The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore 303055516X, 9783030555160

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The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore Edited by Akintunde Akinyemi · Toyin Falola

The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore “This volume is not a displacement of the late 1990s/early 2000s publications on folklore in Africa in which African functional aesthetics gave way to Western formal aesthetics, but is a definitive source book of 50 original essays which provide a multidisciplinary study of the undercurrents of African and African diaspora folklore and oral traditions – indeed a tour de force work in the currency and originality of its ‘African voice and perspective’.” —Pamela J. Olubunmi Smith, Professor Emerita, University of Nebraska at Omaha, USA “This is a comprehensive, well-researched, and impressive volume that offers significant insights and perspectives into the dynamics of oral traditions and folklore in Africa and the African Diaspora. Systematically and thematically arranged with interdisciplinary approach, the volume is enlightening and riveting. The volume is a must-read for professionals, students, and lovers of culture.” —Julius O. Adekunle, Professor of History, Monmouth University, USA

Akintunde Akinyemi · Toyin Falola Editors

The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore

Editors Akintunde Akinyemi Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures University of Florida Gainesville, FL, USA

Toyin Falola Department of History University of Texas at Austin Austin, TX, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-55516-0 ISBN 978-3-030-55517-7 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover credit: Alex Linch/shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Introduction: New Perspectives on African Oral Traditions and Folklore

Overview Our aim as editors of this two-volume Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore is to provide a lucid, scholarly, authoritative, and well-researched essays that can serve as a basic university textbook, as a work reference for teachers, and a general background for all those interested in African verbal arts. The handbook is intended to be the most comprehensive, analytic, and multidisciplinary study of oral traditions and folklore in Africa and the African Diaspora. This definitive sourcebook provides a detailed, systematic discussion and up-to-date analysis of African oral traditions and folklore. It is an absorbing reference book about the intellectual retrieval and renewal of the oral, artistic traditions of Africans both in the homeland and in the diaspora, traditions representative of the world’s fading heritage. Oral traditions in pre-literate Africa served not only as sociological tools for enculturation but also as a people’s artistic expressions and memoirs. For example, folktales were a people’s record of the collective ideology, while riddles, proverbs, and other short forms of oral literary production reflected both linguistic and cultural aesthetics. The oral rendition of folklore was not simply the only choice in pre-literate Africa, but was a powerful community-building tool in the traditional set-up. In many studies, the term oral traditions is used interchangeably with folklore or cultural elements—language and belief systems shared by a common group. It is a verbal legacy contributing significantly to cultural and national identity. In contemporary usage, oral traditions or folklore is reflected in popular and group-oriented cultural expressions. A primary feature of oral traditions, which relates to the nature of performance, is community involvement (both in the creative and critiquing processes). In the words of Ruth Finnegan, a “full appreciation (of a performance) must depend on an analysis not only of the verbal interplay and overtones in the piece, its stylistic structure and content, but also of the various detailed devices which the performer has at his (or her) disposal to convey his (or her) product to the audience.”1 Africa is home to over one thousand languages, and many of these languages are used mostly in the oral, unwritten forms of expression. Given the plurality of languages in Africa and the primacy of oral communication, it is no surprise that v

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the bulk of literary activity on the continent today occurs in oral media. Several measures have already been set in place to ensure aggressive documentation of oral tradition materials not only in Africa but also throughout the world. According to Okpewho, “the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), at its meeting in October 17, 2003, recalled an earlier ‘Proclamation of Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity,’ and subsequently put into place a Convention (in April 2006) with the specific purpose of safeguarding that heritage.”2 The Convention had in mind those “practices, representations, expressions, knowledge, skills as well as the instruments, objects, artifacts, and cultural spaces associated therewith—that communities, groups, and, in some cases, individuals recognize as part of their cultural heritage—a heritage that is manifested in various domains, especially the oral traditions and expressions, including language as a vehicle of the intangible cultural heritage and the performing arts.”3 We therefore conceive this two-volume handbook as part of an urgent need to document and make accessible African endangered verbal arts before they disappear without record. African oral traditions and folklore survived from generation to generation, effectively transmitting folk wisdom in capsule form. Furthermore, oral traditions and folklore serve as tools with which their users explore language and African worldviews. The pertinent questions one may ask are: What specific social functions do oral traditions play in Africa? Are oral traditions and folklore just amusing pastimes or do they contain vital markers and messages, essential for the continuance of African culture and customs? In what ways do oral traditions and folklore reflect African perspectives on the human condition, human nature, the environment, celestial bodies, animals, et cetera? The fifty chapters in the two-volume handbook address these and many other questions, questions that require untying the knots in the oral traditions and folklore themselves. The handbook is unique in several ways. It provides: a complete, deep, and innovative analysis of oral traditions and folklore in Africa and among Africans in the diaspora; easy access to comprehensive, multidisciplinary, and well-researched essays covering different aspects of African oral traditions; fresh insights into new discourses and intellectual developments in African oral traditions and folklore, occasioned by new directions in development studies, globalization, and some other critical issues raised by the diaspora; opportunity for established and upcoming scholars to engage in the universe of the debate around African oral traditions and folklore; a ready reference material for pedagogic purpose that will provide researchers, students, and teachers of African oral traditions and folklore with materials about the past, current state, and future possibilities of the discipline; theoretical debates on such topics as the collective or communal character of oral cultures, the relationship between tradition and individual talent, and the unique circumstances required for traditions to emerge; a reference for comparative analysis and ongoing debates in Africanist discourse on gender, class, ethnicity, language, and cultural nationalism; and an avenue to discuss issues and topics relevant to scholars across multiple disciplines, including literary studies, anthropology, philosophy, psychology, sociology, linguistics, curriculum development, early childhood education and, perhaps surprisingly, science.

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To exhaust the full scope of all the above, we put together a team of scholars drawn from different geographical spaces and coming from diverse academic backgrounds. In doing this, we have not been unaware of the difficulties involved in asking over fifty scholars trained in different disciplines and writing in different places to tell different parts of a connected but often controversial story. However, our team of contributors have been able to discuss the richness and complexity of African verbal arts by focusing on issues relating to the continent’s cultural and literary diversity, making effective use of authentic primary materials. Thus, the two-volume handbook offers readers access to a wide array of expert analysis on various aspects of African oral literature, folklore, cultural studies, and the intersection of contemporary literature, popular culture, and technology with orality. Although the focus here is on African oral traditions and folklore, the handbook has a multidisciplinary focus as contributors are from various disciplines such as literature, linguistics, cultural studies, history, anthropology, film studies, diaspora studies, and art history.

Volume One: Types, Features, and Motifs The twenty-seven chapters in the first volume of the handbook have been organized to provide basic information on the types, features, and motifs of African verbal arts. The volume is divided into three parts: “Contexts and Practicalities,” “Themes, Tropes and Types,” “Transformation and Transposition.”

Contexts and Practicalities The first three chapters of this part argue that there is a connection between the creation of oral tradition material and its transmission/performance. In other words, without its oral realization, and performance by a poet/singer/storyteller, an oral literary piece cannot be easily said to have a continued existence. Some of the issues addressed in the chapters are concepts and components of performance in oral traditions transmission and their significance, and the role of the audience, performer, and participants in oral tradition production. In his lengthy opening chapter, titled “Creativity and Performance in Oral Poetry,” Godini G. Darah examines the interplay of composition and performance in some oral poetry traditions of Africa. He argues that the oral methods of composition and performance are the kernel of oral literature discourse; the methods distinguish oral texts from written ones. About a dozen African traditions are described. The data are sourced from published studies by experts on the traditions. The competitive song contests of the udje of the Urhobo, the ìjálá of the Yoruba, and song exchanges among the Tiv, all of Nigeria and the Dinka of South Sudan, illustrate the features of premeditated texts, memorization, festival performance, and creative improvisation during delivery. The compositionperformance dialectic is richly illustrated by techniques employed by the bards of

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Sundiaata epic of the Mandinka, the Ozidi Saga of the Ijaw, and Ohafia-Igbo singers of tales. According to the author, audience participation stimulates creativity and dexterous delivery, and each performance recreates texts and contexts. The izibongo heroic poetry of the Xhosa and the Zulu of South Africa furnishes good material to test the changes that composed texts undergo under the pressure of delivery. Oral poetry and music merge into aesthetic experience during performance. The musical practices of the Bala of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Hausa of northern Nigeria, and the Akan of Ghana demonstrate this generic fusion. New media of communication now enable artists to be more resourceful. The career of popular musicians in South Africa points to limitless opportunities for creativity and performance. Multimedia resources of poetry, music, dance, radio, television, and various social media platforms empower the African oral poet to create and perform for global audiences. The chapter concludes that studies on composition and performance should be given priority attention in oral literature curricula. Chapter 2 by Anya Ude Egwu conceptualizes performance. It synthesizes the performance theory of performance studies (PS). While the writer finds arguments in PS very insightful and groundbreaking, his major point of departure is the argument that, contrary to opinion and praxis in PS, performance can and needs to be pinned down to something definable. The chapter synthesizes and relates Schechner’s behavioral layers of “doing” and “showing doing” to Babar’s “daily technique” and “extra daily technique” to formulate what the author labels as the “affectation or affect dimension.” Combining this with Schechner’s functionality dimension, the chapter establishes a ground on which performance can be isolated. It differentiates performance from drama, theater, and literature, and also maps the three. The chapter concludes with how the mappings affect the study of African oral literature. Writing on the role of the audience in oral performance in Chapter 3, Clement Adeniyi Akangbe describes the audience as “a Siamese twin” that cannot be divorced from the performance. This is because the African audience is not a mere passive spectator but an active and informed one who is keen, critical, and commentarial. To the author, the crucial role of the audience provokes and galvanizes performer to better dramatization and rendition. Members of the audience in Africa are therefore very dynamic. It is on this premise that the chapter explores the dynamic nature and critical role of an audience of oral performance. Writing under the title “Orality, History, and Historical Reconstruction” in Chapter 4, Bukola Adeyemi Oyeniyi notes that, as the main vehicle for transmitting African oral tradition, orality is undoubtedly important in studying African history. He notes further that, over the years, efforts at making African history, culture, and customs intelligible to others have led to situations whereby orality, as a vehicle through which oral tradition is transmitted, is pushed to the background. In its place, oral history—the collection of historical information using audiotapes, videotapes, or transcriptions of planned interviews—predominates. Using personal cognomen and family panegyric, funerary dirge, and bridal poetry among the Yoruba and Xhosa peoples of Nigeria and South Africa, Oyeniyi shows orality still persists, most especially in traditional courts and palaces, religious, and secular spaces—the very crucibles of change and continuities in African societies.

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The next chapter examines festivals and carnival, which are classified into the historical, agricultural, royal, passage rite, and purification. Each type is described and illustrated from the West African and other African subregion cultures. The chapter draws attention to the proliferation and multi-functionality of festivals in Africa as major factors responsible for making a neat classification elusive, and to the fact that the aesthetic and other socio-religious functions are intricately intertwined. Not only that, the contemporaneous changing phases of the festivals are also discussed. It is revealed that the festivals are not rigid in form and content. Many aspects of some festivals have changed, while some whole festivals are reported to have gone into extinction and new forms are known to have emerged. The African functional aesthetics are shown to be giving way to Western formalistic aesthetics. The chapter, therefore, concludes by making a call for rigorous documentation of the festivals as an important cultural identity for posterity. Chapters 6 and 7 are closely related. While Chapter 6 discusses best practices for fieldwork and data collection, Chapter 7 is concerned with the documentation of data collected in the field. Both chapters are concerned with strategies for preserving oral traditions and folkloric material: background preparations before fieldwork, appropriate recording equipment, relevance of archive research, the setting for recording and collection of data, asking appropriate questions (open-ended vs. close-ended), the making and keeping of records/storage of fieldwork data, transcription, translation, presentation, and dissemination of folkloric materials (texts and performances), etc. Chapter 6, in particular, provides adequate information to guide intending scholars of African folklore and oral tradition on how to conduct successful fieldwork in Africa. This includes preparation for pre-field, field, and post-field activities. The concluding section of the chapter enumerates the challenges that researchers may face during fieldwork, and how best to either avoid the challenges or resolve them. Chapter 7 is concerned with African languages and cultural practices that are disappearing at a rapid rate and, with them, important indigenous knowledge. Although Africa is characterized as an oral continent, one practice that is endangered is the narration of folktales. The chapter discusses the documentation of a popular fairy tale in Nyangbo, a Ghana-Togo Mountain (GTM) language spoken in Ghana. The story is about Spider and Orphan’s search for food during a period of famine, and how, because of greed, Orphan turns into a stone. It is one of the few stories in which the Spider is not the villain. The author shows how the documentation method discussed in the chapter allows for capturing not only the story but the fact that telling stories among the Nyangbo community in Ghana, as in many communities across Africa, is a co-production process. Also discussed is how this method of documentation allows one to avoid the pitfall of reducing oral practices into writing. Thus, there is a transcription that provides truncated forms of words, which is the norm in spoken Nyangbo, on one tier, and the full form of the words that include the elided morphemes, on another tier. In the last chapter of the first part, Oluwole Coker discusses the retrospect and prospects of African oral traditions and folklore. Starting on a positive note, the author notes that, across most indigenous societies in Africa, several forms of cultural productions thrive and have remained relevant in the contemporary age. With

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modernity and Western civilization, however, African oral traditions have witnessed changes, which have altered their artistic constitutions and audience perceptions. Against this backdrop, this chapter explores the trajectory of African oral traditions from earliest times to the present age. The writer suggests that, rather than diminish in influence and stature, African oral traditions and folklore have remained vibrant and relevant in the globalized age. The chapter identifies patterns and trends of the dynamic responsiveness across major genres and in multimedia sensibilities. Ultimately, the future of African oral traditions and folklore is projected in the chapter as vibrant, promising, and fertile for continuous engagement of the enabling milieus of production.

Themes, Tropes, and Types This part of Volume One is the longest. Many of the nineteen chapters examine the major types of oral traditions and folklore found in Africa, and the subject they treat. The major themes discussed can be classified into two: the literary and the historical. Tal Tamari in Chapter 9 presents an overview of debates about the epic in Africa, including such questions as the definition of the epic, relationships to other literary genres, processes of transmission, social status of the performers, performeraudience interactions, stylistics, and value as historical sources. The chapter presents a survey of works and traditions from each of the areas of the African continent that have been deemed to have epics, including: Northern Africa (Egypt and the Maghreb), West Africa (mainly the Sahelian and Sudanic regions), Central Africa, and East Africa (mainly the Swahili written epics). Two major conclusions of the chapter are that: (1) Transmission of most epics is based on progressive assimilation of contents and style, followed by recreation in the performance situation; although several cultural traditions require formal memorization. (2) Most West African epics are closely related to praise songs and historical narration, whereas many Central African ones may have developed from myths. These are epics from Sudanic and Sahelian West Africa developed in a context of restricted literacy, rather than of a fully oral civilization. Omotade Adegbindin’s chapter on divination and divinatory systems in Africa is crafted to challenge Cicero’s alleged denunciation of divination as superstition, which has led to divergent reactions from scholars and, most importantly, informed the need to provide justification for the possibility of divination. Although it is often said that Cicero’s de Divinatione has suffered different interpretations since his time to date, the suspicion still remains that, perhaps, the text itself assumes that science—and, by extension, the imposition of certain cognitive modes on others—is the h¯eg¯emon in matters concerning the state and human existence; the oracular cannot disclose the true nature of the universe. Cicero’s position is no doubt a compelling reflection of the sharp differentiation between European and African thought that has endured as an issue that is mostly discussed in African philosophy and cultural studies. For the African, the issue of debate on the possibility of divination does not arise: As

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a matter of fact, divination, for him, serves as a veritable means through which he can understand the configurations of the entire universe and his place in it. Thus, the chapter invariably attempts a deconstruction of the myth of writing that is mostly associated with the constitution of science and/or philosophy, and shows that African divinatory systems and their related mythical or religious conceptions represent a legitimization of the body of wisdom found in orality. Oluwatoyin Bimpe Jegede in her chapter examines the collection of imaginative, explanatory, and intuitive stories that express the collective belief of Africans with regard to basic issues that pertain to life, living, and death. The chapter, therefore, interprets myth as both a product of the environment as well as the mind. Essentially, the chapter draws examples from creation, founding or origin, afterlife and hero myths, and through them, highlights similar African beliefs. This provides the opportunity for the discussion of myth that authorizes and validates current social customs, and others that explain certain religious ceremonies or origin of things and yet others that serve to mediate between the contradictions in life. The perception and reconciliation of these opposites are taken as reflections of the mind’s binary organization. The focus of Chapter 12, “The Dirge,” by Felicia Ohwovoriole, is on the nature and characteristics of funeral poetry in Africa. The author notes that oral funeral poetry provides a sieve for some understanding of the traditional beliefs concerning death, mourning practices, and funeral dirges rendered during burial processes. Writing on the subject of dreams in the following chapter, Anastacia Sara Motsei makes the case that the phenomenon of dreams among Africans, in general, tends to be downplayed and reduced merely as a mythical story. It then becomes difficult for many folklorists, literary critics, and the general reading public to fully realize the sociocultural significance of dreams in the conscious human life. The purpose of the chapter, therefore, is to demystify dreams with a view to put them in their proper sociocultural and sociolinguistic perspective. The Freudian approach is applied to explicate the finer details of a significant number of dreams drawn from the South African Basotho culture. The chapter reveals that dreams surface on two levels that are crucial in the life of man, namely reflections of the past, understanding the present, on the one hand, and making projections for the future, on the other hand. They are, however, interpreted differently from one society to another depending on the ontology, the epistemology, and the philosophy of life of the society concerned. Mobolanle Ebunoluwa Sotunsa’s chapter on “Drum Language and Literature” explores the stylistic and aesthetic uniqueness which characterize drum language and literature in Africa. The talking drum is globally known as a uniquely African cultural asset. However, it is an icon of African culture not for its music-making capabilities but specifically for its producing speeches, which are conveyed in diverse literary forms. Using examples from various cultures across Africa, Sotunsa discusses the principles of drum language and the stylistic attributes which characterize drum poetry. The chapter notes further that the potential resources of drum poetry as a uniquely African cultural asset have not been fully harnessed and exploited for the advancement of African cultures and civilization in contemporary times. It therefore explores ways in which drum literature can be further enhanced.

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David Adu-Amankwah argues in Chapter 15 that oratory in Africa is often accomplished through basic traditions and creative cultural processes that regulate and control the day-to-day behavior of the people within the communication systems of the various ethnic groups. His chapter, therefore, explores the verbal artistry and expressive cultural heritage of the peoples located in Africa south of the Sahara. In particular, royal praise performance among the Akan people is used as a case study, focusing on the role of indirection. Cecile Leguy’s concern in her chapter titled “Proverbs, Naming, and Other Forms of Veiled Speech” is how to study formulations that belong to oral tradition, but that emerge directly from ordinary discourse, such as proverbs, idiomatic expressions, or message-names attributed to people. Leguy is concerned about how they can be studied as folklore data, and as practices that make sense socially too. The first generation of French ethnographers were aware of language issues, under the influence of Marcel Mauss. The ethnolinguistic perspective proposed by Geneviève Calame-Griaule in the 1960s encouraged scholars to pay even closer attention to speech, particularly in the oral tradition, as well as its uses and effects on social life. This chapter, therefore, contributes to a cross-disciplinary approach, with a study of veiled speech and the unspoken in Africa. Beginning with an investigation of proverbial speech, the chapter proceeds to look at the naming process, and in particular, the use of names as indirect messages. In the African context, when the power and dangers of speech are taken into consideration by people, identifiable discursive strategies reveal not only meaning but also social relationships. By paying attention to indirectness and other uses of implicit information in ordinary communication, this chapter aims to refine the principles and tools of a pragmatic approach to oral traditions and language practices for both anthropologists and folklorists. Augustine Agwuele and Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange’s chapter introduces and explores the texts and performances of an oral poet, Christopher Monyoncho, in the context of his audience and social circumstances. The authors examine the “cultural truths and aspirations cherished by the community” and show how the worldview, cultural values, and elements of material culture that bind the Gusii people are reflected in Monyoncho’s performance. The chapter notes that, following the tradition of the griots, Monyoncho throughout his lifeworks never ceased to amuse, amaze, educate, and uphold the Gusii ways of life. The chapter also explores, through Monyoncho’s orature, the creative dynamism of culture as a discursive, non-static response to existential. Ultimately, the chapter introduces Monyoncho and explores the historical background and orientation that informed the content of his orality in order to interpret the cultural identity that is projected in his works and performances. In so doing, the chapter illustrates the social, cultural, and political importance of oral literature in a group’s identity formation and furtherance. Olusegun Adekoya, in Chapter 18, presents a womanist deconstruction of gender politics in Ifá. Essentially a male oral genre, Ifá has been rightly lauded as a repository of Yoruba lore and duly recognized by the United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) as a World Intellectual Heritage that is worthy of preservation because of its unquantifiable cultural value in diverse domains, among which are algorithm, fine art, cosmogony, cosmology, education, ethic, geomancy,

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guidance and counseling, history, literature, medicine, pharmacognosy, philosophy, and religion. Research on the gnomic corpus has concentrated on collecting, transcribing, translating, and describing it. Little attention has focused on the critical examination of its truth claims and representations of the female sex, perhaps, because fate, free will, and ritual sacrifices constitute arcane metaphysical subject that is improvable, on the one hand, and the art of divination is strictly a male preserve and considered sacred, on the other. Deconstruction of gender politics in Ifá is long overdue, and the chapter is right in its examination of the representations of gender relations in the corpus. Twenty-five gender-related lyrics are carefully selected from Ayo Salami’s Ifá: A Complete Divination and analyzed using womanist theory, paying critical attention to marital conflict, remediation of impaired gender relations through the agency of ritual sacrifice, deployment of images and tropes to express the paradox of human and material nature, and problems engendered by patriarchy. Womanism, an African version of feminism, was adopted for the analysis because it emphasizes the primacy of complementarity and dialogue in resolving gender conflict and reproducing culture and life. The chapter reveals that, although the binary system employed in Ifá enhances a vision of cosmic and gender balance, it nevertheless privileges male over female and denigrates women. The chapter concludes that the principle of duality permeates the cosmos, gender discourse, and power politics, and wisdom is necessary in negotiating all chiral relations that sustain the world ontological order. The next chapter, by Margaret Barasa and Augustine Agwuele, is an initial documentation of the communicative gestures in use among the Babukusu people of Kenya. While the taxonomy is not comprehensive, the chapter surveys a wide range of gestures obtained in their context of usage. Further, it shows how the communicative gestures are gendered within the community, paralleling the gendered form of verbal communication. The chapter is developed against the assumption that the documentation of the language of a people must be comprehensive, subsuming both the verbal and nonverbal components. Finally, the investigation reveals the connection of language, culture, and society, especially linking some linguistic features with some social categories. Oral tradition has long provided historians with an enticing source in reconstructing Africa’s past and has also been the subject of continuing debate over the last several decades. The historicity of African oral tradition is exhaustively debated by generations of scholars, but its folkloric significance has been either dismissed or understudied. The social features of African oral traditions are not merely a background for Africa’s history, but they are an integral component of its communities’ folkloric communication with vital symbolic inflections. The emphasis of Chapter 20, “Oral Tradition and Identity,” therefore, is the actions of storytelling; the concepts of history and historicity; and the modalities of performances of oral tradition, in the construction of the past and identities across Africa. The first part of the chapter reviews the literature on the uses of oral tradition in historical reconstruction, while the second part illustrates how oral tradition is enmeshed with multiple folkloric practices such as rites of passages, autobiographies, and historical experiences of people. As the comparative cases across Africa provided in this section indicate, the ubiquity of

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oral tradition stems from multiple forms of folkloric expressions about how people remember their pasts. This remembering constitutes the production of folkloric knowledge about the past, which poetically reveals highly entangled emotionally evocative collective experiences, strategies, and ideologies of the actors in the performance contexts. This lends critical insight into the art of oral tradition as a poetic discourse of identity and self in the African societies’ folklore. Lere Adeyemi’s chapter discusses the figure of the child in African oral literature within the framework of postcolonial theory, especially nativism. The research methodology is essentially descriptive. Data are drawn from oral literature (lullabies, praise poetry, proverbs, riddles, folktales, and songs) from Akan (Ghana), Xhosa (South Africa), Bantu (Kenya), and Yorùbá (Nigeria). Among the findings of the chapter is that: Much attention is paid to the representation of the child’s voice and performance in African literature. The consciousness of the child is not glossed over because the child is regarded as God-given, precious, and beautiful to be loved, cared for, protected, and guided. This is unlike what we see in contemporary African society, where the challenges facing the African child are overwhelming and the child is exposed to solitary, isolated, dehumanized, and voiceless ways of life, perhaps due to the fatal effects of slavery, colonialism, and lately, globalization. The face-to-face performance of the African child in oral literature has been reduced greatly due to the emergence of information technology. The chapter concludes that there is the need for Africans to go back to their roots and revive the dignity, care, love, respect, and guided-life of the child as reflected in the traditional African literature, where they are active and inclusive in performance. In Chapter 22, Emmanuel Saboro discusses war songs within the context of slavery, oral tradition, and identity. There exists a rich body of documentation on the notion of an African-American collective identity constructed largely through written sources, including songs emphasizing resilience, triumph of the human spirit, and survival in the midst of the tragedy of slavery and enslavement. However, within the broader literature, the oral tradition and how it helps us reflect on indigenous African identity construction within the context of slavery and enslavement in Africa is yet to receive adequate representation. Drawing largely from examples across Africa and particularly from Ghana, the chapter argues that the images of violence, bloodshed, and open confrontation often contained in African war songs challenge dominant European narratives of African passivity in the wake of the slave enterprise in Africa. The thrust of Russell H. Kaschula’s chapter is to discuss the notion of “protest” as a contested arena in the production of oral literature, against the backdrop of continued and contested sociopolitical change in Africa. This contestation can be politically based, gender-based, and sometimes even based in religion. The chapter looks specifically at poetry, songs, and the folktale to establish how the “voice of protest” has been presented over time in relation to specific African countries such as Senegal, South Africa, Somalia, Guinea, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Ethiopia, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, and Lesotho. Poetic protest as part of political protest is also discussed. The chapter also explores how this “voice of protest” has been received, both from an audience point of view and from the point of view of those who control power.

