout the crisis in the 1990s; many were members of Ratsiraka’s party, AREMA (The Vanguard of the Malagasy Revolution), and most were sympathisers.12 For the local population, the weak nation-state implies no threat to the highly valued local autonomy. On the contrary, a potential strengthening of state power is considered to be a threat. Thus, even participation in national politics can be a question of maintaining local autonomy.13 When Ratsiraka was temporarily removed from power between 1992 and 1996, the memories of the colonial experiences were evoked and referred to in the local political discourse.14 People again feared Merina domination, increased taxes, controls and regulations, and being forced to settle in villages.15 Past experiences with colonialism and the rebellion of 1947 were explicitly evoked in 1992 when I was there on fieldwork, and the threat of increased state dominance was actively employed in the political rhetoric. I was present at several electoral meetings in 1992, where the reinstatement of forced village settlement and banning residence in the fields was one of the main arguments against Ratsiraka’s main opposition candidate.16 This aspect of the colonial memory seems to

12 The loyalty to Ratsiraka seems to remain stronger in this region than in other places. In Marofatsy, during the presidential election of 2002, 84 percent voted for Ratsiraka. In the Marolambo centre, 69.7 percent voted for Ratsiraka. This seems to follow the national tendency of more votes for Ratsiraka in the countryside, while centers and urban areas tended to back Marc Ravalomanana, who was president until the coup d’état in March 2009. In the whole sub-district of Marolambo, 80.67 percent in total voted for Ratsiraka, confirming that this area was among Ratsirakas’s most important strongholds. Unfortunately, I have no information on the local response to the new political situation at the moment. Interestingly, there seems to be a clear continuation in political orientation in this region, from MDRM before and during the rebellion, COSOMA in the time that followed, and AREMA since the beginning of the 1970s. 13 While the population in Marofatsy sympathised with AREMA because they wanted to keep the state at bay, the situation is different in Marolambo. Marolambo is a regional centre with the sub-district administration, gendermerie, college, hospital, etc. Here, most government employees associated themselves with AREMA also as a means for gaining access to state/modernising power. 14 Ratsiraka was again removed from office in 2002, following a long period of political crisis, including mass demonstrations and political unrest. He has been living in exile in France, but has been involved in the events of the 2009 political crisis. 15 For a detailed analysis of this process see Cole 1996; 1998a; 1998b; 2001. 16 Ironically, it was Ratsiraka who came to introduce this kind of politics when he was voted in back in 1997. State control increased, such as controlling forest burning and forcing people to live longer periods in the village. As Cole observes, these changes are “exact replicas of the policies of the earlier colonial governments” (Cole 2001, 302). However, when I did fieldwork in 1997, 1998 and 2001, this seemed not to have affected their loyalty to Ratsiraka.

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operate according to Benjamin’s description (1978): “an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognised (. . .) to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up in a moment of danger” (255). The Betsimisaraka have experienced the exploitation, intrusion and violence of two colonial regimes, first the Merina, then the French. As Covell (1987) writes: In reaction to the existence and practices of these states the Malagasy political culture developed a conception of state power as intrusion, the term fanjakana representing this power in all its manifestations. A contrasting ideal of ‘Malagasy rule’ that included a rejection of state structures external to the local community survived independence and has been, if anything, reinforced by the policies of post-colonial regimes (7).

Colonialism and religious practice The French colonial administrators were fully aware of the importance of religious practice. Their efforts to control the population, therefore, implied regulations in this field as well. Official permission was required for religious practices and taxes had to be paid for the larger rituals. To be legal, all traditional healers, such as the diviners (mpiskidy) and the tromba mediums, had to obtain an official authorisation from the local administration. The French also consciously played on local religious practices and beliefs, for instance when they incorporated cattle sacrifices in the official state ceremonies in order to gain legitimacy among the local population (Cole 2001, 172–173).17 However, colonial influence in the field of religious practice was not restricted to the level of official regulations. Traces of colonialism have been embedded in ritual practices in ways that are less visible, as Cole has shown in her studies of the Betsimisaraka sacrificial rituals on the coast. She shows how the institution of cattle sacrifice is used in new ways—for instance in the house-washing rituals for tin-roofed houses or for the coffee harvest—thereby incorporating and transforming meanings associated with the colonial past (Cole 2001, 194–198). By

17 This practice was continued by the postcolonial state. Cattle sacrifice is commonly used, at least on the east coast, in important official ceremonies, for instance at the opening of the new city hall (tranom-pokonolona) in Marolambo, or when Ratsiraka offered cattle to Marolambo as a sacrificial gift in return for electoral support in 1993.

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means of such rituals, the effects of colonisation are reconfigured and made local through a process of ancestralisation. Along with the French colonisation, missionaries settled in the region and several church communities were established during the first half of the twentieth century. According to the local church representatives, the Anglican Church was founded in Marofatsy in 1909, the Catholic Church in 1935, and the Lutheran Church (FLM) in 1941. Here, the churches have had a limited success compared with their pronounced success in the central highlands, where the Protestant church became the state religion of the Merina Kingdom in1869, during the last decades of its reign prior to the French colonisation. The majority of the population there are church members, and church building even became part of the official requisition of labour (Bloch 1971; Ellis 1985).18 Today there are church communities all over the Betsimisaraka region. However, in the Marolambo area at least, there has been a marked resistance to the churches; there are still villages that refuse to allow the churches to establish, including Marofatsy’s closest neighbour. Marofatsy itself is recognised as one of the most “Christianised” villages in the area, although less than a third of the villagers are church members, and even fewer are active churchgoers. In 1992, the Lutheran Church had almost two-hundred members, the Anglican Church had about a hundred, and the Catholic Church had about seventy members. The numbers have shifted dramatically since the local establishment of each, seemingly due to shifts in the political conjunctures.19 This has been

18 Following the official turn to Christianity, church membership increased from 37,000 in 1868 to 153,000 in 1869, according to Ellis (1985, 17). 19 In 1957 a French regiment visited a large number of villages in the area in an expedition (“sortie en brousse”) designed to map the economic, religious, social and political situation in the area. According to the report, the regiment was received with much reservation in the areas near Marofatsy (Marofatsy was not visited, but the areas east and north of Marofatsy were, where the rebels had been among the last to surrender). In Marolambo the population received them with “indifference”, except from the merchants. Interestingly, the report notes that the villages that had been exposed to the Norwegian protestant mission were the least friendly (here the report remarks that the Norwegian missionaries should be monitored closely in the future), in contrast to the villages where the Catholics had settled. Moreover, in villages where the Protestants dominated, there was a marked sympathy for the nationalist movement, notably the organisation called COSOMA (Comité de Solidarité Malgache) (COSOMA was a small but influential group, established to help the victims of the 1947 rebellion and to promote nationalist causes, and was associated with the communist nationalist

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most evident for the Catholic congregation, where all the members deserted in 1947, 1960 and 1972. Prior to 1947, the Catholic Church had the largest congregation, which was often attributed to the fact that working for the church could replace forced labour. The Catholic Church has only recently managed to re-establish itself in the village, and the Catholics themselves attribute this to the change from French to Polish missionaries in the region. For most of the church members, church attendance supplements rather than replaces the ancestral ritual practices. Like the churches, tromba is a relatively new practice in this area, introduced during the last phases of colonialism. The outbreak of tromba in colonial times Despite the colonial regulations, the colonial era was a time when translocal religious movements spread and flourished. Colonialism brought new possibilities for travelling, and new patterns of migration evolved. This is also the case with tromba. During the colonial period, tromba spread from the Sakalava region to the other coastal regions, including North East Madagascar, and further south to the Southern Betsimisaraka.20 In the Marolambo region, the tromba outbreak peaked in the late phases of colonialism, especially the years following the anti-colonial rebellion in 1947. In Marofatsy, all those active in tromba and who were old enough participated in the rebellion, as most of the villagers did. One of the tromba leaders (mpañano tromba)21 was a rebel leader. Two of the mpañano tromba who became particularly important for the spread of tromba in the Marolambo area both moved to Marofatsy because of the events in 1947. Having fled the post-rebellion colonial repression or colonial taxation and forced labour, many of the elder generation of the mpañano tromba who had

movement (Rajoelina 1988, 100)). The report further concluded that there was a great potential for political “extremism” in the area. There was, however, one particular obstacle to the local population joining a unified national-level independence movement: the resentment and hostility felt toward the Merina (SHAT, 8H 186). 20 There are many traces of northern dialects in spirit speech, something that could possibly confirm that tromba moved southward from the north. 21 Mpañano is a verbal noun derived from the verb mañano (in English “do”, off. Malagasy: manao). The prefix mp- indicates an agent noun, as for instance mpihira (singer). Mpañano is often used to designate occupation, such as mpañano nify (dentist), mpañano gazety (journalist), mpañano volo (hairdresser).

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introduced the cult locally, had first encountered tromba in distant coastal towns during their youth. Some stayed with relatives, while others took refuge and worked on the concessions of the colons, who were always short of labour. At least six of the mpañano tromba I met in Marofatsy had stayed for shorter or longer periods in Mananjary, Ilaka, Vatomandry, and even in Mahajanga. This practice was widespread among the Betsimisaraka during most of the colonial period (Cole 2001, 49–53).22 There were no plantations in the Marolambo area, and the local colonial presence was restricted to a small military and administrative post in Marolambo. This meant that people often had to work outside the region, whether they were engaged in forced labour or seeking wage labour on the concessions or in coastal towns. The road between the coast and Marolambo was not finished until shortly after the rebellion, and many of the locals were engaged in the construction of this road. The elders who spent their youth on the coast describe the towns as lively multicultural societies consisting of large migrant populations, mostly from the other coastal Malagasy groups, such as Antesaka, Sakalava and Antankarana. Several of them had engaged in tromba activity, both on the concessions and in the towns. During the rebellion and in the years that followed, many of the refugees and migrants from Marofatsy returned to their homeland. Some brought tromba with them. As the mpañano tromba Iandro23 told me: “I got to know tromba for the first time in Vatomandry, where I stayed for a year with relatives. I attended Volambita (the yearly October tromba ritual), and three spirits ‘came out’; all the spirits were from the Vatomandry area. You see, tromba moves (mifindra)”.24 The rituals are believed to attract spirits who want to possess people. Attending a ritual, therefore, always involves a risk of being possessed. The

22 What Thomas writes about the Temanambondro people further south largely correspond with the changes in migration patterns among the Betsimisaraka: “the periodic movement and colonisation that characterised pre-colonial migration took a new form under French rule, becoming temporary rather than a matter of translocation and resettlement. This form of migration (known as mamanga), which dates from the earliest days of the colonial period, took many Temanambondro away from their ancestral homeland, sometimes to distant parts of Madagascar from anything between a few weeks and many years” (Thomas 1998, 429–430). 23 Mifindra means literally “to move”, “to transmit” or “to infect”, as in aretina mifindra—contagious disease. 24 Or as Ralahy said to me: “the tromba travel and settle down if they feel comfortable, just like you do”.

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contagiousness of possession is often described as the main reason for the spread of tromba. In Marofatsy there were two persons who became especially important for the development of tromba practice in the area south of Marolambo. Although they both attributed the local introduction of the cult to a couple of deceased mpañano tromba in neighbouring villages, tromba attained the present level of activity and popularity during their own lifelong practices. It was these two curers who initiated the local outbreak. People describe them as the local “source of tromba” (loharano ny tromba), and I shall call them Ravavy and Ralahy. Even though Ravavy died in 1998, and Ralahy is old and sick, and thus has reduced his tromba activity to a minimum level, traces of their lifelong engagement in tromba can be read on many levels in the way it is practised today in this area. Ravavy: the tromba source People say that Ravavy is the true source (loharano) of tromba in this area. Although she did not know exactly how old she was, when I asked about her age when I first got to know her in 1992, she said she was at least one hundred. As her eldest son was fifty-six, we agreed upon an estimated age of about eighty. She was old and a widow, but still the centre and authority in her family. A colourful, strong and vital character, she was always ready to tell me about the benefits of tromba. Ravavy was the first to introduce tromba in Marofatsy. All of her nine children—eight sons and one daughter—are engaged in tromba. Upon Ravavy’s death, her son Lahisoa and her daughter Soahita took over their mother’s work and became mpañano tromba. She had lived with all her sons and their families on the hillsides to the west of the river; their field compounds were close to each other. Her family is among those who are reluctant to send their children to school, and most of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren are illiterate. They rarely go to the village. “We don’t feel comfortable there” (tsy tamana any), Ravavy often said. Ravavy was born in Ilaka, a small town on the east coast situated between Mahanoro and Vatomandry. She described the town as multiethnic, with people from all over the island as well as business people of foreign origin. Tromba was practiced frequently there and both her parents were engaged in it. She often repeated the story of how she herself got involved with tromba. This is what she told me:

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chapter three When I was young, in Ilaka, I was married twice without having children, and both my husbands died. I became ill with a headache that would not pass, because I had tromba. The spirits finally drove me into the water, where I stayed two nights and two days, without being able to speak or move. At last the spirits rose (nitsangana). There were two, a man and a woman, both Sakalava. They told me they had caused the deaths of my husbands and prevented me from giving birth. It was a punishment because I had broken their taboos on seafood and pork. They also said that they had work to do, that they wanted to take care of people, and demanded a mirror and cloth. Then they asked me what I wanted: children or cattle. I said I wanted children. From that day, I was a mpañano tromba.

She settled with a man from Marofatsy, who had fled to the coast to escape the forced labour. Every time she told me this story, she would end it by proudly exclaiming that “As you see, I have got nine children, eight boys and one girl, all still alive.” When the 1947 rebellion started, her husband wanted to return to his homeland to join his kin and fight, so they moved to Marofatsy. “Few people here knew much about tromba at that time”, Ravavy said. People suffered but had no cure. Many were suffering from tromba but they did not know. The tromba did not come out. I started to hold rituals (mirombo). People visited me, came to the rituals and asked questions about tromba. I taught them, just like I do to you. Many people used to come to my rituals, many more than now. People came from all the surrounding villages, and even state functionaries from Marolambo came.

At the time when I attended her rituals during 1992 and 1997, the participants were mostly her family, neighbours, and other mpañano tromba curers who had been initiated by her to tromba. As a sign of respect to their teacher, the mpañano tromba attended her rituals together with their close relatives and associates. Ralahy Ralahy is a man in his late seventies. Along with his wife and two great grand children, he lives in his compound just across the river from the village. His wife is a traditional midwife who receives pregnant women in need of care and assists in deliveries, in recent years in cooperation with the village nurse. Ralahy’s father went to the coast in his youth and married a woman from Ilaka, a remote relative of Ravavy. They settled in Marofatsy. As a young man, Ralahy went to his

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maternal homeland for the same reason as so many others, to escape the burden of forced labour. He worked on one of the concessions outside Ilaka. As a local spokesman in the MDRM, he was involved in the 1947 rebellion from the start. He became a rebel leader and moved back to Marofatsy in 1950 to avoid persecution. Ralahy’s first tromba rose during his youth in Ilaka, and he became a curer there. He married and fathered children, but the couple split up during the rebellion. When he moved to Marofatsy, he married his present wife, the daughter of one of the most important rebel generals in the area. He continued to visit Ilaka every year to perform the Volambita ritual, until his wife gave birth. Ralahy’s reputation as a curer is comparable to that of Ravavy, and they were once close friends and allied. They “worked together”, i.e. assisted in each other’s rituals for many years. The problems started when Ravavy’s children grew up, Ralahy said. When I do Volambita (October ritual), my tromba gathers the chickens people have brought [for sacrifice], to judge them, to separate the good chickens from those that bewitch [mamosavy], like those who eat their own eggs (see chapter 8). The tromba use the mirror, watch the feathers and compare them. Bad chickens should not be slaughtered in Volambita, but have to be returned to their owners. Ravavy’s children protested about this. They said: You are throwing away what we are to eat. This is what made me stop going to Ravavy. This is what separated us. Ravavy could not do anything; she could not go against her own children.

Tromba permeates the village in secret ways As an echo of colonial times, when ritual activity was subject to strict control and prohibitions against engaging larger crowds forced tromba into secrecy, tromba still permeates village life in secret ways. Tromba activity today is not visible on the surface of village life. Still, people consult tromba mediums in times of illness, and on a regular basis, groups of people—some dressed in red—can be observed as they head for the fields. Everybody knows where they are heading. In almost every month when the moon is ascending, in the afternoon one might find groups of people carrying pots and other utensils, baskets of rice and bed clothes, crossing the rivers and streams in small dugout canoes and traversing the steep hillsides surrounding Marofatsy on tiny paths that at times are almost impassable, especially during the rainy season. They are heading for a tromba ritual in the fields.

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Sometimes their walks take an hour or two, or even more if they come from other villages. They are the clients, relatives, associates or coworkers of a tromba curer who has called for a tromba ritual the following night. If one asked where they are heading, they would answer anything but tromba; a tromba ritual attendance is always marked by a certain secrecy. A month after my arrival in Marofatsy I was invited to my first tromba ritual. I was sitting with a group of women in a house, and just listening to their conversation since my limited language skills at the time still prevented me from fully participating. Suddenly the hostess, renin’i Rabia addressed me discretely, and mumbled a question while she looked down at the floor. She asked me if I wanted to see “something in the forest” (zavatra añaty ala). As I knew she was married to Ralahy, a reputed tromba medium (mpañano tromba, lehiben’ny tromba), I realised that she was asking me if I wanted to attend a tromba ritual. I soon learned that it was not proper to tell anyone where I was heading when I attended the rituals. If I met people along the way who asked where I was going, my usual answer would be: I am just going for a walk. Noticing my bed cloths and the small basket of rice I would be carrying, people would then ask if I intended to sleep in the fields. My positive reply would end the interrogation. When renin’i Rabia invited me, I asked why the ritual was performed “in the forest” and not in the village, and she answered by saying that “the government ( fanjakana) does not like tromba, and tromba do not like the government.” As others told me over and over again, “tromba do not feel comfortable (tsy tamana) in the village.” All activity associated with tromba takes place at the curers’ settlements in the fields and at ritual sites alongside streams in “the forest” (añaty ala) outside the village. Even though tromba participation is marked by discretion, and the activity takes place outside the physical village, the rituals are often attended by many villagers, and play a significant part in their lives. In the next chapter I turn the attention to the way tromba is posited within the village community, with a view to the relationship between tromba and other curing and ritual practices.

CHAPTER FOUR

LOCALISING TROMBA You see, tromba moves —Iandro

Whenever I asked the villagers what tromba was all about, the first response would be “curing” ( fitsaboana). Curing is the officially recognised and most explicit aspect of tromba. Tromba is a curing practise involving elaborate rituals. It exists side by side with other curing and medical practices, and other ritual practices. How is tromba understood as a curing practice and how does the curing take place? How is tromba positioned vis-à-vis other curing practices and ritual practices in the village? The present chapter outlines the relation between tromba and other social fields and practices in the village. Tromba does not go on without drawing controversies within village life. This chapter discusses the ways in which those people engaged in tromba view this practice in relation to other practices, as well as how others regard tromba. As a distinctive curing practice, tromba is connected to particular specialists and particular ritual activities. However, at the same time, it merges and intersects with other local practices. Local vocabulary of health and illness Health and general wellbeing are of great concern to the people in Marofatsy. Life is vulnerable, as the general life expectancy is low and the child mortality rate is high. For women, pregnancy and childbirth are the most common causes of death. The term for illness (aretina) is used in the broadest sense to refer to almost any unwanted condition that threatens the general wellbeing. Physical illness, psychic disorders and infertility may all be called aretina. All illness is bound to have a cause. It may be caused by breaking taboos (mandika fady) or by sorcery. Spirits, the anger of ancestors, or conflicts among kin and others, may cause illness. Or one may just be “struck by the gods” (voan’ny zanahary). Aretina is a concept of illness that has to be viewed in relation to a concept of health that involves both physical and psychical

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dimensions, and in which the divisions between the individual and social body are vague or non-existent. The term for health, fahasalamana, may be translated as “health” as well as “wellbeing”, “happiness” and “peace”. When people occasionally consult a curer or regularly participate in tromba, they may do so in order to ensure a good harvest, to save a marriage or to protect themselves, their family, their houses and fields against sorcery. A curer will be involved in people’s day-to-day concerns, in the smaller or greater events of people’s lives. Thus, fahasalamana concerns much more than the individual health. It has to do with the social and material conditions of life, as much as the physical or psychic condition of the individual. Fanafody gasy—“Malagasy medicine” Knowledge of medicine is not equally distributed, although most Betsimisaraka have some knowledge of it. People know which herbs to use for fever, coughs, diarrhoea or scorpion stings, etc. They also have some knowledge of how to use medicine to influence and even harm people. Everyone knows that tabooed ( fady) animals can be extremely powerful, and can be used to pollute, harm or influence people and their property.1 A piece of hair cut off secretly can be a powerful love magic, and may be used to cause people to fall in love. The hair can also be used to separate from, as well as to take ones revenge on an unfaithful partner, or to prevent the beloved from getting involved in a new relationship. Local terminology does not distinguish between medicine and what anthropology has labelled as magic, bad magic and sorcery. “Fanafody”, or “ody”, which is often translated as “medicine”, is also applied to what an ethnographer would categorise as herbal medicines, charms and other magical objects, and in the context of tromba, these may even be invisible. In practice, herbs may be eaten or be placed in powerful places like prayer posts, on the body, inside the houses, buried in the ground, etc. Fanafody is used to influence people’s health, 1 For instance, people occasionally visited me, and discretely asked if I had some goat cheese (they knew I sometimes ate it). As goat is forbidden ( fady—taboo) for the Betsimisaraka (they have no goats and even a picture of goats is seen as disgusting), anything that comes from goats is considered as extremely powerful and used as bad or protective medicine. The grease of goat may occasionally be found in the local markets, sold at a considerable price by the Betsileo coming from the highlands.

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wellbeing, social position, prosperity, and the aquisition of possessions like livestock, land and houses. It is used to affect relationships, to garner protection, or to heal and sometimes even to harm. At times, the term fanafody may be attributed the adjective ratsy (bad). In practice, however, it is often unclear when fanafody turns bad, with reference to intentions and motivations or effect, and this may be disputed. Good medicine may appear good before its bad qualities are revealed, or may turn bad after some time or under certain circumstances. Most medicine then, is potentially dangerous precisely because of its powerfulness; this is an indispensable factor in its efficacy.2 If medicine is considered to be potentially dangerous, so are those who specialise in it. Just as Graeber (1996) has noted among the Merina, the Betsimisaraka also tend to speak of medicine as a kind of knowledge rather than as objects. People are suspected of knowing how to use medicine, not to be in possession of it. “. . . ody becomes a kind of knowledge that extends their owners’ power to act on the world” (Graeber 1996, 96). The ambiguity of medicine indicates that the very knowledge of it is dangerous. Writing about the Malagasyspeaking population in Mayotte, Lambek (1993) notes that “possession of knowledge is morally ambiguous since all positive applications of knowledge are potentially balanced by negative ones” (237). This may also be said about knowledge among the Betsimisaraka. Thus, people are in general reticent when talking about medicine and careful about revealing their full knowledge of it, despite the fact that almost everyone regularly uses medicine. Love magic (ody fitia) and protective medicine ( fiarovan-teña) are particularly ambiguous since the former is intended to influence people against their own will or even to do harm while the latter is designed to harm people who consciously or even accidentally trigger it. Thus, people who are accused of being sorcerers have often used medicine to protect themselves or their property, and thus can be accused of accidentally harming and even killing

2 The act of using fanafody to harm other people is called mamosavy, the verbal form of the word mpamosavy, which usually is translated as witch or sorcerer. All over Madagascar, mpamosavy has at least two seemingly different meanings. First, it refers to anyone who uses medicine to harm others. Second, it may also refer to witches, typically women, who go out at night, lurking in the forest or in the village surroundings. Being naked and covered with oil, they dance on grave tops, and move so fast that it is difficult to catch sight of them, like a flash of lightening. Mpamosavy may be regarded as “ultimate image of moral evil”, as Graeber (1996, 109) puts it, and the act of sorcery (mamosavy) is seen as extremely immoral.

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people. This happened to my closest neighbour in the village, an old woman who was accused of having killed three children because they had stolen and eaten mangoes from her land. Protective medicine and bad medicine ( fanafody ratsy) are, therefore, surrounded by an aura of secrecy. People with knowledge of medicine are potentially dangerous, and the more knowledge they have the greater the potential danger. As a result, specialists like the mpañano tromba, the diviners and herbalists (mpisikidy, mpimasy, mpañano fanafody) are more likely to be suspected of using bad medicine, or of providing people with such medicine. Tromba as curing Tromba may be placed in the local ethno-medical context in two ways: tromba spirits can be both causes of illness and curers of illness. The spirits are considered to be autonomous beings that occasionally possess people. They may cause a wide range of symptoms and problems for the possessed. The curing of such symptoms is sought through ritual practices, in private consultations as well as in the larger ceremonies in which the possessed engage in a negotiating relationship with the actual spirit that’s causing the symptoms. The spirits are evoked and emerge from the bodies of those they posess in ways that literature has often been described as a “trance” or “an altered state of consciousness” (Lambek 1981). They “come out” (mivoaka) or “rise” (mitsangana), and when this happens, those possessed typically have a feeling of being displaced. However, most of the spirits are considered to be powerful beings, whose power can be manipulated and used for a variety of purposes once a reciprocal relationship has been established through ritual. The mpañano tromba function as curers and experts in ritual practice, by mediating the power of the spirits he or she possesses. Thus, through ritual activity the spirits offer treatment in a general sense. Being possessed by curing spirits capable of divination, a mpañano tromba makes a diagnosis and provides treatment for all his/ her clients, not just to those clients who are possessed. The spirits act as spirit versions of the diviners, herbalists, midwives or masseurs that are the traditional curers of the village. The spirits provide treatment through small, private consultations as well as elaborate ritual practices comprised of spirit manifestations, music, song, dance, curing, and sometimes ritual baths and chicken

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sacrifices. A private tromba consultation normally also requires active participation in the larger ritual events. This is what people call mañano tromba—“doing tromba”. This is why people who “do tromba” say that tromba is curing ( fitsaboana) as well as play, dance and entertainment (kilalao), thereby indicating that tromba rituals go beyond the immediate purpose of curing. Today the mpañano tromba hold the position as the most important curers in the area. In Marofatsy, tromba curers have almost totally taken over the role of the traditional herbalists (mpimasy, mpañano fanafody) and diviners (mpisikidy) who, according the villagers, used to dominate local curing practices in former times. Tromba curing involves divination, as a mpañano tromba usually has one or more spirits capable of divination. Spirit divination (sikidin’na tromba) is clearly distinguished from ordinary divination (sikidin’na lañana, or lañana), an art known as sikidy that is practiced all over Madagascar. In Marofatsy the mpisikidy use grains, which they arrange on a mat according to a special system with named positions that are then interpreted. It is considered as a gift from the gods (zanahary) and empowered by the ancestors. A mpañano tromba is a curer by virtue of his or her spirits. A diviner spirit carries out spirit divination during rituals and private consultations. The spirit uses a mirror to “see” or “find” the clients’ prospects for the future, the causes of problems and the appropriate treatment. This form of divination is sometimes called sikidin’na taratra (sikidy by the mirror), and the mirror is in spirit terminology called fanjava (“illuminator”).3 Although the two forms of divination are considered as separate offices, many of the mpañano tromba are capable of both. However, while lañana is considered to be a male activity, tromba divination is performed by both male and female mediums, though mostly through male spirits. In Marofatsy there are only two mpisikidy who are not also mpañano tromba. One of them is married to the mpañano tromba Ravao, and the couple work closely together. Curing spirits are considered to be powerful and knowledgeable beings that often cure people without the need for divination. It is often enough to talk to, watch and touch the troubled person. Diagnosis and prescription may be provided on the spot, or the spirit may 3

This comes from the root “zava”, meaning light, clarity, transparency. Fanjava is also a spirit term for the moon.

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Fig. 4. Divination (sikidy).

appear later with messages in the medium’s dreams. Curing spirits may be herbalists and make medicine or prescribe medicines or other means of treatment. How tromba is organised: local circles and networks In most of the villages surrounding Marolambo, there are currently active mpañano tromba engaged in ritual activity with clients (though, to my knowledge, none at the centre of Marolambo). Of all the villages in the area, it is Marofatsy that has the highest proportion of mpañano tromba. Thus, Marofatsy is still described as a local tromba centre, representing an important position in the process of introducing the cult locally. Between the time when I started my first fieldwork in 1992 and the present, the number of mpañano tromba has been quite stable at about twelve. The village is currently undergoing a transition, where

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a new generation of mpañano tromba is slowly replacing the first. Of the mpañano tromba I met during my first fieldwork, three have died, one is in prison, and another one was accused of sorcery and subsequently suspended his practice. However, new mediums come forth and others are in a process of establishing themselves as curers. The village is regarded as a local centre of tromba activity, not only because of the many mpañano tromba who receive clients from the entire area, but also because much of the tromba activity located in neighbouring villages originated in Marofatsy, since the mediums started as clients there. Each mpañano tromba in Marofatsy has between twenty-five to three-hundred clients who regularly attend their rituals, coming from Marofatsy and other nearby villages. Based on my own observations, I estimate that at least half of the village population regularly participates in tromba rituals, whether they participate as active tromba mediums, ritual assistants, musicians, clients, relatives and friends or simply as curious observers. Moreover, most of the villagers occasionally seek a mpañano tromba for treatment. The tromba activity is organised in small circles. Unlike those practices found in other parts of Africa, where possession cults are often connected to women, the tromba mediums and clients are members of both sexes, though currently most of the leading mediums—the mpañano tromba—are men. A circle is composed of a leading medium as the master of the rituals, along with his or her followers and clients (zana-tromba, i.e. children-of-tromba). The mpañano tromba always have an assistant called an “interpreter” (mpandika teny), often a spouse or close relative. The assistants’ main responsibilities are to translate and mediate in conversations between the spirits and the audience and to take care of practical ritual matters. The assistants also keep the accounts by, among other things, keeping track of the clients who are present as well as those who failed to show up, and registering the clients’ contributions of money, food, rum and beer. The clients attend the rituals on a more or less regular basis. All mpañano tromba are available for private consultations on a daily basis, except on tabooed days (andro fady), which are usually Tuesdays and Thursdays.4

4 Tuesdays and Thursdays are not good for anything associated with maintaining or seeking access to the source of curing: the power of hasina. This means that these days are not only unsuitable for ritual activity, such as ancestral rituals or tromba, but also for all agricultural work. Nor are these days suitable for burials.

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However, being a regular client, and especially in cases of long-term treatment, requires participation in ritual activity. During the rituals several mediums are active. Some of these are possessed by curing spirits, and work as assistants and close associates of the leading medium. Both these mediums and their spirits are called the “soldiers” (miaramila)5 of the leading medium, and through their spirits, they often have clearly defined tasks to perform during the rituals. The mpañano tromba often associate with each other. They may be neighbours and friends, they may belong to the same ancestry, and they may be each other’s former clients. Although the mpañano tromba work on an individual basis as curers with separate rituals and clients, they establish working relations and powerful alliances. Most of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy and the nearby villages started with tromba as clients of Ravavy or Ralahy, the two mpañano tromba who introduced the activity to the village. Most maintain their relations with their teacher (mpampianatra). As a result, people talk about two associations or unions ( fikambanaña) of mpañano tromba in the area, each centred around these two teachers. The relationship between the two associations is commonly described as one of competition and rivalry, while the relationships within the association, at least ideally, should be one of loyalty and cooperation. They assist in each other’s rituals and may help each other with difficult cases, or to sort out matters of ritual. Indeed, each mpañano tromba within an association has a certain degree of specialisation and they all rely on one other’s strengths and abilities. Among the associates of Ralahy for instance, one of them has a reputation for treating infertility, while another has a reputation for effective treatment of sorcery attacks. The heads of these associations play a significant part. When I first came to Marofatsy in 1992, the relationship between the two accociations was balanced, both with regard to the number of clients and the number of associated mpañano tromba. However, with the death of Ravavy and another leading medium in her circle, her association has lost

5

According to Graeber (1996), miaramila is often used in the highlands as a euphemism of slave or servant. When miaramila is used in the context of tromba, I suggest that it indicates that the relations between the leading mediums and assistants, as well as between leading spirits and other spirits, are relations of command and obedience.

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their unifying force and has more or less disintegrated as a powerful network of alliances. Though they carry on with tromba, her son and daughter have not yet acquired their mother’s position. Though Ralahy’s age and illness is taking its toll, his network continues to grow. The network includes six mpañano tromba, each with their own clients and ritual practices. Two of them are also close neighbours in the fields as well as blood siblings: the female mpañano tromba Ravao, who is married to a local diviner (mpisikidy), and Piera, a male mpañano tromba. However, the death of Ravavy, and the reduced strength of Ralahy have resulted in unclear power relations between the different mpañano tromba in Marofatsy. Within Ralahy’s network, it is not clear which of his associates will become the head when he dies. Tensions between the remaining mpañano tromba are keenly felt, both in the context of ritual and elsewhere. The intensified tensions are evident in the recurrent sorcery attacks on rituals in recent years. After a series of indirect accusations of sorcery, most of the leaders have broken off relations with one of the members of the network. Nevertheless, the bonds of friendship and loyalty remain strong, and in many cases the mpañano tromba, their closest followers and their families participate in each other’s lives to an extent that one would normally only see between close relatives. In fact, many of them are related as affinals and kin, since intermarriage between people within the networks is usual. A few of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy work outside of the networks without close affiliation with other curers. Some of them have always worked on their own, but others have broken alliances behind them. Some maintain relations with mpañano tromba in other villages instead. The networks are not restricted to the village community. As the mpañano tromba attract clients from other villages, some of these clients become mediums and occasionally establish themselves as mpañano tromba in their own community. As a result, most of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy maintain more or less close ties and alliances with others in several villages in the area, such as Sambiaravo, Lavajïro, Ambalakaza, Mavelombady, and Vohidamba. With so many mpañano tromba in one area, competition and rivalry is inevitable. In 1997, after I had attended a series of tromba rituals where the ritual sites had to be cleaned because they had been polluted by sorcery, I started to ask people about it. Kily, a grandson of a deceased mpañano tromba, explained that:

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chapter four The mpañano tromba always fight. There is always competition between the two associations, but also between individual mpañano tromba. When they fight, they use several means. Sometimes they even fight with their hands, but mostly they use bad medicine, tabooed things such as the bones of pigs and dogs, or the bones of “bad cows” (omby ratsy).6 My grandmother once discovered pig bones in her water (ritual site).

Marofero, one of the mpañano tromba in Ralahy’s association said: “The mpañano tromba fight for position (miady seza). Like me, I am famous, and many people come to me. Other mpañano tromba who have fewer people, dislike it, and place bad medicine [at the ritual site].” Using bad medicine, or suspicion of its use, seems to be an inevitable part of tromba practice, and may be seen as a part of the dynamics of power and rivalry that necessarily takes place, especially in a small community where the density of mpañano tromba appears to be particularly high. However, sorcery may also concern issues extending the level of social conflict, and I shall return to this subject in chapter 6. The ambiguous power of the mpañano tromba The position of the mpañano tromba depends on a subtle balance of ambiguities in relation to power. The power he masters is dangerous, which is a prerequisite to its very efficacy. The source of this power is amoral, capable of harming as well as healing, and thus morally ambiguous. To heal implies the taming and manipulating of amoral forces and using them for a constructive end. Curing power implies the ability to influence the lives of others. This means that the mpañano tromba stands in a relation of power vis-à-vis his or her clients and followers. Curing involves an element of control, and creates dependence on the part of the clients. Friendship and loyalty may be part of this bond, but there are other dimensions of this relationship as well. Curing imposes certain obligations on the client in relation to the curer, in addition to different forms of payment. All medicines have a number of prohibitions ( fady) connected to them, and should be returned to its master—the mpañano tromba—when it is no longer in use or renewed once a year. Otherwise, the medicines will harm the user. One of the most important obligations is partici-

6

Cows are sacrificed to remove ancestral anger.

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pation in ritual activity. This obligation may also be imposed upon clients that do not suffer from spirit possession. The ritual activity is valued for its curative power, and plays a significant part of the curing process. In addition, the most important sign of a curer’s reputation is the number of clients, and the occasions where this is made visible are the rituals. To obtain treatment a client must fulfil the required obligations; otherwise the treatment may not be completed. The ability to heal implies the ability to harm. There is always an implicit threat, especially when it comes to medicine ( fanafody), that good medicine may turn bad in cases of disloyalty. Thus, the mpañano tromba are ambiguous persons who are respected, but also feared in the village. The mpañano tromba have even more knowledge of medicine than most people, a knowledge acquired during years of practice in curing and through the teaching of other curers. However, it is not this kind of knowledge that distinguishes them as curers. To be a curer one has to know what others do not know, and have access to knowledge and power that is not accessible to others. It is not a kind of knowledge passed on from specialist to specialist. This knowledge is considered to be unique and different from that of other curers, rather than accumulated or learned. It is revealed through the very body of the curer when the knowledgeable spirits are evoked during rituals, or through dreams or other forms of guidance. Lambek (1993) reports from Mayotte that there is a tendency to value objectified knowledge more highly; in Marofatsy by contrast it seems that embodied knowledge is privileged, or considered more powerful and real.7 The privileging of embodied knowledge is not solely connected to the mpañano tromba. Diviners and herbalists share the insistence on revelation as the prime source of knowledge. One might say that, where curing is concerned, embodied knowledge is considered the true form of knowledge, while learned knowledge may consist of mere techniques, with no root in the real source of knowledge: the power of hasina, mediated through ancestors or tromba spirits.8 This is what distinguishes a curer from 7 The contrast may be viewed in relation to the important differences between the two societies. While Mayotte is a Muslim society with a long tradition of literacy and sacred texts, Marofatsy was a non-literate society until colonialism, and literacy is connected to the school, state and churches. 8 As Lambek notes, objectified and embodied forms of knowledge cannot easily be distinguished. As he puts it: “Embodiment and objectification are interdependent, each partial and unrealized without the other.” (Lambek 1993, 307). The concepts are here applied in an effort to characterise the local theory of knowledge as valorising revelation.

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ordinary people. Ordinary people may know the techniques, while the curer knows how to manipulate and control true knowledge. Tromba has almost gained a local monopoly in the field of Malagasy medical practice in Marofatsy. However, the term fanafody gasy, or “Malagasy medicine”, indicates its counter-part: fanafodim-bazaha, meaning “foreign medicine”. The local Malagasy medical practices exist side by side with Western biomedicine. In the following I shall briefly sketch the relationship between these practices. Malagasy medical practice and clinical medicine In Marofatsy there is a nurse attached to the small state-run clinic (dispensaire). The nurse provides elementary medical treatment and works as midwife, and is engaged in health promotion work such as vaccination. As a result of the initiative and financial aid from village relatives living in the capital, the village community has opened their own pharmacy, and thus drastically improved the availability of the most elementary medical supplies. In Marolambo there are two clinics with medical doctors, a public clinic and a clinic run by the Lutheran church (SALFA). In case of serious illness and surgery, people have to go to Vatomandry, Toamasina, Antsirabe or Antananarivo. In her study of tromba possession in North West Madagascar, Sharp (1993) argues that “the proliferation and professionalization of tromba curers and other indigenous curers is, I believe, evidence of the limitations of clinical medicine in Madagascar” (208). She lists three dimensions of this limitation that are relevant to the local situation in the Marolambo area as well: the inability of clinical medicine to solve problems that extend beyond physical ailments into the social realm; the shortage of drugs and medical supplies; and a general scepticism which results in a reluctance on the part of the population to seek medical treatment in the local clinics. Although Malagasy medicine and clinical medicine are normally practiced side by side without any problems, tensions do exist. Nurses and doctors complain over the continued reluctance of the population to visit the clinics, and the general scepticism with which they are met. In their efforts to urge the population to use their services, they occasionally use drastic measures, such as refusal to issue birth certificates if the women do not give birth at the clinics, and refusal to issue death certificates if people have failed to seek medical assistance. However, the threat of not receiving birth certificates was not enough to encour-

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age the women to deliver at the clinic, and the nurse compromised by cooperating with one of the local midwives (renin-zaza), renin’i Rabia, as earlier mentioned. The villagers, on the other hand, see this as unwanted interference and control by outsiders, and complain about this, along with the lack of medicines, the high costs, corruption, etc. In general, people are ambivalent about clinical medicine. Although they generally have great faith in the efficacy of pharmaceutical drugs and the benefits of surgery, such treatment was rarely considered to be sufficient. People usually seek several kinds of treatment, both simultaneously and successively. The active tromba participants are among those who are the most reluctant to seek medical treatment at the clinics. Many of them told me explicitly that they would never consider consulting the village nurse or the doctors in Marolambo. As one of Ravavy’s sons said, “I never go to the nurse. When I get sick, my spirits come, and I am always cured.” Others expressed a more pragmatic view. When I asked Marofero how he looked upon the work of the nurse, he said: “Each to his own knowledge. Each to his own work. Look at this child; I told his mother to go to the clinic. Do you see his stomach? It is full of worms.” In contrast to clinical medicine, tromba involves elaborate rituals. In order to get a fuller image of the role and position of tromba in village life, it is necessary to consider its relations to other ritual practices in the community. Curing or religion? “Tromba is curing, not ‘praying’ ( fivavahana, i.e. pray, worship, religion)”, people would say when I asked. People compare it with other medical practices, such as divination (sikidy) and forms of Malagasy treatment and medicine ( fanafody gasy). “It is not fivavahana like the ancestral practices or the churches.” However, in practice the concern for health and wellbeing ( fahasalamana) is inseparable from all forms of religious activity that the Betsimisaraka engage in, and when fahasalamana is concerned, the different fields of religious activity overlap to a large extent. Ancestral rituals concern health and wellbeing in a very fundamental way. Even church membership and conversion may be connected to the concerns of the fahasalamana. Church membership is, at least officially, seen as incompatible with tromba participation. Still, conversions are not uncommon in

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Marofatsy. Some of the participants I met at tromba rituals during my first fieldwork have later converted to one of the three church communities, mostly to the Catholic or Lutheran churches, and abandoned their engagement in tromba. The movement between church and tromba goes both ways. While some remain as more or less active church members throughout their life, others occasionally leave the church. Church membership has locally tended to follow political conjunctures (see chapter 3). In the cases I have witnessed, it seems that people often convert to or leave the church in periods of crisis and struggle. The movements in and out of the church or tromba circle often follow deep conflicts among kin, among the members of a tromba circle, or within the church congregation. Others have converted after a divorce, as the case of the wife of one of Ravavy’s sons, while others again may convert as a result of an illness that the mpañano tromba failed to cure or because of suspicions of sorcery. People may leave the church for much of the same reason. When Ravavy died, one of her grandsons converted to the Lutheran church. However, he stopped attenting Sunday service when a serious conflict between his relatives and some of the most devoted church members resulted in his uncle being accused of theft—among other things—and nearly tortured to death. Church attendance may be related to illness and health, not only in a general sense, but also in a concrete sense. Within the Lutheran church there is a curing centre (toby) in Marolambo run by the Malagasy revival movement called fifohazana. The fifohazana started as a movement within the Protestant churches (FLM, FJKM) in the late nineteenth century and has become popular throughout the country (Sharp 1993). The movement came to the Marolambo area in the early seventies, and has gained an important position within the local Lutheran church (FLM). Sick and possessed people are received for treatment and exorcism, which is performed by initiated specialists called mpiandry (“shepherd”), who see themselves as empowered by the Holy Ghost (ny Fanahy Masina). The mpiandry hold meetings ( fampaherezana, i.e. “empowerment”) involving exorcism at the toby every Wednesday, and in the church one Saturday each month.9 The monthly fampaherezana has become an important event for most

9 In contrast to the mpañano tromba, the mpiandry work in close cooperation with the doctors at the church clinic, and the exorcism is often supplemented with psychiatric or other kinds of treatment.

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active church members, not only the sick and possessed. To attend the meetings, and receive the blessings and prayers of the mpiandry, is considered important in maintaining and ensuring general wellbeing for all members of the congregation.10 “Tromba and the church do not go together”, said a mpañano tromba. Though most church members in Marofatsy consult the mpañano tromba when they are sick or need protection, participation on a regular basis, especially if this participation involves possession, is regarded as incompatible with church membership. The official church view is that the spirits are demons and destructive forces binding people in relations of dependency, and not potential mediators of life forces which the tromba participants claim that they are. “The spirits steal your soul ( fañahy) and pull you towards them”, a young woman who had her spirits exorcised by the mpiandry said. Even though the spirit was gone, the spirit had damaged her heart ( fo), and she was still bothered, she told me. Since the mpiandry exorcise the spirits, the mpañano tromba and the mpiandry regard each other as adversaries. According to the mpañano tromba Marofero, “the work of the mpiandry resembles the works of the mpañano tromba, but the objective is different; the mpiandry remove the spirits.” To exorcise the spirit is exactly the opposite of what the mpañano tromba do, since they seek to maintain and develop a productive relationship with the spirit. For those who are possessed by tromba, exorcism is strictly forbidden, except in cases where the spirit is malevolent and impossible to handle otherwise. The mpañano tromba Rangahy referred to a curse, made by a deceased mpañano tromba who belonged to his ancestry: “To exorcise tromba is banned. You cannot remove them all; you have to let some of them stay, according to our ancestor. She hit the water [with her tromba cloth, at the ritual site] and said: If someone removes their tromba, they will no longer be humans but pigs.”11 He said this during 10 The pastors in Marolambo complain that the fampaherezana seems to have become more important than communion, to such extent that people may drop the Sunday service if they miss the Saturday meeting of the mpiandry. To this must be added the fact that, due to the strict moral rules connected to participation in communion, many members are excluded, and the fampaherezana could be seen as a form of compensation. Given the explicit concern with the fahasalamana, it is also perhaps not surprising that the fampaherezana is so appealing; it resonates with peoples’ concerns and conceptions of the world. 11 Voa ozona mihitsy ny tromba, fa tsy azo atao mangalak’azy mantolo, fa tsy maintsy avela ny sasany, araka ny ray aman-dreninay, raibe taloha. Fa nokapoina ity rano ity: Ra halaka tromba dia tsy manjary olona fa manjary lambo.

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a visit to a sick woman. Rangahy claimed that angry spirits, which had earlier been exorcised, were causing the woman’s illness. Only cattle sacrifice would remove their anger and make them return, he said.12 The woman was Rangahy’s client. He had forbidden her relatives to take her to the hospital, and she died shortly after. The Fifohazana and tromba stand in a competitive relationship to each other, both offering curing for similar kinds of illnesses and problems. In the course of several conversations with mpiandry in Marolambo and Marofatsy, I discovered that the mpiandry to a large extent share the same understanding of the relationship between spirits and illness. For example they both believe that spirits may cause infertility, abortions, and complications related to childbirth, and general weakness or lethargy, often as a result of marital conflicts or conflicts among kin. According the mpiandry, these are the most common reasons for consulting the toby in Marolambo. The mpiandry also operate with spirit categories identical to those used by the mpañano tromba. However, the mpiandry seem to operate with a wider conception of possession than the mpañano tromba in that they tend to regard all illnesses or troubles as the result of a possession by evil spirits. They also see possession and the presence of evil spirits as a long-term problem, as well as a general condition in which they constantly have to fight against. Thus, every meeting is initiated with a general exorcism of spirits which might be present, whether in the people or in the room itself. The doors are always kept open until the exorcism has been completed, and are then quickly locked. The spirits are chased out by the mpiandry who walk through the room towards the doors and command the spirits to leave the room. Moreover, all converts are believed to be possessed, whether they show signs of possession or not, and have to undergo a period of treatment involving exorcisms before they are baptised. While the mpañano tromba say that people consult the mpiandry because they want to dissociate themselves from the ancestral tradition, the mpiandry reject this and maintain that people consult them 12 Rangahy had been through a period of serious crisis. He had been accused of killing several close relatives and even his own wife by sorcery, and even stopped his ritual activity for a period. There were still deep conflicts within the family as well as the whole village, and several of his relatives had converted to the Lutheran church. His mother-in-law had taken his daughter to the mpiandry in Marolambo, and during the conversation referred to above he expressed his concern for her health and feared that the mpiandry had destroyed her (nanimba azy).

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because of illness, usually after other treatment has failed, for instance by a mpañano tromba. While the mpañano tromba describe their activity as curing and taking care of people (mitsabo sy mikarakara olona), the active church members seem to highlight the religious dimension, talking about tromba participants as people who worship tromba (manompo tromba). Despite the portrayal of tromba and the church as antagonistic and incompatible institutions, actual practise reveals a more pragmatic attitude. Most of the church members, even the most radical ones, seek a mpañano tromba when they are sick or have other problems and concerns. In the case of a failed treatment or of possession, they occasionally attend the mpiandry in Marolambo, since as Christians they should not maintain a productive and lasting relationship with a spirit. Though there were two mpiandry living in Marofatsy, they never arranged fifohazana meetings in the village church during my time there. They kept a low profile in Marofatsy but attended the monthly meetings in Marolambo. Once in a while they were called upon privately to treat cases of unwanted possession. This had changed by the time I returned for a short visit in July 2001. The husband of the new nurse, a Merina, was a devoted mpiandry who had started to hold meetings, and openly argued that the church should engage itself more actively in the fight against “pagan” ancestral practices. I heard this from several villagers who expressed a deep concern for the future conflicts he may cause. Thus far I have considered tromba as a curing practice, and its relation to other recently introduced practices of clinical medicine and churches. If the relation between tromba and the churches is marked by both conflict and pragmatics, what about the village ancestors? The remainder of this chapter is devoted to the relation between tromba and the world of ancestors. The ancestors constitute the centre of gravity of the social order. They are also crucial to the larger question of how tromba works within the village world. The village and the ancestral order While people struggle to make a living in various ways, the Betsimisaraka believe, like people elsewhere in Madagascar, that their lives and struggles, their work and its outcome are intrinsically connected to the forces of hasina. According to Bloch (1986), hasina is a key notion

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of Malagasy thought. The manipulation of hasina is a fundamental premise for all Malagasy ritual and political logic (Bloch 1986, 47–88; Cole 1996, 84–87). As Bloch (1986) observes, “hasina is linked with the mystical power of nature, especially the power of reproduction, both in its human aspect and its aspect in relation to crops” (65). Hasina can be translated as “power”, “vigour”, “fertility”, “potency” or “efficacy” and can be thought of as a flow that penetrates the world. Hasina is linked to reproduction, but should also be understood in a broader sense as “the power to transform and affect changes of whatever sort” (Cole 1996, 85). Hasina is omnipresent, and the necessity to deal with this power is an inevitable part of everyday life. Ritual practice is, above all, about manipulating the force of hasina, maintaining it, controlling it, channelling it, to secure its continuous flow and thus to seek empowerment. Hasina may be inherent in places like fields and houses, in beings, actions, medicine, plants, trees, water, and, not least of all, in ancestors. For the Betsimisaraka, as elsewhere in Madagascar, ancestors are the prime source of hasina. Ancestral blessing is essential for the living, and is necessary in order for them to prosper and fulfil their desires and ambitions. In order to ensure continuous access to ancestral hasina, it has to be maintained. Therefore, the Betsimisaraka consider it to be vital to continue to cultivate the same fields and live in the same houses as their ancestors, to perform ancestral rituals, and to follow ancestral orders and taboos. In many ways it is the ancestors, or the relationship between the living and the dead, that constitutes the core of the Betsimisaraka world, and this also applies in Marofatsy. Ancestors are everywhere. Whether they are the primary focus of worship or not, ancestors are drawn on in almost every ritual context, from the smallest private occasions like divination, medicine making and neutralising sorcery, to larger ritual occasions like weddings, house construction, burials, tombs cleansing, or a variety of different cattle sacrifices, whether for good or for bad. Ancestral rituals are held at different levels of organisation, from house groups to ancestries to the village level. However, relations to the ancestors and ancestral rituals are considered to be a communal concern. As people say, “In the ways of the ancestors, the village is one” (Amin’ny fomban-drazana, samby iray ny tanana). The local society is grounded in the fundamental connection between ancestors and descendants, constituting people as members of social units as well as ritual communities. The relation between the living

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and the ancestors influences where people live, where and how houses are built, what land they cultivate, etc. The ancestors are central for the Betsimisaraka way of defining their place and position in the world, and for their way of creating and recreating social order. Having established the central position of the ancestors and ancestral rituals in village life, it is now time to examine more closely the way tromba is positioned in this world. The fact that tromba is a relatively recent practice in this area raises the question of whether it has been incorporated, or whether the practice remains—just as the churches—something other, external to the ancestral order. Tromba and the ancestral world order All the villagers recognise tromba as a curing practice, but attitudes toward it differ. Although tromba is considered to belong to the Malagasy side of the Malagasy-vazaha (foreign) dualism that is articulated in connection with many aspects of the world throughout Madagascar (see for instance Bloch 1971, 30; Cole 2001, 221–222), not everybody agrees that tromba belongs to the ancestral tradition or practices ( fomban-drazana). One Sunday morning during my first fieldwork, I sat together with some village elders and members of the church communities, when my question of whether tromba is fomban-drazana provoked a heated discussion. One of the elders, Iaban’i Noeline, said: “Tromba is a new practice. In former times we didn’t know tromba; tromba is not fomban-drazana.” Another elder added: “Within the fomban-drazana, the village has to be united. Tromba concerns the individual.” Patrick, a respected elder of the Lutheran church community, and a mpikabary,13 retorted that: Before, in the days of the time of the Malagasy (andro fahagasy, the precolonial period), we did not know the church, and we did not know foreign medicine. When we became ill, we had sikidy and tromba. Tromba is fomban-drazana in the sense that tromba is curing, as sikidy is. In Malagasy curing practice, some is good and some is bad. The new is that there are so many mpañano tromba. These youths—there are so many children, of the age of twenty and less, who have become mpañano

13 Patrick is a “speechmaker” in ancestral rituals, which means that he holds an important position second to the tangalamena, and is thus respected as knowledgeable in ancestral matters.

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chapter four tromba. What they do is not curing; it is politics (politika) and search for money ( fitadiavam-bola).

Educated people sometimes expressed the view that tromba is a result of the lack of education and development. One of the village teachers told me that those who “do tromba” are backward (retardé), because many of them refuse to send their children to school and they are not church members. I asked my landlord, a retired civil servant and member of the Anglican Church, about his view on tromba: Tromba is obscure to me. I do not like it. Tromba is a result of the lack of development. In fifty years perhaps, when the church is more established and people have become better educated, tromba will be gone. Tromba is not fomban-drazana. Fomban-drazana will last. Fomban-drazana is not opposed to the church. Fomban-drazana is to honour your “father and mother” (ray aman-dreny).14 You in Europe put flowers on graves. That is to honour God. The ancestors mediate between God and humans. We Malagasy know that body and spirit ( fanahy) are not one. It is the spirit which makes people. When people die, the spirit leaves the body and rises again. Christians who do not participate in ancestral rituals are too consecrated. I remember a man who went insane because he was too Christian. He read the Bible too much and destroyed prayer posts.

The statements presented above represent the general (official ) view, shared by most active church members and educated people, that tromba is non-ancestral, an opposition that would not be officially recognised either by tromba followers or authorities on ancestral matters such as the tangalamena. Like the churches, tromba represents a supplement to rather than a replacement of the practices associated with local ancestors, both in everyday life and in ritual. Tromba entered the local scene in the same period as the churches, although it gained popularity at a time when the churches experienced mass resignations in the years following the 1947 rebellion. The above statements reveal more than the fact that church members distance themselves from tromba. The argument that tromba is not ancestral because it does not concern the village as a whole, reflects the general ideal of solidarity and fellowship connected to the ancestors, and of ancestral practices as a joint concern. The ancestral practices should, ideally, bridge internal divisions within the village. 14

Ray aman-dreny refers to father and mother as elders.

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Patrick on his side claimed that there is no opposition between tromba and ancestral practices. With that he expressed the general view of non-church members, including the tangalamena. Nevertheless, he criticised tromba for having become merely a means to seek power, and more importantly, a means for youth to seek power and wealth. At first, his remark puzzled me, since most mpañano tromba in Marofatsy are actually middle aged or older. However, his remark may become more meaningful if one considers how power and authority among the Betsimisaraka, as elsewhere in Madagascar, are connected to the ancestors and associated with age and gender, of which age is the most important. Tromba represents a break with fundamental principles of power and hierarchy in the Betsimisaraka society. According to Cole (1996, 60), the core relationship in Betsimisaraka society is that of parent and child. This relationship is mirrored and developed in the ancestorsdescendants relationship. The elderly are closer to the ancestors than the young, and the tangalamena should be, ideally, the eldest male of a lineage. It is this basic hierarchy of the dead and the living, senior and junior that structures all relations of domination and subordination. Patrick’s reference to the age of the mpañano tromba could be read as a questioning of the legitimacy of the mpañano tromba as a position of power outside the social hierarchy structured by the relative order of age (and gender). Patrick could have added gender as well. During my fieldwork, I met five female tromba curers, of whom three were active in Marofatsy. Men are believed to stand closer to the ancestors (Cole 1996, 71–77). It is preferably men who should mediate between the ancestors and the living, and hold the leading position in ritual practice. Within tromba, neither age nor gender excludes people from holding leading positions. Paradoxically, tromba curers may gain considerable power, in spite of their position outside the social hierarchy of ancestries and positions related to ancestral practices, such as the tangalamena. Moreover, there is a fundamental difference between the tangalamena and the mpañano tromba. The tangalamena does not represent something other than himself, i.e. what his social identity is meant to be as a member and representative of his ancestry and a mediator between ancestors and descendants. In contrast, a tromba medium, who receives his power by the virtue of the spirits, “conforms with something one is not and also should not be” (Kramer 1993, 250).

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While the local ancestors seem to be the most powerful idiom through which the Betsimisaraka constitute their world, tromba seems to form a realm apart. The world of tromba has a ritual practice of its own, and provides new sources of authority. It is another source of wellbeing, outside the ancestral order. As such, the growth of tromba, and of its power and significance, could be a potential threat to the social order, the ancestral order of the world. Though the ancestral order of the world limits the extent of this power, the fact that the mpañano tromba may become so powerful creates an ambiguous situation. The tangalamena could be described as tolerating tromba but keeping it at arm’s length. Except for one of the mpañano tromba, Marofero, who is also tangalamena, I never saw any of the tangalamena attending the rituals. In ancestral rituals it is always the tangalamena who is responsible for the invocation of the ancestors. Nevertheless, when the ancestors are invoked during the tromba ritual bath (misetra am-pitsaràna), the eldest male from the lineage of master of the ritual, rather than the tangalamena (except in Marofero’s rituals), performs the invocation. Ideally, the office of both mpisikidy and mpañano tromba should be separated from the office of tangalamena. Marofero seems to be an exception since being a tangalamena is, according to the general opinion, incompatible with spirit mediumship. Although preferably the eldest male in the linage, a tangalamena is also chosen for the position as a male elder by virtue of his knowledge of ancestral matters as well as his character and conduct. He is thus constantly subjected to moral judgement, since strict rules of behaviour apply to the position. For instance, a tangalamena should always be able to control himself and master his emotions. He should behave in a restrained manner, which includes control over his body and his use of language. “It is embarrassing when the tangalamena acts/moves violently”,15 people say. As a result, a tangalamena should abstain from dancing, getting drunk or going into a trance. Many therefore considered it improper when a tangalamena engages in tromba activities involving trance and dance, and lets his body be used as a vessel for various spirits that behave more or less properly. However, as Marofero has recently grown to be perhaps the most powerful man in the village, no one would dare to

15

Mahamenatra rehefa mivongavonga lohatra ny tangalamena.

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criticise him openly. In spite of the tolerance, at least officially, towards Marofero’s dual office, in other cases breaking ancestral rules and regulation would often provoke strong reactions in the community. Breaking the ancestral order Breaking with the ancestral practices may have serious consequences. Although breaking the ancestral order is something everybody occasionally does, I will refer to a few incidents involving church members, since these also illustrate the degree of tension between ancestral and non-ancestral practices in this area. My landlord’s story, referred to above, about the Christian who destroyed prayer posts and went insane, is one of numerous stories I heard about the consequences of breaking with the ancestral practices. Such incidents were often sources of deep conflict, as when two young boys in the neighbouring village of Vohidamba converted and ate a serpent, thereby breaking a major ancestral taboo (sandrana). Ancestral anger is dangerous, not only for the persons who provoke it, but because it may be directed against the whole community. In the case of the two boys, the villagers were terribly upset and demanded a cattle sacrifice. To offend the ancestors or break with ancestral practices is risky, and at worst may result in social exclusion. How, then, do people handle the implementation of new ritual practices that may potentially represent a threat to the ancestral order of the world? In Marolambo the church authorities count Marofatsy as one of the most successfully “Christianised” village in the area. The Anglican Church was established already in 1909 and was later followed by Catholic and Lutheran establishments. However, less than a half of the village population are church members, thereby indicating that the area is still marked by a strong ancestral social order and a resistance against the churches.16 The statements I referred to above show how people carefully mediate between the ancestral practices and other practices, such as when people say that tromba is an ancestral practice, and that the churches are not opposed to the ancestral practices. In Marofatsy, relations between the church members and the other villagers are, officially speaking, peaceful. Most churchgoers 16 This is in contrast to highland Madagascar where the majority of the population are church members.