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Written against the background of the social contract theory, Enongene Mirabeau Sone’s chapter, “Oral Literature, Liberty, and Political Change,” examines protest songs and folktales which reflect the traditional African concepts of leadership, freedom, and democracy. The author notes that the concepts of good leadership, freedom, and democracy are fundamental to the concerns of African oral literature. The chapter therefore demonstrates how African oral literature can illuminate the current political process in Africa, with the view of drawing implications for positive change. Finally, the author recommends that if the issues of violence, liberty, democracy, freedom, good governance, and political change in Africa are to be addressed more successfully, and if the politically fraught conditions of Africans are to be ameliorated, Africans must be prepared to undergo a radical change of mentality. They must be able to rehabilitate their oral literature to raise the level of consciousness to provoke positive change. Chapter 25, “Multiculturalism, Orality, and Folklore in South Africa” by Anastacia Sara Motsei and Pule Alexis Phindane, addresses three core questions: To what extent can orality and folklore enhance our understanding of cultural differences in a multicultural society such as South Africa? What exactly are the relationships between culture and social reality in a multiculturalism society? In which ways can sharing folklore stories help in creating a multicultural awareness in a diverse society? The chapter notes that oral traditions and folklore can play an important and effective role in guiding the South African society for better social adjustment environment, in spite of its diverse cultural practices. In Chapter 26, Augustine Agwuele and Tafesse Matewos Karo examine the Fichee-chambalaalla New Year festival celebrated by the Sidama people of Ethiopia. The celebration is considered as one of the major cultural identities of the Sidama nation. It is an intangible heritage with immense social, economic, cultural, and political repercussions on the community. It is invaluable to the people toward the enhancement of equity, good governance, social cohesion, and peaceful coexistence. These values are transmitted intergenerationally through this orature and performance of chambalaalla. Images, including verbal, nonverbal, musical, and performative, uncover how things are perceived. The chapter explores the Sidama people and their orientation to life, as expressed in the annual national celebration called Chambalaalla, the material and expressive culture index certain values that define the people and guide their worldly outlook, and the signification of the Chambalaalla and its historical relevance. Furthermore, the chapter examines how the Sidama people perceive and present themselves as a function of their cultural heritage, including their verbal and expressive performances. In essence, through a discussion of the oral narratives, performance, and material representations of Chambalaalla, the authors are not only able to document this invaluable cultural observance, but they also engage the dialogue between oral texts, defining events, knowledge, and experiences that guide, form, and are informed by the Sidama societal organization. The last chapter of the part, “Orality Indexing: Cultural Benefits of Male Circumcision,” explores the orature of circumcision schools through a case study of one Ndebele initiation center, in the Limpopo Province of South Africa. Cultural lore

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indexed in initiation teachings of the Ndebele is a mere variable of a constant of circumcision oral lessons practiced similarly, yet not identically, among other African cultural groups on the continent. The author asserts that the addition of this other tribe among those whose initiation practices have been studied clarifies the nature of this cross-tribal practice in ways that enrich knowledge about this aspect of African cultures.

Transformation and Transposition In the pre-colonial African societies, oral literature occupied a pristine position as the only form of literature. It was valued as one of the major means by which the preliterate societies educated, instructed, and socialized the younger generation. African oral literature as indigenous literature projects the societies’ image and gives a clear picture of African values as it reflects and refracts the African worldview. It also incorporates past events embedded in proverbs, riddles, tales, taboos and superstitions, legends, and myths. Unfortunately, the values and traditions that oral literature embodied are fast fading away in modern-day Africa. However, we have some notable Africans who are committed to the exploration, documentation, and perpetuation of these very rich African values and tradition in their writings. The twelve chapters in this part highlight the reaction of contemporary African artists, musicians, playwrights, poets, novelists, etc., to the destruction of the oral tradition ecosystem, and how they are preventing the tradition of orality from total extinction. Some chapters discuss how contemporary writers incorporate oral traditions into their literary texts, arguing that by so doing, the writers display a secured knowledge of different aspects of African tradition and culture. Conversely, other chapters examine how contemporary artists, musicians, playwrights, poets, novelists, etc., convert various aspects of African oral traditions to a complex set of symbols that are only partly indigenous. Such traditional symbols are encoded in modern text to articulate new meaning. This frees such folkloric materials from the encumbrances of a fixed (print) medium. In the first chapter of the part, “To Tongue the Body|To Body the Tongue: Problematizing the Translation of Oral Traditions,” Luan Staphorst suggests that the translation of the oral traditions should not be taken lightly. As manifestations and re-presentations of rich textscapes, the translator cannot be at ease when working within such traditions. Against the backdrop of the colonial practice of translation and its telos of archiving, artefacting, and creating the African-as-Other, the chapter investigates strategies to limit the inevitable violence that translation always enacts. Challenging the dominant approach to translation on the continent, namely that of “thick translation” termed by Kwame Appiah, Luan Staphorst presents a form of translation which tries to embody, rather than simply tongue, the spoken. This approach, which the author refers to as “omdigting,” he illustrates by applying it to various oral texts from across Africa—texts which exemplify the diverse, but also similar, nature of the word-body which is found on this continent.

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The next two chapters discuss the incorporation of oral materials into music performance, a significant aspect of African cultures. Scholars have extensively discussed the components of African music and their significance, including dance movements, rhythms, instruments, gestures, communication, and aesthetic values embedded in the form. It is also no doubt that the spread of Christianity and the long-lasting influence of colonial rules continue to suppress these art forms. Over the last three to four decades, there has been a “cultural re-awakening” rooted in “Sankofa” (go back and retrieve), a Ghanaian philosophical model that influenced the incorporation of traditional music performance in most churches in Africa. Despite its success, there arose criticisms with how churches perform this traditional dance-music. According to its critics, this style is contrary to the original objectives and values of the churches’ establishment. While writing on “Musical Transformation” in Chapter 29, Samuel Elikem Kwame Nyamuame sheds light on how traditional dance-music got into some African churches and examines some of the criticisms encountered in performing them. The chapter focuses on ethnographic fieldwork conducted in churches in Ghana and Uganda. The chapter is divided into four sections in which the author argues for the significance of traditional music and the missionary attitude toward it; the cultural re-awakening and the concept of transformation; the criticisms of performance; and suggested recommendations to ease the criticisms. In a related chapter on the intersection of folklore, oral traditions, and music, Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange examines how an upcoming Kenya popular musician, Dismas Nyangau, incorporates folkloric materials into his popular music. The musician played the obokano, an eight-stringed traditional lyre, fusing it with the keyboard and other contemporary instruments to the tune of reggae and other modern beats. The effect was astronomic, regaling the renowned benga and other established East African artistes like Christopher Monyoncho, Charles Omweri, and Isaac Otwori to some indistinct corner for a long time. The writer notes that the music had the old and young people on their feet swinging to the beats and humming along, their age sets and different world outlooks blended neatly. Using examples of renowned musicians from other parts of the wider African continent, the chapter attempts to trace the influence of folklore on the genres that have put Africa on the music world map. Employing the oral formulaic, ethnopoetics, and critical discourse analysis theories, the chapter traces the factors that made this music popular and its influence on the later generations, creative-wise. The Western focus on autobiography as individualistic and written literature precludes several oral African versions of the genre. The various African societies that have oral individual and communal narratives where individuals and community members occupy subject positions, like the bridal chant, the hunter’s chant, the epic, and the panegyric, are not accounted for in the Eurocentric basis of the definition of the autobiographical genre. An oral autobiographical tradition that is least studied and not given adequate attention in the traditional Western definition of the genre is the “witches” and “wizards” tale or confession, and that is the focus of Chapter 31 by Adetayo Alabi. The chapter examines autobiography and memory in relation to how “witches” and “wizards” remember and narrate their stories of adventures, conquests, failures, and conversion. The chapter analyzes some of the narratives of the

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“witches” and “wizards” to show their stories as auto/biographical tales of individuals and part of a community. Also, the chapter discusses magical realism and the narratives, especially how ordinary human beings, the “witches” and the “wizards” in this case, acquire supernatural powers and are transformed from ordinary people to dangerous and enigmatic artists and narrators empowered for sinister and propitious activities. The implications of the “witches” and “wizards” narratives for creativity and human development are also discussed. The oral texts for the analysis are from oral interviews, testimonies, and confessions of the “witches” and “wizards” collected/conducted by the author. The next four chapters examined the hybridization of orality in modern literature. Claude Lévi-Strauss debunked the traditional claim that the advent of writing is the sine qua non sign of high civilization that dooms orality as an activity of the primitive. However, African literary critics convincingly argued for the complementary entanglement of orality and graphism as elements of the same narrative pulse. Written or oral renditions of narratives are mere forms of expression. The core of narration as a human activity lies not in the forms of the performance, according to Propp and Jakobson, but in the conjugation of various communicative components. This is the inevitability of narrative as an endowment, inscribed in the use of language as a representational instrument of human cultural heritage. Kasongo Mulenda Kapanga’s chapter, “Absorption of oral Tradition and Folklore Narrative in Written Fictional Works: Paul Lomami-Tchibamba, Ngandu Nkashama and Alain Mabanckou,” deals with this inevitability of the narration by way of its fundamental channels, orality and writing. They have fostered works that stand not in an antithetical relationship as it was earlier inferred, but rather in a complementary and sometimes conflictual way. The chapter examines critically the narrative modalities adopted by the three Francophone writers who seamlessly incorporated orality in their fictional written works. Similarly, oral traditions are found in African dramaturgy. This is the focus of Rasheedah Liman in Chapter 33, “Oral Traditions in Selected Stage Performances.” Playwrights and directors of literary works for stage performance have variously represented different components of peoples’ oral culture in plays and performances. Dramatists have consciously drawn their source materials from history and oral traditions within the specific cultural contexts in which they exist, blazing the trail through their exploration of the nuances of culture in all its ramifications. Oral traditions are uniquely connected to the cultural essence of Africans. They have also served as vehicles of projecting and communicating history, values, and belief systems. This is the context in which oral traditions are appropriated in dramatic performances that have been staged within and outside the geographical boundaries of African plays. The discussed plays have moved from text to stage, and yet it is in this movement that words, songs, proverbs, chants, eulogies, music, and dance embedded in the text are brought alive in the encounter between performers and the audience. The chapter, therefore, explores how oral traditions play themselves out in stage performance of the discussed plays.

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Chapters 34, “From the Hybrid to the Transcultural: A Comparative study on Orality in Contemporary Poetry,” and 35, “Oral Literary Technique as Commitment in Modern African Poetry,” examine how contemporary African poets reconfigured folkloric and oral traditions materials into their works. In Angola, nonPortuguese-based orality present in poetry, written within the borders of, essentially, a Portuguese-speaking Angolan “nation,” has become a staple of the literary landscape of the past several decades. Mozambican pre-independence writing similarly took as its basis the kind of hybridized identities which Angolan writers of the same period saw; later postcolonial identities forced a reworking of this socio-philosophical framework. In comparative terms, the so-called Anglophone and Francophone African countries have seen a similar restaging of the oral into the written, more easily transmissible forms in recent decades, albeit by way of techniques which differ substantially from those in Lusophone Africa. Senegal has seen the incorporation of notions of fluidity even at the most local levels of high and low cultural practice, with differing language politics and corresponding realities from those of the Lusophone African countries. Namibia has seen transnational identity shifts in even the academic cultural venue. Finally, Tanzanian, Ghanaian, and Nigerian poets have taken on oral tradition as part of a combined strategy of local transculturalism concomitant to an evident nation-oriented governmental policy. No matter which process we observe, the passage from establishing a constructed, monolithic national culture toward a more fluid concept of post-coloniality, and the ideals of hybridization, according to one of the writers, give way to what we may refer to as a “transnational” identity, one porous with regard to the “national” as well as “local” and “international” lens. Aderonke Adesola Adesanya’s chapter, “The Masked Snap, The Snapped Mask: Mask, Power, and Betrayal in African Cultures,” discusses the relevance of orality to the field of art history. The mask, an interesting artifact and a profound cultural relic, has very weighty implications for historical and contemporary experiences. Humanity deploys it in many ways to convey simple to very complex ideas. Apart from its use for play and display, masks and masking express nuances and idiosyncrasies of persons and communities, connections and dissonance. In this chapter, Adesanya examines the literal and metaphorical ideas about mask and masking traditions in African locations, uniting knowledge about them with historical and contemporary personalities to explain phenomena and circumstances that are both stunning and instructive. The writer argues that the mask as an artifact and as a metaphor offers a veneer for sinister behavior, a concealment for dysfunction, mental health issues, and ominous intentions, and that understanding the many layers and configurations helps humans to calibrate and negotiate social contracts. As rightly observed by the author, the human face, in and of itself, is a mask—a repository for the multitude of intentions both good and bad that lurk behind it. Intentions are hard to decode, just as the masked person in a masquerade spectacle becomes inscrutable to the observer. Underneath the beautiful façade that appears in public lurks layers of mysteries. Just as one is encouraged not to take masquerading and masqueraders in traditional spaces on mere face value, but to approach them with restraints because they essentialize capriciousness and embody the inscrutable metaphysical other, Adesanya suggests

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that one must also approach humanity with caution, and calibrate human relationships with attentiveness. This does not call for excessive paranoia, but rather a measured vigilance is necessary to avert grave circumstances like those that befell historical and contemporary figures in proximate societies. Case studies on the transcendental notion of the mask and its interface with politics, power, treachery, and other layers of human interactions are drawn from two African locations—Nigeria and Burkina Faso. For illustrative purposes, the chapter references the masks, masking, and oral traditions of the Yoruba people of Nigeria and Benin Republic, the Mossi of Burkina Faso, and some of the postmodern G`e.l`e.d´e. portrait paintings of Wole Lagunju, a New African Diaspora Artist (NADA). The last three chapters in this part examined the effects of migration on oral traditions and folklore among Africans in the diaspora, especially the Americas. In Chapter 37, Hanetha Vete-Congolo examines the relationship between African and Caribbean oral literatures through the concept of Caribbean interorality, a process by which African tales were systematically transposed into the Caribbean during the enslavement period. Her discussion in the chapter is comparative, and thus, several Caribbean and African tales are studied as to not only underline their “kinship” but also unveil the ways according to which the Caribbean oral canon testifies to a critical epistemic and philosophical presence in the Americas. Writing along the same line in Chapter 38, titled “The Re-invention of Myths, Legends, Panegyrics and folktales in the Afro-Latin-American Diaspora,” Felix Ayoh’Omidire claims that the survival of African cultural ethos and praxis in the Americas within and beyond slavery, as alluded to by Melville Herskovits in his quest for the African cultural continuum, was imputable to the tremendous efforts of enslaved Africans and their descendants to preserve the memory and experiences of the African homeland through constant re-enactment of the various African oral consciousness and aide-mémoires such as myths, legends, folktales, and folklore. In Brazil, Cuba, Trinidad and Tobago, as well as Haiti, the negotiated re-organization of the social and religious life of enslaved populations and their descendants which led to the re-composition of the African family structure around Afro-Latin religious leaders and the eventual emergence of Candomblé, Voodoo, Sango and Santería temples, was highly instrumental to the survival of African oral genres in the Americas. In most cases, prevailing circumstances and the encounter with other cultures did not allow such oraliterary expressions to survive intact, leading to some notable modifications or outright re-inventions that are no less remarkable. The chapter succeeds in analyzing the process and impact of the re-invention of African, specifically, Yorùbá oral genres such as myths, legends, oríkì and folktales among the Nagô of Brazil and Haiti, the Lucumí of Cuba, and the Yarriba of Trinidad and Tobago. The last chapter in the part, written by Joseph McLaren, examines the commitment of an African-American writer to the retrieval of folkloric and oral traditions materials in her groundbreaking work, Mules and Men. Zora Neale Hurston, the author of the book, is an Harlem Renaissance writer and anthropologist known for her project of cultural retrieval through the study of African-American folklore in the Southern states of Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, and especially, the Caribbean Eatonville, Florida, where she spent her childhood years. Mules and Men, the first

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study of African-American folk traditions by an African-American, retrieves a wide range of folklore materials, especially folktales, which constitute the collective memory of certain residents of Florida and Louisiana in the early decades of the twentieth century. Of the many topics covered in Mules and Men, the work can be understood in its treatment of religion, women and relationships, slavery, and language. Also, this chapter asserts that Hurston’s fictional works show a reliance on folklore and the foundational experience in Eatonville. She employs vernacular with a few strategic interests, one, to construct narratives that are centered on social, familial, and interpersonal relationships, such as marital situations; the other, to codify, performing the role of the anthropologist who collects folklore materials, but also realizes that vernacular voices had a level of authenticity. Hurston joined the academic circle of ethnographers and formed her own ethnological self, observing the relationships between men and women as they show gender and power considerations.

Volume Two: Orature and Modernity The second volume of the handbook consists of twenty-three chapters, all designed to address the intersection of popular culture and technology with African oral traditions and folklore. The two organizing parts of the chapters in the volume, “Orality, Technology, and Popular Culture,” and “Oral Tradition, Folklore, and Education,” are succinct even in their divergent clusters.

Orality, Technology, and Popular Culture This part of the second volume of the handbook complements the last part of the first volume, but with specific emphasis on the intersection of orality, technology, and popular culture. The part examines the opportunities to preserve oral traditions and folkloric material through different technological avenues; from audio-cassettes and CDs to compact discs, to the Internet and World Wide Web, computer and iPad, and telephone, particularly the GSM and Smartphone revolution of the past decade on the continent of Africa. Therefore, some chapters in the section specifically address how technology has been very instrumental in preserving different forms of oral traditions and folklore, and how traditions are spread beyond what was previously limited by oral dissemination. Because oral traditions are now technologically preserved, they can be listened to repeatedly, and spread among the population. Some technologies also erode traditions, and this, too, is discussed. In a similar vein, other chapters in the part discuss the new reconfiguration of orality in the media (both print and electronic), cinema, film and Video Home System (VHS), popular music, rap and hip-hop music, signposts and advertorials, topical (electioneering and campaign) songs, slangs, etc. In short, while new forms of oral traditions are being created on a daily basis, obsolete images in old forms are being updated—either to demonstrate

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their contemporary application or to modernize and better align these images with contemporary usage. In Kole Odutola’s discussion, “Orality, Media, and Information Technology,” he uses empirical data from a selected number of social media platforms to uncover how viewers relate to the video clips of African folktales and performances. His findings show that electronic footprints stand in place of instant feedbacks performers feed off during face-to-face performances. Writing on a similar topic to that of Odutola, Tunde Adegbola in Chapter 41, “Orality and Information Communication Technology,” writes that, with recent developments in multimedia and speech technologies, some of the perceived advantages of literature now also accrue to orature, yet modern Information Communication Technology (ICT) which makes these advantages of literature available to orature still manifests essentially as a tool of literacy. This challenged him to examine the possible effects of orality on the development of ICT, and the possible effect of ICT on primary oral cultures and cultures with high oral residue. Furthermore, the needless levels of the influence of the culture of writing on the trajectory of the development of ICT are yet to take the attention of scholars. Hence, the chapter reflects on the interfacing of orature and ICT in an effort to direct attention to the need to give adequate consideration to primary oral cultures and cultures with a high oral residue in the future development of ICT so that it can also grow as a tool of orature. Charles Bwenge’s chapter is on the reconfiguration of orality, especially proverbs, for advertorials. Proverbs have always been a source of fascination in the exploration and attempt to understand African cultures. Scholarly collections and bibliographical publications pertaining to African proverbs abound. However, it has taken a while for scholars in various fields to appreciate the value of African proverbs as they intersect with other fields of study. In the wake of globalizing businesses, commercial advertisers are exploring the possibility of adopting African proverbs in the promotion of their products or services. Nevertheless, exploration pertaining to the relationship between oral literature and the discourse of advertising in the African context has not been given significant scholarly attention. Bwenge attempts to fill that gap, but in a very modest way—he examines the interface of proverbs and commercial ads in relation to mobile phone services in the Swahili- and Haya-speaking people of East Africa. First, an overview of African proverbs is presented, followed by a brief discussion on the richness of Swahili and Haya proverbs. Then, a short account pertaining to the discourse of advertisement is provided, with special reference to the advent of mobile phone services in Africa—which eventually leads to the author’s personal story that constitutes the data to the analysis and discussion. Writing on “Reinventing Oral Traditions Through Arts and Technology” in Chapter 43, Stephen Folaranmi and Oyewole Oyeniyi discuss the role and effects of art and technology in reinventing folkloric and oral traditions materials. The chapter examines selected visual materials such as animations and other technology-aided media-designed artwork created by artists in the twenty-first century. The chapter shows that the media has in fact given a new life to orality through wide dissemination to the younger generation of Africans all over the world.

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Abubakar Aliyu Liman in Chapter 44 explores the transformation of different modes of African lyrical performances under the influence of digital culture. African oral cultures are richly endowed with varieties of lyrical performances. However, over time, contact with other civilizational currents has made it possible for African oral traditions to absorb influences from foreign cultures. In the context of postcolonial modernity, for instance, African oral performances seem to be undergoing remarkable transformation due to the impact of global cultural flows via digital communication technology. Ubiquitous electronic media devices are everywhere, rejuvenating or even entirely changing the form, content, and quality of traditional oral performances that have been until now presumed to have withered away. Technological mediation has created a new cultural situation in which younger generations of African artists and performers have now been dipping their hands into the traditional repertoire to draw from its wealth of age-old lyrical performances for the purpose of creative experimentation. As it is, traditional elements are effectively blended with other modern trends in popular performances. Consequently, the chapter shows that a reinvigorated hybrid culture that is neither completely traditional nor entirely modern has now been created specifically for the consumption of youths that have all along been alienated from pristine African oral traditions. In the process, African oral performances are now susceptible to cultural appropriation through the de-territorializing impulses of global media flows. Similarly, Rosaleen Oabona Brankie Nhlekisana in her chapter, “Orality and Technology: Transforming Traditional Songs to Popular Music,” examines the effects of technology on the traditional songs and enumerates the advantages and/or disadvantages of using these technological devices on the songs. The writer argues that transforming traditional songs through technological devices preserves and expands their accessibility. The chapter concludes that technological devices have greatly influenced the way in which orality functions in contemporary Africa; therefore, there is a need to accommodate and embrace these changes to fulfill the ever-changing societal needs of the continent. Rose A. Opondo in Chapter 46, “Performance of Folklore on Television: New Vistas in African Folklore Renditions,” claims that today, orality is increasingly mediated by secondary media in the transmission of traditional forms of oral art which carry cultural communication. Apart from orthography, audio and audiovisual platforms have become spaces for transmission of oral performances, which try to maintain “authentic” forms of these on the screen. The chapter examines the performativity of African oral folklore on television. Emerging oral performance theories, mainly Technauriture, are employed to interrogate the influences of film as a static space, one that is removed from its immediate audience, on the performance of oral folklore, as well as the interplay between demands of oral performance and film performance. The writer paid particular attention to the narrative, production, and archival aspects of film on a dynamic oral art and the resultant mutations of traditional African folklore on the screen. Henry O. Unuajohwofia in Chapter 47, “Orality, Cinema, Film, and Video,” reinforces the conclusion of Opondo’s chapter. He shows that the shift in the media of storytelling tradition from primary orality to literacy, and to other media of transmitting stories, has transformed the content and

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aesthetics of stories. The writer employs the narratological method to argue that as the media used to propagate a story shift from primary orality to the movie media, the content and aesthetics of the story changes. The dramatization of themes; the use of simulative techniques of cinematography and the vocalization of songs; the detailing of the death of distance and that of narrator; and the privatization and the commercialization of stories point to the cinema as a media that combine primary and secondary orality with technology to transform the storytelling experience in Africa for the better.

Oral Traditions, Folklore, and Education The final part of the handbook provides opportunity for three professionals to discuss appropriate pedagogical methods and tools for the teaching of African oral traditions or folklore, not only in colleges and universities but also in elementary school, middle school, and high school levels. The chapters offer practical suggestions to teachers and students of African oral traditions. The purpose of the part is to enrich teachers’ concept of how oral tradition plays out in both familiar and unfamiliar instructional contexts. Oral literature as an agent of culture and reflection of the same is inherently dynamic. It has, over time, served different generations existing under various socioeconomic conditions. Drawing from different historical contexts and adapting to varied demands, it continually renews itself. By its very nature of verbal variability, it allows itself to incorporate new experiences and contexts. This flexibility also alludes to its ability to fit into various performance spaces owing to the fact that traditional performance spaces do not require elaborate design elements. The oral narrative as one of the major genres of literature has sought to find space in the ever-changing performance and socioeconomic environment. In all the performances, historically, the oral narrative has generated meaning that is contextually relevant, but also like good literature remains meaningful over generations. Participatory theater, which emphasizes on performance modes that are community-grounded and therefore accessible and acceptable to the audience, has borrowed from oral literature. It has employed oral narratives that are well known in communities to teach unfamiliar concepts existing in modern societies. The first chapter in the part by Kimingichi Wabende examines how oral narratives are used in civic education as an awareness tool to teach the community about democracy and citizen participation in constitution-making. It explores the inherent meaning of the narrative’s contextual and emerging meanings during the performance of the said narratives. The chapter draws from research and experience that the writer participated in through the Kenya Oral Literature Association (KOLA), Collaborations Centre for Gender and Development (CCGD), and People Popular Theatre (PPT) over a period of ten years of civic education in Kenya.

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The ascendancy of literacy in the education of, and the general interactions between, adults is also reflected in early childhood education. The objective of Damola Adesina’s chapter is to refocus attention on the traditional role of orature in early childhood education, and thereby use carefully selected illustrations to argue for the sustenance of the value of orature in early childhood education, more so in the current age of information technology. Using Yoruba folktales as its point of argument, the last chapter by Michael Oladejo Afolayan makes a case for folklore and oral tradition as powerful pedagogical tools, therefore accentuating the need for teaching them in schools. The inexhaustibility of the genre is quipped to be an empirical argument for utilizing it in formal and informal cultural settings. The chapter looks at the concept of àl´o. and ìtàn (among the Yoruba), matching both in functionality while still separating them in context. Existing literature on the subject of folklore and oral traditions are examined with the goal of strengthening the significance and power of orature among the people. Borrowing familiar Yoruba folktales, the chapter provides a componential analysis of àl´o. vis-a-vis its Ifá counterpart so as to demonstrate on the one hand, the interconnectedness within the genre of orature of the Yoruba people, and on the other hand, further prove the pedagogical power inherent in the folktale tradition.

Conclusion It is our hope that the fifty chapters in this two-volume handbook will serve academics whose research are focused on oral traditions and folklore; students at both undergraduate and graduate levels whose studies fall within oral literature, folklore, cultural studies, popular culture, and the intersection of modern literature with orality; general readers interested in exploring African cultural practices; research institutes and university libraries; and members of professional academic associations. This handbook has a distinctive edge over existing/competing texts.4 It connects the past with the future of African oral traditions and folklore, and extends the debate on these issues in a more nuanced and comparative manner. Furthermore, conclusions from each chapter are intended to inform other studies, and certain general principles from therein are expected to influence studies of other societies. Notes 1. 2.

Finnegan. African Oral Literature. Nairobi/Dar es Salaam: Oxford University Press, 1970, p. 13. Okpewho, Isidore. “Introduction.” Research in African Literature. 38.3, (2007): viii.

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Ibid., viii. Some of these are Ruth Finnegan’s Oral Traditions and the Verbal Arts: A Guide to Research Practices, John Miles Foley’s edited volume, Teaching Oral Traditions, and Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah’s edited volume, African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. Akintunde Akinyemi Toyin Falola

References Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. African Oral Literature. Nairobi and Dar es Salaam: Oxford University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 1992. Oral Traditions and the Verbal Arts: A Guide to Research Practices. London and New York: Routlege. Foley, John Miles (Ed.). 1998. Teaching Oral Traditions. New York: The Modern Language Association. Okpewho, Isidore. 2007. Introduction. Research in African Literature. 38 (3): vii–xxi. Oring, Elliott. 2012. Just Folklore: Analysis, Interpretation, Critique. Los Angeles: Cantilever Press. Peek, Philip M., and Kwesi Yankah. 2004. African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. New York: Routledge.

Contents

Part I

Contexts and Practicalities

1

Creativity and Performance in Oral Poetry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Godini G. Darah

3

2

Concept and Components of Performance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anya Ude Egwu

51

3

The Role of the Audience in Oral Performance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clement Adeniyi Akangbe

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4

Orality, History and Historical Reconstruction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bukola Adeyemi Oyeniyi

83

5

Insights from Festivals and Carnivals. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Philip Adedotun Ogundeji and Mercy Ayo Fasehun

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6

Fieldwork and Data Collection. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arinpe G. Adejumo and Akeem Oyebamiji

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7

Documenting Oral Genres. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . James Essegbey

131

8

Retrospect and Prospects of Oral Traditions and Folklore. . . . . . . . . Oluwole Coker

169

Part II 9

Themes, Tropes and Types

Epic Tradition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tal Tamari

183

10 Divination and Divinatory Systems. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Omotade Adegbindin

213

11 Myth and Mythology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oluwatoyin Bimpe Jegede

233

xxvii

xxviii

Contents

12 The Dirge. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Felicia Ohwovoriole

247

13 Dreams Within the Context of the Basotho Culture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anastacia Sara Motsei

263

14 Drum Language and Literature. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mobolanle Ebunoluwa Sotunsa

281

15 Oratory and Rhetoric: Praise Poetry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David Adu-Amankwah

297

16 Proverbs, Naming, and Other Forms of Veiled Speech. . . . . . . . . . . . . Cécile Leguy

317

17 Oral Poetry: Monyoncho’s Orature and Abagusii Culture of Non-violence. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Augustine Agwuele and Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange 18 Ifá: A Womanist Deconstruction of Gender Politics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Olusegun Adekoya 19 A Repertoire of Bukusu Nonverbal Communicative System: Some Gender Differences. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Margaret Barasa and Augustine Agwuele

335 357

377

20 Oral Tradition and Identity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mustafa Kemal Mirzeler

403

21 The Figure of the Child in Oral Literature. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lere Adeyemi

421

22 War Songs: Slavery, Oral Tradition, and Identity Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emmanuel Saboro

437

23 Tracing the Voice of Protest in Selected Oral Literature. . . . . . . . . . . Russell H. Kaschula

453

24 Oral Literature, Liberty and Political Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Enongene Mirabeau Sone

473

25 Multiculturalism, Orality, and Folklore in South Africa. . . . . . . . . . . Anastacia Sara Motsei and Pule Alexis Phindane

489

26 Fichee-Cambalaalla of the Sidaama People. . . . . . . . . . . . . Augustine Agwuele and Tafesse Matewos Karo

509

27 Orality Indexing: Cultural Benefits of Male Circumcision. . . . . . . . . Lesibana J. Rafapa

529

Contents

xxix

Part III Transformation and Transposition 28 To Tongue the Body | To Body the Tongue: Problematizing the Translation of Oral Traditions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luan Staphorst 29 Musical Transformation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Samuel Elikem Kwame Nyamuame

551 575

30 African Folklore: The Case of Others and Dismas Nyangau’s Popular Music. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange

601

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators: Oral Autobiography, Magical Realism, and Memory. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Adetayo Alabi

617

32 Absorption of Oral Tradition and Folklore Narrative in Written Fictional Works: Paul Lomami-Tchibamba, Ngandu Nkashama and Alain Mabanckou. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kasongo Mulenda Kapanga 33 Oral Traditions in Selected Stage Performances. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rasheedah Liman 34 From the Hybrid to the Transcultural: A Comparative Study on Orality in the Poetry of Contemporary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Robert Simon 35 Oral Tradition as Commitment in Modern African Poetry. . . . . . . . . Sola Owonibi and Richard Bampoh-Addo 36 The Masked Snap, The Snapped Mask: Mask, Power, and Betrayal in African Cultures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aderonke Adesola Adesanya 37 Caribbean Orality. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hanétha Vété-Congolo

661 685

701 715

735 759

38 The Re-invention of Myths, Legends, Panegyrics and Folktales in the Afro-Latin-American Diaspora. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Félix Ayoh’Omidire

777

39 Zora Neale Hurston: Retrieving Folk Memory in Mules and Men. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joseph McLaren

803

Part IV Orality, Technology, and Popular Culture 40 Orality, Media, and Information Technology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kole Odutola

819

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Contents

41 Orality and Information Communication Technology. . . . . . . . . . . . . Tunde Adegbola 42 Orality and Advertisement: Swahili Proverbs in Mobile Phone Service Ads in Tanzania. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charles Bwenge

835

849

43 Reinventing Oral Traditions Through Arts and Technology. . . . . . . . Stephen Folaranmi and Oyewole Oyeniyi

865

44 De-Territorializing Lyrical Performances via Digital Culture. . . . . . . Abubakar Aliyu Liman

889

45 Orality and Technology: Transforming Traditional Songs to Popular Music. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rosaleen Oabona Brankie Nhlekisana

907

46 Performance of Folklore on Television: New Vistas in African Folklore Renditions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rose A. Opondo

925

47 Orality, Cinema, Film, and Video. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Henry O. Unuajohwofia Part V

941

Oral Tradition, Folklore, and Education

48 Restaging Oral Narrative in Civic Education. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kimingichi Wabende

959

49 Orality and Early Childhood Education. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Damola Adesina

975

50 Teaching Folklore and Oral Traditions: The Folktale Medium as Pedagogy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Oladejo Afolayan

995

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1011

Editors and Contributors

About the Editors Akintunde Akinyemi is Professor and Chair, Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures, and an Affiliate Faculty at the Center for African Studies, University of Florida in Gainesville. His research interests include Yorùbá as well as African-language literature, popular culture, and diaspora studies. He is the author of Yorùbá Royal Poetry: A Socio-historical Exposition and Annotated Translation (2004) and Orature and Yoruba Riddles (2015); co-author of a French-Yoruba dictionary, Dictionnaire usual Yoruba-français (1997); and editor/co-editor of Encyclopedia of the Yoruba (2016), African Creative Expressions: Mother Tongue and Other Tongues (2011), Sango in Africa and the African Diaspora (2009), Emerging Perspectives on Femi Osofisan (2009), and Emerging Perspectives on Akinwumi Isola (2008). Toyin Falola recent former president of the African Studies Association is the Jacob and Frances Sanger Mossiker Chair in the Humanities and a Distinguished Teaching Professor at the University of Texas at Austin. He is a Fellow of the Historical Society of Nigeria and a Fellow of the Nigerian Academy of Letters. He has received various awards and honors, including honorary doctorates from Monmouth University, City University of New York, Staten Island, Lead City University (Nigeria), Adekunle Ajasin University (Nigeria), and Tai Solarin University of Education (Nigeria). Professor Falola is author and editor of more than one hundred books. For his singular and distinguished contribution to the study of Africa, his students and colleagues have presented him with five Festschriften: Adebayo Oyebade, The Transformation of Nigeria: Essays in Honor of Toyin Falola, and The Foundations of Nigeria: Essays in Honor of Tóyìn Fálo.lá, and one edited by Akin Ogundiran, Pre-Colonial Nigeria: Essays in Honor of Toyin Falola. Two of his memoirs have been published by the University of Michigan Press: A Mouth Sweeter than Salt: An African Memoir and Counting the Tiger’s Teeth: An African Teenager’s Story . Palgrave-Macmillan recently released a new book on him by Abdul Bangura, Toyin Falola and African Epistemologies. xxxi

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Editors and Contributors

Contributors Omotade Adegbindin is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Philosophy, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. He is consistent researcher in the field of Yorùbá oral tradition; his areas of specialization include African philosophy and cultural studies. He was a member of the Philippine National Philosophical Research Society. He has published in both local and international journals. He is the author of Ifá in Yorùbá Thought System (2014), published by Carolina Academic Press, Durham, USA. Tunde Adegbola is research scientist, consulting engineer, and culture activist with wide-ranging experience in information and communication media systems. As executive director at African Languages Technology Initiative (Alt-i), Ibadan, Nigeria, he leads a crop of young researchers in appropriating human language technology for African languages. As a consulting engineer, he designed and built production facilities that midwifed Nollywood and many pioneering private broadcast stations in Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa. He teaches artificial intelligence and supervises research projects in human language technology as an adjunct in the University of Ibadan and the University Lagos, both in Nigeria. Arinpe G. Adejumo is Professor of Yoruba Language and Literature and former Head of the Department of Linguistics and African Languages, University of Ibadan, Nigeria. She is also the immediate past editor of Yoruba: Journal of Yoruba Studies Association of Nigeria (YSAN). Professor Adejumo is a poet, playwright, and literary critic. She obtained her Ph.D. in Yoruba Language and Literature from Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife. Her academic background and research interests include satirical genre, gender studies, creative writing, research methods, and folklore. Many of her publications articulate the interdisciplinary interface between literature and other cognate disciplines vis-à-vis the function of literature in society, growth, and development. Olusegun Adekoya is Professor of English Literature in the Department of English, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria. He is the author of the highly influential book The Inner Eye: An Oriel on Wole Soyinka’s Poetry . Adekoya is the first Chairman of the Osun State Chapter of the Association of Nigerian Authors; he has four collections of poems, namely Guinea Bites and Sahel Blues, Here and There, Chameleon and Chimeras, and Escape. He is the editor of Nigerian Journal of Oral Literatures. Aderonke Adesola Adesanya is artist and art historian trained at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife Nigeria where she received her first degree in Fine Arts. She obtained her Masters and Ph.D. degrees from the University of Ibadan, Nigeria. She holds a postgraduate diploma in Peace and Conflict Studies from Uppsala University, Sweden. Adésànyà is a laureate of CODESRIA Gender Institute, Dakar, Senegal and a Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Mediators and Conciliators

Editors and Contributors

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(ICMC), Nigeria. Her teaching and research focus on art history, peace and conflict studies, gender studies, African migration, underrepresented entities, identities, the African diaspora—both old and new subjects. Adesanya’s publications include Migrations and Creative Expressions in Africa and the African Diasporas, 2008 (coedited); Etches of Fresh Waters, 2008 (co-authored), a monograph Carving Woods, Making History, 2012; Art Parody and Politics in 2013 (co-edited), and many books chapters and peer-reviewed journal articles. Adesanya has received various awards including the McArthur Foundation Grant for her work conservation and exhibition of artefacts in the collection of the University of Ibadan, Nigeria; the Swedish International Development Agency Award (SIDA), the African Studies Association International Visitor Award in 2005, and the African Study Award, Indiana University in 2007, among others. She also received at James Madison University, the Innovative Diversity Efforts Award (IDEA) Grant in 2012, and Cultural Connections Grant in 2014. Adesanya received the Omooba Yemisi Shyllon Foundation Grant for her ongoing work on Masters and Masterpieces of Modern Nigerian Art that focuses on Nigerian art and artists from 1920s to 1980s. Her ongoing research includes Yoruba Art, Artists, and Patrons: Modernism, Localism, and Globalism, and Transcending Boundaries: Artists of Africa and the New African Diaspora. Damola Adesina is independent researcher investigating the intersection of orature and literature. She theorizes the continued use of orature as an effective tool of knowledge production and management within societies in transition from oral to literate cultures. Her doctoral thesis investigated the coping mechanism of nonliterate early Yoruba Christians with Christianity as a book of religion. She also practices as a performance poet, using a mixture of both English and indigenous Yoruba poetry forms to interpret biblical texts as a Christian evangelist. Lere Adeyemi is a Professor in the Department of Linguistics and Nigerian Languages, University of Ilo.rin, Nigeria. He was head of his Department twice—2005– 2006 and 2008–2009. He is a member of professional associations such as African Literature Association (ALA) and Linguistics Association of Nigeria (LAN), Yorùbá Studies Association of Nigeria (YSAN), among many others. Professor Adeyemi is also a published creative writer. David Adu-Amankwah is Assistant Coordinator, African Languages Program at Indiana University. He holds a Ph.D. degree in folklore (with a minor in African languages and linguistics). His research interests have been in language, folklore, and culture, with special reference to the Akan ethnic group of Ghana. He has taught language and culture courses within Indiana University, Bloomington’s African Studies Program since 1994, and he has published journal articles, encyclopedia entries, and books (including Asante-Twi Learners’ Reference Grammar (2003), Wo Nso Ka Bi: Basic Akan Grammar and Practice (2013), and Understanding your Writing Test in English: Titbits for School Candidates (2015).

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Editors and Contributors

Michael Oladejo Afolayan an independent scholar, is the current chief consultant for M & P Educational and Cultural Consulting International located in Osogbo, Nigeria. Prior to retirement, he served on the directorate of the Illinois Board of Higher Education in Springfield, Illinois, USA. He previously retired as professor of education and language studies from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, USA. Augustine Agwuele is Professor of Linguistics at the Department of Anthropology, Texas State University, San Marcos. He specializes in phonetics, sociocultural linguistics, and he studies peoples and cultures of Africa. Clement Adeniyi Akangbe is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Library, Archival, and Information Studies, teaches publishing and copyright studies in University of Ibadan. He holds B.A. (combine) Honors (1988) in Yoruba and Dramatic Arts from Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria. He obtained two Master degrees from University of Ibadan—Master of Communication Arts (1997) and Master of Arts (Yoruba, 2005); and a Diploma in Publishing (1999). In 2014, he received a Ph.D. in Yoruba Literature also from University of Ibadan. Akangbe is an accomplished editor, a career publisher, playwright, translator, and specialist in print media. Adetayo Alabi is Associate Professor of English at the University of Mississippi. He teaches and researches literary theories, world literatures, and cultures, particularly African, African-American, and Afro-Caribbean. He is the author of Telling Our Stories: Continuities and Divergences in Black Autobiographies and was the editor of The Global South, published by Indiana University Press, between 2007 and 2013. During his tenure as the editor of The Global South, he edited special issues of the journal on Nollywood and The Global South (with others), Latin America in a Global Age, The Caribbean and Globalization, and Africa in a Global Age. His other publications have appeared in the Encyclopedia of the Yoruba, Encyclopedia of Postcolonial Literatures, and in The Companion to African Literatures. He has also published several book chapters, including those in The Nigeria-Biafra War: An Intellectual History; Ogoni’s Agonies: Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Crisis in Nigeria ; The African Diaspora: African Origins and New World Identities; Marvels of the African World: African Cultural Patrimony, New World Connections, and Identities; Yoruba Creativity: Fiction, Language, Life, and Songs; and in journals like Research in African Literature, Liwuram, African Literature Today, and In-Between. Félix Ayoh’Omidire is Professor of Brazilian and Afro-Latin-America studies at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife Nigeria where he is also the Director of the Institute of Cultural Studies. His research interest centers on the Yoruba legacy and the construction of cultural identity in countries like Brazil, Cuba, Trinidad and Tobago, Colombia, Venezuela, Haiti, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and the USA, a topic on which he has published close to a dozen books and over 50 articles. He is a Fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation (Germany), a collaborator and consultant

Editors and Contributors

xxxv

for many institutions and government ministries in Latin America, especially Brazil and Cuba, and a recipient of the DAAD and HRK award for the International Dean’s Course Africa (2015–2016). Richard Bampoh-Addo is Senior Lecturer in English at the University of Education, Winneba, Ghana. He is product of the University of Education, Winneba. Bampoh-Addo has interest in gender studies, African literature and the English novel. He has co-authored three books which are used by distance education students at the Institute for Distance and e-Learning. He is a member of the nationwide English Association of Ghana and the Educational Research Network for West and Central Africa (ERNWACA). Bampoh-Addo is the Acting Head of English Department in his University. Margaret Barasa is Dean of Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, Kisii University, Kenya. She lectures in the Department of Language and Linguistics of the same university. She holds a Ph.D. in Applied Linguistics. Her research interests include applied linguistics, discourse analysis, sociolinguistics, and gender studies. Charles Bwenge is Master Lecturer & Coordinator—Program in African languages (PAL) in the Center for African Studies (CAS) and the Department of Languages, Literatures & Cultures (LLC) at the University of Florida. He earned his Ph.D. (linguistic anthropology) from the University of Virginia (2002). His principal area of interest is the intersection between African languages, linguistic culture, discourse analysis (political, commercial ads, environmental, etc.), and language pedagogy with particular focus on the interaction between Swahili and other languages (including English) in the Swahili-speaking East African region. Oluwole Coker is Senior Lecturer in Literature in English at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria and holds a Ph.D. in English from the University of Ibadan, Nigeria. His interests lie in Postcolonial African fiction, orature, and interdisciplinary studies. He is co-editor of Existentialism, Literature and the Humanities in Africa: Essays in Honour of Professor Benedict Mobayode Ibitokun (Gottingen: Cuvillier Verlag, 2013) and Emerging Perspectives on the Twenty-First Century Nigerian Novel. (Glienicke: Venda Verlag, 2017). Coker is a Postdoctoral Fellow of the American Council of Learned Societies/African Humanities Program (ACLS/AHP, 2014); Laureate of Council for Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA) Child and Youth Institute, (2015). He has also held fellowships at the Brown International Advanced Research Institute, Brown University, Rhode Island, USA (BIARI, 2017), as well as the Summer Program in Social Science (2015–2017), an initiative run jointly by the Institute for Advanced Study (Princeton), the L’École des hautes études en sciences sociales (Paris), and the Swedish Collegium (Uppsala). Godini G. Darah is Professor of oral literature and folklore; he was educated at the University of Ibadan. He completed his doctorate degree in 1982 on the songpoetry tradition of the Urhobo people of Nigeria. Darah taught at the University of

xxxvi

Editors and Contributors

Ibadan, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Delta State University, Abraka, and the University of Africa, Toru-Orua. He has been involved in fieldwork, translation, and editing for several decades. Darah was president of the Nigerian Folklore Society, the Nigerian Oral Literature Association, a member of the International Society for the Oral Literatures of Africa (ISOLA), and Nigeria’s national consultant to UNESCO on Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH). Anya Ude Egwu lectures in the Department of English and Literary Studies, University of Nigeria in Nsukka. His research areas include oral literature, popular culture, performance studies, and African literature. He has presented scholarly papers at conferences and professional meetings and published in reputable journals and edited volumes. James Essegbey is Professor in the Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures, University of Florida. He obtained his Ph.D. degree from Leiden University after a three-year Ph.D. fellowship at the Max-Planck Institute of Psycholinguistics in Nijmegen, The Netherlands. His research interests are language description and documentation, lexical-semantic interface, and languages and cultures in contact, specifically pidgins and creoles, and multilingualism. The languages he investigates are the Gbe language varieties spoken in Ghana, Akan, Nyangbo and Animere (both Ghana-Togo Mountain languages), Dwang (a North-Guang language), and varieties of English spoken by people of African descent. Mercy Ayo Fasehun is Senior Lecturer and Chair of the Department of Yoruba at `. ràmf`e. Adeye.mi College of Education Ondo, Nigeria. Among her publications are “O Festival: An Indigenous Technique to Crime Prevention and Conflict Management” in International Journal of Sustainable Development (2008); “The Role of Traditional Rulers in the Celebration of Ògún Festival in Ondo Kingdom” in The Chieftaincy Institution in Nigeria (2010); and “The Dramatic Elements in Ogun Festival and Its Changing Phases,” Journal of Arts and Humanities (2011). Stephen Folaranmi is an artist and associate professor of Art History in the Fine Arts Department, Rhodes University, South Africa. His research interests include Yorùb´a Art Studies/African mural Art, and Architecture. His articles have been published in journals, conference proceedings and chapters in five books. He was a recipient of the first Höffmann-Dozentur für Interkulturelle Kompetenz at University of Vechta, Germany -2008/2009 session, Folaranmi was a recipient of the 2019 Getty CAA International travel grant, CAA 2020 International Travel grant, and 2020 ACASA Travel grant. Oluwatoyin Bimpe Jegede is Professor of Literature in English in the Department of English at the University of Ibadan. Her research interests are gender studies, oral poetics and performance and African literature. She was the recipient of many awards in literature including fellow, Centre for Anglo–American Studies in Portugal, Comparative Literature Association in South Africa and Firebird Foundation, USA.