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participate in the major ancestral rituals, and respect ancestral practices such as taboos. Nonetheless, conflicts frequently occur, for instance when ancestral rituals are to be performed. The fights often break out as a result of disagreements over what kind of participation should be required of church members in the larger rituals such as the cattle sacrifices or the annual “cleansing of the tomb” (mangavan-drazana). Do the Christians have to participate, and if so, do they have to drink alcohol? Funerals are also tense occasions. Should people sing Christian hymns or traditional music (osika) during the wake? Is the final cleansing ritual that marks the end of the mourning period necessary? In one funeral I attended, a family that had refused to perform the cleansing ritual in former funerals finally agreed to perform it when a Christian mother lost her fourth child. Another conflict arose when Patrick’s wife died. The couple and their children were all known to be devoted Christians. The wife came from Sambiaravo, a small village about a twenty-minute walk from Marofatsy, where the elders have refused to allow the churches entry. The children refused to take their mother back to her natal village for the wake, since they were worried that this would prevent her from having a Christian funeral. The woman’s relatives objected, and the solution to the conflict was that the first night of the wake would be held in Marofatsy and the second in Sambiaravo. Another issue that provoked discussions was whether it is appropriate to perform a cattle sacrifice for an ancestor who was a devoted Christian? In the period following the death of Patrick, who died shortly after his wife, his ancestry was struck by several sudden deaths. The diviner concluded that the reason for the deaths was ancestral anger, and that some of the ancestors, Patrick and his aunt, were demanding cattle. Since there were many active church members within his lineage, a serious conflict arose. In this case the sacrifice was performed in a hurry, without informing the members of the ancestry in advance.17 In other villages the conflicts are even more intense, and there are still several villages like Sambiaravo in the Marolambo area where the church is refused entry. The tangalamena argued that the church should be abolished because it destroys people’s zo (rights,

17 Later, when we were discussing the matter, Patrick’s brother exclaimed: “You remember Patrick. Can you imagine that he would ever kill his relatives, even children? This is nothing but politics (politika).” (Patrick was known for his affection for children—one never saw him anywhere without a grandchild by his side).

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dignity), and referred to Christians who break ancestral taboos ( fady) and destroy prayer posts. The ancestralisation of the nonancestral In Marofatsy, other ritual practices and sources of hasina are tolerated as long as the villagers at the same time respect and maintain the ancestral practices. Still, to say that the Betsimisaraka do tolerate change or the non-ancestral insofar as it remains external and does not threaten the ancestral order, is to reveal only one aspect of processes that are far more complex and ambiguous. Ancestral practice is not a pure and unchanging tradition. On the contrary, in order to cope with change and maintain its power, the ancestral world has to incorporate and feed on “foreign” elements. The interplay between ancestral and nonancestral power is a recurrent theme throughout Madagascar. For instance, in his analysis of Merina rituals Bloch (1986) shows how social and political authority are shaped and reproduced through the social appropriation of natural power. The incorporation of the nonancestral is at heart of this process. Cole (2001) argues that this resonates with the Betsimisaraka ancestral cattle sacrifices, as moments of ancestral conquest and appropriation. She claims that “the intersection of ancestral and nonancestral hasina [power] and the struggles that occur as people seek to draw nonancestral hasina under their control in order to make it part of their social world, lies at the heart of Betsimisaraka political process” (Cole 2001, 143). When people find other sources of power and wellbeing, this process involves ancestral legitimisation. Although the interplay between ancestral and nonancestral forms seems to be a general theme in many Malagasy societies, it nevertheless takes specific local forms. New or outside forces are not always ancestralised and incorporated into the ancestral order. The process of dealing with outside forces may even take an opposite direction; ancestors may be “de-ancestralised”. In his study on the peoples of Sahafatra in south eastern Madagascar, Woolley (2002) argues that the farmers, when they migrated to this area, wanted to expand their connection to the environment and tap the “force of creation” inherent in the land. However, the descent organisation proved to be unable to handle this wild force. Their efforts to appropriate this force were important for the development of a new form of government beyond descent, and

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sometimes also in opposition to descent. Thus, a new form of divine leadership evolved, one based on an alternative source of power. In contrast to the ancestral conquest that Cole describes, Woolley argues that ancestors are depersonalised and transformed into the environment, and in this way the two sources of fertility become part of the same system. In contrast to Bloch and Woolley, who focus on the relationship between ancestors and the forces of nature, Cole expands the perspective and shows how even translocal processes such as colonialism are part of the constitution of the local community, through the interplay between ancestral and nonancestral practices, and through processes of ancestralisation. Such processes of “weaving colonial structures into the very substance of local worlds” (Cole 2001, 168) is a strategy also found in Marofatsy, where for instance changes in agriculture, architecture and tomb construction have been ancestralised through cattle sacrifice. However, it seems that tromba has not been ancestralised in the same way as many other practices have been. In the case of tromba, neither of the strategies described by Cole nor Woolley applies. Instead I see the contours of a different dynamics. In this chapter I have sketched the position of tromba in the village. Different groups and persons in the village have different views about tromba. I have shown how tromba both intersects with and stands in opposition to other practices represented in the local community. The dynamics of the interplay between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ that goes on within the context of tromba requires further description and analysis. Tromba is a translocal phenomenon that has been made local, and constitutes a significant part of the local world. If tromba is another source of power, what is the relationship between tromba and ancestral power? What are the implications of the fact that tromba is situated outside the realm of the ancestors? The relation between the ancestral world and tromba, and the relation between tromba and translocal processes will be explored in detail and from different angles throughout the book. But before doing so, we must take a closer look at the tromba world, and examine more thoroughly what kind of world this is. In the next chapter my attention turns to the spirits.

CHAPTER FIVE

A SPIRIT WORLD OF MOVEMENT AND CHANGE Multiplicity in being exists as otherness, or alterity, the unity of being is essentially fragmented —Cornelius Castoriadis

This chapter addresses the way the general notions of healing and power, as introduced in the former chapter, work in the world of tromba spirits, and explores the principles at work that are specific to the spirits. Tromba spirits comprise a diverse and heterogeneous group. I shall examine in detail the nature of the tromba spirits and the way their identities are configured, as well as how the spirits, in spite of their variety, constitute a tromba world. The close examination of the spirits is a first step in my investigation of tromba imagination. Focusing on the way the spirit world is constructed helps illuminate some fundamental characteristics of the tromba imagination and how it works. As we shall see, it is the underlying dynamics of the imaginative process that make tromba appear as a distinct practice. I begin by presenting the different kinds of spirits that exist in the world of the Betsimisaraka, before focusing on tromba spirits in particular. Тhe spirits populating the Betsimisaraka world The last chapter established the ancestors as the centre of the village world. Nevertheless, villagers believe that a multiple array of nonancestral forces live in, or occasionally pay visits to the local surroundings. Among these, some are called tromba. In order to understand tromba, it is necessary to explore the tromba spirits in relation to these other local spirits. Various kinds of spirits inhabit the landscape, such as wood spirits (biby ala, kalanoro), water spirits (lolon-drano, zazavavin-drano), and earth spirits (jiny, jinin-tany) or unspecified spirits (raha, biby). Encounters with such spirits are a common topic in everyday conversations. Occasionally such spirits confront people, and in rare moments people catch a glimpse of their image. Wood spirits may frighten people travelling along a wooded path at night and even

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engage in a fight with them, water spirits may drag people under water and drown them, while earth spirits may make a piece of land “malicious” (masiaka) and cause a bad harvest, or even sickness and death to those who dare to cultivate or inhabit the place.1 For instance, in the middle of the river Nosivolo that runs by Marofatsy, there is a rock. From time to time, when the weather is foggy, people say, one may catch a glimpse of a woman dressed in red, a water nymph (zazavavindrano) who lives in the river. She is dangerous and has lured many into the water, dragged them under and drowned them. However, not all spirits are malicious. Some of the forest spirits have curative powers and may be approached at their own places in the forest, invoked and offered gifts, such as money or honey. Curing spirits may inhabit trees and stones as well as animals, such as eels. Some of these are famed for their ability to make barren women fertile. In other places lianas or creepers have grown to form large knots (vahimivañoña).2 Knowledgeable persons, such as medicine men, may hear them speak, and approach them with offerings of honey for the purpose of curing and divination. Most of these spirits never possess people, though some of them occasionally do. These are the ones called tromba. While most of these spirits are local, some are able to move over great distances. Such spirits from faraway occasionally drop by, or even settle if they find a medium they like. Possessing spirits: the “imperfect” tromba versus the “real” tromba In Marofatsy, tromba is used as a generic term to label spirits who possess people, in contrast to the other spirits that inhabit the Betsimisaraka world. However, the distinction between spirits who possess people and those who do not is not absolute, and should, therefore, be understood as a pragmatic rather than a categorical distinction. Spirits become tromba the moment they possess people. When normally non-possessing spirits actually possess people, they may be called “imperfect” tromba, or a tromba “not able to show to full advantage” (tromba tsy manjary), “bad” tromba (tromba ratsy), or “hidden” tromba (tromba miafina). Often they remain concealed and do not

1

Sorcery, or “bad medicine”, as well as taboo transgressions may also make a piece of land malicious, infertile and destructive. 2 Vahimivañona means “fertile liane”, and may also be called Vahimivolaña— “talking liane”.

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“come out” (tsy mivoaka) or rise (tsy mitsangana). Perhaps an even more distinctive feature is that they do not dance (tsy mandihy); that is to say they do not use the body of those they possess as a vessel for their own materialisation. These are troublesome and destructive spirits who may cause a range of problems. If they do “come out” and “shake” (mampihetsika) the body of the possessed, they may cause a troublesome, vehement trance or dumbness and paralysis. Some cause infertility and recurrent abortions because they do not like children. Other spirits cause marital problems because they consider themselves to be their victims’ spouses, and cannot tolerate other partners. I have met both men and women possessed by such jealous spirits. They may also cause conflicts among relatives, alcoholism, drug addiction,3 paralysis, epilepsy, eating disorders and fastidiousness regarding indispensable foods such as rice. Sometimes they make people fall into the river repeatedly, or cause their head to spin, or “turn the brain upside down” (mampivadika ny saina), an expression used for psychic disturbances of various degree, ranging from what we would term a nervous breakdown to psychosis. Since it is impossible to negotiate with malign spirits, they instead need to be exorcised. All illness caused by such spirits is taken in hand by the leading tromba mediums, the mpañano tromba (or, in the church context, by the mpiandry). This is in contrast to earlier times, when, as people say, it was the diviners (mpisikidy) who dealt with such spirits. I have occasionally witnessed exorcisms during the tromba ritual bath. The success of exorcism varies, as does the degree to which the victim can live with the problem. Sometimes these spirits are considered as hinderances to efforts at getting in touch with ones’ “true” tromba (tromba marina), the spirits who form the centre of the tromba ritual practice. Other terms for the “true” tromba are the “sharpened” or “potent” tromba (tromba rangitana),4 or the tromba who have hasina (tromba manan-kasina). Thus, a successful exorcism

3 Cannabis is illegally cultivated in hidden locations in the area. Regular use is believed to make people crazy and, perhaps since it is often combined with alcohol, its use is also associated with aggressive and violent behaviour. 4 Rangitana is an adjectival participle derived from the root ‘rangitra’, designating the action to sharpen or to make pointed. The adjective ‘marangitra’ derives from the same root, and appears for instance in songs used in tromba rituals that were also used in circumcision rituals, as in the strophe “ombilahy marangitra mahery—e”—the strong, potent bull. I understand rangitana to be a metaphor for potency, strength and power.

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may open up for contact with one’s true tromba; the exorcism of a malign spirit clears the space and thus become a step in the initiation of a tromba possession and the process of becoming an active tromba medium. In contrast to other possessing spirits, true spirits have “work (asa) to do”, and they appear, or “come out” (mivoaka) of the body of the possessed. The appropriate occasion for the spirit to come out is considered to be during the organised ritual practice of tromba. The rituals are the proper context for spiritual work. Apart from rituals, spirits may appear in dreams, or manifest their presence through symptoms of illness. However, ritual practice is considered necessary for the spirits to publicly manifest themselves and carry out their work. The invocations, the incense and the rhythms of the songs are believed to attract spirits who “have work to do”. Spirits in search of a medium and a suitable working environment frequent tromba rituals, in addition to the spirits that already possess the established mediums. Thus, participation in tromba rituals is risky. One may become possessed. Most people attending tromba rituals are not possessed; only a few of the people present work as spirit mediums. Possessed people are said to have tromba, or to have a tromba “sitting on” or “living in” them (mipetraka aminy). While people in general clearly distinguish between people who have or do not have tromba, one of the leading mediums I talked to suggested that possession is a general condition. As he said, “Everybody has tromba, just as the Catholics say that everybody has a guardian angel.”5 He was, however, the only one I ever heard talking about tromba possession in this way. Malign spirits are not the only ones who may cause sickness and trouble; so do the true ones. Insiders often talk about the problems caused by a true tromba as punishment (sazy), instead of illness (aretina). In Marofero’s words: “Tromba have their customs and taboos that humans do not know. That is why people get ill. These are the good tromba, the potent tromba.” The spirits punish people who consciously or unconsciously break their spirit’s proscriptions and taboos. They may also cause illness just to make people aware of their presence, so that they can do what they want to do, and work through the body 5

Marofero often used to draw parallels to “my world” when he tried to explain things to me. He would liken the drinking of rum or the sacrifice in tromba rituals to communion, the incense with a telephone, or he would compare the ritual site with a doctor’s office, for instance.

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of the person they possess. Such spirits may cause many of the same problems as the malign spirits. However, the problems they cause are often more difficult to categorise, indicating that a fixed interpretive scheme for diagnosis is lacking. The symptoms tend to be more vague or general than in other kinds of spirit illness, including for instance fever, headache and general weakness, but can also be as concrete as a toothache or a swollen foot. We have now seen how the Betsimisaraka order the world of spirits through a distinction between non-possessing and possessing spirits. The latter are further subdivided into “true” and “imperfect” spirits. The “true” spirits form the centre of the tromba possession, and in the following the term tromba will be reserved for these spirits, unless otherwise specified. Having established the main spirit categories, it is now time to examine more closely the nature of these spirits. The constitution of the tromba world Providing a systematic description of the world of tromba is difficult. In my effort to map the world of the spirits, I soon realised that any attempt on my part to delineate rules, patterns and systems would be blurred by “exceptions”. A remarkable feature of the tromba spirits appearing in tromba rituals in the Marofatsy area is the stress placed on the uniqueness of the spirits. Each spirit is a unique individual; each medium has his or her own unique spirits, usually more than one, and the healers have many, sometimes as many as twelve or more. In contrast to tromba elsewhere on Madagascar, the spiritual universe of the Betsimisaraka version of tromba does not constitute a fixed pantheon with a limited number of spirits who manifest themselves in different mediums.6 For example, among the Sakalava on the west coast of Madagascar the tromba spirits are mainly deceased members of the Sakalava royal dynasties connected through genealogy and history. However, the tromba spirits in the Marofatsy area lack this kind of connection and are not interconnected by genealogy, a common history, a myth or any other well-known story. The spirits’ origins in

6

In contrast to the tromba on the west coast (see Lambek 2003), the mediums in Marofatsy are not put through tests in order to establish the validity of the spirit, perhaps because of the individualised character of the spirits; they do not belong to a fixed pantheon of known personalities.

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time and space are dispersed. The spiritual world is not marked by structural integrity or a narrative closure. On the contrary, the relations that connect the spirits are realised and shaped in ritual practice. There are no systematic links between them, except those created in ritual. Instead of dramatising a story, the spirits act in the present. What is known about them by myself and by the cult participants is based upon the spirits’ manifestations in ritual—based upon what they reveal about themselves in speech, in their manner of speaking or behaving, in their clothes, their manners, and the way they dance, in their emotional reactions, their likes and dislikes, etc. What they reveal about themselves in ritual action is a pragmatic minimum. The spirits are not represented with an extensive biography; only the minimum of information is made relevant for the ritual context. It should also be mentioned that during rituals there is always the appearance of several spirits that are mostly or totally unknown by their respective mediums and the audience. Due to their peripheral position, such information is considered as insignificant. When I asked mediums about the names, origins and personal history of these “less important” spirits, the normal answer would be: “We do not know. No-one has ever bothered to ask the spirit”. Spirits with known biographies belong to the leading mediums and their closest followers. Such knowledge is normally gained through years of practice, and what is known is connected to the spirits’ ritual significance. The stress on the uniqueness of spirits provides the tromba world with infinite possibilities of new creations. Still, as free creations they are nevertheless conditioned in certain ways, and created on the basis of exciting materials. Writing about the spirits necessarily implies fixing them in a way that cannot really capture their full nature. Still, in the following I will outline the main structuring principles and building stones of the spirit characters, although these should not be taken as absolute. The terms and characteristics referred to are used pragmatically and developed in practice. Spirit power Tromba spirits are bearers of hasina, and their curing potential is attributed to the power of hasina. For people in Marofatsy, this is what tromba is all about: The spirits provide people with this vital force that is manipulated and tapped through the interaction established in

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ritual. As sources of hasina, how can we place the spirits within the cosmic order? While it is generally believed that tromba are powerful beings in their own right, they may also be seen as the mediators of power attributed to other, more powerful beings or forces. In Ralahy’s tromba network, people say that some spirits mediate between the living and god (Zanahary), in tromba language called Patì.7 Zanahary, or Patì, occupy the top of the cosmic hierarchy of beings and forces that are sources of the cosmic power of hasina. The mediation between Patì and the living takes place through tromba divination. Ralahy and his associated mpañano tromba explain tromba divination as follows: They use a mirror to catch the image of the troubled person, and take the image to Patì. Patì, who knows the destinies of every human being, passes to the curing spirit the client’s diagnosis and fate. I only heard the mpañano tromba of Ralahy’s network talk about Patì. Other mpañano tromba talk about the mirror as the tromba version of the grains or stones used in ordinary divination (sikidy). Tromba spirits are powerful in themselves, but in order to cure they need other sources of power. Most important to the curing is water. As Ralahy explained to me on another occasion: Tromba spirits have power (hasina) in themselves, but without the water, they would not be able to cure. All tromba have hasina. The water has power to take life and to give live. It is prohibited ( fady) to say of water (also river, stream) that it is small before crossing it. If you do, you may lose your life. The ocean is the most powerful of all water. It is so powerful that one may say it is a god (zanahary). The ocean is so big that you cannot swim across it. The ocean can take life, but is also a source of life. The ocean is the source of all water. All water comes from the ocean.8

With these words Ralahy summed up the main core of Malagasy cosmology. The circulation of water in the world both materialises and visualises the power of hasina as a flow penetrating all that is. Water, as a powerful manifestation of hasina, is considered as the originating source of spirit power. The most important tromba ritual is the ritual bath, and I shall return to the significance of water, and the specific cosmological role of tromba in the analysis of the ritual bath in chapter 7. 7 Patì is a tromba term representing Zanahary, the creator god. It is pronounced with emphasis on the last syllable, in a non-Malagasy fashion. I have not been able to trace any etymology or any other background on the word. 8 The ocean in Malagasy is called ranomasina, masina meaning both “salty” and “sacred/powerful” (carrying the power of hasina).

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Kinds of tromba spirits People in Marofatsy distinguish between different kinds of tromba spirits. They may be deceased humans, “water people” (olon-drano) or earth, water and wood spirits (jinin-tany, lolon-drano, biby ala). The first two categories are the most humanlike, and appear to be almost indistinguishable from people when it comes to their abilities and behaviour. The only thing that separates these two from one another is the water spirits’ origins or association with particular streams or rivers. Earth, water or wood spirits appear to be the least human of all tromba spirits. Very often they are inarticulate, comic or troubling spirits without concrete curative powers. What most of these have in common is their association with more or less specified geographical places—whether it is a particular river, town or area—considered to be a site of origin and/or retreat. The majority of tromba spirits are of human origin. Such spirits may occasionally be termed ancestors (razana), when the purpose is to refer to a spirit’s kind. As the mpañano tromba and tangalamena Marofero said: “The tromba are ancestors. Ancestors are like the wind. That is why many tromba come from far away.” It is important to note, however, that this does not mean that tromba spirits belong to the village ancestors. In this context, the term “ancestor” is used to refer to deceased humans as a general category of being. Tromba spirits are clearly distinguished from the local ancestors, being non-local ancestors in the sense that they do not belong to the village lineages. They are dead humans distanced from the local village ancestries by time and space. The tromba spirits have little in common with the local ancestors. The few local spirits who originate in the surroundings of Marofatsy are mostly water or earth spirits, or dead humans from a vague and mythical past, with no recognised genealogical ties to the villagers of today. While a few of the spirits do have genealogical ties to their mediums, these ancestors do not, however, belong to the lineage. Some spirits are their host’s maternal kin, father’s maternal kin, or, in a few cases affinal kin, like mother’s brother, father’s mother’s brother, spouse’s father or spouse’s uncle. This does not seem to constitute an exception to the principle of distance, since in all cases I recorded, all spirits who are maternal or affinal ancestors come from places located miles away from Marofatsy. Even closely related ancestors may be defined as outsiders. In this connection it is worth noting that exogamy

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implies exchange between groups that in a structural sense are mutual strangers. The distinction between these tromba and ancestors is further expressed in sayings such as “tromba do not like the tombs”; even the tromba spirits that are deceased humans stay away from the tombs. Moreover, spirits commonly impose a taboo on their mediums against entering tombs, even their own ancestral tombs. Tromba spirits appear with specific identities constructed through a number of properties combined in various ways. In the following I will outline the most important principled attributes that both make the spirits appear as beings with singular identities and determine the relationships, hierarchical and otherwise, between the spirits. However, in order to get a fuller image of the spirit, I begin with a description from my field notes of the spirits associated with three different mpañano tromba in Marofatsy. I use the descriptions both as an illustration of the general structuring principles, and as background information for a closer examination of the configuration of spirit identities discussed in the following section, which also takes into account the complexity and variation that marks the world of the spirits. Three examples of the cluster of spirits possessing the mpañano tromba The first example is the spirits of the mpañano tromba Ralahy, and the spirits are presented according to the hierarchical order:

name of spirit9

description

Renivondroy

This is a male elder of unknown origin. He is the tompon’ny malo, the master-of-distress. He does not cure, but keeps an eye (manara maso) on things, and takes care (mikarakara) of people.

Renifito Mother of seven

A deceased human, male elder. He is an Antemoro from Vohipeno, and as a tromba he works as a diviner (Ampitanataratra), uses the mirror and cures people.

9 Spirit names may sometimes be common names, but often they are not. Spirits may be called “warrior”, “drunkard”, or “judge”, and describing names such as “agreeable”, “handsome”, “pretty”, “generous”, “vigorous” or “the one who accomplishes”, “the one who reunites”. See the appendix I, where I have tried to translate several of the spirit names.

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Table (cont.) name of spirit

description

Marosampy Many idols

A deceased human, male elder. He is a Betsimisaraka from Mahavoky, Ilaka Est. As a tromba he is a diviner (Ampitanataratra), uses the mirror and cures people. He is also the judge (demisara).

Ranaivo

A deceased human, adult male. A Betsimisaraka from Andrasoabe, between Vatomandry and Toamasina. He is a “photographer” (ampakasary); uses the mirror to take “pictures” of the sick person, takes the image to god (Patì), who decides whether the person will live or die. With Patì there are guards, who compare the image with the images stored in the book of heaven.

Mpiady Warrior

A deceased person, male, elder. A Betsimisaraka from Ilaka, and Ralahy’s mother’s father (dadilahy). As a tromba he is a messenger (hirahina) and a soldier (miaramila).

Ramangasona

A water spirit, adult male. He is from Antiona (river) near Ilaka. As a tromba he is a messenger (hirahina) and a soldier (miaramila).

Zamandragaly Galy’s maternal uncle

A deceased human, adult male. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ambalaherana, near Lohavanana. As a tromba he works as a messenger (hirahina) and soldier (miaramila).

Tsaravahatra Good root

A deceased human, male. He is a Sakalava from Babaomby near Antsiranana (Diego Suarez).

Tsiavohotra Who does not bend

Male, adult Antandroy

Renitraky

Male, adult Antandroy

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The following spirits belong to the female mpañano tromba Ravao:

name of spirit

description

Njakamahefa The ruler who completes things

A deceased human, male elder. He is an Antemoro from Sakaraha. He lived in the times before the Menalamba rebellion, in the middle of the nineteenth century. When he was alive, he was a diviner, as a spirit he is a tromba diviner, a person who compares images (ampitahana sary). He makes his diagnosis in two ways; he catches a person’s mirror image and takes it to god (Patì), or he puts his hand on a person’s head and feels what illness they suffer from, why they are suffering and what kind of treatment is required.

Nico

A deceased human, adult male. He is an Antandroy from Sakaraha. As a living human he was a cowherd. In 1947 he participated in the rebellion and was next to the local leader; he died while defending his homeland. Now he is a tromba diviner and compares images by using the mirror. He cares for sick people and pregnant women, provides magic/medicine for the rice, and he sorts out other kinds of trouble, for instance with the authorities ( fanjakana).

Letody The accomplished, or the one who accomplishes

A deceased human, adult male in his thirties (manafilahy). He is a Betsimisaraka from Morafeno, who died because he was poisoned ( fandrian-olona). He is Nico’s soldier. One of his tasks (asa) is to travel all over the island to find medicine ( fanafody). He finds all kinds of medicine—for example “invigoraterule” fihembelonanjaka, “have-a-share” (mananjara), “straighten-up-what-is-done” (manarina bita), “ruler-of-much-land” (manjakabetany)—for people who want children, rice, cattle, etc. His medicine is invisible, only the name is known. When Ravao holds a rombo (ritual), Letody arrives first, to check that everything is all right, to clean the place for the leading spirit (ny lehibe, rangahy), and to make sure that there is nothing to fear, for instance bad medicine ( fanafody ratsy).

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Table (cont.) name of spirit

description

Kalabosy

An adult female from Vakinankaratra. She is a miaramila and a midwife.

Vavila

A water spirit, adult female. She is a Betsimisaraka from Andranotaratra, a stream near Lavajiiro.

Lefidy The choice

A male water spirit married to Vavila, and from the same place. They are both soldiers. Lefidy’s speciality is to take care of things associated with land/cultivation, especially tany masiaka (malicious land), and he makes protective medicine for this purpose (hampañano-tany-henzana, ody tany).

Kalasoa Pretty/good/agreeable

A deceased human, adult female. She is a Betsimisaraka from Ambohimiarina. She is a masseuse (mpanotro).

Tsaravita Good/well done

A deceased man married to Kalasoa, and from the same place. As a living human he used to be a mpisikidy. Now he is a tromba diviner. He also knows about medicine.

Marovavy Many girls

An earth spirit, female. She is a Betsimisaraka from Ambatobe near Lavajïro. She is a herald (ampanome feo). During tromba rituals she announces the coming of other spirits and orders people to keep their spirit cloths ready. During the ritual bath (misetra ampitsaràna), she steps into the water before the leaders, to check that everything is in order (no sorcery).

Marie

An earth spirit, female child and a Betsimisaraka. She likes children and gives them sweets. She appoints and takes care of the girls who make barisa. In addition, she can be sent to people’s rice fields to guard them against birds (mpiambin-pody).

Vitaka

Same as Marie

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The third example is the spirits of the mpañano tromba Marolahy:

name of spirit

description

Demisara Judge

A deceased human, male elder Betsimisaraka, who was Marolahy’s maternal grandmother’s youngest brother. He was taken by a nymph (zazavavin-drano) and disappeared. As a tromba he is a diviner; he uses the mirror and cures all kinds of illnesses. Though he is a Betsimisaraka, he too speaks many different dialects: Betsileo, Antandroy, Antesaka, northern Betsimisaraka, southern Betsimisaraka, Antemoro, northern Sakalava (Diego), and sometimes he even speaks French. Marolahy says that Demisara’s ability to speak different dialects is a sign of his power. He dances in different ways as well, depending on the dialect he speaks. Sometimes he dances with a spear in his hands, sometimes with a small child. Marolahy says the spear is a sign of his power, “the spear is sharp (marangitra).”

Ramorona Honourable bank, shore, outskirts

A water spirit, adult male and an Antemoro from the river Alefaka. He is a diviner, but he does not use the mirror. Instead he uses a piece of wood with four twigs, which resembles a hand. He watches it and divines. He is a curer, and he “takes care of people and cattle.” People make vows, and promise him the tenth head of cattle in return. He speaks and dances like an Antemoro and he is very strong. Sometimes it is difficult to understand what Ramorona says. Usually Marolahy’s wife interprets. If she does not understand, they call for the tromba Demisara to translate.

Mandritsara (The one who) sleeps well

A young water spirit male of about thirty. He is a Betsimisaraka, from Nosindrano near Nosy Varika (on the coast). He is a soldier, and during the rituals he helps people with strong and powerful tromba (mazamazana). He holds them, hits them with his cloth (salaka), and put the cloth around them to calm them down and help them through. Sometimes he also walks around to wake sleeping people. He enjoys dancing, and sometimes he dances while balancing a bottle on his finger.

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Table (cont.) name of spirit

description

Faravavy Youngest daughter

A water spirit, child, female. She is a Betsimisaraka, and the daughter of the tromba Demisara. Her task is to cure small children, and to provide medicine to protect the rice fields against birds. She can even cure unborn children still in their mother’s womb. As payment for these services she asks for four ariary (twenty Malagasy Francs) and sweets. She is very small and talks like a little child. When she arrives she drapes a piece of white cloth around the head, so that the face appears small. She never stands but only sits, and she dances while sitting.

Falifara

A young female water spirit. She speaks northern Betsimisaraka, but where she comes from is not known. She is the wife of the tromba Demisara. When she arrives she greets people, asks them about their health, then she says goodbye and leaves. She stays only for a short while, and does not dance or sing.

All of the ninety-five spirits recorded during fieldwork are presented in appendix II. Ethnicity and geographical origin One of the most striking features of tromba spirits is the use of different Malagasy dialects. In every tromba ritual one encounters spirits not only from other places but also from other ethnic groups. The manner of speaking is the most significant sign of origin, and the dialectical particularities are played on and exaggerated. The spirits’ origin is expressed in other ways as well: in body movements, ways of dancing, clothing, food preferences, etc. The way spirits talk and behave make them appear as embodiments of local stereotypes of people elsewhere and other groups. For example, in Madagascar, the Antandroy people are known for their warrior-like nature. An Antandroy spirit is typically an aggressive warrior who dances in a jumping, wild way while wearing a waistcloth. Likewise, the Antemoro people are known for their diviners and advanced knowledge of sacred matters. An Antemoro spirit elder differs from other spirits by a more elaborate use of ritual objects and symbols, like a small altar, more detailed kaolin drawings on the ritual objects, etc.

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The spirits I met in Marofatsy all belonged to the so-called coastal peoples; they were either Betsimisaraka, Antandroy, Antemoro, Sakalava, Antankarana, or Antambahoaka.10 Antandroy, Antemoro and Sakalava are considered particularly fierce, proud, powerful and/or knowledgeable people. While the majority of the spirits are Betsimisaraka, most of them are not locals, but instead from the coastal area to the north-east or east of the Marolambo region. Locally speaking, the people in this area are considered to be particularly fierce and even violent. In general the people of Marofatsy/Marolambo are reluctant to travel to the coast because the coastal Betsimisaraka are said to be heavy drinkers, robbers and murderers. Distribution of labour In addition to ethnicity and geographical origin, the spirit order is based on distinctions related to different ritual tasks and ritual behaviour. The most salient distinguishing feature is the curing capacity. Wherever they come from, all “true” tromba are considered curing spirits in the widest sense of being bearers of hasina. However, some of the spirits are curing spirits in a more specific way. Most adult spirits are curing spirits. They may be able to divine, to diagnose illness, and to provide medicine and other forms of treatment. The curing spirits represent the tromba versions of the diviners, herbalists, midwives or masseurs/masseuses that are the traditional healers in the village. A tromba healer is a healer primarily by virtue of his or her spirits. A diagnosis is made through tromba divination. As the tromba are knowledgeable beings, a diagnosis can also be made in a more direct way, by talking with, watching and touching the troubled person and his or her relatives. Sometimes the diagnosis takes some time, and through the medium’s deams the spirit later on proposes a treatment. By necessity, the diviner spirits are also herbalists, although some spirits are herbalists without being diviners. 10 The division between the coastal and inland populations is more a political rather than a geographical division. Most of the so-called coastal populations do not actually live on the coast, but the term designates most of the groups that do not inhabit the central highlands populated by the Merina and Betsileo. The opposition between coastal peoples and highland peoples has historical roots going back to the Merina colonisation of most of the island during the nineteenth century, as well as to the French colonial-era divisions of the Malagasy population into ethnic groups, the “Politique des races”. The divisions are still made relevant in the national-level political landscape as well as for the understanding of self and identity on the local level.

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Importantly, a spirit’s medical knowledge is regarded as idiosyncratic in the sense that it is unique and individual. All curing spirits have their own medicines, their own knowledge of herbs and other medical objects, which they do not share with others. Tromba medicine may even be invisible. The curing spirits can be called upon for a general consultation or medical treatment. They may give protective medicine and other forms of magic, and they have knowledge of bad medicine or magic, although they would never admit using it. Such spirits are capable of neutralising sorcery and handling the consequences of taboo violations. Yet, some elderly and adult spirits have no particular curing ability. These spirits attend the rituals just to sing, dance, and talk with other spirits as well as living humans. Young spirits represent a broad spectrum with regard to kind, gender, abilities and ritual tasks. Some of them are the soldiers (miaramila)11 of the leading spirits. They may be sent on missions to Patì to search for medicine, or they may be tasked with preparing the ritual ground at the beginning of the rituals. Some may be responsible for waking people who fall asleep during the rituals, searching for sorcery, or arranging the ritual objects. Young male spirits are strong and they can be called upon when other spirits make trouble. Some spirits are simply entertainers. They are musicians or are valued for their singing and dancing. Many of the young spirits entertain with their comic and burlesque behaviour. A lot of them are young male Antandroy warriors. Typically they like to dance and are always looking for a fight. Such spirits may frighten people, or make them laugh with their aggressive, violent behaviour and dancing. Some of the young spirits are Betsimisaraka from the coast who drink rum and like fighting. Other young spirits act ridiculously; they are clumsy, talk nonsense, behave in funny ways and make people laugh. In contrast to the young males, the young female spirits do not act comically, nor are they aggressive. Instead, they generally talk gently to people, comfort them or just dance and sing. Still, others are mean, problematic and capricious. Unlike the young spirits of tromba Sakalava or tromba in Mayotte (see Lambek 1981; Sharp 1995), these young spirits do not

11

‘Soldier’ (miaramila) is in Malagasy often used as an euphemism for slave or servant (Graeber 1996). In this context, the term miaramila indicates subordination, and the relationship between these spirits and the curing spirits is one of obedience and command.

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incorporate elements of urban or Western culture. Like the other spirits, they remain pure Malagasy.12 The few of the spirits who are children are water spirits or earth spirits.13 Such spirits are always girls and always funny. They behave like children, talk childishly, and are light-hearted and cheerful. Most of the time, they joke and giggle. Aside from making people laugh, they have a few other ritual tasks. One of their jobs is to guide and take care of the young girls who make the barisa, a drink made of burnt sugar and water and consumed during the ritual bath. Sometimes they are sent to frighten away the birds from the rice fields, to take care of the poultry, or to carry out other similarly minor tasks. The relative order of power and authority The distribution of the spirits’ individual skills, knowledge, occupations, curing abilities and ritual tasks is associated with a hierarchical order. In the following I will provide a more elaborate examination of the hierarchical principles that structure the tromba world. First, the above description shows how the spirit hierarchy parallels the hierarchy that prevails in the world of human beings in that it is based on a relative order of age and gender, of which age is the more important. Each mpañano tromba always has several spirits who are internally ranked. Power and knowledge increase with age, so that senior spirits rank above adults, followed by youngsters and children. Where power and rank are concerned, the adult males, whether elderly or middle-aged, rank above all other tromba. Adult females rank above young males. Most of the spirits are male, although this does not imply that female spirits are insignificant or do not hold important positions. Even so, the female spirits are almost never on the top of the hierarchy. The diviner spirits are considered to be the most powerful. Like ethnic origin, both age and gender are expressed through voice, bodily behaviour, clothing and so on. As participants in the same rituals, other spirits of other mediums in the same circle may have a more or less defined place in this hierarchy of spirits within the circle. Some

12 Malagasy and stranger/foreigner (Malagasy vs. Vazaha) is a dichotomy recurring in many contexts, a fundamental distinction that is important all over Madagascar (see for example Bloch 1971, 30–36). 13 Similar child spirits are described in studies of tromba elsewhere (Estrade 1985; Lambek 1981; Sharp 1993).

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of them act as assistants to the mpañano tromba’s spirits. Whilst the spirit hierarchy draws on pan-Malagasy ideas of the relative order of gender and age, based on the relationship between parents and children, the hierarchy also entails elements belonging to other domains outside the social structure of kinship. Hence, a second hierarchical principle appears to constitute a legal order, indicating that the tromba world is a world of power and justice. It is a legal system with a differentiation of legislative, judiciary and executive powers. The mpañano tromba Ralahy explained one version of this order to me. Although the following terms are not used by all the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy, most of the offices, or functions were clearly observable in all of the rituals I attended. According to Ralahy, the leading spirit is called the “master-of-distress”, or “master-of-the-bad” (tompin’ny malo). Other mpañano tromba called the leading spirit filoha (head), mpitarika (leader) or mpibaiko (commandant, “one who gives orders”). The next spirit is called the “judge” (ndemisara, andemisara),14 followed by the “translator” (ampandika teny), a function that may also be carried out by a living human. These positions are followed by that of surveillance (ampitsikilo), and this spirit’s task is to observe the behaviour of people, to ensure that orders are followed and that both people and spirits behave in a proper way. The final position is that of the “soldier”, or “servant” (miaramila), who works as an assistant in curing as well as other ritual tasks, such as negotiating, invoking other spirits, or enjoying the audience. In the context of keeping order and discipline, it is the soldiers who give reprimands and carry out punishments. Among other things, the soldier may use the long tromba cloth salaka as a weapon ( fiadiana), for instance as a whip to beat spirits who make trouble. Finally, the above description reveals elements from a third hierarchical domain, namely the military ranking system. These aspects of the spirit hierarchy seem to be mimetic of military forms of organ-

14 It is tempting to draw a parallel to the Sakalava royal ancestor called Ndremisara, who appears through mediums in the Sakalava version of the tromba cult (Lambek 2003). However, in the Sakalava case, Ndremisara is the personal name of a particular royal ancestral spirit, while in the Betsimisaraka case, ndemisara is assigned an office or a position within the hierarchy of spirits (though ndemisara spirits are sometimes also named Ndemisara, or Demisara). Interestingly, both the Betsimisaraka ndemisara spirits and the Sakalava Ndremisara spirit are divining spirits, and in both cases they serve senior spirits. Thus, it is perhaps not unlikely that this is one of the “traces” of the original tromba Sakalava that can still be found in the Betsimisaraka version.

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isation, such as the raiding bands of pre-colonial times ( filoha and mpitarika were the titles by which warrior chiefs or leaders of such groups were known) or, perhaps even more likely, the French military rule or the rebel bands of the 1947 rebellion. In fact, the way the 1947 rebel bands were organised seemed to mirror both the colonial military hierarchies, since the rebels were assigned military titles such as general, colonel, lieutenant and private, as well as the bureaucratic structure of the colonial government, with titles such as president, secretary, etc.15 It is important to note that the hierarchy of spirits is realised in the context of ritual only. In that sense, the spiritual world should not be considered as detached from the human world, with a hierarchy of its own. Instead, the hierarchy should be understood as an ordering of ritual rank—corresponding to the distribution of power and knowledge—and ritual function that becomes relevant in the ritual context. It is first and foremost through the ritual that they become positioned in a more or less ordered hierarchy with defined tasks and roles. There they engage actively in relation to both other spirits and the human beings present, as curers vis-à-vis their patients and as rivals vis-à-vis other curing spirits, and they develop alliances and friendships along with hostile relationships. Detachment and inclusion The configuration of the spirit identities reveals a more general feature of the imaginative process of the tromba world. Tromba imagery and spiritual identities are composed of a patchwork of different types of elements. This bricolage is very evident in the ways the spirits’ identities are constructed. The elements that constitute the spirit identities are transposed from various worlds, or through a Castoriadisian lens, from systems of social imaginary significations. These fractions are displaced, reworked and fused into new combinations. As we have seen, the tromba universe draws on a broad range of different worlds, from general cosmology, notions of authority based on the relative order of age and gender, idioms of gender, ethnic stereotypes, idioms

15

Mimicry of colonial military structures in possession cults is found in several places, for instance in the Hauka possession cult in West Africa (Kramer 1993; Stoller 1995; Taussig 1993), The Zar cult in Sudan (Boddy 1989) and in various Vodou cults in the Caribbean (Burton 1997).

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of power and knowledge, to military and judiciary systems. The way the elements are brought together is typically characterised by a logic of association, as the following typical combinations illustrate: A knowledgeable male elder—Betsimisaraka—skilled diviner and healer A young male Antandroy warrior—aggressive—dances wildly— entertainer—comic, makes people laugh A young male Antandroy warrior—disciplinary spirit—frightening and dangerous

When elements from a variety of social imaginaries are bought together in a particular spirit identity, they undergo a creative transformational process. Elements such as age, gender and ethnic identity are lifted out of their contexts. The spirits are configured by bringing together pieces of reality, but these pieces are detached from that reality. Through the spirit images they reappear as quintessential qualities. These qualities are acquired as sources of power, and thus the spirits appear as icons of power. As quintessential qualities, they are played upon and exaggerated in a way that provides the spiritual universe with a touch of comedy, parody and caricature. Although spirits are moulded on pieces of reality, they detach themselves from that reality and become independent (cf. Kramer 1993, 249). However, as we shall see below, not all parts of the configuration of spirit identities are describable as links in a chain of associative components. Some of the constituents seem more arbitrary than others, making the spirits appear to be complex, though at the same time rudimentary figures. Spirits as persons Despite the element of caricature and the play on cultural stereotypes and idioms, the spirits also develop elaborate and distinct personalities. They are treated like, and act like, social beings engaging in relations with other spirits as well as human beings. In addition to the typical patterns in image building derived from their identities as spirits, and their ethnic origin, age, gender, and occupation, the individual spirits also have their own personal characteristics. The spirits may have a personal name, their own taboos, tastes in food, clothes and music, as well as individual skills and abilities. Some of the properties are more defining than others; some may seem more arbitrary or idiosyncratic. In fact, the stress placed on the atypical, or personal features is also a standard characteristic of the spirits.

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Put another way, the tromba character, or gestalt, consists of a complex interplay between what may be called both essential and accidental properties. Some of their attributes seem more relevant for the specific context in which the spirits appear, versus other attributes that may seem to be more accidental. In order to illustrate this play of shared and individual properties, let us take a closer look on two spirits: One of the mpañano tromba Rangahy’s spirits is called Longovi, an Antandroy from southern Madagascar and a diviner. He is easy to identify because of the red shirt that he always wears unbuttoned and his two necklaces. He loves flowers and finery and he enjoys entertaining and displaying his powers to the audience. In particular, he can hold a dish in his hand upside-down while he dances without breaking it. He never sits down.

Most of Longovi’s properties are common for tromba spirits, such as his ethnic origin, the colour of the shirt, the necklaces and the wild show-off way of dancing. At the same time, his individuality is revealed in not only the personal name, but also the unbuttoned shirt, his liking of flowers and his upright position. Another example that shows how complex these spirits may be, is Marolahy’s spirit Demisara, presented earlier this chapter. Though this spirit is a Betsimisaraka, he speaks many different dialects (Betsileo, Antandroy, Antesaka, northern and southern Betsimisaraka, Antemoro, Antankarana, and even French), and dances in different styles as well. This is obviously a spirit who likes to display many aspects of his powers. The most individualising trait is the way he plays on different dialects and dancing styles. I never saw or heard of any other spirit who would do that. The unique configuration of these particular spirits demonstrates the dynamic play between association and arbitrariness, wholeness and fragmentation that characterises the world of the spirits. The tromba gestalt: a round character or symbolic type? The relative complexity of the tromba gestalts makes it difficult to characterise them as pure types and caricatures. The classic division in literary criticism between flat and round characters might be useful in order to further illuminate the specificity of the spirits. Forster (1927/1972) describes the flat character, the type or caricature as constructed round a single idea or quality. It is easily recognised, easily remembered and predictable. The round character, on the other hand, is multidimensional, marked by its richness, complexity and changeability. The tromba spirits do not fit easily into either of these

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categories. On the one hand, what is known about them is a condensed minimum, and there are elements of caricature in their appearance. On the other hand, while they are too complex to be simply flat characters, they are too rudimentary and indefinable too appear as full persons. Hence, the individuality and “roundness” of the spirits make it difficult to reduce them to the dramatic characters of a theatrical drama in the sense that they are constructions for the ritual as a whole. In spite of their subjection to certain structural features, such as the hierarchical order and the distribution of ritual labour, as well as their shared distinguishing features that define them as spirits, they are not entirely subordinated to a ritual structure. They are not reifications of ideas, which are directed by a fixed plot. Furthermore, the spirits are not objectified images, but stand out sharply as individual characters that are not predetermined by a rigid framework. Instead, as tromba spirits, they are to be treated as and conceived of as social beings. As such, they are relatively free and independent, rather than stable and fixed. Their unpredictability is even seen as a defining feature. In short, they are independent and unfinalised; they are autonomous beings. The autonomy of the tromba gestalts makes them similar to what some scholars have termed the symbolic type: Handelman for instance in his treatment of the clown type as a figure in public events, and Kapferer in his writings on demons in Sri Lankan rituals (see Handelman 1990; Kapferer 1983; 1997; Handelman and Kapferer 1980). A distinction is made between the role type and the symbolic type. While the role type is highly determined by its context, the symbolic type is perceived to be a relatively autonomous being. The symbolic type is consistently true to the logic of its internal composition, whether the composition is marked by homogeneity and unity or heterogeneity, inconsistency and paradox. It is marked by its “capacity to form or to deform the coherence and consistency of the social context of its presence” (Handelman 1990, 245). Handelman goes on to state: “their presence is keyed to the design of the occasion, and thereby controlled by this. The design constitutes one or more meta-contexts that generate the contexts of its enactment” (ibid., 245). The tromba spirits resonate with the symbolic type in that they are engaged in forming their own context, and at the same time dependent on it. For instance, while tromba spirits are dependent on the ritual context, they may nevertheless interrupt and disturb the course of the ritual events. According to Kapferer, symbolic types are characterised by highly stereotyped action,

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and they do not engage in mutual interaction with human beings in a way that might modify and change them (Kapferer 1983, 304–305). In contrast, while the tromba spirits are marked by stereotyped behaviour, they are also marked by unpredictability. Moreover, the tromba spirits actually take roles in the context of ritual, and they interact with each other, as well as with human beings, in a way that reveals their changeability. In spite of the asymmetric relation of power between spirits and humans, the spirits become relational and changeable in the context of ritual because they engage in relations with other beings. Hence, the relational and transformational qualities of the spirits are essential features, and moreover, it is through these qualities, realised in ritual, that the tromba gestalt is brought into being. Fulfilment through ritual The spirits’ identities as tromba spirits become realised when they materialise in the body of a human being and appear in the tromba rituals. As previously mentioned, it is the “true” tromba who “come out”, dance, or “rise”. At the same time, it is only through the rituals that they can fully realise their potential and perform their “work”. It is through the ritual that they can be fulfilled as tromba and display themselves to full advantage. How the formation and fulfilment of the tromba identity are connected to the ritual performance is further highlighted when we take a closer look at the spirits who are classified as deceased humans. These spirits are not complete replications of the persons they once were when alive. A deceased human turns into a tromba spirit through a transformation. In the cases when the biographies these spirits are known, the change is often quite evident. While there is continuity with regard to gender and geographical origin, other aspects, such as occupation, skills, and even age may change. For instance, a person who died as a child may appear as an adult tromba. Furthermore, although some of the divining spirits were diviners or mpañano tromba when they were living humans, others were farmers, cattle herders or breeders, or warriors. Tromba spirits may even lose the skills they had as living humans; for instance Rasatiny, one of mpañano tromba Ravavy’s spirits, used to be a mpañano tromba, but as a tromba she does not heal anymore and instead just sings and dances. Ibike tia lalao, one of Marofero’s spirits, used to be a herbalist, but as a tromba spirit he is one of the “soldiers” of Marofero’s leading spirits.

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Still, other spirits have ritual tasks and abilities that are related to their prior occupations. This is the case of Vavimainty, another of Marofero’s spirits, who used to be a midwife, and whose main task as a spirit is to nurse children. Another one of his spirits, a former farmer, provides protective and fertilising medicine for rice crops. One of Jaona’s spirits, his father’s mother’s brother who fought for the French army during the World War II, is a disciplining soldier who takes care of problematic spirits. The spirit may have ritual functions corresponding to other aspects of their identities as well. Female spirits often take care of women and children, while child spirits may cure children. Child spirits may also protect the rice fields from birds, just as ordinary children do. Besides drawing on their former life as humans, whether the link is one of clear continuation, or of analogy and correspondence, these spirits also acquire a number of new qualities. Such qualities may be connected to general features attributed to the nature of spirits, such as the potency they carry as possessors of hasina, their need to possess people, and their love of music and lively parties. When a spirit arrives at the nightly ritual (rombo), it often acts like someone in search for a good party, greeting the people and spirits present and loudly asking if this is a lively party (maresaka va?). Other qualities may be shared by some, but not necessarily by all spirits. For instance, shared qualities may include specific curing skills, their taste for the colour red, or taboos and dislike of pork, crab, or eel. The transformative nature of spirits The tromba spirits are transformative in a variety of different ways. Being disembodied, they have a wind-like nature and are capable of traversing large distances in their search of fulfilment. Having found a medium, they manifest themselves through illnesses as well as dreams. As we have seen above, fulfilment—in itself a transformative process— is only possible when the spirit enters the body of a human being. Once attached to a medium, the spirit changes over time as the relation between the spirit and its medium evolves. Their appearance may alter from being fleeting and vague to become more distinct and clear. Tromba practitioners attribute this change to several factors. First, the spirit needs to adjust itself to its medium. Secondly, the spirit also undergoes a process of familiarisation with the local ritual community of other spirits as well as living people. During this process of

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adjustment the spirit gradually reveals who it is, and what it can do. Finally, through recurrent participation in rituals, the spirit develops and matures. “They learn” (mianatra izy), as Ralahy once said. Thus, a spirit may start as a “soldier” and end as a “judge”. Over time, it may even lose skills, as was the case of Pelika’s spirit Ramiaraka, who used to be a diviner, but according Pelika and his wife, had become too old and tired. More commonly, the spirits expand their abilities and acquire new ones. One example of how this may happen is found the case of Iaban’i Misilahy, the son of the mpañano tromba Marofero. When I first saw his spirits evoked during several rituals in 1992, they did nothing more than sing and dance. As Iaban’i Misilahy then explained, his spirits enjoyed the music and loved to play and to entertain people. As non-curing spirits, their names and biographies were unknown. However, when I returned to Marofatsy in 1997, it was evident that his spirits had undergone a development. Although their identities were still unknown, the spirits took a far more active role in the rituals compared to those roles I previously observed. The spirits had become much more articulate; they talked instead of just singing and dancing. Since my first visit in 1992, his father’s position had grown in the village. Both Iaban’i Misilahy and his spirits worked as assistants in Marofero’s rituals. Iaban’i Misilahy assisted his father by organising practical matters and keeping the account of participation. Carefully written in a notebook, he tallied the number of people present, the ritual contributions, and the names of those absent. For their part, his spirits had become “soldiers” or servants (miaramila) that performed several functions. They were disciplinary spirits whom I saw correcting and scolding other spirits and people, and they helped mediums in difficult spirit manifestations. One incident I witnessed highlights this transformation. At the yearly Volambita celebration of the mpañano tromba Ralahy, Iaban’i Misilahy was particularly active. During the ritual bath, one of his spirits delayed the closure of the ritual for about an hour. The spirit was furious and refused to leave the ritual; it kept scolding the people present, particularly the mpañano tromba, for failing to care for (mikarakara) their master (Ralahy). The background for this incident was the fact that Ralahy, who is getting old and, therefore, had reduced his curing practice, had difficulties financing the Volambita, the most important of the tromba rituals. Due to the shortage of rum, the ritual was reduced to a minimum, and the rombo, which should ideally initiate the Volambita celebration, had been cancelled. This case exemplifies a typical development:

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Iaban’i Misilahy’s spirit had changed from a light-weight, unworried, entertaining spirit into a spirit with responsibilities, engagement and involvement in ritual matters, as well as in the ongoing power struggles and intrigues that seem to be such an inevitable part of tromba practice. Many of the other mediums whom I first met in 1992 have spirits who transformed in similar ways. The medium Iandro, for instance, became a mpañano tromba. In 1992, Iandro’s spirits were singers (mpihira) and musicians playing the tsikaiamba. In 1997, Iandro arranged rombo on his own. He told me that one of his spirits, Ravelo, had started to divine and cure people, although, as Iandro said, he is not so clever yet (tsy mahay lohatra). By 1998, he was established as a proper mpañano tromba, and for the first time he arranged the Volambita ritual involving the ritual bath. In sum, the fluidity of the tromba spirits epitomises the way tromba possession is a practice that continuously reshapes and renews itself. For the Betsimisaraka, the tromba spiritual world is a world that gradually reveals itself in ritual, and it is a world in constant movement and change. Otherness and sameness in tromba imagery The descriptions provided in this chapter show how the tromba spirits include images of otherness in their identity configurations. They may be of other ethnic origins, or from faraway places, distant from the participants in time and space. If the spirits are locals, they are deceased humans who do not belong to the local ancestries, or they are nature spirits alien to the human kind altogether. However, rather than representing radical otherness alone, the tromba identity is marked by the interplay between otherness and sameness, strangeness and familiarity. This is perhaps most evident in the contrast between humans and spirits. Although the spirits are existentially different from human beings, their identities still play on both human and spirit qualities. Some of the spirits are dead humans who have become spirits, while other kinds of spirits have human-like qualities along with spirit qualities. This interplay of spirit and human qualities in the identity configuration can also be seen in the way the spirits behave. Thus, in the ritual context the spirits and humans are brought together and interact on a basis of both difference and sameness.

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The non-local spirits reflect the local stereotypes of other peoples. The kinds of people represented are noted for their fierceness, power and knowledge. They may be admired for their skilled diviners, or feared for their wildness, their warriors and gangs of robbers. The tromba spirits encapsulate such images of violence, power and wisdom. The aspect of otherness integral in the spirit identities is first and foremost a source of power. The power of otherness is captured in the tromba identity and makes the spirits appear as icons of power. The way the otherness remains within the frames of what is conceived to be Malagasy is striking. No imagery conceived as foreign, in the sense of being non-Malagasy, is used. It is the multiplicity of Malagasyness that is drawn upon, one that is diverse but unified at the same time. However, this Malagasyness is not all-embracing. All of the spirits I have recorded belong to the so-called coastal populations. The Merina people are, with one exception, non-existent in this world. It seems that when otherness is drawn upon, it is a kind of otherness that has a potential for identification. The spirits appear as caricatured images playing on human qualities. They are old or young, male or female, diviners or dancers, scaring or caring, knowledgeable or just sweet, sensual or funny. They are hierarchically ordered as masters and subordinates, yet they are all autonomous beings. Spirits are human-like figures, but they also transcend the borders of humanity. They are strangers, yet familiar; they are different, and yet the same. In this chapter I have introduced the different kinds of spirits that inhabit the tromba world. Through a close examination of how spirit identities are configured, we have seen how the identities are composed of elements drawn from various domains, and how this variety is reworked and fused into something new. Pieces of various realities are detached and fused into a figure that becomes independent of these realities. This figure takes form and is treated as a social personage. As a social personage, it becomes a member of the community of spirits. This membership involves the distribution of authority and rank, in relation to particular roles and tasks. Thus, the tromba world is a social world, taking the shape of a social construction or institution. Some of the elements that are combined in the spirit identities seem to be brought together through the logic of association, while others seem more arbitrary. While in some respects the spirits appear to be caricatures playing on cultural stereotypes, they are also highly

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individualised. Moreover, the spirits have a transformative nature, and they are first and foremost fulfilled as spirits through the ritual process. In chapter 7, I shall return to the process of becoming spirits, where I examine the ritual process more closely. Finally, spirit identities are moulded through the interplay between the familiar and the strange. Having examined the various facets of the spirit world, it is now possible to identify three important features of tromba imagination. First, tromba imagination works according to the principles of bricolage, where heterogeneous elements are combined through a process of detachment and inclusion. It is an assemblage functioning as a synthesis which is not reducable to its parts (Deleuze and Guattari 1988). Secondly, it is marked by both order and disorder. Thirdly, tromba imagination is characterised by play on otherness and sameness. Throughout the rest of the book I shall continue to explore the significance of these features by looking at the ways tromba imagination intersects with and works upon different aspects of the Betsimisaraka world. In the next chapter I begin by examining how this interplay between otherness and sameness is actualised in the relationship between the spirits and their mediums, by considering the ways the spirits intersect with the lives of their mediums.

CHAPTER SIX

MAKING CONNECTIONS: SPIRITS, PERSONS AND PLACES (. . .) all identity formation is engaged in this habitually bracing activity in which the issue is not so much staying the same, but maintaining sameness through alterity. —Michael Taussig

When a spirit enters a medium through a trance, it temporarily replaces the medium’s self, where the known self is transformed into an unknown self, a stranger. A medium in trance is considered to be and treated as embodying another being. Spirit identities are distinct and separate from that of their medium. The replacement of the medium’s self is seen as so complete that all mediums claim not to remember anything after a spirit manifestation. In fact, not to remember signals a genuine possession. What mediums do talk about is the shuddering in the body that comes just before a spirit arrives or the feeling of exhaustion when the body aches all over after it has left. The body has been used as a vessel, or filaha as spirits call their hosts, which can be translated as “a useful means”.1 The spirits are strangers and outsiders who are brought into the local community through their mediums in ritual practice. One way or another, they belong to the world outside. In the previous chapter the examination of the spirit world revealed how spirits do more than represent radical otherness; their identities are composites of images of both the alien and the familiar. This chapter continues my exploration of tromba imagination by focussing on the relationships between mediums and spirits. As we shall see, the intermingling of images of otherness and sameness marks the relationships between individual mediums and their spirits in a very concrete way. Spirits are strangers, but on closer inspection, there are virtually some points of connection between individual spirits and their mediums. The thesis I develop is that these points of connection represent

1 In this interpretation I suggest that the word derives from the root ‘ila’ meaning need, search, desire, and filána, which may mean everything one does or needs in order to get what one wants (Abinal and Malzac 1963).