Editors and Contributors

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She served on the International Panel for Commonwealth Book Prize from 2008 to 2009. Kasongo Mulenda Kapanga is Associate Professor of French and Francophone Literature in the Department of Modern Languages & Literatures, University of Richmond. His research interests are African novel, francophone literature, postcolonial literature, discursive analysis, Congolese popular culture, and Congolese writers. He is the author of The Writing of the Nation: Expressing Identity Through Congolese Literary Texts and Films (Trenton, New Jersey: Africa World Press, 2016). Tafesse Matewos Karo is Assistant Professor of Geography and Environmental Studies and a Ph.D. fellow in Development Studies at Institute of Policy and Development Research (IPDR), Hawassa University, Ethiopia, and an Exchange Fellow at Norwegian University of Life Science (NMBU), Norway. He is interested in environment and development, institutions and governance, and indigenous knowledge and culture. Russell H. Kaschula is Professor of African Language Studies & NRF SARChI Chair: Intellectualisation of African Languages, Multilingualism and Education, Rhodes University, South Africa. He is particularly interested in matters pertaining to applied language studies, sociolinguistics, education, second language acquisition, oral literature and multilingualism. He also has a special interest in intercultural studies as well as literature. Most of his literary research is located within oral and written isiXhosa literary studies as well as applied language studies. He is a creative writer and has written novels and short stories in both isiXhosa and in English. In 2008, he was awarded the Vice-Chancellor’s Distinguished Senior Teaching Medal, and in 2017, he was awarded the Vice-Chancellor’s Distinguished Senior Research Medal at Rhodes University in South Africa. Cécile Leguy is Professor of Anthropology Linguistics, Université Sorbonne Nouvelle—Paris 3. Her research interest areas are: oral literature, proverb, media studies, etc. She is the current President of the International Society for the Oral Literatures of Africa (ISOLA). Some of her most recent works are (with Clerc-Renaud), Des vies extraordinaires: les territoires du récit, Cahiers de Littérature Orale, n°79 (présenté ici) 2016, (with Pecquet Luc, Platiel Suzy, Roulon-Doko Paulette et Seydou Christiane) Sur les pas de Geneviève Calame-Griaule, Journal des Africanistes, 85 (1–2), (présenté ici), 2015, and (with Derive Jean (coordonné par)), Paroles d’Afrique, Cargo. Revue Internationale d’Anthropologie Culturelle & Sociale n°4, 152 p. (présenté ici), 2015. Abubakar Aliyu Liman is Professor of comparative literature and popular culture at the Department of English and Literary Studies, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, Nigeria. His areas of specialization include oral literature, comparative literature, literary theory, popular culture, and cultural studies. He was awarded AHP Fellowship of the American Council of Learned Societies (ACLS) in 2011. He visited University

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Editors and Contributors

of Western Cape, Cape Town, South Africa for Postdoctoral Residency in 2011. He was awarded Leventis Postdoctoral Fellowship at SOAS, University of London, 2013. He was also awarded ASA Presidential Fellow 2015 at San Diego. Liman is currently the Dean of Arts, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria. Rasheedah Liman is Associate Professor in the Department of Theatre and Performing Arts, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, Nigeria. Her research interests include performance studies, cultural studies, and development communication. Dr. Liman is a Fulbright Fellow (2012) and an ACLS African Humanities Postdoctoral Fellow (2016). She is currently Head of Department of Theatre and Performing Arts, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, Nigeria. Joseph McLaren is Professor Emeritus of English, Department of English at Hofstra University. He specializes in African, Caribbean, and African-American literature, and his teaching and research interests also incorporate African Diaspora Studies. His publications include articles on jazz musicians and various literary and cultural subjects. He is the author of Langston Hughes: Folk Dramatist in the Protest Tradition, 1921 1943 (1997), he co-edited Pan Africanism Updated (1999), African Visions (2000) and edited two volumes of The Collected Works of Langston Hughes: The Big Sea (2002) and I Wonder as I Wander (2002). He co-authored the autobiography of legendary Philadelphia-born jazz saxophonist Jimmy Heath, I Walked with Giants: The Autobiography of Jimmy Heath, Temple University Press (2010). Mustafa Kemal Mirzeler is Professor in the Department of English at Western Michigan University. His research areas are African historical tradition and folktales, African historiography, and Turkish folklore and literature. He is author of Remembering Nayeche and the Gray Bull Engiro: African Storytellers of Karamoja Plateau and the Plains of Turkana (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014). Over the last two decades, Mirzeler has made a number of research trips to East Africa to record oral traditions and conduct ethnographies. In his sneakers, he traveled more than 1500 miles on the paths of African mythic heroes, visiting the cradle lands that gave birth to new societies. He became an apprentice to African storytellers living in villages along the banks of Nile River and Karamoja Plateau in northern Uganda, along the magnificent shores of Lake Turkana and its islands, and in the barren landscape of Chalbi Desert, in northern Kenya. In addition to his research among African storytellers, Mirzeler also works with Turkish storytellers around Taurus Mountains and along the banks of Ceyhan River and around Anavarza, a medieval castle village, in the plains of Chukurova in Turkey. The voices of these storytellers, living in disparate parts of the world, become a testament to the power of storytelling in Mirzeler’s teaching and writing. His course, Storytellers, is a popular class on the WMU campus. Anastacia Sara Motsei is Lecturer in the Department of African Languages, Faculty of the Humanities, at the University of the Free State in the Republic of South Africa. She is currently responsible for research studies in language education as

Editors and Contributors

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well as sociolinguistics. She is involved in lecturing teacher—student for Foundation Phase, Intermediate, Senior and Further Education Training Phases whereby they learn Sesotho Conversational Language, Senior Phase to Further Education Training whereby they learn methodology of teaching Sesotho Language and Folklore and Oral Literature. She is currently involved in Sesotho Matric Examinations of the Republic of South Africa. Her research interests are in folklore, mother tongue education, second language teaching and learning including linguistics (sociolinguistics and discourse analysis). Rosaleen Oabona Brankie Nhlekisana is Associate Professor in the Department of African Languages and Literature, University of Botswana, Gaborone. She holds a Ph.D. (2005) in folklore from Indiana University—Bloomington, USA, an M.A. in African Languages and Literature from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, USA (1996), and a B.A. in African Languages and Literature and English from the University of Botswana (1992). Her main research interests are in folklore, including but not limited to Setswana traditional and popular songs, proverbs and oral narratives. Her other research interests are in gender studies, cultural studies, performance studies, popular culture and translation and interpretation. Samuel Elikem Kwame Nyamuame is Assistant Professor of Ethnomusicology and Dance in the Departments of Africana Studies, Theater (Dance) and Music at Binghamton University, New York. He received his Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology from University of Florida, Gainesville, MA in Ethnomusicology (World Music & Dance) from Wesleyan University, Connecticut, and both BFA & Diploma in Music and Dance at the School of Performing Arts, University of Ghana, Legon. Nyamuame is an extraordinary talented musician, master drummer, dancer, choreographer, multiinstrumentalist, choir director, educator, and a scholar. He instructed at University of Ghana and facilitated lectures and workshops at many institutions, including Howard University (DC), Mt. Holyoke College (MA), Five Colleges of Massachusetts, University of Massachusetts (Dartmouth), Western Connecticut State University (CT), Tuft University (Boston), Brown University (RI), Yale University (New Haven), and University of Mississippi (Oxford), among others. Nyamuame currently teaches World Music, popular and traditional music cultures of Africa, African dance forms, Music and Religions in Africa, and African Diaspora including special Independent topics. He is the artistic director of Nukporfe African Dance and Drum Ensemble. He is also the founder and director of Dzidefo Africa Choir which is the first ever African choir at Binghamton University in New York. Nyamuame is the recipient of Harpur College of Arts and Science two years in a roll—2017–2018 Best Professor Award for demonstrating excellence in teaching at Binghamton University. Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange is educator, writer, and community development supporter. He graduated Bachelors of Arts at University of Nairobi where he read Literature, Political Science and Anthropology and Masters of English Literature in Education) from Kampala university. He worked as part-time Lecturer and teacher mentor for Kisii University and Kenyatta University, respectively. He has written

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Editors and Contributors

several unpublished stories, novellas, poems, plays and published articles and poems in various local papers. He is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Literature at Kisii University. Kole Odutola is Senior Lecturer (Yoruba language and culture) at the University of Florida. His Ph.D. in media studies is from Rutgers University, NJ. His interests span the areas of journalism, culture advocacy, photography, environment, arts, and language teaching. He has worked as a production assistant/script writer in television and radio stations, as a freelance producer/director of documentaries on development and environmental issues for independent production companies. One of his publications is Diaspora and Imagined Nationality… (2012, Carolina Academic Press). Philip Adedotun Ogundeji is Professor in the Department of Linguistics and African Languages, University of Ibadan, Nigeria. He has been teaching Yoruba Literature and Culture at the university for over three and half decades. He was a former chair of that department and Dean of the Faculty of Arts in that same university. Among his many publications are Ritual as Theatre, Theatre as ritual: The Nigerian Example (2000); Yoruba Drama in Time Perspective (2014); “The Communicative and Semiotic Contexts of Àrokò Among the Yoruba Symbol Communication System” in African Languages and Cultures (1997); and “The Image of S.àngó in Duro Ladipo.’s Plays” in Research in African Literature (1998). Felicia Ohwovoriole is Associate Professor, Department of English, University of Lagos, Nigeria. Her research interests include oral literature, postcolonial studies (especially African, African-American, and Caribbean); literary theory (especially postcolonial and feminist); and autobiographical genre in comparative black studies. She is the author of “Recalling-is-Greatest: Personal Momery and Lyricism in Toyin Falola’s A Mouth Sweeter than Salt and Counting the Tiger’s Teeth” and “The Horse on which Words Ride: Proverbial Narrative in Toyin Falola’s A Mouth Sweeter than Salt” both published in Yoruba Studies Review. Rose A. Opondo is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Literature, Theater, and Film Studies, Moi University, Kenya. Her research interests include oral literature, postcolonial studies, and literary theory (especially postcolonial and feminist). She is the current Secretary of the International Society of Oral Literatures in Africa (ISOLA). Sola Owonibi is Professor of African literature, Department of English Studies, Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba Akoko, where he teaches courses in African literature and Creative Writing. His research interest is in gender studies, cultural studies, and the medical humanities. A postdoctoral fellow15 of the American Council of Learned Societies’ African Humanities Program, ACLS/AHP (2014/2015). A fellow, Carnegie Corporation of New York (CCNY) (2016). A CODESRIA Meaningmaking Research Initiative (MRI) awardee, (2017). He is a poet, playwright, culture

Editors and Contributors

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activist, and literary critic with over two decades of teaching literature at universities in Nigerian and Ghana. Akeem Oyebamiji received his undergraduate education at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife from 1997 to 2000 from where he graduated Bachelor of Arts in Education. He completed his higher degrees at the University of Ibadan, Nigeria, in 2011 and 2018. He is currently a Principal Lecturer in the Department of Yoruba, Federal College Education, Zaria, Nigeria. Bukola Adeyemi Oyeniyi, Fellow of the New Europe College, Romania, holds a doctorate degree in African history from the Leiden University, the Netherlands. He currently teaches African history at the Missouri State University. His most recent works include The History of Libya (Greenwood; Annotated edition, 2019) and Dress in the Making of African Identity: A Social and Cultural History of the Yoruba People (Cambria Press, 2017). Oyewole Oyeniyi is Senior Technical Staff and Graphic Artist in the Department of Fine and Applied Arts Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria. His current research after his Master Degree in African Art History has been based on African symbolism, motifs and its meaning and communication via various icons in relation to graphic design. He has equally worked on various projects which include designs, corporate branding, short animation clips, illustrations and cartoons on several Yoruba and western themes for purposes used both in Nigeria and overseas. Pule Alexis Phindane is Associate Professor and Head of Department in Language and Social Science Education at Central University of Technology, Free State in South Africa. He is currently responsible for research studies in language education. He has published internationally in the fields of folklore, linguistics and language teaching. From 2012 to 2015, he was involved in the European Union multimillions project which consisted of four universities in South Africa. He was a coordinator representing Central University of Technology in the Free State. The main aim of the project was to strengthen and develop Foundation Phase education in South Africa. His research interest is in both Folklore, mother tongue education, and second language teaching and learning. Lesibana J. Rafapa is Professor in the Department of English Studies, University of Limpopo, South Africa. His research interests are South African oral literature, South African English literature, Es’kia Mphahlele’s fiction, Es’kia Mphahlele’s concept of Afrikan Humanism. He is author of The Use of Oral Hymns in African Traditional Religion and the Judeo-Christian Religion, The Use of Oral Hymns in African Traditional Religion and the Judeo-Christian Religion and Oral literature and the Evolving Jim-Goes-to-Town Motif: Some Early Northern Sotho Compared to Selected Post-apartheid Novels Written in English.

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Editors and Contributors

Emmanuel Saboro is Senior Lecturer at the Centre for African and International Studies, University of Cape Coast, Ghana where he teaches a number of undergraduate and postgraduate courses. He is a Fellow of the American Council of Learned Societies (ACLS), African Humanities Program (2017/2018), and an associate of the Harriet Tubman Institute for Research on Africa and Its Diaspora, York, Toronto. He received his doctoral Degree at the Wilberforce Institute for the Study of Slavery and Emancipation (WISE), University of Hull, England. His research interests are centered on the interface between African oral Literatures and oral history and specifically on the literary manifestations of the slave experience in folklore. He is also interested in issues related to Cultural memory, Cultural Trauma and Identity, Verbal texts and literatures of the African Diaspora. Robert Simon is Professor of Portuguese and Spanish at Kennesaw State University where he currently serves as the coordinator of the Department of Foreign Language Portuguese Program. He has academic degrees and certificates in the USA, Spain, and Portugal. He has taught both Spanish and Portuguese languages, and investigated the presence of surrealism, mysticism, and postmodernism, the un-centered subject, and the notion of the paradigm shift through literatures (African literatures in Portuguese language), particularly contemporary Angolan poetry, as well as on the presence of the postcolonial voice in Iberian poetics. His own original poetry, composed in English, Portuguese, and Spanish, elaborates on the themes of love, travel, and self-imposed barriers to interpersonal relationships and communication. His academic publications include Understanding the Portuguese Poet Joaquin Pessoa, 1942–2007: A Study in Iberian Cultural Hybridity . Enongene Mirabeau Sone is in the Department of Arts (English), Faculty of Humanities, Social Sciences and Law, Walter Sisulu University, Cameroon. He teaches English literature, world literatures, literary theory, cultural studies, mythology, folklore, and oral literature. His most recent articles are “Symbolism of place and cultural identity in Cameroon” African Identities, 2016 and “Religious Poetry as a Vehicle for Social Control in Africa: The Case of Bakossi Incantatory Poetry” Folklore 2011, and “Moralising Female Identity in Cameroon in the 1990s: Female Prostitution and the Song ‘You Gu Cry’” Muziki, 2014. Mobolanle Ebunoluwa Sotunsa is Professor of African Oral Literature and Gender Studies in the Department of Languages and Literary Studies, Babcock University, Nigeria. She has authored several books and scholarly articles in learned journals and peer-reviewed books both nationally and internationally. She was the Head of Department of Languages and Literary Studies Department at Babcock University from 2006 to 2009, visiting scholar at School of African and Oriental Studies (SOAS), University of London in 2009, and visiting professor in residence at the African Studies Institute, University of Georgia, USA, in 2013. She is the coordinator of Gender and African Studies Group, Babcock University (BUGAS) and director of the Centre for Open, Distance and e-learning (CODeL), Babcock University. She

Editors and Contributors

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is author of Feminism and Gender Discourse: The African Experience and Yoruba Drum Poetry. Luan Staphorst lectures in the Department of Applied Language Studies at the Nelson Mandela University in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. His research interests span philosophy, literature, language and cultural studies, and he has published widely in areas as diverse as translation, postcolonial and African literature, African philosophy (of mind, language, culture and ethics) and gender studies. As a poet, he presents his poetry both in his mother tongue, Afrikaans, and in English via self-translation. Tal Tamari directeur de recherche (Senior Research Fellow) at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (Paris). Her research has focused on “castes” (endogamous artisan and musician groups), Islamic scholarly culture and its interrelationships with traditional religions, and oral literatures, in West Africa. She has carried out fieldwork in Mali, Guinea, and The Gambia, as well as in Egypt and India. She has taught at the Université de Paris X-Nanterre, the Université Libre de Bruxelles, and the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales (Paris). Henry O. Unuajohwofia received his Ph.D. in English at the Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria. His dissertation research focuses on the media and changing modes of storytelling. He has published on the oral arts of the peoples of the lower Niger of Nigeria. His areas of interest include orality, stories and the media, gender and contemporary discourse, and animated stories. Hanétha Vété-Congolo is Professor of Romance Languages and Literatures and Chair of Romance Languages and Literatures Department at Bowdoin College. Her teaching and research interests include: black studies, Caribbean and African ideas, Caribbean and African orature, Caribbean and African philosophy, Caribbean and West and Central African literature, cross-cultural theories, cross-cultural feminist and Africana womanist theories, francophone women’s literature from West Africa, Central Africa and the Caribbean, French colonization and imperialism, French and francophone comparative literature, literature and philosophy, literary theory, postcolonial theory, and psychoanalytic approach to literature. She is the author of a new book on Caribbean Orality, The Caribbean Oral Tradition: Literature, Performance, and Practice (Palgrave Macmillan, 2016). Kimingichi Wabende is Lecturer in the Department of Literature at the University of Nairobi, Kenya. He has taught at the university for the past twelve years in areas of performance and oral literature. A longtime member of the Kenya Oral Literature Association (KOLA), he has participated in KOLA activities including research and community theater programs. This is in addition to leading the University of Nairobi Free Traveling Theatre (FTT). Wabende holds a Master of Arts degree and Ph.D. from the University of Nairobi.

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 7.1 Fig. 19.1 Fig. 19.2 Fig. 19.3 Fig. 19.4

Fig. 19.5 Fig. 19.6 Fig. 19.7 Fig. 19.8 Fig. 19.9 Fig. 19.10 Fig. 19.11 Fig. 19.12 Fig. 19.13 Fig. 19.14 Fig. 19.15 Fig. 19.16 Fig. 26.1 Fig. 26.2

The Borders of Performance, Theater, Drama, and Literature Source Author’s creation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frog story narration (PW & Evelyn). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Male begging posture. b Female begging posture. . . . . . . . . . . Female begging posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Praying to the Gods posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Acheko (I dare you) posture. b Eputusi (I don’t care-) posture. c Aseno (Nonsense) posture. d Khukhwiteya/ Khukhupa Sifuba posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Daringness among males. b Male daring posture. . . . . . . . . . . . a Provocation posture. b Anger posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bukusu female gesture of anger. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Shaming gesture. b Khukhomola Gesture of embarrassment. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a khukhwiumbilila posture. b khukhwiumbilila posture. . . . . . . . Khukhwinamilila (Looking down) gesture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Omurie gesture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Liria gesture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Kete gesture—i.e., Greetings between boys. b Kete Gesture II—(Greetings between boys). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a and b Salutation with non-acquaintances. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a Khusiniola gesture. b Ridicule or disgust gesture. . . . . . . . . . . . Khukhwikana (Plea of innocence) gesture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The geographic location of Sidaama Administrative Zone. . . . . . The Songo (Elders’ Forum) to decide on the Fichee-Cambalaalla festive day. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

60 133 386 386 387

388 389 390 391 392 393 393 394 395 396 396 397 398 515

518

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xlvi

Fig. 26.3

Fig. 26.4

Fig. 26.5

Fig. 26.6

Fig. 26.7

Fig. 26.8

Fig. 26.9

Fig. 27.1 Fig. 27.2 Fig. 27.3 Fig. 27.4 Fig. 27.5 Fig. 27.6 Fig. 27.7

List of Figures

Public proclamation of the Fichee-Cambalaalla Day. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The community leader conducting divination through the reading of animal entrails. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Passage into the New Year-Hulluuqa. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Elders consuming Buurisame during Fiixaari night. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural ladies dance. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . dance by the youth. ©The Authority The Faaro for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sidaama Elderlies with their shields, clubs, and spear doing the Qeexaala dance during Fichee. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Malesela Paballo Quinton Rafapa (attended Mokgaetši’s initiation school in 2009 in Vaaltyn-Moshate). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thabang Kutumela (attended Mokgaetši’s initiation school in 2009 in Vaaltyn-Moshate). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shimane Mokhonoana (attended Mashishi’s initiation school in 2004 in Maroteng village). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Duncan Boshomane (middle) (attended Mashishi’s initiation school in 2004 in Maroteng village). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bongani Malose Makhafola (attended Makgolo’s initiation school in 1995 in Sekgakgapeng village). . . . . . . . . . . . Samuel Manyama (attended Makgolo’s initiation school in 1999 in Sekgakgapeng village). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mokgaetši’s initiates on the day of their return from the mountain school in 2014. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

519

520

521

522

523

523

524 535 536 536 537 537 538 538

List of Figures

Fig. 27.8

Fig. 27.9

Fig. 28.1 Fig. 29.1 Fig. 29.2 Fig. 29.3 Fig. 29.4 Fig. 32.1

Fig. 36.1 Fig. 36.2

Fig. 36.3

Fig. 36.4

Fig. 36.5 Fig. 36.6 Fig. 36.7

Fig. 41.1 Fig. 42.1 Fig. 43.1 Fig. 43.2

xlvii

The owner-diviner Mokgaetši in her homestead with some of her 2017 initiates on the day they arrived home from the mountain school upon completion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The owner-diviner’s daughter (Joline Raesibe Rafapa Nchabeleng) chanting the praise poem of her mother’s clan at one of the circumcision returnee celebrations. . . . . . . . . . Borders of performance, theater, drama and literature. . . . . . . . . . Ghana political map (Source Author’s creation based on www.mapsofword.com copyright 2012–2013). . . . . . . . . . . . . Agbenue Me Ka (Amegago 2011). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yesue Mexor song. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Political map of Uganda. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . An illustration of Ngandu Nkashama’s Modern Writings (© copyrights Jacques Vanderlinden. Reproduced with permission). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wole Lagunju’s Metaphysical Other II, oil on canvas, 30 × 24 in (Photo Courtesy of the artist, 2017). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wole Lagunju’s signature style of Gèlèdé portrait—Gèlèdé modernity and/or Majestic Gèlèdé I. This is a study after Michiel Jansz van Miereld of the Golden Age, acrylic on canvas, 2014. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wole Lagunju’s signature style of Gèlèdé portrait—Gèlèdé modernity and/or Majestic Gèlèdé II, titled Golden Age III, oil on canvas, 31 × 31 in. 2017 (Photo Courtesy of the artist). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Egúngún Mask, twentieth century, Nigeria. Wood, wool, metal, pigment. 12 × 8 × 6 1/2 in. The Newark Museum. Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Paul E. Schneck, 1979 79.210. . . . . . . . . . . . Wole Lagunju’s Gelede II—Satire and Parody, Oil on canvas, 2014. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gèlèdé mask with headwrap. Collection of OYASAF (Photo Aderonke Adesanya, 2015). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bwa plank mask from Burkina Faso. It features an elongated superstructure over a stylized human face. A bird imagery with extended beak is placed just over the human face motif. All are decorated with geometric motifs. Wood and pigments. Madison Collection, James Madison University, Harrisonburg, VA (Photo Aderonke Adesanya, 2016). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A screen shot of O.MO. YORÙBÁ ÀTÀTÀ WhatsApp group. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A VODA billboard at Mwanza Airport, Tanzania. . . . . . . . . . . . . Abayomi Idowu, Onís.e`. k`e.r`e. (Illustrating S.e.` k`e.r`e. kì í bá wo.n ròde ìbànuj´e.), 2018. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abayomi Idowu, Olúkòso, 2017. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . .

539

539 557 580 585 586 587

671 736

737

737

738 739 747

752 844 858 873 874

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Fig. 43.3 Fig. 43.4 Fig. 43.5 Fig. 43.6 Fig. 43.7 Fig. 43.8 Fig. 43.9 Fig. 43.10 Fig. 43.11 Fig. 43.12 Fig. 43.13 Fig. 43.14 Fig. 43.15 Fig. 43.16 Fig. 43.17

List of Figures

AyoOluwa Nihinlola, S.àngó, Yorùbá legend and deity of Thunder, 2015. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola, Kajola village, setting of the 2D animation, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola, Chief Animashahun. 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Chief Animashaun giving out things to the people of Kájo.là. 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The chief’s messenger announcing the feast. 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Àjàlá, 2013. Photoshop CS5. Photoshop CS5, 2015. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala’s wife advising him to get the requirement for the feast, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The day of the feast everyone dressed in their finest clothes, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The villagers walking towards the chief’s big pot, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Close-up on Ajala’s hand pouring the false wine into the pot, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala and friends eager to drink from the sweet palm wine, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala spitting out the water, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Chief Animashaun Smiling, 2013. Photoshop CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Clean-up and outline in Adobe illustrator CS5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Digital painting in Adobe Photoshop CS4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

874 875 876 877 877 878 878 879 879 880 880 880 881 882 882

List of Tables

Table 40.1 Table 40.2 Table 40.3

Number of views of each video clip. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Number of views for animations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Number of likes on each facebook page. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

826 828 829

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Part I

Contexts and Practicalities

Chapter 1

Creativity and Performance in Oral Poetry Godini G. Darah

Introduction The academic studies of African oral literature have been pursued steadily for several decades. European interest in African folklore and oral literature started in the nineteenth century. As Isidore Okpewho has pointed out, those who initiated the investigation into the oral traditions of literature were non-specialists who had no training to examine the aesthetic qualities of the verbal arts.1 Many of them came from disciplines such as anthropology and sociology, and their prime attention was focused on eliciting the worldview and ideological issues conveyed in folkways and narratives. By the second half of the nineteenth century, Christian missionaries became active in the collection and translation of folklore and verbally transmitted arts. From the materials the Christian agents gathered and translated, attempts were made to discern the “mind of Africa” in order to facilitate the work of evangelization and proselytization. The effort of the European Christian clerics and colonial administrators continued into the twentieth century. The introduction of formal education, literacy, and the production of orthographies for some African languages contributed to increased academic interest in the folkways and oral arts. The quality of work done during this era is evident in the career of the Kenyan cleric, Reverend John Mbiti, who collected about 1000 folktales of the Akamba people of Kenya. Selections from this repertoire were published by Mbiti in 1966 under the title Akamba Stories. The account given above leaves out substantial work done by African-Arab scholars and researchers of Islam from the seventh to the sixteenth centuries, particularly in academic institutions established and run by them. Examples are the Universities of Sankore and Timbuktu in the old Mali Empire in West Africa. Jan Knappert has conducted useful research into the Swahili legacy of Islam-influenced literature in eastern Africa during the period. His book, Four Centuries of Swahili Verse (1979), is a good source of data. The Swahili tradition, an amalgam of indigenous African G. G. Darah (B) Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_1

3

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G. G. Darah

languages and Arabic, fostered genres of literary arts that incorporated forms of folklore and oral literature. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, anthropologists held sway in the business of collecting and translating African oral materials. Ethnology or the study of culture was the primary background of these scholars. Their work was inspired by the theories of human evolution adumbrated by the English ethnologist, Charles Darwin (1809–1882) who thought that there was one human race with one trajectory of development. The highest and most advanced section of this human race, in the thinking of Darwinians, was “white” Europe while the lowest and least developed segment comprised black African and non-European peoples. This racist theory was in the service of European imperialism and colonialism across the world. A corollary of this racist thesis was the unscientific and jaundiced view that all cultural and artistic products from the non-European peoples were “primitive” and, therefore, unworthy to be called art. Oral literature was seen to be part of this “primitive” heritage. Folklore studies during the era followed the trend set by the evolutionists and anthropologists. Many of the scholars concentrated on the usefulness of the cultural products, not on their artistic qualities.2 Okpewho observes that a breakthrough in “…the study of African oral literature as literature came when native African scholars began to undertake research into the oral traditions of their own people.”3 The first European-type higher institutions in Africa were established in South Africa in the nineteenth century, beginning with the University of Cape Town. The study of African oral literature was initiated in these institutions. The University of Cape Town, the University of Witwatersrand, and Fort Hare Teachers College, later University, promoted academic inquiry into indigenous African oral literature, linguistics, and African languages. In this regard, Bantu Studies, a journal jointly published by the University of Cape Town and the University of Witwatersrand from the 1920s, played a pivotal role in the academic studies of the indigenous oral literature. This was the milieu that fostered the research work undertaken by Bernard W. Vilakazi who completed his M.A. dissertation in 1938 and Ph.D. in 1945 on Zulu oral literature. In the seven decades since Vilakazi’s doctoral dissertation, the scholarship on African oral literature has made tremendous advances. The progress of work was celebrated in Ruth Finnegan’s monumental book, Oral Literature in Africa first published in 1970 (Second Edition [2012]). This chapter attempts a survey of the place of creativity/composition and performance in select traditions of African oral poetry. Creativity is used in this context to describe the processes that go into the making or composing of oral texts. Performance, on the other hand, describes the acts of delivery and actualizing the verbal elements of the text through phonic utterances, paralinguistic gestures, and bodily or kinetic movements. Performance also refers to the context, the physical and spiritual setting in which an oral text is brought into life. In oral literature discourse, the performance event involves both the artist and audience, immediate or implied. In Finnegan’s view, there “…is no escape for the oral artist from a face-to-face confrontation with his audience, and this is something which he can exploit as well as be influenced by.”4 Finnegan observes further that oral “…pieces are not composed

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in the study and later transmitted through the impersonal and detached medium of print….”5 It is in light of the foregoing point that Finnegan warns that a “…full appreciation must depend on an analysis not only of the verbal interplay and overtones in the piece, its stylistic structure and content but also of the various detailed devices which the performer has at his disposal to convey his product to his audience and the varying ways these are used by different individuals.”6 In contrasting oral with written forms of literature, she adds that: …in the case of oral literature, far more extremely than with written forms, the bare words cannot be left to speak for themselves, for the simple reason that in the actual literary work so much more is necessarily and intimately involved. With this type of literature, a knowledge of the whole literary and social background, covering these various points of performance, audience, and context, is, however difficult, of the first importance.7

The Provenance of Creativity and Performance As shown in the references to Finnegan’s work, the significance of the creative process and transmission through performance was recognized quite early in the discourse on African oral literature. As noted above, Finnegan accords premium attention to the dialectical nexus between creation and performance in her definition of oral literature. In her opinion, oral “…literature is by definition dependent on a performer who formulates it in words on a specific occasion – there is no other way in which it can be realized as a literary product.”8 In the specific instance of oral poetry, Finnegan argues that “…much of what is normally classified as poetry in African oral literature is designed to be performed in a musical setting, and the musical and verbal elements are thus interdependent.”9 In this context, Finnegan emphasizes the point about the mode of vocalization being song or chant. As she explains, an “appreciation…of these sung forms (and to some extent the chanted ones also) depends on, at least, some awareness of the musical material on which the artist draws, and we cannot hope fully to understand their impact or subtlety if we consider only the bare words on a printed page.”10 The rendition through vocalization and dramatization is so important that, in Finnegan’s view, “…the verbal content now represents only one in a complete opera-like performance which combines words, music and dance.”11 John Pepper Clark, the celebrated Nigerian poet and dramatist, distinguishes oral from written poetry by highlighting the element of performance. In his study of the udje song-poetry of the Urhobo people of the Niger Delta of Nigeria, Clark says that oral “poetry is a direct audible one of words issuing from the mouth to delight the ear and stir the entire human frame in interplay with others in a close audience. In other words, ours is a poetry that is spoken and sung by mouth or rendered to and on musical instrument …The poetry … happens … to be one that is sung, recited and spoken by mouth and with music … I shall call the … specimens … pure song-poems. By that I mean pieces dependent as much on melody as on word content….”12 The

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interaction between creativity, composition or construction, and performance is also articulated by Karin Barber in her study of the oriki poetic genre of the Yoruba of southwestern Nigeria (I Could Speak Until Tomorrow: Oriki, Women, and the Past in a Yoruba Town). On the place of performance, Barber observes that: …for an oriki text to be appreciated as a text, it must be heard and seen in action. In a sense, as performance theory has demonstrated, all oral texts should be thought of as action rather than object, as processes rather than pattern. They are fully realised only in the moment of performance.13

Although the definitional status of performance has long been recognized by scholars of African oral poetry, the number of studies on the actual process of oral transmission does not appear to match the importance attached to the activity. This inadvertent neglect may be due to the fact that much of the material analyzed by researchers is sourced from printed versions of African oral poetry. Furthermore, Barber thinks that the problem has something to do with the orientation and indebtedness of the scholars to mainstream Euro-American literary tradition of the written text. She observes that: …Perhaps this is why there has been no adequate poetics of such forms. Instead, genre after genre has been documented, described, and placed against a social ‘background’. Interesting and informative as these presentations are, they do not allow us to get to grips with the textuality of these poetic forms: how they work as texts, and hence how they constitute meaning….14

In his 1992 book already cited Okpewho phrased the matter in the form of urgent research questions to be pursued: …recent studies on African oral literature are helping us look more closely at the nature of the creative process in Africa and the rest of the world and at the relationship between one type of culture and another. For instance, how is oral poetry composed both in societies without writing and those that have had contact with writing, and what is the place of this poetry in the society in which it exists? What are the components, in terms of content and form, of the oral narrative, and what ways does the audience before whom the narrator performs such a tale influence these components? What are the similarities and the differences between the psychological outlook that gives rise to oral literature and the one that produces written literature, and what happens when a society moves from an oral medium of expression to a written one? … These and various other questions can now be tackled because of the increasing interest in the study of African oral literature as a subject in its own right.15

Creativity and Performance in Song-Poetry Traditions An appraisal of the oral composition discourse in various cultures of the world up to the 1980s is attempted by Dandatti Abdulkadir in his chapter in the book, Oral Poetry in Nigeria, edited by Uchegbulam N. Abalogu and others. Abdulkadir reviews the Parry-Lord theory of the formula in the composition and performance of oral texts, particularly with reference to oral epic narratives. Milman Parry, who developed the poetics of the formula, defines it as “a group of words which is regularly employed under the same metric conditions to express a given essential idea.” The explication

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of the formulaic theory by Albert Bates Lord in The Singer of Tales served as an analytical compass for oral literature scholars for several decades. In applying the formulaic method to Yugoslav epic tales, Lord states rather categorically that the “singer of tales is the composer of tales. Singer, performer, composer and poet are one under different aspects, but the same; singing, performing, composing are facets of the same act.”16 Subsequent research into other traditions of oral poetry has shown that Lord’s position was considerably exaggerated and overstretched in application. This is the sense in which Abdulkadir warns that “…not all aspects of Lord’s theory apply to all oral songs…”; he cites the example of praise-songs of the Hausa-Fulani of northern Nigeria.17 He draws attention to the limits of the performance/composition thesis as noted by Finnegan in her study of Chopi singers of Zambia in southern Africa. Finnegan observes that: One cannot, then, assume that the composition/performance process as well illustrated in the case of certain Eastern European singers is always characteristic of oral poetry – much of the composition may well take place before the moment of performance.18

The issue of individual creativity and authorship in oral poetic performance is also examined by Finnegan. She illustrates the situation with the genre of court poetry among the political aristocracy of Rwanda. The Rwandan court poets, she says, undergo rigorous training and apprenticeship and memorization of the poems are assigned to professional groups referred to as bards. These memorizers, explains Abdulkadir, “…are expected to reproduce poems on certain occasions with verbatim accuracy as well as to guard the credit of authorship.”19

Udje Song-Poetry of the Urhobo of Nigeria The intertwined matters of composition before performance and the process of memorization and individual authorship are a convenient point to engage the tradition of predetermined poetic construction and festival display exemplified by the udje song-poetry genre of the Urhobo people of the western Niger Delta area of Nigeria. Udje poetics and aesthetics have received considerable scholarly attention by researchers from the mid-1960s (Clark 2008; Ojaide 2003, 2009; Darah 2005, 2009; Okpako 2011; Omoko 2013). The composition/performance duality in udje is discussed against the background of public and festival presentation that informs the aesthetic principle of most Urhobo song-poetry traditions. Darah explains the festival performance context and its impact on the process of song construction: The aesthetic end of most Urhobo dance-songs is to entertain an audience in a public arena. This goal is expressed in the Urhobo popular saying that a new song is like a bride whose qualities are best appreciated during a bridal procession. The songs are composed and memorised and the accompanying choreographic movements rehearsed in advance of the annual dancesong carnivals. Since the entertainment of an immediate audience is the primary objective of the musical practice, the song texts, dance movements, and costumes of the performers are

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G. G. Darah synchronised to suit a public performance conducted in a manner of an opera. In the course of the performance, emphasis is placed on spectacle and visual representation.20

The importance of composition in udje song-poetry is underlined, too, by the atmosphere of competition and inter-group rivalry (omesuo) that shapes the tradition. In each season, rival groups would engage one another in song and dance, and the festival grounds serve as the battlefields “…where, as the practitioners put it, each group strives to ‘sing its rival to a fall’. This objective demands that each performance attains the level of theatrical intensity capable of keeping the audience enthralled. For the presentation of a song to achieve this effect it must be done with a creative combination of both verbal and non-verbal elements. Non-verbal aspects include ostentatious costume … dexterity of footwork … and a masterly management of the entire performance.”21 The situation described above deals with the final point of the poetic enterprise. The song-poems are constructed and memorized in advance of the festival events. At the preparation level, the most significant agent is the song-maker ( ororile), the craftsman who gathers materials and weaves them into a poetic product to enchant listeners. The artist who delivers or performs the songs is known as obuole (lit. doctor of songs). The intellectual and mental energy devoted to the creative process is alluded to in these lines in one udje piece from Owahwa community of Urhobo: The song-maker (poet) must first create beautifully Before the cantor or singer can deliver melodiously.

As indicated above, the role of the creator/poet is separated from that of the performer or entertainer; but the success of the latter depends on the ingenuity of the former. In Urhobo secular song-poetry, the two roles can sometimes be handled by the same person but the processes are clearly separated in time and amount of effort demanded. Quite often, the identity of the composer in udje is not disclosed to the public, the claim of individual authorship that Finnegan and others have remarked is obliterated in udje and classical Urhobo song-poetry genres. In the past, the masking of the composer’s identity was dictated by the very nature of the fierce inter-group rivalry already referred to. Udje songs are satirical, with one group using the other as target of insult-exchange. Darah (2005) observes that the “supreme motive of udje was to sing a rival to a fall … The quality or value of every song was judged by how much embarrassment it was capable of causing the victim and his group. Because of the determination to rout the rival team, the songs were directed more frequently at the leading artists on the opposing side rather than at known or suspected violators of communal norms…”.22 He adds that the udje satirist “…was dreaded because he possessed a socially sanctioned power to castigate and bring to disrepute anyone he chose to attack.”23 (27).

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The Creative Process in Udje Song-Poetry The making of new udje songs is done in camera by specialists. Once the season for new compositions is declared, individual artists would engage in the sourcing of materials. Potential targets of attack are identified and information on them is gathered. Biographical details would be collected in order to make the stories and portraits vivid and credible. In reality, many of the songs are aimed at persons in the performing community but the satirical convention requires that fictitious names be found to use as masks. This mechanism of deflection through the use of innuendo and sarcasm is known as iten in Urhobo verbal arts. The device is employed to moderate the potential injury or acrimony that can result from the “wounding words” of the songs.24 Ojaide has noted that the craft of building similitude between the real target of abuse and the fictitious cover is quite tasking for the song-makers. Regularly they resort to fabrication of materials to achieve this. In Ojaide’s words: Fabrication of materials is a major aspect in the composition of udje songs. In the attempt to match one’s relation … with a rival person, there may be no similarities, and the composer is allowed to invent scandals that bedevilled the subject of the particular song. As put by Darah, ‘It was considered a mark of poetic accomplishment for a composer to fabricate much of the material he needed to make a song. What listeners enjoyed was not exactness of detail or truth but craftsmanship in the construction, the technical dexterity with which even obviously incredible points were woven together to appear as facts….’25

The actual act of construction is done by individual poets; in the case of long, narrative pieces (ile-igregren) allowance is given for several poets to cooperate. When this is the case, different aspects would be assigned to the specialists available. Segments of a song would be distributed among the poets for expert handling. An individual could make a song any time of the year, but he would wait until the season of creating new songs opens before bringing it to the coterie of poets for assessment, scrutiny, and refinement if necessary.

Song Review Workshops New pieces are reviewed in sessions held in secret venues. Absolute confidentiality is observed in order to ensure that new songs are not divulged to the public before they are broadcast. The review session involves the poets, memorizers and cantors, drummers, and experienced artists who have retired from active participation due to old age or other forms of infirmity. At the review clinics, composers of new pieces would perform them for comments and refinement. Songs that lack poetic merit are either given to experts present to work on or rejected if found worthless for the competitive business. Darah gives a description of the rigorous review workshop as follows:

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G. G. Darah The purpose of the elaborate process … was to ensure that every song that reached the arena met the aesthetic standards expected of the group. Among these aesthetic considerations was the need for the song to fulfil the elementary function of satire. In view of this, expressions were chosen and arranged in a way that would aid the listener in seeing the portraits from the perspective of the satirist. It was the business of the assessors of the new pieces to ensure that the verbal elements and mood conveyed in them matched the thematic essence of the song in question.26

Ojaide has made a similar point: At the workshop, the song/poem is critiqued for its originality, use of metaphors and proverbs, structure and formal features, aptness for dramatic and theatrical rendition, and uniqueness. One song can be edited from as many as three separate songs submitted for vetting. Once the song passes the test of its critics comprising of experienced poets, women married from rival villages and towns, and others in the workshop, it is declared complete as a poem. The group looks for a lead singer to present it at the public outing….27

Udje narrative poems are protean in themes and references, and the ability to embody this diversity in a single song is of great aesthetic importance. Clark makes the distinction when he notes that: While the dance steps and overall movements as well as the drumming are fairly uniform and standard among dancers of Udje, its song-poems are diverse in form and material; it is these that spell out the identity of the individual artist, group or place. Therefore, a song-poem must be singular, telling and beautiful for one person, one ward or town to sing another to a fall as the local saying goes. This then is topical poetry of social comment and inter-community competition composed by the season. But it is topical poetry saved from obscurity and turned into common currency for its immediate public as well as for the stranger from the outside by reason of it having been masterfully minted from particular ores to an alloy of fluid meaning and function.28

Every gifted udje poet strives to attain thematic diversity and profuseness in the construction of a long, narrative piece. This is so because the song must satisfy the demands of verisimilitude, cognitive power, and what Ojaide calls “intellectual laughter.”29 It is these qualities that make a song to be memorable and profound (muuririn in Urhobo). These are the songs that acquire the status of classics: pieces that are heard from year to year, yet they retain their aesthetic and sublime beauty. Some of the udje song-poems studied by scholars were composed several decades ago but their profundity and contemporary relevance have not waned with time. These exceptional numbers are rendered at every performance event where good poetry is valued and cherished. Clark underlines this feature when he observes that: In fact, the whole system of values, the entire social structure with its mores, its beliefs, and practices stands revealed with skill in the songs, perhaps fuller and more convincing than any anthropologist can supply in several volumes of treatise….30

Ojaide echoes Clark’s instructive remark in observing as follows: One can reconstruct Urhobo history, culture, and society from these songs. The songs address good and evil and other moral and ethical issues in society. The subjects and themes of udje dance songs are thus those ideas, practices and habits that threaten the corporate harmony of the Urhobo people.31

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The workshops for vetting new compositions take several weeks of work to accomplish. The primary objective of the meticulous scrutiny is to ensure that preparations attain a level high enough to guarantee a successful outing during the impending carnival display. As Darah has argued, the udje song-poetry competition is comparable to that of a people mobilizing for war against indomitable foes. This explains why the description “battles of songs” is applied to the artistic tradition.32 No department of the pre-festival affair is underestimated by the organizers: the song texts, the memorizers, the lead singers and their choral support, drummers, and the mental and psychological balance of the leading participants are attended to meticulously. Ojaide has noted that during: …the rehearsals critiquing is done of the performance of the songs – who should be the leader singer; the relationship between the drummers and the dancers; how specific stories should be rendered theatrically; and so forth. The public outing during the day is a culmination of hard work, after making sure that all the parts of the oral poetic performance have been satisfactorily integrated. The public performance is the concluding aspect of the udje artistic creation; …Until a song is publicly performed, its success or failure cannot be ascertained because the spectators keenly listen to the poetic repertory of the song as well as watch its performance before passing judgement.33

The construction of a good song, as shown above, is an elaborate and tasking engagement. The gathering of relevant materials, sifting and arranging them, and engendering them in poetic idiom consume time and intellectual resources. There are occasions where the creators disagree with the reviewers and assessors; sometimes, a piece considered good by the author can be thrown out or rejected by the committee of experts. Such an experience, if frequent, can lead to quarrels and exchange of angry words. At the 1977 udje festival event at Orhunghworun community near Warri, Delta State, Nigeria, I recorded a song in which the composer laments the usual plight of the poet who is always exploited by the community at festival seasons. He would be implored and urged to produce excellent pieces all the time. The organizers would frequent his residence to knock at his door to alert him about the approaching carnival. He is not allowed to have restful sleep. During these weeks of expectation and anxiety, the poet is the toast of all. But as soon as the festival events are over, people no longer besiege the poet’s house; whenever the community has sanitation work to do, the poet’s portion is always the most difficult; if livestock is slaughtered for group use, his share is always the smallest; any time a levy is raised for a project, the poet is asked to pay the highest proportion. At the conclusion of the song, the poet says: These are the sad experiences that made me abandon song-making I don’t know how I offended my community Whoever thinks poetic craft is simple Let him pour water in a mortar and pound it into puff When you achieve this feat, then I will proclaim you as my superior!

There is abundance of humor and wit in the song, but it has universal meaning for all creative artists. Darah describes the final stages of the song-making process in these words:

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G. G. Darah As soon as a song was accepted the lead singers (ebu-ole) were asked to memorise it. For short songs (ibro ile) everyone was expected to commit them to memory. Long ones (ile igregren/eshan) called for the expertise of lead singers. The principle of the division of labour was applied in the handling of ile eshan. Ideally, each of the three constituent parts of the ule eshan, namely, umuoho (introduction), okparo (the main body), and ifuen (conclusion) ought to be led by a lead singer. In a number of cases the umuoho and okparo sections consisted of several sub-sections each, and the vocalists in attendance would share the parts among themselves. Sometimes the distribution of roles was based on pitch, whereby some lead singers handled the high pitches while others took the low.34

A few days prior to the festival are devoted to rehearsal sessions. Every participant is familiar with the standard dance steps, but some new pieces sometimes call for stylistic innovation which the dancers have to practice in order to achieve harmony in singing, drumming, and dancing. The competitive atmosphere of the udje art encourages different groups to introduce novelty in the leader-chorus structure of the songs and dance accompaniment from year to year in order to show the group’s “versatility and to satisfy the aesthetic interest of the spectators at the festival.”35 The question of individual creativity and authorship arises at this point. How does one distinguish the composers (irorile) from the cantors (ebuole)? For non-udje artistes in the community, this is not easy to determine. As the various processes described in the foregoing sections indicate, every song has an author or authors but by the time a song is performed at the public arena, it becomes the product of the group. This is the reason why udje songs in particular and Urhobo satirical songpoems, in general, carry the label of anonymity. “The effacement of the song-maker’s identity was part of the overall confidentiality that guided the practice of satire in Urhobo. It was felt by the practitioners that keeping the names of the poets secret was one way of insuring them against whatever diabolical acts the victims of the satires might contemplate.”36 It is further argued that there are occasions when an author or composer could unmask his identity in a song where there are close references to biographical details that the public is familiar with. These slips sometimes occur when a particular poet attempts to refute or do a rejoinder to an allegation made by the opposing group at a previous season of songs. At other times, the great poets make boastful remarks or affirm certain attributes about themselves in the hope to challenge and intimidate their opponents.

From Composition to Public Performance The creative process discussed in this section shows that the art of poetic construction is separate from that of performing it before an audience. However, in a strict sense, the very enterprise of making new songs and perfecting them constitutes part of performance. The song review clinics are occasions for performance before an exclusive or restricted audience comprising the experts involved in the closed-door activities. Authors of fresh compositions present them to their peers for scrutiny and

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vetting. The presentation of each new piece is done in a manner that should appeal to the reviewers and judges. Songs found worthy are assigned to cantors to memorize; they, in turn, return to the review sessions to present them for further refinement where necessary. Drummers create appropriate rhythms and beats for the songs. A few days before the carnival proper, rehearsals are held which are open to members of the community. The efforts from the day song-composition commences to the last rehearsal constitute a vital part of the performance program, although this aspect of Urhobo song-poetry tradition has not been studied adequately.

Udje Festival Performance On the average, every udje troupe observes a seven-day public performance calendar, with two appearances (morning and evening) per day. Darah (2005) observes that for … “each community or ward…” the festival display “…was the most critical aspect of all the activities involved in udje … because the total artistry in the tradition – poetry, music, dance, theatrical grandeur, costume, and organization – are put to the test at the public performance event.” The significance of the performance in the overall udje enterprise is summed up in the following lines from a song by the Owahwa community: Songs are like brides, it is on the parade grounds That their qualities of beauty are appreciated.37

The festival events serve several purposes. Each public performance affords the group opportunity to enhance “…the verbal elements of the songs with visual effect through the exploration of choreographic and musical signals such as gesture, a wink … screams, grunts, etc. Ostentatious costumes, mimes, and a host of other theatrical actions combined to lend operatic splendour to the entire performance.”38 The festival events attract huge crowds from the community and abroad, and the presence of the spectators helps to give wider publicity to the songs. Thus, the impact of the satirical songs is intensified to “wound” the image of the victims of attack. The performance arena provides an ideal space for each group to demonstrate its superiority over its rival. The dramatic effect of the performance is enhanced by the gorgeous costume and dressing sported by the participants. The outfit of the dancers contributes to why Ojaide refers to udje performance as “a majestic theatrical event.”39 Darah has noted that the “costume of dancers is another area to explore” in the study of udje aesthetics. Spectacle is created on the arena “with the display of colourful wrappers, bells and rattles, feathers, fans, handkerchiefs, coral beads, hair plaits, etc.…”40 Details of the performers’ dressing are given in Darah’s study of udje theater. According to him, the …colourful outfit worn by the artists combined with the choreography, mimetic gestures, and songs to produce the pageantry characteristic of the carnival. There was no uniform way

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G. G. Darah of dressing … However, each udje artist was expected to appear in a high-quality loincloth covering the waist downwards. All males exposed the upper part of their bodies. In most Urhobo dances, a lot of emphasis is laid on the flexibility of the torso. The baring of the trunk allows for … maximum expression of its movement for the appreciation of the spectators. The dress outfit … also included stringed small bells ( igogo) and a cockerel’s feather (alele). The bells were tied around the waist. They served as metal rattles that produced their own melody as the dancer responded to the rhythmic throbs of the drums. Similarly, the alele vibrated on the head of the dancer, indicating how vigorously the wearer was dancing. The alele would be steadied on the head with a mantle made of a bright-colored cloth or a woman’s head-gear (oleso). Some artists plaited their hair for the purpose. Both the mantle and the hair-do added to the spectacle of the costume. Every participant, except perhaps a drummer (okwa) would hold a hand-woven, woolen fan (odjudju) in one hand, and a handkerchief in the other.41

Rites to Uhanghwa Muse Before a group leaves for the public performance arena (afen-odibo), certain rites are carried out. The members of the troupe converge at the residence of the curator of Uhanghwa, the Urhobo muse of poetry. Protective charms are given to each performer to fortify him against unforeseen dangers and malefic magic that offended targets of the satirical songs might bring to the arena. At the premises of the Uhanghwa curator, an oil lamp is lit and placed on a stool surrounded by the artists. A jar of medicinal concoction is part of the assortment of the Uhanghwa apparatus. Each performer dips a finger into the container and licks the finger in a symbolic act of spiritual inoculation against negative forces. Three Uhanghwa ritual songs are rendered and danced to in order to put the artists in the right mood of competitive engagement. A typical song is translated as follows: “Let the mischief maker be warned/Uhanghwa has authorized me to perform/Behold our dance troupe.” When these rites are concluded, the performers file out into the open street and dance in an egregious manner to the public arena. The processional dance, drumming, and accompanying ecstatic action draw spectators to join the troupe. In a martial tune, short songs are rendered aimed at attracting more spectators and also intimidating potential opponents. One song runs thus: “Our udje troupe is in procession/Let excitement grip those who hear us/Let them say: ‘I must hurry to watch this performance.’”

Presentation at the Udje Theater From the assembling of participants at the Uhanghwa chamber to the final act on the arena, eight performance sequences are enacted. Three of them have been described above. The fourth is the arrangement of performers in a dance circle of three rings. The inner-most ring encloses the lead artists/cantors. The second tier is made up of dancers and drummers while the third and outermost ring is taken up by hand-clappers

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(usually females) and the spectators. Depending on the intensity of the performance and excitement of the spectators, the circumference of the rings compacts or expands in response to the pressure by the ecstatic spectators. The presence of the excited audience gives inspiration to the performers, particularly when family members and fans of the artists are among the crowd. Short, warm-up pieces are rendered and danced too vigorously in order to put the performers in appropriate mood. Frenetic drumming and hand-clapping accompany the performance of these songs. Poetic eloquence and narrative versatility are the focus of action in the seventh sequence. This is during the singing of long, elaborate songs where the cantors exhibit their skills of good storytelling, enchanting, melodic voice, and dramatic gestures to vivify the stories and descriptions in the songs. The lead singers are in charge of these scenes. A typical narrative song is handled by two or three cantors; they alternate the lead of the movements or sections of the song. Songs with melodic and tonal variability are particularly suitable for this alternate handling. The dominant mode of narration is the recitative one that allows the singers to render the stories methodically and with room for gestural enactment. A solo-choral or calland-response structure of rendition enables the cantors to produce theatrical effect and pageantry. Drumming and hand-clapping are not allowed in these sessions; this is to create sufficient quietude and ambiance for the stories and their metaphoric embellishment to be delivered without interruption to the hearing and appreciation of the spectators.

Entry of the Queen of the Performance At paced intervals, interlude scenes are introduced to enable the participants have short breaks from the rigor of the performance. This scene known as udje-edjuo (lit. cooling the dancers’ sweat) features a dramatic female figure, Aje-Udje (Queen of the Dance). She steps into the ring in gorgeous apparel like a new bride, bearing a woolen fan and decked in coral beads and expensive trinkets. She is accompanied by an assistant who waves a fan gingerly behind her. The Aje-Udje is ushered into the dance ring with praise names: “you are a paragon of elegance,” “you are a royal beauty,” “you excel all females in grandeur and finesse,” “enchant us with your sweet words.” The Aje-Udje moves majestically in the inner ring, holding her fan aloft in gestures of cooling the sweat-soaked bodies of the dances. She salutes the performers in words like “young, nubile dancers, you are wonderful,” “gifted performers, no group can rival you,” “tireless dancers, your fame is unparalleled.” When the lady completes the third round, the drummers pick up fast-paced staccato drumming in which she and all performers join, an operatic scene concluded with loud ovation and expression of joy. The terminal section (ifuen) of a long song may be done with musical and dance accompaniment. In the final sequence of each public performance event ( igbeeghwie), the songs and dance rhythms used to open the arena are repeated. Once the songs and drums are started, the rings of the performance circle are collapsed

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into a single movement in reverse order. The martial tunes for processional dancing are intoned as the entire troupe, followed by an enthusiastic throng of spectators, retreats to the Uhanghwa center to formally end the public performance.

Oral Poetry of the Yoruba, Nigeria Various traditions of the oral poetry of the Yoruba people of Nigeria have been studied in about a century of African oral literature discourse. This point is remarked by Alain Ricard in The Languages & Literatures of Africa. In assessing the continental situation, Ricard observes that studies on the region’s oral literature and creative writing in the Yoruba language have been going on continuously since the beginning of the twentieth century, noting that this heritage of academic engagement partly explains why a Yoruba writer, Wole Soyinka, won the first Nobel Prize for Literature that came to Africa. “Books in Yoruba have been published for more than a century. It has an indigenous tradition for the study of language and literature which is unique in African culture. The Yoruba themselves have produced an entire body of knowledge on Yoruba orality that is today without rival in any African language.”42 Every major genre of Yoruba oral and traditional literature has been extensively investigated. There are numerous academic projects and books on various manifestations of the oriki (panegyric) form. Works by William Bascom, Ulli Beier, Adeboye Babalola, Wande Abimbola, Olatunde Olatunji, Oludare Olajubu, Akinwunmi Isola, and Karin Barber illustrate the extensive focus enjoyed by the oral and folk forms. However, the multi-genre oriki appears to share the limelight with poetics of Ifa divination verse. In respect of the relationship between composition and performance, we shall examine samples of ijala (hunters’ verse) and oriki in which the elements of creativity and performance feature prominently. In the introductory section, we made reference to Okpewho’s statement about how the emergence of native African scholars facilitated informed investigation into indigenous poetic arts. Babalola is a distinguished pioneer in this effort. His book, The Content and Form of Yoruba Ijala, blazed a trail in the scholarship. At the University of Lagos, Nigeria, Babalola established a strong school of African linguistics and oral literature. He was the inaugural president of the Nigerian Folklore Society which promoted scholarship in oral literature from the 1980s. For the discussion on composition and performance, we shall rely on Babalola’s insightful essay, “Ijala Poetry among the Oyo-Yoruba Communities” in the anthology edited by Abalogu and others, Oral Poetry in Nigeria. Ijala is the poetry of Yoruba guild of hunters. It is a specialized tradition of poetry which only hunters are engaged in. New ijala pieces are produced and performed at social events and festivals involving members of the hunters’ guild. Unlike the tradition of udje of the Urhobo discussed in the previous section, ijala poetry is the work of individual hunters; there are no occasions set aside for group or collective review and preparation prior to the performance. Although the hunters make fresh ijala from year to year, there is a repertory of poems that a performer chants or sings

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at special occasions. During the rendition, a chanter exercises poetic liberty to add to, elaborate on, and expand the stories and references in the classical texts. The significance of composition and performance in ijala isexemplified by the long period of apprenticeship or pupillage that a neophyte undergoes to qualify as a master chanter. Babalola describes this training in the following way: Every ijala artist begins chanting ijala as a pupil under a master ijala chanter. Most ijala artists begin their training in late childhood or early adolescence, but there are some who have already become married before starting to learn ijala-chanting. It is only those who have a 43 natural flair for ijala-chanting who successfully go through their period of apprenticeship.

Babalola outlines the stages of training for the pupil. In the first stage, the pupil watches the teacher perform ijala in his own house as well as every social gathering where he entertains people with ijala. The second stage is when the apprentice imitates “the teacher word by word as he chants ijala. The pupil first imitates the teacher and subsequently when he is at a social gathering … he is able to repeat the words of his master’s chant almost simultaneously … The third stage is when the pupil having tried successfully to entertain a few social gatherings with ijala chants in the absence of his master, develops such a strong sense of competence and self-confidence that he decides to break away from his master….”44 In the tutoring of the pupil chanter, the master also gives him medicinal charms for the purpose of ensuring retentive memory for ijala chanting. For memorization and verbatim reproduction of texts, the new ijala chanter adopts a method similar to what obtains in the udje tradition of the Urhobo. The ijala chanter is expected to render texts very fast without stuttering and apparently without making any errors. The tradition bearers Babalola interviewed on the matter confirmed that after the master has rendered a given chant many times “its words stick to our memory and it becomes very difficult for us to forget the chants, just as it is very difficult for a path to grow grass while it is daily trodden by the feet of men.”45 The trainees believe that “untiring effort to memorise the words of each chant is the basic means of remembering their chants quickly and accurately.”46 This method is aided by strenuous homework on the part of the trainee to reproduce successfully what is learned and to create original pieces of his composition. It is remarkable that Babalola thinks that little creative endeavor is needed to construct a new ijala material; “it is important,” he observes, to say emphatically that the ijala composer does not start making a new ijala piece after a process of logical reasoning and conclusion. It is spontaneously, while he is alone at work on his farm, or while he is on the long walk from his hometown or village along forest paths to his distant farm, that the ijala-chanter breaks into utterances which are the beginning of new ijala compositions.47

It is certainly an exaggeration to disregard the mental and intellectual effort of the ijala composer the way it is represented in this context. How does a poet “burst into utterances” without “logical reasoning and conclusion” if he has not experienced a thinking process? Yet Babalola further explains that for an ijala piece to come forth, “the ijala artist rejects one word or phrase and substitutes another as he composes his new chant. The varied and often violent emotions which, at the overflowing

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sage, inspire the chant, are subjected to discipline and made to conform to an ideal shapeliness and harmony of words….”48 I think that rejecting one word or phrase and substituting another “to conform to an ideal shapeliness” is at the core of creativity in poetic craft, oral or written. In the performance of ijala, the artist combines verbatim reproduction with improvisation. “The aesthetic appeal of a new composition is determined by two criteria, namely the amount of wisdom conveyed by the piece and the degree of approximation between the sound of the piece and the sound of traditional ijala.”49 To measure the amount of wisdom the critics consider “how accurate and inaccurate are the observations on Yoruba life, how humorous are the remarks, and how far the diction of the piece consists of idiomatic expressions, words familiar to hunters, and metaphorical turns of phrases, rather than ordinary words of everyday speech.”50 Babalola observes that the “general criterion on which all are firmly agreed is that the best ijala-chanter, at a social gathering where several master ijala artists perform in turn, is the one whose repertoire is most extensive and accurate, the best balanced in themes … and the best chanted.”51 This point deserves elaboration because it is central to the appreciation of how performance enhances the aesthetic merit of oral poetry. Babalola offers useful insights below: The decision that the accurately rendered repertoire of a particular ijala artist is more extensive than that of any of his colleagues is based on his consistently proved ability to beat all the other ijala-chanters, at social gatherings, in answering, in ijala tune, the searching questions they put to him about the subject-matter of any of the numerous oriki orile (poetic salutes to ancient lineages), and in his putting to them in ijala tune, questions which completely baffle them in the course of his pointing out errors in their repertoire chants.52

It is noteworthy that the members of the audience at an ijala-chanting event are usually free to express disapproval of an ijala improvisation. In Babalola’s view, “if an ijala artist chooses to display originality by improvising on a traditional ijala chant which is a salute to a distinguished progenitor or to a particular lineage, his ijala composition interlarding the ancient text is frowned upon and considered as a corruption of the original.” This critical attitude is informed by the belief that “oriki orile texts should be preserved undisturbed as they have been for generations and should be handed down intact by each succeeding generation.”53 Some of the theoretical and analytical issues in Yoruba oral poetry discussed by Babalola are treated in greater detail by Oludare Olajubu, a consummate iwi egungun artist and scholar. He attempts this in his essay “Yoruba Oral Poetry: Composition and Performance” in the Abalogu book already cited. Olajubu begins with a review of studies by Ruth Finnegan, I. Schapera, and M. Morris on panegyric verses in Africa. He observes that: In spite of the continuous efforts being made to fully understand the content, context, and scope of oral poetry, one major problem is yet to be fully resolved: that of composition. The impressions one gains by reading the existing works are: that oral poetry is fixed and that it is and has to be transmitted exactly as it is learnt, and that it is actually learnt by memory and recited in performance. By nomenclature too, oral poetry is labelled ‘traditional’. All of which goes to further make one doubt the content and composition of the poems….54

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Olajubu argues that “…the poem ‘memorized’ and ‘recited’ by the oral poet or singer was ‘composed’ by someone at a point in time. The poem might have been composed thousands of years ago, or very recently, the author might be known or unknown, it might deal with serious issues of religion, magic, medicine, history, law, or politics, or with issues of emotions and enjoyment.” The fact cannot be controverted that a poem, whether oral or written, whether chanted, recited or read, is in essence a verbal composition.55 Yoruba oral poetry, says Olajubu, “…is like other poems of all ages and of all lands composed at a point in time by a poet-composer. What is necessary, therefore, is to examine how and when … oral poetry is composed and by who….”56 On the performance of Yoruba poetry, Olajubu affirms that it …requires two basic things. First there should be a need for it, and secondly there should be someone or some people wanting it. In other words, every performance of Yoruba oral poetry depends on and arises from an occasion of need. It also depends on an audience willing to listen to it. There is also a connection between these two elements in the performance of the oral poem.57

The two elements identified underline the fact that the poetry “…is oral; it is learnt, perpetuated and transmitted orally in performance. This oral aspect imposes on its texts elements of variability, ‘inaccuracies’, inconsistencies, and repetitions arising from a number of factors governing its performance….”58 One of the factors is that “the poet/singer, being human, his memory sometimes fails him and as such, he can miss the trend of a story or a statement.”59 The poet may choose to alter the details and narrative sequence of delivery as a result of the context of performance. The audience also influences the performance of oral poetry. The chanter or singer must make sure that members of the audience derive aesthetic pleasure from the delivery. In the essay under reference, Olajubu devotes considerable space to the treatment of techniques and processes in Yoruba oral poetry. The depth of knowledge and disposition of the poet influence performance. Olajubu says that the “structure, content, language and style of the particular genre of oral poetry” are factors to consider in assessing the quality of performance.60 As we have seen in the case of udje of the Urhobo, the “materials of composition are mainly the words, but music and dramatic movement (gestures, miming, etc.) come into play.”61 It is instructive that Olajubu agrees with Albert Lord that “…Yoruba oral poetry is composed in performance.”62 He contends that the “process of composing Yoruba oral poetry is … very similar to that employed in composing a story with a substitution table … a process of making the ‘right’ and appropriate’ choice of verbal materials. Herein lies the crucial role of the oral artist as a composer – that of employing all his training, knowledge of the situation and his subject matter to create beautiful poems through free but disciplined choice.”63 The mental effort involved in poetic construction during performance is revealed in Olajubu’s point that for “each stage of performance, and for each theme or even a name or idea mentioned by the oral artist there are sets of possible alternative verbal materials to choose from to describe it and conceptualize it. The art of composing Yoruba oral poetry is, therefore, that of careful and spontaneous selections and discrimination of verbal materials.”64 This process is what Babalola refers to in ijala

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chant as “making it to conform to an ideal shapeliness and harmony of words.”65 In concluding his description of the creative process in performance, Olajubu observes that: It should be noted that the performance of Yoruba oral poetry is a flowing one, nothing should be done to hold it up. There is no room for the artist to stop for a while to think or to rack his brain. The brain should be very alert and his wit very sharp.66

He further explains that in the performance of Yoruba oral poetry the …oral artist supplements his verbal efforts with dramatic actions, gestures, charming voice, facial expressions, dramatic use of pauses and rhythms and receptivity to the reactions of the audience. These are all integral parts of the composition process. These non-verbal actions described above together with the costumes of the artists and the prevailing mood at the moment of performance – all add to the meaning of the oral poem. Therefore, in a way the performing of the Yoruba oral poem is much more than mere verbal creation.67

The study leads Olajubu to the following findings about the tradition: The fact is that Yoruba oral poetry is not learnt by rote but by learning the basic facts of the content as could be picked up or gleaned from the repeated performances of the poems by master poet/singers. The second is that Yoruba oral poetry is not recited, it is composed and performed simultaneously. Therefore, the Yoruba oral poet is not a mere carrier of oral tradition, he is a verbal creator – a poet/composer.68

The Tiv Poetic Experience in Central Nigeria The oral poetry traditions of the Tiv people of the central region of northern Nigeria furnish good material with which to examine the connection between the processes of composition and public performance. The examples discussed in this section are taken from a study by Iyorwuese Hagher “Performance in Tiv Oral Poetry” in the book, Oral Poetry in Nigeria. Hagher is a notable playwright, theoretician of communication, theater, and performance arts. His long experience in professional theater practice and scholarship informs the insights he offers on the matters of oral composition and performance. Hagher draws attention to the phenomenon of competitive display of talent and skills before a “live” audience that pervades all verbal and creative arts in Tiv society. In his words, “…competition is on individual basis, most often on ‘knock out’ basis, where one man holds forth, and each member of the audience tries to fight for the championship.”69 The discussion on song-poetry is pertinent to our study. These verbal genres or sung poetry are distinguished by their chant-like mode of vocalization, structure, and rhyme as illustrated by “riddles, rhyme-punning and vowel consonants of proverbs and verbal abuses.”70 Hagher does not treat the technical elements of constructing or composing the oral pieces, but he notes that: …in Tiv men compose a song or two that they sing to themselves in moments of solitude about some moving or traumatic experience … Other songs are composed as complement to story-telling events, others for praise-singing or abuse and criticism of individuals. These songs may be with or without music or dance accompaniment.71

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The sub-genre of occasional songs offers the opportunity for creativity in the process of delivery. This category includes folk songs workers sing during labor, while women are gifted in “both erotic and protest songs, for their daily chores, like weeding, grinding, and pounding.”72 The task of composition in Tiv society is quite demanding in the context of praise-singing, “an integral part of song patronage in Tivland. It is not done on informal basis as in other Nigerian societies.” Rather, “it is a matter of great pride for a composer to be invited and special beer is brewed, and goats and cows are slaughtered, the patron invites his friends and relatives as the composer sings about the man’s greatness, tracing him through his ancestors’ greatness.”73 The Tiv experience highlights how the occasion of performance impacts on the themes and aesthetics of the praise-singing. Hagher assesses the artistic challenge involved in the performance: It is significant that the event is not the patron’s day, but the occasion is the composer’s. It is the day of appreciating how beautifully he sings and not a day for hearing the greatness of the patron. Tiv praise-songs are usually sung by one composer and his aide, and if they become very successful may enter the dance tradition, and may circulate all over Tivland.74

It is not clear from Hagher’s account whether the praise-songs are prepared in advance of the occasion or not. Whatever is the case, the aesthetic point to emphasize is the competitive atmosphere in which the poet entertains and educates the diverse audience comprising of the patron’s family members and friends, the various social layers in the community, and his striving to excel in order to attain professional esteem and stardom. The significance of performance in Tiv oral poetry is discussed by Leticia Mbaiver Nyitse in her study of the Swange popular song genre. They are panegyric songs that flatter the ego of the individual, although some of them criticize moral wrongs. The Swange songs appeal to those “who prefer atmosphere of music and dance,” especially young people in the urban areas. The songs are also useful for reflecting on life’s experience, “a medium through which people come to grips with the turbulence created in urban centres by ‘development’ brought about by modernisation.”75 As already remarked by Hagher, improvisation is a key element in the aesthetics of Tiv songs. Nyitse describes the technique in these words: Most Tiv songs are improvised, even those already composed change during performance since the poet responds to changing performance situation – for instance – during the performance, a new arrival may be welcomed and becomes part of the song … other incidences at the occasion may be commented upon … Thus if the audience shows any signs of boredom, the poet either changes from one song to another or reduces the length of the song or even removes some episodes in the song while including others which he feels would interest the audience. He depends largely on inspiration and improvisation while composing.76

Training and apprenticeship under a master poet are part of the Tiv tradition. There is formal training as is the case with Yoruba ijala and informal training through social interaction. “A child whose father is a composer automatically picks the art of composing as he grows up … the would-be poet needs to join a group to receive formal training and experience. After training, the apprentice-poet has to be initiated by a master poet of his choice. This is crucial because failure to be properly initiated would lead to faulty composition manifested in hurried songs which lack substance.”77