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important sources of power, and that making connections is a fundamental dimension of the imaginative process of tromba practice. Tromba spirits “come out” (mivoaka) through the bodies of their mediums in two different contexts: private consultations and public rituals. Clients approach the mpañano tromba in private consultations throughout the year. Such consultations take place in the evening, with few people present, including the mpañano tromba and an assistant, along with the client and one or more relatives. On such occasions the curing spirits of the mpañano tromba are invoked by means of incense and verbal invocation, and the spirits perform divination, make a diagnosis and prescribe the treatment. If the client is diagnosed as being possessed, the curing spirits will try to invoke the client’s spirit and question it in order to classify it, try to find out what the spirit wants and decide whether it should be exorcised or maintained. Sometimes the invocation is successful and the spirit “comes out”, but often the spirit chooses to appear only in the context of the larger rituals. Active mediums take on different roles. People distinguish between the chief mediums, referred to as mpañano tromba, and other mediums. The mpañano tromba differ from other mediums in that they have their own curing practices and organise tromba rituals, where they receive clients and followers who attend the rituals on a more or less regular basis. In order to qualify as a fully established and publicly recognised mpañano tromba, one has to possess a ritual site beside a waterfall or a brook in the forest, suitable for the performance of the ritual bath (misetra am-pitsaràna). During tromba rituals, the mpañano tromba’s spirits play a leading part as the most active and articulate spirits. Other mediums have a more or less established relationship with their particular spirits. They participate as clients and/or assistants at the rituals organised by the mpañano tromba. Although these mediums may have curing spirits, these spirits serve as soldiers or assistants of the mpañano tromba. Most of their spirits remain unknown, however; people say they are unimportant, and thus they are not remembered. Although mediums deny remembering what happens when a spirit arrives, the mpañano tromba, their spouses and assistants, nevertheless, know the mpañano tromba’s spirits quite well. Rituals are a constant topic of discussion and the different spirit arrivals are commented upon, so that there is an ongoing discourse both within and outside the ritual context about ritual events. The mpañano tromba’s spouses and other assistants develop close relationships and even friendships

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with the spirits. Outside the ritual context, spirits interfere in their medium’s daily life through illness, the practice of taboos and through dreams. Yet, the main source of knowledge that mediums have about their spirits is, as people conceive it, through what is told to them by other people, their spouses and assistants in particular. Mediums have a varying number of spirits, usually ranging from four or five to twelve, sometimes more. Chief mediums usually have three to five curing spirits, with one being the leader. The number of spirits varies according to the medium’s position in the internal hierarchy of the group, so that most mediums have spirits to which little attention is paid. The relationship between the chief medium and the assistants is analogous to the relationship between the healer’s leading spirits and their servants. Spirits of the mpañano tromba and his or her assistants offer the most elaborate performances during a ritual. The relationship between the spirit and its host could be described as mutually dependent. While the medium uses the spirit in an effort to control forces and achieve goals, the spirit needs the medium’s body to materialise and to be a fulfilled and true spirit; a spirit needs the body of a human being in order to fully realise itself. Spirits are believed to choose their hosts carefully and actively search for a suitable medium. Thus, visiting spirits often show up in a ritual in order to “check out the place” (mitsapa toerana). Some of these spirits never return, while others show up on subsequent ritual occasions. The various positions within the spirit hierarchy represent stages in a tromba spirit’s career, as well as the career of the medium. Both the medium and the spirits undergo a process of learning and maturing. The mpañano tromba liken the process to the development of a child into an adult. It is a process of mutual socialisation in which both the medium and spirit develop and change. The number of spirits possessing a medium does not remain stable. Spirits come, and they go. They may appear only once, or they may stay with their mediums throughout life. Usually a medium is initially possessed by one or several spirits, and other spirits come and go throughout the years of tromba participation. When a medium gets old and weak, the spirits leave, one by one. Only three or four of the most significant spirits remain, but according the mpañano tromba, all the spirits leave before the medium dies. They go in search of a new medium, in order to continue their work. An attachment to places is what spirits and people have in common. Although in some cases their origin is unknown, it is generally believed

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that spirits come from or belong to a particular place. This place may be more or less precisely defined, ranging from specific pieces of land or rivers and streams, to a village area or a larger geographical region. Understanding the people and spirit connections to place is an important key, I argue, to a acquiring a fuller understanding of the relation between the spirits and their mediums, and the way spirits impinge on their hosts’ lives. The present chapter is divided into two sections. In the first and main section I discuss the relationship between people, spirits and places. Whereas the spirits are structural outsiders to the local community and mostly come from places far away, I discovered that the mediums very often had some kind of connection to the places from which their spirits originate. To elucidate this observation I will discuss these connections in relation to general cultural conceptions of the relationship between people and places in Madagascar. My interest is not only to continue my exploration of the ways in which tromba impinges upon people’s lives, but also to illuminate the ways in which the Betsimisaraka relate their identity to places, and how they perceive places as affecting people. Thus, I extend the analysis to consider tromba in connection with how it is related to place and personhood. However, places are not the only points of connection between individual spirits and mediums. The final part of the chapter expands the analysis of tromba imagination by exploring other connections between spirits and mediums. More specifically, this chapter explores how tromba imagery may be moulded on bits and pieces drawn from the mediums’ lives. People and places The attachments that people have to places are recurrent themes in much of the literature on Madagascar. Malagasy concepts of relatedness are often expressed in terms of particular sites or places. What is often emphasised when people’s relatedness to places is described is the significance of sites associated with ancestors (Bloch 1971; Cole 1996; 2001; Emoff 2002; Feeley-Harnik 1991; Sorknes 2002; Thomas 1997; Wilson 1992). The image of being “rooted” in a particular place refers to people’s affiliation to ancestral tombs, and other ancestral sites such as land or houses, and this is the most important idiom by which people express and define who they are and with whom they are

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related (see for instance Bloch 1971, 105–137; Sharp 1993, 59–60). This relationship to ancestral places has been viewed as important for the construction of personhood and identity, as well as community and social order. Linked to these conceptualisations of relatedness is the distinction people make between insiders, the tompon-tany (masters of the land) or tera-tany (natives of the land); and outsiders, the vahiny (literally guests: people living outside their ancestral land, migrants). The relationship to ancestors and ancestral localities is as important among the Betsimisaraka as it is for other peoples in Madagascar. However, when considering the importance of ritual practice associated with ancestors in Betsimisaraka society, and when considering the significance of ancestral places and the extreme localising power of ancestors, it is striking that tromba in Marofatsy is largely associated with the “outside”, and that many of the spirits come from places far away. How are we to understand the kind of attachments between people and places that is evident in the relations between the individual mediums and their spirits? What do such attachments tell us about tromba, both in relation to the ancestral world and to the outside world? I begin my answers to these questions by considering some conceptions of what places do to people. Places into people The way people and ancestors colonise land, which in turn makes ancestral land so powerful that it tends to “pull people back to a centre”, is a topic treated in several studies on Madagascar (Cole 2001, 140; Lambek and Walsh 1999). Thus, the focus has been on the ways people act upon space and thereby make space into place. It should be clear by now that ancestral locations and the ancestral power attached to such locations are important for the people of Marofatsy and should not be underestimated. Considering the importance that the image of being rooted in ancestral places has for the construction of a social world and social identity, it is interesting that tromba mediums are possessed by non-ancestral spirits, both local or non-local, all linked to particular places. First, this may tell us something about the relationship between ancestral and non-ancestral power. Second, the way people draw on attachment to non-ancestral places through tromba may reveal something about the relations between people and places in general. Finally, this may also provide insight into the complexity of processes of constructions of Betsimisaraka personhood.

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Although ancestral places have a particular significance for the Betsimisaraka, they also consider all land to be powerful (masina), whether the power (hasina) concerned is connected to ancestors or not, and some places are more powerful than others. Furthermore, numerous places in the area around Marofatsy are connected to particular spirits, which makes these places especially powerful. Such places are often treated with caution, and there are taboos and other rules of behaviour that apply. In addition to these commonly recognised places, there is always the possibility that unidentified sites may be inhabited by spirits and may affect unsuspecting people. Thus, living in or cultivating a particular place does something to you. It can contribute to a peaceful and happy life, quality health, good harvests and prosperity, but it may also harm you. Land can be malicious (masiaka), because malicious spirits live there, because it has been polluted by sorcery or bad medicine, or because it is incompatible with you. For example, when a couple in the village lost their third child, people began to speculate as to the reason why. Some suggested that a parent of the couple might have made a serious mistake by violating a taboo. Others wondered whether or not the mother of the children was guilty of incest. The relatives finally turned to a diviner, who stated that the children had died because their parents had cultivated malicious land. Since they were Christians, the parents had refused to protect themselves with medicine. Worried about the deaths of the children, the non-Christian relatives, who in this case were in majority, pressed the couple to separate by threatening exclusion from the ancestry in order to prevent further disasters; this they did the day after the funeral. The way the Betsimisaraka conceive of the ties between people and places becomes even clearer if we consider the one aspect of the Betsimisaraka conception of personhood that specifically concerns the way people interact with their environment. The Betsimisaraka believe that each living being—including places, trees, rocks or even houses—has a spirit, called angatra2 or sometimes vintana in Marofatsy. According to Cole (2001), the people at the coast talked in similar ways about spirits called rangitra, and as she explains, “the productive potential in each person is unlocked when an individual is able to pair his or

2 Angatra is also used to refer to ancestral spirits appearing as “ghosts” in dreams or otherwise.

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her rangitra with a person, place, even a house that has the same, or complementary, rangitra” (143). In Marofatsy, incompatible angatra may be offered as an explanation when a couple separate, for instance. Illness and trouble may result if a house’s angatra does not match that of its inhabitants. Likewise, a bad harvest may be explained in terms of the incompatibility of the land or the spirit of the land, with those who cultivate it. In other words, people and places have to match in order for the people to gain access to the power of places. Hence, the relationship between land and people has the character of an exchange. The reciprocal terms in which the Betsimisaraka conceive of their relations to their environments have interesting parallels with other Malagasy groups. Though emphasis had often been laid on the way people make space into place in terms of subjugation, there are several examples in the literature showing how people view their relations to places in terms of exchange. For example, writing on the Temanambondro further to south along the east coast, Thomas (1998) describes local conceptions of how living in places far from the ancestral homeland affects people. According to Thomas “people in towns were typically said to follow the ‘ways of Europeans/outsiders’ and to be motivated by a ‘liking for themselves’ (tia teña), whilst country folk ‘liked others’ (tia nama) and followed ‘Malagasy ways’ ( fomba gasy) and the ‘ways of ancestors’ ( fomban-drazana)” (1998, 438). In other words, in contrast to the outside world, the ancestral world produces sociality. Moreover, “there was a widespread view among those who remained in the ‘countryside’ that rerelava (migrants) inevitably ‘became’ outsiders’ (lasa vazaha), an idea that migrants became ‘lost’ (very)” (ibid., 439). Thomas examines how processes of incorporation and re-localisation of goods and things associated with the outside take place through diverse social and ritual practices, and how such processes also occur in relation to returning migrants.3 Although Thomas’s example relates to complex processes, in which the contrast between the local and the outside entails such oppositions

3 Sorknes reports in her study on Tesaka migrants on the south-west coast of Madagascar, that among other things, the migrants who return from visits to their ancestral homeland on the east coast have to perform a ritual cleansing in the river, to get rid of the ‘dirt’ attached to them from living elsewhere (Sorknes 2002, 146–147). Similarly, Cole reports that men who return from the army or prison for instance have to offer a sacrifice, since these men had been forced to neglect their ancestral taboos; the army and prison are both institutions associated with the state, and are considered to be antithetical to ancestral power (Cole 2001, 202–203).

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as the Malagasy/vazaha, as well as classic stereotypes of the benefits of rural in contrast to urban life, it nevertheless reveals the recurrent theme of place as influencing people in a direct and concrete sense, an idea that seems widespread in Madagascar. To live elsewhere, or to live in a place no matter where, affects people. The importance of place in the shaping of identity is brought to the forefront in Astuti’s study of the Vezo people (1995a). She argues that for the Vezo, it is first and foremost the place where one lives that determines what one does and, therefore, also who one is. According to Astuti, the Vezo “attribute to the place of residence the power to force its character upon them” (Astuti 1995a, 37). Furthermore, since place is connected with particular ways of doing things on a permanent basis, people will change as a result of movement in space, because their relationship to both place and the ways of doing things associated with place are contingent. Astuti modifies her argument by bringing in another aspect of identity, namely that of descent, but maintains that descent identity is not fully realised before death, when people are buried in the ancestral tomb. She contrasts the Vezo with the Zafimaniry people, as described by Bloch (1995). Like the Vezo, the Zafimaniry associate place with permanence. The Zafimaniry, Bloch argues, seek to attach people to places, to obtain fixity by leaving marks on the landscape. People are “made into places” twice, first through the building of houses in hardwood, and second though the building of standing stones to commemorate the ancestors (Bloch 1995, 73). What distinguishes the Vezo from the Zafimaniry, according to Astuti (1995a), is the fact that, “Whereas the Zafimaniry seem to be trying to insinuate the ancestors’ permanence into life, the Vezo aim to introduce the fluidity of life into the fixity of ancestorhood” (102). Interestingly, the Vezo are long-term migrants of various origins, people who have abandoned their ancestral homeland further south. Thus, it is perhaps reasonable to suggest that while the Zafimaniry have turned people into places through merging themselves and their ancestors into the landscape, the Vezo, as migrants, seek to loosen the connection between ancestors and place, perhaps as a strategy to cope with the fact that they live in a place far from their ancestral origins. The Vezo are affected by the land, but this affect is fluid, not fixed.4

4 As the Vezo have made their own ancestral tombs in their new environment, they differ clearly from the Tesaka, who are migrants in the same area, but who, to a

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Another example from the Malagasy ethnography is provided by Woolley (2002), who explains how the people in the region of Sahafatra believe that the “force of creation” inherent in the land, animates each person with its “soul” ( fanahy), and thus it is impossible to be a person without being part of this force. At the same time people also appropriate or attach themselves to the land by throwing umbilical cords into rivers (similar to the Marofatsy practice) and burying the dead in grottos. The “force of creation” may also appear as unspecified spirits in mediums. As the above examples show, ideas concerned with how place influences people are widespread among the Malagasy peoples. However, there are also great variations in how such ideas are shaped and made significant in different contexts. While place is brought forward and made a communal concern for the Vezo and a defining aspect of Vezo identity, the situation is somewhat different among the Betsimisaraka. To the extent that place influences people’s lives, habits, cultivation techniques, house construction, etc., “Betsimisarakaness”, like “Vezoness”, is based more on place than any idea of “kindedness”. However, for the Betsimisaraka it is first and foremost the ancestral places that are of communal concern. The part of their identity connected to the local community and ancestries is most important. The other kinds of influence, that of place in general or through interaction with nature spirits and tromba spirits, are more fragmented and made significant on an individual basis. Places, ancestors and spirits Like the Vezo, the Betsimisaraka believe that places affect people. However, like the Zafimaniry, the Betsimisaraka also transform the landscape by leaving their mark on it through the construction of ancestral houses, tombs and standing stones. Cole’s analysis (2001) reveals the

larger extent, have continued to maintain the bonds to their ancestral homeland on the east coast, for instance by sending their dead back home. The reasons why the Tesaka do this, while the Vezo do not, are probably complicated and may be related to the strong organisational structure of the Tesaka community and the historical differences between these two communities (see Sorknes 2002). However, in daily life both groups seem to under-communicate identity connected to descent in favor of the “ethnic” identity. Sorknes suggests that this may be attributed to the conflicting relations between the different descent groups: between the Tesaka, whose groups are strictly hierarchal, and the Vezo, and between the Vezo of Antandroy origin and the Vezo of Makoa background, who are commonly recognised as descendants of African slaves (Sorknes 2002, 190).

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intense localising nature of ancestral power. She argues that there is a tension between ancestral power and non-ancestral power, between ancestral locations and places “out there”, and describes how, through ancestral conquest, people seek to draw non-ancestral power “under their control in order to make it part of their social world” (143) (see chapter 3). Her analysis of the localising and appropriating the nature of ancestral power resonates with observations made by anthropologists in other parts of Madagascar. For example, in his analysis of the Merina circumcision rituals, Bloch (1986) shows how the power of particular places or nature power is appropriated through symbolic violence. The power and vitality of nature power is transformed and strengthened by imbuing it with ancestral power (94–100). Places may be conquered and ancestralised, and thus made part of people’s social world. Land, however, has its own vitality. How are we to understand this complex picture where, on the one hand, the relation between people and places in general is reciprocal, and on the other hand, some land is appropriated and colonised with help from the ancestors? How are we to understand the significance of the fact that tromba mediums are possessed by spirits associated with nonancestral locations? I begin answering these questions by a closer look at some examples that show how, in many cases, there is a correspondence between the geographical origin of the spirits and the personal life of their mediums. Attachment to distant places Ravavy and Ralahy, two of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy, had several spirits from a minor coastal town called Ilaka. Both the mediums had close personal ties to that place. Ilaka was Ravavy’s hometown, and, together with her husband, she first moved to Marofatsy as a married woman. Ravavy had thirteen spirits, and ten of them were from Ilaka. Five of these Ilaka spirits were male maternal relatives (mother’s brother, or maternal grandmother’s brother); one was said to be simply a dead human female with no genealogical ties to Ravavy, while the last four were water spirits. Of the non-Ilaka spirits, two were earth spirits inhabiting the land close to her own family’s place in the forest, while one was a male Antandroy of whom little is known. Ravavy started her own tromba practice immediately after her arrival in Marofatsy (see chapter 2). She continued to maintain ties with her relatives and the ritual community in Ilaka. For years she

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tried to attend rituals in Ilaka once a year, and often did depite the required the three- to six-day journey. However, in accordance with the cultural preference for virilocality, she spent most of her time in her husband’s village. For her, this meant that she lived most of her adult life, from 1947 until she died in 1998, in a foreign village, far away from her own homeland and kin.5 Nevertheless, through the tromba practice, she not only succeeded in maintaining the ties to her home but she even managed to bring along some of her own people, in the shape of tromba spirits. In Ralahy’s case, three of his ten spirits are from Ilaka. Like Ravavy, Ralahy grew up in Ilaka. He lived there with his mother and her relatives for some years during his childhood, before his father took him home to Marofatsy. One of his spirits is his maternal grandfather, and the second is a dead human male with no kinship ties to Ralahy, while the third is a wood spirit (tsiny). In contrast to Ravavy, he has no spirits from Marofatsy. Most of them are from distant places, in the far south and the north of Madagascar, including Antandroy, Antemoro, Sakalava, and northern Betsimisaraka. Like Ravavy, Ralahy also started his tromba career in Ilaka. He had married there and had two children, but the couple split up as a result of the rebellion in 1947, when Ralahy disappeared and became an active rebel. His children lived with their mother for some years and did not move to Marofatsy until Ralahy had remarried and had children with his second wife. Until that point, Ralahy had also maintained ties with Ilaka by attending tromba rituals there at least once a year. Other cases also demonstrate a connection between spirits and the place where a medium spent part of his or her childhood or youth. For instance, Marofero spent part of the 1947 rebellion with relatives in the coastal town of Mananjary. Later he married a woman from there. Marofero has eight spirits, two of which are from the Mananjary area. One of them is his wife’s grandfather, while the other is a woman who lived in the pre-colonial period (andro fahagasy). Except for these two

5 As a woman never becomes a member of her husband’s ancestry, she will always in a sense be a stranger. Moreover, her children’s bonds to their father’s ancestry will normally be stronger than to their mother’s, and ideally, and most often in practice, they will live in their father’s household when a couple separates. People also tend to marry several times. Thus, both marriage and divorce are potentially conflict-ridden situations and this is how people explain preference for marrying within the local area.

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spirits, who are Antambahoaka (Mananjary being the centre of the Antambahoaka ethnic group), the rest of his spirits are Betsimisaraka; most are from the coastal region, although a few are from the interior, closer to Marofatsy, and one is local, the local spirit of a chief warrior whose origin is unknown, but who died in Marofatsy in pre-colonial time. Another case is Piera, who has eight spirits, four of which are from Ambinanindrano, a village situated along the main road between Marofatsy/Marolambo and the coast. Piera’s mother and father’s mother come from this village, and he spent parts of his childhood there. One of the spirits is his mother’s grandfather, the second is his paternal grandmother’s maternal uncle, the third is his father’s maternal uncle and the forth is a distant relative with unknown genealogical bonds.6 Other mediums have spirits who come from places where the connection is more tenuous. This is the case for some of the elderly mpañano tromba. Like many from their generation, they engaged in short-term migration during the colonial period, in order to escape forced labour or to seek wage labour elsewhere along the coast. It was these people who, having encountered tromba on the coast, introduced this practice to the local region. As mentioned in chapter 3, several of these have spirits originating from the places where they spent short periods—between a few months and a couple of years— during their youth. This is the case with Iandro, and three of his four spirits are from Vatomandry. Iandro acquired his spirits during his stay in Vatomandry. Georges, another elderly mpañano tromba had spent some months in 1955 with his uncle in the north-western town

6 The fact that so many spirits are the brother of a medium’s necessitates a comment. The mother’s brother has a significant position in the Betsimisaraka society. Mother’s brothers are often called upon in certain conflicts. In my experience the mother’s brother intervenes in marital conflicts, and in conflicts with the state in cases where a crime is committed. In such cases the mother’s brother acts as a mediator or a person who may speak on behalf of the offender. I would suggest that the mother’s brother in such cases may represent an authority exterior to the lineage, who may be called in because of his relatively “neutral” position. In certain cases his “outsider” position makes it easier for him to get involved in matters that could become very embarrassing for the whole ancestry. Moreover, if a paternal figure should take on the same role, the whole group would become involved. Tromba spirits who are mother’s brothers are often “judges” (demisara), spirits who, in addition to their skills in curing and divination, have the power to judge (misara). I will come back to this in chapter 8. However, it seems that the mother’s brother spirits draw on this quality of independent authority that makes him suitable as a mediator and conflict resolver.

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of Mahajanga (Majunga) where he saw tromba for the first time. He became possessed years later. One of his spirits is Sakalava, and when he told me about this spirit, he said that it might have attached itself to him during his stay in Mahajanga and followed him back home, though it chose to “come out” much later. The above cases serve as examples of the larger changes in migration patterns that emerged during the colonial era. Greater levels and numerous instances of migration were the patterns that constituted the multiplicity of relations that people established with multiple places and people elsewhere. The connection between migration and tromba is the principle focus of the next section. Tromba and migration Situated in the hinterlands of the Southern Betsimisaraka Region, Marofatsy is a place where people migrate from, rather than migrate to. Except for small groups such as traders, state functionaries, schoolteachers and health workers, the population is, ethnically speaking, relatively homogenous when compared to the urban communities on the coast. The local village communities are based upon the local ancestries, and shared relations between people and their ancestors is what constitutes the social order as well the most important defining feature of local identity. However, people who migrate from this region occasionally return to their homeland. As earlier noted, the local introduction of tromba is a direct result of the changes in migration patterns. People migrated temporarily, maintained links with their ancestral homeland while away, and eventually returned. The fact that returning migrants brought tromba possession with them creates a different situation than what has been described in other parts of Madagascar. In this respect, tromba in Marofatsy contrasts with tromba in more urban settings, for instance on the west coast (Sharp 1993; Feeley-Harnik 1991; Lambek 1998). Among the Sakalava on the west coast, tromba has a central position, and is commonly regarded as a key feature of the Sakalava culture and society. The spirits are locals, as they are predominantly deceased members of the Sakalava royal dynasties. In her study of tromba possession in Ambanja, a migrant town on the north-west coast, Sharp (1993) argues that tromba has become an important means of integration. Participation in tromba activity helps outsiders to become insiders, not only because it serves as a means to build and strengthen personal networks, but also because

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active mediumship and possession by Sakalava spirits allow migrants to gain access to an institution at the heart of Sakalava society and culture. In Marofatsy, however, the situation is different. On the contrary, tromba practice as well as many of the spirits attached to it come from the outside, while most people who practice tromba are locals living in their own homeland. Thus, tromba in Marofatsy is not tied to local institutions in the same way it is on the west coast. Both the practice and its mediums are differently positioned in the society. Moreover, Marofatsy is a place to which people return home from migration. It is as if the local tromba imaginary echoes their medium’s experiences of the multicultural societies of the coast. The examples provided above show how the attachments that tromba spirits have to other places provide insights into the various connections that mediums have to the outside world, specifically those connections established through their diverse interactions from migration and from their relations to matrilateral or affinal kin. These outside places have invaded the bodies of their mediums in the shape of spirits. Although the ancestral homeland with its ancestral power is essential in defining local identity as well as constituting the local community, the experience of living outside does something to people. Thus, the examples also illustrate how people conceptualise and experience ties to places outside the ancestral homeland in general. However, I would argue that tromba does more than merely serve as a means to express and recognise bonds to the outside. When images of the outside world are introduced to the local community through tromba, the “outsideness” undergoes a transformation. In tromba such links to the outside world are not only maintained and asserted, but also become a source of creative production. In chapter 4, we saw how the spirit identities are constructed as composites of a variety of different images of power. Some of these images are associated with the outside, for instance the wildness, fierceness, power or wisdom, which are ascribed to certain other groups. Through the imaginative practice of tromba, people form a connection to the outside world, a connection that is recreated and incorporated as power. The outside world has become a source of power. Local spirits as outsiders: the case of Pelika Not all tromba spirits are from places far away; many of them are locals. But place is also significant when it comes to the local spirits. Most of

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these local spirits are the non-ancestral wood, earth and water spirits who inhabit the area around Marofatsy. They are the co-residents of the human population. In contrast to the human spirits discussed above, these spirits do not move long distances. Instead they live in particular places, like a spot in the forest, a piece of land or a distinct river, waterfall or stream. The local spirits who are dead humans are also associated with particular places in the forest outside the village. Though they are humans, they are non-ancestral spirits originating from a vague and distant past, and are not village ancestors. Most of the mpañano tromba I met have one or more local spirits. Usually these spirits inhabit the area close to the medium’s settlement in the forest, as in the following case. Pelika, an elderly mpañano tromba who is now deceased, had five tromba spirits when I first met him. Four of them were local spirits. Even his leading spirit was a local, a dead human from the pre-colonial period (andro fahagasy). According to Pelika, that was all he knew about the former life of this spirit. The spirit next in rank to this was a water spirit who inhabited the small brook that ran below Pelika’s settlement in the forest. As this spirit spoke a mixture of Antandroy and Sakalava, Pelika told me that he might once have come from far away. This was a divining spirit, easily recognised by the way he draped his red cloth diagonally over his shoulder and around his waist. When he danced he alternated between Sakalava (not Antandroy) and Betsimisaraka dancing styles. Pelika had another water spirit who lived in a brook near his place. This was a male spirit, a curer and herbalist. He spoke Betsimisaraka, but with the high-pitched voice of a woman. Although he was not married, he did have three children, all nonpossessing spirits who lived with him in the brook, and this was the reason why he always asked for sweets as payment for his curing. Pelika’s fourth spirit was a young male from the brook that ran between Pelika’s settlement and the neighbouring village of Mavelombady. Common to all these spirits is the fact that they are structural outsiders in the sense that they are non-ancestral and hence belong to the world outside the ancestral order of things. Pelika had, however, another spirit that may serve as an illustration of the tension that occasionally arises between the power “out there” and ancestral power. This was a non-curing spirit who did not “come out”, an earth spirit belonging to the land Pelika cultivated. This spirit often visited him in his dreams. It resented social gatherings and places with many people, the village in particular. As Pelika explained:

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chapter six It speaks inside my head, and tells me that it does not feel comfortable with a lot of people. I walk home [to the house in the fields], even if it is the middle of the night. I don’t remember anything afterwards. The spirit does not like the village and prefers to stay near the land where it belongs.

In Pelika’s case this tension was never resolved. The spirit had resisted all attempts to exorcise it. Alhough he owned a house in the village and used it sometimes in the daytime, I never knew him to spend a single night there. Even when there were funerals or other occasions where his presence as a village elder was required, he would return to his fields in the evening, no matter how late it was. The fact that he went back to the fields even at night was an indication of how powerful the spirit was, since people in general try to avoid walking through the forest after dark, due to the beings that might lurk in the shadows along the path. The resentment that Pelika’s spirit has for village life seems exceptionally strong. Still, this spirit also epitomises the general resentment of the village that people in Marofatsy express, a feeling that people ascribe tromba spirits with as well: “we do not feel comfortable in the village” (tsy tamana any an-tanana) (cf. chapter 3). Like Pelika, many of the other mpañano tromba have local tromba spirits who inhabit the land or brooks close to their settlement in the fields. Others have spirits from places further away in the local region. Ravao, for example, has two spirits from the neighbouring village of Lavajïro. Although she herself has no affiliation with this place, several of her clients come from Lavajïro. If the Betsimisaraka conceive of their relation to place in terms of exchange, in the case of tromba, it seems that the relation between the mediums and the land they live on has undergone a further development. When the spirits of the land possess people, the relation can no longer be described in terms of compatibility; it is as if the land literally invades its inhabitants. The power of places beyond ancestral control There is always a world outside the world of social order; the “inside” exists by virtue of the existence of the “outside”. Although the ancestors have merged into the landscape and became a part of it, the landscape, with its diverse powers, is not fully colonised. There are still, and perhaps will always be, powers “out there” that are not totally subjected to the ancestral world. Moreover, the interplay between the “inside”

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world and the “outside” world may be seen as an intrinsic part of the dynamics of the construction of the local world and local identity. The tromba spirits and the way they are linked with their mediums reveal this interplay: the world of the ancestors coexists with local forces of nature, and with other non-ancestral forms of power linked to distant places. In her analysis of Betsimisaraka sacrifices, Cole (2001) showed how alternative sources of power, such as spirits inhabiting the local surroundings, are incorporated into the social world and ancestralised through sacrifice (152). In Marofatsy this is not the case. The difference between these two villages may perhaps be explained by local variations. There is a notable difference between Marofatsy and Ambodiharina, the village Cole studied. In Ambodiharina there were no mpañano tromba, and, therefore, no organised tromba activity. While there were a few mediums, they all participated in tromba activity in other villages. The absence of tromba practice in Ambodiharina can, of course, be a matter of coincidence. Afterall, since tromba is widespread in the area, people can easily join tromba rituals in a nearby village. However, the reason may also be the administrative status of the village as the seat of the sub-district administration. It may have been more difficult to establish tromba practice here, considering for instance the colonial restrictions on tromba activity. In this respect, Ambodiharina seems similar to Marolambo, the administrative centre to which Marofatsy belongs. Likewise, there are no mpañano tromba in Marolambo, and although many attend tromba rituals in other villages, people in Marolambo will often publicly distance themselves from that kind of activity, claiming that it is something done by people in the “less civilised” villages in the countryside (ambanivolo).7 While the forces of nature have been brought under control and made ancestral elsewhere, tromba offers another possibility in Marofatsy, namely that the power of other places and local places beyond ancestral control are actualised and brought into the local community through the mediums in tromba practice.

7

Interestingly, tromba is practiced on a considerable scale in the larger coastal towns further north. Perhaps the reason is connected to the proportion of migrants who brought tromba with them from places where the activity has a more prominent position in the society, as on the west coast for instance.

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Personhood and relatedness The fact that local mediums are possessed by spirits that are connected to particular places, often places where the mediums themselves have connections, can also tell us something about Betsimisaraka ideas of personhood and relatedness. Although membership in the ancestry and affiliation to ancestors together constitutes a dominant part of people’s identity, the connections between tromba spirits and mediums reveal that there are other aspects of Betsimisaraka personhood as well. There is an interesting parallel between Betsimisaraka notions of personhood and aspects of personhood that have been observed elsewhere in Africa (Horton 1983; Kramer 1993; Riesman 1986). As Riesman (1986) notes, it has long been recognised that African peoples often understand “human personalities to be made up of many parts which not only come from various exterior sources, but also remain in some sort of relation to those sources” (72). He goes on to note that “not only are the living endowed with spiritual components that link them to other people, both ancestors and living relatives, but they are also linked directly to the natural world in a number of ways” (ibid., 72). Riesman refers to the early studies by Marcel Griaule and his research team on the Dogon in West Africa, but this observation also shows clear parallels with the Betsimisaraka. While aspects of the person that draw him or her into the social order are extremely important, this does not, however, imply that these are the only ones. In line with Horton (1983), Kramer (1993) notes that African societies often allow the individuals to differentiate themselves from the corporate group by articulating “this differentiation as an individual tie to certain ‘forces of nature’ which they associate with places and regions which lie outside of, and contrast with, their own familiar cultivated land” (55). Thus, a person who is possessed differs in part from the corporate group to which he belongs. Kramer further observes that strangers, such as people belonging to outside lineages or other ethnic categories, “as representatives of cultural heterogeneity” (ibid., 56), may assume the same position as these “forces of nature”. Tromba possession in Marofatsy illustrates the mulitiplicty of ways in which people interact with, and are deeply affected by non-ancestral power. The power of the outside, the power of places, sometimes in the shape of spirits, affects people and even becomes a part of them. Moreover, the fact that Betsimisaraka personhood is constituted by a multitude of diverse connections to exterior sources allows people the

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opportunity to make choices. Although these forces affect and invade people and become a part of them, they may usually be manipulated, cultivated or be pacified and controlled. As the relation is reciprocal, there is room for agency. People are free to draw on diverse sources of power, including those outside the social order. Tromba actualises this possibility. Moreover, while the distinctions between the local, or the social, and the outside seem to remain significant for the Betsimisaraka, tromba practice simultaneously reproduces, draws on and thus paradoxically breaks down such distinctions. Fragments of correspondence The kind of connections discussed above, where mediums are possessed by spirits inhabiting the land the mediums live on, or have been living on, are quite common among the mediums in Marofatsy. However, other correspondences between particular mediums and spirits occasionally seem to be of a more individual kind. Even though such connections are often less obvious, the following cases deserve consideration. Two cases: Tody and Ravao The mpañano tromba Tody made a personal link explicit when he told me about one of his spirits called Rabevazaha. This spirit was a soldier in the French army during World War II. As we saw in chapter 5, the warrior spirits are well represented in the tromba world. These are wild, aggressive spirits who serve as soldier-servants to the leading spirits. While some of them are frightening disciplinary spirits, others may cause great amusement because of their exaggerated and ridiculous behaviour. What is interesting in this case is the fact that when I questioned Tody about this spirit, it turned out that Tody’s own father had fought in France and had died there.8 According to Tody, Rabevazaha was probably one of his father’s companions. Where he originally came from is not known. Tody’s case further illustrates the recurrent theme of linkage to the outside. Tody is possessed by a spirit 8

Thousands of Malagasy soldiers participated in both World Wars, and many lost their lives on battlefields in Europe. Of those who returned, many became active participants in the 1947 rebellion. Some of them are still alive, and have a highly respected position in their local communities.

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analogue to his own father. As the spirit is not his father, this spirit fits into the general pattern of tromba spirits as non-ancestral. For Ravao, a female mpañano tromba, the connection is vaguer still. One of her spirits, named Kalabosy, comes from Vakinankaratra, which is now the southern part of the Merina region. This is the only Merina spirit I have noted. The general absence of Merina spirits may reflect the general anti-Merina attitude of the people in this region. It is as if Merina represents a kind of powerful otherness that is beyond the limits of identification. In Ravao’s case a possible link could be the fact that one of her grandchildren has a Merina father. Ravao also has two water spirits and an earth spirit from the neighbouring village Lavajïro, a place to which she has no connection apart from the large number of clients she receives from this village. Among Ravao’s collection of spirits there are also some that correspond to her own life in a way that I have not seen among other mediums. She is the only medium I met who has two married couples among her spirits. One of the couples are the above mentioned water spirits from Lavajïro. Both spirits work as “soldiers” of the leading spirit, and the male spirit specialises in matters associated to land and cultivation. The second couple is dead humans. The female spirit is a masseuse, and the male spirit is a diviner and herbalist. As Ravao’s husband explained to me, this spirit was a diviner (mpisikidy) when he was alive, and does the same work now, as a tromba spirit. In this case the spirits seem to be spirit analogues to Ravao herself and her husband. Ravao and her husband are both engaged in curing, Ravao as a mpañano tromba and her husband as a diviner-herbalist. They work closely both when they receive clients privately and at Ravao’s tromba rituals, where the husband assists in practical matters and as the interpreter (mpandika teny) for Ravao’s spirits. The fact that they were co-workers was an issue they often returned to in our conversations, emphasising how well they worked together and how they complemented each other in their work of curing.9 The above cases demonstrate how elements of personal experience can be incorporated into the tromba imaginary. As a result, the tromba imagery sometimes includes fragments of allegories of the life of the

9 Ravao’s husband is one of the two mpisikidy left in Marofatsy who do not combine their work with tromba mediumship, although in a sense he does combine these, as he works together with his wife.

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spirit mediums. The tromba imagery appears as playing on images that seem to be particularly significant and powerful for some of the mediums, such as the co-working married couples or the soldier from World War II. In spite of the individual character of the links between mediums and spirits in these cases, they are, nevertheless, illustrative of how the imaginary process takes place in general within the tromba practice. Tromba imagination draws upon peoples’ experiences and perceptions of the world. Fragments from different domains, both alien and familiar, are brought together into one image. Out of this ongoing process, the tromba world emerges with a unity of its own, a unity marked by heterogeneity, filled with irregularities and characterised by non-rigid organisational principles. Bits and pieces of different imaginary significations, different kinds and levels of significations, are fused together, and new imaginary significations arise. Jaona: a secret medium In 1997, when I returned to Marofatsy for my second fieldwork, I discovered that a man I thought I knew quite well was a kind of spirit medium and healed people more or less secretly. This came as a surprise to me, as I knew he was as a devoted member of the Lutheran church. As his wife explained: “The tromba are hidden, like a secret. He does not talk about it, and many people do not know. Still, lots of people come to him, even from villages far away.” Jaona acquires his curing power through revelatory dreams and calls himself a mpiteny sindry mandry (“a teller of spirit speech in sleep”).10 As he claimed: My work both resembles and does not resemble the mpañano tromba’s work. My tromba do not ‘come out’, but they come to me in my dreams. I do not perform tromba rituals (rombo), and I have no water (ritual site). But I heal people who come to me.

When people approach Jaona in search of a cure, they just tell him about their problems and then go home. In the evening Jaona dresses in his tromba shirt. The shirt is of white, red and green cloth, with white at the top, red on the right side, and green on the left, so that it resembles the Malagasy flag. As Jaona explained, the spirits all have

10 In the local dialect, tsindry mandry, or sindry mandry, is also used to refer to ancestors who visit people in their dreams. It may also mean inspiration in a general sense.

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their own favourite colour, and this way they each get the colour they like. Then he places a mirror decorated with white clay (tanin-dravo or ravo-ravo) on one side, and a tin of honey on the other side. This is to invoke the spirits. The spirits arrive while he sleeps, often several at a time. According to Jaona’s own description it is usually the four spirits described below:

Vaovola

Young female spirit. She can reveal the good things that are going to happen (mañatoro zavatra mahafinaritra), and she gives advice regarding what to do to acquire things such as money, cooking pots, etc.

Lemora

Young male spirit. He gives advice regarding illnesses, and prescribes medicine, and is particularly good at curing pain in the bones and joints. He also cures infertility.

Foreigner (vazaha), name unknown

Adult male spirit. He is a white foreigner, and he speaks an incomprehensible language (not French). He looks very much like the Catholic priests in Marolambo (who at the time were Polish). He wears long trousers; he is bearded and smokes cigarettes. His task is the same as Vaovola.

Name unknown

Young Malagasy male spirit. He is always together with the foreign spirit. He cures people, and interprets for the foreigner. His speciality is to cure people who “do not feel comfortable about settling down” (tsy tamana toetra), that is people who are unable to settle in the village, people who “keep on wandering/ moving” (mandehan-deha foaña).11

In contrast to the other mpañano tromba, Jaona’s spirits were never displayed in public rituals, only in his dreams. Because of the secrecy and privacy associated with his curing activity, I was never able to witness any of the consultations with his clients. I am not aware of how much and what kind of information he passes on to his clients about his spirits. When he talked to me about his spirits, the only other people present were his wife, his brother-in-law, and his sisterin-law, who was my companion. The conversation took place on a 11 This could refer to people who have difficulties with settling in a stable marital relation as well. Both kinds of restlessness, often associated with young men, is generally disparaged.

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quiet afternoon, outside the village in his house in the fields. I was allowed to write about him, but instructed not to talk about him to others in the village. How “private” his spiritual universe is in practice is not clear to me. However, his spirits and curing practice are both different and similar to the tromba practice in the village. Jaona is in many ways an anomaly. He both is and is not quite a mpañano tromba. Likewise, since his way of curing through spirits normally is considered incompatible with active church membership, he is both an insider and an outsider in the church. His spirits are divided between quite usual ones, such as Vaovola and Lemora, and unusual ones, the vazaha (foreigner/European) and his interpreter. Jaona was the only medium I ever met who was possessed by a European spirit (whether Tody’s soldier spirit is a foreigner or not is unclear to me). In contrast to Marofatsy, the incorporation of foreign tromba seems more usual in the urban versions of tromba on the coast (see Emoff 2002, 153–165). This could be explained by the multi-ethnic character of coastal towns, and the larger number of foreigners present, as well as the prevalence of Western influence, for instance in the media. While few in number, Europeans have also been present in the area around Marolambo since the beginning of the twentieth century; Marolambo has been a centre for French colonials, foreign traders and adventurers, along with Catholic priests (French and Polish) and Norwegian missionaries. The general absence of foreign, European spirits in the local tromba practice is, therefore, noteworthy. It is also interesting to note that the spirit is modelled on the Polish priests instead of a Lutheran missionary, considering Jaona’s own Lutheran affiliation. Perhaps a Lutheran spirit would have been too close? Jaona’s case is filled with ambivalences and contradictions. On the one hand, foreignness is drawn upon as a source of power, following the general pattern of appropriating the power of the outside. What is more, the image of European foreignness is reworked and moulded into the shape of a tromba spirit. It is manifested through the dreams of a Malagasy man, a sleeping body wearing a shirt with the official Malagasy national colours. The curing it engages in is definitely perceived as Malagasy. Jaona’s spirits resemble the description provided by Emoff in his study of tromba in Toamasina, the capital of the Betsimisaraka region and situated along the coast further to the north. In his analysis of foreign spirits, Emoff argues that images of foreign personalities are incorporated in a way that is predicated on the particular interactional combinations and composites that characterise the aesthetics of the tromba possession. The incorporation of foreignness fits very well

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into this general picture. Just like the other tromba spirits, the foreign spirits are powerful ‘Others’. The fact that foreign images acquire the status of tromba spirits also makes them similar and familiar (Emoff 2002, 164–165).12 Thus, foreign power is brought under control and made Malagasy. On the other hand, in Jaona’s case the incorporation of a foreign spirit does not occur without tension. Jaona told me that his spirits occasionally fight among themselves: “They start to fight if the foreigner says something the others do not understand. They get angry and start to fight.” I asked him what happened then, and he said, “I have to calm them down and separate them.” The recurrent fights seem to indicate that there is a tension between the Malagasy and the foreign that is not completely resolved. Jaona’s world of spirits is marked by incorporation, but also by tension and ambivalence. The incomprehensible language of a foreigner is not the only reason why Jaona’s spirits sometimes quarrel. While his spirits are able to provide help for many kinds of problems, there is one kind of illness they are unable to cure, namely illnesses caused by tromba. When I asked him why, Jaona explained by stating that, “If someone comes to me with a sickness caused by tromba, my spirits will just start to fight with this person’s spirits. I send people who have tromba to other healers.” Considering the fact that Jaona is a spirit medium who heals by the virtue of his spirits, it is quite exceptional that he is incapable of treating spirit-related illness. Although this could be an indication of his spirits’ inferior power compared to the mpañano tromba or the mpiandry, it may also reflect another kind of ambivalence on the part of Jaona. If he had started to heal people who are possessed, he would most certainly be faced with a dilemma: Should he try to exorcise the spirit, or should he try to evoke the spirit and help his client enter into what is hopefully a fruitful relationship with it? After all, he himself was not cured, in the sense that his own spirits resisted exorcism. As a devoted Christian, he would have been expected to exorcise the spirits, or send the clients to the church exorcists, the mpiandry. In fact, as an active churchgoer, it would have been more likely for him to become a mpiandry himself, instead of a secret spirit medium.13 If he

12 Spirits as powerful others seems to reoccur in forms of spirit possession in a variety of ethnographic contexts, see for instance Boddy (1989), Stoller (1995), Taussig (1993). 13 In fact, the mpiandry often have a background in possession. Some have been actively engaged in tromba. Others have been engaged in other kinds of curing, and

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had chosen to heal the possessed in a tromba way, that would require full ceremonies, and he would become a mpañano tromba just like the others. There may be several reasons for his decision not to do this, but in any event it would have been more difficult to combine this with his commitment to the church. Ambivalences and tensions mark other parts of Jaona’s life as well. Jaona is a man in his mid-thirties. People consider him to be a good husband and a good and hardworking farmer. His children are healthy, and he and his wife manage to satisfy the family’s basic needs; he lives a regular and stable family life. However, Jaona’s own family background is more complicated, and many of the tensions and conflicts seem somehow to have something to do with tromba and the church. Jaona’s father was a catechist (leader and preacher) in the local Lutheran church. He was a Betsileo immigrant from the highlands, who had settled down in Marofatsy and married a woman from the village. Like many other Betsileo immigrants in this area, Jaona’s father did not maintain his bonds to his homeland, and Jaona is, therefore, considered a local Betsimisaraka and a member of his mother’s ancestry.14 Both parents were active church members. While the church became part of his life through his father, it was through his mother’s family that tromba came to be part of his background. His maternal grandmother, who was from Mananjary on the coast, was engaged in tromba. Although she died before Jaona was born, Jaona heard a great deal about her. Jaona’s own spirits started to come to him in his dreams already when he was a child. His father—the catechist—tried everything to have him cured and the spirits exorcised, but the treatment was never successful. “The spirits wanted to stay”,

it is not unusual that mpiandry have been diviners-herbalists (mpisikidy). Sometimes the mpiandry use their personal curing abilities in their work, such as one mpiandry in Marolambo who is reputed to have “hot hands”. He uses massage in private consultation, and although all mpiandry practice the “laying on of hands” in their fampaherezana meetings, the blessings people get through his hands are considered particularly powerful. One could perhaps say that Jaona is an inversion of the mpiandry: he is possessed but not able to cure possession, while the mpiandry are not possessed but cure possession. 14 There are many reasons for why Betsileo immigrants often cut their bonds to their homeland. Some were landless people, often of slave descent, who came in search of land in an area, where there was more available. Others have stories of bitter family conflicts. Iaban’i Bernie, another Betsileo who was also a catechist, told me how he had broke with his father, a diviner-herbalist, when in his youth he decided to convert to Christianity. His father deeply resented the conversion and forced him to leave.

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Jaona said. “When I was twelve years old, I started to cure people. The first person I ever cured was my own mother.” Because of a serious conflict within the congregation, Jaona’s parents chose to leave the church.15 His mother got tromba and her daughter ( Jaona’s sister) was married to the mpañano tromba Rangahy. Consequently, the mother became an active member of Rangahy’s circle. In fact, it was at a ritual at Rangahy’s place in 1992 where I met Jaona’s mother for the first time. After Rangahy was implicated in a series of scandals, where he, among other things, was accused of killing his two brothers and his wife by using “bad medicine” ( fanafody ratsy), Jaona’s mother, then a widow, chose to return to the church. A conflict broke out between Rangahy and his mother-in-law about the children. At first they stayed with their grandmother, who took them with her to church on Sundays. She even took one of the girls who was sick to the mpiandry in Marolambo for exorcism and general treatment. Rangahy expressed a deep concern for his children, claiming that the church, and especially the mpiandry, would damage them. When he later remarried, some of the children moved back to him, but the matter had not been resolved by the time I revisited the village in 2001.16

15

In this particular context, a few words should be added about the relationships between ancestries and churches. Jaona’s case is not unusual in that there are differences in religious affiliation even among close family members. Most people have relatives who are church members and relatives who are not. Moreover, church-going relatives may be members of different church communities. The mobility between the churches, and in and out of them, seems to be relatively high, and conflicts often lead to breaks and conversions. Thus, family conflicts or other social conflicts may be difficult to distinguish from church, ancestral, and tromba matters and vice versa. This seems to be quite different to the situation in highland Madagascar, where most people are church members, and where members of the same ancestry tend to be members of the same church (see Bloch 1971, 131–135). 16 The Malagasy flag seems to be a powerful symbol that is evoked in the strangest contexts. Because of the sorcery accusations, Rangahy went through a difficult time and rarely showed himself in the village. When he was later caught stealing the flag that belonged to the village community, things got even worse. It was commonly understood that he had stolen it to use it for magical purposes, notably “bad medicine” ( fanafody ratsy); but for what specific purposes did he use it and whom did he intend to harm? Personally I would guess that he intended to use the flag for spirit matters rather than “bad medicine”. After all, he had had to stop his tromba practice, and who knows what demands his spirits had put forward in this situation. It is difficult to say whether or not he intended to use the flag to perform an act of revenge after all the trouble the village community had caused him and because of the sensitivity of the subject, I could not ask him about it. Nevertheless, the villagers seemed as puzzled as I was, and I leave the conclusion open.

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From a functionalist perspective, whether psychologically or sociologically oriented, Jaona would be a classic case of spirit possession explainable in terms of affliction. There are certainly enough conflicts in Jaona’s background that could cause psychic distress, and the conflicts are definitely social in character. Jaona’s dreams could clearly been seen as mirroring tensions and contradictions in other areas of his life. By contrast, from the villagers’ point of view the causal relations would be understood the other way around: the family conflicts mirror, or are even directed by, things going on in the spiritual realm. Jaona’s dreams and his family relations seem to be examples of arenas in which the contradictions and tension that are part of larger processes in Betsimisaraka society are played out. Indeed, Jaona seems like a personification of the contradictory processes and tensions in the society. This case illustrates the multiplicity of ways in which these processes penetrate the villagers’ lives, ranging from personal experience and embodiment to social relations. However, it also reveals how people react, interpret and actively engage in these processes. Jaona’s tromba imaginary is constituted through incorporation of difference, but this incorporation does not exclude tensions. As such, his imaginary is an example of how distinctions between the local (inside) and the foreign (outside) are both incorporated and reified. Difference is both reinforced and undermined. In this context, his choice of a spirit clothing modelled on the Malagasy national flag is interesting. It is as if, in an effort to mediate, or perhaps to even dissolve the contradictions between the local and the foreign, he turns toward a modern symbol of unification and integration of diversity. Consequently, Jaona becomes more than a personification of contradictions. He engages such processes and bridges them through the creation of a vivid image and his own powerful imaginary. Besides, he uses this imaginary and draws upon it as a source of power and knowledge in his curing practice. Imagining the familiar other In my analysis of the relationship between tromba spirits and their hosts, I have tried to account for the way the Betsimisaraka themselves conceive of mediums and spirits as separate and distinct identities. Nevertheless, in spirit possession, the body becomes the point of connection between self and other. A relationship between self and

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other is established in a general sense, but also in a more specific way through the interplay between sameness and otherness in tromba imagery. Images of otherness are vital elements in the constitution of the tromba spirits. Tromba imagination works upon perceptions of different kinds of otherness. Yet it is the reworking, reconfiguring and moulding of otherness together with sameness that renders the spirits meaningful and powerful. In this chapter I have considered how people draw on multiple sources of outside powers, and how these powers affect people and their lives in diverse ways. The first part of the chapter focussed on how tromba imagination works upon perceptions of the relations between people and places, how people interact with outside forces, and how outside forces may even become a part of them. Examination of this process has also illuminated aspects of Betsimisaraka notions of personhood and of how tromba becomes an active force in the constitution of personhood. Although the ancestral world is powerful, people are not totally subordinated to it. In the last part of the chapter, I have considered how tromba imagination draws on personal experiences as a source in more idiosyncratic ways, and how even conflicting and contradictory experiences may be used as a resource in the creation of powerful imaginaries. In this respect, I believe that the villagers are right: tromba does impinge upon the world. The process of imagination going on within the world of tromba is not a passive response to a reality “out there”; it is an active engagement with that reality. What all the cases examined in this chapter demonstrate is that tromba in multiple ways is a matter of connectivity. Tromba draws from existing connections, remakes and bridges them, and establishes new connections altogether. These connections become sources of power. The next two chapters are dedicated to the tromba rituals. It is in these rituals that the tromba imagination primarily unfolds, and as we shall see in the next chapter, it is in these that the spirits are first and foremost brought into being and join the community of the living humans.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TROMBA NIGHTS OF CLAPPING, SONG AND DANCE “One surely cannot play what is not.” “Oh yes, one can play what does not yet exist.” —Thomas Mann, Doktor Faustus

Tromba ritual practice comprises two distinct public rites: the nightly ritual called rombo (lit. clapping hands as an accompaniment for dance), and the ritual bath called misetra am-pitsaràna (the bath of judgement). On certain occasions, the ritual bath is performed in extension to a rombo, particularly during the Volambita (October) and the Farataona (“final year”, December) ceremonies, where the bath constitutes the vital part of the ritual. This chapter concentrates on the rombo, which is the most frequently performed ritual. The rombo is an occasion for song, dance and enjoyment. It is a reception for the spirits, who are invited to amuse themselves, to sing and dance and join the living. Spirits move in and out of their mediums, communicating with the audience through song, dance and conversation. On these occasions, relations between spirits, mediums and clients are consolidated and, in the process, promises and obligations are fulfilled. New spirits are socialised, mediums and spirits adjust to each other, and relations between spirits and between spirits and people are initiated and maintained. For the participants, the rituals provide access to spirit power. Thus, the rombo is an important event. Having discussed in detail the spirits, and the relations between spirits and their mediums, it is now time to situate tromba imagination within its ritual context. This chapter aims to give the reader a sense of the character of rombo rituals. I examine the ritual events, paying particular attention to the spirit arrivals, the interplay between spirits and people present, and the manners and styles typical of the rombo. In order to understand the efficacy and transformational capacity of this ritual, or what the rombo does, my analysis centres on the following central aspects: First, I examine the ritual as a ground for the becoming of spirits and the constitution of the ritual community. Second, while spirit arrivals are at the centre of the rombo, the ritual events form a totality vital for the creation of an ontological ground

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where the tromba imaginary is produced and reproduced. Third, in the process of creative production, the aesthetics play a pivotal role. Manners and styles, material artefacts and music, I argue, are vital in the dynamics of ritual practice. The cyclic fluctuations of tromba rituals Tromba activity is regulated by, and associated with, the cycle of seasons as well as the lunar cycle. The seasonal cycle starts and ends with the ritual Volambita, named after the month Volambita of the Betsimisaraka calendar,1 which corresponds to September/October. Volambita month marks the beginning of the agricultural year, and is, therefore, sometimes called Lohataona (springtime). This is the time when the fields are cleared for burning, before seed sowing. Volambita is considered as the most fertile month of the year, a month filled with hasina. It is the best month to start planting and cultivating. This is also the best time of the year for the mpiskidy and mpañano tromba to collect herbs and make medicine. Due to the intensified hasina of this month, it is a good time for performing rituals and for healing in general.2 The fertile month of Volambita is followed by the bad month of Asaramansina (“bad odour”, i.e. the month when hot weather makes water stored in the hollow sticks of bamboo smell bad), which is hot and often dry, until the rain comes in December. Asaramansina is as bad as Volambita is good. This month is not suitable for rituals, and it is extremely bad for divination, healing and medicine. In this month, as in other bad months, one should avoid invoking the gods, ancestors and spirits. Asaramansina is followed by Asaramanitra (December), the fragrant month. This is the month when the rain comes and the rice starts to come up, a fertile month suitable for rituals. In this month the second most important tromba ritual is held, namely the Farataona, which means end of the year.3 Except for Asotry (February), another

1 The Betsimisaraka calendar was a lunar calendar. Today the calendar is pragmatically adjusted to the Gregorian calendar. 2 Volambita seems to be important for other east-coast peoples as well. Beaujard notes that among the Tanala people further south, Volambita is the most important month, favorable for certain rituals such as inauguration of a new chief or king and initiating or completing a great house or a tomb (Beaujard 1998a). 3 In this case Farataona (end of the year) refers to the end of the Western, official Malagasy calendar.

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bad month, tromba rituals may be held when the moon is present in periods throughout the rest of the year: in Vatravatra (January), Atsia (March), Valasira (April), Afosa (May, a good month for rituals, the month of harvest with plenty of food), and Mbola (June). Tromba rituals are seldom held during Maka, Sakasay and Sakave (July, August and September). During these three months the main harvest season is over and agricultural activities are kept to a minimum, since the cold weather is unsuitable for anything other than certain kinds of vegetables. All tromba rituals are held between new and full moons (volambelona—“reviving moon”). The waxing moon is associated with fertility and power, while the waning moon is “dying” and the absent moon is “dead” (maty). The cycle of the moon is a cycle of fertility and of life and death. But the moon is also a source of enlightenment. As one of the mpañano tromba explained, “the moon is capable of illuminating things that are hidden, just as it illuminates the darkness of the night.” Thus, the moon in tromba language is called fanjava, which translates as ‘illuminator’ or ‘clarifier’, drawn from the root zava meaning ‘clarity’. This significance of the moon resonates with Lambek’s observations regarding the tromba context on the west coast; just as the moon is perceived as “the negation of its negation (darkness), so too are tromba the negation of the negation of life” (Lambek 2001a, 751). Fanjava is also the term for the mirror used in tromba divination and to evoke spirits during the rituals. The illuminating, potent, or fertile power (hasina) of the waxing moon is intrinsically connected to tromba, as it provides a basis for the transformations involving the recognition, purification and healing of the tromba rituals.4 Like all other ritual or healing activity, the tabooed days (andro fady) of Tuesday and Thursday are avoided, but since a day is considered as over by sunset, a rombo may well start in the evening on such days. These days are non-fertile and thus not favourable for agricultural work. In other words, tromba rituals are performed during the times when the flow of sacred potency, hasina, is considered to be at its most intense. 4 ‘Clarity’ seems to be a central concept in several places throughout Madagascar. For instance, in an article on the Zafimaniry, Bloch (1995) refers to clarity as a central value for the Zafimaniry, important in aesthetic evaluation. He uses the concept in his analysis of how the Zafimaniry conceive of their relations to the environment, but also mentions something that suggests a connection between the concept of clarity and healing: “their most powerful medicine against most diseases is a wood called fanjava” (Bloch 1995, 67).

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They follow the cycle of the year and the phases of the moon as well as appropriate days of the week in order to capitalise on those moments when hasina is most concentrated and readily available. However, the seasonal and lunar cycles are not the only factors that influence the frequency of ritual activity. The number of rituals held depends on the individual preferences of the curing spirits and their mediums, the number of clients attending, and the resources available. Consequently, tromba rituals vary in frequency from group to group, and from time to time. The annual Volambita ritual is the only ritual that all the mpañano tromba are required to perform, as omitting it would upset the spirits and thus be a threat to the health and wellbeing of the ritual community of mediums and clients. A couple of the groups in Marofatsy restrict their ritual activity to this occasion, while their tromba activity during the rest of the year is held on the level of private consultations. Some perform a few rituals during the year on an irregular basis. Others perform the rituals more regularly, every second month or even every month, except for the months that are considered unsuitable for ritual activity. Occasionally a ritual is postponed or cancelled because the mpañano tromba cannot afford it. This rarely happens with the Volambita ritual, since this ritual is considered necessary if the mpañano tromba is to continue the curing practice in the following year. Tromba nights: the becoming of spirits What follows is a description of the first tromba ritual I attended, a few weeks after my first arrival to Marofatsy in 1992. It was a plain rombo, a Volambelona (waxing moon) without a subsequent ritual bath, like most tromba rituals that are held during the year between the large rituals of October and December. The rombo is a night ritual, starting in the evening and on occasion, as it did this time, it can last the whole night. Ralahy had called for a rombo in his house in the fields, just across the river. People began arriving in groups in the late afternoon. Whole families came, bringing their evening meals packed in banana leaves. By 8 PM about forty people were present, from small children to the elderly. The floor was crowded in this small single-roomed house of about fifteen square meters. People were seated according to the ordinary seating pattern, the men in the northern and eastern part of the room, the women

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in the southern and western part. They joked and laughed. The atmosphere was cheerful and relaxed. When people were fininished eating, some changed their clothes, putting on red shirts and tromba cloths (lamba hoany) around their waists. Ralahy sat in the northeast corner of the house, near the door of the dead. He wore a red shirt with a white cross on the chest and on the back, and a red cloth around his waist. He was surrounded by some younger men with tsikaiamba, the rhythmic instrument made of bamboo filled with dried berries. After he had made a short speech, one of the men started to sing. The audience answered and began to clap their hands, and the singing continued in a call and response manner. Rum and homemade beer was distributed, first to Ralahy and the men, then to women and children. The incense (emboka) in a small tin box was lit. Ralahy invoked the spirits. He had a large mirror on his knees. All those present were marked with a dot of white clay (tanin-dravo, ravoravo—“joyous earth”) on their forehead. The singing and clapping continued, one song following the other. Though not possessed, Ralahy’s wife, renin’i Rabia, danced a dance to the great appreciation of the audience. Suddenly Ralahy lifted his arms. His eyes were closed, and he seemed remote. The women around me gently nudged me with their arms and told me that a spirit had arrived. People stopped singing for a moment. A plate filled with water and a silver coin (fanasa, “with which one washes”, in the tromba vocabulary) was sent to the spirit, and it rubbed its hands in the water. Then it started to talk, slowly and with a nasal voice and a strange accent. Renin’i Rabia spoke to welcome the spirit. She explained to the spirit that they had called for it because it was time for rombo. The spirit asked who I was and where I came from. Renin’i Rabia explained that I came from Norway, and that I was there to learn about the ways of the Malagasy, and the ways of the ancestors. My presence was approved. The spirit rose and began to dance. The singing and clapping continued. After a while a woman with a child on her back fell backwards, loosened her braids and began to scream rhythmically. The women around her removed the child, pulled her clothes decently over her legs, and held her until she calmed down. She looked remote, but rose and started dancing. Her spirit had arrived. The spirit stretched out its hands and was given a bottle of cold water. It emptied the bottle at a single draught, while the water flowed down the face and chest. Then it screamed and the woman fell to the floor. The spirit had left her. People were still singing. Iaban’i Misilahy lifted his arms as Ralahy had. The spirit took a red cloth, wrapped it around the body and started to dance. It was a great dancer. For a while it danced with a small child in its arms, holding it tenderly. Then it took Ralahy’s mirror, held it in front of itself, so that it reflected the light from the single candle that lit the room. It danced

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chapter seven and moved the mirror following the rhythms of the singing. Five young women fell down screaming rhythmically. They loosened their braids, stretched out their arms for water, calmed down and began to dance. They danced a while before their spirits left. After a while, Ravao, a visiting mpañano tromba and a woman in her forties, screamed and threw her head from side to side. She did not convulse as violently as the younger girls. Then her spirit rose and started dancing. It paused several times to talk to people. For a long time it held the hand of an elderly woman. It put its hand on the forehead of another. Then it danced again while it tried to evoke more spirits. It threw a red cloth onto several of those present, but no spirit came. Somebody said that they might be afraid of foreigners. Iaban’i Misilahy was possessed by another spirit. The spirit danced and took the mirror. Another woman fell down, and started to dance. Daniel, a young man in his twenties had a spirit come out. His spirit was dumb and remained seated quietly on the floor, and its body was stiff all over. For a long time it just sat there, then it finally left. Renin’i Rabia explained to me that the spirit was angry because it had not been given the red cloth it had asked for. Rum and beer was distributed regularly. The singing went on until three in the morning, but gradually abated. At last people just sat talking. Some went home or elsewhere to sleep. A group of men sat around Ralahy, whose spirits came and went. The calm conversation between the men and Ralahy’s spirits went on for hours. At four in the morning, the women made coffee and prepared the breakfast. When we had eaten, Ralahy held a closing speech. The rombo was over, and we all went home. (Fieldnotes, April 1992).

Preparation The date for a ritual is set a week or two in advance. Spirits are consulted, as well as the associated mpañano tromba in the case of a Volambita, to make sure that their rituals do not overlap, so that they can participate in each other’s rituals. An announcement of the coming ritual is circulated to all clients. Rum and beer are brewed or bought. When the day comes, people start to gather at the mpañano tromba’s house (toby) in the fields just before dark. They bring with them rice, cooking pans, dishes, blankets and other things they will need. Each family brings a chicken if there is to be a ritual bath the next day. Those who live nearby will have eaten before they come, while people living further away bring with them food for their evening meal. Women cook on fires outside the house. The fact that the women make the food signals that this meal is not part of the ritual; it is the men who cook on ritual occasions.

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The number of people attending the rituals varies considerably, from a small group of twenty people to larger crowds of two hundred or more; it varies according the number of clients, the general reputation of the mpañano tromba in charge, and the ritual occasion. More people are present at Volambita rituals than at the other rituals held throughout the year. During the rituals, especially Volambita or Farataona, associated mpañano tromba participate. Relatives and friends of the mpañano tromba are present, along with young people from the village who are attracted to the event by the opportunity to party, dance and flirt in the late hours of the night. If there are many people, only a limited number may stay inside the house. Most of the crowd then gathers in the courtyard, around large fires to keep warm during the night. People gather in the door openings to catch a glimpse of what is going on inside, and there is a constant circulation of people in and out of the house. If the weather allows, the walls may be temporarily moved. Sometimes a provisional shelter, a lasy maintso (green house, camp), may have been built. Sleeping corners for the smaller children are arranged. Some mpañano tromba also decorate their houses with red flowers, passion fruit vines and the green leaves of the hasina plant (Dracaenae). When most of the participants have arrived, the food is served, to the males first, then the women and children. During this preparatory phase, one of the assistants counts the people present, and sees to it that all the clients who ought to be there have come; attendance at the ritual is required of clients who visit the mpañano tromba in the course of the year and is considered an integral part of their treatment. The assistant also keeps an account of the diverse contributions made to the ritual (such as chicken and rice in case of Volambita, and rum, beer, sugar, candies, money for the fulfilment of vows, etc.). The rombo is ready to start. Calling the spirits into being It is the arrival of the spirits that first and foremost makes each rombo a unique event. This is the occasion on which spirits arrive most regularly and also the occasion where spirits often appear for the first time. The beginning of the rombo is an important phase since it prepares for the spirits to come. The rombo is formally opened when a male assistant of the mpañano tromba holds a short speech (kabary). People are greeted and the occasion for the ritual is explained. Occasionally

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the kabary may also be used to convey admonitions to the audience regarding proper behaviour, for instance by urging people not to fall asleep during the night. One of the Volambita celebrations I attended was particularly crowded, with lots of young people from the village present, and the sons of the mpañano tromba had brought considerable quantities of alcohol. The audience was instructed by the speaker to walk quietly along the paths on their way to the ritual bath the next day and not make too much noise, since “this work is not approved by the authorities” ( fanjakana). The young were also warned against fighting. When the speech is over, the musicians gather their instruments— the tsikaiamba,5 and little by little they start to play. Some of the mediums change into their tromba clothes. A few of the women have special tromba dresses, while some of the men wear tromba shirts. Tromba cloths, the factory-made lamba hoany and the long cloth salaka, are placed so as to be easily accessible, usually just under the roof along the eastern wall. The salaka is a four-meter-long red cloth that is draped around the body of the mpañano tromba in a variety of ways, according to the habits of the individual spirits. People place themselves in the house according to an ordinary seating pattern. A female mpañano tromba will sit together with the men, in the northeastern corner. This is the cardinal point associated with the ancestors and sacred power. Ritual objects are prepared and may include a plate with water, sometimes with a silver coin in it; a tin with emboka (incense made of ramy, a kind of aromatic resinous wood to be mixed with glowing charcoal); necklaces (vakana) and other powerful objects like the mirror used for divining. Bottles of water are set out for the spirits and local rum (toaka) and sugarcane beer (betsa) for the participants. Then the incense is lit, as the mpañano tromba performs a verbal invocation of the spirits. The incense is itself a powerful means of invocation, a means to get in touch with the spirits. During the verbal part of the invocation, the mpañano tromba also uses the mirror or the plate filled with water, sometimes making a circle with a vakana (necklace) over the mirror or water. The following is an example of an invocation, recorded at a rombo initiating a Volambita celebration in Marofatsy, October 1997.

5

Kaiamba in other dialects.

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We hail you,6 all you grandchildren of the sacred. We call you sacred people of the four cardinal points, of the eight directions of the earth, here in this dwelling. We hail you, come here to our dwelling. Come here all of you because we call you, we here. Take away the confusion. Take away the chains. Do not bring sharp spears to our dwelling. We call you, all the grandchildren of the sacred, because now we shall do the Volambita, so we who are here call you. Remove the confusion. Remove the chains. Do not bring sharp spears to our dwelling. So come here all of you over there, all of you grandchildren of the red, grandchildren of the white, grandchildren of the green. Do not separate yourselves from us. Do not depart. We call on you here at our dwelling, so we invoke you, all of you, we who are here. So take away the confusion. Take away the chains you great ones, for we are your children. Raise the (those who are) risen. Make seated the [those who are] seated. We call on you to comfort us, so come here all of you, do not return our prayer. We call on you, you great ones, welcome with us at our dwelling. Do not depart from us. We call on you é!7

Everyone’s foreheads are marked with a dot of white clay (tanin-dravo, ravoravo, lit. joyous earth). The white clay has “hasina of joyfulness” (hasim-pifaliana), and is extremely powerful. It is considered to be “thoroughly” or “continuously good” (tsara lalandava), and to epitomise the positive qualities of hasina, and is, therefore, able to purify and remove “punishment” (sazy) and “guilt” (heloka). The marking of the foreheads of the people present cleanses and prepares them for the coming of the spirits, as well as displays and affects the transference

6 I have chosen to translate the word mikoezy as hail. Mikoezy is a Sakalava word and denotes the act of respectful greeting, often in respect to royalty, and is used in tromba ceremonies on the west coast (Lambek 2003). In Marofatsy I only heard it used by some of the mpañano tromba in invocations. 7 “Mikoezy añareo izy aby zafin’ny masiña rehetra. Mikeka añareo olo-masiña ato añatin’ny doany, joron-tany efatra, lafin-tany valo. Mikoeza añareo, tongava ity añatin’ny doany. Avia ato aby añareo fa mikeka añareo izahay aty. Alé ny malo. Alé param-pingo. Aza tondrana sabatra marangitra akato añatin’ny doany. Ikehana añareo zafin’ny masiña izy aby any, hañano Volambita amin’ny izao fotoana izao, ka mikeka añareo izahay aty. Hangala malo hangala param-pingo, tsy hitondra sabatra marangitra ato anatin’ny doany. Ka avia ato aby ianareo izy aby akañy ny zafin’ny mena, zafin’ny fotsy, zafin’ny maintso izy aby. Tsy isoritana na avahana izany fa ikehana ato añatin’ity doany ity, ka mikeka añareo zahay ety anareo izy aby. Ka alé ny malo. Alé param-pingo arazako izy, ka bitikañareo zahay aty, atsangana tafatsangana, atoetra tafatoetra. Mikeka milabilaby añareo aty ka avia ato aby añareo fa aza mimihery ny keka. Mikoezy arazako izy ka mitongava soa ato añatin’ny doany. Tsy isoritana añareo izy aby, ka mikeka añareo é! ”

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of hasina to the ritual community.8 Locally produced rum (toaka) and sugarcane beer (betsa) are served to all those present, the men first, then the women and children. Those possessed by spirits who dislike rum drink beer instead. The sharing of alcohol is an important part of the invocation.9 With this, the ritual has officially started. The musicians start to play and people start to sing and clap their hands. Six songs constitute the last part of the invocations, and six songs always have to be sung before the spirits begin to arrive. Six is the tromba number per se, a powerful (masina) number signifying plenty. Then the first spirit arrives, or “comes out” (mivoaka) in the mpañano tromba. The first spirit is normally a servant, or a soldier spirit. Charged with preparing the ritual site, he is sent by the highest-ranking spirit to clear the way (mangavan-drazana) and clean the place (mamafa toerana). The spirit searches for bad medicine ( fanafody ratsy) or other things that might prevent the other spirits from coming. Occasionally a rombo ends at this point. The mpañano tromba may suddenly fall ill, start to vomit or faint, a powerful indication of sorcery so strong that it is not advisable to continue. None of the rituals I attended ended this way, but several of the mpañano tromba told me that this had happened to them once or twice. A mpañano tromba will normally search the ritual sites for bad influences before the gathering, to make sure that this will not happen. I shall return to the issue of sorcery in the discussion of the ritual bath, as it is even more relevant in that context. The various means of invocation—the verbal calls; the smoke and the scent of incense; the sharing, the taste and the smell of alcohol; the visual and material presence of imaginative artefacts and the sound of music—establish a link to the spirits and bring them forth. For the mediums this invocative phase is a preparation in which they open up for the coming of the spirits through the totality of bodily sensations.

8 White clay is used in several ways and in several kinds of rituals in addition to tromba, such as circumcision, ancestral cattle sacrifice for the fulfillment of vows, and the purification ritual that closes funerals (mandravona, mitavona). 9 The amount of alcohol consumed during the tromba rituals varies. I have been present at many rombo where none is actually drunk at all, although at some of the more crowded rombo, especially those that attract the young people of the village, considerable amounts may be consumed, mostly by the men and young people. The mpañano tromba seldom get drunk during rituals because, as they say, “to drink is not consistent with the work.”

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Spirit arrivals Possession trance is a different mode of being in the world. The words “ecstasy” and “enthusiasm” are often used to characterise possession (for instance Lewis 1971). Historically these originally Greek words are connected to the Greek tragedy and the Dionysus cult. The etymological meaning of ecstasy is “to go out of oneself ”, while enthusiasm means “to be filled by the god”, and together these words may give a sense of the kind of experience possession involves. Friedson (2005) illustrates how possession is simultaneously both presence and absence with reference to the way Merleau-Ponty (1962) draws a parallel between sleep and possession. Neither sleep nor a possession trance is something one can actively or wilfully achieve, but through various means one can prepare oneself for its arrival. However, in contrast to dreaming, in which the “I” is always involved, the ego is totally concealed in possession trance to allow the entrance and presence of the Other. The fact that mediums cannot verbally articulate what has happened in a trance does not mean that the trance is not experienced, Friedson claims. It is another mode of experience. Thus, to be possessed is both to be present and absent. The same can be said with respect to the spirits, whose presence Friedson describes as a being-in-between: the gods (or spirits) approach the world of human existence, but they remain in between, as their presence is dependent upon human comportment (Friedson 2005). While all mediums need a preparatory phase in order to open up for this change in mode of being, the way the transition takes place varies in duration and manner. The coming of the spirit may take as little as a few seconds to about half an hour in extreme cases. It starts, the mediums claim, with a trembling in their body before the spirit arrives. Spirits enter the bodies of their mediums in both similar and different ways, depending on differences between individual spirits and mediums, along with more general factors such as the age and gender of the mediums. It also depends on the relationship between the particular spirit and its medium—how long the spirit has been attached to the medium, and what kind of position the spirit has in the spirit hierarchy—as well as the position of the medium within hierarchy of mediums. As a consequence, the way a spirit enters the body of its medium also signals the stage reached in the relationship between a spirit and its medium. Initially, the spirit causes the body of its medium to “shake”

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(mampihetsika), before it finally “rises” (mitsangana) and takes full possession of the body. Spirits are usually not very articulate in their earliest appearances. It may even take years before a spirit is capable of communicating freely with other spirits and the people present. Sometimes a spirit never reaches this stage, but remains inarticulate and unable to communicate verbally. When a spirit first attaches itself to a medium, their relationship goes through a period of adjustment. This period may be short or it may take several years. Thus, when a new spirit arrives, particularly if the medium is inexperienced, the transition to full possession takes longer time, and is more violent than when the relationship between spirit and medium is more established. The spirit is “fighting” (miady), and causes the medium’s body to fight (mampiady). According to the mpañano tromba, the process of adjustment is reciprocal. “It is like children who grow up to become adults”, the mpañano tromba Ralahy explained; “both spirits and humans [who are possessed] need to mature.” However, in the case of the mpañano tromba, the transfer to full possession may take only a few seconds and be almost unnoticeable, except for the sudden change in behaviour, such as change of voice and facial expression. Still, even experienced mediums may go through a long and difficult transition phase, often convulsing heavily (mihetsika mafy) if the possessing spirit is new, or if the spirit is angry for some reason. Such cases are considered difficult (sarotra), and require the assistance of the healing spirits of both of the mpañano tromba and the assisting medium. Often the “soldiers” (miaramila) play an active role in exhorting the spirit, and pour water on the medium’s body or whip the body with the salaka cloth.10 The gender of the medium also influences the transformation to trance or full possession. Women tend to convulse heavily, sometimes falling down, and start to scream rhythmically, “hoeý, hoeý, hoeý”, while hyperventilating. For each “hoeý”, the head is turned from side to side.11 They will also loosen their braids at this stage, since, as a

10 The salaka is more than a spirit cloth; it is also a “weapon” ( fiadiana). It may be used this way to discipline spirits, but also to localise and neutralise bad medicine. In curses, the salaka may be used to whip the water at the ritual site while the curse is uttered. 11 Mihetsika, or alternatively torana are words connected to states of fainting, convulsion and unconsciousness, and are not reserved to the tromba context. To mihetsika or torana is considered an acceptable emotional reaction for women in various circumstances, as an expression of shock, whether of joy or distress, worry, sadness and sorrow. There are always women who mihetsika during the mourning period and at

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mpañano tromba explained, “spirits do not keep their hair in order, as they do not put things in order like humans do.” During the rombo this stage usually culminates when the possessed medium is caught up in the rhythms of the music and starts to dance. Men in general enter a trance more calmly and without the convulsions and screaming, although their bodies might tremble a bit or they may go through a phase of paralysis; they often just lift their arms and the spirit is there. Although the transitional phase will also vary for male mediums, depending on the degree of experience and the nature of the relationship with the particular spirit, the bodily distress is expressed differently and to a lesser degree than is the case with female mediums. The differences between male and female behaviour in this context is explained both with reference to differences in bodily/emotional constitution and to general rules (lalàna) and customs ( fomba) of acceptable behaviour. Some claim that spirits have a stronger effect on female bodies than on male bodies. Women are in general seen as more emotional than men. They are saro-po (difficult heart), an expression that may be translated as complicated, tending to become excited and behave unrestrainedly. Women are also mihetsy-fo (agitated heart), which means susceptible or emotional; and mafana fo (hot heart), which means enthusiastic or engaged. Men, on the other hand, are matoky tena (self-confident) and masindry fo (heart in place, level-headed). When men occasionally do mihetsika or get too emotional, it is considered extremely embarrassing and something that happens because they are “soft” (malemy) and “not quite strong” (tsy matanjaka lohatra). Some say, “it is not comme il faut (àra-dalà) for men to mihetsika too much.” Yet, not everybody agrees that the women’s way of entering possession trance signals feminine weakness. Two of the female mpañano tromba told me that women tend to mihetsika because of their particular force (hery) and unruliness, and claimed

funerals in the village, generally close relatives of the deceased. Thus, to mihetsika is both connected to possession and to being struck or overwhelmed by emotion. It is not perceived as an intentional act, but an intense bodily reaction, or mode of being when one is carried away or overwhelmed. Possession may also occur outside tromba rituals, particularly in funerals, but usually due to ancestors or nature spirits rather than tromba spirits. In such cases the trance is limited to this state of convulsion. Sometimes such possessions are perceived as manifestations of angry or revengeful spirits. It may also be the deceased person who is taking leave of his or her relatives, or ancestors who are expressing their pleasure at having received a new member of the ancestral community.

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that this made women particularly useful in the tromba context. This explains, they said, why there are more female mediums in Marofatsy, even though the majority of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy are men. Still, both the male and female mpañano tromba believe that this does not mean that women are more predisposed to possession. Men, however, are often possessed in a different way. More often than women, they tend to have spirits who appear in dreams rather than “coming out” in rituals. This, they say, is due to the emotional constitution of women, which makes it easier for the spirits to “come out”. How spirits behave The transition into the state of full possession culminates when the mediums wash their hands with water from a ritual plate and repeatedly rub their hands. At this point they are treated as spirits and act as spirits. The number of spirits coming to a rombo varies. In one of the rombo I went to, only four spirits appeared, while in other cases spirits came and went continuously, and there could be as many as fifteen spirits present at a given time. Some spirits are dumb, while others speak nonsense. Some spirits appear as frightening, authoritarian and serious figures, while others are more jovial and like to sing or joke. Still others are burlesque, and jabber or croak like frogs. Though mediums may be young, their spirits may be old and appear stiff-legged with a bent back and a quavering voice. Sometimes spirits just sit shaking quietly in a corner or they may wander restlessly. Others stand yelling and scolding, furious because some demand has not been met or because they have been offended in some way. Some spirits utter rhythmical sounds and try to evoke other spirits. Spirits may be noisy, blustering and joking with people, or they may be introverted and dance alone with a distanced gaze. Still, others may express their concern for the audience by asking how they are and whether they are enjoying the party. In spite of the variety of spirit behaviour that may be observed during a rombo, spirits tend to spend most of their time dancing. In fact, the rombo mostly consist of hours and hours of spirit dance. The spirits dance before the audience, while the audience sings and claps. They dance mostly in the standard Betsimisaraka way with rapid, heavy steps and their arms hanging at their sides. Occasionally—for instance in the case of spirits claiming to come from the south or the west coast—the spirit may ask the musicians to intensify the rhythm,

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Fig. 5. Spirit arrival.

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and start to dance more vigorously and move more boldly, sometimes with a spear in its hands. Spirits appreciate the rombo as an occasion to party, to play (milalao, misomasoma)12 and to dance (mandihy, misomasoma). However, in the midst of the dancing, short breaks for conversation occur. Spirits enjoy the company of human beings, but perhaps they enjoy the company of other spirits even more. During a rombo the spirits often greet each other enthusiastically when they arrive, and address each other as kamarady (comrade). People would often comment to me that, “they are happy to meet their likes” ( faly mahita namana izy). Verbal exchange is to a large degree limited to greetings when the spirit arrives, at which time the interpreter (mpandika teny) also explains the ritual occasion to the more important spirits. If a ritual bath is to follow the rombo, it also provides an opportunity to prepare for the next day’s ritual in several ways. The interpreter will ask the leading spirits for permission and approval to perform the ritual bath. The spirits are asked to “clear the path” (mangavan-dalana) and to check that the ritual site is clean and not polluted, for instance by sorcery. Even if they are not asked, the spirits often warn of sorcery and give orders as to the diverse procedures to be followed the next day in order to neutralise it. Other orders concerning the next day—e.g. the preparations of the ritual site and the participants—may also be given. Serious transgressions of taboos and proscriptions sometimes require that particular precautions are taken to prevent the ritual bath from doing more harm than good. For instance, I once overheard a tromba instruct those that had eaten pork to drink a cleaning herb mixed with water from the ritual site before joining in the ritual bath. Every rombo is a fulfilment and realisation of the relationship between the spirits and their clients, and this is particularly true of the rombo during the Volambita. This is a time when spirits may be given new cloths, necklaces, mirrors, perfumes or candies, either in fulfilment of vows people have made, or in response to demands from the spirits for payment for their care. If people fail to present the promised gifts, the spirits become angry and harmful. However, the rombo is also a time when people can negotiate with angry spirits, and they provide 12

Misomasoma is spirit vocabulary for milalao (play/sing/dance), and one of the many words borrowed from other dialects, in this case from dialects spoken in northern Madagascar. Somasoma means play, song or music (osika in plain Betsimisaraka). In ordinary Betsimisaraka speech, misomasoma means joking.

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Fig. 6. One of Soahita’s spirits.

a variety of explanations for their failure to fulfil their obligations to the spirits, including the lack of money due to sick children, rats eating the new spirit cloth they had bought, or failure due to simple forgetfulness. Sometimes spirits get so angry that they explicitly threaten to make the offender sick or even kill their children, but eventually the spirits are calmed, either by the interpreter or by the spirits of the mpañano tromba in charge, and new promises are made.

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Once in a while a spirit interrupts a dancing session and pays special attention to a client. They may put their hands on the forehead of a client, hold an arm to feel the pulse and/or make a diagnosis. For instance, during one rombo a spirit stopped in front of the young woman sitting next to me and told her she had a bad spirit that was making her barren, and recommended that she have it exorcised.13 Spirits often pick up babies, hold them and dance with them. The clients may also approach spirits for healing purposes, in which case the spirits may or may not choose to answer, depending on their mood or on the nature of the matter. If the issue is complicated, the client is very often dismissed, and told to consult the mpañano tromba privately some other day, or to return the next day if a ritual bath is to be performed. Impatient spirits often interrupt long explanations, as illustrated by the following conversation: During a rombo (Volambita) held by the mpañano tromba Ravao, the interpreter, who was Ravao’s husband, introduced a family who had been clients of another mpañano tromba who had recently died. They were looking for a new one, and had asked through the interpreter for permission to join Ravao’s circle. Ravao’s spirit listened for a while, but then said “Yes, you have made it clear to me. I have heard it, but I am not the master of that, because playing is my aim [now]. If there are things like that, [we’ll return to it] tomorrow.”14 Answers of this kind were often heard during the rombo rituals, as the spirits usually prefer to dance and enjoy themselves, leaving the curing talks for other occasions. On this occasion the interpreter nevertheless answered “Yes, [but] we have to notify you, because you will ask: who are these people? And second, because we will do Volambita, we know here among us that even during Volambita the troubles on earth will come out. It’s the mark of Volambita. Thus we ask permission from the gods.”15 At this point the spirit had already been impatient for a while, eager to rejoin the singing and dancing. It had just ordered a spirit of one of the clients, who was angry and kept on complaining, to stop that and dance instead. This section of the conversation ended when the spirits present were 13

This came as a surprise to the young woman who became terribly upset. “Eka, nanazava izañy ka henonay fa izahay dia tsy tompon’izañy fa ny sômasôma no dianay. Na misy añ’izany dia rahampitso.” 15 “Eny, tsy maintsy mifanambara manko, fa hañontany my iañareo hoë: iza moa io olona io? Ary faharoa moa dia matoa hañano Volambita dia fantatra aminay aty fa na dia Volambita aza dia mivoaka ny karakainan’ny tany. Dia ny marika ny Volambita io. Fa hangatahan-dalana amin’ny Patì ary amin’ny Zañahary.” 14

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offered rum and beer, before the singing and dancing started again. The dancing went on until a new pause when another of Ravao’s spirits arrived. Likewise, this spirit rather quickly ended the conversation by stating that it wanted to play and would take care of other matters the next day. As people said, “During the rombo the spirits dance, [it is] during the ritual bath [that] they talk.” The spirits stay for shorter or longer periods of time. Spirits who are about to leave sometimes sing a farewell song and display signs of great pleasure before they leave. Others, being exhausted after an intense song and dance performance, empty a bottle of cold water, a drink favoured by spirits in general. A spirit’s departure from the medium’s body parallels its arrival as described above, with the same variation in the intensity of bodily distress or trembling according to the nature of relationship between medium and spirit, as well as gender and the medium’s position and experience. Mediums are usually exhausted afterwards. People sitting nearby may rub their backs and give them water to help them to regain themselves. Ritual imagination The rombo rituals have an intense atmosphere filled with moving bodies, the bright colours of spirit clothing, and the smells of incense, alcohol and sweat. The house is crowded. The singing goes on for hours and hours. People talk, laugh and shout while mediums scream and children cry. The air is filled with sounds. The heavy footsteps of the dancing shake the whole house. The intensity of the rhythms makes it easy to get carried away. The world of tromba is evoked by various means, engaging all senses: the smell of incense, the ritual artefacts of white clay, the bright red, green and white spirit clothing, the red flowers and the green leaves, the taste of sugarcane liquor and beer, the mirrors and plates of water, the verbal invocations and not least the sound of tromba music. All these elements, and the totality they form, are vital to the process of ritual imagination. It is through this process that the tromba world, or tromba imaginary, is brought into being. Both material and musical imagination play a crucial part. Material imagination: variations in style All the rombo I have attended share the same basic structure: invocations precede the arrival of the spirts, the audience sings and the spirits

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dance, and a final closure marks the departure of the spirits. However, within this basic frame the individual mpañano tromba tend to develop their own particular styles, which are expressed in the details of the rituals, such as ritual symbols and artefacts. Variations in style between the groups are explained with the often heard phrase “each to their own ways” and are typically related to the likes and dislikes of their spirits. The interior of the house, for example, may be decorated in a variety of ways. Some decorate the room with red flowers and green leaves, while others do not. A couple of the mpañano tromba in the village have a small alter covered with red cloth placed in the southeast corner of the house.16 Placed on this alter are the ritual paraphernalia, such as the incense and the water-filled plate (sometimes with a coin in), as well as powerful objects, such as necklaces or a cattle horn filled with a collection of powerful substances (tandroka aomby).17 The practice of marking of participants also varies. In some circles the audience marks their foreheads with one spot of white clay while in other circles they use six spots. In some cases one spot is placed on the men’s foreheads while three spots are placed on the women’s. Similar stylistic variations can be seen in the way bottles and mirrors are decorated. For instance, while some decorated the bottles with six dots of white clay, others drew six incomplete circles. The circles, I was told, were images of the waxing moon. Some of the mpañano tromba use several small mirrors, while others use only one larger mirror. Furthermore, while some mpañano tromba decorate their mirrors with numerous dots of white clay, others do not decorate them at all. One of the mpañano tromba used to have several small mirrors standing on a small alter in the south-east corner of the house. Most of them were decorated with small dots of white clay, one dot, as he explained, for each of his clients. One mirror was decorated with an image of a star (vasiaña), which, he explained, “illuminates the night”; he also called it the “morning star that leads the day ahead” (kintana fitarik’andro). All the white clay decorations are believed to intensify the potency of the objects. The drawing of the star would thus enhance the illuminating force of the mirror, which in the tromba vocabulary is called “illuminator” or “clarifier” ( fanjava). When people talked about

16 The south-east corner combines the east, which is associated with invocation, and the south, which is associated with spirits. The north-east corner is associated with ancestors, and is, therefore, not appropriate. 17 Mohara in official Malagasy.

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these objects, they often used the term marika, from French “marque”, meaning mark, sign or indication (Beaujard 1998a). However, more than representational symbols, they are seen as concrete manifestations of the powerful forces of hasina. Drawing on imagery from various domains, the material artefacts share not only the improvisational, but also the composite aesthetics that mark all aspects of the tromba world. Kaolin, for instance, is used in ancestral rituals, and water is used in rituals all over Madagascar. The sacred cattle horn is used in non-tromba Malagasy medicine as well. Artefacts, such as red cloth and incense, are used in tromba practices everywhere. This, the local use of these artefacts connects the activity to tromba as a translocal phenomenon. While the spirit identities draw on images of powerful others, the material imagery draws on powerful objects from other domains, not only objects used in other rituals, but also other objects with non-ritual application, such as spears. While tromba imagery draw on other domains for sources of power, the transformation implied when objects are detached from their original use and transferred to a new domain, adds to their force. As Michael Cole (1996) has pointed out, artefacts gain some of their force through their development history. By virtue of the changes wrought in the process of their creation and use, artefacts are simultaneously ideal (conceptual) and material. They are ideal in that their material form has been shaped by their participation in the interactions of which they were previously a part, and which they mediate in the present (M. Cole 1996, 117).

Thus, artefacts are changeable; in fact, they are continuously changing through their continuous use. The way Cole distinguishes between different types of artefacts may be useful when considering ritual objects. Applying concepts described by Wartowsky (1973), Cole operates with a three-level hierarchy of artefacts. The primary artefacts are those used in production, such as axes, needles or pencils. Secondary artefacts are representations of the primary, including recipes, beliefs, norms, etc. The tertiary artefacts are imaginative artefacts which “can come to colour the way we see the ‘actual’ world, providing a tool for changing current praxis” (Cole 1996, 121), and may consist of works of art and processes of perception. In other words, through their contextual transformation, tromba ritual artefacts become powerful imaginative artefacts, with transformational qualities, capable of affecting or even transforming those who come in contact with them. Used in the

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context of ritual, they are integral elements of the imaginative process and contribute to the evocation of the tromba world. Musical imagination: the songs The music is no less powerful than the forms, colours and smells of ritual artefacts. During a rombo, the singing goes on continuously from the beginning to the end. The nature of tromba songs calls for a closer examination. Tromba songs are sung in a call and response manner, where the audience sings the response or refrain, usually only a single verse or phrase, that is repeated regularly between the calls or song lines sung by individual singers in the audience, or occasionally by a spirit. The singing is accompanied by the multipart rhythms of the tsikaiamba played by a group of musicians, combined with the handclapping of the audience.18 The song lines sung between the refrains are improvisational in character. The songs may invoke images of spirits in diverse situations, such as the complaining spirit depicted in the following songs: “Oh le Marovavy, e play! I don’t have a waistcloth, é play! I don’t have a necklace, é play” (Oh le Marovavy, é lalao! Izaho tsy manaña lamba hoany, é lalao! Izaho tsy manaña vakan-tody, é lalao); “That is his/her red cloth, my friends! Turn over the bottle he/she said, my friends! The small children play é maybe é, my friends!” (Io añ’izy menalamba, lahy ô! Tangeringerina vohangy ony, lahy ô! Lalao ny za madinika é angaha é, ô lahy ô!). Songs are also used to call the spirits, for example, “Lonely bird (black parrot) é, up in the forest é, why didn’t you talk é, gone far away é” (Boeza tokana é, tambony ala é, mañino-nao tsy nisaka é, dila lavitra é). The lines are repeated over and over again with small variations, as the following quote illustrates, while the audience answers, as with “oh play”, “oh friends” or “gone far away” in the above songs: “Lonely bird é, up in the forest é, why don’t you do anything, gone far away é, come back for (you are) so far away, come here now, come down (it is) Volambita é, and (we are) immersing ourselves into the

18 See Emoff (2002) for more on the rhythms of Malagasy ceremonial music in general and tromba songs in particular. Note also that in contrast to tromba elsewhere in Madagascar, in Marofatsy tsikaiamba is the only instrument used in tromba songs. One group did, however, have a musician playing on an instrument that they called mandôlina, made of bamboo with two strings fastened from bottom to top. He plays on it with the back of a spoon, so that it sounds more like a rhythmic instrument than a string instrument.

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bath of judgement é, gone far away é” (Boeza tokana é, tambony ala é, nahoana ra tsy mañinô, dila lavitra é, hody fa lavitany, avia izao itoña, midira ro Volambita é, fa hiditra am-pitsaràna é, dila lavitra é) etc. In a fragmentary way the tromba songs evoke images of loneliness and longing, of crying children, of deceit, and of the hardships of life such as illness or the hard work in the fields. This is demonstrated in the following passage: “Rum é, oh brother in law, é rum! Lonely I am below the sky, as I have no partner” (Toaka é, ô valilahy é, toaka ro! Izaho ambany lañitra é tokatoka, na iteña tsy manambady). However, there are also fragments of words evoking images of power, strength and potency, such as “oh strong é, these strong soldiers é” (Oh enzana é, izay miaramila enzana é); and of the power, clarity and beauty of the water at the site of the ritual bath. Songs, or fragments of songs or images from the circumcision ritual are also frequently used in tromba rituals, such as “Sharp/potent powerful bull é” (Aombilahy marangitra mahery é)19 or “Oh bless é, this is what blesses, male is the child é, male is the cattle é” (Ô lahilahy é, izany mahalahilahy, lahy ny zaza é, lahy ny aomby é).20 The improvisational character of tromba songs implies that a song is never sung the same way twice. Although the improvisation takes place within the frames of the relatively fixed structure of call and response, and the specific rhythms and song styles, these are songs in constant movement and change. In addition, the different tromba circles tend to develop their own repertoires, distinctive styles and ways of singing the songs. I first became aware of this during my first fieldwork when I attended a rombo in the company of a girl who usually attended rituals in another circle in the village. During the evening I noticed that she joined in only a few of the songs. When I asked why, she explained that she did not know many of the songs and those that she did know were sung in a different way than she was used to. The song repertoire varies not only between the different groups, but also over time as the songs gain and lose popularity. Many of the songs that were most popular during my first stay in Marofatsy were not sung when I returned in 1997. When I asked for particular songs, people would say something like “oh, that song, I have almost forgotten it.” 19

See Bloch for a discussion of the concept mahery in songs sung at circumcision rituals among the Merina (Bloch 1986, 69–71). 20 Lahilahy is a word used in the blessing of the circumcised children, and is a duplicate of “lahy”, meaning male or man (Abinal and Malzac 1963).

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The tromba songs in Marofatsy seem very similar to Emoff ’s description of tromba songs found in Toamasina further north: “Singing in tromba ceremony is usually sporadic, spontaneous, and somewhat fragmented in nature—not like a song with recognisable form, but more like short bursts of vocalised sentiment spilling out onto the ceremonial proceedings” (Emoff 2002, 73). The songs are not formed as elaborated ritual texts. They are poetic performances evoking a variety of images and sentiments. The fragmented words, the melodies and the intensity of the rhythms, unite all the people present with the spirits who are dancing and occasionally singing, and create an atmosphere of community.21 The music fulfils the process initiated by the other means of invocation, such as the verbal calling, the incense and the sharing of rum. The characteristic rhythms of tromba music carry with them “subtle referential associations” and “work as acoustically potent metaphoric referents”, Emoff observes (Emoff 2002, 68–69). Thus, tromba music is both associative and presentational. This perspective resonates with the way people in Marofatsy themselves see the music. They believe that the particular upbeat rhythms are invocative in themselves, capable of pulling the spirits into the ritual location. The force is so strong that the rhythms should not be played outside the context of ritual. Tromba music intertwines these powerful rhythms with the fragmented words and tunes into an inseparable and forceful whole. Music is vital for the process of bringing the spirits into being, as music has the capacity to bring forth. It is presentational, not merely representational. Through music the tromba world is both expressed and experienced. Writing of exorcist rituals in Sri Lanka, Kapferer (1983) sees music and song as an essential part of the generative process of ritual, at heart of the formation of the reality produced. He states that, “like all art which is directed to a subject, music demands the living of the reality it creates” (258). For Kapferer, music opens up an experiential possibility. In his words, “Music, for those cast into its realm, has the tendency to deny reflective distance. This is so in the capacity of the musical object to enter directly into the experiencing subject and to form a unity with the subject” (ibid., 260). As music

21 The rhythms may be seen as integral to this process of evoking images. According to Emoff, the rhythms of Malagasy ceremonial music may work as metaphoric referents and carry or evoke connotations or meanings (Emoff 2002, 68–69).

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is heard in the body and expressed through the body, the ritual reality revealed through music is experienced and constituted within the body. Tromba music, then, is more than just invocative or evocative; tromba music also brings the spirits into being, not only as a means of invocation, but also as bodily experienced reality. The dancing is particularly significant. Friedson (2005) describes possession trance as a danced existence, a way of ‘being-in-the-word’ in a musical way. The spirits “dance themselves into existence” (112). Equally important, the music fuses the humans and the spirits into a joint community, or “a participation in a way of being” (Friedson 2005, 111).22 In his analysis of music in Tumbuka healing in Malawi, Friedson (1996) characterises the feeling of community created through the making of music together as communitas in Turner’s sense: an unmediated communication and communion, or an intersubjective experience. Similarly, during the rombo everyone present is active in making the music through singing, clapping or playing the tsikaiamba. Fusion of the worlds The rombo is a prime site for the constitution of the ritual community. It is an occasion for the creation, manifestation and maintenance of the ritual community as such. All of those present engage in a joint activity with a joint focus. The ritual community embraces both the living and the spirits, since the spirits materialise in the bodies of their mediums. The invisible spirits, who are “like the wind”, cross the threshold of the reality of the social world, and become social beings and participants in the ritual community. Through the rombo, the world of the spirits is brought into touch with the world of humans; the spirit world is fused with the social world (Stoller 1989). For the human participants, however, a rombo is more than just a means for constituting and maintaining the world of tromba and

22 See Emoff (2002), who also recognises the ability of music and dance to create an immediacy of shared experience between participants and spirits in tromba rituals (61). See also Stoller (1989), who emphasises the emotive power of music as an entry to the intangible, and sound as a foundation of cultural experience among the Songhay. Friedson (1996) also emphasises the way music penetrates the realm of bodily experience and how spirits are constituted and made present through music and dance.

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themselves as a ritual community. The rombo plays an important part in the maintenance of a mutually beneficial relationship between the spirits and the people. Tromba spirits like music (osika) and they love to dance (mandihy) and play (milalao, misomasoma). A rombo is, therefore, held to amuse and please the spirits in order to negotiate with them and the powers they provide access to. Furthermore, the rombo offers the participants in a tromba circle access to spirit power in a direct way. This applies to the mediums, whose relations with their spirits are mutually beneficial—the spirits use their medium’s body as a vessel for their purposes, and the medium receives curing and blessing in return. This also applies to those clients who take their particular concerns directly to the curing spirits during the ritual, and to all those present at the ritual who feel listless and tired if they fail to join the rombo regularly. For the clients in particular, the rombo is about empowerment. In short, spirits and people are mutually dependent of each other; during the rituals, spirits are entertained, while their power is maintained and accessed. The rombo is marked by the aesthetics that are so typical of the tromba world, characterised by a process of detachment and inclusion of elements from different domains. Emoff (2002) describes the tromba rituals in Toamasina further north as an “imbrication of sounds” with “varied rhythms, timbres, textures, volumes—along with the combined sounds of handclapping, dancing, laughing, joking, singing and chanting” (60). This aesthetic is visible both in the totality of the ritual event, as well as in the details; visual and material elements of the ritual take form as combinations of various elements. Although all rombo rituals share the same basic structure of events— i.e. invocation, spirit arrivals and closure—they also involve a broad spectrum of variation. The fact that spirits act in the present demonstrates that each rombo is a unique event. While the tromba imaginary, together with its spirits, are brought into being through the ritual process, the spirits are never subordinated to the ritual structure. The spirits maintain their unfinalised and indeterminate nature as autonomous beings, and thus contribute to the unpredictability of the rituals. Furthermore, as we have seen, both the material artefacts and the music are marked by innovation and improvisation. Thus, what characterises the imaginative process of the rombo is the aesthetics of combination, improvisation and becoming. By bringing together spirits and people, and through the particular combinatory form, the rombo weaves radically different worlds together. However, in doing

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so, it continuously reshapes its own ground. It establishes tromba as an ontological sphere. Closure In the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning, the spirits’ presence gradually ceases. The singing and clapping become more sporadic, with longer breaks between each song. Breastfeeding mothers, small children and elders lie down to sleep wherever they can find a small space in or around the house, or in nearby houses and granaries. Men sit chatting in the north-east corner of the house. At this point, the youth tend to take over. Young men and boys play the tsikaiamba, and the young men and women continue singing and dancing throughout the night. Only one of the groups I observed ended the rombo differently. As members of Ravavy’s group explained, for the sake of the children, they always ended the spirit session well before midnight. Ravavy’s sons and grandsons would play the Malagasy violin (lokanga) and flutes (sodiña), and the children would dance for the pleasure of the adult audience. Then everybody would go to sleep. After the morning coffee and the morning meal, and before anyone is allowed to go home, the rombo is formally brought to a close with a short speech. Sometimes however, the rombo may also serve as a way to “ask permission” (mangata-dalana) and prepare for the ritual bath. In these cases the audience will start to prepare for the ritual bath immediately after breakfast; the formal closure of the rombo is done when the ritual bath is completed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE JUDGEMENT BATH The ocean is the most powerful of all water. It is so powerful that one may say it is a god. The ocean is so big that you cannot swim across it. The ocean can take life, but is also a source of life. The ocean is the source of all water. All water comes from the ocean. —Ralahy

Tromba followers consider the ritual bath as their major event and a prerequisite to tromba practice. The ritual bath is called misetra ampitsaràna, which literally means to immerse oneself in the (bath of ) judgement. This part of the tromba rites reveals how tromba followers see themselves as bound to continuously create their own lives and maintain the conditions of their own existence. This chapter provides a next step in my exploration of the ritual process, in which I pay particular attention to composition and aesthetic forms. The ritual bath, I argue, reveals how the transgressive aesthetics that characterise the tromba practice are connected to cosmic forces of life and death. My aim is to pursue the dynamics of ritual and cosmology, in an effort to understand how these dynamics act upon various aspects of reality. Where the rombo establishes tromba as a world of its own that is constituted and lived out in the rituals, the ritual bath demonstrates how people engage the dynamics of this world in the constitution of their own life worlds. The ritual bath constitutes the vital part of the annual cycle of tromba practice. All the groups in the area perform it in October of each year. Therefore, the ritual is also named after the Betsimisaraka month Volambita. Some of the groups also perform a ritual bath in December, when it is then called Farataona (end of the year). A simplified version of the ritual bath is occasionally held by some of the groups on an ad hoc basis and for specific purposes throughout the year, but never on a regular basis. There are no particular differences between the rituals performed in October and December. However, the October ritual is considered to be both indispensable and the most

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important. At this occasion the ritual is more crowded and more festive.1 By preference, a ritual bath starts in the morning after a rombo ends, and moves on with a sacrificial meal at noon, although it sometimes lasts until three or four in the afternoon. Compared with the rombo, the ritual bath is a more complex event. It includes several invocations, a long preparatory phase entailing a myriad of activities, the actual bath and a formal closure of the ritual. While the rombo is primarily a joyous occasion for festivity and (re) constitution of the ritual community, the ritual bath brings to the forefront the serious matters of sickness and death, curing and blessing, purification and the removal of guilt. People’s lives and existential concerns become the focus of the ritual and actively interact with the constituent forces of existence that are made to manifest through the ritual process. Here the interaction between spirits and people extends the level of just feasting together. The spirits engage in curing and have long conversations with their clients. A closer look at this interaction reveals the complexity of these relations, and may teach us something about the ways in which spirits intervene in people’s lives. The ritual bath not only provides purification, blessing and curing. It is also a site of struggle. Tensions appear between spirits and people, and between rival mpañano tromba. The ritual bath brings to the open the cosmological forces at play, both generative and destructive. Preparations As soon as the morning meal is over, people start to prepare for the ritual. Women gather together their cooking utensils, baskets of rice and chickens, bundles of spirit cloths and clothing, along with mats to sit on. Together with a couple of assistants and a group of young men, the mpañano tromba leaves early to prepare the ritual site. The ritual site, which is situated alongside a small stream or cascade, has to be cleared as it is generally covered with scrub. Hasina plants grow here, and there is always a large tree beside the stream where invocations are

1 The descriptions in this chapter are mostly based on Volambita rituals and some Farataona rituals, since I only attended one ritual bath outside these occasions, partly because they are rarely performed, and partly because, except for my first fieldwork in 1992–1993, I did my fieldwork at the time of the year when ritual activity is at its most intense, during the autumn.

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made and offerings are placed. The mpañano tromba places the tree sticks of bamboo filled with local rum and beer, along with diverse ritual objects, such as the mirror, the plate of water and a box with incense. This particular space is sometimes called valamasina (sacred enclosure). Ravao and Zany, two of the mpañano tromba I met, had standing stones (tsangam-bato) at the sacred enclosure. They claimed to have erected the stones during cattle sacrifices held several years earlier, in order to thank the spirits for helping their work prosper. At the house compound, the crowd slowly begins to break up, as people move towards the ritual site, which may be situated close to the settlement or further away in the fields. With rough terrain, steep hills and overgrown paths, it can sometimes take almost an hour to walk to the site. When the participants have arrived at the ritual site, it is time for the first invocation. Invocations of gods, ancestors and spirits Formal ritual speech during tromba rituals is for the most part restricted to the invocations. There are three invocations during the ceremony of the ritual bath: one in the beginning of the ritual before the bath actually takes place, one before the meal and one during the final closure. In most groups these invocations take the form of a tsitsika,2 a genre of invocation that is primarily associated with ancestral rituals, notably cattle sacrifices. While the relationship between ancestors and tromba spirits has been discussed in the previous chapters, a closer look at these invocations in the context of tromba brings us a step further in understanding both the ritual dynamics and the position of tromba in local cosmology. According to people in Marofatsy, the word tsitsika means hit or whip, and refers to the cattle sacrifice when the tangalamena strikes (manitsika) the animal with his ceremonial stick while invoking the gods and ancestors. In ancestral rituals the tsitsika consists of two main parts, the first directed towards the gods and the second towards the ancestors. In the tromba ritual there is also a third part, in which nature spirits and tromba spirits are included. The tsitisika is never performed by the mpañano tromba in charge of the ritual, but by a senior male member of the mpañano tromba’s family or kin group. If

2

For more on the tsitsika, see Razafiarivony (1995, 217–260).

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Fig. 7. Ralahy prepares for invocation.

the mpañano tromba is a woman, the tsitsika is performed by a senior male of her husband’s family; in the mpañano tromba Ravao’s case, tsitsika was performed by her husband, and in the mpañano tromba Ravavy’s case, it was done by her eldest son. The speaker stands with a group of elders gathered around him, the men in front and a few women behind, all turned eastward and with bowed heads. Quickly and fluently, the invocation is proclaimed in a loud voice. The first part of the invocation is dedicated to the gods (zañahary), the powerful, influential and constitutive forces of existence, and funda-

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mental components of the world.3 Although the gods that are invoked vary in number, the following list (organised according to the order in which they are invoked) includes the most commonly invoked: Zañahary—the creator god Zañahary lahy—the male god Zañahary vav—the female god Ilañitra—the sky Imasoandro—the sun Ivolana—the moon Kintana—the stars Tany miantsilany—the “earth towards which we lean our back” Rangidina—the honourable dragonfly “which comes when the rice ripens” Ndriondriotra—the lightening Beheroñeroña, Lekodoña—the thunder Trano falafa—the house made of the branches of the traveller’s tree Ramadio vanjankoho—“the honourable one who has clean nails” Savoanana—euphemism of fody, the bird that causes trouble for the farmer since it arrives in large numbers and eats the newly sewn grains of rice in the fields Ra añivoñ’aina nomby taolambalo—the “blood of life that flows between the eight bones (the skeleton)” Misikin-damba tsy voa filo—“[the one who is] carrying cloth untouched by a needle” The invocations open with “[We] call you gods”, and the gods mentioned above are named. The gods are then addressed directly, for instance in the following example from a Volambita ceremony: There are occasions that you gods have revealed: “If there is something troubling or joyful, call me, the god who has created you, because here I am watching.” The calling of you gods is not just a calling, but there is a reason. You gods create the life of the human beings on earth. Thus, you have given us work to do. Zafy is going to do tromba. We don’t know the origin of these tromba, but you gods have given us them, and we serve them. During twelve months we have served the tromba, taken care of people, and thus the Volambita is here, so here is the rum, so

3 For a discussion of the conceptualisations and the nature of the zañahary, see Razafiarivony (1995, 258–261).

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chapter eight do well, there is nothing [for you] to do. [This is] your law, gods, with a silver rope you descend, on a golden bed you rest. [From] there you give the benefits of life.4

The next part is addressed to the ancestors. In most tromba rituals I have attended, the tsitsika performed were condensed or strippeddown versions of the genre, in that the ancestors were invoked in general, or by mentioning specific tombs only. Of all the rituals I attended, only those of two mpañano tromba were the ancestors called name by name: in the rituals of Marofero, who is also one of the village’s tangalamena, and in the rituals of Ravao, whose husband is a deputy tangalamena.5 The ancestors who are called by name are called as representatives of the community of ancestors, the deceased tangalamena and other ancestors of repute (malaza). Deceased mpañano tromba are also sometimes named, especially those considered to be the sources or introducers (loharano) of local tromba practice. The ancestral tombs are named in a specific order, first the tomb of the mpañano tromba in charge of the ritual, then the rest of the tombs of the larger ancestry (“clan”) and other ancestries the mpañano tromba may be related to. The rest of the tombs are invoked according the hierarchal order of the tombs (and ancestries), as they are placed in the landscape along the river from north to south. If the mpañano tromba is a woman, the husband’s ancestors are called first, followed by hers. In the case of Marofero, his wife’s ancestors are called upon as well, probably because he is possessed by spirits from her homeland, one of which is his wife’s grandfather. The ancestors are offered rum,

4 Misy fotoana navelañareo Zañahary: “Na msiy zavatra malekileky, mahafaly, antsoy aho Zañahary nañano añareo fa eto aho mitsinjo.” Ny antsovaña añareo Zañahary dia tsy antsoina fotsiny fa misy antony. Iañareo zañahary mañano ny ainan’ny olombeloña aty ambonin’ny tany. Noho izany dia nomenareo asa. iZafy na hotromba izany. Izany tromba izany dia tsy hitanay ny fotorany, fa iañareo zañahary manome azy dia tomboina. Anatin’ny roa ambin’ny folo volaña da manompo ny tromba, mitaiza oloña ka noho izany dia tonga Volambita, ka indro ny toamasaka ka atovy tsara, tsy hisy raha hañano. Didinareo zañahary, rozo vola no handroñaña, fara volamena ipetrahana. Eo no manome ny hatsaraña havelomaña. 5 The reason why the ancestors were called by name in these particular settings was never explained to me. I would assume that it was because of the official positions held by the persons in charge. In other circles whose rituals I attended, a senior member of the family in charge performed the invocation. Another explanation could be that these other invokers lacked the necessary knowledge of ancestral genealogies and thus performed a simplified version. However, in the rituals of a circle in a neighbouring village where the village tangalamena performed the invocation, the ancestors were not called by name, only by naming the tombs.

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and in the case of Marofero and Ravao’s rituals, they are asked to grant permission to perform the ritual bath and to give blessing. The reason for calling you, supporters of life who possess that which gives us support, a gift from you ancestors. You see, elders who bless, because of that it is not we who deceive you elders, as it is a gift from you. For we want blessings to bring together the good sides, we invoke the good. Here is the rum, for we will descend into the water to search for rice to plant, to search for children to raise, indeed we search for cattle, we search for money to fill a basket. Not money that fills a basket but many in number. Where cattle are concerned, it is not their horns that make many but their bodies, thus we want blessings from you gods and ancestors. Here is the rum!6

The third part of the invocation is addressed to the spirits. This part sometimes begins with an invocation of the water (or the spirit “master of the water”): We return here to the stream. You are the fruit of the gods who a long time ago placed you here. Although there are many streams, through reflection, the community chose you, and thus it is here at Andranovola we descended. We will descend into you here, bath here, the children and the elders. Do not wound us, do not let us slip off the stones, this is what we ask for. We pray for cattle, rice, and children. Do not turn away your head, for this is what the people ask for, so face this, you (spirit) within the water.7

Then follows the invocation of the tromba spirits and other spirits: You spirits who “rise”, all you grandchildren of the sacred within water and above, [are the ones] whom we first and foremost ask. There you are Rangahy, there you are Njakamahefa, Letody, Marovakana, Marosampy, Vavila. You are the spirits who “rise” in Ravao. There you are Ndemisara, there you are honourable Tsimivalo. Thus we ask you for permission to

6 Ny antony iantsoana añareo toham-piaina, mañana omena mahazaka, tolotanana avy taminareo razaña. Indro ny ray aman-dreny ampanotroka ka noho izany tsy izahay mandikadika ny ray aman-dreny, fa tolo-tanana amin-jareo ity. Ka milaho tsodrano mirary ny lafin-tsara, mijoro ny tsara. Indro toamasaka fa hisetra amin’ny rano hitady vary hovoleña, hitady zaza hotezaiña, indrindra fa mitady aomby, mitady vola hahafeno vata. Tsy ny vola no mahafeno vata fa ny maro an’isa. Ny aomby tsy tandroka maro fa ny vatany, ka noho izany dia mila voloha aminareo Zañahary sy añareo razaña, ity ny toamasaka! 7 Miverina eto amin’ny rano, dia voajañahary efa napetraka teto hatramin’ny ela, nefa maro ny rano ananana, eritreritra voafidim-pokonolona dia ianao eto Andranovola no nidirana. Hiditra aminao eto, hisetra eto, madinika, maventy. Tsy ho voaratra, tsy halavo ambato, izay fangatahana eto. Hirary aomby, vary, zaza. Aza mitodika ianao fa izay fangatahan’ny olona ka atrehonao izany ny amin’ny rano.

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chapter eight descend into the water. If there is something people have done, we do not know, but you know. Judge the work they have done é! You earth spirits: Fahatelon-draha, Abidin-draha, Raha misomely, Vahamparitra, Vahimivoliña, here is the rum for you to drink. We will not fight nor do wrong, but give you food.8

The tromba spirits mentioned by name belong to the mpañano tromba responsible for the ritual and perhaps a couple of spirits belonging to a visiting mpañano tromba, as in the above example where most of Ravao’s spirits are invoked, as well as Tsimivalo, the leading spirit of Marofero. As the example also shows, the spirits are asked to beware of sorcery (the “something” that people may have done). The earth spirits are in this case not tromba spirits, but spirits of diverse kinds believed to inhabit the surroundings of the ritual site. The invocation is closed in a variety of different ways. Some close it with a general request to the gods, ancestors and spirits to punish sorcerers who might have sought to damage the ritual: “Those who commit sorcery! Whether [the object of sorcery is] rice or children or people or this water, kill them, yes, do not leave them alive.”9 Another example of how invocations may be closed is demonstrated in the following explanatory exclamation performed by Ravao’s husband: We do not reject the orders you god have given. That’s it, and so indeed [we search for] prosperity, and that the children may be well and the elders may be well. In doing this we have to tell you gods first, before we turn to the ancestors. The ancestors watch too, but it is you gods who made them. Thus do not be astonished you gods, do not become embarrassed. Do not give us blame, you ancestors. Do not be astonished you gods!10 8 Iañareo raha mitsangana, zafin’ny masina rehetra, anaty rano an-tamboho, voalohany angatahina. Any ianao Rangahy, any ianao Njakamahefa, Letody, Marovakana, Marosampy, Vavila. Izany iañareo raha mitsangana amin’i Ravao. Any ianao Ndemisara, any ianao rangahy Tsimivalo. Noho izany mangata-dalana hisetra amin’ny rano. Raha misy zavatra nataon’ny olona, izay tsy mahita, iañareo mahita azy. Tsarao amin’ny asa nataony é! Raha amin’ny tany: Fahatelon-draha, Abidin-draha, Raha misomely, Vaham-paritra, Vahimivoliña, indro toamasaka ho haninareo. Tsy hiady, tsy hifaka, fa hanome sakafo. 9 Izay mamosavy é! Na vary, na zaza, na olombeloña na ny rano ity, vonoy izy fa aza avela hovelona! 10 Dia tsy nolavinay ny tendry nomenao Andriamanitra, izany no lalany. Izay moa dia tombontsoa indrindra fa ho tsara ny madinika, ho tsara ny maventy. Ka eo añivon’izany dia tsy maintsy mampilaza aminareo zañahary aloha izahay, aloha’ny hitodika any amin’ny razaña. Fa ny razaña no miseho my, avy aminareo zañahary no manao azy. Ka aza gaga ianao Zañahary, aza variana. Aza omena tsiny iañareo razaña, aza gaga iañareo zañahary!

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Since the tsitsika is primarily associated with ancestral rituals, the appearance of the tsitsika in the context of tromba rituals deserves a comment. The tsitsika is a typical example of ritual oratory being of a highly formalised speech genre marked by strict rules and features, such as archaisms and formulas. Bloch argues that the formalisation of ritual oratory makes it a powerful ideological tool for the affirmation of traditional authority. Due to the restricted form of rituals, he sees in them a semantic poverty and lack of creativity, or as he argues, a diminished propositional force. It is because of the formalisation, with the implied loss of propositional meaning, that the persuasive power of ritual is enhanced (Bloch 1989). As Bloch argues, “The effect of formalization and the impossibility of linguistic creativity means that ritual is a kind of tunnel into which one plunges, and where, since there is no possibility of turning either to right or left, the only thing to do is to follow” (41–42). The tsitsika is integral to the ancestral ritual practice and may be seen as the ultimate expression and constitution of the local system of religious and social authority. It is an enactment of political and religious authority and a re-establishment of the social order. However, I will argue that the tsitsika entails more than mere affirmation. The aspect of negotiation that is present in the above examples reveals not a lack of creativity and choice, but elements of dialogue, argument and struggle.11 This element of negotiation is no less present in the tromba context than in ancestral cattle sacrifices (see Cole 1998b). Still, the question remains as to why people invoke the gods and ancestors during a tromba ritual. In one sense, the invocation may be seen as constituting tromba in the larger cosmological order, subject to the gods and the ancestral order of things. Yet, I would argue that the above examples reveal that the relation between ritual speech and authority is not necessarily simple or unambiguous. Although the tsitsika has an authoritative form, something happens when the context shifts from the setting of ancestral rituals to tromba. First, while the tsitsika in many ways forms the core of ancestral sacrifices (see Cole 2001, 187), it is more of a prelude in the tromba ceremony, since it is the bath that constitutes the main focus. Second, it is striking that

11 For a discussion of Bloch’s theory of ritual and its relation to power and authority see for instance Bauman and Briggs (1990), Kelly and Kaplan (1990), Cole and Middleton (2001).

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Ravao’s husband finds it necessary to remind the gods and ancestors that tromba is actually a gift they have given (at the time I recorded the invocation, Ravao had been a mpañano tromba for more than fifteen years). Finally, his insistent request that the gods not be “astonished” and the ancestors not blame them is revealing. On the one hand, the necessity for asking gods and ancestors for permission to do tromba in order to seek health and prosperity can be understood as a way of paying respect and indicating subjugation to the hierarchal cosmological order. On the other hand, even after years of tromba practice, the relation between tromba, the gods and ancestors is not given once and for all, but is precarious and marked with ambivalence. The gods and the ancestors have to be convinced, and this persuasive effort is repeated over and over again each time the Volambita is held. The tromba rituals contrast with the Merina rituals of blessing (Bloch 1986; 1989), such as the royal bath or the circumcision ritual. Bloch describes how non-ancestral power, the power of nature, is added indirectly in order to strengthen the power of ancestral blessings through violent control. In the tromba rituals the non-ancestral power is approached and obtained directly, but this needs to be approved by the gods and ancestors. Thus, the invocation serves as a means of preventing divine and ancestral anger when people seek sources of blessing, or hasina, outside the ancestral order. Interludes: preparation of food and initial acts of cleansing and blessing Each client’s household brings chicken for the sacrificial meal, but not all of them are found worthy of the occasion. Before they are killed, the mpañano tromba gathers them together to “judge” (misara) them. Those that have eaten their own eggs are “chickens that commit sorcery” (akoho mamosavy); thus they are not fit for the ritual and have to be sorted out and returned to their owners. Along with stolen chickens, it is also necessary to sort out yellow chickens, because they are “not clear and true” (tsy mazava), and black chickens, because they are “removers of punishment and bad things” ( fangala sazy, fangala ratsy) and used in exorcism to remove bad spirits. Alternatively, as another mpañano tromba explained, tromba spirits do not like black chickens because of their darkness (maizina); they like that which is “clear” (mazava). The rest of the chickens are slaughtered and made ready for cooking.

Fig. 8. Preparing the chickens.