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Oral Composition and Improvisation in Performance The roots of this tendency in oral literature discourse go back to the early twentieth century. As we noted in the introductory section of the chapter, the Parry-Lord school of formulaic exegesis made this approach an attractive one in the literature. In their study of Yugoslav epic narratives and similar genres, these scholars established the fundamental place of composition in performance where the technique of improvisation features prominently. Lord’s seminal work, The Singer of Tales, was a turning point in the discourse. As Diego Ferioli has noted, with the groundwork laid by the Parry-Lord theory, “Oral poetry came therefore to be primarily conceived as formulaic poetry, in that an extensive use of formulas building up a paratactic narration could allow the poet to shape a song while singing … between improvising and composing while singing … since it seemed somehow clear that poets’ memory was sometimes invariably likely to fail, to fill in the metre with pre-made words combinations without having to interrupt the singing to think.”78 The formulaic theory was considerably revised and reinterpreted during the subsequent decades of application to oral epic traditions of other lands across the world. In the 1950s, C. M. Bowra published influential studies on heroic poetry, with particular reference to the Greek tradition (see Heroic Poetry). The sixth chapter of the book treats the techniques of composition, focusing on language, recitation, and improvisation. “Almost without exception,” says Bowra, “heroic poetry is in the first place intended not for a reading but for a listening public … Both ancient and modern evidence points to the conclusion that the heroic poet composes what is to be heard and that his whole technique presupposes an audience listening to recitation….”79 Bowra explains that much “heroic poetry is not only recited, but actually improvised. There are degrees and kinds of improvisation, and there are places where poets have passed beyond it a more considered kind of composition; but improvisation is common and may well be the fundamental method of performance. The bard who recites a poem composes it in the act of recitation.”80 These findings lead Bowra to assert thus: “To some extent each performance is a new creation. No bard repeats the same poem word for word.”81 This observation invites comparison with some of the African oral poetic forms examined in previous sections of this study. The udje tradition of satirical song-poetry of the Urhobo people of Nigeria tends to be the reverse of the situation described by Bowra; the udje songs are constructed by poets, committed to memory and presented to the public by cantors in a verbatim manner. The studies of Yoruba oral poetic genre done by Babalola and Olajubu essentially agree with Bowra and other scholars of formulaic construction and performance. The tool employed by the oral epic poet is improvisation which, for Bowra, “is the first and earliest form of heroic poetry, and has left its marks on the whole technique of art.”82 He underscores the point that improvised “heroic poetry could hardly exist without formula. The task of composition would be too difficult and too uncertain for almost any bard … the more skilful minstrels not only know more formulae than their less gifted fellows but use them more adroitly and even add to their number with

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others of their own creation. But the formula remains the foundation of improvised poetry.”83 This line of argument connects us with what Alain Ricard refers to in the performance of The Ozidi Saga as several “locutory modes” “…used during the reciting: the panegyric mode, with recurring laudatory epithets addressed to the hero, consisting of a liberal share of juxtaposed nouns; the ‘shout’ mode, similar to cries of joy or pain….”84 Ricard links the formulaic method or rhythmic patterns of delivery to that used by the griots of the Mandinka of the Upper Guinea region of West Africa. The griots, we are told, compose poems and the texts are “presented in the form of satirical poems, proverbs, or even epigrams….”85 The multi-mode presentation encourages the use of formulaic patterns; the three modes are those of speech, narrative, and vocal. The “alternation between these modes also constitutes a … broader, fuller rhythm” that “orchestrates the narrative’s entire composition.”86 Edris Makward attempts the analysis of the poetic performance of two Wolof griots in Senegal, West Africa. His study, “Two Griots of Contemporary Senegambia” is published in Part One of the Okpewho edited essays, The Oral Performance in Africa.87 Makward identifies the storytelling mode, the praise-singing mode, and the singing mode where the griot “displays all the basic qualities required of a good Wolof singer, i.e. correct pitch, a rich clear tone, a capacity to sustain the appropriate notes, a good control of delivery and rhythm.”88 The mechanism of formulaic diction is helpful to the griots because “the whole of their repertoire is memorized orally without the help of the written word.”89 Gordon Innes has done extensive work on the Mandinka oral epic of Sunjata from the angle of the challenges of reproducing the text in translation. He notes the problem of variety in content and theme, pointing out that, as with oral literature generally, there is no Sunjata epic in the sense of a particular piece of literature which may be repeated in substantially the same form. One bard’s account of Sunjata’s life may differ markedly from that of another bard both in form and in content, we may speak of all such accounts as versions of the Sunjata epic, but there is no authoritative version, no one version to which one can point and say, ‘this is the Sunjata epic’. Perhaps the Sunjata epic is ultimately just the knowledge of the story, of literary motifs and formulae stored up somewhere inside the bards’ heads, together with a technique for giving this knowledge verbal expression; a valid performance of the Sunjata epic is a performance which is accepted as such by listeners who are themselves well-versed in the Sunjata epic.90

Owing to the fluidity of content and form in the Sunjata epic, each narrator exploits the occasion of delivery to create and renew the tale. But Innes warns that this does not mean a state of “creative anarchy” as there is a recognized key to appraise every performance event; each teller “has at his disposal those styles or modes of vocalisation which I call the speech mode, the recitation mode, and the song mode. Of these the speech mode is closest to ordinary speech, the song mode is self-explanatory, the recitation mode may be said very roughly to be somewhere intermediate between the other two.”91 Innes explains further that the “language of Mandinka oral epic is essentially everyday Gambian Mandinka, except for some formulae and a few obsolete words….” There is no elevated language as usually assumed for heroic narratives as the “careers of Sunjata and of the more recent heroes are described in

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the sort of language that a man might use to recount some personal experience”. Each bard’s performance of the epic is marked for its creative ingenuity and originality of technique. According to Innes: A bard’s performance is a complex artistic creation and it would be difficult to determine what factors in the total performance combine to produce the audience reaction, but it seems to me that there are at least four aspects of the bard’s performance which we would need to consider relevant here. These are the content, the language, the modes of vocalization, and the musical accompaniment. The content stirs the emotions of the audience; the music creates excitement and melodic beauty. The bards deliver the account of the story in the speech mode and in free-form. However, interspersed throughout this free-form narrative … are certain formulae, notably the songs associated with the hero, and, more commonly, the hero’s praises.92

Theorizing the Composition-Performance Praxis in Africa Isidore Okpewho is to African oral literature discourse what Albert Lord is to the Euro-American heritage of the scholarship. Okpewho’s forte is oral epic poetics in Africa. His solid foundation in ancient European classical literature (Greek and Roman) served him well in his endeavors. The African oral epic has been a rich quarry for early investigators but their focus, at the initial stage, was on the thematic and ideological elements in the extant texts. Okpewho’s studies broadened the discourse to include matters of composition, performance, and aesthetics. This major shift in the oral epic poetics is much evident in his book, The Epic in Africa: Toward a Poetics of Oral Performance. Okpewho convened the sixth Ibadan Annual African Literature Conference in 1981 on the theme of “The Oral Performance in Africa.” Some of the papers at the conference were edited by him and published in 1990 with the same title as indicated above. One of Okpewho’s essays in the book is entitled “The Oral Performer and His Audience: A Case Study of The Ozidi Saga.” We shall now review aspects that pertain to the dialectics of composition and performance. The text of The Ozidi Saga was collected by J. P. Clark in the early 1960s and translated by him from the performance of the Ijaw bard, Okabou Ojobolo. The text in English and Ijaw was first published in 1977 by the University of Ibadan Press and Oxford University Press. In a strict sense, the Ozidi epic may not fit into the conventional classification of oral poetry because it is rendered in multi-genre and multi-media formats. Clark describes the story as a generic interplay of poetry, song, music, dance, ritual, and drama. But, overall, the story is suffused with poetic energy stirred by what Lord calls the pressure of narration. Besides the rites and prayers that feature in various sections of the dramatic and theatrical enactment, there are numerous songs and musical interludes that endow it with the quality of a thunderous story as Clark says in his introductory essay to the book. In the “Preface” to the work, Clark notes that: …The Ozidi Saga, like most works of literature in Africa, is more than a verbal composition. It is in reality a composite art, a multi-faceted piece whose other integral parts are the visual, representing the dramatic character of the work; the ritual representing its religious

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significance; and finally, which brings us back to the auditory side of the story, the music, vocal as well as instrumental, impregnating the work from the beginning to the end. These then are the attributes that give the work its totality of being. To call a work such as this purely ‘literature’ is, therefore, something of a misnomer, a contradiction in terms, not so much so because it is not written to be read, but because it is the creation of a special type of artist who is a composer-poet-performer, all rolled into one person, working in the multiple mediums of words, music, dance, drama, and ritual….93

Okpewho’s main interest in the essay under review is on the creative interaction between the storyteller and the audience. The composition of the audience is important to performance. Okpewho observes that there “were European and non-Ijo colleagues of Clark who accompanied him to the recording, but the primary audience was Ijo … though the story was performed far from home and outside of the festival circumstances in which it was regularly enacted in the home setting, the artist … had an adequate socio-cultural climate for the performance of the story.”94 One effect of the audience’s intervention in the bard’s activity is described by Okpewho as follows: Much more frequent in this performance … are those instances in which the bard seems to carry the audience along by the affective force of his speech and act so that they react favourably with expressions such as laughter, gasping and ululation. Whether in these instances the bard touches them with an emphatic recognition of images which are part of the stock of their cultural life, or successfully sweeps them off the ground of reality so that they accept the fantasy of their portraits, there is no doubt that he has made a positive impact on their senses.95

The features remarked by Okpewho are the classical instances of how an audience influences the creative process in an oral narrative performance, particularly that of the oral epic which is a grand story of action. In the translated text, these interventions may appear as interruptions, but in the context of the oral presentation, the “interruptions” are necessary and integral parts of the aesthetic experience. Sometimes, the audience’s reactions are expressed in the form of laughter, exchange of banter and jokes between teller and listeners and between members of the audience; they could be in the form of a question or query requiring response or reiteration by the bard, or the audience spontaneously joining in the rendition of song sequences and reciting of memorable segments. As Okpewho says, when the audience is “swept off the ground of reality” by “the affective force of his speech and act,” they contribute to the creation and recreation of the story, what Ropo Sekoni calls the “emotive and cognitive satisfaction” that “leads to aesthetic harmony.”96 From the standpoint of poetic creativity, the song sequences are typical elements of the oral epic. Okpewho defines the African oral epic as a grand tale of action performed against the background of music. The narration of the tale impels resort to songs and chanted verses to augment audio-visual and emotional effect on the hearers. At intervals, the spectator-listeners are invited or induced to join in the rendition of songs and poetically charged phrases. In the Ozidi text, there are numerous instances of song interludes. The incidents of laughter illustrate another way in which the intervention of the audience animates the narration. Okpewho notes that spontaneous laughter from

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members of the audience indicates their excitement and emotional involvement in the story. According to him, …in many of these instances we have to read the statement(indicating laughter) back again so as to realise or recognise the histrionic basis to the laughter from the audience, and in most cases, without the editor’s notation of ‘laughter’, the scene would have fallen flat on the ground as simply unelevated moments in the rolling montage of fight episodes that constitute the Ozidi story….97

Okpewho explains further that: Laughter and appellation represent one level of encouragement by the audience of the bard’s creative act. A much deeper level of encouragement is shown by some instances in which the individual spectators do actively help the bard’s mythopoeic effort, and The Ozidi Saga reveals a variety of ways in which this can be done. To start with, the bard may sometimes be forced to incorporate a word or idea from a spectator’s comment into the sequence of his own narration at that particular point either because it gives a more vivid expression of what he is trying to say in his story, or at any rate because it is apt and appeals to his alert imagination.98

In light of these examples of how the intervention or prompting by the audience affects the progress of narration, Okpewho contends that: We would not be far wrong if we argued that in such cases the bard has been stampeded into using particular words and ideas or making more of a scene than he may have been inclined to. There is no doubt that throughout the performance of this story the atmosphere is lively and tense; besides, at several points of his act the bard reveals considerable selfconsciousness and uneasiness before the equipment by means of which he is being recorded. It is clear therefore that he needs all the help from the attending crowd so as to justify both his reputation and the present patronage. In fact, he does not hesitate to solicit actively the co-operation of the audience when the situation calls for it, not only in terms of songs directly related to the tale … but also in the provision of the odd detail that would aid the narrative act….99

This is the sense in which Okpewho thinks that the audience is sometimes “the prime mover … the volume of text … depends considerably on the responses which the performer gets from the audience in the course of the performance.”100 Furthermore, Okpewho explains that: As a prime mover, therefore, responsible for the volume as well as the pace of the narrative performance, the audience may sometime claim the prerogative of determining how much detail they would tolerate in the performance: in other words, some member or other of the audience may feel at any one point that he has had enough of the elaboration of a particular scene. His objection may be politely framed as a comment on the efforts of a character in the tale but a more discriminating judgment would reveal that in actual fact the spectator would prefer that the bard moved on.101

It is in the context of these creative interventions and promptings by the audience that Okpewho notes that “in a typical African oral narrative performance, the audience is a force to be reckoned with, and that to a large extent he is a lucky performer who can count on the empathy and co-operation of an audience of fellow citizens to execute a challenging task of this kind.”102

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The aesthetic experience described in the section above persuades Okpewho to argue that in many ways, the members of the audience draw attention to the fact “that they too know the story and perhaps qualify to be recorded just as much” as the main narrator.103 The involvement of the audience in spontaneous composition and delivery is examined in greater detail in the fourth chapter of Okpewho’s Blood on the Tides: The Ozidi Saga and Oral Epic Narratology. The performance of the Ozidi tale by Okabou Ojobolo at Ibadan took seven days, each day’s event lasted four hours, “with some intervals to ease the strain of unaccustomed schedule on Okabou.”104 There are countless instances in which the recording of the performance shows the responses of the audience such as “laughter,” “exclamation,” “ululation,” and “appellation” (showering of praise names) “whereby various members of the audience greet the success of Okabou in executing a scene or phrase.” Once in a while, for instance, Madam Yabuku, the hostess of this performance, intercedes to cheer the narrator with his peculiar praise name for doing a good job, and of course the bard relishes this approbation to the full. The following digressive dialogue, which comes at the end of the narration of the struggle in which Ozidi destroys an early opponent, Ebeya, is typical of the exchange of courtesies between Madam Yabuku and the bard Okabou: (Appellation) Yabuku: Okabou:

Yabuku: Okabou:

Agada kpa yan yan! It’s fire! Don’t touch it! Touch it and you get burnt. Now on with it Agreed Fast runs the tide. And see how I breast it. O voice, pity! Seven days goes the narrative. And the voice is beginning to patch.

(Laughter)105 In his introductory essay to the 2006 edition of The Ozidi Saga, Clark notes the creative role of the prompter or “story-reminder” in the enactment of the story. According to him, the intervention …carries the story forward all the way to its end. It keeps in constant view the immediate aim of the gathering – to see a good presentation, and to revel in the high spirits of adventure transmitted. Occasionally, the form is extended to include a citation of probable difficulties and the prompt refutation of these. ‘Are you strong? If you see, will you act? Are there men in Ijo?’ often comes the challenge. In each case, the response, of course, is an emphatic ‘yes’. All these are devices of cheer with the common effect of the interpolated exclamation. Thrown spontaneously into the main line of the story, each achieves a measure of punctuation, allowing the narrator time to introduce transitions between scenes and situations. They also act as memory aids, for this is one production where details wrongly stated and staged are instantly cried down. When well injected, all three are dramatic practices that heighten suspense by holding up the narrative flow to build up dramatic tension. Needless to say, they also keep awake anyone dozing in the wings.106

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Creativity and Performance: The Igbo Singer of Tales In the introduction to The Oral Performance in Africa, Okpewho observes that although a sociological approach to oral literature performance is worthwhile, it is not adequate because “an aestheticist model is not exactly the same thing as a sociological model. When a literary scholar investigates an oral narrative event, he should of course explore the social circumstances as an aid to contextual insight; but he is really more interested in probing the aesthetic basis for the effectiveness of the devices used in the performance.”107 The significance of this caveat has been noted in the description of the various traditions reviewed in the foregoing sections. The application of the aestheticist model is attempted in Chukwuma Azuonye’s discussion of the art of the Igbo epic singer, Kaalu Igirigiri, in the Ohafia area of eastern Nigeria.108 Kaalu Igirigiri is an accomplished performer of Igbo oral epics or historical remembrance (iku aka). Azuonye establishes four indigenous aesthetic principles of the epic narratives, namely functionality, authenticity, clarity, and creative variation.109 Our emphasis in this short review is on the principle of creative variation in performance which, as Azuonye describes it, “demands … that the singer’s voice should be sufficiently flexible to be able to stimulate the varied mood of the tale.”110 He explains that the “basic voice is the narrator’s voice, generally in the reciting mode, and it is this that carries the momentum of the tale. It is the voice of the omniscient narrator speaking of a third person (the hero) without addressing the audience … The narrative voice is interspersed by the lyric, the invocative and oratorical voice.”111 As in the Ozidi epic examined by Okpewho above, there are various ways this voice is articulated. “It can assume an elegiac form, the apostrophic form (mkpoku) in which an impassioned appeal is addressed to the hero as if he were standing directly before the narrator.” Another form is the rhapsodic “…in which the successful and overjoyed hero expresses his sense of total well-being and happiness with himself and with the world.” Azuonye describes a third voice, the invocative used in passages where hero-lists are being recalled with appropriate epithets. A fourth voice is the oratorical one in which the bard assumes the multiple roles of “the singer as teacher, moralist, explainer and revealer of secrets.”112 The adroit manipulation of these vocal modes, argues Azuonye, enables Kaalu Igirigiri in his performance to indulge “in variations of different kinds which ensure that, even if he is called upon to render the same tale two or more times on the same spot within the same space of time, he will render it differently.”113 The features of the Igbo oral epic performance adumbrated by Azuonye above are treated in greater detail in his essay, “Principles of the Igbo oral epic: a study in traditional aesthetic and oral literary criticism.”114 Azuonye explains that his analysis of the performance events is done in response to “the need not only to study the oral performer’s creative role in the oral performance but also to understand the tastes of the members of the society to whom he addresses his compositions.”115 The aesthetic principles he deals with are obtained from field interviews and interactions with Ohafia singers of tales. The four principles relate to “the social functions of the songs and the

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poetics of their oral performance.” The study notes the position of a multi-layered audience of “individuals of various age-grades, both male and female, representing various sections of the locality in which the singer happens to be performing.”116 The composition of the audience is an important factor in the way the songs are appreciated and evaluated. In the words of Azuonye, “the songs constitute the most important form of literary entertainment in the cultural life of the community … made up … of persons whose responses reflect varying depths of critical sensibility.”117 The principles of functionality and authenticity are applied when the Igbo epic singer alludes to past events and personalities whose mention stirs nationalistic sentiments in the audience. This mechanism makes the listeners to the songs to be more attentive and excited. The principle of clarity has to do with metaphorical, symbolic, and phonic representation “in such a way that they would be clearly perceptible to everyone.”118 The principle of creative variation operates effectively because of the aesthetic codes “shared in common by the singers of the songs and their hearers,” and by the singers keeping “close to the narrative line without digressions, avoiding extraneous elements” so as to remain faithful to what the community regards as the “authentic” components of historical tradition.119 To achieve this artistic level of performance, “each singer possesses a larger repertoire of tales and is expected to be able to render as many of these as possible on each occasion of performance … Clearly, it is the briefer type of oral epic verse that is best suited to fulfil these principles, for the briefer the song, the more variety there will be in the repertoire of each singer and the larger the number of songs he can render on each occasion.”120

The Formulaic Method in Southern African Oral Poetry We have referred to the influence that Lord’s formulaic theory had on oral literature scholarship from the 1960s. In explaining the creative use of the method, Lord says that it “consists of building of material lines and half-lines by means of formulae and formulaic expressions.”121 Subsequently, the application of the theory to Africa’s traditions of the oral epic and poetry shows that Lord’s hard-line position on the matter was moderated to accommodate new materials fostered in a different cultural milieu. Lord himself, in reviewing D. P. Kunene’s The Heroic Poetry of the Basotho and other studies emanating from Africa, admits that “the heroic poetry with which he (Kunene) is dealing is not narrative in our own sense of the word, but eulogistic; it is praise poetry of a kind common, I believe, in Africa. Kunene’s work adds a new dimension to the study of oral literature which is most welcome and deserves to be much better known than it is to all scholars in the field.”122 What Lord welcomes as “a new dimension to the study of oral literature” is examined by Elizabeth Gunner in her analysis of the creative use of the formula in the praise poetry of the Zulu of South Africa. This is attempted in her “Wand or Walking Stick? The Formula and Its Use in Zulu Praise Poems,” published as Chapter 7 in the Okpewho edited book under reference. In Zulu panegyric poetry,

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Gunner recognizes the utility of the formula for allowing “a combination of the novel and the familiar, the general and the particular, and through devices such as expansion and substitution” in which the poets “are free to include a measure of their own material.”123 Gunner is referring here to the situation where a performer or reciter of praise poems exploits the creative window to repeat and vary words and phrases to meet the aesthetic demands of the oral presentation. In this context, a pre-meditated piece is subject to innovative variation under the pressure of oral delivery. In doing this, the Zulu praise singer or imbongi utilizes the verbal resources of fixed and flexible formulae to expand an old text. Such variation or composition in performance, as Lord calls it, is handy in a situation of a presentation before a live audience. This is a common feature in traditions of oral poetry in which improvisation is a mark of resourcefulness. In addition to the repetition of verbal elements in the Zulu experience, there is also variability in “word order and syntax.”124 Gunner explains further that in Zulu panegyric poetry, “there is another way in which memory and creative variation interact, and that is where poets – both the bards working in the declamatory mode and popular performers - use the formula as a base or launching pad for expansion.”125 The situation of performance exerts influence on the deployment of the formula. In contrast to Lord’s rigid sense of the formula, Gunner supports the view that composition “in performance is not a standard feature of Zulu poetry…” because “bards often recite praise poems which they have to a large extent memorised.”126 An instance of this technique is furnished by the izibongo of lineage ancestors; there are also praise poems involving “knitting together and elaboration of lines in praise of individuals gathered from diverse sources as well as texts that are freshly composed.”127 The construction process in Zulu praise poetry is enhanced, too, by performers who make no claim to be bards. Gunner describes the process in greater detail as follows: In the call mode song, chant, and dance feature as components together with the praise poem. Delivery is entirely different from that in the declamatory mode. Whereas the emphasis there is on individual performance, here the emphasis is on the group. Many individuals call out at great speed a line or lines from the praise poem of a single ‘giya’ dancer who leaps and prances as he pleases, giving an impromptu impression of fighting prowess. What is for the dancer a ‘multiform’ whole is enunciated in numerous often repeated fragmented units by his comrades who call out the praises as he dances.128

In this dynamic performing mode “…new praises may be added by callers, the order of lines is arbitrary, and the amount and quality of praises called out for any individual may vary enormously from one occasion to the next. This is the performance mode where innovations in the shape of new formulae, modification to conventional subjects, and new metaphors are perhaps more likely to occur.”129 Jeff Opland has done considerable work on the creative utility of the Parry-Lord formulaic method in Xhosa oral poetry. His first major study is in the book, Xhosa Oral Poetry: Aspects of a black South African Tradition. In this work, Opland admits that his “interest in Xhosa oral derives from the comparative study of Anglo-Saxon poetry and other oral poetic traditions … the living Xhosa tradition was used to

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illuminate the dead Anglo-Saxon tradition.”130 In Chapter 5, Opland examines eulogy and ritual in the imbongi performance. “The Xhosa imbongi,” he says, “has the power through his poetic performance to sway emotions, to incite actions. Quite apart from aspects of performance such as voice and physical gesture that might arouse emotion in the audience … the poetry itself has power. We have noted that memorized izibongo are occasionally irrelevant to the persons to whom they are addressed, as if the recitation of a poem serves a function almost independent of its text.”131 Opland makes comparative reference to the idea of the poetry of names as illustrated by works of Daniel Kunene on the Sotho tradition of South Africa and Ulli Beier’s on the oriki of the Yoruba. For Opland, “Zulu and Xhosa izibongo, like Southern Sotho lithoko and Yoruba oriki, are poems built on commemorative phrases that function in society as alternative names.”132 Further, on the importance of names in the construction of the izibongo, Opland explains that: Basically, then, izibongo are names of individuals, and naming an individual and his ancestors in this particular form strengthens the living individual through ensuring the protective sympathy of his ancestors and promotes continuing intercourse between the living and the dead. The performance of an izibongo thus does something; uttering the words of the poem makes something happen … Consideration of izibongo as performative utterances helps us to understand an aspect of their force in society, but it does not offer us a complete explanation of the function of izibongo, for, as we have seen, the imbongi also comments in his poetry on current events, he moulds public opinion, he offers criticism of excessive behaviour.133