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Either before of after the invocation, a few drops of blood are sprinkled on a green leaf or a plate and placed at the invocation site alongside the bamboos filled with rum that sits under the tree. However, blood from the chickens is never poured into the stream, and the slaughtered chickens are never cleaned and washed directly in the stream. “Blood is troubling (manahirana) and disliked by the spirits”, the mpañano tromba say. Thus, menstruating women are not allowed to bath during the ceremony. The blood from chickens and menstruating women may pollute the water and thus destroy the ritual. Fires are made and large pots of rice and chicken are put over these. It’s the men who cook, like they always do when food is prepared outdoors and away from home, whether in rituals or while travelling. Meanwhile people have gathered in small groups around the ritual site. They pay no attention to the judging and killing of the chickens, but just sit around and chat. The atmosphere is relaxed, and people wait, usually several hours for the ritual bath to start, at noon or even later in the afternoon. People who were up late the previous night may try to get some sleep. Children play, sometimes they sing and dance. At several rituals I attended, the children also imitated trances and played “rombo”. Occasionally, some participants brought musical instruments, for instance a homemade guitar, and sit and play for a while before the bath starts. In rituals held by Ravavy and her associate, Pelika, people started to sing and invoke the spirits at this stage. All the mpañano tromba present were possessed, along with their leading assistant mediums. The spirits who arrived were all in a good mood; they sang and danced, or just chatted with people. They would make jokes and act ridiculously, in what people explained as an attempt to make people laugh (mampihome) and make them happy (mampifalifaly). For instance, in Ravavy’s rituals, she, her daughter and one of her daughters-in-law used to be particularly active. The other women present would gather around them, and they would become possessed, one after the other. The arriving spirits would joke, and the women would scream and laugh, and exclaim to the spirits “Oh, you are so much fun, don’t leave us, come back soon.” Or, as in one of Pelika’s rituals, the mpañano tromba Rangahy was possessed by one of his comic spirits Tiarano (“he who likes water”). Tiarano is an earth spirit who would make jokes about people present; for instance, I heard it tease a woman about her bad cooking. It may also just talk nonsense, dance and behave in ways that make people laugh. This time, it jumped on a rock in the middle

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of the stream, squatted down and kept on croaking like a frog, while people laughed at him. In one of Marofero’s Volambita celebrations, the audience was invited to “play” with Marofero’s sacred cattle horn. One after another, both men and women took the horn, held it above a plate of burning incense while an invocation was performed to call on its powers. After a while, the arm of the person holding the horn would start to shake, then spin round faster and faster, before the person would finally be drawn (by the force of the horn) into the water (it only worked, people said, if the person holding the horn had not been drinking rum, since the owner of the horn, Marofero, had a taboo against rum). While this went on, the rest of the audience watched while laughing and shouting. At the point where the “play” was at its wildest, the people standing around screamed loudly, apparently terrified, turned and ran. I saw this game, or play, only once, and the only explanation offered was that they were playing (milalao) with the forces (hery) of the horn. The forces of the horn are dangerous, people said. During all ritual baths, a group of young girls “whose father and mother are still living” (velon-dray aman-dreny)12 make barisa, a drink made from burnt sugar and water from the stream. The drink must not boil, as it is important that the drink remains “cold” (mangatsiaka). Before they start making the drink, the girls mark their foreheads with six, or sometimes three spots of white clay. When ready, the barisa is poured into bottles decorated with white clay, and corked with the top of a hasina plant. In some of the tromba circles, bottles are also filled with small sugar candies and water, and the bottles are stirred until the candies dissolve. This drink is called ontsavelona, and the bottles are decorated and corked the same way as the barisa, with spots or incomplete circles of white clay. Sometimes the ontsavelona only consist of water. These drinks are consumed by all present before the actual bath takes place. Both barisa and ontsavelona are praised for their purifying quality. As Marofero once explained, they are “removers of guilt” ( fangalaheloka). Likewise, as the mpañano tromba George 12 This represents the unbroken flow of power and fertility. In comparison, during the circumcision ritual, a group of young boys (who are “velon-dray aman-dreny”) are sent to collect a particular kind of wood used in the ritual (Cole 2001, 180). Among the Merina, young boys with living parents are sent to collect water used for blessing (Bloch 1989). Perhaps the use of girls in the tromba rituals may be seen as indicative of the tromba as a non-ancestral source of power—a structural inversion of ancestral rituals.

Fig. 9. The girls make barisa.

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said, “The barisa cleanses the belly. When everybody drinks it before the bath, they all are cleansed, even those who have eaten taboo food.” Some emphasise that barisa has hasina and brings blessing (tsodrano) to those who drink it, while others say they simply drink it because it is tromba food, appreciated by the tromba spirits. After drinking the barisa, people are marked on their foreheads with white clay. At a couple of these rituals I attended, the mpañano tromba distributed sweets to the children, together with the distribution of barisa. The children were gathered, and the spirit of the mpañano tromba or an assistant threw the sweets into the air while the children tried to get hold of as many as possible, much to the amusement of those present. Like drinking barisa, the distribution of sweets is an act of blessing. While most of the mpañano tromba receive money for the treatment of their clients during the individual consultations throughout the year, some of them practice an institutionalised form of payment integrated as a part of the Volambita ritual. In these cases, such payment is made before the actual bath. During a Volambita I went to in the neighbouring village Sambiaravo, the mpañano tromba Zafy operated with three different kinds of payment. The first two payments are made by throwing coins into a hole in a stone in the water. One is referred to as Vidy rano (“the price of water”), which is a payment all his clients have to make each year before they enter the ritual bath, while the second is called Velatra lañana (“to spread the seeds”—as in divination), which is a payment made by all who have sought divination throughout the year (Zafy did not require payment for divination when clients consulted him privately). The third form of payment is Vala hasiña (sacred enclosure), which is payment for the fulfilment of vows made the year before. In this case larger sums may be involved and the money is placed inside the Valamasina, the sacred spot on the river shore. Zafy was alone in practicing ritual payment in this elaborated form. Yet, several of the mpañano tromba would request Vidy rano; some requested a coin for each household present, while others only requested it from clients who were participating in the ritual bath for the first time. Sorcery attacks The invocations, together with the killing of chickens and food preparation, all represent elements of order that structures the ritual event. However, the danger of sorcery attacks and contamination of the

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ritual site exemplify the ever present disorder and unpredictability that characterise tromba rituals. When the food is nearly ready and the initial acts of blessing are finished, it is time for the actual bath. Quite often, however, the bath is delayed because the ritual site has been subjected to sorcery attacks or other forms of pollution, and needs to be cleansed. For people in Marofatsy sorcery constitutes an inevitable part of everyday life. Most people claim that they and people they know have been victims of sorcery, and the subject of sorcery is a recurrent theme in daily conversations. Personal success, prosperity and advancement of any kind are believed to cause resentment among others, especially among one’s own relatives and close connections. It is resentment more than anything else that may lead people to resort to sorcery, people say.13 As sorcery is believed to cause troubles ranging from failed harvests to sickness and death, it is a subject constantly raised in the curing practice of tromba. However, during the ritual bath ceremony, the concern about a sorcery attack on the site represents more than just a concern about treatment of individual clients. It is generally believed that sorcerers or other malicious persons may place “bad medicine” ( fanafody ratsy) or other polluting objects, such as pig bones or cattle bones,14 in the water at the ritual site. Pollution of the water threatens the whole ritual community, not only because it destroys the effect of the ritual bath, but also because the ritual bath then becomes its own negation. The blessing and curing forces become destructive and the result may be sickness, deaths, failed harvests and other disasters for all the clients in a tromba circle. Some of the mpañano tromba rely on their spirits ability to warn them in advance, either in dreams or during the rombo. For example, as previously described, Ravao’s tromba (Volambita 1998) repeatedly warned during the rombo that bad medicine had been placed in

13 My field assistant, a single mother who was caring for both her two children and her mother, explained to me: “You know I work hard. I am good at farming, and I manage my resources well. I know how to make a budget. I use every opportunity I have to make money. Now I am working for you, but when you are not here I make cakes to sell in the market. I buy kerosene in Marolambo and sell it in the village. I know that my poorer relatives resent me, even though I often help them with food and money. I know that one day they will use bad medicine to harm me. I worry about it all the time.” 14 These are cattle bones from “bad cattle” (aomby ratsy), which are used in sacrifice to remove guilt or ancestral anger.

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the water at the ritual site. In addition to spirit warnings, the mpañano tromba have particular methods for confirming and localising bad medicine as part of the ritual, before they enter the water. Counteracting sorcery seems to be a field of innovation. The mpañano tromba each develop their own ways and means for doing it, some of which are quite spectacular. If their suspicions are confirmed, the process of localisation, removal and neutralisation of the bad medicine is time-consuming, and provokes a great deal of activity. In Ravao’s ritual the detection of sorcery took several hours and delayed the ritual considerably, as the following description shows. Several of the associated mpañano tromba were present, and it was Marofero, then possessed, who lead the search from the start. The bottom of the river was searched, stones were lifted without result. Ravao’s husband placed a tromba ceremonial stick in the middle of the water. Diverse medicinal herbs were thrown into the water. A cattle horn (tandroka aomby) was also used in the search and to neutralize the influence of the bad medicine. Finally, Ralahy himself went into a trance, and his spirit pointed towards the small waterfall at the upper end of the ritual site. Assisted by Ravao, also in trance, and several assistants, Marofero’s tromba went over to the place, and they started to dig. All the twigs and leaves on the bottom were removed. Finally Ravao’s tromba lingered over two small twigs. This was the bad medicine, and it was set aside for neutralization. Ralahy’s spirit even gave a short description of the person who had put it there, although without naming him: “a short, light skinned man living nearby.” The three mpañano tromba then closed the session by performing a “making to suffer invocation” (tsitsika fampijaliana). (Fieldnotes, October 1998.)

The “making to suffer invocation” is a powerful way to curse people suspected of having intended to do harm. The gods and ancestors, and in this case also the spirits, are called upon to punish the evildoers.15 The invocation is quite similar to the invocations described above. However, it entails a few distinctive elements that should be mentioned. The speaker, in this case Marofero, repeatedly says in the invocation that they have not brought the case to the village community (as would be usual in serious cases of sorcery). Instead they (the followers of Ralahy—the head of the association of this mpañano

15

This curse is used when the identity of the evildoer is unverified, since it only will strike the guilty, in contrast to other curses ( fanozoña, fanozom-pihavanana), which will always strike the people it is directed at, and should only be used when the guilty person’s identity is beyond dispute.

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tromba) are following the orders the gods have given them, and calling upon the gods at the ritual site. Although sorcery has the potential to strike a large number of persons, in this case it is not considered to be a matter that concerns the community of ancestries. Instead, the gods and spirits are asked to kill the sorcerer, and the speaker even threatens the spirits: “If you really are powerful, you spirits who rise in us, kill the person who commits sorcery” and “If you do not persecute the person committing sorcery, you masters of the water are no longer powerful/sacred to us.”16 The invocation is performed on the river bank. The cursing part of the invocation is initiated and closed by exclaiming “Here is the red cloth é!” (Indro ny lambamena é), while the speaker strikes the surface of the water with the salaka. The methods for dealing with bad medicine seem to be as numerous as the mpañano tromba. Several of them have developed their own search routines. The mpañano tromba Rangahy uses a red cock. The cockscomb is decorated with white clay, and the cock’s tongue has been split. A piece of ginger is then placed in this split before six of his children carry the cock to the ritual site. Rangahy arranged an altar with a red cloth embroidered with a star. On the cloth he placed a red ceramic plate bearing the same image, mirrors decorated with white clay, amulet-necklaces and candies. The cock was placed beside the waterfall. About 11 AM something began to happen. Rangahy went forward to the altar. People gathered and began to sing. Rangahy dressed [himself] in his tromba clothes and a spirit arrived. Possessed, he went into the water carrying a stick with a red cloth tied to it. He talked to the water for a long time, before immersing himself. After the soaking, he splashed water on himself. Then the cock was brought to him. He talked to it and to the water, and soaked the cock three times (Field notes, October 1992).17

According to Rangahy, the cock “checks the place” (mizaha toeraña), to see if the water is safe for the people. If the cock is hurt or dies following the soakings, the ritual should not continue. This cock may not be sacrificed during the ritual, Rangahy said, but is taken back to the

16 Fa raha masiña tokoa ny raha mitsangaña aminay, mambeleza ny oloña mamosavy. Raha ohatra fa tsy hanenjika ny oloña mamosavy, iañareo tompon’ny rano tsy masiña aminay iañareo. 17 This was the only ritual I attended in Rangahy’s circle, as he later stopped his practice (although only temporarily according to him) following a series of sorcery accusations (see Chapter 5).

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house.18 In the ritual I attended, no bad medicine was discovered, but Rangahy claimed that it happened once in a while. On such occasions he takes the ceremonial stick and touches the water in the plate, and people are given the water to drink. The stick is powerful medicine, he said, and prevents people from getting hurt. He places the stick in the middle of the waterfall in order to neutralise bad medicine or other impure substances. Sorcery attacks are not always left to the spirits to discover. They may also be dealt with by the mpañano tromba themselves, or by their spirits in particular concrete actions carried out during the rituals. For instance, Piera uses tromba divination, and takes the mirror into the stream, while Zafy uses both a spear and a cattle horn, hitting the surface of the water with the spear while his assistant holds the horn. If there is bad medicine in the water, the hand holding the horn starts shaking. If bad medicine is found, Piera uses the horn to neutralise it. During the 1998 Volambita that I attended, he actually detected bad medicine, and the bad medicine appeared to be so powerful that his arm was shaking violently. After a while Piera exclaimed that the horn reacted so strongly that it was stuck in his hand, and he had to use counter medicine to release it (a kind of fragrant wood, which he called “remover of cattle horn”, or fakana antandroka). Common to the mpañano tromba is the use of powerful objects of various sorts, both to localise and to neutralise the bad medicine, or other kinds of pollution. They all serve as “removers of evil” ( fangala ratsy). Searching for sorcery is, for the mpañano tromba, more than a routine precaution. All the mpañano tromba I was in contact with claimed that they had been subjected to sorcery attacks. One of them, Pelika, even stated that his water had been polluted every Volambita. He reported that once bad medicine had him so ill during the ritual that he was forced to break it off. Marofero said that on one occasion he had to find a new ritual site, since the bad medicine had been too powerful to cope with. I attended seven Volambita rituals in October 1998, and in three of them bad medicine was detected and neutralised.

18 However, Rangahy takes another red cock to the ritual site. This cock is killed and cooked separately, and given to the spirits. Rangahy was the only one I saw who did this. According to Rangahy, he learned this procedure, as well as many of the other things he does, such as the altar, the star and the two mirrors, from a now deceased mpañano tromba in Lavajïro (a village east of Marofatsy), whom he used to work with.

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Fig. 10. Piera and his associates search for bad medicine.

In chapter 3 I described the ambiguous nature of the power of the mpañano tromba. The ability to heal implies the ability to harm, and the mpañano tromba is, consequently, also a potential sorcerer. I further described how relations between the mpañano tromba are marked both by alliances and rivalries. Although people claimed that malicious persons or witches occasionally wanted to harm the ritual communities for no particular reason, it was generally acknowledged that the guilty would very often be rival mpañano tromba or sometimes other

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diviners-herbalists who compete with the tromba activity.19 Thus, sorcery also articulates the ambivalence of power and authority. The guilty person is seldom named in public. The question of who did it is often left open or is disputed. In the case cited above, however, Ralahy’s spirit provided a physical description which made everyone present aware of who the guilty person was; it was the eldest son of a mpañano tromba in Ralahy’s association. According to Ralahy, this mpañano tromba had experienced a series of disasters over the last couple of years. One of his sons had drowned in the river Nosivolo, the whole family was haunted by illnesses, and a cyclone had destroyed their rice harvest. He had almost stopped his tromba practice, as he had begun to believe that his spirits had lost their powers. Most of his clients had left him. The suspicion of sorcery was further confirmed during a second Volambita ritual that I attended later that same month, held by another member of Ralahy’s association. The presumed sorcerer was ill and stayed at home. However, his mother and his wife were present, but when they attempted to join in the ritual bath, the spirits of the mpañano tromba in charge refused to let them, since their son and husband had committed sorcery. As could be expected, the two women became very upset, and spent the rest of the ritual sitting quietly apart from the crowd. If naming sorcerers is rarely done in public, it certainly goes on in the village gossip. For instance, Rangahy was twice accused of having placed bad medicine at the ritual sites used by other mpañano tromba. The first story told to me concerned his brother, also a mpañano tromba. When Rangahy’s brother fell ill and eventually died, the gossip circulated that Rangahy had placed pig bones in his brother’s water. The second story about Rangahy concerned an episode when he uninvited turned up to a Volambita ritual held by a mpañano tromba he had been in conflict with for a while. When he arrived, his spirit “rose” and uttered a series of insults directed at the hosting mpañano tromba. They started to argue, and the angry host poured a plate of pounded cassava leaves on Rangahy’s head. What really fuelled the accusations

19

For instance, I was present in Ralahy’s Volambita in October 1997, when bad medicine was found in the water. His granddaughter later told me that it was a diviner-herbalist in the village who had placed it there. I do not know what the conflict between them was about, but there was clearly a competitive relationship between those who were mere diviner-herbalists (mpisikidy) and the mpañano tromba.

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of sorcery, however, was the fact that during the time Rangahy, his wife and children spent at this ritual, their house burnt down. House fires are often connected to sorcery or counter-sorcery. Thus, for the villagers, the incidence proved that Rangahy had intended to harm the host by the means of sorcery, but its power had been reversed unto himself.20 The mpañano tromba is not only a potential sorcerer, but is also more vulnerable than others to sorcery attacks. As the incidences referred to above show, the target of such attacks is not so much the mpañano tromba personally as it is the ritual activity or the ritual efficacy that forms the basis of his or her position. The awareness of this danger, institutionalised as part of the ritual by routine searches and recurrent attacks, represents a clear recognition of this vulnerability. Still, a sorcery attack caused by envy could also be seen as a confirmation of the victims’ position and power. Furthermore, it is not just the most prosperous and successful who claim to be attacked. An attack and its neutralisation could also be seen as an opportunity to defend one’s position or to reinforce it. In brief, the concern about sorcery

20 The host, whom I call Bototsara, was reputed to protect himself with powerful medicine, and one of the effects of such medicine is to reverse sorcery attacks. In fact, he was the only mpañano tromba in the village who refused to let me visit him at his house in the fields or his rituals, even though he would occasionally visit me (virtually always when he was drunk) to talk about tromba and other things in the village. Though he never explained to me why I could not visit him, other people in the village gave me several explanations. One person told me that he had buried medicine in the ground there, intended to protect him against state agents (gendarmes, mpiasampanjakana). As the person explained, protection was need because Bototsara was, among other things, engaged in illegal rum production, and illegal burning of the forest, and was a reputed and feared healer known to “play” with sorcery. The medicine (tsimanam-pahavalo—not having enemies) would make state agents lose their way or may make them sick. As a European and associated with the university, he thought I was “similar” to government employees, and feared that my presence would destroy the power of his medicine. “Your name betrays you, you are a foreigner”, as someone said. Another explanation could of course be that people feared that the medicine would harm me, although no one would admit it when I asked. Other people told me that his tromba spirits were afraid of foreigners, because of past experiences with the French, and would not allow him to receive me (although when I met him at the Volambita Rangahy held in 1992, his spirits did not pay any attention to me). Some claimed that he didn’t want me to write about tromba, as he feared that my writings would become a tool for destroying the activity. It should be noted that I myself did not bring up this subject in my conversations with the villagers, but for a while people seemed preoccupied and perhaps even fascinated by the issue and constantly brought it up in our talks.

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articulates both vulnerability and strength, and may be read as both a questioning and confirmation of power. Other destructive acts and forces The water at the ritual site is vulnerable to contamination, but this is not always caused by the intentional acts of malicious persons. As mentioned earlier, blood from sacrificed animals or menstruating women may pollute the water. An incidence I witnessed during Marofero’s Volambita in 1998 shows how seriously these contaminating and destructive forces are taken. At this occasion, it was a pig from a nearby settlement that accidentally polluted the water. The pig had managed to break the rope it was tied to, and was found drinking the water just upriver from the ritual site. The incidence caused a lot of row and anxiety. Marofero cleansed the water by pouring purifying herbs into it, and performed a tsitsika in order to apologise or remove guilt (miala tsiny). After that, Marofero and a couple of the other mpañano tromba entered the water. Tsimivalo,21 Marofero’s leading spirit, “rose” and the ritual bath was ready to start. The audience, however, seemed very reluctant at first and delayed the bath significantly. Tsimivalo was seriously offended, and a heated discussion ensued between him, some of the assistants and Marofero’s relatives, as the following recorded exchange shows: Tsimivalo: Iah! What is this, é! Irresolute you are, you people. Where are you all, é? If you are irresolute, go away if you are not immersing yourselves [in the water] now. Hah! You are only people watching me, spirit. What made you come here? Marofero’s son: We are begging first. Do not trouble your soldiers, for we are begging you that first. Tsimivalo: Hah! You said: it is Volambita. Still you do not go into the water. How will this place be if Bilika comes? You will see that the work is good, if he comes here. They are looking at the surroundings, the people with you here.

21

According to Marofero he does not know where this spirit came from, but it was once a human, a chief warrior who had died in battle in the Marofatsy area in precolonial times (andro fahagasy). He also used to be a diviner-herbalist, skills he has retained as a tromba. His name, Tsimivalo, means “he who does not accept defeat”.

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chapter eight Ravao’s husband: They will all bath, so don’t you be angry, those soldiers there will immerse themselves [in the water]. Tsimivalo: You are just watching, what are you going to do? Pigs you are you who stamp there. I will protect all my soldiers. How are, hah, those there? The people who took the pig may not bathe in this water. Attention! (in French). They may not bathe! Marofero’s son: We beg you, my lord. Tsimivalo: Beware, those who took the pig, because there it is, my spirit, there Bilika is é, I am not fooling you. Those who took the pig may not bathe here. Beware, because if they bathe, there my spirit is, there Bilika is, there! Perhaps I’ll make so-sorrow appear there! Assistant (husband of one of the soldier-mediums): They have heard it! Do not tell us anymore for they have heard it. (At this point, a medium enters the water and his tromba rises. It is Daniel, a young man who is about to “raise water” (manangana rano)— initiate his own ritual site—and establish himself as mpañano tromba) Tsimivalo: I do it repeatedly because I often give in to people, so that. Hah! However, you will consider that Tsimivalo has no true hasina. I, Tsimivalo, am here in this place, and I did not speak noise to you either. Every Volambita there are many here, ah. Hah! What is this? Daniel’s tromba: Excuse me! I am not ruling you, master. Excuse me! I am not ruling your speech. What is this! Hah! I am a lesser spirit. The sun is about to reach the zenith [or “uncovered”]. What are you doing there now in the source [water]. Mine was this speech. Ravao’s husband: We have asked of forgiveness! (Here the head of the association, Ralahy, who is sitting on the riverside, breaks in) Ralahy: [The pig] was not tied, for the rope had broken. The pig did not come together with people. Daniel’s tromba: The sun is appearing here at the source now. It is in zenith like that. Ravao’s husband: Do not prosecute the mistakes of the people!

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Daniel’s tromba: Excuse me father, for I am not answering your speech. I do not interrupt your speech é! Tsimivalo: Hah! Don’t you be afraid for I will reverse it. Don’t be afraid of me so that the people will not be troubled. I will stop Bilike, he may not come here today. Hah! If Bilike was here, ah! All the rice of yours would be spread all over! He will come today but without motive! Marofero’s wife: If they do it again those who sent that pig, it’s yours what’s rest! Tsimivalo: I will stop them now. People, I have told you, do not be afraid. So go on with the party at the ritual site. Ravao’s husband: Half of you are begging, half of you are encouraging [the angry spirits]. Do not do that! Tsimivalo: They want stubbornness! How many times have I spoken to you and still you remain unreasonable? Hah! If there are often [irregular] things appearing here, Iah! There at my medium’s [place], there tomorrow, we’ll cleanse this place, over and over again. I’ll see to those things. (These last words are directed at the owners of the pig and are further explained by Marofero’s wife.) Marofero’s wife: If you transgress this [order], and let your pig do it again, this will happen. Tsimivalo: I’ll stop this. I’ll send Bilika now. I’ll send him to “come out”! Ravao’s husband (as well as others among the audience): No! Marofero’s wife: We beg you, if they do it again, then you decide what to do with them. Tsimivalo (to the audience): But now, every Volambita, I have told you, every Volambita, I have told you. Make this party here. That’s what brought me here. Asa lahy é! Do not [just] watch the spirits! There is no danger in being treated here. There is no danger, there is no danger, there is no danger! Marofero’s daughter: That’s enough!

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chapter eight Tsimivalo: It is you people I am treating, but it is not me who treats you; as we know it is god. I protect you and I know there is nothing to be afraid of, iah! Marofero’s daughter’s husband: I think that this thing that the pig came here [you should] persecute, for it is afflicting the people. If this is not making your child to walk, for we came here to treat the child to make him walk, but this pig coming here put us in danger! Piera (another mpañano tromba): Ah, enough, for it’s over! Tsimivalo: Wasn’t it me that you called? Why do you not bathe? There people talk, there people bathe. When I am here, nothing is troubling you, I have completed [the matter]. Another son of Marofero: We are going into the water, but there is still something I’ll ask you about, for your speech was terribly afflicting. Tsimivalo: I have presented it to you, ah! I am not killing people, but if Bilika was presented to you, everybody would leave. . . . Asa lahy, Iah! I do not kill people!22

During the last part of this conversation, people one by one started to bathe. Several other spirits arrived as their mediums immersed themselves in the water.23 The above conversation shows how Tsimivalo not only uttered insults and threats, but also tried to reassure the audience. He called them pigs, and first threatened to call for another one of Marofero’s spirits, the vicious Bilike, before he tried to convince them that he would offer protection.24 The atmosphere was extremely tense. Tsimivalo was furious, 22

The Malagasy text is presented in the appendix II. All the peculiarities of spirit speech make it very difficult to reproduce in writing. The extracts of the transcription that I offer throughout this chapter should, therefore, be considered a representation within certain limitations. The level of noise on the recordings as well as my own limited training in linguistics also made the transcriptions difficult. The assistant who helped me with the transcriptions had not completed middle school (BPC). 24 As Marofero later explained to me: “Bilike is Tsimivalo’s soldier, just like Ratsiraka (the Malagasy president at the time) has his soldiers. He is vicious (masiaka be) and punishing (mañasazy).” Bilike, whom Marofero sometimes also called Ibike tia lalao (Ibike “who likes to play”), is a young Betsimisaraka spirit from Masomeloka on the coast (people from Masomeloka are fierce and violent according to local stereo23

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and people were frightened. On the shore, people were shouting and commenting on the conversation. Many were worried, particularly Marofero’s son-in-law, who feared that his son, who was two years old, weak and not yet able to walk, would not recover. Eventually, the ritual slowly recommenced as people gradually began to bathe. Still, many of the mediums entered possession trance in a more violent way than usual. The spirits appeared to be particularly troubling. Ravao’s sister, for instance, had a strong physical reaction and retched violently when her spirit came, since, as people explained to me as we watched from the shore, her spirit had such a strong pig taboo. The pig taboo is a very common taboo among tromba spirits, and mediums with such spirits should abstain from eating pork. Nevertheless, pork is a highly valued food, eaten in times of festivity and surplus (but never in rituals), and thus people often ignore their spirits’ orders. One of the mpañano tromba, therefore, routinely ordered people who had violated the taboo to drink a mixture of purifying herbs and water before they were allowed to join the bath. Such unfortunate incidents, which are considered detrimental to the ritual, seem to happen quite often. Marofero for instance, once told me a story about a renowned mpañano tromba in a neighbouring village. Her water, Marofero said, was destroyed (simba) when a mad woman urinated in the water during the ritual bath. Shortly after, the mpañano tromba fell ill and died. The water is not only vulnerable to certain substances. Certain actions may also be destructive to it, as the following description shows. During Ravao’s 1998 Volambita ritual, his sons had brought a considerable amount of homebrewed rum. They had been drinking all night and were still drunk in the morning. While the audience, including me, was waiting for the ritual bath to start, they suddenly began to fight. Their father, also drunk, tried to separate them and calm them down, with limited success. One of the sons had a tooth knocked out, and the other fainted (torana), that is, he fell into the water while convulsing heavily (without being possessed, but, as people explained, because of “fo feno”—his heart was “full”, overwhelmed by emotion). Ravao became terribly upset and scolded her husband and the sons. She filled a bowl with water from the stream and stirred it with her necklace while she mumbled a few

types). His main tasks are to “fight against guilt” (miady heloka), and collect medicinal plants in the forest.

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words. Then she gave her husband and sons the water to drink. Later, Marofero, who had also been present, referred to this episode during one of our conversations. He told me that he had refrained from entering the water afterwards. The water became impure (maloto) and was destroyed (simba), both because of the fight and because one of Ravao’s sons had cried while he was in the water. Crying and tears destroys regenerative forces.25 In Marofero’s opinion, the water was now useless and Ravao ought to find a new site. The ritual bath: engaging the dynamics of cosmic forces Before continuing with the course of the ritual bath, it is necessary to consider the significance of water. Water, not least the circulation of water, provides an important key to understanding the cosmological dynamics of tromba rituals. According to Marofero, the water at the ritual site is the “great trunk” ( fotorambe), the source of tromba; according to Ralahy, the water is the master of the power (tompon’ny hery). Tromba spirits are powerful in themselves, but the water provides them with the power to cure people. However, the water does more than provide curative power to the spirits. In the ritual bath, the water judges and separates the good from the bad, or the dirty from the clean. Hence, the ritual is also called ‘immersing oneself into the (bath of ) judgement’ (misetra am-pitsaràna). The water decides whether or not people will be cleansed (afaka), or whether or not they will regain health or remain healthy. A person’s filth (loto), his or her faults or guilt (heloka), and blame or chastisement (tahiña, tahy)26 is cleansed and carried away by the running water. Water has several qualities considered as vital. Water movement, for instance, is crucial. Always situated along a river or stream at a place where the water is running strongly, the ritual site is often, but not necessarily, a small waterfall. The constant movement and infinite flux

25 Tears and crying may destroy curative powers in other contexts as well. For instance, to cry or mourn inside a house where medicines are stored is taboo, since crying destroys the medicines. 26 Tahiña is comparable with the Merina concept of ‘tody’, and represents the bad consequence or chastisement of a fault committed against divinities, ancestors or tromba spirits. Heloka in this use is similar to the concept tsiny representing the guilt resulting from such transgressions. Thus, tahiña is a consequence of heloka (see Andriamanjato 1982; Beaujard 1998a; Bloch 1971).

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of water adds to its force. Running water is seen as potent, in contrast to still water, or its negation.27 Also, the coolness of water seems to be important, as it is emphasised in conversations as well as in songs. For instance, tromba spirits enjoy cold water, both for drinking and for bathing. Many tromba songs praise the cool water of the ritual site, like in the following strophe: “O our chilly water, on the other side of the granary, we dimly see the shimmering sun.”28 Although nobody ever explicitly explained it to me in these terms, it is tempting to view the purification as a cooling or neutralisation of the heat of a person’s guilt and impurity. As the mpañano tromba explained to me whenever I asked, the power of water lies in its ability to kill as well as to give life. Water embodies regenerative and destructive forces, the constituent forces of human existence, and of the world. In the ceremony of the ritual bath the whole ritual community, both the spirits and the clients, enter the water together, and thus physically enter the ultimate source of tromba practice. In so doing, they actively engage or gain access to the constituent forces manifested in the water.29 The running water of the rivers and streams is a powerful manifestation of hasina, which can be understood as the flux or flow of generative power that penetrates everything in the world. The circulation of water materialises the cosmic forces as a fluid process of generation, regeneration and flow. Existence itself is dependent on the continuous flow of this power. A person’s guilt and spiritual blame may block this flow, as may sorcery and other destructive forces. Thus, actions taken to prevent or neutralise sorcery and destructive forces may be seen as methods for eliminating these blockages in order to ensure the continuous flow of life-giving forces. In a broader perspective, this is what the ritual bath

27 Still water, ponds and the like, are used for burying dogs, human fetuses and newborn children less than one-month old. The still water is understood as having the power to silence the screams of these fetuses and newborn children, so that they won’t bother the living. 28 O rano manitsy anay é, ampita an-trañambo é, tarafina ny andro mamiratra é. 29 The idea that water embodies sacred power (hasina) is widespread in Madagascar. Water is significant in numerous rituals including the bathing of royal relics among the Sakalava (Feeley-Harnik 1991; Lambek 2003) and Tañala (Thomas 1997), the diverse use of water in Merina rituals (Bloch 1986; 1989) and in Temanambondro rituals (Thomas 1997). Wolley (2002) notes how the people of Sahafatra perceive water as a generator of fertility. Among the Betsimisaraka the use of water, for instance in the circumcision ritual, has been noted by Cole (2001), Cotte (1947), Lahady (1979), and Razafiarivony (1995).

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is all about, namely the ongoing maintenance of this flow. Through the ritual bath, people seek to remove all sorts of blockages to the flow, blockages that may cause damage and disaster. Since the water both cleanses and carries away filth, guilt and blame, the ritual sites become centres for both purification and pollution. It is an unspoken rule that although the mpañano tromba may well share the same stream, their sites should not be situated too close to one another. This emphasises how the cleansing process also pollutes the water. If the filth or evil that is washed and carried away by the running water in one place flows directly into another, the latter will be polluted, and its curing capacity may be destroyed. For instance, when Daniel, a young male medium and client of Ravao, intended to “rise” (mitsangana) as an independent mpañano tromba, he chose a ritual site in the river just above Piera’s site. This caused a lot of worries and indignation among the other mpañano tromba in Ralahy’s association. When Daniel held his first ritual, some of the associated mpañano tromba refused to attend. Marofero, who did attend, became sick (as he told me, due to his spirits’ anger) during the ritual and went home, while Ralahy (as he explained to me) was forced by his spirits to leave before the ritual bath had started. The fact that the tromba ritual baths take place along the small rivers and streams that transect the landscape is noteworthy. First, according to the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy, these small streams replace the ocean, where tromba practitioners at the coast perform their ritual bath. The ocean, which in Malagasy is called sacred or powerful water (ranomasina),30 is the source of all water, as Ralahy once explained. The ocean and streams materialise the power of hasina that empowers other forces, such as tromba spirits and ancestors. Just as the ocean is the source of all water on earth, the small streams are the sources of the larger rivers such as the Nosivolo. This brings me to the second noteworthy significance, namely that the Nosivolo itself is associated with the ancestors by virtue of it receiving water from the smaller streams. The Nosivolo is in many ways a domain of the ancestors, and of the concerns of the village community as a whole. The tombs are situated along the river, hierarchically positioned from north to south, forming a local cartography (see Thomas 1997) of the sacred ancestral order and the social structure connected to it. The position-

30

Masina refers to both “powerful” and “salty”.

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ing of the tombs is further explained with reference to the oral history; the ancestors came from the north and moved gradually southwards along the river. The significance of the river and its association with the ancestral world is further highlighted by the fact that children’s umbilical cords are thrown into the river from the shore where their ancestral tomb lies. Moreover, several of the most important village community taboos are connected to the river. These include the prohibition against using the river for washing red cloth or the intestines of sacrificed cattle or raffia; against the use of spades in the river’s waters, or anything made of iron, such as oars when paddling canoe; and against bringing water from the river into the village in newly cut water containers made of bamboo. The restriction of tromba activity to the small forest streams may also be a way of keeping it outside, or preventing it from disturbing or intervening with, the ancestral domain. It would be difficult to find an appropriate place to perform ritual baths along the Nosivolo, as its shores have numerous sacred ancestral places, not only tombs, but also standing stones and places of historical ancestral importance. To perform rituals of purification in the Nosivolo could easily lead to the pollution of ancestral places. Besides, the forest location also makes it possible to tap into the forces of cosmos unmediated by ancestors. Finally, another reason for not performing the rituals in the Nosivolo is the fact that the main road or path to Marolambo parallels this river, and the rituals would thus be visible to everyone passing by, whether agents of the state or others. The Nosivolo is a public arena in various ways. To summarise, both the aspect of negotiation in the invocations and the location of the ritual site highlights the way tromba is distinguished from ancestral rituals as a practice where people seek power that is outside or beyond the domain of ancestral power. Nevertheless, the use of a genre of invocations associated with ancestral rituals, the actualisation of pan-Malagasy notions of guilt and blame, and the use of water as purification and blessing also illustrates the way tromba imagination elaborates on widely shared cosmological and ontological assumptions. All these elements are vital to ancestral rituals as well. Tromba imagination appropriates, builds on, and creatively exploits notions and images that pervade ritual practices in Madagascar in general. In building upon these assumptions about the world and its constituent forces, tromba imagination resituates them in its own ontological sphere, as a site for the unfolding of the reality of the tromba spirits and the community of spirits and people, and a site for

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people to engage the dynamics of this reality in the shaping of their lives. Whereas the community of spirits and people is consolidated during the nightly rombo, a fuller understanding of the nature and significance of this community necessitates a further examination of the ritual bath, to which I now turn. The spirits plunge into the water The actual bath starts when the mpañano tromba in charge, along with the assisting mediums and visiting mpañano tromba, immerse themselves into the water, and their spirits arrive. The spirits have then already been called upon by the use of incense and verbal invocations. Most groups also have a short musical interlude, in which they sing six tromba songs to invoke the spirits. In contrast to the rombo, music plays a minor role during the ritual bath. Of the rituals I have attended, there was one exception to this pattern; at the Volambita ritual in the mpañano tromba George’s circle, the music continued into the ritual bath. “Spirits like to play in the water”, George explained. Thus, the spirits spent much of their time in the water dancing and enjoying themselves, and it seemed that the playfulness of the rombo continued and culminated in the ritual bath. George’s spirits were particularly active. They danced vigorously, splashed and rolled around in the water, and held a performance that was received with great enthusiasm and amusement by the people watching from the shore.31 For most of the mediums, the transformation into possession trance happens when they soak their bodies in the cold water, although the

31 Although there are differences in detail and ritual style between all the mpañano tromba, George’s ritual differed considerably from the others, not only because the spirits danced in the water. For instance, the ancestors were not invoked; the participants did not drink rum, because George’s spirits had made it taboo; and the children were given the heads and feet of the chicken (in the other circles these were thrown away since they were considered impure, being the part of the chicken that touches the dirty ground). George was a loner in several ways. I never saw him in the village. He kept to himself in the fields. As he told me, he was never a member of the “associations” and never worked closely with the other mpañano tromba, as was common. I met him at a ritual at Zafy’s, but he did not take an active part in the ritual. At this occasion he just sat on the shore and did not participate in the bath. Zafy told me that George was invited as a guest since he had once assisted in cleansing the water of sorcery. George himself told me that he had encountered tromba for the first time in his youth, when he visited his uncle somewhere in the north-west Madagascar during the fifties. When asking about his way of doing things he simply explained that he performed the ritual the way his spirits had told him to.

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Fig. 11. The spirits are ready to bathe the clients.

spirits of the mpañano tromba occasionally arrive beforehand. The spirit mediums are the only ones who immerse themselves completely. When the spirits arrive, there are greetings and the assistants explain why they have been called as well as the nature of the ritual event, just as they do during the rombo. The leading spirits may then give instructions to the procedure for the ritual. As described above, sometimes the spirits give orders regarding particular things that have to be done, for instance when the water is polluted. Once in place, those who are curing spirits are ready to receive and bless the rest of the crowd.

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Cleansing and blessing How the actual bath takes place and the order of events, varies according to the practices of the individual mpañano tromba in charge, and illustrates, once again, the level of creative variation that exists between the different groups. Clients go into the water in groups or one by one. Some organise the clients in a particular order, while others do not. Also, a large crowd necessitates more organising. Ravao for instance, receives the children first, starting with the babies who have been born since the last ritual bath. Zafy by contrast starts with the elderly women, followed by the assistants and finally the rest of the crowd. The clients may wash their own faces, or they may stand in a line in front of the possessed mpañano tromba, who might touch their head or mouth with the wet salaka cloth, or just pour water on their heads or give them water to drink. In Zafy’s rituals people drink water from a cattle horn. Whether people drink the water, or receive it on their head or mouth, the act may be performed once or repeated six times for each client. People who are too sick and menstruating women abstain from entering the water and are instead brought water from the stream to drink. The blessing of non-possessed clients is constantly interrupted by spirit arrivals. Possessed clients immerse themselves in the water and their spirits “rise”, although they sometimes refuse to appear. People who have become possessed recently, possessed by bad spirits or whose spirits are angry for some reason may cause a great row and require assistance from the spirits of the mpañano tromba and assistant mediums. Bad spirits are exorcised, but the methods for exorcism vary. Some just command the bad spirits to leave, while others place a black chicken on the head of the possessed, or whip them with the salaka cloth. Angry or troubling spirits need to be calmed down, by negotiation and conversation, or by threatening them or whipping the possessed with the salaka. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd is busy preparing the meal, or they sit in groups and engage in lively conversations. The possessed mpañano tromba and their assistants often shout to call the crowd’s attention and urge them to come into the water so that the ritual may continue and eventually be brought to a conclusion. Conversations in the stream Much time during the bath is spent talking. The Volambita is the most important occasion for communication between spirits and people,

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Fig. 12. A child is bathed by a spirit soldier (miaramila).

and provides an opportunity to raise and discuss a variety of issues. While the ritual bath offers healing in a general sense, the presence of multiple spirits also offers a chance for people to express their various concerns and engage with the vital forces manifested and regenerated during the ritual. The conversations taking place in the water reveal how deeply, directly and concretely the spirits interfere in the lives of the clients. These conversations are also moments of revelation, where a person’s faults, guilt and spiritual blame are brought out into the open. The ties between spirits and clients are interpersonal

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Fig. 13. Lahisoa’s spirit exorcises a malevolent spirit.

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Fig. 14. Calming a spirit.

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relationships, and Volambita is an occasion for the constitution and reconstitution of these relationships. The issues that turn up, the way spirits diagnose and offer treatment, together with their various reactions, illustrate important aspects of the nature of these relationships. The descriptions that follow, which are taken from several rituals I attended, illustrate the nature of the spirit-client relationship. For an onlooker the scene of the ritual bath may appear rather chaotic. The stream is crowded with people, some of whom are possessed while others are not. There may be as many as fifteen or more spirits active at a time. The spirits of the mpañano tromba and their assistants are busy blessing clients, or calming and negotiating with lesser and troubling spirits. Clients also take the opportunity to seek advice from the curing spirits, and the curing spirits engage in conversations with each other as well as with the participants. Groups of spirits and people stand scattered around within the stream, engaged in separate, quiet or lively conversations and heated discussions.32 After the clients have received blessings, they may approach the curing spirits present, often accompanied by a close relative who speaks on the client’s behalf and explains their problem. Some of the clients suffer from concrete illnesses, such as eye diseases, a swollen foot, cough, fever, or pains, and simply ask for medicine. Others complain about generally poor health and frequent illnesses, and search for a reason for their condition as well as a treatment. Some bring sick children, or small children who “do not grow properly”. For women, common problems are miscarriages or infertility. Failed harvests and lack of success and prosperity are also regular complaints. In cases like these it is as important to establish the cause of the problem as it is to acquire appropriate treatment. For instance, during one of Piera’s rituals, a man who had hurt his leg was worried about the reason and asked Piera’s spirit for some insights. The spirit diagnosed the accident as being caused by a malevolent knotted liana (Vahimitsaroña)33 that

32 I found it difficult, not to say impossible, to get a total overview of what was going on at any given moment. What I did was to wander from group to group and listen, while I gave my tape recorder to someone who would record particular conversations. This I did most intensively in the autumn of 1998. The recordings were all transcribed and used as the basis for conversations I later had with the involved parties. These recordings, taken from six Volambita celebrations (arranged by Iandro, Zafy, Ravao, Marofero, Piera and George), represent the main basis for the topics of conversation I write about here. 33 See chapter 4.

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Fig. 15. Clients approach the spirits.

grew in the man’s fields and advised the man to have the liana properly removed, a complicated task requiring the expertise of a specialist such as a diviner-herbalist or a mpañano tromba. Some clients have troubles of a more social nature, like the young man at one of Ravao’s ritual who had angered his parents when he had married and settled in his wife’s village, rather than following the preferred pattern of virilocality. He was afraid of the consequences,

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since parental anger, like ancestral anger and even spirit anger, is believed to potentially cause illnesses, disasters and even death. In this case, Ravao’s spirit advised him to seek his parents’ blessing and move back to his natal village immediately. The spirits often point to ancestral or parental anger when they diagnose the cause of a person’s illness and problem. For instance, in the case of a young father who complained about poor rice harvests and whose child had recently died, Marofero’s spirit explained that the cause was his father-in-law’s anger towards the man’s failure to finish a house he had promised to build. Likewise, a young woman’s illness was explained as being due to ancestral anger since she did not live on her ancestral land. People also seek help in marital conflicts, like a woman who had left her husband but wanted to return to him and asked a spirit for medicine to ensure a successful reunion. A recurrent theme in these consultations is the difficulties men or women have in maintaining stable marital relations. This is commonly diagnosed as possession by a malevolent spirit who considers itself to be the proper spouse of its host, and, therefore, does not accept that the host has other partners. Young men may sometimes be possessed by troublesome spirits who bring about problems with drinking and aggressive behaviour, which oftentimes lead to fights. Such spirits are exorcised. Each ritual bath I attended contained at least two or three exorcisms. Sometimes such undesirable spirits “come out” when its host touches the water, making the possession trance of the “difficult” kind. The curing spirits and the assistants then try to talk with the spirits and command them to leave. Another example illustrating the way people seek advice from the spirits in matters of conflict is that of the grandmother who described a fight over the custody of her grandchildren. Her son had divorced his wife, and the ex-wife refused to let him take care of the children as men normally should do when their children have reached a certain age. The mother started to attend the church and feared that her exhusband’s family would give her children Malagasy “pagan” medicine. In this case, Piera’s spirit advised the grandmother to take the children, but to refrain from treating the children with Malagasy medicine, and leave it to God (Andriamañitra) to take care of them. The spirits identify the reason for the problems and prescribe treatment and medication. If the matter is complicated, or if the clients need divination or other forms of treatment, such as massage, they are told to consult the mpañano tromba in private later. Those who receive medical prescriptions are also instructed to collect the medicine at the

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mpañano tromba’s home later, since mpañano tromba never take their herbs and other medicines to the rituals. As Ralahy explained, it is too difficult to transport all the remedies, and there is not enough time to deal with medications during the ritual. The clients need to be instructed properly to make sure that they use the medicines correctly. During the conversations, the spirits also inform the clients about their duties vis-à-vis their curer and the treatment the curer prescribes, both in specific and general terms. These tutorial speeches have a disciplinary character. The tone is strict, often uttered angrily, and clients are warned and even threatened about what will happen if they fail to fulfil their duties. The clients are told how to properly handle the medicine. All treatments and medicines are accompanied by taboos that must be maintained. It is absolutely necessary to return the medicine to its “master” if the medicine has no effect, when its work is completed and each Volambita when all medicines are renewed.34 If clients fail to do this, the treatment or medicine will have the opposite effect to that intended, resulting in failed harvests, sickness and death. The medicine gradually loses its productive powers, “like some trees lose their leaves in the cold season”, Piera explained. It is transformed into “bad medicine” ( fanafody ratsy), and its curing forces become destructive. These “speeches” are given to the individual clients consulting the spirits, but the spirits sometimes also address the audience as a whole, as Marofero’s spirit did in the following example: Your speech, your speech you people, I have to answer. Yah! About the medicine, I do not have the medicine to transmit here. But if you have spoken, I have listened. If they are obligated, they have to visit the dwelling [of Marofero]. You will go to the dwelling there. I will tell you what kind [of medicine] that you shall use. I will complete that here, but now I do not have medicine. The medicine is new, the medicine. The old medicine is different. The new medicine is different, for they are “raised” [initiated] into the New Year. This is what makes the medicine new. Yah! If you have received medicine, you have to bring it back to the dwelling of my medium, the medicine of yours, for you are not allowed to let them stay. Those who have medicines have to renew them. Those who have medicines have to renew them. You must not forget this, eh. Yah, yah! Where are the soldiers? Yah! Where are the soldiers? I, these children are not supported by me. If the children hear my call and they

34 The mpañano tromba collect and make new medicines, call the gods, spirits and the water (not the ancestors), and soak the medicines in the water at their ritual sites before each Volambita.

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chapter eight do not come! Hah! You must not destroy my medicine! Yah! If you have like a reason to [why you] have left it, tell me. For if they hear and still do not come, even if they are sick, my head will not be bothered. Those who do not come must tell the reason why they do not come, for they make their protector/nurturer lose face, those children.35

Clients who approach the spirits to complain about failed treatment, like a client of Marofero’s who complained about three years of failed harvests, are scolded and accused of having broken the taboos or having failed to fulfil their obligations in other ways. Some may occasionally be dismissed for the same reasons, especially if they have also failed to pay properly for their treatment. Failure to fulfil ones obligations as a client are taken seriously, as illustrated by the following example from Marofero’s ritual. As an associated mpañano tromba, Ravao was present. In the middle of the ritual bath, Ravao’s spirit suddenly turned towards a man and his family who had been her former clients. The spirit addressed the man, and told him to return the medicines they had been given. If they refused, it threatened to kill their children. The man answered: Thank you for having told us, for during the night [rombo] we heard this sound [speech]. But we have not understood each other, it is true, for you know this you spirit. But the thing is that we have explained this to the living human [Ravao] before. We have mixed the medicine with the medicine from Rakoto [another diviner-herbalist]. He said: Do not use that medicine. But if this is so, I will return the medicine, if this will not be good for the children.36

35 Ny volaña anareo, ny volaña anareo holovelona tsy maintsy valianay. Yah! Fa ny holy zay tsy manana holy handika aty. Fa raha ohatra fa nivolañareo zay, efa henoinay zay. Rehefa mavoatery ka voatery izy tsy maintsy mandalo ny dohany. Any ianareo handeha amin’ny doany ary. Mivolaña zay manao karazan’izao, eto izao mahavita nefa izao tsisy manana holy. Ny holy mbola vaovao ny holy. Hafa ny holy taloha. Hafa ny holy vaovao. Satria mitsangana amin’ny taona miakatra. Izany no mahatonga ny holy vaovao io. Yah! Raha ohatra ny holinareo zay ka voaray fotsiny ny olinareo, dia tsy maintsy andesina amin’ny doanin’olona filahanay, ny holinareo zay, fa tsy azo apetraka. Zay manana holy, tsy maintsy havaozina. Zay manana holy, tsy maintsy havaozina. Sao hadinonareo zany eh. Yah, yah! Aiza ny miaramila zay? Yah! Aiza ny miaramila? Izahay ny antseka no tsy handeferanay. Raha ohatra fa maharay antso izareo ka tsy tonga ety ny antseka! Hah! Sao dia mamaky ny holinay. Yah. Manana kara antoka mahatavela volañy aminay. Fa raha mahare izy ka tsy tonga dia tsy mahavaky lohanay raha marary aza. Izay tsy tonga dia milaza ny antony tsy mahatonga, fa mangala baraka ny mpitaiza io antseka io. 36 Misaotra nampilaza fa tamin’ny laly aza dia efa no reniko ny feo eo io. Nefa moa ra dia tsy nifankahazo ka marina fa fantatrareo lolo. Fa na karan’ny raha dia efa nanazava tamin’ny olovelona ity my, aloha aho. Tary aloha nefa moa ny fanafody dia

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Ravao’s spirit continued its complaints and threats. The man continued trying to reassure the spirit without success. Ravao’s spirit was terribly upset and insulted, both because the man had failed to return the medicine, and because the clients had failed to formally end their relationship with Ravao by giving the required ritual payment (vola fialahana, “leaving money”). The spirit continued its complaints and said: “My medicine is not bad. I do not like this, I here. Return my medicine to me, for you destroy that which is good. I will make them good!”37 This incident also reveals the ongoing competition between the different mpañano tromba. The clients had received parallel treatment from two curers, Ravao and Rakoto. Rakoto died, and when they lost a child, they also lost their faith in Ravao’s curing powers, and changed to Marofero. At the time, Marofero’s curing practice was prospering and he was the most successful mpañano tromba in Marofatsy. I later discovered that Ravao had lost several clients to him, and tensions between them were growing. Marofero’s spirit, who had been listening to the verbal exchange between Ravao’s spirit and the client, interrupted the conversation and changed the subject. He began to talk about an incident when a young man who was drunk had urinated in Ravao’s house during the rombo of her Volambita celebration. The fact that he raised the subject at this point was probably not a coincidence. He kept on asking about the incidence, and for me it seemed that he used it to question Ravao’s authority over her clients and her ability to handle such matters. Ravao’s spirit became furious, and began to threaten the offender’s family, since he himself was not present. Ravao’s husband tried to calm down the spirits by saying things like “you must not make a fight of this big celebration!”38 Finally they all agreed on a fine that the offender’s family should pay on his behalf. Volambita is an occasion for the fulfilment of vows (voady, tsikafara), but it is also an occasion for making new ones for the year to come, and this takes place during the conversations in the stream. Some of the vows are made in relation to specific problems, such as illness, sick children or infertility, while others concern health, prosperity and

nifangaro tamin’ny fanafodin’i Rakoto. Ka hoy izy hoë: Aza riso io fanafody io. Kanefa moa raha misy ny iany ateriko aty ny fanafody, rehefa tsy hahatsara ny zaza e. 37 Ny holinay tsy rahy. Tsy tianay iny anakahy ity. Atero ny holinay ny anakahy toho fa mandratry ny tsara. Izay no manatsara azy. 38 Tsy azo ikorontanina ity fetibe ity!

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success and farming in general. For instance, during Ravao’s Volambita, a man promised Ravao’s spirit that, “If my wife gives birth and it goes well, I will give you two thousand Ariary (10,000 FMG—Malagasy Francs), one kopy of rice and a waist cloth.”39 Likewise, Joeline made the following vows during Piera’s Volambita: “If I am strong I will make eight bottles of barisa for the next Volambita. I dreamed about hail beating down. If the year comes and is good, I will give four hundred Ariary (2,000 FMG) to the waterfall.”40 At the Volambita of the mpañano tromba George, the vows were all made when the ritual bath was finished, just before the meal. George’s son held a short invocation, addressed to the gods and spirits. The invocation closed with the following words: Many are the people who make vows, vows for the rice, for the children, indeed for the education. Do not forget these vows that people make to you water, but make them efficacious. They do not lie so they bring (money), so here is the cooked rice for you to eat, to you spirits of the land here, so make it well; there is nothing for you to do.41

Then George’s son made vows for his father and for himself about the rice harvest and money, followed by others among the audience who had particular vows to make. They stepped forward, one by one, to announce what they wanted in return for their promised gifts. Addressing the gods and spirits, George repeated their individual vows. On this occasion there were six people, in addition to George and his son, who made vows, and the subjects were the usual ones, for example the rice harvest, work in general, illness, and the husband of a pregnant woman asking for a successful delivery. Clients, mostly mediums, often approached the spirits because they wanted to lift taboos they found too constraining, for instance taboos on foods that constitute an essential part of the normal diet, or rum that is central in numerous ritual contexts, especially in ancestral rituals

39 Raha miteraka my ny vadiko ka tsara dia mañome vola 2000 A, vary ray kopy, sembo raika. 40 Raha matanjaka my dia hañano barisa valo tavoahangy amin’ny Volambita hoavy. Nañonofy ny vilezim-baratra. Raha tonga my ny taona ka tsara izy dia mañome vola 400 A amin’ny riena. 41 Be ny olona mañano tsikafara, tsikafara amin’ny vary, amin’ny zaza, indrindra fa amin’ny fianarana. Aza hadinoina izany tsikafara ataon’olona aminareo rano eto, fa ataovy masina ihany. Tsy mandainga izy fa manatitra ka indro ny vary masaka hohaninareo amin’ny raha amin’ny tany eto, ka ataovy tsarabe tsy hisy raha hañano.

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where the sharing of rum manifests in full participation.42 In the consultations I witnessed, the spirits sometimes agreed, and sometimes did not. For instance, during Zafy’s Volambita, a female medium asked Zafy’s spirit to lift the taboo against soybeans and the very much favoured but bitter vegetable called angivy. The spirit agreed to lift the taboo against soybeans and ordered two herbs so that she should not get sick, but refused to lift the taboo against angivy. As he said, “you have to observe this taboo because the angivy are not all ripe at the same time. It is bad if the elders do not grow old together with their children.”43 Another such issue was raised during Marofero’s 1998 Volambita, where Joeline’s spirit announced to Marofero’s spirit that it would allow the lifting of a taboo it had given Joeline when she was sick, as the following exchange shows: Joeline’s tromba: My medium is healthy again and can eat brown rice. She can eat. Mark her [with white clay], for it is Volambita and I approve. Marofero’s tromba: Is it true? You are not fooling? Joeline’s tromba: I am not fooling. Marofero’s tromba (calls for assistance): Where are you all soldiers? (Some assistants, both spirits and humans, approach) Joeline’s tromba: That is, my medium was sick and was forbidden to eat brown rice in order to make her healthy quickly. Volambita was soon coming. Now she is healthy and can eat brown rice. Marofero’s tromba: Yah! Assistant: You must not fool [us]!

42 A reason why the drinking of rum was a debated subject and a source of conflict between Christians and their non-Christian relatives is due to the fact that the protestant churches preached teetotalism. The sharing of rum was often explained as the main reason why it was difficult for Christians to partake in ancestral rituals. 43 Fadianao fa ny angivy tsy miaraka matoy. Ratsy tsy miaraka antitra amin’ny ianaka.

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chapter eight Joeline’s tromba: I am not fooling! Assistant: You must not fool [us], for it is [spoken] in front of the eyes of the company [kompania, fellow companions]! (To the others): Where is the joyous earth [white clay]?44 (Marofero’s spirit then marked Joeline’s head with white clay to settle and bless the matter.)

As Joeline is an assisting medium, her spirit is considered to be a lesser one. Such spirits are known to sometimes be nasty and tricky ( fetsy). This is why the other assistants are called on as witnesses, to make sure that the spirit is speaking the truth. The consultations with clients during the ritual bath often seemed endless. I recorded up to twenty such consultations in one ritual. Since there would often be several mediums active at a time, all talking to clients, I was never able to record them all. In addition to the consultations, there is, as the above examples show, much conversation going on between the spirits themselves, and between the spirits and assistants. This often takes up more time than the actual consultations. I have already noted how spirits may discuss matters like the pollution of the ritual site, how they negotiate with bad or angry spirits, and how they discuss matters of curing, such as the removal of taboos. Sometimes, as illustrated above, the rivalry and competition between the different mpañano tromba is evident. During Marofero’s ritual there was another such argument. One of Marofero’s clients approached the spirits of Marofero, Ravao and Piera, who were standing together, and told them about her sister-in-law, renin’i Bera, who lived in the nearby village Mavelombady and intended to “rise water” (manangana rano) and establish herself as an independent mpañano tromba. The woman was the grandchild of a famous deceased mpañano tromba, and wanted to continue her grandmother’s practice and revitalise the ritual site.45 As a client of Marofero, the woman seemed to be troubled

44

The Malagasy text is included in appendix II. Renin’i Bera was a client of Soahita, Ravavy’s daughter. As renin’i Bera had explained to me, their family had been haunted by a lot of illness and many deaths since her grandmother had died. They had sacrificed two bulls (ancestral sacrifice), but the situation had not improved. Soahita’s spirit was consulted, and the spirit claimed that it was the power of the grandmother’s water that had caused the trouble, and that the water demanded that the descendants should re-establish the work. 45

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by a conflict of loyalty this would imply, as well as conflicting obligations (for instance differences in taboos that would make it difficult for her to attend the rituals of both curers). She seemed worried, and wanted to ask the spirits on her sister-in-law’s behalf for permission to “rise the water”. The spirits were not particularly favourable to the idea. They refused to give the permission the woman asked for, and told the woman that people would die if they entered the water there. They told her to tell her sister-in-law that, if she still was eager to do it, she should ask for help, and they would come and help her. When I later asked the mpañano tromba about the matter, they all seemed sceptical. Marofero claimed that a mad woman had polluted the water by urinating in it. Ralahy told me that the people in charge lacked the knowledge and skill that was necessary to take care of such a powerful site, and that their vintana (see chapter 6) was incompatible with the vintana of the water. I knew the woman in question, and was in regular contact with her. To me she denied emphatically that there was anything wrong with the water or with her ability to handle it all, and she went ahead with the planned Volambita ceremony without announcing it to the other mpañano tromba.46 The above descriptions and extracts of conversations also show how issues related to competition and rivalry are often exposed during the ritual bath. According the mpañano tromba and others, spirits may sometimes become so angry that they start to fight—mostly verbally, but sometimes they also physically attack each other. I never saw such attacks, but I was told about several episodes. Still, the typical reasons for spirits bursting out in anger are, as already indicated, when clients have offended spirit orders of treatment, ignored spirit demands and broken spirit taboos. People engage the spirits, or the spirits engage themselves, in matters of life and death, in immediate and future concerns about health, prosperity and well-being. The above examples that divulge social tensions and conflicts demonstrate how spirits intervene in interpersonal relationships between clients and others, as well as between the different curers. By engaging the spirits, people throw themselves into the spirit world. They become members of a joint community in which relations are constituted by reciprocity on several levels. Access to the power of spirits and the benefits they may provide, implies that the

46

I was invited to the event, but was unfortunately unable to attend.

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clients are cast into relationships that are also marked by discipline and punishment, the necessity of obeying orders, and commitments to fulfilling demands and meeting obligations. The spirits have a direct influence on what people do (and what they don’t do), and thus they affect relationships and courses of actions. The interaction of the ritual community of spirits and people as manifested in the ritual bath demonstrates how the tromba practice engages locally as a social force and acts on a range of ongoing dilemmas and concerns. So far, I have concentrated on what spirits talk about. However, spirits have a characteristic way of talking, markedly different from humans, and I shall now turn my attention to the way they speak. The way spirits talk In ritual theory, the questions of religious language, verbal communication and art in ritual are widely debated, and the discussions related to form, function and meaning highlight the main themes in these theories (see for instance Bauman & Briggs 1990; Bloch 1989; Keane 1997; Kuipers 1998; Rappaport 1979; Tambiah 1979). Tromba speech is different from the kinds of speech that are often referred to, and thought of, when people write about verbal communication in ritual, where the focus is on aspects such as the highly formalised ritual oratory of the invocations discussed earlier in this chapter. Tromba speech belongs to a category of ritual speech that has been paid relatively little attention. As Peek (1994) has pointed out, to the extent that such speech has been the object of analysis, the focus has been on the content rather than the means and manner of communication across worlds. Given the prominence of the auditory world, we should pay more attention to the phenomena of sound, Peek argues, not least in the realm of cross-worldly communication. Tromba speech differs from human speech, not only in what spirits talk about, but in the way they talk. It sounds different. The way spirits talk belongs to the multitude of the aesthetic modes that form part of the tromba rituals. My analyses of the tromba rituals are based on the presumption that the dynamics of aesthetic forms is vital to the production of meaning and experience, and we need to approach this dynamics in order to grasp the rituals’ transformational capacity and understand how the rituals work. Given the centrality of spirit performances, spirit talk deserves particular attention. What does the way the spirits speak tell us? Before attempting to answer this question, a closer examination of spirit speech is needed.

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In terms of grammar, spirit speech is marked by a large degree of variation and improvisation. Certain features distinguish it from other kinds of speech, both from ordinary human speech and other kinds of ritual speech, such as the invocations. Therefore, I shall provide a brief linguistic description. The first thing that stands out when listening to the spirit speech is the difference in phonology, which often makes it incomprehensible for people unfamiliar with spirits. Thus, as we have seen, all mpañano tromba use interpreters who assist in rituals. There is a variety of ways in which this speech differs phonologically from ordinary speech, depending on the particular spirit who is talking. Some spirits twist the quality of voice through extreme nasality. Other typical features include: high-pitched voice, heavy breathing, stammering, whistling, additional meaningless or exclamatory sounds like “Ha!” and of inarticulate sounds like cries, grunts, snorts and croaks. Aspiration of words and syllables is another observable trait, as evident in the speech of the spirits of both Marofero and Ravao. Thus, olovelona (human beings) is pronounced holovelona; oly (medicine) becomes holy; and ratsy (bad) is pronounced rahy. Another phonetic transformation the spirits often make is to pronounce the “o” (like in ‘two’) consequently as “ô” (like in “hot”), so that olovelona is pronounced hôlôvelôna. On the level of prosody, spirits may speak very slowly or sometimes in a quick and staccato way. Morphologically they exercise great freedom. Words are twisted by adding and leaving out prefixes and suffixes, making nouns out of verbs or vice versa, and suspending the grammatical rules of ordinary language. On the level of syntax, the spirits’ sentences may be short and phrases are repeated. The sentences are often marked by simplifications such as the omission of articles and conjunctions (such as ny, dia, sady, fa, no, mba). The second and third person pronouns (ianao, izy) are often avoided as subject. On the other hand, spirits often use personal pronouns when they refer to themselves, sometimes irregularly in the definite form (like Marofero’s spirit: “Tsy mamono hôlôna izaho a”—“I do not kill people”). Ruptures and ellipses are usual. With regard to lexis, the spirits integrate into their speech words that belong to a distinct spirit vocabulary that is more or less shared. Some words are shared by all spirits, while others seem more idiosyncratic. The use of such words varies according to the association between the spirits; the speech of spirits who appear in the same ritual contexts are more similar than that of spirits who do not, perhaps indicating the process of learning and improvisation implicit in the trance performance.

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For instance, they use loanwords or linguistic features from other Malagasy dialects, freely incorporating them into Betsimisaraka speech. For example, the tromba word for rice is voamalilika or voamalilike (“small grains”), which in Betsimisaraka would be pronounced voamadinika; the transformation of the “d” and “n” to “l” in spirit speech is a typical trait of the Sakalava dialect. Other examples are oly (medicine) instead of ody, and bilike (small ) instead of bitika. Although people claim that the spirits speak the dialect of the area they come from, this dialect is distinguished by the accent more than anything else, and the proportion of loanwords from other dialects is limited. Moreover, typical Sakalava words, for instance, are used by spirits irrespective of their origin, and seem to be elements of the general tromba vocabulary. Many of the tromba words are euphemisms and metaphors. For example, Marofero’s spirit used the word biladimpanjakana, which means the government’s land, when referring to “the village” (the village aggregation). The word for land, bilady, is taken from the divination vocabulary (sikidy). Other examples are the words for pig, tsimankotrika (“which one does not cook”, recalling the common tromba taboo on pork), and for the moon and mirror, fanjava (clarifier, illuminator). There are numerous words I have heard being used by spirits, the origin of which I have not been able to trace; for example antseka = zaza (Betsimisaraka) = children; anjoarivavy, anjoarilahy = viavy, lahy, vady (Betsimisaraka) = woman, man, spouse; giligoara = toaka = rum; kata = ody (Betsimisaraka) = medicine, and so on. Some of the words I have heard are only used by one spirit (like kata, which I only heard one of Zafy’s spirits use), while others seem to be part of a common spirit vocabulary.47 Some of the typical traits of tromba speech described above characterise all kinds of oral discourse, such as repetition, rupture, or ellipsis. However, what these spirits do is to use these features of oral discourse much more freely and/or in exaggerated forms. In addition, spirit speech is marked by a number of features that clearly distinguish it from colloquial speech, both in sound and vocabulary. Changes in sounds and other language twists seem to be common traits of spirit speech in general. Peek (1994), for instance, refers to a number of studies that provide a wide spectrum of ethnographic evidence from all over Africa showing transformations of language simi-

47

A glossary of tromba words is included in the appendix III.

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lar to those transformations found in tromba speech.48 Tromba speech qualifies as an esoteric language or argot in that it is often difficult to understand, and sometimes is even incomprehensible for people who are unfamiliar with spirits. Only the inner circle of adherents fully understands it all, and the role of the interpreter is crucial. As an esoteric language, tromba speech share similarities with esoteric languages from all over the world (see Halliday 1976; Versteegh 2001).49 Such languages, jargons or argots are often connected to particular groups or subcultures. As Halliday (1976) notes, one typical feature of these languages, which he terms “anti-languages”, is partial relexicalisation, especially in areas that are central to the activity of the subculture. Tromba vocabulary largely consists of words directly connected to the ritual activity and curing practice, such as artefacts, medicines and so on.50 The distinct vocabulary reinforces the significance or the meaningfulness of the field denoted, and serves to focus attention on it. Obviously, it also helps to create the distinctiveness of the tromba world. Tromba speech suspends or alters aspects of ordinary language.51 While general usage of language tends to restrict linguistic variation, tromba speech “places the public language system of variables in a state of variation” (Deleuze and Guattari 1988, 97). The spirits are undisciplined. They speak unforeseeable sentences, and they play on words and displace them. Their speech is fragmented; they trick the order of things. Tromba language has a hybrid nature. Heterogeneous elements are combined, inverted and subverted, thereby creating a space for ways of using language by establishing a degree of plurality

48 See also Wafer’s description of spirit speech play in the Brazilian Candomblé, which he sees as one of the carnivalesque features of the cult (Wafer 1991, 65–68). 49 An example of esoteric languages pertaining to Madagascar is the secret language, kalamon’Antesitesy, or kalamo, spoken by the Anakara clan of the Antemoro. This is a language with a predominantly Arabic vocabulary, but with a Malagasy morphology and syntax. It is related to the written language sorabe, also secret, which is used by religious specialists among several other Antemoro clans (Beaujard 1998b, Munthe 1982; Versteegh 2001). 50 See appendix III. 51 Taussig draws a parallel between the yagé shamanist rituals in Colombia and the poetic language of Artaud’s theatre of cruelty, “its poetic language of the senses, language that breaks open the conventions of language and the signifying function of signs through its chaotic mingling of danger and humor, “liberating signs” (Taussig 1987, 442).

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and creativity. Thus, in a sense they create their own formality based on an aesthetic of combination, multitude and irregularity. When spirits speak, it is as if they struggle to express themselves, not quite comfortable with the language of humans. They speak a broken language, as indicated by the stuttering, the transformation of vowels, the irregularities and the simplified syntax.52 It is a stylised hyperbolic version of colloquial speech, a parody so to speak. Spirit speech reveals certain aspects of the nature of these beings. It highlights the spirits’ otherness and indicates their particular kind of power and their sovereignty. Variations in the modes of expression between the different spirits underscore their individuality and their autonomy. By breaking the rules, the spirits demonstrate their power to transgress, as well as their difference in terms of agency and presence. The simplistic structure, the lack of modifiers (mba, moa etc.) and the emphasis on “I” also make spirit speech appear more direct and cut to the bone than what is usual in colloquial speech, and emphasise the authority of spirits. They “possess discourse” (de Certeau 1996, 30), so to speak. However, spirit speech does more than tell us something about the spirits’ nature; it also tells us something about the force of spirit speech. Spirits manipulate the speech of humans to convey their voice and their particular power. The words of the spirits are both constitutive and efficacious; they impinge on reality in a direct and concrete way. Closure When the participants have finished bathing and the spirits have departed after completing their conversations, the gods, ancestors, spirits and the water are again invoked. Like the opening invocations referred to earlier in this chapter, the closing invocations I recorded vary in length and complexity, although they all follow the same pattern. The ancestors and the spirits are sometimes named, and sometimes not. They are told that the Volambita is over, that everyone is finished with requests for forgiveness and help, and that people are about to eat. Finally, they are invited to join the meal: “Here is the

52

New spirits struggle more to articulate themselves through the language of humans than spirits who have been with a medium for some time. It is perhaps through the use of language that the process of mutual adjustment between spirits and mediums and the process of socialising spirits are most clearly revealed.

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cooked rice, here are the cooked chickens!”53 The more lengthy invocations elaborate on these matters and repeat them, for example in calls for blessing: “Bring the water from east of the head and bless the people here!”,54 and in requests for prosperity, health and rice. Then the meal is served, with the mpañano tromba and their assistants eating first, followed by the men, and finally the women and children. When all have eaten, everyone packs up and returns to the house of the mpañano tromba in charge of the formal closing of the ritual. They gather again, and a speaker addresses the gods, ancestor, spirits and audience: We call you gods, male god, female god! We call the ancestors and indeed the sacred people sitting on/living in people’s bodies. We made the invocation yesterday evening in order to clear the way. The way was rendered clear, and we came here to bathe: children, elders, men, women. We felicitate because god has given us the good done. Indeed the ancestors. The work we have done is finished, and in this we have to evoke the matter of the rum. [To the audience:] You are not chased home, [those who want may] sleep in my house. Mine was the announcement. May god grant all of us the things we search for. [We] search for children, [we] search for rice, [we] search for cattle. This is what we ask the four cardinal points, the eight directions of the earth. Those who were assembled here, é!55

Imagination and ritual dynamics—a synthesis In the previous chapter and this chapter I have explored the tromba rituals through descriptions and analyses of ritual structure, various elements and events. Looking at the rites overall, there are three features that I consider as especially important to their dynamics. First, these rituals are describable in terms of combination of order and 53

Indro ny vary masaka, indro ny akoho masaka! Tondrao ranon’ny antsinanan-doha afafazo aminy olona itôña! 55 Miantso añareo zañahary, zañahary lahy, zañahary vavy. Miantso amin’ny razana, indrindra fa amin’izareo olo-masiña mipetraka amin’ny vatanteñan’olona. Ka nañano tsitsika lahaly mangavan-dalana, voazava ny lalana dia tonga eto isika hisetra, madinika, maventy, lahy, vavy. Arahabaina isika moa fa fahasoavana nomen’Andriamanitra antsika. Indrindra fa ny razana. Vita ny asa nataontsika ka eo añivon’izany dia eto amin’ny toerana aloha dia tsy maintsy mamoaka ny raharaha momba ny toaka. Ny hody tsy hitoravana, hatory an-trañon’ny tena. Fa ny ahy dia filazana. Fa enga Andriamanitra dia samy ambin’ny zavatra hotadiaviny avy isika. Hitady zaza, hitady vary, hitady aomby. Izany no angatahina amin’ny zoron-tany efatra, lafin-tany valo. Izay nivory teto é! 54

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disorder. A second quality is the presence of play. Finally, although tromba rituals concern healing, they bring into the open both destructive and generative forces. Order and disorder All tromba rituals share the same basic structure; they all contain the same basic sequences, and these sequences are chronologically ordered in the same way. The rombo always consists of invocation, singing and spirit manifestations and closure; the misetra am-pitsaràna consists of invocation, spirit arrivals, bathing of the clients and closure. During the Volambita and Farataona celebrations chickens are sacrificed and the ceremonies ends with a communal meal before the formal closure. While the rombo always takes place during the night, the misetra ampitsaràna always starts in the morning and ends in the afternoon. The rituals are all performed in the forest and are organised at points of time that are generally perceived to be particularly significant and powerful. The different circles perform the rituals in similar ways. Having attended one ritual, one can easily recognise the different phases of the ritual when attending other rituals. Nevertheless, in my descriptions I have stressed not only the shared overall sequential order, but also the variations between the different groups and the uniqueness of each event. A closer look at the details reveals how each mpañano tromba develops their own particular styles within the frames of the basic structure. The aesthetics of variation and improvisation are major characteristics of tromba rituals and underline how these rituals can be understood as ongoing processes of creation. Unpredictability is typical of all tromba rituals on other levels as well, perhaps most perceptible during the ritual bath. Unforeseen events may put rituals in danger, and disturb or prolong the ceremony. Besides, one never knows what the spirits will do or say. Tromba rituals are composite forms, in the sense that they draw on fragments taken from other worlds or domains. This organising principle of aesthetic composition characterises the tromba world as a whole, included ritual practice. Many of the ritual elements are drawn from other local and non-local contexts. The invocations for instance, belong to a genre of ritual oratory primarily associated with ancestral rituals. Ritual elements and artefacts—such as rum, white clay and cattle horn—are also used in practices like ancestral rituals and divination. Some of the songs are also sung in circumcision

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rituals. Furthermore, the sorcery actualised in the ritual is also part of everyday life. The divination and curing practices have unmistakeable similarities with those practices of diviner-herbalists outside the tromba context, being based on local and Malagasy ideas of curing and medicine. Likewise, even the ritual bath echoes the ritual baths of different kinds performed elsewhere in Madagascar, for example the Merina royal bath and other celebrations involving water in rituals of blessing (Bloch 1986; 1989), the bathing of royal relics among the Sakalava (Feeley-Harnik 1991; Lambek 2003) and the ritual baths among the Temanambondro (Thomas 1997). The process of empowerment, and the cleansing and expurgation of guilt and chastisement resonate with similar ideas and practices found locally and elsewhere in Madagascar, such as in the ancestral cattle sacrifices (see Cole 2001). In the tromba practice in Marofatsy, fragments of such practices and ideas are selected, pieced together, recycled and elaborated on. Such fragments are reassessed, reassigned and amalgamated to form new meaningful wholes.56 Tromba rituals, then, can be characterised as a creative process of continuously making and remaking. The stories the older mpañano tromba told me about their first encounters with tromba, and the way they are able to point to the specific ritual elements they brought with them and which ones they left out, to some extent say something about how this process of creation actually unfolded. These stories also provide part of the background for understanding the current variety of tromba practiced in Marofatsy and elsewhere, as well as the variety of individual practices at the local level. What is more, it is crucial to emphasise that innovation and distinctive personal features are specifically cultivated and valued. Improvisation, innovation and variation enhance the performative power of the ritual, and are regarded as signs of the level of competence, power and strength of the mediums and the spirits. Most importantly perhaps is the institutionalisation of unpredictability as a prerequisite for ritual activity as such. To a certain degree, the constitutive rules of the rituals undermine

56 Emoff (2002) uses the term ‘composite making’ when describing similar aesthetic processes in spirit possession further north at the east coast Madagascar. In the Tamatave (Toamasina) region, he argues, this aesthetics represents a form of historical consciousness or a recollection of the past. By contrast, I will argue that tromba in Marofatsy is concerned with transcending the past and directs its attention towards the future, a thesis to be further developed in the next chapter.

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institutionalisation in the form of strict and repetitive ritual practices, both in its own imagery and in the social relations it produces, thus rendering the social organisation of the cult as loose and unstable. Following these characteristics, tromba rituals do not easily fit into standard anthropological definitions of ritual as repetitive and invariant behaviour (Bloch 1986; Connerton 1989; Humphrey and Laidlaw 1994; Rappaport 1979; Tambiah 1979). Ritual has been characterised and categorised with reference to the typical formal features, such as invariably formalised and stylised language with a limited repertoire of expressions, and the centrality of repetition and the “rhetoric of re-enactment” (Connerton 1989, 63–65). I do not wish to maintain that tromba rituals completely lack such features, or that these are unimportant. Tromba rituals are clearly structured, and the structure is more or less repeated in the same way each time a ritual is performed. But, within this structural frame, the rituals also have an open form within which unpredictable things may, and often do, happen. In several ways, the formal level is characterised by playfulness. Here, ritual formalisation and style do not stand in opposition to a multitude of expression modes. More specifically, the opposition suggested by Connerton—between a formalised and limited language in ritual on the one hand and the variation and subtlety of everyday communication on the other hand—seems to make little sense in this case. For instance, the speech of tromba spirits is stylised (though this style is marked by linguistic variability), but at the same time is often more direct and more subtle than what is accepted in daily life. As I mentioned in chapter 1, tromba rituals are not unique in the spontaneity of their form. Spirit possession rituals often escape conventional modes of describing and understanding ritual practices. This does not imply that spontaneity and innovation are absent in other kinds of rituals. Such elements have, however, often been disregarded in the literature. Anthropology has tended to grasp the reality of rituals by embuing them with an order that may be inappropriate. In Taussig’s words, “by and large anthropology has bound the concept of ritual hand and foot to the imagery of order, to such extent that order is identified with the sacred itself, thereby casting disorder into the pit of evil” (Taussig 1987, 442). Hence, ritual imagery has been characterised by unity, and the structuring process of ritual has been emphasised as the most important element. Even when ritual disorder has been recognised, as in Turner’s concept of anti-structure, the

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disorder has been considered as something that is brought under control through the ritual process. Related to this issue, Taussig argues elsewhere that the “great classical tradition” of anthropology yearns for harmony, narrative closure, and structural integrity and, therefore, cannot explain the magic of healing rites (Taussig 1993, 125–126). To explain such rites in terms of restoration of balance and resolution of contradiction does not capture the implications of the aesthetics of transgression that such rituals contain. As Taussig (1993) observes, It is the precariously contained explosion of the transgressive moment that allows for and indeed creates the “mimetic slippage” whereby reproduction jumps to metamorphosis, whereby the duplicating power of spirit (image) is also a self-transforming power—and hence a power for curing and for evil, transforming Being itself (126).

Similarly, in the context of tromba, the aesthetics of transgression is vital for the rituals’ transformative force. Tromba rituals, however, are marked by an interplay between disorder and order. “Yet even disorder implies the presence of order”, Taussig points out in his discussion of the Indian Yagé ritual in Colombia. He describes this ritual as an “ordered disorder” and “continuous discontinuity” (Taussig 1987, 443). Although both tromba and Yagé rituals do have elements that make continuity possible, they still resist descriptions in orderly terms. Still, transgressions depend on the existence of order. The dynamics created through interplay between order and disorder in tromba resonates with the way Deleuze and Guattari (1988) describe the dynamics of language. Order and disorder, they argue, or rather the constant and the variation, are integral to each other. Just as the variation creates structure, the variation is itself systematic (ibid., 93). According to Deleuze and Guattari, this is a fundamental characteristic of all kinds of signifying systems or ‘regimes of signs.’ And since all regimes of signs involve pragmatics, they also allow for potential transformation. Borrowing the terminology of Deleuze and Guattari, while all signifying systems contain this interdependent relationship between the constant and the variation, something happens when the tromba world combines many heterogeneous regimes of signs. Elements from these regimes are ‘deterritorialised’ and thrown into a new chain of continuous variation. The constants of other systems become variables in the becoming of a new regime. It is this pragmatics involving the mixing of different regimes of signs, the

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rupture with these regimes, together with the transformational character of this process, that characterise the tromba world. The different constituents and the fragments from other regimes are subjected to a generative and transformational pragmatics so that their own limits are pushed. In other words, tromba imagination exploits the creative potential inherent in the different regimes and adds something new. As a consequence, the tromba world is in a constant process of creation or “autonomous becoming” (Deleuze and Guattari 1988, 106). Play and unpredictability: cosmology and ritual dynamics One dimension of the transgressive aesthetics of the tromba rituals is play. In chapter 4 I mentioned that people who engage in tromba activity say that tromba is both curing ( fitsaboana) and play (kilalao). In a number of ways, the playfulness is present throughout the tromba rituals, from the creative elaboration of the ritual symbolism and the way the rituals are marked by unpredictability, to the spirit dance and speech, and the burlesque and comic spirit behaviour. Comedy and burlesque behaviour appear to be recurrent dimensions of spirit possession in general. Many scholars have suggested a connection between possession rituals and carnival. Turner, for instance, regarded both phenomena as belonging to what he called “subjunctive moods of culture” (Turner 1988). He considered both as liminal institutions, since they take place between, rather than completely outside, the established structures of society. Turner interpreted the elements of carnival in ritual within the frame of his overall ritual theory: as forms of liminality that play a functional role for anti-structure, and are prerequisite for the structuring process. I would maintain, however, that within the context of tromba, the issue is not so much to control disorder as, as it is to recognise it as a persistent element manifesting the constitutive forces of existence. Thus, heterogeneity marks the ‘communitas’ produced, instead of homogeneity in Turner’s sense (see Taussig 1987, 442). Bakhtin’s writings on carnival have been an important source of inspiration for several studies of rituals with carnivalistic dimensions.57 A major concern for these studies has been the role or function of

57

See for instance Boddy 1989; Kelly & Kaplan 1990; Wafer 1991.

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such rituals vis-à-vis society. The general perspective tends to regard such rituals as being opposed to official structures, and as challenging the dominant social order. As a result, it is often the sociological or political implications of Bakhtin’s work that have received most of the attention. However, in the present context, I would like to draw the attention towards another of part of Bakhtin’s analysis, namely the way he links the carnivalistic forms of expression to cosmology and life forces. Several aspects of Bakhtin’s descriptions and analysis of the carnival resonate with my own observations of the tromba rituals. For Bakhtin, carnivalism characterises certain kinds of popular forms of expression which constitute cultural undercurrents that run through European society alongside the official, political ceremonies. He viewed the carnival as a celebration of renewal, revival and change and, in certain pre-Christian and oriental rituals, he saw traces of what he considered to be the roots of the carnival, particularly those rituals related to fertility rites. Carnival imagery is connected to “the biocosmic circle of cyclic changes, the phases of nature’s and man’s reproductive life. The components of these images are the changing seasons: sowing, conception, growth, death” (Bakhtin 1984a, 24–25). The typical features of the carnival are phenomena in the process of transformation, in a state of becoming. Likewise, the carnival world is marked by ambivalence and contradictions. Concretely, this is manifested in such features as eccentric behaviour; inappropriate speech and performances; breaks with accepted norms of behaviour, including manners of speaking; and symbols of decay and purification. Comedy, parody, exaggeration and not least the carnivalistic laughter, which he sees as regenerative, are other typical elements. As Bakhtin (1984) maintains, “All images of the carnival are dualistic; they unite within themselves both poles of change and crisis: birth and death (the image of pregnant death), blessing and curse (benedictory carnival curses which call simultaneously for death and rebirth, praise and abuse, youth and old age, top and bottom, face and backside, stupidity and wisdom)” (126). Moreover, he explains that the “[c]arnival celebrates the shift itself; the very process of replaceability” (ibid., 125). For Bakhtin, the play, the burlesque elements and the laughter may be understood as linked to, or as manifestations of, the forces of life. The playfulness of the carnival is not perceived as meaningful in itself, but gains it’s meaning through the way it is linked to spiritual and ideological dimensions. In the carnival, the spiritual or cosmic forces are brought down to earth and body, to the material level. Although

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carnival in its deepest sense touches on the ultimate questions of life, such questions are not given any resolution in any abstract philosophical or religious dogmatic sense, but are instead played out “in the concretely sensuous form of carnivalistic acts and images” (Bakhtin 1984b, 134). Such images and acts are dynamic, diverse and vivid. Similarly, in tromba rituals the playfulness that unfolds is more than a surface phenomenon. It is deeply embedded in the cosmology and the dynamics of the ritual process. In order to continue pursuing this link between formality, cosmology and ritual process, I have borrowed from Handelman’s useful analysis of play and the connection he makes between play and uncertainty, in what he refers to as the “precariousness of play” (Handelman 1990). According to Handelman (1990), there is an affinity between the idea of play and uncertainty, identified with the unpredictable play of forces in flux. He maintains that “In many traditional cultures, such uncertainty, and its concomitant indeterminacies, resonates deeply with conditions that were antecedent to the creation of cosmos, or that were integral to this” (63). Qualities of instability, fragmentation and reconstitution pervade such cosmologies, and the interplay of such forces constitutes a vital element in the premises of their metaphysics. It is instability more than stability that is the natural order of things. He goes on to state that “The characters that populate these cosmologies tend to be positional and transmutive types, not enduring centres of gravity” (ibid., 64). The tromba spirits and their world fit well into this picture. In the tromba rituals, the idea of flux is epitomised in the concept of hasina, and concretely and materially manifested in the running water as the ultimate, constituent source of life forces. Uncertainties that run through the rituals are manifestations of the uncontrollable forces of the cosmos, some being beneficial and some being harmful. The ritual process entails both the recognition of such forces and the effort to tame or control them. Through the ritual, people both recognise the unpredictable and try to make their lives more predictable by actively engaging these forces and ensuring their continuous flow. Destructive and generative forces Earlier in this chapter I pointed out that the timing of the rituals is linked to moments when the flow of hasina is most intense. Throughout the ritual, along with the ritual objects and the ritual acts, the presence of spirits and the ritual bath contribute to this concentration and

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materialisation of hasina, as concretely embodied and experienced. As stated earlier, hasina is a sacred power or potency, the power to affect changes in any sense. It is the force of changeability, and it embraces the constructive as well as destructive constituent forces of existence. Even the harmful aspects, such as sorcery, are present in ritual. When attending these rituals, I first considered the sorcery attacks and other forms of pollution to be something that disturbed the procedure of ritual events, and I reacted with impatience while I waited for the “real thing”—the ritual bath—to continue. As I slowly discovered that the interplay of destructive and generative forces runs like a thread throughout the rituals, I began to realise that, far from being disturbances, such events articulated something very essential to the ritual process. The concern about sorcery within the ritual frame was a powerful recognition of the destructive forces in the world. The destructive and the generative forces were far from being remote from each other, but were more like two sides of the same coin, inextricably tied to each other. Sorcery is the negation of curing, yet the ability to heal implies the ability to harm. The productive potential of the ritual depends on the fact that the ritual contains its inverse. In this sense the significance of sorcery within the frame of the rituals extends to the level of personal conflict. It highlights the fact that human agency has the power to stop the flow of productive hasina for others. Sorcery articulates the ambiguities of sociality, but also reveals how such ambiguity is linked to cosmological and ontological assumptions about the world and the fundamental constituents of existence. As Kapferer (1997) contends, “[in] sorcery, human being is in struggle with itself and with the worlds of its own invention” (298). The ambiguity of the generative and destructive is revealed on several levels. For instance, the spirits are either good or bad, or both. They may be demanding and punishing, but also amicable and beneficial. They may provoke terror and fear but also laughter. The spirits have authority, but this authority may also be questioned. Since they may speak the truth while also being nasty and tricky, spirits are sometimes trusted and and sometimes distrusted. They are unpredictable; one never knows what they will do in the end. As Ravao’s husband said (chapter 7), during the Volambita “the troubles on earth will come out.” The ritual bath involves both judgement and blessing. It reveals a person’s guilt (heloka) and blame (tahiña, tahy). Thus, the pollution involved is purified and carried away by the running water. Although the aim is to restore peace

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and order by pleasing and amusing those spirits that participate in the nightly rombo, the various attempts to fulfil the spirits’ demands, along with the performance of the ritual bath and the sacrificial communal meal, indicate that the restoration of peace and order is never certain. Furthermore, although the ritual bath is a site of restoration, it is also a site of struggle. This is the paradox of the tromba rituals: the effort to tame and control that which is not controllable. Yet, in order to gain access to the power of hasina, control needs to be sought. If people seek to gain control over generative power through ritual, they may also gain control over, or perhaps be controlled by, its destructive potential as manifested in sorcery. For instance, this is evident in the explanations of how the mpañano tromba may become sorcerers when they transgress or overestimate their own abilities when they “play with medicine” (milalao fanafody) and ultimately lose control. In this sense, “good medicine” may easily become “bad medicine”. Tromba is about empowerment. Tromba is a source of power and a means to transfer power to people. Actions, elements and parts of tromba rituals reveal aspects of its power. Power is revealed through music, dance and trance; through entertainment, comedy and joy; through devoted ritual acts and powerful substances; through fearful spiritual attacks; through excited playing with danger; through careful and thorough discipline of the clients; and through the creative play on symbols and imagery. The power revealed is the very power of existence, of production and destruction, of reproduction and transformation. Thus, danger and destruction add to the potency of this power, as a vital part of its transformative force. But, while the destructive potential of hasina is a prerequisite of its power and efficacy, it is also this potential that may make people suffer. Making and remaking connections The ordered disorder of the tromba world—its continuous chain of variation—indicates that the cosmology at work diverges from conventional conceptions of cosmology as an ordered totality. This is a cosmology that lacks a centre of gravity in the form of an encompassing deity, as found in monotheistic religions. The cosmology of the tromba world bears resemblances with Deleuze’s concept of the fold, as an ontology of becoming, multiplicity and differentiation as opposed to a cosmology of statis, solidity and oneness. The unity of

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this cosmology is better described as a continuously differentiating entirety, hence marking the importance of water, with its infinite circulation, its fluidity, its waves and its flow. The qualities of water illustrate the totality’s kind. The cosmological forces at play take form as a flux or infinite movement. Like the fold, it has no fixed borders or endings, since its ‘inside’ is always in touch with its ‘outside’ like “a sheet of paper divided into infinite folds or separated into bending movements” (Deleuze 1993, 18). The way the ‘inside’ constantly touches the ‘outside’ is what makes connectivity stand out as the key feature of the tromba imaginary. Connectivity, the making and remaking of connections, is at heart of the ritual process and is vital to its dynamics. Tromba concerns existential issues in the Betsimisaraka thought and life world. For a people whose daily life is a life and death struggle, spirit possession is a powerful and intense expression of the forces of life and death. The tromba rituals articulate with, and work upon, the fundamental and existential premises of life, its ambiguities and contradictions. For the tromba practitioners, the tromba rituals establish a link to the creative forces of reality. Through the rituals, they actively engage with these forces in order to gain control and shape their realities. In this sense the tromba rituals are more real than reality itself. The tromba world is a composite world elaborating on elements drawn from a variety of other worlds and domains. It draws upon multiple connections and creates new connections. The world that emerges is not a copy of these other worlds, but is instead “its own reality and lived as such” (Kapferer 1997, 180). While tromba in one sense is separate from the surrounding world, it is at the same time the dynamic play of and with the constituent forces of the world at large that forms the centre of the tromba rituals. Thus, tromba rituals are constitutive of reality in a broader sense: They impinge on human action and shape people’s life worlds. As the invocation cited in the beginning of this chapter reveals, people perceive tromba practice as a particular kind of “work” (asa), given to them by the gods. This work is a means by which they can make and remake connections with the forces that continuously make “the life of human beings on earth” and maintain the flow of hasina. The regularity and timing of the rituals link them to the specific moon phases and cycles of the year when hasina is most accessible. The rituals establish connections between otherwise disconnected spirits, and connections between spirits and people. People create connections with the spirits by various means. They use invocation, music and imaginative artefacts

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to call the spirits and bring them forth. The interpreter plays an important role as a connector in the conversations with the spirits. Relations between the spirits and people evolve once the ritual community is established. The relationship between people and spirits is marked by reciprocity. Spirits have their preferences, taboos and demands that must be met, and people receive curing and blessing in return. However, blockages may develop in the relation between spirits and their clients, and the rituals—especially the ritual bath—provide an opportunity to eliminate such blockages through negotiation and fulfilment of demands. In the ritual bath, people approach the source of both spirits and people, and the spirits act as mediators or connectors when they bathe their clients. For this source to be continuously productive, nothing must stop its flow. It is tempting to suggest a link between the overall flow of hasina, materialised for instance in the flows of rivers, to the circulation of blood in the human body. The mpañano tromba, like other local curers, make extensive use of massage in their curing. They massage clients who are suffering from various kinds of sickness, and pregnant women regularly receive massages during the whole pregnancy. I have seen both Marofero and Ralahy massage people with various problems in order to “make the blood flow” (mampandeha ny ra). Various bodily pains were explained as being caused by stoppages in the flow of blood. Perhaps one might claim that the blockages that make people sick or cause death stop the flow of hasina within the body as materialised in the flow of blood, and that this is the reason why massage is so important in curing. The ritual bath is the occasion when people actively engage in both preventing and eliminating the various blockages that may stop the flow of productive hasina, blockages that make people suffer. These blockages mainly consist of the filth, fault, or guilt that human beings are responsible for. When people intentionally or unintentionally make mistakes, they release the destructive potential of hasina in the form of blame or chastisement, which is channelled through gods, ancestors, spirits or other human beings (for instance parental anger) and the water itself. Malevolent spirits or other destructive forces may also cause blockages. Through the actions taken in the ritual bath, people re-establish the connections destroyed by blockages. Thus, the ritual bath contains the potential for reversing the process by which blessing has turned into blame. At the same time, the ritual is vulnerable

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Fig. 16. Marofero massages (manotra) a patient to make the blood flow.

of sabotage in the form of sorcery attacks. Thus, the ritual practice is also a powerful recognition of the centrality of human agency in its capability to both destroy and remake human worlds. It recognises the power of human agency and creativity.

CHAPTER NINE

TROMBA AND THE RADICAL IMAGINARY But social time is and always has to be (. . .) imaginary time. Time is never instituted as a neutral medium of or receptacle for external coordination of activities. Time is always endowed with meaning. —Cornelius Castoriadis

The way I have described tromba so far, as a constant process of creation, suggests that this is a practice oriented towards the future more than the past. Yet, the anthropological literature on Madagascar has tended to emphasise people’s relation to the past, not least in connection with religious practice. This emphasis is reflected in book titles such as The past in the present by Maurice Bloch, The weight of the past by Michael Lambek, Recollecting from the past by Ron Emoff, and Forget colonialism? Sacrifice and the art of memory by Jennifer Cole. The prominence of the ancestors and ancestral practices in the Malagasy society is reflected in research themes like remembrance, historical consciousness and the production of “imagined continuities” (Lambek 2002). As Cole (2001) contends, “Madagascar is a particularly compelling place to study social practices of remembering and forgetting because its peoples are famed for their memorializing rituals, which they have often altered in order to retain their historical identity in the face of change” (9). This attention towards topics like history and historical consciousness has been marked in anthropology in general during the last decades, not least in studies of ritual and spirit possession. Ritual, it has been argued, is a prominent mnemonic devise, and a key practice through which people construct their pasts. For instance, in his 1989 book entitled How Societies Remember, Paul Connerton argues that images of the past and knowledge of the past are conveyed and sustained by ritual performances, or, in his terms “commemorative ceremonies”. A few years later, Paul Stoller (1995) described Hauka possession as a form of embodied memory, and criticised earlier studies of spirit possession ceremonies for failing “to consider their relation to history” (27). However, this critique seems irrelevant to studies

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of spirit possession in Madagascar. In most studies of tromba, the connection between history and spirit possession has been an important theme, such as in the works by Emoff (2002), Estrade (1985), FeeleyHarnik (1978; 1989; 1991), Sharp (1993; 1995) and Lambek (1998; 2003). All these authors underline the close relationship between the tromba and local history, particularly the history connected to the royal dynasties of the west-coast Sakalava peoples. Examining the way time and relationship to the past is articulated in the Marofatsy version of tromba is crucial, not only because of the considerable weight this dimension has been granted in the literature on tromba in Madagascar as well as in the literature on spirit possession and ritual in general, but also because, I believe, it brings us even further in understanding the dynamics of tromba imagination and the way tromba is positioned in the world. In this chapter I argue that tromba in Marofatsy resists descriptions in terms of remembrance, or as a history production with a past inhabiting a living present. Here, the link between local history and tromba in Marofatsy is extremely loose. As a consequence, the case of tromba in Marofatsy may also serve as a corrective to anthropological literature that emphasises ritual as primarily a commemorative device. Variants of tromba and their relation to history Tromba originated among the Sakalava peoples on west coast Madagascar. There it was closely related to the rise of the Sakalava royal dynasties, probably as early as the sixteenth century. A central element of tromba Sakalava is the incorporation of history into the present. Sharp (1993) describes tromba Sakalava as “an indigenous form of recorded history where the Sakalava preserve knowledge of royal genealogies and, ultimately, of who they are more generally” (2). Among the Sakalava, tromba spirits are known historic personalities, mostly deceased members of the royal lineages. Yet, with the spread of tromba, other kinds of spirits have been incorporated into the tromba spirit world, although the royal spirits still play a dominant part on the west coast. Tromba Sakalava is the most renowned variant of tromba in Madagascar. Nonetheless, tromba has reached all the coastal populations (Estrade 1985), and even the Comoro island of Mayotte (Lambek 1981; 1993). While the institution of tromba is marked by historical continuities, the fact that it has become geographically widespread also

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inevitably implies diversity in the many local ways of elaborating ritual practice. During its spread to other ethnic groups, and with its greater distance from the original centres of tromba activity, the tromba has more or less lost its connection to Sakalava royalties. Scholars who have studied tromba in Madagascar, however, have tended to define it as the cult of Sakalava royal dynasties. Incorporation of non-royal spirits is considered to be the “popularization” of tromba (Sharp 1993; 1995). Estrade’s (1985) broad study of tromba throughout the island strongly underlines the continuity, insisting that the cult’s main concern is the Sakalava royalties, whether the actors are conscious of it or not. Other kinds of tromba spirits are labelled as marginal and as intruders (ibid., 193–194). Despite its disconnection from Sakalava royalties, however, tromba among the Betsimisaraka is an organised practice with some striking continuities that make it recognisable. In addition to the spirit term tromba, these continuities include tromba emblems that seem to reappear in the various localities all over the island. Also worth mentioning are the similarities in the ways of categorising and differentiating spirits, and the centrality of curing practices throughout all tromba variants. Nevertheless, the people in Marofatsy and elsewhere in the Marolambo region have no idea of their tromba’s historical connection to the tromba found among the Sakalava. In fact, they are hardly aware of the existence of tromba Sakalava. They would never consider going on a pilgrimage to the tromba centres on the west coast, as people from other regions occasionally do. In spite of the continuities mentioned above, their way of practising tromba differs from its origins in significant ways. Centripetal versus fragmentary modes of historicity There are some important differences between the ways the Sakalava and the Betsimisaraka peoples articulate their relations to the past and inscribe themselves into the passage of time. Part of the explanation may be found in the contrasting political organisations. The Sakalava peoples occupying Madagascar’s west coast are organised as a collection of kingdoms centred on royal dynasties that were established as the result of disputes over succession and subsequent movement northward by newly founded dynasties (Feeley-Harnik 1978; 1991; Sharp 1993). Internally, the kingdoms are organised into ranked

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patrilineal clans consisting of the sovereign clans, the noble clans, and the commoners. These clans are not genealogically related, but linked by political and religious ties connected to the royal dynasty. The foundation of the Sakalava monarchy is the spiritual relationship between the royal ancestors and the people, with the monarch as the spiritual mediator. The Sakalava notion of history is, it is argued, primarily linked to the royal dynasty. As Feeley-Harnik (1978) formulates it, “Sakalava history is the history of the royal dynasties. Commoner histories are much less elaborate, telescoped like their genealogies and restricted primarily to their particular associations with the kingship” (403). In contrast to the Sakalava, the Betsimisaraka have never had a centralised kingdom, or any other form of centralised polity. The local societies are based on small independent patrilineages, with a strong ideal of local autonomy. Hence, while Sakalava identity is deeply rooted in Sakalava royal history, Betsimisaraka identity is based on the rejection of any centralised authority. This is reflected in the stories the Betsimisaraka peoples tell about their past, and the way they link themselves to this past. The contrasts between the Betsimisaraka and the Sakalava recall old debates in anthropology regarding the relationship between historical consciousness, politics and social organisation, debates that date back to structural functionalists like Meyer Fortes. Peoples without royal dynasties, Fortes (1949) argued, seem to live totally in the present, in contrast to peoples with a centralised political structure, who have a history. Their conception of time is radically different from each other. Since the days when Fortes wrote, anthropology has developed numerous methods for recognising the multiple ways societies construct their relationship with the past. The following statement by Castoriadis summarises the debate: Authors sometimes express themselves as though historicity belongs only to this category of societies, to which could be opposed ‘cold’ societies— where change would be marginal or simply non-existent, the essence of their life unfolding as stability and repetition—as well as societies ‘without history’, in particular so-called archaic societies, where not only do repetition and absence of change seem self-evident but another mode of relating to their own past and future seems to prevail, making them radically different from so-called ‘historical societies. These distinctions are not false and do, indeed, point to something important. They would become fallacious if we were to forget that to which they refer: different

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modes of historicity and not the presence of history here as opposed to the absence of history there (Castoriadis 1997a, 185).

According to Castoriadis, therefore, the social reality is, in a sense, always historical and exists as the union and tension between history made and history in the making. Thus, when studying non-centralised societies, we should look for other modes of historicity, in realms other than those articulated in stories about the past. Indeed, the lack of a central polity results in other modes of historicity among the Betsimisaraka, different from those modes found among the Sakalava. “For Southern Betsimisaraka, historical knowledge is above all a history of ancestors and their actions”, Cole writes (1996, 116; 1998b, 614). The local concept of history, or “tantara”, is primarily associated with ancestral genealogies, stories of arrival and ritual knowledge. This historical knowledge is spread and made available in many different contexts. History is embedded in practices, in places and in bodies, as much as in verbal narratives of the past. The continuity with the past is created and maintained through living on and cultivating ancestral land, through ancestral houses and places, through maintaining ancestral taboos and through the numerous ancestral rituals. History, then, is not constructed around rulers, but around the relationships between children and parents, or between the living and the dead. The memory of the ancestors is embedded in a number of practices and places that are important in daily life as well as in ancestral ritual practices. In short, while the history of the Sakalava has a centripetal force, the history of the Betsimisaraka may best be described as fragmented and dispersed. The ancestral past is linked to the present and future, and serves as a symbolic framework for both reproduction and transformation. As Cole (2001) has shown, parts of the colonial past have been assimilated and incorporated into local practices, and thus they have become a part of the official memory centred around the ancestors. However, those parts of the colonial past that were too painful and difficult to be assimilated, such as the 1947 rebellion, linger as a “subterranean brook” (Cole 2001). These memories are socially suppressed, but they continue to exist on an unofficial and individual level. Although these memories are, in many ways, something one tries to repress, they are, nevertheless, active in forming and organising people’s experience of, and attitude towards, the “outside world”, whether in the shape of government workers, churches, economic processes or political turbulence on the national level.

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Hence, without a doubt, the past is central for the Betsimisaraka way of defining their position in the world, and for their way of creating and recreating the social order. Yet, while the official work of memory is concerned with retaining local autonomy, the experiences of the colonial past serve as a constant reminder of their vulnerability when confronted with the outside world. The past may also be painful. Tromba and political history The centrality of history in tromba Sakalava is linked to its connection to the Sakalava royal dynasties. According to Feeley-Harnik (1978), Sakalava spirit possession has traditionally supported the comprehensive political and spiritual organisation of the living monarch. The practice became a means to convey divine power, as mediated through the royals, to the people. It has a political and religious function, but at the same time, the spirits also serve as “icons of history” (Lambek 1998, 107). The Sakalava tromba spirits are manifestations of known historical persons who were rulers and important royals. Hence, the practice both embeds and embodies historical knowledge. According to Sharp, an important dimension of tromba is social cohesiveness: the reproduction and remaking of the past based on a conception of a shared past, shared royal ancestors and shared territory. Sharp formulates it as follows: Thus tromba provides an encapsulation of Sakalava perception of their collective experience. It’s a form of ethno history, where dress, actions and stories of each generation of spirits reflect the nature of life in three epochs of time—pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial (Sharp 1993, 157).

Sharp situates tromba at the very centre of Sakalava society. Tromba possession, she holds, is the key feature of Sakalava identity and is a central and defining aspect of Sakalava culture. While constantly remaking the past, tromba also provides an arena for articulating experiences connected to the drastic changes to which Sakalava society has been exposed. It serves as a forum for critique as well as empowerment in the face of economic and political changes imposed on them from the outside. Similarly, Lambek (2003) describes how the tromba involves recognition of change, a “model of collective history-making and assimilation of change” (260). The contrast between tromba Sakalava and tromba Betsimisaraka is striking. The divergence between the Sakalava royal spirits and the

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Betsimisaraka non-royals clearly reflects differences in history and political organisation. The fact that the Sakalava royal spirits have disappeared during the passage of tromba possession to the Betsimisaraka area is hardly surprising. Given the lack of a centralised kingdom, the idea of royalty has no importance in the Betsimisaraka world. Here, it is first and foremost through the various ancestral practices that history continuously invades the present. Moreover, while tromba Sakalava has consolidated its societal position through centuries of continuous practice, the Betsimisaraka version, by contrast, has a very recent history. In this light, it is even more striking that the tromba Betsimisaraka seems to be so disconnected from local conceptions of history, with a cosmology separated from the world of local ancestors. In contrast to the central societal position of tromba Sakalava, which is closely tied to the production and reproduction of the social order, tromba Betsimisaraka is disconnected from the local ancestors who remain the most important idiom for the reproduction of the social order at the local level. For the Betsimisaraka, tromba is situated on the margins of society. Tromba and the configuration of the past The contrast between ways in which the Sakalava and Betsimisaraka versions of tromba structure time and create history needs further substantiation. Differences are obvious in the hierarchy of spirits. Ranking spirits according to age and gender based on pan-Malagasy ideas of power and difference seems to be common for all variants of tromba possession. The distinction between elderly, adult, young and child spirits is found in descriptions of tromba Sakalava as well as in Mayotte. However, there are some differences in the way these divisions are more specifically shaped. The spirits of tromba Sakalava are organised according to a genealogical hierarchy of descent groups, each of which is divided into generational groups. They reflect a historical chronology, each representing an epoch of time, including the pre-colonial period, the colonial period and the post-colonial period. The different epochs are reflected in the spirits’ personal histories, their behaviour, and their dress. In this way, the rituals become dramatisations of the royal genealogy and the historical epochs with which they are connected (Lambek 1998, 107–108; Sharp 1993, 146–158). This dramatisation of history is a fundamental feature of tromba Sakalava.

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With its chain of historical agents, genealogy is an effective device for structuring time and creating a sense of history. While the historicality of tromba Sakalava is formed out from generations of spirits bound together through the chain of genealogy, the tromba spirits of Marofatsy do not share the same organisational principle of genealogy, even though they belong do different age categories. For the Betsimisaraka, tromba spirits are not members of common descent groups, nor are they linked by any idea of succession, replacement or historical epoch. As we saw in chapter 5, most are not at all related to each other. Moreover, as Lambek (2003) explains, in tromba Sakalava, the same spirit may appear in widely dispersed communities, ranging from the south-west coast to 600 kilometers further to the north, and even in Mayotte, La Réunion, and France (135). By contrast, in the Betsimisaraka version the tromba spirits do not belong to a fixed pantheon containing a limited number of spirits. The same spirit does not appear in more than one medium. Although they belong to and are ranked by generational categories, the cluster of spirits for each medium differs in terms of kind, origin, personal history and past. In short, for the tromba Betsimisaraka, the power and authority of spirits in relation to the relative hierarchy of age should be understood as fundamental modes of being, or as basic organisational principles of being. Apart from a temporal structure, historical references found in artefacts and symbolism may also add to the historicality of tromba practice. Since the spirits of the tromba Sakalava are dead royals belonging to a known genealogy, and since there is a body of collective memory connected to them, regardless of how widely distributed this knowledge may be (Lambek 2003, 134–137), the spirits appear to be more fixed than spirits found in the Betsimisaraka version. Thus, in the Sakalava version, the mediums carry clothes and symbols that signal the specific historical character by whom they are possessed. This contrasts with the more individualised spirits of the tromba Betsimisaraka. Here, their identities are configured by elements such as age, gender and geographic origin, and are expressed in dress, props and behaviour. Power and knowledge are reflected in their professions, deeds and ritual tasks. The way they dress expresses their individuality as well as their kind. Some spirits have a preference for specific colours like green or white. While red is the dominant colour recurring in all tromba rituals (in cloths, flowers, tablecloths for the altar, etc.), the commonality of red does not imply that the colour carries the same

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connotations everywhere. In the Sakalava practice, red is specifically associated with one of the two major royal lineages—the descendants of the red (zafin’ny mena)—and is especially associated with the spirits from pre-colonial times. Other spirits are prohibited from wearing this colour. In tromba Betsimisaraka by contrast, the choice of colour and cloth is a result of the individual spirit’s preferences and, to a certain degree, its hierarchical position (for example, the leading spirits’ use the long red salaka cloth). No rule prohibits spirits of minor importance from wearing red clothes; in fact most spirits prefer red. Thus, red is locally associated with the tromba spirits. The choice of colour seems not to be casual; all over Madagascar red is associated with ancestral power, royalty, authority and power. In the Sakalava version, the colour of red is supplemented with white. White is connected to the two other main royal lineages: the descendants of the white (zafin’ny fotsy). In the Marofatsy tromba version, green is added as a third ritual colour. Interestingly, red, green and white are the national colours of Madagascar, and are represented in the Malagasy flag. When I asked people of the significance of these colours in the tromba context, they would explain that the colours represent the different categories of Malagasy people, or alternatively the nuances of skin colour of the Malagasy people; subsequently they also represent different kinds of spirits. As discussed in chapter 7, the mpañano tromba invoke the spirits by calling on the descendants of the red (zafin’ny mena), the descendants of the white (zafin’ny fotsy) and the e (zafin’ny maintso).1 However, when doing this, they do not call upon specific lineages, but rather the different kinds of spirits in a general sense. The categorisation might be seen as one of the remaining traces of the Sakalava origin of tromba, since the first two categories are the terms for the Sakalava royal lineages. Perhaps the third category was added because, for the Betsimisaraka, it is the colours rather than the royal lineages that make sense. It is worth noting that the judge-diviner (demisara) position in the Betsimisaraka hierarchy of spirits echoes the divining spirit Ndramisara in the Sakalava version. However, Ndramisara is a specific historical personage. In other words, although some features of the tromba Betsimisaraka point to

1 Green (maintso) is preferred to term dark skin colour instead of black (mainty), which is considered as derogatory and associated with slaves.

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a historical continuity in relation to its origin, these features have lost their specific historical referentiality. The implications of the loose or even absence of historical referentiality within the tromba Betsimisaraka becomes even clearer when considering how, in the Sakalava version, historical epochs are expressed in ritual practice. The Sakalava spirits from the colonial period are recognised by their style of dress and other items that are reminiscent of the colonial era, while the post-colonial spirits are distinguished by their association with cloth and items from a modern urban setting. Within the tromba Betsimisaraka by contrast, there is no dress code that connects the spirits with particular moments in time. So far, I have never met any Betsimisaraka spirit that uses items, clothes or anything else associated with a Westernised urban culture. It should be mentioned that the studies of tromba Sakalava are mainly based on fieldwork conducted in urban centres, where items such as sunglasses, cigarettes and Western clothes are common. Marofatsy, however, is altogher different. Isolated by the lack of roads and other means of communication, Marofatsy is a rural village located almost as far away from an urban centre as one can get in today’s Madagascar. Indeed, urban life seems remote from the world of the Betsimisaraka; few people have ever been to a town. Still, isolation alone may not explain the lack of Western and urban components. Even here the modern world has left its traces, and even here some people do manage to travel. However, if the Sakalava use tromba both as a collective construction of history and as a way to mediate conflicting experiences related to drastic change (Lambek 2003; Sharp 1995), tromba Betsimisaraka mediates conflicting experiences in a way that reinforces the strategy of everyday life. Through the tromba practice people create a universe almost devoid of historical temporality. What is left then when the tromba universe of the Betsimisaraka lacks organising principles of historical narration and a universe organised according to a temporal structure with the basic idea of the past’s invasion of the present? As we have seen, the Betsimisaraka share many of the cultural idioms of the Sakalava, such as cult emblems and ways of differentiating spirits, although these idioms have been shaped by local experiences, the local setting, local cultural practices and local politics. Tromba imagination, I suggest, works upon local notions of power and the way this power affects and invades people’s lives. The various constituents that shape the Betsimisaraka spirits are manifested in different sources of power. Like the Sakalava spirits, they appear

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as personified power, as icons of power, but in contrast to them, the power is not drawn from history in a specific sense. A world out of time Tromba as I encountered it in Marofatsy also differs in some respects from tromba further north in the Betsimisaraka area, as described by Emoff (2002). Based on fieldwork in Toamasina, the provincial capital, he considers the tromba to be a form of collective remembering, where elements of various pasts are recollected and reworked. This process involves “collectively extracting from the past to empower, embellish and make sense of the present” (Emoff 2002, 106), he argues. In this coastal multi-ethnic urban society, mediums are possessed by Sakalava royal spirits, as well as Merina and foreign (French, American) spirits, some of which are associated with the colonial period. In contrast to Marofatsy, Betsimisaraka spirits in the Toamasina version appear to be few in number. In Emoff’s analysis, the tromba ceremonies are spaces where the Betsimisaraka of Toamasina can “imprint a local royal order onto a present that could not claim royal histories of its own” (ibid., 126). As in Marofatsy, the tromba in Toamasina integrate the power of the Other. However, the difference lies in who these powerful Others are. Furthermore, as in Marofatsy, the tromba in Toamasina transcends historical and temporal sequentiality, so that the boundaries between past, present and future are blurred (ibid., 111). Yet, in Toamasina the traces of the past seem to be displayed more clearly and distinctly than in Marofatsy, so that the tromba world in Emoff ’s description appears to have a marked sense of “historicality”. The reasons for this variation in the emphasis on history are probably complex, and may derive from such factors as differences in the experiences of and attitudes towards the past between the rural population of Southern Betsimisaraka and the urban peoples further to the north. For instance, Emoff suggests that the way the tromba practitioners integrate foreign things into the tromba ceremony, the way they absorb and rework their power, may contribute to “the conciliatory demeanor that most tromba-istes seem to have found for their colonial past” (ibid., 111). As I see it, a “conciliatory demeanor” would not be an appropriate way to describe the tromba practitioners’ attitudes toward the colonial past in Marofatsy. The position of ancestors would also probably be different in an urban setting compared with a small village where the social order is founded on ancestries. It seems likely that the local ancestral past is of lesser

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importance in the public sphere of Toamasina. Besides, Toamasina is more approximate to the Sakalava region in several ways, both because it is situated further north, and because it is a town with a migrant population and with an infrastructure that facilitates travel. Occasionally, people from Toamasina even travel to the west coast to attend ceremonies at the tromba Sakalava centres. With regard to historicality, one could perhaps say that tromba in Toamasina lies somewhere in between the distinct appearance of the past in tromba Sakalava, and the vague or almost absent past in the tromba in Marofatsy. Although history does not form a structuring principle of tromba possession in the Marofatsy area, specific traces of the past sometimes appear. Among the ninety-five spirits I have observed and collected information on, a small number were explicitly connected to a historical point in time. One died in battle during the 1947 rebellion against the French colonial regime. A few others were said to have lived during the pre-colonial or the colonial periods. However, these connections to the past were never highlighted. The spirits’ personal histories were never elaborated in any great detail, and “historical” spirits did not differ from the others in any other way. For the most part, the spirits’ origin in time was unknown. Besides, the many nature spirits of non-human origin were not at all connected to any specific points in time. The scattered traces of the past are not configured and encompassed into a totality, as inscriptions into a story of the passage of time. The clips and glimpses of the past are not so much invocations of the past as they become one of many power attributes, one of many possible sources of power, upon which tromba imagery is constructed. The tromba world is not an integrated whole, although the elements it contains make sense and create a resonance in people. Looking for structuring patterns when studying tromba is a hazardous project, since image building has an almost endless array of possibilities. However, as previously described, common to all the tromba spirits in the Marofatsy version is the fact that they are not ancestors belonging to the local lineages, nor does their imagery consist of elements that connect them to a Westernised urban culture. The lack of historical temporality in the tromba Betsimisaraka is a feature more striking than the few traces of the past that might be found. The absence of a historical narrative structure and the breakdown of chronology and historical time, provide the tromba world with an aura of timelessness. It is as if people, through the tromba practice try to

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overcome, surpass or transcend time and free themselves from constraints imposed by time. The Betsimisaraka tromba world is comprised of a multitude of powerful images in a timeless universe. Traces of the past are fused with other powerful images, and reworked in the imaginative process. This is not to say that the tromba as practiced by the Betsimisaraka is ahistorical, but that it is characterised by a particular mode of historicity. Imagination is always conditioned and constrained by history (Castoriadis 1997a). Tromba is, like all cultural activity, obviously informed by the past. However, in order not to obscure the way the tromba activity may also be seen as an effort to surpass the constraints of history, as well as an effort to emphasise the innovativeness and creativeness of the practice, the term imagination seems more apt than remembrance. To characterise this process in terms of memorial practice would imply a reduction. The social-historical time of the tromba world is instituted in a modality that is different from other modes of historicity, both within the society of which it forms a part, and from the tromba Sakalava. It is a particular way of instituting historical temporality. Although the past may contribute to the images’ weight and force, in tromba these are reworked and used not as a means to evoke specific pasts, but as eternal images of power. One example is the use of the colour red, which connotes royalty in a general sense, but which lacks any reference to specific royals. The imaginative process gains some of its force through detaching the images of the past from their “pastness”, to produce eternal and dynamic sources of power. Thus, images of diverse forms of Malagasy power emerge, images that transcend the passage of time, or any imposed change. The diverse images of power become images and materialisations of the transcendental power of hasina. Ancestral constraints and the burden of the past If the Betsimisaraka seek to create continuities to the past through the diverse forms of ancestral-centred memory production, it seems as if they also seek to erase history in the tromba realm. The tromba world is a world apart, in a sense incommensurable with the ancestors and the world associated with them. Why then do the villagers of Marofatsy and other villages in the Marolambo region seek an alternative source of power?

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The ancestral blessing is essential as a source of life and well being, and for the making and remaking of social order. However, successful negotiation with ancestors has its costs. The relationship with the ancestors involves constraints as well as blessing. Ancestral power is ambivalent; ancestors have the capacity to harm and punish as well as to bless. Moreover, the ancestors are demanding and greedy; they need sacrifices, and in particular they need cattle.2 Tromba provides another path to blessing, health and prosperity. It may offer alternative explanations for illness and misfortune, and thus alternative means for dealing with these problems. Death, illness and misfortune may equally be explained as the work of malcontent spirits as that of angry ancestors. This implies a few advantages. Ancestral harm is a threat to the whole village; spiritual harm has fewer consequences and tends to be more directed towards the individual. Spirits do not demand cattle. They need mediums because they have work to do. Although tromba spirits prescribe taboos and demand payments, the material and social costs are not as high as those demands made by ancestors. Also, the spirits are easier to manipulate. Thus, tromba may often provide an easier option, and a means of escaping the constraints imposed by the ancestors and the ancestry. Nevertheless, as I mentioned earlier, some tromba spirits are maternal or affinal ancestors, with roots in remote villages and towns. While these spirits are ancestors, they are peripheral to the local ancestral cult since they do not inhabit the land in or around the village. The existence of maternal and affinal ancestral tromba seems to confirm my suggestion, rather than weaken it or serve as the exception that proves the rule. Tromba draws on alternative sources of power and blessing outside the lineage. This explanation should be understood on the level of politics or structure, not on the level of the troubled individual. Nevertheless, people choose the type of diviner they approach, and by selecting a tromba curer it seems likely that their problems will be traced to spirits just as often as to ancestors. Besides, the spirits may be used in much of the same way as one uses the ancestors, 2 Cole (2001) describes the relationship between ancestors and the living as “positive” in its ideal conception. However, a relationship “always contains the potential to ‘turn’ (mamadika), meaing that either party may betray the other.” When, as Cole points out, “ancestors are greedy”, they tend to make “demands of the descendants that those descendants barely can fulfill” (88–89). Thus, ancestral sacrifice is not only about seeking ancestral blessing, but also about negotiating ancestral power, and trying to erase ancestral constraints (see Cole 2001, 191–194).

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for instance to bless and protect the harvest, to neutralise sorcery, to settle violations of taboo, and to seek wealth and wellbeing through the making of vows (mañefa voady). Why should one appeal to the ancestors to make a vow if the spirits can do the same without requesting a cow in return? Like the ancestors, the spirits too have a demanding nature, but what they ask for is quite minor when compared to ancestral demands.3 Moreover, people may seek tromba assistance when ancestral sacrifices fail to work. Tromba practice produces a world that is seemingly unchanging in an ever changing world, and in a world where history may be as much a burden as a source of power. The story people tell about the past is a story of decline. It is a story of increasing vulnerability, of loss of autonomy, and of changes imposed on them by the outside world, changes that have left deep traces and tensions in the village community. The double colonisation, first by the Merina kingdom in the nineteenth century and then by the French, meant that local leaders lost their military power and their authority was reduced to ritual and lineage matters. Loss of autonomy was epitomised in the colonial policies of forced labour and taxation, in the numerous administrative and military means of controlling the population, and not least in the 1947 rebellion. One of the most traumatic experiences during the rebellion was the burning of the villages, the houses and the fields. This not only meant the loss of relatives, food and possessions, but, since houses and land are inhabited by ancestral hasina, the destruction of the village also meant the destruction of ancestral hasina or the creation of blockages to its flow, thereby releasing its destructive potential. Although villagers sacrificed cattle afterwards, many were still convinced that it was not sufficient to restore the damage caused by the French repression. People claim that colonialism also intensified inner tensions in the village. The population increased, but colonial law prevented the village from splitting into smaller units; they had no place to go. In fact, many tensions are rooted in disputes over land. Nevertheless, in the face of external pressure and fear, people managed to stick together,

3 One factor that may encourage people to turn towards the tromba may be the fact that most diviners in Marofatsy are tromba mediums. Since it is these persons who establish the causes to a problem and the means to deal with the problem, one could wonder whether the diviners/mpañano tromba take this opportunity to reinforce the tromba institution’s position in the village.

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and the tensions did not explode until the end of colonialism in 1960. What is more, in the late fifties the last strong village head died, and his successor was weak and incompetent, people say. The ancestries began to splinter. As a result of recurrent conflicts, the village now has five ancestries instead of the former two, each with separate prayer posts and tombs. Even the ancestors have been divided. The decline is a recurrent theme in songs sung in ancestral rituals and in everyday discourse. People are concerned and worried. However, the possibility that the ancestors have become less powerful is beyond the borders of what can be uttered, and probably even of what is thinkable. Villagers are facing an unsolvable problem when they try to cope with the changes through existing frames of interpretation. Cole and Middleton (2001) argue that the French colonial effort to appropriate, regulate or weaken ancestral power was subverted by the population; people used colonial symbols to reconstitute ancestral power. Among the Betsimisaraka, this means that the ancestors have become more demanding than ever, and people have to continue to fulfil ancestral demands to ensure future prosperity. The people perceive themselves as being caught in a vicious circle, forcing them to perform more rituals to less effect, which in turn reinforces the ancestral power and their descendants’ loyalty (Cole and Middleton 2001). There is a fundamental contradiction between the basic notion of ancestors as a source of power and wealth, and the political and economic decline people are experiencing locally. Whether the decline is conceived of in terms of weakened ancestors or more demanding ancestors, the result is the same, namely the past has become a burden.4 Not surprisingly, tromba activity increased dramatically during colonialism, with local development exploding from 1947 onwards. All this considered, tromba might be seen as a means to escape the burden of the past, both in the sense of ancestral constraints and of past experiences that have created a sense of vulnerability and loss of 4 The importance of ancestors and descent ideology is pervasive all over Madagascar. However, several studies provide examples of how local ritual practice has been affected by social change. For instance, Feeley-Harnik (1984) shows how Sakalava responses to colonial rule involved a shift in emphasis and attention from the living Sakalava rulers to the dead, in what she refers to as a political economy of death. A parallel development is observed by Middleton (1999), who describes a rise of deathand tomb-based symbolism among the Karembola under colonialism. Woolley (2002) shows how social change (migration to new land) may encourage people to seek new sources of power (see chapter 4).

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power. Tromba has filled a power vacuum, so to speak, and represents an autonomous and timeless world. It is a world freed from the constraints of the past’s re-inscription into the present, and maybe even from the passage of time itself. As such, it also articulates the ambiguities and paradoxes of people’s experience of time or of history. Tromba has become an additional source of power in a world where local autonomy is continuously threatened, and the general conditions of life have deteriorated. Tromba as transhistory “Every symbolism is built on the ruins of earlier symbolic edifices and uses their materials”, Castoriadis notes, “even if it is only to fill the foundations of new temples, as the Athenians did after the Persian wars” (Castoriadis 1997a, 121). Although tromba was borrowed from other groups, it developed locally in what Castoriadis would term “a free creation”, one that was conditioned but not determined by established practices, including existing tromba practices elsewhere, other institutions, beliefs, history and politics. Tromba was introduced locally at a specific moment in time when the people were suffering from colonial oppression, loss of autonomy, the violence of the 1947 rebellion and the repression that followed. Ruptures provide a particularly fertile ground for what Castoriadis calls the radical imaginary—the ability of humans to imagine other than what is. The radical imaginary is a resource for radical historical innovation, and for the development of new structures and institutions. The introduction of tromba seems to have released an immense burst of creativity, resulting in the continuation of innovation and play as characteristic marks of tromba practice. Thus, tromba practice is in a constant process of becoming; through it, people exploit the creative potential of culture. While history conditions cultural production, the way people see history and inscribe themselves into the passage of time varies, even within a community. The creative nature of the tromba world influences the way it relates to time and history. In this respect, tromba is no exception. This is a quality they share with many transformative social formations. As Deleuze and Guattari (1988) argue, “The so-called ahistorical societies set themselves outside history, not because they are content to reproduce immutable models or are governed by a fixed structure, but because they are societies of becoming (war societies,

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secret societies, etc.). (292)”. History told belongs to the dominant forces within a society, and the history of the minor forces tends to be defined in relation to the dominant. Societies of becoming, however, tend to break free from their points of origin, and lose their points of connection to any point in time. Tromba, then, transcends history by breaking away from the memories of the dominant social world and thereby escaping the burden these memories represent. By stripping the images of the past of their pastness, the world of tromba presents itself as a transhistorical world. This world is marked by a transhistorical sense of time. Its spirits appear as transhistorical figures of power.

CHAPTER TEN

TROMBA, TRANSLOCALITY, AND THE MAGIC OF THE MALAGASY NATION Locality is not delimited; the absolute, then, does not appear at a particular place but becomes a nonlimited locality; the coupling of the place and the absolute is achieved not in a centred, oriented globalization or universalization but in an infinite succession of local operations —Deleuze and Guattari

The people of the inland Betsimisaraka are situated on the colonial and post-colonial periphery. Still, this does not mean that their world does not form a part of a larger world, or that their local world remains untouched by changes imposed by the outside. One strategy by which the Betsimisaraka seek to deal with imposed change is to transform and ancestralise the signs and symbols of colonial and post-colonial rule through ancestral practices. Yet, while the ancestral practices to some degree allow people to localise imposed transformations, the outside world largely remains a threat. The general strategy is to try to keep the outside world out. Thus, like many places in Madagascar, the local community and its associated world of ancestors privilege placeidentity or local identity. Cole (2001) argues that the Betsimisaraka’s experiences of colonial violence and unwanted intrusion have forced them to constantly reconstruct the local community as the centre of the world, and intensified the necessity of creating boundaries between the inside and the outside. This intense focus on locality, however, may not be sufficient enough to enable them to grasp and handle the inevitable changes that have touched, and continue to touch, even remote communities. In the words of Gupta and Ferguson (1997), “it is not only the displaced who experience displacement”, but “even people remaining in familiar and ancestral places find the nature of their relation to place ineluctably changed, and the illusion of a natural and essential connection between the place and the culture broken” (38). The experience people in Marofatsy have with cultural difference is not limited to unwanted, foreign intrusion. Encounters with cultural

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heterogeneity also include such contact as migration to multicultural towns, or the community of co-rebels in 1947. Processes of colonialism and state formation—which involved bureaucratisation and the presence of other state agents, such as teachers and health workers, as well as increased trade—also implied that strangers coming to the area, unlike earlier migrants, resisted assimilation and maintained an ethnic identity connected to their place of origin. In Marofatsy this means that the teachers and health workers, as well as the government employees, doctors and merchants with whom they deal in Marolambo, will often be of another ethnic origin. In contrast to migrants who settle as farmers and often assimilate, such as the Betsileo, these newcomers remain outsiders. As a consequence, the Betsimisaraka live in a world that may make it more pressing than ever, with new articulations of modes of being in the world. The ancestral world, however, represents only one way by which the Betsimisaraka position themselves within the world, and in relation to the outside world. Tromba imagination not only transgresses the limits of time, it also transgresses spatial limits. While the ancestral world seeks to intensify its boundaries, tromba possession opens up towards the outside world. The translocal nature of tromba contrasts with the ancestral world’s focus on locality. This translocality of tromba has two dimensions. First, it is not conceived of as a local phenomenon, as evident in numerous stories the tromba mediums in Marofatsy tell about their experiences and engagement in tromba in other places. Despite variations that may exist in the way tromba possession is practised in different places, differences the tromba mediums are also conscious of, they see themselves as partaking in the same kind of activity. In this sense, tromba is a translocal phenomenon in that it is spread all over the island. Secondly, the tromba imaginary itself forms a multiple, translocal world. The spirits move across local and regional boundaries. They appear in small local rituals but materialise all the different corners of the island. As demonstrated earlier, tromba imagery is based on the interplay between strangeness and familiarity, and connections with other people and other places. Tromba evolved as a translocal phenomenon during colonialism, and has continued its spread and popularity within the context of a post-colonial society. Thus, while the ancestral world is focused on the production and reproduction of locality, tromba constructs a translocal world, a unified diversity.

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Since ancestral ideology is central to the formation of local polities as well as larger entities, such as chiefdoms and kingdoms, ancestral practices have been a dominant focus of much of the ethnography written on Madagascar. Still, the centripetal force of ancestors does not prevent the existence of more centrifugal forces that take the form of a multitude of practices and strategies, ones that enable people to bypass power structures and create links beyond various kinds of borders. In this sense, tromba provides a pivotal example of a phenomenon that is also quintessentially Malagasy, namely a combinatory practice that cuts across the borders of social and cultural difference. The translocal nature of tromba necessitates a broadening of perspective. This chapter represents a final step in my investigation of tromba imagination. I discuss the translocal character of tromba in the light of larger political processes that are connected to questions of identity, ethnicity and nation in Madagascar at large. Tromba as liberation in the imaginary Untied to the village social organisation, tromba possession constitutes a world in its own right. However, this does not mean that tromba exists independently of the surrounding social order. Instead, it positions itself in relation to the surrounding social and political orders in specific ways. Throughout this book, I have shown how the relationship between the ancestral world and tromba is marked by ambiguity rather than antagonism. However, the relations to state processes in a broad sense, including the churches, may best be described as antithetical. Several aspects of the tromba practice and the way it is positioned in the local society point to antagonism or opposition to outside intrusion, i.e. to national or global power. Antagonisms are evident in the fact that the activity takes place in the forest, in the relative secrecy surrounding the rituals performed, and in the way tromba spirits dislike the village agglomeration as well as the state in general. Furthermore, people in Marofatsy believe that those engaged in local curing practices necessarily operate on the fringes of the law. Everybody “knows” that the mpañano tromba can provide medicinal protection for illegal activity, such as rum production, forest burning, or other activities such as theft. In fact, protective medicine is considered a prerequisite to the performance of transgressive acts in general. Thus, transgressors

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such as hunters, bullfighters and warriors, or criminals such as sorcerers and thieves, need particularly powerful and protective medicine to be able to carry out the transgressive acts. Warriors need protection against enemy bullets, sorcerers need protection against other sorcerers and counter-sorcery, and criminals need protection against getting caught. Interestingly, to some extent it seems that the colonial government’s concern with witchcraft and magic has survived within the official legal system, as the following incident shows: When the area was struck by a cyclone in 2000, destroyed harvests and food shortages lead to a wave of food theft in the village. One of the mpañano tromba was arrested on suspicions of stealing rice. He was tied up and exhibited in the middle of the village. Spread on the ground in front of him were all his medicines and magical objects that had been collected by the gendarmes, to be used as evidence against him.1 In Marofatsy, the presence of the state is physically manifested first and foremost by the government clinic run by a nurse, and the primary school with two teachers. Earlier, I described the reluctance that tromba participants feel towards using clinical medicine. This reluctance is even more noticeable with regard to the school. During my first fieldwork in 1992, teachers complained about the relatively large proportion of parents in the area who refused to send their children to school. I was told that there were villages in the Marolambo district where the schools had to close due to the lack of pupils. Even in Marofatsy there were some families who refrained from sending their children to school, and many of these were active tromba participants. One afternoon, as I sat talking with the mpañano tromba Ravavy, she pointed to the children running around in the yard and said: “Do you see these children, they all behave well, and they are very skilled. Look at that boy. You have seen how clever he is. None of these children have ever attended school. They don’t need it.” The boy, about twelve years old, had impressed me with his exceptional abilities to play the Malagasy violin, lokanga. He also represented a considerable working capacity within the household of his grandparents and his great grandmother. However, in the years after 1992, the school authorities increased their effort to get the children to attend school, first and

1 I was not present at the time, so the incident was described to me when I arrived a year later in 2001.

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foremost through the introduction of penalties.2 Thus, when I returned for fieldwork a few years later in 1997, most families sent their children to school, including Ravavy’s family. The way the different groups in Marofatsy regard tromba suggests that the political dimensions of ritual practice are generally recognised. As we saw in chapter 4, educated people, who tend to place ritual practices along a tradition-modernity axis, claim that tromba followers are backward and against development. Hence, it would not have been considered appropriate for the nurse, the teachers or highprofile church members to openly attend tromba ceremonies. While churchgoers officially deem the activity as heathen, tromba followers see the church as their enemy. The mpañano tromba stands in a competitive and antagonistic relation, especially to the Christian awakening movement ( fifohazana) and its “shepherds” (mpiandry). Just like everywhere else in Madagascar, educated people are almost always church members. Church membership has become a way to signalise a modernist position. The fact that church membership is also politicised becomes particularly evident in times of political crises, as demonstrated by the mass desertion of church members in 1947, 1969, and 1972.3 The mpañano tromba claim that tromba, in contrast to the churches, flourished in these periods. In other words, it matters for the villagers whether you are a churchgoer or an active tromba participant, even though all are united through the ancestral practices. Tromba, it seems, takes a counter-modernist position within village life (a position that, of course, is thoroughly modern). Does this mean that tromba is a liberating force? In 1969, the French ethnologist named Gerard Althabe published a book called Oppression et liberation dans l’imaginaire. Les communautés villageoises de la côte

2 Penalty is used as a means to discipline the population in other areas as well. A couple of years after Ratsiraka’s 1997 return to office, the government administration decided that people should live in the village for at least two months a year, and failure to fulfill this obligation is penalised. Thus, when I arrived Marofatsy in July 2001, the village agglomeration was, to my surprise, heavily populated, as people prefer to fulfill the requirement in the period after the harvest and Independence Day, which falls on June 26. 3 According to one of the village elders, the desertion of the churches in 1947 and the period after was due to the fact that crisis during this period required people to make extensive use of protective medicine. The rebels needed protection in combat, and people in general needed protection against the violence of the rebellion and the repression that followed. The massive use of medicine was seen as incompatible with church membership.

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orientale de Madagascar. The study deals with tromba possession in a small Betsimisaraka village shortly after the end of the French colonial regime in 1960, a period when the village was still struggling with the aftermath of the hardships of colonialism, and with the problems of adjusting to the new post-colonial era. For Althabe, the ancestors, tromba and the village agglomeration that was associated with the outside world (state agents and churches) represented three modes of life taking the shape of three antagonistic poles in the local community. Tromba, he argued, offered to the villagers a solution to the problems associated with their split reality and the permanent crisis this situation had created. However, the title of his study suggests that there is an ambiguity connected to tromba as a liberating force. In Althabe’s view, tromba liberates through subjection to another power, namely the spiritual world. Colonialism, then, was just replaced by another form of subordination. The question that remains is whether Althabe was right in asserting that tromba represents an imaginary liberation and a form of escapism, or whether it is understandable in terms of contestation and cultural critique. The political dimension of spirit possession has been a dominant theme in anthropological studies of the subject. Often situated on the margins of culture and society due to its unconventional, charismatic and ecstatic and spontaneous character, spirit possession has challenged the assumptions that treat religion as closure—a means for social reproduction or alienation. Thus, following Lewis (1971), who saw spirit possession as a means for marginal or oppressed groups to express themselves, such practices have been labelled as subculture, carnival and anti-structure, as well as contestation and resistance.4 Studies of spirit possession have tended to question assertions that ritual and religion necessarily are conservative, reproductive, apolitical, or oppressive. On the contrary, as Boddy states (1994), “a view that is now widely held is that possession is an embodied critique of colonial, national, or global hegemonies”, and “most would agree that possession cults are or have become historically sensitive modes of cultural resistance” (419).5

4 See for instance Behrend & Luig (1999); Boddy (1989); Comaroff (1985); Comaroff and Comaroff (1993); Feeley-Harnik (1991); Lan (1985); Ong (1987); Sharp (1993, 1999); Stoller (1989, 1995); Wafer (1991). 5 This perspective is echoed in studies of spirit possession in Madagascar. FeeleyHarnik (1984) for instance, has argued that the popularisation of Sakalava royalty

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No doubt, contestation seems to be a strong dimension of tromba in the Marofatsy version. This view is substantiated by the general sentiments of the population in the Marolambo region towards colonialism and state, and its situation on the rural periphery. Indeed, tromba possession gained popularity at a time when the colonial intrusion was at its peak. The independence that followed did not lead to a significant change in people’s conception of the state power apparatus as an unwanted intrusion. In recent decades the economic crisis and breakdown of state structures, combined with negative experiences with state agents on the local level, have maintained and perhaps reinforced the tendency to reject state structures.6 The question is whether or not tromba activity is motivated by politics. The weakness of explaining tromba as resistance lies in the danger of locating the power of the ritual practice outside the practice itself. When locating it this way, the dynamic force is in a sense separated from the ritual practice, being situated in the external circumstances and context, and thereby implying social or political determinism. Instead, I argue that tromba possession encompasses a richness and inventiveness that are not explainable simply as a reaction to oppression, or reducible to social or political functions. Yet, I do not wish to imply that the tromba practice is apolitical, or without political implications. With its translocal imagery that plays on ethnicity and connections to other places, tromba imagines or positions itself within a space that is highly politicised in Madagascar. Within this space, tromba’s ability to make and remake connections becomes particularly significant. The way it transcends spatially bounded social worlds makes it articulate with discourses of sameness and difference in Madagascar at large. With this in mind, I will now turn to a brief consideration of the processes of identity production at the national level.

through tromba was a consequence of colonialism. As a result of the French effort to destroy Malagasy institutions, the Sakalava shifted their emphasis from living to dead royalty. By celebrating the death of kings, reappearing as royal spirits, divine kingship was preserved. Imagery of death became a source of strength. Sharp (1999) sees tromba on the west coast as a reassertion of local power and autonomy, and a contestation of two hegemonic forces: the former colonial regime and the current national regime. 6 For instance, government agents often complained that there were still too many who failed to turn up whenever there was an official census. The strategy that prevailed during colonial times, one that emphasised staying out of the archives, seems to have lingered on, at least among part of the population.

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State, ethnicity and visions of the Malagasy nation The idea of a Malagasy nation-state was born in the process of the Merina expansion in the nineteenth century. However, since the Merina conquest and rule reinforced ethnic differences rather than creating a sense of unity, the idea seems to have gained little resonance in the population at large prior to the colonial period. Though the processes of ethnic reification have also been attributed to colonial policy, Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja point out that it was paradoxically the French conquest that made one country, or a “land of the ancestors” (tanindrazana), out of the entire island (Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja 2002: 27). As Chatterjee (1986) observes, this is a common feature of post-colonial states in general. The project of the nation-state was contradictory from the outset, as it is “both imitative and hostile to the models it imitates” (Chatterjee 1986, 2), and “simultaneously rejects and accepts the dominance, both epistemic and moral, of an alien culture” (ibid., 11). Thus, Malagasy nationalism is both a product of, and a reaction to, colonialism. It evolved during the colonial period and is rooted in the anti-colonial struggle. However, the tension between difference and sameness also seems to have been present in the growing anti-colonial nationalist movement. For instance, the vision of a federal republic, a federation of selfgoverning ethnic groups, was circulating at an early stage. This idea of regional autonomy was later sought and realised by Ratsiraka in the mid-nineties, when he introduced his new politics of “federalism” by giving the six provinces more autonomy. This change was received with great enthusiasm in the Marolambo area. All in all, as RaisonJourdes and Randrianja (2002) argue, the slogan “we are all Malagasy” (Samy Gasy) was based in the shared opposition to foreigners more than anything else (9). Since the independence in 1960, there have been various efforts to create a common ground for a shared national identity. The idea of the country as a shared land of common ancestry was brought to the forefront, and nationalist imagery was constructed and played out in ritualised state performances, such as the Independence Day celebrations (see Sharp 2002). During the first decade of independence, France continued to have considerable influence in various fields: in politics and the economy, and increasingly, the politically important field of education. The May Revolution in 1972 and the subsequent resignation of the Tsiranana regime, initiated a new political era. The slogan of the

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revolution was “Malgachisation”, a demand for the “Malagasification” of Malagasy society, and the elimination of the remnants of colonialism in all senses. Malgachisation became the official policy for the creation of a new and unified sense of national Malagasy culture and identity in opposition to French colonial practises. The ideals of the nationalist movement and anti-colonial struggle were to be realised for the first time, it was argued. Madagascar was to gain its second and true independence, free from foreign domination (Covell 1987; Sharp 2002). Yet, although the politics of Malgachisation gained massive support, there were also tendencies among the coastal populations to interpret this process as a policy of imposed cultural homogenisation; it was understood to be, in reality, the imposition of Merina culture and identity, and thus a clear continuation of Merina imperialism. This was provoked in part by the fact that the Merina dialect became the norm for written Malagasy, and replaced French as the official language of administration and the language taught in schools. In spite of the official project of unification, ethnicity has played a continuous role in Madagascar. The collapse of the economy and the weakened state have undermined rather than promoted the process of unification.7 Thus, ethnicity is actualised at many levels of the society. Among many groups there has been a growing ethno-nationalism, such as the Merina ethno-nationalist movement during the 1990s. Non-governmental organisations, informal networks and associations flourish in a society where state structures are weakened. In the larger cities and areas with multi-ethnic populations, associations based on ethnicity have been formed (Dumont 2002; Randrianja 2002; Sorknes 2002). Such associations may function as informal economic and political networks, as well as ritual communities, as seen for example among Antesaka migrants on the west coast. They may cross class divisions and create links between farmers, workers, businessmen, and intellectuals and students in the universities, as well as politicians and governmental officials on all levels. Moreover, such networks may achieve considerable influence and constitute major constellations of power (Sorknes 2002).

7 As Chatterjee (1986) contends, nationalism in the Third World was transformed by the ruling classes to legitimise their power and promote their project of “modernisation”. To the degree that one can speak of the failure of nationalism in Madagascar, this is largely linked to the failure of “modernisation”.

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Although national unity has been a state project since independence, ethno-nationalist sentiments and divisions along ethnic lines have been, and still are, played upon and used politically on the national scene, whenever this has been expedient. Playing on ethnicity and regional loyalty also serves to obscure class divisions and social inequality. As Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja write (2002), “The ethnic factor becomes the main explicatory factor in all situations, with the obligatory figure of the relationship between Merina and coastal people. All political tensions authorise the use of bogey of civil war” (34, my translation).8 Political crises in Madagascar seem to recur on a cyclical basis. Since independence in 1960, government turnover has taken place almost every tenth year, the last in March 2009. Consequently, for many, the idea of a national identity seems hollow and void; the nationalist project of creating the nation as an imagined community has failed. Ethnicity has often been talked about in terms of tension and conflict. The situation developed along the same lines as those found in many other African states, where economic crises of the 1970s and the end of the Cold War precipitated economic and political shocks that upset prevailing political orders. Political rivalry in Madagascar, as elsewhere, increasingly involves ethnic mobilisation, and ethnonationalism threatens national unity. As Randrianja claims:

8

While ethnicity is actualised in most national-level conflicts, it was particularly apparent during the crisis in 2001 to 2002. During the presidential election in December 2001, Marc Ravalomanana, the former president (2002–2009), claimed to have won a majority of the votes in the election, despite the fact that the official results suggested he won by a mere plurality. As a result, he refused to join a presidential run-off election. A general strike broke out with mass demonstrations unfolding in the capital Antananarivo. In February, Ravalomanana proclaimed himself president, and Ratsiraka answered by proclaiming a state of emergency. In the following months mass demonstrations continued, along with incidents of violence; the country was on the verge of civil war. In Toamasina (capital of the Toamasina province, Toamasina region) five out of the six coastal provinces that were in favour of Ratsiraka, declared a new republic. This republic excluded the province of the central highland (Antananarivo, Merina population in majority), and blockaded the Antananarivo province. Incidents of ethnic violence were reported in coastal towns, where Merina were chased and in some cases killed. Although Ravalomanana had won much support from the coastal region during the election, the Ratsiraka faction tried to exploit the conflict between the highland and the coastal populations to the extreme. The crisis was resolved when Ratsiraka finally left the country (following a long chase as well as a series of scandals involving presumed attempts to hire foreign mercenaries to carry out political assassinations or a coup d’état).

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In the face of the coloniser, the nationalism of the 1950s, which had advocated national unity, proved increasingly incapable of containing its internal ethno-nationalisms. There was a multiplication of ethnonationalist demands, which attempted to mobilize groups of cultural origin. The attention of the media has focused primarily on these conflicts which are actually caused by economic and political rivalries, but which are interpreted as though they were ethnic conflicts (Randrianja 1996, 21).

The political tensions and the actualisation of ethnicity in political discourse may, however, easily obscure the existence of more peaceful relations, alliances, and exchanges that also exist across ethnic boundaries. As Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja (2002) note, “The farther one moves from the centres of political and cultural entrepreneurs, the more vague ethnic borders become” (35, my translation). While intellectuals and politicians worry about or play upon ethnic separatism, “the exchange, across the whole island, of ancestral royal figures and of the rhythms of popular pilgrimages, proves that unity is constructed with fewer problems from below than from above. Likewise, the exchange of regional music, of songs, causes a reciprocal adoption of dialectical forms, the concrete construction of a culture of modernity” (ibid., 35, my translation).9 Rakotomalala (2002) mentions several examples of trans-ethnic exchange on the level of culture or religion. One example is the art of divination and Malagasy medicine. For centuries, specialists in divination have travelled around the island practicing their skills and contributing to the exchange of knowledge in this field. The mpañano tromba Marofero in Marofatsy, for instance, occasionally spent a few weeks in Antananarivo and offered his services there. There is a market for counter-sorcery, he told me, and such trips enabled him to raise money. In town markets, Malagasy medicine has become a field drawing upon multiple sources of knowledge from all over the island. Another example is spirit possession, in which mediums and spirits from various groups join together in ritual practice. Many of the groups, from Toamasina on the east coast, the capital of Antananarivo, and towns on the west coast, evoke spirits from the various pasts, such as Sakalava royals and Merina royals (see also Emoff 2002). Even the first Malagasy president after the independence, Tsiranana, was

9 See also Emoff (2002) on Malagasy popular music and the way popular musicians borrow from different Malagasy musical genres from all over the island.

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recently evoked (Rakotomalala 2002, 309–310). According to friends of mine in the capital, there are currently several Sakalava tromba mediums who have settled there and established flourishing practices. In 2001, I visited some friends who lived on the hill where the main Merina royal palace, the Rova, is situated. There, not far from the palace, a man from Mahajanga Province on the west coast, had built a shrine (doany) where regular tromba rituals were held. According to my friends, the clients were from various ethnic backgrounds, including Merina. Another example of trans-ethnic exchange can be found in the pilgrimages people make across the island to visit well-known shrines both in the capital and on the west coast. Rakotomalala claims that the levels of official politics and such local level processes are different discourses, and suggests that political crisis may, instead of destabilising national unity, even intensify such cultural exchange processes. Likewise, Lambek contends that: The current popularity of spirits from the northwest Sakalava dynasty throughout the island may speak to a resonance, people elsewhere discovering in these spirits a way to reaffirm something they had long understood about themselves. This may be a more purely Malagasy (though equally, more marginally and submerged) way of imagining national identity and unity than the Independence Day parades (Lambek 2001b, 305).

In times when ethnic issues, regional separatism and instability mark the political landscape, leading to a weakened nation-state and the breakdown of state structures, translocal religious movements seem to thrive even more. In light of these processes, I now turn to consider the translocal nature of tromba practice more closely. Another vision of the “Malagasy” Combinatory practices and cross-ethnic exchanges are recurrent features in diverse Malagasy cultural practices. As Emoff (2002) argues, selectively incorporating otherness is “part of a complex Malagasy aesthetic that extend back through the past as well as outward across group, regional, and national boundaries” (201). The transgressive aesthetic practice of tromba possession is characterised by a process of detachment and inclusion, similar to what Lévi-Strauss (1966) called “bricolage”; what Taussig (1987) called “montage”; and what Emoff (2002) called “composite making”. Fragments from various domains

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Fig. 17. The tromba shrine (doany) near the royal palace in Antananarivo.

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are detached, or deterritorialised and fused into the tromba imaginary to create something new and independent of those domains. By this, tromba imagination opens and multiplies connections. It brings into play very different systems of signification. As we have seen, the tromba imaginary draws on powerful otherness, with spirits from various ethnic groups as well as non-ancestral Betsimisaraka spirits. It draws on the fierceness of warriors, on the knowledge and wisdom of diviners and on the particular kinds of power associated with particular kinds of people, spirits and places. It draws on and reworks the spiritual power of Malagasy song and dance, and of the local alcohol, artefacts and symbols from various ritual contexts and other powerful sources. A multiplicity of powerful images of “Malagasyness” is evoked. The translocal imagery also draws on national symbols, such as the persistant use of red, white and green in ritual practices. As mentioned earlier, when the spirits are invoked, they are called upon as “descendants of red, descendants of white, descendants of green” (zafin’ny mena, zafin’ny fotsy, zafin’ny maintso). While “descendants of red” and “descendants of white” among the Sakalava represent two major branches in the royal dynasty, in the Betsimisaraka version a third category is added, and these categories are explained as representing different kinds of spirits from all over Madagascar. The spirits wear clothes in these colours only, and the colours are employed in numerous ways in the ritual symbolism. In Ravao’s circle, they even use a flag composed of these colours. As Ravao’s husband explained, the flag is placed in the middle of the stream during the ritual bath, as a mark (marika) of the event. The flag was made from pieces of spirit clothes that were too ragged for the spirit to wear. Having been worn by spirits, the clothes were loaded with sacred power (hasina), so instead of throwing them away, Ravao had used them to make a powerful ritual artefact. The rags had been roughly tacked together in a disordered patchwork, making it look like—intentionally or unintentionally—a distorted or parodic version of the national flag. Another example of such imagery is the previously mentioned shirt version of the flag used by the medium Jaona whenever he was invoking his spirits. Tromba possession opens up the possibility for playfully engaging with identity and otherness in ways that the local society otherwise prevents. The tromba world has within it the possibility of a reorientation of the person, the possibility for the Betsimisaraka to situate and identify themselves in a translocal community. While the ancestral

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Fig. 18. Ralahy, Ravao’s husband and Marofero sit around the spirit flag.

world is focused upon the production and reproduction of locality, the tromba world draws upon and creates connections with other people and other places, and thus breaks the closure of the local world. Viewed in this light, tromba could be seen as creating an alternative mode of national identification based on the multiplicity of a powerful, translocal “Malagasyness”. The magicality of national symbols The use of national symbols is significant when considering the translocal dimension of tromba imagery. National symbols have their own magicality, a magicality that is both exposed and reinforced when drawn into the ritual sphere. In The Magic of the State (1997), Taussig describes the circulation of power in society between the “absurd and the official”. He argues that the secular state formation relies upon non-articulate mythological principles and a sense of sacredness or magic that is achieved through features such as secrecy and uncertainty. When seemingly secular state symbols are appropriated by people in practices such as spirit possession, their mystical powers are exposed. As Taussig (1997) suggests, “When they desecrate symbols of the state, then the sacred emerges and emerges no longer as a symbol but with bodily force” (188). It is a “defacement which allows sacred powers

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to emerge,”—a defacement which “not only draws out and exposes the magic within, but redoubles that magic” (ibid., 190).10 Applying Taussig’s terms to tromba imagery, the use of national colours not only “symbolizes the magical properties of the state apparatus”, but through the exchange from one domain to another, they are transformed and acquire “the properties of a fetish” (ibid., 192). When the national colours are used for spirit clothing or a ritual flag, the magic of the state is extracted and transferred to the realm of tromba spirits, adding to their powers. Thus, the power of various kinds of spirits from various parts of the island is fused with the transformed magical power of state symbols.11 Some of the magical power of the national colours may be traced to its force as a symbol for the unification of diversity. Appropriation of state symbols in rituals may even signal subordination, as Emoff (2002) argues in his analysis of tromba. He describes how one of the tromba mediums in Tamatave uses a Malagasy flag as a handkerchief; the flag is an offering to the spirits, according to Emoff, and thus “a sign of the national and modern became subordinate, specifically to ancestral powers from the prenational past” (Emoff 2002, 117). Another possible interpretation of the use of national symbols in the tromba context may be that of irony. As a rhetorical figure of double meaning, irony is a figure that combines incompatibles and reveals uneasiness. What is more, as Bougon (1997) points out, irony may work as an “indirect form of attack that imitates the adversary” (142). Likewise, these ways of imitating the adversary are also visible in the way the tromba universe takes the shape of a military-like hierarchisation of spirits, whether this is mimicry of the colonial or post-colonial military organisation, or, alternatively, the mimicry of the 1947 rebels who, in their turn, created organisational structures drawn from

10 Taussig (1997) writes this in an account dealing with the theft of a national symbol—a sword—by the guerilla forces. His account reminds me of the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy who stole the village’s national flag (see chapter 6), presumably to use it for magical purposes. This act reveals the magic inherent in secular symbols, “the magic of the state” (see Taussig 1997). 11 The national flag has of course drawn its colours from other domains in the first place. According to Sharp (2002), red and white were the colours of the Merina kingdom, and the green was added in 1958 as the colour of the coastal populations (62). One of the more popular interpretations I have heard is that the red symbolises the red colour of the Malagasy soil and/or the ancestors, the white stands for liberty, and the green for fertility and/or progress.

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military and bureaucratic models.12 This is also reflected in the way spirits behave when they exercise their power and authority by giving orders and commands, or exercising discipline and punishment.13 A unity of diversity It has been argued that Malagasy nationalism suffers from the lack of what has been regarded as a prerequisite for the existence of a nation, namely a common, unifying history with common national heroes and events that may be celebrated in collective memory and function as sources of collective enthusiasm. Malagasy history consists of multiple histories, each guarded by a particular group as their “private property” (Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja 2002: 33). Moreover, the past is also riddled with conflicts, some of which have caused great suffering, including oppression, enslavement and deaths. As Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja (2002) argue, there has been no official attempt to properly deal with this aspect of the past and achieve reconciliation. Tromba, however, has its own way of transcending the fragmented and particularistic nature of Malagasy history, by instituting itself as a transhistorical world. As discussed in the previous chapter, images of the past are stripped of their specific historical referentiality, and reworked into eternal forms of Malagasy power. Tromba imagination produces an image of “Malagasyness” that is not homogeneous, but instead one that plays on diversity. This “Malagasyness” does more than simply unite diversity; through tromba imagination it gains a quality of timelessness. As such, it forms a heterogeneous contrast to the national politics of unification through homogenisation, and a contrast to the politics of ethnicity that tend to be centred on tension and conflict. The tromba world is a way of constructing interconnections in a way that transcends local ancestor-centred identity, and nationalist discourses of homogenisation, as well as conflictual discourses on ethnicity. As such, it may be seen as a way of questioning or deconstructing contradictory national discourses, and a way of constructing a new form of imagined community.

12

See chapter 5. Mimicry of colonial military organisation is found in cases of spirit possession elsewhere as well, the most powerful example being the Hauka cult in West Africa (see Kramer 1993; Stoller 1995; Taussig 1993). 13

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Writing about charismatic healing churches in Kinshasa, Zaire, Devisch (1996) applies Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the war machine and maintains that, “Where the state becomes dysfunctional, the ‘war machine’ constituted by the many independent churches undermines not only the power base of the authoritarian state but also the rationale of the civilizing mission it pretends to represent, and by extension the whole system of Western education and the religion of the established Catholic and Protestant Churches” (571). The antagonism between tromba and the churches and state structures in Marofatsy seems to embody a similar logic. Devisch is concerned with how “[t]he colonial world has erected itself on the basis of a series of oppositions functioning as warlike threats, between Christianity and paganism, the West and other civilizations, between modernity and tradition, the political elite and the citizenry at large, between urban and rural space, between literacy and orality” (ibid., 571). As in my own analysis of tromba, he argues that the healing churches provide a community with “a national or global identity, which supersedes social or class differences and ethnic group differences” (ibid., 570). However, one important difference between tromba and the healing churches in Zaire may lie in the fact that the healing churches are, after all, Christian movements.14 Devisch sees the healing churches as intervening “by providing a space in which communities can explore ways of reuniting these antinomies of (post)colonial discourse and heal the split representation of self ” (ibid., 571). If tromba imagination aims at establishing unity in diversity, this does not include a “reuniting” of “Christianity” and “paganism”. The inclusiveness of tromba imagination seems to have its limits, as, for instance, the relative absence of Merina spirits or foreign spirits may indicate.15 Thus, tromba possession demonstrates that state ideologies might not be the only point at which the imagination of translocal interconnection and community takes place. While the nation-state and state ideologies are considered to be a potential threat to the local community, tromba draws on translocal connections as sources of empow14 In this respect, the healing churches may be more similar to the fifohazana movement than to tromba. The fifohazana are often recognised as a Malagasy version of Christianity. 15 I have heard (but never seen) that in other places in the Betsimisaraka region, local tromba groups have appropriated in their rituals elements from the church or the fifohazana movement, elements like the white gown used by the mpiandry and the bible in cases where mediums are possessed by Christian spirits.

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erment. Viewed in relation to the political processes on the national level, and the way such processes are manifested at the local level, tromba may be seen as a way of escaping the power of the nation-state, and asserting autonomy by constructing another sense of collective identity. Through tromba, people may acquire new ways of defining themselves with reference to translocal connections, and new ways of situating themselves within a translocal community. As an alternative, popular nationalism tromba may as well be politically marginal and submerged into a broader national perspective, but as a ritual practice it, nevertheless, engages a large portion of the population in Marofatsy and elsewhere (Emoff 2002; Estrade 1985; Lambek 2003; Rakotomalala, Blanchy and Raison-Jourdes 2001; Sharp 1993). Perhaps it is the very marginality of tromba that makes the production of a social imaginary of unity possible at all in a country faced with serious economic and political crises. The use of national and translocal imagery in tromba could be seen as an attempt to bridge tensions and contradictions through the creation of a unity of difference, all within the frame of what is conceived of as Malagasy. However, the way tromba makes connections across the borders of locality contrasts with both the national politics of unification through homogenisation, and the politics of ethnicity that tends to stress tension and conflict. Tromba creates another sense of collective identity. This collective identity is not based on an idea of an objectified Malagasy cultural heritage promoted by state institutions; for the people involved it is a lived reality. Always already modern In the late phases of colonialism and in the postcolonial era, forms of resurgence and reinvention of the “traditional” have appeared in many places throughout Madagascar. Among the Merina, the New Year ritual Alahamady was re-instituted in a new form during the 1990s, and renewed cults of royal ancestors now flourish. Rakotomalala, Raison-Jourdes and Randrianja (2001) interpret this as a “rempart de la malgachitude contre l’étranger” (35). Feeley-Harnik (1991) argues that, by completing the royal funeral through the reconstruction of the royal tomb, the Sakalava reinstated their independence. I will argue, however, that tromba among the Betsimisaraka is not so much a revitalisation of tradition as an invention in terms of “tradition”. In several respects, tromba transcends the dichotomy of tradition

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versus modernity. As indicated above, the inventory of tromba imagery has expanded through the integration of imagery drawn from colonial and post-colonial rule. Furthermore, if it were not for colonialism, the anti-colonial struggle, the formation of the Malagasy nation and the existence of nationalist discourses, the translocality of tromba imagination would have little meaning. Yet, while tromba possession in its present translocal form may have been fuelled by processes of colonialism and post-colonialism, its roots can be traced several centuries back, and other forms of spirit possession have perhaps always been present. Kapferer (2002) argues that “there may be critical features of old practices that make them modern” and “the concept of ‘traditional’—a thoroughly modernist notion—subverts the recognition that some practices which do have historical depth, and maybe because of it, possess internal dynamics that make them always already modern” (20). Tromba possession is such a phenomenon; it is “always already modern” with its dynamics of transformation and transgression, enabling it to constantly reformulate itself. Tromba as a social force As well as addressing larger political and cultural processes, tromba also shapes local social processes beyond simply acting as a counterforce to local agents of outside influence, like state functionaries, health institutions, schools and churches. On the community level, tromba mediates and generates interpersonal, generational and professional relations and conflicts. As we have seen, tromba not only mediates conflicts through its curing practice; it is also a source of conflict. Thus, to regard tromba possession merely in terms of resistance against domination would, in several respects, be a far too simplistic dichotomy. To do so would fail to capture the way tromba is engaged in local conflicts on the village level, and fail to appreciate how the tromba world is marked by the community and relationships between the mediums and their clients. A conceptualisation of tromba as resistance would also overlook the rivalries and structures of dominance and subordination within the cult itself. Tromba may unify families, but it may also be engaged in conflicts and cause tensions. Thus, it penetrates deeply into the lives and bodies of the individual. As Kramer (1993) writes, the “cults of spirit possession, in which Africans portrayed the ‘other’ to their own respective cultures, did not fulfil a homogeneous task; they served to heal and divert, to criticize divergences and to legitimate

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them, to fuse to a festive oneness and to differentiate the individual from his corporate group” (240). While I have argued that, on one level, tromba involves the creation of connections with otherness and the creation of unity in difference, and, at the local level, offers curing and reconstitution, tromba also produces fragmentation. To become an active medium in a tromba circle implies establishing a distance to the society, and opens up an opportunity for the individual to develop extraordinary gifts and even professional careers outside the ancestral social system. tromba mediums become liminal figures who use their position on the margins of the society as a source of power. The marginality of the Betsimisaraka vis-à-vis the colonial and postcolonial state has two dimensions: dominance and neglect. Although the Betsimisaraka in many ways conceive of themselves as still being colonialised, phenomena like tromba possession perhaps show that they were never fully colonised in the first place. As Kapferer (1997) contends, “subordinated groups are often peripheral to hegemonizing ideologies and do not necessarily internalize the themes of those who command dominant institutions. The persons who are hegemonized are the ruling classes themselves” (256). Whether or not the ruling classes in Madagascar are hegemonised must be left for discussion elsewhere. However, with regard to the Betsimisaraka, tromba possession has allowed them to break the closure of their own world. Concluding remarks: tromba, closure, and openness In words borrowed from Bakhtin (1961), Tromba “creates something that before it never was, something absolutely new and unrepeatable [. . .]. But something created is always created from something given [. . .]. Everything given is transformed into what is created” (quoted in Brandist 2000, 10). The imaginative process within tromba possession can be characterised as a process of detachment and inclusion, similar to what Lévi-Strauss (1966) called “bricolage”, what Taussig (1987) called “montage”, and what Emoff (2002) called “composite making”. Fragments from various domains are detached, or deterritorialised and fused into the tromba imaginary to create something new and independent of those domains. Tromba imagination opens and multiplies connections. The tromba practice is a multiplicity which is, in Deleuze and Guattari’s terms, rhizomatic in its character. Deleuze and Guattari (1998) adopt the rhizome as a metaphor for dynamic configurations

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and systems under continuous change. Tromba is rhizomatic, both in the way the practice is organised and in the way its imaginary is structured. Like the rhizome, tromba creates connections between multiple points and “brings into play very different regimes of signs” (Deleuze and Guattari 1988, 21). These elements produce a mixed semiotics and are cast into a process of continuous variation. The tromba imaginary is both generative and transformational. The imaginative process, as it operates within the tromba rituals, is marked by an “aesthetics of transgression” (Taussig 1993, 126). The transgressions are vital to the transformative power of these rituals. In the creation of this power, disorder and instability are as important as order and stability. The tromba rituals are not just creative in a general sense; it is the creativity displayed that makes these rituals work. Thus, we see how the very construction of the imagery reveals how content is intrinsically connected to form in a way that makes it impossible to separate from form; it is rather a matter of the “content of the form” (White 1987). The tromba world is characterised by a large degree of disorder, both in the way the world of spirits is constructed as a chain of continuous variation, and within the ritual process itself. This disorder is seen in features such as the unpredictability of the spirits, the threat of sorcery attacks and pollution, the use of play and improvisation, the way spirit speech breaks with linguistic conventions, etc. This fluidity, together with the way the tromba world is constructed through fragments from multiple domains, are what make tromba stand out as a distinct practice, a practice that stands in a particular position in relation to the worlds that surround it. Taussig (1997) sees a parallel between shamanist rituals and avant-garde theatre. Stoller likens spirit possession to surrealism, and views it as a form of attack on reality (1989, 210; 1995, 20). Like Castoriadis, the surrealists considered imagination to be identical to the creative process. They destroyed and reconstructed reality at the same time in order to create new worlds that broaden the horizons of the spectators. They sought to intensify and extend our notion of reality by transcending the limitations of conventional reality (Bohn 2002). While I do not wish to push the analogy between tromba and surrealism too far, I believe that tromba, like surrealism, stands in a radical imaginary relation to reality. According to Castoriadis, the radical imaginary is present as a dynamic force in all systems of imaginary significations and institutions of a society. However, there will always be a tendency towards

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closure within social imaginaries and the institutions connected with them; that is to say there will always be a tendency to become an unquestioned order. Although tromba has become established as an institution within Betsimisaraka society, the creativity and continuous variation that characterise its imaginary practice indicate that it has retained a high degree of openness, in spite of the way it is instituted through power structures and systems of significations. Through tromba imagination, people have created a world that is relatively autonomous from the other worlds the Betsimisaraka move between; it sits on the edge of established institutions and social imaginary significations of the society. Tromba is a semi-independent domain. It acts upon the world and becomes a part of it. To paraphrase Castoriadis, it is a specific creation, marking the emergence of another eidos (“form”) within the generic eidos of society. Viewed in this light, tromba becomes a way for the Betsimisaraka to break the closure of their own world, and implies the recognition of a multiplicity of human worlds within this society. Tromba may in this sense be considered as a project of autonomy, a creation of a new eidos that alters the laws of its own existence. Thus, a sphere of autonomous action is created. While tromba in some ways forms a world of its own, it is also a practice situated in a village community and within the larger world. One of the most important achievements in anthropology is the recognition of the fact that humans do not live in bounded worlds, and that the social worlds we create are multiple, complex, open and changing. As a social practice, therefore, tromba forms yet another institutional complex within the village, thus adding to the complexity of the local society. Tromba imagination draws upon people’s diverse connections to the outside. In tromba possession, forces from the outside become a part of people. Tromba works upon individual ties to the outside, and the medium is thus granted a possibility to detach him/herself from the ancestral community to some extent. Tromba allows people to appropriate and import other forms of power into the local community. However, since the outsider quality of these powers is still maintained, the distinction between the local social world and the outside world is simultaneously broken down and reproduced. Connectivity is at the core of Malagasy conceptions of being-in-theworld. Like tromba rituals, the ancestral rituals are about the elimination of blockages in order to ensure the flow of hasina, and the

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maintenance and restoration of the connections with the channels of this flow. However, in contrast to tromba, they concentrate on the flow of hasina channelled through the ancestors. Since the ancestral rituals concentrate on maintaining connections to the ancestors, they are very much concerned with making and remaking the boundaries between the “inside” and the “outside”, between the ancestral and the nonancestral worlds. People’s experiences with unwanted intrusions, such as colonialism and state structures that have resulted in ruptures and changes at the local level, have increased the necessity of this process. This is not only because the boundary between the “inside” and “outside” is threatened, but also because such changes lead to an increase in blockages in the relationship with the ancestors, blockages that disturb the flow of ancestral hasina. But the intensification of boundaries may not be enough to handle such changes. While connectivity is central to the ontology of both the ancestral and the tromba world, the way this connectivity is structured differs. The ancestral world and the identity based on ancestral connections are founded on conceptions of filiation, sedentarity and rootedness in ancestral places. Tromba, on the other hand, with its multiplicity of mobile spirits from a multitude of places, establishes connections of a rhizomatic nature, based on alliance more than filiation (Deleuze and Guattari 1988, 25). The rhizomatic nature of tromba creates connections with numerous new channels of hasina. Thus, tromba is intrinsically linked to the changes in the world and the critical necessity of maintaining continuity and flow in the midst of such changes. The translocal connectivity of tromba possession involves more than the creation of new alignments of “self ” in relation to “other” (Gupta 1997). Tromba possession articulates the connectivity inherent in Betsimisaraka ontology, and perhaps Malagasy ontology in general: the maintenance of connections as critical in the way people continuously engage the constituent forces of existence and, consequently, the necessity of making new transgressive connections in a changing world. Tromba provides an answer to the changeability of everyday life that requires new orientations and a need for switching perspectives. In a world where living is very much about making and remaking connections, ruptures and changes require new connections to be continuously made.

EPILOGUE

MAGIC AND POLITICAL IMAGINATION Whatever the breaks and ruptures, only continuous variation brings forth this virtual line, this virtual continuum of life, “the essential element of the real beneath the everyday.” —Deleuze and Guattari

Religious movements such as tromba sometimes use national symbols as building stones in the construction of their imaginaries, but the exchange between the state and religious domains may also work the other way round. In the mid-1990s, the ministry of culture under the government of president Zafy Albert (1993–1996) introduced a new cultural programme. Great regional rituals, such as the Fanompoa Be in Mahajanga, the Fitampoha in Menabe (both of which are dedicated to the Sakalava royals and connected with tromba possession), and the royal ritual Tsangantsaina among the Antankaraña, were reformulated as national heritage, as a state effort to instate a “unity in diversity” model of national identity. For the same reasons, the ministry of culture also took the initiative to reinstitute the Merina new year ritual Alahamady Be as an official celebration. The aim was to show how regional ritual diversity was based on a common ground of ancestral heritage and ancestral power. The rituals were also promoted as destinations for national and international tourism and broadcasted on national television.1 “People should see with their own eyes that they have much in common”, a former government employee and co-architect of this project once explained to me.2 The cultural programme, which to some degree was continued by the government of president Didier Ratsiraka (1997–2002), did not last long, however. The programme provoked substantial public debate. It was more or less abandoned by the government of president Marc Ravalomanana (2002–2009). With Ravalomanana, who is also one of the leaders of

1

See also Lambek 2003, Walsh 2001 and Lambek & Walsh 1999. I was fortunate to be seated next to this lady on a flight to Madagascar in October 2008, and we had a very interesting conversation on Malagasy cultural politics. 2

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the congregational church (FJKM), Christian practices replaced the ancestral rituals on the national public scene. Ravalomanana’s government also marked the point when the Christian awakening movement fifohazana entered the scene of national politics. During the political crisis in 2001 and 2002, mass demonstrations in the capital included public sermons led by fifohazana “shepherds” (mpiandry). When Ravalomanana came to power in 2002, mpiandry exorcised demons and other malevolent forces from governmental buildings and ministries. Under his government, Christian practices were integrated into official politics. Prayer and hymns became part of political meetings, even in the national assembly. Ravalomanana’s way of mixing religion and politics induced a heated debate on the relation between the churches and the state. The close connection was condemned by the opposition as anti-constitutional. The principle of laïcité,3 or separation of the state and the church, was one of the main causes put forward by the opposition movement in 2008. The opposition, lead by the young, former mayor of Antananarivo, Andry Rajoelina, took power during a coup d’état on March 17, 2009. Still, regardless of their political programme of laïcité, the new power holders also actively drew on a faction of the fifohazana movement in support of the coup. Fifohazana songs were sung during demonstrations and meetings, both before and after the coup. In the days and weeks after the coup, mpiandry once again exorcised public places and governmental buildings. The spectacular ritual cleansing of the presidential palace was reported in media worldwide. Newspapers and television broadcasts showed images of the long rows of mpiandry in white gowns, flanked by armed soldiers, while they localised mystical looking objects (among other things a large collection of ceramic goat heads). Fires were lit in the presidential garden. There, the objects were burned, surrounded by mpiandry with angry faces and loud voices ordering the evil forces to go away. The mpiandry were also heavily represented at the presidential inaugural ceremony of Andry Rajoelina, perhaps as an extra spiritual force of protection at this very dangerous moment. In the months after the coup, both sides of the conflict mobilised factions of the fifohazana, both for support and for ritual services, as both sides accused each other of sorcery and engaging with occult

3 The principle of läicité is a French national political doctrine, and may be seen as part of the colonial heritage of Malagasy political thinking.

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forces. In April and May, shortly after the coup, I spent a few weeks of fieldwork in the capital Antananarivo and also the town of Antsirabe, interviewing church leaders, mpiandry, leading politicians as well as people on the ground, from both sides of the conflict.4 At the time, at least three members of the transitionary government (Haute Autorité de la Transition—HAT) were initiated as mpiandry. I interviewed one of the six vice-presidents of the transitional government at the time, who told me that he exorcised his office, which was located in the senate building, almost daily to protect himself during this very volitile and difficult situation. Being guarded by the feared soldiers from the CAPSAT garrison (an acronym for Capitaine Satana [Captain Satan], supporters of Ravalomanana claimed) was apparently not enough. Both before and after the coup, the mpiandry functioned as spiritual shields in encounters with the army and the police during political rallies. They were spiritual security guards and spiritual soldiers with Bibles in their hands, protecting against evil forces. “Madagascar is ill, and needs healing”, I often heard people say. In its daily practice the fifohazana movement, just like tromba, is engaged in healing the individual. Now, the fifohazana movement has succeeded to extend its field of action to embrace national politics. Politicians, the state and the whole nation are in need of its healing forces. The state has often been treated as a homogenous, transcendental structure, a structure beyond cultural impregnation. Recent anthropology has questioned this concept of the state, arguing for the necessity to acknowledge the cultural and historical particularity of modern state formations.5 Implicit in the recognition of the cultural and historical particularity of the nation-state lies a questioning of the ontology of the state inherent in Western models that define the state as governmental institutions and the nation-state. With its recurrent efforts to restore the nation-state, Malagasy national politics, I will argue, is impossible to understand without taking into account the way Malagasy political imagination is vested with the cosmological dynamics and the ontologies of power found within the Malagasy society at large. In a time when tromba and similar ritual practises have been marginalised from the official national scene, the battle of political power 4

This fieldwork was financed by the Norwegian Research Council, and carried out together with my colleague Karina Hestad Skeie. 5 See for instance Hardt & Negri 2000; Fergusson 2003; Gupta & Fergusson 1997; Gupta 1997; Kapferer 1988, 2004; Kapferer & Bertelsen 2009; Trouillot 2001.

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goes on, and is talked about, in spiritual terms. Whether you lose or gain power, politics and magic are intimately connected. The dual nature of power makes the politician simultaneously a potential protector and benefactor of society, and an opportunistic profiteer and a dangerous sorcerer. When politicians turn into sorcerers, they create blockages in the flow of hasina and must be removed.6 The nationstate, being responsible for the well-being of the people and thus vital to the flow of hasina, is extremely vulnerable to sorcerers and other evil forces. Just like the ritual sites of tromba possession, the physical manifestations of the nation-state—the presidential palace, the ministry buildings, the senate, the national assembly and other public places such as squares and parks—need to be cleansed in order to restore the flow of sacred blessing. The dynamics of power in national politics, and the moral cosmology connected to it, appeared to me to be not so far from what goes on in Marofatsy. Talking with the political elite or members of the fifohazana was not so different from talking with diviners and mpañano tromba. Ironically, the institution of tromba and the Malagasy nation-state appear to have much in common.

6 Solofo Randrianja (2007) argues that there exists a continuity of conceptions of political leadership in Madagascar. The dynamics of the divine kingship of the Merina kingdom, and the leader as provider of hasina persists today. All the political turnovers, he claims, may be seen as caused by loss of, or ruptures in the circulation of, hasina.

APPENDICES

APPENDIX I

THE SPIRITS’ ETHNIC ORIGIN, KIND, GENDER AND AGE The following tables contain the spirits I recorded and show the distribution of spirits according to ethnic origin and kind, as well as gender and age. Table 1. Ethnic origin and kinds of tromba spirits Ethnic identity Betsimisaraka Antandroy Antaimoro Sakalava Antambahoaka Merina (Vakinan-karatra) Unknown

Deceased humans

Water spirits

Earth spirits

Unknown

33 4 4 1 2

16

7

7 4 1 2 1 1

2

1

1 1

9

Total number of spirits: 95

Table 2. Ethnic identity, kinds of spirit and gender Ethnic identity

Betsimisaraka Antandroy Antaimoro Sakalava Antambahoaka Merina (Vakinan-karatra) Unknown

Deceased humans

Water spirits

Earth spirits

Unknown

F

M

F

M

F

M

F

M

7

24 4 4 1 1

6

10

3

2

1

6 4 1 2 1

1

1 1

2

1

8

The table shows 93 of 95 spirits. The gender is not known for the two remaining spirits.

282

appendix i Table 3. Gender and age of tromba spirits

Male Female Unknown

Elder

Adult

28 6

38 11

Child

Age unknown

3 1

5 2 1

APPENDIX II

THE MEDIUMS AND THEIR SPIRITS Ralahy’s tromba Ralahy is an elderly, male mpañano tromba and mpisikidy. His mother was from Ilaka, and he spent part of his childhood there. It was there he first attended tromba rituals.

name

description

Renivondroy

A male elder of unknown origin. He is the tompon’ny malo, the master-of-distress. He does not cure, but keeps an eye (manara maso) on things, and takes care (mikarakara) of people.

Renifito

A deceased human, male elder. He is an Antaimoro from Vohipeno, and as a tromba he works as a diviner (Ampitanataratra), using the mirror and curing people.

Marosampy Many idols

A deceased human, male elder. He is a Betsimisaraka from Mahavoky, Ilaka Est. As a tromba he is a diviner (Ampitanataratra), using the mirror and cuing people. He is also the ndemisara (judge).

Ranaivo

A deceased human, male adult. He is a Betsimisaraka from Andrasoabe, between Vatomandry and Toamasina. As a tromba he is a “photographer” (ampakasary), using the mirror to take “pictures” of the sick person, then he takes the image to god (Patì—tromba language for Zanahary) who decides whether the person will live or die. There are guards with Patì, who compare the image with the images that are stored there.

Mpiady Warrior

A deceased human, male elder. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka, and Ralahy’s mother’s father (dadilahy). As a tromba he works as a messenger (hirahina) and a soldier (miaramila).

Ramangasona

A water spirit, male adult. He is from Antiona (river) near Ilaka. As a tromba he is a messenger (hirahina) and a soldier (miaramila).

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appendix ii

Table (cont.) name

description

Zamandragaly Galy’s maternal uncle

A deceased human, male adult. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ambalaherana, near Lohavanana. As a tromba he works as a messenger (hirahina) and soldier (miaramila).

Tsaravahatra Good root

A deceased human, male. He is a Sakalava from Babaomby near Antsiranana (Diego Suarez).

Tsiavohotra Who does not bend

Male adult, Antandroy

Renitraky

Male adult, Antandroy

Marofero’s tromba Marofero is a rising star among the mpañano tromba in Marofatsy. He is probably the one with most clients at the moment. He is also a tangalamena, and he works as an “ordinary” mpisikidy as well. His wife is from Mananjary, and some of his tromba are her relatives. He belongs to Ralahy’s association.

name

description

Ranalahy Tsimivalo He who does not accept defeat

A deceased human, male elder. He died and was buried in Marofatsy during the “Age of the Malagasy” (andro fahagasy, before French colonisation). He was a chief warrior, but nothing is known about where he comes from and who he fought for and against. In life, he was also a diviner and medicine man. As a tromba he is the leader of all of Marofero’s tromba, and he cures all kinds of illnesses. He can foresee future events, whether good or bad, for instance the birth of a child or the gendarmes going on tour.

Lemisara Judge

A deceased human, male elder and a Betsimisaraka from the Vatomandry area. In life he was a mpañano tromba. As a tromba he ranks second to Ranalahy Tsimivalo. He is a diviner and cures people. He is the master of Marofero’s “water” (the stream where rituals are held). During the ritual bath he is the first tromba to arrive. He checks that everything is all right, and searches the place for pollution (sorcery or other things).

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Table (cont.) name

description

Ibike tia lalao Ibike who likes play

A deceased human, young male and a Betsimisaraka from Masomeloka. In life he was a medicine man (mpañano fanafody). As a tromba he is the soldier of Tsimivalo and Lemisara. He is sent to collect medicinal plants in the forest. He “fights against guilt” (miady heloka).

Vavimainty Black woman

A deceased human, elder female and an Antambahoaka from Singavary, Mananjary. She lived in the time before the French came, and she was a midwife. As a tromba her main task (asa) is to take care of, nurse and raise children.

Fisaranalahy Judgement, male

A deceased human, male elder and an Antambahoaka from Lavakianja near Mananjary. He is the grandfather of Marofero’s wife who died in 1964. As a farmer, he cultivated rice and kept cattle. As a tromba his task is to provide medicine for the rice crop.

Baomahavita The woman who accomplishes things

A deceased human, elder female and a Betsimisaraka from Antalaha. She is a masseuse and curer and uses her hands to diagnose and cure, but does not divine. First and foremost she takes care of women’s diseases, pregnancy, children’s diseases, but she may also cure other kinds of illness. During the tromba rituals she walks around with the other curers, talking to people and asking them about their health.

Baomalady The quick one

A deceased human, young male and a Betsimisaraka from Ambatofisaka. He does nothing but make people laugh with his funny behaviour.

Tsimidola (He who) does not move his head

A deceased human, young male and a Betsimisaraka from Ambalahady near Masomeloka. While alive he liked to drink rum and fight. He does the same as a tromba: When he arrives he wants to fight. He is violent and scares people. Once, Marofero told me, Tsimidola took hold of Ralahy’s cloth, just below his chin, and almost beat him.

286

appendix ii Ravao’s tromba

Ravao is a middle-aged female mpañano tromba, who works together with her husband, who is her assistant and mpimasy/mpisikidy. Ravao belongs to Ralahy’s association.

name

description

Njakamahefa Ruler who complete things

A deceased human, male elder. He is an Antaimoro from Sakaraha. He lived in the time before the Menalamba rebellion, in the middle of the nineteenth century. When he was alive he was a diviner, and as a tromba he is a diviner; he “compares images” (ampitahana sary). He makes his diagnosis in two ways: he catches a person’s mirror image and takes it to god (Patì), or he puts his hand on a person’s head and feels which illness they suffer from, why they are suffering and what kind of treatment is required.

Nico

A deceased human, adult male. He is an Antandroy from Sakaraha. As a living person he was a cowherd. In 1947 he participated in the rebellion, and was second in command to the local rebel leader; he died defending his homeland. Now he is a tromba diviner, and compares images using the mirror. He cares for sick people and pregnant women, provides magic/medicine for the rice, and sorts out other problems, for instance with the authorities ( fanjakana).

Letody The accomplished

A deceased human, adult male in his thirties (manafilahy). He is a Betsimisaraka from Morafeno, who died because he was poisoned ( fandrian-olona). He is Nico’s soldier. One of his tasks (asa) is to travel all over the island to find medicine ( fanafody). He finds all kinds of medicine—for example “invigoraterule” ( fihembelonanzaka), “have-a-share” (mananjara), “straighten-up-what-is-done” (manarina bita), “rulerof-much-land” (manjakabetany)—for people who want children, rice, cattle, etc. His medicine is invisible; only the name is known. When Ravao holds a rombo, Letody arrives first, to check that everything is all right, to cleanse the place for the leading spirit (ny lehibe, rangahy), and to make sure that there is nothing to fear, such as bad medicine ( fanafody ratsy).

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Table (cont.) name

description

Kalabosy

An adult female from Vakinankaratra. She is a soldier and midwife.

Vavila

A water spirit (olon-drano), adult female. She is a Betsimisaraka from Andranotaratra, a stream near Lavajiiro.

Lefidy The choice

An adult male water spirit married to Vavila, and comes from the same place. They are both soldiers. Lefidy’s speciality is to take care of things associated with land/ cultivation, especially malicious land (tany masiaka), and he makes protective medicine (hampañano tany enzana, ody tany) for this purpose.

Kalasoa Young woman, Pretty/good/ agreeable

A deceased human, adult female married to Kalasoa, and from Ambohimiarina. She is a masseuse (mpanotro).

Tsaravita Good/well done

A deceased human, adult male married to Kalasoa, and from the same place. He used to be a mpisikidy while he was alive, and is now a tromba diviner. He also knows about medicine.

Marovavy An earth spirit (jinin-tany), female. She is a Betsimisaraka Many girls/women from Ambatobe near Lavajïro. She is a herald (ampanome feo). During tromba rituals she announces the arrival of other spirits and orders people to keep their spirit cloths ready. At the ritual bath (misetra am-pitsaràna), she steps into the water before the leading spirits, to check that everything is all right. Marie

An Earth spirit (jinin-tany), child female and a Betsimisaraka. She likes children and gives them sweets. She appoints and takes care of the girls who make barisa. In addition, she can be sent to people’s rice fields to guard them against birds (mpiambin-pody).

Vitaka

Same as Marie.

288

appendix ii Piera’s tromba

Piera is a middle-aged male mpañano tromba and a member of Ralahy’ association. His mother and his father’s mother are from Ambinanindrano, and many of his tromba are their relatives.

name

description

Iambo Proud

A deceased human, male elder and a Betsimisaraka from Ambinanindrano. Iambo was Piera’s great grandfather on his mother’s side. In life he was a mpañano tromba. As a tromba spirit he takes care of people, he divines with the help of the mirror and makes medicine. Often he comes to Piera in his sleep, and tells him what medicine to use. Iambo is the head of all of Piera’s tromba.

Name not known A deceased human, male elder, a Betsimisaraka, and (Piera does not Piera’s father’s mother’s uncle from Ambinanindrano. remember his name) As a tromba he works as a soldier and sees to it that everything is in order during tromba rituals. He helps people who are troubled by their tromba, who shake too much (mihetsika mafy) when their tromba is entering or leaving their bodies. Tsarafety Having “bonne sense”, a good vintana

A deceased human, male elder and a Betsimisaraka from Ambinanindrano. He is the father’s mother’s brother, who was a soldier in the French army, and fought and died in Europe during the Second World War. As a tromba he is a soldier who comes if other tromba are nasty. When he arrives he orders them to stop. He is never angry with people, only with spirits. When people are possessed by evil spirits ( fanahy ratsy, zavatra ratsy), he removes them. He orders them to leave, as Piera said, “just in the same way as the “shepherds” (mpiandry) do in the church.” Afterwards he gives the affected person medicine to prevent the spirit’s return. He likes dancing.

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289

Table (cont.) name

description

Vavirosety

A deceased human, adult female and a Betsimisaraka from Sambiaravo. She is Piera’s little sister, who died when she was two years old. She is not a child tromba though, as she has grown up just as living people do. Her task as a tromba is to help people with fertility problems, and she mostly cures women. Sometimes she also cures children. She is afraid of water and refuses to participate in the ritual bath, but she dances and sings, just like a woman. She has recently asked for a white cloth, which she has not yet received.

Zakatody

A deceased human, young male and a Betsimisaraka from Ambinanindrano. He is a relative but how he is related to Piera is not known. As a tromba he is a soldier. His tasks are the same as Tsarafety’s.

Lemavita The one who completes

A deceased human, male elder and an Antandroy from somewhere in the south. That is all that is known of his origin. His task as a tromba is to protect land (with medicine). He may also cure illnesses caused by malicious land. Lemavita behaves like an Antandroy: He talks like one, and, with strong and vehement movements, he dances like one, prefering fast rhythms. He may get angry if the rhythms are not fast enough (pengapenga).

Betsifantako Much I do not know, (The one who hides, is hidden)

A deceased human, male elder and a Betsimisaraka from the Nosy Varika area. That’s all that is known about him. He arrives, dances, sometimes he talks a little, and then he leaves. He has no particular tasks.

Vavimaitso Dark skinned woman

A deceased human, female elder and a Betsimisaraka from Sambiaravo. She lived during the “Age of the Malagasy” (andro fahagasy), and that’s all that is known about her. Her task as tromba is to provide love magic (ody fitia). She helps people who are searching for a partner (vady) and marriage (tokantrano). She talks like a woman in a high-pitched voice, and she dances like woman.

290

appendix ii Tody’s tromba

Tody is a mpañano tromba who is a member of Ralahy’s association.

name

description

Ravelomitsanga

A water spirit (olon-drano), male elder, and an Antambahoaka, from south of Mananjary.

Rabevazaha Honourable big foreigner

An adult male spirit. Tody’s father was a soldier in France, and died before or just after Tody was born. Tody says that this spirit was probably a companion of his father. He is a soldier, a warrior (miaramila, mpiady). Matody A deceased human, male elder, and a Betsimisaraka He who accomplishes from Ambohitranala, Impona. He is leprous, his hands are deformed by the illness (bongo tanany) and his feet are paralysed (osa). He heals people, and divines, but does so through his mouth because of his deformed hands. He has his own song that is sung to call him. Silenty

A water spirit, male elder from Marofatsy. He cures people “through his mouth” (am-bava).

Joeline’s tromba Joeline is a middle-aged woman, and she and her husband participate frequently in tromba rituals. She is not a mpañano tromba, but she attends the rituals of Ralahy, Marofero, Piera and Ravao. Her spirits are the soldiers of the mpañano tromba. She says she does not know much about her spirits, since they are not as important as a mpañano tromba’s spirits. None of their names were known.

name

description

Name unknown

A deceased human, female elder. Joeline inherited this tromba from her mother. When her mother died, the tromba moved to Joeline. Her name and place of origin are unknown, and Joeline says that people have never asked her tromba. This tromba cures small children. She does not use divination, but she talks

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291

Table (cont.) name

description with the parents and watches the child. She just uses her knowledge of illness and medicine. Sometimes she visits Joeline in her dreams and gives advice about medicine. When she arrives during tromba rituals, she sings and dances. She has a red and a white blouse, and a cloth (lamba hoany). Sometimes she gets angry if Joeline has violated any of her taboos ( fady).

Name unknown

A deceased human, adult female. Her place of origin in unknown. She can also cure and provide medicine. She likes singing and dancing.

Ravavy’s tromba Ravavy was an old woman who came from Ilaka, but followed her husband to Marofatsy in 1947. She was recognised to be the first and most important mpañano tromba leader in the area, although her reputation had declined during her declining years. Only three or four of these spirits would appear during her final years, since the others had gradually left her (as spirits do when death is approaching). Ravavy died in 1998.

name

description

Botovelona Slave, but still powerful

A water spirit (lolon-drano), male elder from Ilaka. He was Ravavy’s first spirit, and the leader of them all. He is a diviner, and he may provide children, rice, cattle, and cures for all kinds of illnesses.

Demisara Judge

A deceased human, male elder. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka, and the uncle of Ravavy’s mother. He was a tromba leader (mpañano tromba) until his death, and as a tromba he is a diviner. He uses the mirror and cures all kinds of illnesses. He is recognised by the way he cuts his arm when he arrives. The blood runs, but when he strokes his arm the bleeding stops.

292

appendix ii

Table (cont.) name

description

Ravelo Honourable living/ vital/vigorous

A deceased human, adult male. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka, and the maternal uncle of Ravavy. He was a mpañano tromba while alive, and died some time before 1947. He is the soldier of the first two tromba. As a soldier his main task during the rituals is to take care of mad people (miambin’olon-foka), people who are overly bothered by their tromba, including being unable to get in or out of the trance, “shaking” too much (mihetsika mafy) or the tromba being too violent (mafy lohatra). He is also a diviner, using the mirror and order medicine.

Botomazava Luminous slave, servant

A water spirit, male adult. He is a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka, and a diviner who cures people by using the mirror. His speciality is persons who are insane or psychologically inbalanced (olona foka, mivadivadika ny saina). A deceased human, adult male, and a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka. He is Ravavy’s maternal uncle, and was a mpañano tromba when alive. As a tromba spirit his speciality is infertility.

Giga

Todivelona Accomplished living/ vigorous

A deceased human, male elder, and a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka. He is a male relative of Ravavy’s mother. While alive he was a cattle breeder, and he was known for his ability to fight bulls. As a tromba spirit he is a diviner; he uses the mirror and cures.

Botovola Slave/servant, money

A male earth spirit (jinin-tany), and a Betsimisaraka from Marofatsy, the land close to Ravavy’s family’s fields. This tromba does not dance. He has two specialities: love magic (ody fitia) and honey magic (ody tantely).

Rasatiny

A deceased human, female and a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka. When alive she was a mpañano tromba. As a tromba she no longer cures, but dances and plays.

Baozafy

A female water spirit from the river Maroingitra near Ilaka. Her task is to dance, make music and sing. A deceased male human and a Betsimisaraka from Ilaka. He is Ravavy’s maternal uncle. While alive he used to “make music” (mañano osika) by playing the sikaiamba and singing during tromba rituals. He does the same as a tromba.

Lempango

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293

Table (cont.) name

description

Name unknown

An earth spirit from Marofatsy, Ambatonatadina, the land close to Ravavy’s fields. This spirit is deaf. It dances but cannot speak, and utters sounds like deaf people do, and makes people laugh.

Bitika Small

An adolescent water spirit from Ilaka. It speaks like small children do. Its task is to protect the rice fields from birds ( fody). It laughs a lot, making people laugh and happy (mampihome, mahafaly olona).

Name unknown

A male Antandroy.

Lahisoa’s tromba Lahisoa is Ravavy’ son, and together with his sister Soahita, he has continued the practice after the mother’s death.

name

description

Dobalava

A deceased human, adult male and a Betsimisaraka. He is a deceased relative of his mother’s ancestry, from Antanambao-Manamponsy near Ilaka. He cures people and knows divination.

Soahita’s tromba Soahita is Ravavy’s daughter who lives in Vohidamba, but joins her brother’s rituals in Marofatsy, using her mother’s water as a base for her own activity.

name

description

Beauchoix

An adult female spirit and a Betsimisaraka from Antapolomena, Vohidamba. She takes care of children and pregnant women and births. She does not like fish (tsy tia laoka).

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appendix ii

Table (cont.) name

description

Mamolava Drunkard

An adult male spirit from Antanambao-Manamponsy near Ilaka. He cures people, and knows divination. He takes care of difficult, sad things (zavatra mampalahelo), and people who are depressed. He does not like water and does not take part in the ritual bath.

Pelika’s tromba Pelika was an old man, who had a small tromba circle. He became a tangalamena for the southern part of the village a few months before he died in 1998. He originally had twelve tromba, but only four were left in the period before he died. During the Volambita in 1997 he aquired a new spirit in addition to these four. He used to belong to Ravavy’s association, and one of his daughters is married to Ravavy’s youngest son.

name

description

Ramiaraka A companion, one who follows without any particular cause

A deceased human, male elder and a Betsimisaraka from Tendrombohitra, south-west of Marofatsy. He lived in the “Age of the Malagasy” (andro fahagasy). That is all that is known about his former life. As a tromba he works as a medicine man. He no longer divines; he is too old for that, but he uses his knowledge of illness and medicine to cure people. He is the head of Pelika’s tromba, and at rituals he is usually the last one to arrive, typically after his soldiers. He is old and tired. When he arrives he dodders along like an old man. He is always in a good mood. He dances but not for long, as he can’t take it anymore. Then he sits down and starts talking to people, and curing.

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Table (cont.) name

description

Ndremiranty (The one) who is vain, likes to wear pretty things, necklaces, etc.

A water spirit (olon-drano, “like a vazimba”), male elder from the brook that runs below Pelika’s settlement. He speaks a mixture of Antandroy and Sakalava. He might have originally come from far away. He is a diviner and deals with the “blame” (manambara tahiña) that people might carry. He can take care of all kinds of trouble—in particular impotence, infertility, illnesses caused by bad medicine—and provides medicine for the rice crops. He can be recognised by the way he drapes his loincloth (salaka) diagonally over his shoulder and around his waist. When he has put his cloth on, he finds the mirror and starts to divine. When he plays and dances he sometimes does it in a Sakalava manner, and sometimes like a Betsimisaraka.

Levelo The vivant, vigorous

A water spirit, adult male from a small waterfall near Pelika’s settlement. He can cure, but not divine. He cures all kinds of illnesses. He speaks Betsimisaraka, but his voice is high-pitched like a woman’s. He never dances, but sits down when he arrives, and talks to people, listens to them, gives advice and provides medicine. He has three children, but no wife. When he cures people all he wants for payment is some sweets (Pecto) to take back home.

Randafy

A deceased human, young male. He is an Antandroy and that is all that is known about him. He does not cure. When he arrives he dances violently like an Antandroy, with a lot of jumping. Pelika, who is getting old, becomes particularly exhausted by the arrival of this tromba. Randafy is always in a good mood, and does not easily get angry or offended. He likes to talk, and he loves attending gatherings that are “noisy, animated” (maresaka). Very often he comments upon the music; if the rhythms are too slow, which he dislikes, he asks for the faster rhythms of Antandroy music.

Ravelomahita “Bonne sense”, his work will always be fruitful, show results.

A young male from Tsahabolana, east of Mavelombady, south of Marofatsy. He arrived for the first time at the last Volambita, in October of 1997. He said he just came to visit the place (hitsapa toerana) to see if it suited him and whether or not he liked it there (tamana).

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appendix ii Renin’i Carine (Pelika’s wife)’s tromba

She participates in her husband’s rituals as his assistant and interpreter. She has two spirits.

name

description

Soamiadana Agreeable, peaceful

A deceased human, female elder. She is a Betsimisaraka from Ambalavonta near Masomeloka (on the coast). When she arrives, she dances and talks, but she does not cure people. Sometimes she comes to Renin’i Carine in her dreams, and warns her about coming deaths in the village. She also warns her if her daughters or some of her grandchildren are ill or have problems.

Iavitsara Good/pretty woman

A deceased human, female elder and a Betsimisaraka from the Masomeloka area. She behaves in much the same way as Soamiadana.

Iandro’s tromba Iandro is a mpañano tromba who used to turn up at many of the tromba rituals in the village. He is an old man, but enjoys singing and used to sit together with the other musicians playing sikaiamba. Lately, he has started to hold his own rituals. He first attended a tromba ritual during his youth while visiting relatives in Vatomandry. He stayed there for one year. Three of his tromba are from the Vatomandry area. He belongs to Ravavy’s association.

name

description

Ravelo Honourable living/ vigorous

A male elder and a Betsimisaraka from the Vatomandry area. He is a diviner who uses the mirror and cures (though Iandro told me he is “not so clever”—tsy mahay lohatra). His speciality is love magic. He is a musician first and foremost, but he is also a good dancer and singer.

Lehilahy maiañ Strong man

A young male in his twenties and a Betsimisaraka from the Vatomandry area. He is a soldier whose main task is to wake up people who fall asleep during the rituals. He does so by wandering around and sprinkling cold water on people.

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Table (cont.) name

description

Lerama The handsome

A young male, about thirty and a Betsimisaraka from the Vatomandry area. He is crazy ( fokafoka) and comical, and his task in rituals is to make people laugh and happy. He is easy going, a nice and happy person. He laughs all the time and behaves ridiculously in order to make people laugh.

Botovola Slave/servant, silver/ money

This is the same Botovola as Ravavy’s spirit. In addition to the already mentioned qualities, Iandro said that it is capable of predicting the coming of bad things, or bad omens. This is the only case I encountered where two mediums share the same spirit.

Rangahy’s tromba Rangahy used to belong to Ravavy’s association. name

description

Longovi Strong, powerful relative

A deceased human, male elder and an Antaimoro from a place where the Mananjary river joins the Ambinansaka river. He is a diviner, and when he divines, he uses two mirrors: a big one decorated with kaolin (ravoravo), and a small one with a coin on it. When divining, he looks into the big mirror through the small one. He never uses incense. He cures all kinds of illnesses, takes care of children, provides medicine for rice crops, neutralises sorcery and foresees the coming of bad things. Through this tromba’s power, Rangahy can see whether sick people are going to live or die. Usually when he cures, Longovi comes to Rangahy in his dreams. In other words, Rangahy has to dream in order to diagnose what is bothering the sick person, to identify which spirit is struggling in him, and to come up with the appropriate treatment. Longovi can be recognised by his long red shirt, which he always wears unbuttoned. In addition, he uses the long salaka cloth, or a lamba hoany, and two necklaces (vakana). He likes flowers and finery, and when they are performing the Volambita, the house is decorated with red flowers and tendrils from passion fruit vines. He has his own alter in the south-east corner of the room. Rangahy says that this is an Antaimoro fomba (Antaimoro custom). Longovi

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appendix ii

Table (cont.) name

description often dances with a plate in his hand, turning the hand upside-down without dropping it. He does the same with the mirror, and this, Rangahy says, is an effective way to invoke other tromba. Another characteristic of Longovi is the fact that he never sits down.

Ndetsara (The) enjoyable, beautiful

A deceased human, male elder and a Northern Betsimisaraka from west of Ilaka, on the way to Manamponsy. He is a diviner, but uses only one mirror adorned with ravoravo drawings. He can cure most illnesses, but if people hide something embarrassing (theft, murder, incest, sorcery), he is unable to cure them. He touches the necks newborn children and decides whether or not they are born too early, and if so he offers medicine. He is clever with medicine, and tells Rangahy which plants to collect in the forest. He sings and dances, just as most tromba do. He is recognisable by the way he wears the salaka diagonally over the shoulder.

Velontsara Living well

A water spirit, young male who lives in Rangahy’s water. He has no particular tasks, he just arrives, dances and then leaves.

Vavitsara Beautiful/good woman

A female water spirit and the master and guard of Rangahy’s waterfall. She sends a message to Rangahy if someone has placed bad magic in the water. She can cure serious illnesses and mortal diseases and does so by visiting Rangahy in his dreams. Her medicine is her own water, from the waterfall. She typically sings and dances and when she arrives at a ritual, she often dances with children in her arms, holds them gently, touches them, and gives them a massage before she returns them to their mothers. She is recognisable by the way she wears her cloth (lamba hoany) around her waist like a woman.

Maniry (The one who is) growing

A deceased human, young male and an Antandroy. He is a warrior and is recognisable by his loincloth. When he arrives, he is looking for a fight and asks: “who is strong [here]?” (iza no mazana) and the people answer: “there is none” (tsisy). Then Maniry starts jumping high, up and down, up and down. With a spear in his hand, he dances and then he points the spear at Rangahy’s chest and leaves. He is not frightening, as people are used to him, and laugh when he appears; he always makes people laugh and happy.

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Table (cont.) name

description

Tiarano (The one who) likes water

An earth spirit (jinin-tany), young male from west/ south-west of Marofatsy. If Rangahy has guests from remote villages, this spirit can be sent home to check that everything is all right with them, for instance if someone is about to give birth, is ill, etc. He provides medicine for infertile women, for people who want to cultivate “malicious land” (tany masiaka), and for people who accidentally kill animals that are forbidden to kill ( fady). Tiarano is a comic spirit, who makes people laugh. He knows things about people, and makes jokes about these. He sometimes speaks indistinctly, in a funny way.

Jaona’s tromba Jaona is a young man, and an active member in the Lutheran church. He cures people but never performs rituals, and his tromba only appear in his dreams.

name

description

Vaovola

A young female spirit. She can reveal the good things that are going to happen (manatoro zavatra mahafinaritra), and she gives advice regarding what to do to acquire things such as money, cooking pots, etc.

Lemora The easy, generous

A young male spirit. He gives advice regarding illnesses, and prescribes medicine, and is particularly good at curing pain in the bones and joints. He also cures infertility.

Foreigner, name unknown

An adult male spirit. He is a white foreigner, and he speaks an incomprehensible language (not French). He looks very much like the polish Catholic priests in Marolambo. He wears long trousers; he is bearded and smokes cigarettes. When he speaks, spirit number four translates. His task is the same as Vaovola’s.

Name unknown

A young Malagasy male spirit. He is always together with the foreigner. He cures people, and interprets for the foreigner. His speciality is curing people who “do not feel comfortable about settling down” (tsy tamana toetra), that is people who are not able to settle, people who “keep on wandering/moving” (mandehandeha foaña).

300

appendix ii George’s tromba

George first encountered tromba in 1955, when he visited his uncle for eight months in the Sakalava region in north-west of Madagascar. He told me that this might be the reason why one of his spirits is Sakalava; it might have followed him back home. Iandro used to attend his rituals, and Pelika used to join him. He is also loosely connected to Zafy in Sambiaravo.

name

description

Menaravo Red joy

A male elder spirit and is the head of George’s spirits. Menaravo is an Antemoro who is nasty (maditra), aggressive, and strict (masiaka). He does not dance. He can tell if any of those present at the ritual brought bad medicine with them. Sometimes people do, George says, just to test the power of this spirit. He does not like rice, but eats manioc.

Lemisara Judge

An adult male spirit and a Sakalava. He cures people. He does not dance, since he is short breathed (sempotra). He has his own shirt and cloth (lamba hoany). He does not eat pork.

Tongafeno Completely full, complete

A young male from Amorontsiraka in the Mahanoro district, near the ocean. He does not dance. When he comes he asks: “Who is strong?” (Iza no mafy é?) He is vicious (masiaka), and stays only for a short time.

Mahavory Who reunites, assembles

A young male spirit.

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Marolahy’s tromba Marolahy is a mpañano tromba in Ambalakaza, a village located about one and a half hour’s walking distance from Marofatsy. He has been a mpañano tromba since 1979, and his father was a mpañano tromba before him.

name

description

Demisara Judge

A deceased human, male elder and Betsimisaraka. He is Marolahy’s maternal grandmother’s youngest brother. He disappeared after being taken by a mermaid (zazavavin-drano). As a tromba he is a diviner; he uses the mirror and cures all kinds of illnesses. Although he is a Betsimisaraka, he speaks many different dialects: Betsileo, Antandroy, Antaisaka, northern Betsimisaraka, southern Betsimisaraka, Antaimoro, northern Sakalava, and sometimes he even speaks French. Marolahy says that Demisara’s ability to speak different dialects is a sign of his power (ny heriny). He dances in a variety different ways as well, depending on the dialect he is speaking. Sometimes he dances with a spear in his hands, sometimes with a small child. According to Marolahy, the spear is a sign of his power, “the spear is sharp” (marangitra).

Ramorona Honourable bank, shore, outskirts

A water spirit (olon-drano), adult male and an Antaimoro from the river Alefaka. He is a diviner, but instead of using a mirror, he uses a piece of wood with four twigs, which resembles a hand. He looks at it and divines. He is a curer and “takes care of people and cattle.” People make vows, and promise him the tenth head of cattle in return. He speaks and dances like an Antaimoro and he is very strong (mazamazana). Sometimes it is difficult to understand what Ramorona says. Usually Marolahy’s wife interprets. If she does not understand, they call for the tromba Demisara to translate.

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appendix ii

Table (cont.) name

description

Mandritsara A young male water spirit of about thirty, and a (The one who) sleeps Betsimisaraka, from Nosindrano near Nosy Varika well (on the coast). He is a soldier, and during the rituals he helps people with strong and powerful tromba (mazamazana, mampihetsika mafy). He holds them, hits them with his loincloth (salaka), and puts the cloth around them to calm them down and to help them through. Sometimes he also walks around to wake up sleeping people. He enjoys dancing, and sometimes he dances with a bottle on his finger. Faravavy Youngest daughter

A female, adolescent water spirit. She is a Betsimisaraka and the daughter of the tromba Demisara. Her task is to cure small children and provide medicine to protect the rice fields against birds. She can even cure unborn children, while still in their mother’s womb. As payment for these services she asks for four ariary (twenty Malagasy Francs) and sweets. She is very small and talks like a little child. When she arrives she drapes a piece of white cloth around her head, so that the face appears small. She never stands, but only sits and dances while sitting.

Falifara

A young female water spirit (olon-drano). She speaks northern Betsimisaraka, but her place of origin is unknown. She is the wife of the tromba Demisara. When she arrives she greets people, and asks them about their health. Then she says goodbye and leaves. She stays only for a short while, and does not dance or sing.

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Zafy’s tromba Zafy is a renowned mpañano tromba in Sambiaravo. His rituals were the most crowded ones of those I attended (in the Volambita of 1998, there were 220 people present, and thirty-six chickens were sacrificed). More than twenty years ago he got sick, drank too much rum and went “mad” ( fokafoka). This was when his spirit appeared. His mother occasionally participated in tromba activities and his father was a tangalamena.

name

description

Randrianarivo Honourable ruler of thousands

A deceased human, male elder and an Andriamalaza from Vohilava, Mananjara. He cures through divination. He has his own shirt. He does not dance much because he is old. He appears only reluctantly (malaña mivoaka).

Randriamalaza Honourable, famous noble/ruler

An adult male spirit and a Sakalava from Mahajanga. He cures people and divines. He speaks Sakalava and he has just learned to dance, something he could not do before.

Zanabola Descendant of silver/ money

A water spirit, adult female from Zafy’s water. Her voice is nasal and she does not dance, just sits. She takes care of children.

Ralezaka

A young male spirit and an Antandroy, who serves as a solder and is sent into the forest to collect medicinal herbs. He is very strong (mazana) and dances like an Antandroy. He cures people and he also knows divination. As an Antandroy he does not like rice, only manioc.

304

appendix ii Renin’i Bera

She is the grandchild of a renowned and deceased mpañano tromba from Marofatsy’s neighbouring village Mavelombady. She “re-raised” her grandmother’s water for the first time in 1998, without telling the other mpañano tromba since this was very controversial at the time.

name

description

Maheva

A deceased human, adult male and an Antaimoro from Ambalakondro. He is a soldier. While he does not know divination, he can, however, prescribe medicine. He does not collect the herbs himself, but cures with his mouth (mitsabo amin’ny vava) by telling people which herbs to collect and how to use them. He cures people but does not provide protective medicine for the rice crop, cattle, etc. He speaks Antaimoro but dances like a Betsimisaraka. He does not like the colour red, but prefers light green.

Tsaravola Good/pretty silver/ money

A male earth spirit from Vohidamba. He likes tobacco. When he arrives he does not dance, he just sits down and talks. He takes care of sick people, in the same way as Maheva.

APPENDIX III

EXTRACTS OF CONVERSATIONS WITH SPIRITS Malagasy version Conversation between Marofero’s spirit Tsimivalo and others concerning a pig that has polluted the water at the ritual site. Tsimivalo: Iha! Akôry izay e? Variana añareo olo-velo. Aiza daholo iañareo é? Raha variana iañareo, tsy hijoboka, mialà àry rehefa tsy hijoboke añareo izao é! Hah! Olo mizaha fañahy ahy fôña añareo. Ino mahatonga añareo minga aty? Marofero’s son: Angatahina aloha aza mbola hanirahana miaramila fa angatahinay aloha izañy. Tsimivalo: Hah! Anareo fa milaza hoe: “Volambita”, anareo zé. Nefa anareo tsy milatsaka. Akôry zé ny bilady ety raha tonga ny Bilika? Ho hitanareo tsara ny asa rehefa tonga ity. Hijery mañodidina ny ôloña aminareo ety. Ravao’s husband: Hisetra avy izy io, ka aza tezitra iañareo, fa mbola hiditra io miaramila io. Tsimivalo: Hijery fotsiny, ataonareo ino? Tsômankotriky añareo zay no hitsahiñareo zay. Arovañay dahôlo ny olona iñy miaramilanay. Akôry, hah, izy itôña? Ny ôlona malaka tsômankôrô, dia tsy mahazo misetra amin’ny rano ity. Attention! Tsy mahazo misetra! Marofero’s son: Mangataka izahay, tompoko.

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Tsimivalo: Tandremo malaka somankotroka fa añy é rahako, any Bilika añy é, zahey tsy adaladalanareo zahey. Zay malaka sômankôrô tsy mahazo milatsaka ety. Tandremo fa rehefa milatsaka izy a, añy rahako, any Bilika añy! Angamba hataoko fa fahasivy mivoaka añy! Assistant (husband of one of the soldier-mediums): Reny izy iany, fa tsy tantaraina intsony fa henony izy iany! Tsimivalo: Ataovy matetitetika moa fa izahay mandefitra matetika olovelona zé izany a. Hah! Nefa ho àry jereonareo fa tsy misy hasiny mariny Tsimivalo. Izaho mbola amin’ny toerana eto Tsimivalo, dia tsy niteny feo aminareo toy izay. Maromaro isika eto isaky ny Volambita izay a. Hah! Ino raha itôña. Daniel’s tromba: Azafady ré! Tsy mikarakara anao zaho rangahy. Azafady ré. Tsy mikarakara resaka anao. Ino raha tõña? Mbola tsy nizaha aho. Hah! Biti-bitiké zaho é. Ho mibaliaka masoandro. Ino raha ataonareo izao an-doharano izao? Añahy zay resaka e. Ravao’s husband: Efa hivaloana io ka. Ralahy: Tsy raha nafatotra fa tapa-tady, fa ny lambo dia tsy miaraka amin’olona. Daniel’s tromba: Kiaka masoandro izao izao aty an-doharano izao. Mibaliaka sahala eo. Ravao’s husband: Aza arahina amin’ny fahadisoana ny olovelona! Daniel’s tromba: Miala tsiny izay iabako, fa tsy mamaly resaka anao izaho é! Tsy mikalañy resaka anao é!

extracts of conversations with spirits

307

Tsimivalo: Hah! Aza matahotra ianao fa hitolatola izaho io. Aza matahotra zaho, mba ra tsy sahirana ny olovelona. Tohanako Bilike tsy mahazo mandeha ety izy niañy. Iah! Fa na iBilike tao, ah! Io voamalilike anareo io dia naparaka daholo. Avy io androany, fa tsy misy antony io! Marofero’s wife: Raha mbola mañano indroa izy mandefa ny lambony ao, dia añareo ny sisa. Tsimivalo: Tohanako izy izao, olovelona, izahay efa nivôlaña taminareo, tsy atahoranareo. Fa ataovinareo lakoro izay io doaninay io! Ravao’s husband: Namana mangataka, namana mampirisika. Aza mañano an’izany! Tsimivalo: Efa mila ditra izy ka! Efa firifiry izaho niresaka taminareo ataonareo tsy misy antony? Hah! Rehefa matetitetika misy zavatra miseho ato, Iah. Ary amin’ny olo filahanay any maraiña, arika matetitetika manadio ato. Hitanay io zavatra io. Marofero’s wife: Raha mbola mandika izañy iañareo ka mbola manindroa ny lambonareo io dia izany no izy. Tsimivalo: Tohanako mihitsy ity. Irahiko Bilike izao. Irahiko hivoaka izy a. Ravao’s husband (as well as others present): Àha! Marofero’s wife: Izahay dia mangataka fa mandroa izareo dia eo iañareo no mahita ny zavatra hatao aminy.

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Tsimivalo: Fa izao, efa mivôlaña izahay isaky ny Volambita, isaky Volambita, mivôlaña. Fa ataovinareo koa ity lakoro ity. Izay tô mahatonga anay io. Asa lahy é! Anareo aza mizaha fañahy! Tsisy mivalo, tsisy mivalo, tsisy mivalo hitsabo-teña eto. Tsisy mivalo, tsisy mivalo, tsisy mivalo! Iah! Marofero’s daughter: Aoka izay! Tsimivalo: Anareo holovelona no karakarenay, fa izahay my efa tsy mikarakara izahay. Fa efa Zañahary fantatra izahay. Anareo holovelo no arovanay fa izahay efa fantatra ka tsisy zavatra atahoraña kao izay. Iah! Marofero’s daughter’s husband: Avohoy izañy zavatra izañy ka izay lambo tonga keto dia enjeho fa mampalahelo ny vahoaka! Raha izañy my tsy hampandeha ny zanakareo fa mandeha io fa izany fa izay tonga keo ny zaza hokarakaraina dia ataovy andeha fa izay lambo tonga keto dia tano. Piera (another mpañano tromba, member of the association): Ah! Aoka fa vita! Tsimivalo: Tsy izaho koka añareo zay a. Ahoana tsy hisetra? Ao holona mizaka zé, ao mijoboka zé. Raha mbola keto izahay tsy misy manahirana anareo io, fa efa voñona izahay! Another son of Marofero: Miroboka dia ny anay misy adiniko my aketo, satria mampalahelo be mako ny teny teo io. Tsimivalo: Izaho efa nanolotra añareo a. Tsy mamono holona izaho a, fa raha i Bilika tolofanareo zé, mivoaka daholo (. . .). Asa lahy. Iah! (. . .). Izaho tsy mamono holona. Iah.

extracts of conversations with spirits

309

Joeline’s tromba exclaims that it removes one of Joeline’s taboos. Marofero’s spirit calls his assistants as witnesses. Joeline’s tromba: Salama ny olo filahanay dia homana ny vary rahana (vary andrahoana akotry). Mahazo misamoka. Izaho mañome. Mitentina izy fa Volambita fa no fanekinay. Marofero’s tromba: Marina ve izany? Tsy hamitaka va ianao? Joeline’s tromba: Tsy hamitaka aho. Marofero’s tromba: Aiza daholo ny miaramila? (Some assistants, spirits and humans, approach) Joeline’s tromba: Izany a, tsy nisalama ny olon’ny filahanay, nampifadiananay ny vary rahana na tampoka salama. Tampoka foan’ny Volambita. Izao salama mahazo homana vary rahana. Marofero’s tromba: Yah! Ravao’s husband: Sao ianao mamitaka. Joeline’s tromba: Tsy hamitaka aho. Ravao’s husband: Sao ianao mamitaka, fa amason’ny kompania izy io! (to the others): Kaia ny tany ravo?

APPENDIX IV

TROMBA VOCABULARY

tromba vocabulary

betsimisaraka

anakatohy, anakatoho anakahy anjoarivavy, anjoarilahy antseka azary

aho, iaho ity anay viavy, lahy, vady zaza fanafody

I, me here mine woman, man, spouse child medicine

baka, bakabaka bilady biladim-panjakana boky bovotraka

aomby tany tanana fitaratra bevoka

cattle land village, “government’s land” mirror pregnant

dadivavy dadilahy doany

reny aba, iaba toby, trano

mother father house, camp, ritual site

fahatelo faly famindra fanasa

ray tampo fady ongotra vilia

fandray fañeva fanjava filaha fitekoka fisako fitety

tanana volo fitaratra, volana akoho nify loha

sibling taboo leg, foot plate with water used in ritual village hair mirror used in ritual, moon tromba medium chicken teeth head

gara fanintona giligoara

fanjakana toaka

government, state rum

hañañaña

vola

money

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Table (cont.) tromba vocabulary

betsimisaraka

kata kovoin’olon-maro

ody, fanafody tanana

medicine village

mahesaka maheva malandy

rano matanjaka tanin’dravo, ravoravo marary masoandro mipetraka

stream, waterfall, ritual site strong white clay (kaolin)

mizoso

sick sun sit hail mihinana, homana eat faly happy mandihy dance misetra immerse oneself in the water mihinana, homana eat mivadika turn vady spouse miteny, miaka, speak mizaka miditra enter

oly, holy

ody

medicine

pasaka Patì

sikidy zañahary

divination god

sabatra salaka sikily somasoma

saloy, lefona lambamena lava sikidy dihy, kilalao

spear long red cloth divination dance, play

tsimankotrika, tsomankotriky, somankoro

lambo

pig

velona vary

altar, sacred enclosure living, alive rice

masiry masova mifilaka mikoeza migaka mira miridika miroboka mitomoka mivalika mpisafy mivolaña

valamasina viloka voamalilika

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INDEX Aesthetics 12, 133, 140, 159, 164, 220, 221n Composite aesthetics See composite Transgressive aesthetics 12, 167, 223–224, 272 Africa(n) 63, 101n, 128, 216, 260, 270 Althabe, G. 255–256 Ambodiharina 34, 127 Ancestor(s) 23, 28–33, 35, 57, 61, 67, 73–82, 90–91, 115–119, 123, 125–128, 146, 151n, 169, 172–176, 183, 196–198, 218–219, 230, 233, 236–239, 243–248, 251, 253, 256, 266n–267, 269, 274 Ancestralisation 50, 82 Ancestral blessing 74, 176, 246 Ancestral orders 74–75, 78–79, 81, 125, 175–176, 196 Andriafañahy 28–29, 33 Andrianolona 28–30 Antambahoaka 97, 122, 281 Antandroy 1, 38, 96–98, 119n Antemoro 1, 40, 96–97, 217fn49 Antesaka 259 Anthropology 4, 10, 58, 222–223, 233, 236, 273, 277 Anthropological literature 233–234 Anthropological works/studies 5, 12, 36–37, 256 Anti-colonial rebellion See rebellion Appropriation 81, 266 AREMA See Avant-Garde de la Révolution Malgache Avant-Garde de la Révolution Malgache 48 Bakhtin, M. 224–226 Barisa 99, 179–181 Bath of Judgement See Judgement bath Betsileo 25, 135n14 Betsimisaraka 1–2, 14, 20, 23fn, 28–29, 34–35, 37, 49–52, 59, 69, 73–75, 78, 81, 83–84, 87, 97, 100n 108, 115–116, 119, 127–128, 140, 195n29, 229, 235, 237, 239–245, 248, 251–252, 264, 269, 271, 273–274 Ethnicity of 37–40 Identity of 39–40, 199, 236

Political history of 40–49, 236–239 Social relations of 77–78, 122n Bloch, M. x, 73–74, 81, 118, 120, 141n, 175–176, 233 Blood 29, 178, 189 Flow of 230–231 Bricolage 101, 110, 262, 271 Carnival 224–226 Castoriadis, C. 9–11, 83, 101, 233, 236–237, 249, 272–273 Christianity 50, 134, 268, 276 Christian 73, 76, 80, 116, 211, 255, 268, 276 Non-Christian(s) 116, 211 Pre-Christian(s) 225 Christian awakening 70, 72–73, 255, 268n14–15, 276–277 Church 36, 50–51, 68, 69–76, 79–80, 133, 136n15, 253, 255–256, 268, 276 Circumcision rituals 120, 161, 176, 179n Class 259–260, 268, 271 Cole, J. x, 23n, 34, 48n16, 49, 77, 81–82, 116–117n, 119–120, 127, 233, 237, 246n, 251 Cole, M. 159 Collective experience 238 Collective identity 269 Collective memory 240, 243, 267 Colombia 217n51, 223 Colonial(ism) 21, 37–39, 42–47, 49–52, 82, 97n, 237–238, 247–249, 252, 254, 257n5, 258, 268–270, 274 Pre-colonial 36, 38–39, 41, 52, 101, 238–239, 241, 244 Post-colonial 11, 47, 49, 238, 239, 242, 251–252, 256, 258, 266, 270 Comedy 102, 224–225, 228 Composites 111, 124, 133, 159, 220, 229 Composite making 221n, 262 Connectivity 18, 138, 229, 273–274 Contestation 3, 256. See also resistance Cosmology 2, 18, 89, 101, 169, 224–226, 228–229, 239, 278 Creativity 2–3, 175, 218, 249, 272–273 Culture 3–8, 37–38, 224, 226, 249, 251, 256, 258, 261, 270

322

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Malagasy culture 259. See also Malagasy Ministry of culture 275 Political culture 49 Sakalava culture 123–124, 238. See also Sakalava Subculture 3, 217, 256 Western(ised) culture 99, 242, 244 Customs See fomba Cycle 142, 167 Moon cycle 14, 140–141, 229 Seasonal cycle 24, 140 Dance 14, 60–61, 78, 85, 88, 98, 105, 109, 139, 143–144, 152, 154, 157–158, 163, 164, 178, 224, 228, 264 Deleuze, G. 228–229 Deleuze, G. and F. Guattari 110, 217, 223–224, 249, 251, 268, 271–272, 274 Descent 28–29, 81–82, 118, 119n, 239–240, 248n Divination 60–61, 74, 84, 89, 97, 112, 122n, 140, 181, 206, 220–221, 261 Diviner 49, 60, 61, 67, 85, 96, 97, 99, 102, 105, 109, 135fn, 187, 221, 241, 247n, 264, Education 33, 39, 42, 76, 258, 268 Eidos 273 Emoff, R. 133–134, 162, 164, 221n, 243, 266 Ethnic(ity) 37–39, 96–97, 99, 101, 108, 128, 253, 257–262, 267, 269 Ethnic group 20, 37–38, 41, 96–97n, 235, 258, 264, 268 Ethnic identity 40, 102–103, 119n, 252 Ethnic particularism 39 Multi-ethnic 53, 133, 243, 259 Trans-ethnic 261–262 Ethnographic. See Ethnography Ethnography 12, 41, 119, 134, 216, 253 Ethno-nationalism 42, 259–261 Europe(an) 35, 76, 117, 129, 133, 225, 288 Exorcism 70–72, 85–86, 112, 134, 162, 176, 200, 202, 206, 276–277 Fanafody 58–61, 68, 228. See also Magic and Medicine Fanafody ratsy 59–60, 136, 182, 207. See also Sorcery Farataona 139–140, 145, 167, 220

Feeley-Harnik, G. 236, 238, 248n, 256n5, 269 Fertility 74, 82, 141, 179n, 195n29 Fifohazana See Christian awakening Fitsaboana See tromba curing Flag 264–266 Malagasy flag 131, 136n16, 137, 241 Fomba (customs) 74–76, 117, 151 France 47, 240, 258 French 2, 23, 28, 36, 38–39, 42–47, 49–50, 52n22, 97, 101, 106, 129, 133, 188n, 244, 247–248, 256–259, 276n Friedson, S. 149, 163 Functionalism 3–5, 137, 224, 236 Genealogical See genealogy Genealogy 87, 90, 234, 236–237, 239–240 George ix, 122, 179–180, 198, 210, 300 God 76, 149, 169, 171, 174–176, 183–184. See also Patì and Zanahary Guilt 147, 168, 179, 182n14, 194–197, 221, 227, 230 Handelman, D. x, 4–5, 104, 226 Hasina 30–31, 73–74, 81, 88–89, 140–142, 147, 159, 195–196, 226–230, 245, 247, 274 Flow of 226–227, 229–230, 273–274, 278 Hasina plant 145, 168, 179 Hauka 101n, 233, 267n13 Herbalist 60–62, 67, 97, 187, 205 Hierarchy 13, 17, 77, 113 Cosmic hierarchy 89 Spirit hierarchy 99–101, 113, 149, 239–241 Historicity 235–237, 245 Iandro ix, 52, 108, 122, 296–297 Identity 17–18, 37–41, 77, 97n, 114–115, 118–119, 233, 257, 264, 268–269, 274 Betsimisaraka identity See under Betsimisaraka Ethnic identity See under ethnic Local identity 123–124, 127–128, 251, 267 National identity See under nation Regional identity 38–39, 260–262 Sakalava identity See under Sakalava Spirit identity See spirit identity

index Imaginary 9, 233 Radical imaginary 9–11, 249, 272 Social imaginary 10–11, 101, 269, 273 Tromba imaginary See tromba imagination Imitation See mimesis and mimetic Improvisation(al) 2, 159–161, 164, 215, 220–221, 272 Incorporation 81, 117, 133–134, 137, 234–235 Invocation 34, 78, 86, 112, 146, 148, 157, 168–171, 173–176, 181, 183–184, 197, 210, 218–220, 229 Jaona ix, 131–137, 299 Judgement bath 14, 89, 139, 154, 157, 167–169, 178–179, 181–182, 193–198, 200–201, 204, 206, 213–214, 220–221, 226–228, 230–231 Kapferer, B. x, 8, 104, 162, 270–271 Kingdom 34, 41–42, 235 Centralised kingdom 40, 236, 239, 253 Merina kingdom See Merina Kinship 100 Kramer, F. 128 Labour 42, 51–52, 54–55, 122, 247 Ritual labour 103–104 Lahisoa ix, 53, 202, 293 Lambek, M. x, 7, 37, 59, 67, 233, 238, 240, 262 Language 216–218, 222–223, 259 Common language 38 Esoteric language 217 Lineage 21, 28–34, 41, 43, 77–78, 80, 90, 122n, 128, 234, 236, 241, 244, 246–247 Loholona 31–32 Madagascar 2, 18, 20, 36, 37–39, 42, 47, 51, 68, 75, 81, 114–115, 141n, 159, 195n29, 217n49, 221, 233–235, 241, 248n, 253, 256n5, 259–260, 277, 278n Magic 58–59, 98, 223, 254, 265–266, 278. See also sorcery and tromba curing Mahanoro 41n Malagasy(ness) 37–39, 49, 59, 68–70, 74–76, 89, 97n, 109, 114, 117, 119,

323

129n, 134, 136fn16, 162fn, 233, 241, 253, 258–259, 261–262, 264–270, 273–274, 277–278 Non-malagasy 109 Pan-malagasy 37, 100, 197, 239 Malgachisation 259 Marginal(ised) 3–4, 41, 47, 256, 262, 269, 277 Marginality 269, 271 Margins 3, 41, 239, 256, 271 Marofatsy 1, 37, 40, 62, 74, 123, 242 Basic description of 20–21 Political history of 43–48, 50–53 Religious practices in 14, 18, 50–53, 61–65, 67–68, 70–74, 79, 81–82, 84, 87–88, 90–91, 115–117, 124–129, 162, 182, 221, 234–235, 240–244, 247n, 252–253, 255, 257 Organization of 28–36 Village life of 23–27, 57, 61–65, 68, 79, 252, 254 Marofero ix, 66, 69, 71, 78–79, 86, 90, 121, 172–173, 179, 183, 185, 189, 192n24, 193–194, 196, 208–209, 212, 230–231, 261, 265, 284–285 Marolahy ix, 95, 103, 301–302 Marolambo 19–21, 26, 40, 42, 43, 44–45, 46n10, 48n12–13, 49n, 50–52, 62, 68, 70, 71n10, 79, 97, 127, 133, 235, 254, 257 Marxism 9 Massage 135n13, 206, 230–231 Material imagination 157 Mayotte 59, 67, 234, 239–240 MDRM See Mouvement Démocratique de la Rénovation Malgache, the Medicine 59, 62, 66–67, 74, 93–94, 96–98, 116, 132, 140, 188n, 194n25, 207–209 Bad medicine 58n, 60, 66, 84, 98, 116, 182–187, 207, 228. See also Sorcery and Fanafody ratsy Clinical medicine 68–69, 73, 254 Foreign medicine 68 Good medicine 59, 67 Herbal medicine 58 Malagasy medicine 58, 68, 206, 261 Medicine man (men) 84 Protective medicine 58–60, 94, 98, 106, 253– 255n3 Medium 2, 14–17, 55, 63–65, 77, 85–88, 97, 106–108, 111–115, 121–122, 124–131, 133–134, 137, 139,

324

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142, 149–152, 157, 164, 198–199, 210, 212, 221, 240, 243, 246, 262, 271, 273 Female medium 61, 151–152, 211 Leading medium See mpañano tromba Male medium 61, 151–152 Merina 39, 42, 43n3, 50, 81, 97n, 109, 120, 130, 176, 179n, 195, 221, 258, 259, 260, 266n11, 269, 275, 278n Middleton, K. 38, 248 Migration 51, 52n22, 122–124 Mimesis 7 Mimetic 7, 100 Mimetic slippage 223 Missionaries 50–51, 133 Modern(ization) 137, 242, 259, 266, 270, 277 Modernist 34, 255, 270 Modernity 255, 261, 268, 270 Modernization 259n Montage 262, 271 Mouvement Démocratique de la Rénovation Malgache, the 45, 55 Mpamosavy 59n Mpañano tromba 14, 47, 51–52, 60–67, 70–73, 75, 77–78, 85, 99, 105, 112–113, 122, 125–127, 142, 144–146, 148, 150, 152, 158, 168–169, 172, 174, 181–183, 185–186, 188, 198, 200, 207, 209, 212, 215, 220, 228, 230, 253, 255, 278 Mpiandry 70–73, 134, 135n13, 136, 255, 276–277 Music(ians) 12, 60, 140, 146, 148, 157, 160, 162–164, 198, 228, 229, 261 Nation(al) 39, 42n, 47–48, 137, 241, 253, 256, 258–262, 264–270, 275–278 National identity 258–260, 262, 275 Nation state 48, 258, 262, 268–269, 277–278 Nationalise 47 Nationalism 42n, 258–259n, 261, 267. See also Ethno-nationalism Nationalist(ic) 37, 50, 258–260, 267, 269–270 Nosivolo 21, 196–197 Nosy Varika 41n Ontology 5, 9, 11, 228, 274, 277 Oppression 249, 257, 267 Otherness 17, 83, 108–111, 130, 138, 218, 262, 264, 271

Parody 102, 218, 225 Patì 89, 98. See also god and Zanahary Pelika ix, 124–126, 185, 294–295 Personhood 115–116, 128, 138 Piera ix, 65, 122, 185–186, 204, 207, 288–289 Place 90, 96, 108, 113–128, 138, 237, 251–252, 265, 274 Play 2, 61, 107, 110, 154, 164, 179, 198, 220, 224–226, 228, 249, 272 Poiesis 7–8 Polish missionaries 51, 133 Pollution 182, 185, 196–197, 212, 227, 272 Power(ful) 9, 13, 58–59, 60–61, 66–67, 74, 77–78, 81–84, 89, 99–102, 105, 109, 115, 117, 124, 126–131, 133–134, 136–139, 46–148, 158–164, 170, 175– 176, 179, 185–189, 194–197, 207, 213, 218, 221, 223, 227–228, 231, 238–240, 242–247, 249, 250, 253, 256–257, 259, 264–269, 271–273, 277–278 Ancestral power 115, 117n, 120, 124–125, 241, 246, 248, 266, 275 Political power 4, 277 State power 48–49, 257 Protestant(ism) 50, 70, 211n42, 268 Purification 141, 148n8, 168, 195–197, 225 Rajoelina, President 276 Raison-Jourdes, F. 258–261, 267, 269 Rakotomalala, M. 261–262, 269 Ralahy ix, 53–56, 64–65, 89, 91–92, 100, 107, 120–121, 142–144, 150, 167, 170, 183, 187, 194, 196, 207, 213, 265, 283–284 Randrianja, S. 258, 260–262, 269 Rangahy ix, 71–72, 136, 184–185, 187–188, 297–299 Ratsiraka, President 25, 47–48, 255, 258, 260, 275 Ravalomanana, President 48, 260 Ravao ix, 93–94, 126, 130, 156–157, 169–170, 193–194, 200, 208–209, 264, 286–287 Ravavy ix, 53–55, 64–65, 120–121, 170, 178, 254–255, 291–293 Razafiarivony, M. x Rebellion 32, 44–45, 47–48, 50n19, 51–52, 54–55, 121, 129n, 237, 247, 249 Religion 50, 69, 228, 256, 268, 276

index Religious movements 51, 262, 275 renin’I Bera ix, 56, 212, 304 Resistance 3–4, 45, 50, 79, 256–257, 270 Revolution 47, 258–259 Rhizomatic 271–272, 274 Rhizome See Rhizomatic Ritual 1–8, 11–15. See also tromba rituals Ritual and reality 8–12, 102, 138, 162–163, 167, 197–198, 222, 229, 272 Ritual aesthetics 12 Ritual bath See Judgement bath Ritual dynamics 1, 3, 8, 12 Ritual form 222 Ritual imagination 2, 8–11, 13. See also tromba imagination Ritual practice 1–3, 11–12, 49, 57, 60, 74, 78–79, 81, 86, 88, 115, 139–140, 175, 197, 220, 222, 231, 237, 242, 248n4, 255, 257, 261, 269 Ritual speech 169, 175, 214–215. See also spirit speech and tromba speech Ritual structure 18, 104, 164 Ritual theory 3–5 Rombo 1, 14, 106–107, 139–146, 148, 151–152, 154, 156–157, 160, 163–165, 167–168, 220, 275–277 Royal bath 176, 221 Royal dynasties 2, 87, 123, 234–236, 238 Sacrifice 22, 24, 30–33, 49, 61, 72, 74, 80–82, 117n, 127, 148n8, 169, 175, 189, 220, 246, 247 Sahafatra 81, 119, 195n29 Sakalava 2, 38–39, 51–52, 87, 97, 100n, 123, 195n29, 216, 221, 234–242, 244–245, 248n, 256n5, 262, 264, 269, 275. See also Tromba Sakalava Identity of 236, 238 Sambiaravo 65, 80 Sameness 17, 37, 108, 110, 111, 138, 257–258 School(ing) 11, 21, 22, 33, 44fn, 67fn, 76, 254–255, 270 Self and other 137–138, 274 Sharp, L. 68, 124, 234, 238 Sikidy See Divination Slavery 34 Slaves 33–34, 41, 119fn, 135fn, 241fn Soahita ix, 53, 155, 212n45, 293

325

Sorcery 30, 57–58, 59fn, 65–66, 74, 98, 116, 148, 154, 174, 176, 181–185, 187–188, 195, 221, 227–228, 231, 247, 254, 261, 272, 276 Spirit categories 2, 72, 87 Spirit identity 102, 105, 108–109 Spirit speech 51, 88, 192, 215–216, 218, 224, 272. See also ritual speech and tromba speech Spirit possession 2–7, 14, 134, 137, 221n, 222, 224, 229, 233–234, 238, 256, 261, 267n, 270, 272. See also tromba Spiritual blame 195, 201 Sri Lanka 162 Stereotype 96, 101–102, 104–105, 109, 118, 192 Stoller, P. 233, 272 Structural functionalism See functionalism Surrealism 272 Taboo 28, 30, 54, 57–58, 63, 66–77, 79–81, 84, 86, 91, 98, 102, 106, 113, 116, 141, 154, 179, 181, 193–194, 197, 207–208, 210–213, 230, 237, 246–247 Tangalamena 29–30, 31–34n16, 77–78 Taussig, M. 7, 111, 217n51, 222–223, 262, 265–266, 271–272 Temanambondro 52, 117, 195, 221 Tesaka 117n, 118n Toamasina 20, 37, 133, 162, 164, 221fn, 243–244, 260 Tody ix, 129, 290 Translocality 252, 270 Tromba 2–3, 5, 10–13, 75, 77–78, 82, 115, 124, 133, 148–156, 237, 245, 252–253, 256–257, 262, 264, 271 Tromba artefacts 157–160, 217, 220, 240 Tromba Betsimisaraka 238–242 Tromba conflict with the church 70–71, 73, 76, 135–136, 255, 268 Tromba curing 13, 57–62, 66–69, 72–73, 75–76, 88–89, 97–98 Tromba and gender 61, 77, 98, 150–152 Tromba gestalt 103–105 Tromba growth 37, 51–53, 68, 76, 123, 248–249, 252 Tromba imagination 13, 17–18, 83, 101–102, 110–111, 124, 130–131, 133–134, 137–138, 157, 159, 164, 197,

326

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229, 234, 242, 249–250, 252–254, 256, 264–273 Tromba organization 14, 62–67 Tromba origins 2, 51, 234 Tromba rituals 2–3, 13, 15–18, 56, 86, 89, 112, 130, 139–142, 144–148, 154, 159, 167–169, 175–176, 179n, 182, 194–198, 214, 219–231. See also Rombo and Judgement bath Tromba Sakalava 98, 100n, 234–235, 238–242, 244–245 Tromba songs 160–163, 195, 198 Tromba speech 214–219, 222. See also ritual speech and spirit speech Tromba spirits 60, 67, 83–109, 111–113, 115, 119–122n, 124, 127, 129–131, 134, 138, 148, 150–152, 154, 164, 194–195, 214, 226, 238, 240, 246–247 Tromba variations 87, 114, 123–124, 128–129, 138, 147, 234–235, 239–245 Tromba and village life 55, 57, 61, 63, 65–68, 82, 126, 255, 270–271 Tsikaiamba (rhythmic instrument) 108, 143, 146, 160n

Tsitsika 169–170, 172, 175 Turner, V. 4, 6, 224 Unification 137, 259, 266–267, 269 Unity 10, 12, 83, 104, 131, 162, 222, 228, 258, 260–262, 268–269, 271, 275 Vezo 118–119 Volambita 52, 55, 107, 139–140, 142, 145–146, 154, 167, 171, 176, 181, 187, 193, 198, 200, 204, 207, 209–211, 218, 220, 227 Vow 148n8, 154, 181, 209–210, 247 Woolley, O. 81–82, 119 World War II 44, 46, 106, 129, 131 Zafimaniry 118–119, 141n Zaire 268 Zafy ix, 181, 185, 200, 211, 303 Zafy, President 275 Zanahary 89, 170–171. See also gods and Patì