In Chapter 6, “Oral Poetics and Oral Neotics” Opland deals with how the theories of Albert Lord and Walter Ong can be applied to the aesthetics of South African oral poetry. Citing Lord’s The Singer of Tales (1960), Opland observes that perhaps “the most revolutionary aspect of Lord’s argument is his contention that the Yugoslavian epic singers do not memorize their tales but create them in the act of performance.”134 The similarities between oral epic poetry and the izibongo tradition in relation to composition are outlined by Opland as follows: We have seen that something very like Lord’s formulas exists in Xhosa izibongo. These repeated phrases, however, do not seem to be necessary to the imbongi, as Lord claims formulas are to the Yugoslavian singers. The repeated phrases would seem to be useful to the imbongi, in that they help him to compose his lines, but so too are a number of stylistic devices useful to the imbongi. These stylistic devices are found in many oral traditions throughout the world, and the existence of Greek terms for them demonstrates that they were current too among the ancient Greek orators and their successors … If it is difficult to see Lord’s formula, in the strict understanding of the term, in izibongo, it is easy to concede that to a large extent Xhosa oral poems consist of what Ong understands by formulary devices.135

Some sections of Opland’s second book, Xhosa Poets and Poetry, also treat the technical and aesthetic puzzle of composition and performance. He bases his analysis of Xhosa oral poetry on a simple definition of the oral tradition as works produced by non-literate people and propagated orally. He notes that among the Xhosa people of South Africa, the court poet or imbongi “…has the ability to compose his poetry while he is performing, on the spur of the moment.”136 He recalls Lord’s position on this technique in support of his position:

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G. G. Darah The term ‘oral’ emphasizes, I believe, the basic distinction between oral narrative poetry and that which we term epic, but it too carries some ambiguity. Certain of the misunderstandings of Parry’s oral theory arise from the failure to recognize his special use of the word ‘oral’. For example, one often hears that oral poetry was poetry written to be recited. Oral, however, does not mean merely oral presentation. Oral epics are performed orally, it is true, but so can any other poem be performed orally. What is important is not the oral performance but rather the composition during performance.137

Opland thinks it is necessary to explain the context and meaning of formulaic poetics and what it leaves out, that is, the poet who composes and memorizes his texts before performance: In The Singer of Tales Lord excluded from his definition of the oral poet the singer who composes his poetry in advance and memorises it. He is referred to disparagingly as ‘a mere reciter’: We must eliminate from the word ‘performer’ that he is one who merely reproduces what someone else or even he himself has composed… Lord accordingly has little to say about this performer, but it would be misleading to deny him or her a role in the Xhosa tradition.138

Opland identifies four kinds of Xhosa poetic activity: those who compose spontaneously; those who memorize their own poems and the ones composed by others and which they repeat verbatim; important imbongi who create their works in performance; and “literate poets who commit their poetry to paper and publish their poems in books and newspapers.”139 The place of memorization in the production and performance of oral poetry is discussed at some length. A memorizer, he says, is someone who learns a poem by heart and whenever he or she performs “the poem is repeated with few – if any – verbal alternatives. Such performers may have composed the poem themselves, they may have picked it up by listening to another memoriser repeating the poem or they have learned it from a book.” These poet-performers may absorb the poem for ritual or ceremonial purposes. There are other factors that may induce a poet to memorize a poem; for example, it may be because they “feel inspired by the sound of the poetry, but necessarily by the words.”140 Opland contends that the Xhosa imbongi is more than a composer and chanter of poems. He is also the custodian of public opinion about the state of affairs and the exercise of authority by the powers-that-be: He can be seen, therefore, as an important mediator between chief and commoner. His ability to arouse emotions was especially noticeable in times of war, when he inspired the warriors to acts of bravery. By constant reference in his izibongo to the chief’s genealogy and the history of the group, he not only acted as an ethnic history book but also moulded communal solidarity. At tense moments, he could make people laugh, but he was not a buffoon: his office was too dignified. Herald, spokesman, mediator, historian, entertainer – all these were elements in the complex role of the imbongi in tribal life; overriding all was the peculiar ability of the good imbongi to arouse intense emotions in his audience, especially pride, loyalty and bravery. All this made the imbongi an important personage in rural life … He was a highly respected figure whose opinion was valued. Indeed, he could not rise to become an imbongi if his opinions were not acceptable or cogent, for the imbongi was committed to speaking the truth as he saw it. Other qualities that were desirable were fluency, eloquence, socio-historical knowledge, and the ability to inspire….141 (17).

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The creative place of improvisation is given extensive treatment by Opland. He explores the dimensions of the theory on improvisation and performance and contends that “…my own research revealed that Xhosa imbongi produce izibongo that are primarily improvised. Two conditions seem possible: first, that the Xhosa tradition has altered radically during the past fifty years and moved from memorization to improvisation; and second, that present conditions in fact obtained fifty years ago – though between then and now the tradition has been affected by new social and political forces….”142 Verbal stability of izibongo lines depends on a fairly uniform life of the chiefs on whom the verses are made; such lines tend to incorporate the glories and notable events of the past, and when these lines are chanted over and again, people would be able to recognize the references. But Opland observes that when the poems are popular …Many people, without consciously memorising them could probably repeat a series of such lines, which they could remember even after the chief’s death. But the imbongi’s izibongo would only tend to stability during the chief’s lifetime, since the chief would always be doing new things; in performance, the imbongi might still have the ability to refer spontaneously to strangers or guests or to comment on current events or situations with no verbal preparation, although he would refer to his chief mostly in well-tried phrases (largely personal, but also traditional).143

Changing social and political situations have affected the content and form of the izibongo in South Africa. Within the tradition, there have emerged subtle differences between the techniques of the Zulu imbongi and that of the Xhosa. Opland’s description of the matter deserves quoting at length: Whatever the facts of the matter may have been, modern Xhosa Imbongi generally seem less constrained than their Zulu counterparts to produce variants of a fairly stable text every time they praise the same personage. While there is of course considerable overlap between the activities of creating poetry in performance and rearranging lines that have been composed and assembled prior to performance – while, that is, I could no more seek to establish a rigid dichotomy between ‘improvising’ and ‘memorising’ than I would between ‘oral’ and ‘literate’ – the distinction is useful. However, puzzled a memoriser might be about what he is repeating, the improviser is consciously shaping his words in performance. I have met a Xhosa imbongi who could not explain what he was saying. To collectors and scholars, references in the early printed izibongo might be obscure, but to the modern Xhosa imbongi and his audience, familiar with traditional diction, the meaning of the izibongo is generally clear, and the text is generally related to the context. At the very least the distinction between composition in performance and the recombination of established lines is vital to assessing the creativity of the performer, for the Zulu imbongi often enough is not the composer of the lines he utters, whereas the Xhosa imbongi tends to be both composer and performer one and the same time: for the Xhosa imbongi, composition and performance are simultaneous.144

The variety and ubiquity of the improvised lines in the izibongo are treated in Chapter 3 of the Opland book. He evaluates studies and positions of various collectors and scholars on the subject. Again, the point is made that the context of performance exerts great influence on the content and structure of the lines. For example, when the imbongi performs in the absence of his chief, there are elements that are affected in the text. As explained by Opland:

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G. G. Darah …the poetry contains references to the immediate context, as it usually does, and these elements tend to predominate. In other words, the improvisational, exhortatory passages one usually encounters in the Xhosa imbongi’s performances tend to assume precedence to the virtual exclusion of ‘the praises of’ a socially prominent subject. There is a shift in emphasis, not a shift in genre: we are still dealing with izibongo produced by an imbongi….145

Opland’s concluding remarks on composition and performance are a good guide for students and scholars of oral poetry: However difficult it might be for some scholars to accept this level of creativity, there can be no doubt that the Xhosa oral poet responds poetically to the immediate inspiration of the moment, on his own evidence and on the testimony of his poetry. When the Xhosa imbongi speaks, we should hear him: he will not repeat himself….146

The Song-Poetry Tradition of the Dinka of South Sudan The interplay of the processes of composition and performance is emphasized by Francis Mading Deng in his study of the song-poetry of the Dinka people of South Sudan. In this tradition, the artistic experience is explained in the context of the functional use of the songs. According to Deng: Songs constitute an important and everyday aspect of life among the Dinka, and every Dinka sings both as an individual and as a member of a group. Songs are owned in the sense that every individual and every group has songs reflecting their particular situations and their ideas of what the social order is or ought to be. They may be composed by the owners themselves or for them by experts. Only the owner of a song may present it formally, but informally every person may sing any song almost any time and anywhere.147

The Dinka tradition is similar to that of the udje “battles of songs” of the Urhobo of Nigeria. In Dinka society, family members compose songs to respond to allegations made against their lineages. The songs serve as verbal weapons for inter-group exchanges. As described by Deng: Young members of competitive families have been known to compose songs or have songs composed for them in reply to each other’s allegations about incidents affecting the relative position of their families. In this process, a young man may do a special investigation into the history of his family and of the tribe, to find additional evidence to sing about and bolster his family.148

Songs, Deng says, “are one way of mollifying grievances by singing about them instead of brooding over them and making them worse. ‘Fighting with songs’ … is however, institutionalized, and goes beyond therapeutic singing.”149 Age-set and other insult songs are well developed among the Dinka. Deng gives a brief profile of these insult songs as follows: Young men competing over girls fight with songs sung to others, but not face to face. The process may go on for months or years with new and more abusive songs being composed about the rival and his family. Such competitions usually end up in court, and the court may request that the song be sung in court to determine the gravity of the insults, after which defamed elders may be appeased, conflict resolved, and reconciliation effected. The

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very idea of songs implies non-violent competition, whether such competition be merely in singing or combined with dancing … In the interest not only of social harmony, but also of each person’s inner harmony, songs are used as a means of turning experiences which are painful, shameful, or otherwise undesirable into a subject of art which enhances one’s inner pride and recognition by society. The indignities of prison life, traditionally unknown to the Dinka, the insult of rejection by a girl, or of divorce imposed by a loving partner, the misfortune of illness and maybe of disablement, and the misery of ‘orphanage’ (a condition which continues into adult life in the Dinka view) or being without dependable relatives or friends are examples of themes which it is better to sing about than brood over.”150

The significance of performance in the Dinka experience is embodied in the word “dheeng” (singing and dancing), both “seen as essentially arts of grandeur in which a person does not have to excel to be exalted. In addition, they are established means towards winning recognition and enhancing one’s social position.”151 The accent Deng places on the value of the Dinka songs reinforces the idea of composition and performance in oral poetry. As he observes, the songs form part of the aesthetic skills which are often a basis for winning affection between young men and women, and for imploring elders to respond to the demands of the intending partners. They are also used by the partners themselves to influence each other in order to strengthen their hands against their opposing elders. Many are the cases in which marriages result from a song addressed to elders, the intended bride, or the groom.152

Furthermore, Deng argues that: By sublimating violent or otherwise destructive impulses, songs promote rectitude even though what is said in them would not be morally acceptable in a non-artistic context; they become accepted as art and are therefore not judged by the normal standards of decency and propriety … Songs are also relevant to power and the legal process, not only is the practical wielding of authority often justified or questioned in songs, but the ideals that govern the exercise of power are frequently invoked. Thus, in praising or criticising certain trends, the ideals are upheld and reinforced.153

The structure and pattern of performing songs also matter in the Dinka situation. According to Deng, it is …not only who sings what songs, but also what social position he holds. With the exception of songs which accompany religious rites, usually performed by elders or by specially inspired younger men, the singing group among the Dinka generally consists of young and middleaged men and women … the aesthetic activities of singing and dancing, though primarily and normally engaged in by youth in any society, are also among the Dinka a means of making claims on the system and are a substitute for practical control.154

The Dinka make a conceptual distinction between the art of composition and construction in their language. Deng outlines the mental and intellectual labor invested in song-making as follows: To compose a song is called ‘to create’ (cak); to tell a lie is ‘create words’ (cak wel). Cak is also applied to creation by God. In all these meanings is a common denominator of making something which did not exist. In the case of songs, although there is an association with the usual exaggeration and distortion of incidents, the analogy is that they give young men and women positive values … Songs everywhere constitute a form of communication which has its place in the social system, but among the Dinka their significance is more clearly marked

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G. G. Darah in that they are based on actual, usually well-known events and are meant to influence people with regard to these events. This means that the owner whose interests are to be served by the songs, the facts giving rise to that song including the people involved, the objective it seeks to attain whether overtly or subtly and whether directly or indirectly, all combine to give the song its functional force.155

In the Dinka poetic experience, the presentation or delivery of the song is as important as the verbal elements in it. Deng explains that the song “cannot be fully understood through the words alone whether spoken, sung, or, as is now possible, written. The words of the song, their metaphorical ingenuity, and their arrangement contribute to this force, but to appreciate the functional importance of the song, words must be combined with the melody, the rhythm, and the presentation of the song for a specific purpose.”156 Deng concludes his interesting study with comments on other aesthetic criteria the Dinka apply to judge songs and their impact. Amusement of the hearers is one criterion. Deng expatiates on the others as follows: The ability to make the audience laugh is particularly advantageous in the … competitions which are like joking competitions in which the person whose insults receive the most laughter is the winner. Amusement in song is derived from imagery and association which tend to ridicule a person or thing. The singer may even make fun of himself by relating accounts of his own experiences. Rarely, a song may be such as will ridicule any person who happens to compete with the singer. Since the song would have been composed long before the competition, it is generally taken as funny and not particularly insulting to the competitor.157

Furthermore, a “song may be regarded as good because it is rich in metaphor, knowledgeable in legends, touching in tone, hilarious in mirth, or especially exciting for dance. What is lacking in words may be compensated for in music.”158

Music and Oral Poetry: The Bala of the Congo The close connection between poetry and music has been long recognized in cultural studies. Our concern in this regard is as much about the verbal elements of music or the lyrics and the creative processes of composition and performance. This approach is illustrated by the art of music-making among the Bala people of the Congo Democratic Republic in Central Africa, the Hausa of Nigeria, and the Akan people of Ghana in West Africa. The Bala are a sub-group of the Basongye in the Eastern Kasai Province. Alan Merriam did a study of their music tradition in the late 1960s and his essay “The Bala Musician” is our guide in the review that follows. Among the Bala, musicians are classified according to the instruments they play. There is also a sharp hierarchy in the ranks of musical artists, the highest being the ngomba player. Men who sing as part of a group are the lowest in the pecking order. As in many African societies, a music artist does other things for a living. In all the poetic traditions we have treated thus far, poets and artists are seen as gifted individuals who improve on their talents through training and practice. But

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the Bala people believe that a musician is born, not made. Merriam explains “that music ability is inherent at birth and is dependent on the parents a child is fortunate or unfortunate enough to have at birth.”159 The social status of the Bala musician affects his/her art. The musician is rated as someone who depends on the goodwill of patrons for a living; someone who is hired to entertain and who is “ordered” to play what he is told.160 Merriam’s study does not adequately cover the area of composition and performance but his description of musical art gives useful insights into how the public evaluates the musicians as creators and transmitters of the oral tradition. The sound which musicians make is distinct from that of birds or insects because “the Bala theory of what constitutes music sound is that such sound must always be organized. A random tap on the xylophone or drum is not enough to fulfil the criterion, but neither does the sound of three drummers making a single tap together on their drums, even though it is organized … to be music the sounds must have a minimal continuity in time.” For the Bala, in the opinion of Merriam, “there exists a distinctive group of sounds which can be differentiated from other kinds of sounds and which represent a phenomenon which can be called music….”161

Musical Activity Among the Hausa of Nigeria On the basis of geo-cultural spread, the Hausa language in Nigeria is similar to Swahili in eastern Africa. In linguistic statistics, Hausa is the lingua franca of about 400 ethnic groups in the northern areas of the country. However, the use of the language in creative arts and literature may be confined to the core areas of the former Sokoto, Kano, Zaria, and Bauchi provinces. European interest in Hausa folklore began in the early twentieth century; the output in both oral and written works is comparable to that in the Yoruba language in the southwestern parts of the country. In this section of our discussion, we will consider two studies: one by the musicologist, David W. Ames and the second is by Habib Ahmed Daba. As Merriam says of the Bala people, secular musical practice among the Hausa appears to occupy a low rank in traditional crafts and professions. There is the genre of itinerant music artists who entertain in courts and social events. Ames describes them “as inventive people or virtuoso improvisers who are exceptionally effective in communicating with an audience….”162 He adds that the “ordinary musicians of the Emir and of other members of the aristocracy most often play only the traditional songs of praise associated with the office held by their masters. These are the same songs, essentially unchanged, that were played and sung by their fathers and grandfathers.”163 “The strong appeal of the lyrics,” observes Ames, “appears…to them (audience) from interesting content, power to evoke emotions, and clever wording. No less important is the ability of the artists to improvise on the spot.”164 These aesthetic features relate to the business of creativity, composition, and performance in oral poetry. The Hausa audience also enjoys the pleasure of rich imagery and oblique

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references, and rhyme endings as the singer is expected to be careful about his word stress and phrasing.165 The musical career of Mamman Shata, a famous griot and respected satirist, reflects this diligent method of song-poetry construction. The singers use old musical forms “for the most part, but they rework them in original ways. The ability to compose lyrics on the spur of the moment seems to be the principal reason that Shata and others like him are so popular.”166 The conceptual link between song and poetry is highlighted by Ames; both “are referred to by the same word, wak’a or song, and both are sung, but in different fashions. Poets do not have an instrumental accompaniment when they ‘sing’ their songs….”167 As in the Yoruba oral poetry genres, Hausa poet-musicians undergo periods of training under specialists. Some are apprenticed to their parents and kin; others have their pupillage under the care of non-kin. “While learning, the apprentice not infrequently lives with his master, who feeds and clothes him. As soon as he becomes expert enough, the apprentice plays in his master’s band … after leaving his master, he may return from time to time to pay his respects, and perhaps to give a gift, though payment for the training … is not compulsory.”168 The methodical approach adopted in the training and mentoring of Hausa musicians supports the view that expertise in composition leads to dexterity in performance. The popular musician, Dan Maraya Jos, was a contemporary of Mamman Shata. They were both decorated with Nigerian national honors for their musical accomplishments. During their long careers, they both entertained millions of Hausaspeaking audiences across Nigeria and West Africa, including audiences at political and social events. Maraya Jos was distinguished too for his tell-tale musical equipment, the kuntigi or small guitar which he plucked tenderly as he sang enchantingly and sonorously. Daba identifies two broad groups of Hausa poet-musicians—court singers and public or freelance singers. Court singers perform for the emirs, district heads, and members of the royal elite. The freelance singers entertain any wealthy patron, professionals, brave persons, and members of the spirit (bori) cult. Daba classifies Dan Maraya’s music under “public songs.” According to him, what “the audience expects of a Hausa oral poet is to compose his own original work….” The public poet is itinerant, he goes “about looking for any audience which would be ready to offer any reward.”169 The effects of modern living have influenced the art of even the court poets; these days a court poet “sings for any patron whether he is a commoner, a wealthy man or a malam (Muslim cleric) provided that he is assured of a return in cash or in kind. And a freelance poet composes for a sarki (leader) as he goes for any other person. Nevertheless, the language used and the style applied must suit the class of the patron in question before a song is recognized by the audience.”170 As shown in the study by David Ames reviewed in a previous section, the emphasis in Daba’s analysis leans toward the functional importance of music. The themes of the songs and their contemporary relevance are highlighted. Daba says that Dan Maraya Jos “introduces and discusses various social values in his songs. He is like other Hausa oral singers the custodian of the society’s tradition and culture. He recounts important historical events of the people,” discusses social problems of the society as a whole and suggests solutions,” and “participates fully in the political activities

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of the nation.”171 In many of his songs, Maraya Jos addresses himself to the society “through its traditions and beliefs which say that young people should imitate and follow the footsteps of their elders.”172 The appeal of his songs is enhanced, too, because he always educates “the public about many issues ranging from informing them about what is going on in the world and how to change their attitudes towards various events within the society.”173 The popularity of the music derives also from his inclination toward the poor and downtrodden people like the laborer who is poor because he gets little for his exactions. Maraya Jos’s defense of the oppressed masses is sometimes expressed through the criticism of the conservative institutions and practices of traditional African society. His songs on peasants (talakawa) endear him to the larger strata of his audience throughout northern Nigeria. He usually laces his criticism with humor addressed to the government to take care of the poor. Daba observes that the “singer wittingly alludes to the coming danger within the society if the members of the so-called ‘high class’ in the society do not change their attitudes and correct their misconception towards a poor common man.”174 It is noteworthy that the thematic focus of Daba’s study shrouds the elements of poetic craft and performance. But the point can be deduced from the numerous subjects treated in each song cited that Maraya Jos’s music displays the technique of spontaneity or composition in performance as Albert Lord would have it. The immediacy of the performance, the face-to-face encounter with large audiences, and the aesthetic need to treat motley themes and subjects, these are all ingredients of oral poetic composition and performance in Hausa popular music.

Music and Oral Poetry Among the Akan of Ghana J. H. Kwabena Nketia pioneered the study of traditional music and oral poetry in Ghana. His work shows that in many cultural areas in Africa, music and oral poetry are inseparable. His essay “The Musician in Akan Society” demonstrates this theoretical approach. His description of the social status of the Akan musician is apt and instructive. In Nketia’s view, while the musician is recognised in Akan society as a person whose gifts and services are needed by the community, he is not treated or regarded in a class apart from the rest of the members of the society. Nor can he himself find means of expressing his musicianship by working in isolation from everybody else. On the contrary, it is as a member of a group that it is believed he can make his distinctive contribution. He must function as an integral part of musical and non-musical associations – with dancers, ritual experts, and others involved in the social events – for his role is to provide opportunities in social life for the sharing of his musical experience. His art is closely integrated with dance and drama and recitals of oral literature, while the setting for his performance may incorporate the work of traditional craftsmen and artists who may use musical instruments as their subjects for creative expression or for the artistic symbolization of proverbs, beliefs, and familiar concepts.175

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The diverse dimensions of the musician’s identity and interaction with the larger society illuminate the praxis of creativity and performance. The musician is gifted but his or her creative endowments are of little value if they are not expressed for the entertainment and enlightenment of the people in the society. Nketia notes that the musician’s attributes include “a good voice recognized in Akan society as pleasant … the voice must be strong and or heavy … not thin or small. A good ear and some amount of discipline” are important. Furthermore, the singer must have the “ability to create words, to set tunes to words extemporaneously, and the ability to remember the verses of songs or the leading lines … The best singers are those who have the right kind of voice quality.” A clarity of mind is needed “so that one does not confuse the subject or mix up words.”176 There are various types of musical activity where the talents of creativity and performance are exhibited. There are soloists, cantors, and musical bands. The performance act of the musician is enhanced by the knowledge of “oral literature – in particular its themes, techniques, and stock expressions….”177 Good training is needed for proficiency in any of the departments of music-making. This can be done through slow absorption, exposure to musical situations, and active participation. In the Akan society, there are types of music—music for recreation, ceremonies, festivals, and worship. There is music for children as well as music for adults, music for men, music for women or mixed groups, music for various associations.178 As Nketia says of the Akan, it is “true … that any individual is free to sing or play for his own enjoyment, but this is by no means the pattern that is encouraged at public performances. Such performances take place with the support of other artists. Someone may be needed to play a bell or a drum or to sing answering phrases or responses at appropriate point.”179 Yet, as in all organizations, “the leading musicians are always the most important members. Without them no public performance worth attending would take place.”180 In the Akan tradition, performance events are introduced with rites and ceremonies of spiritual significance. Even at invited performances, libation is made and drinks are offered before an event starts. Refreshments are provided for the artists, and drummers address criticisms to dancers found lacking in enthusiasm in the dance ring. “All dancers are expected to behave in a kind and courteous manner to drummers, always deferring to them and showing them abundant consideration so as not to overtax the drummers’ patience and endurance. If the dancers are not considerate, the drummers could be rude to them.”181 The element of creativity is highlighted when a musician “treats the verbal groups in relation to one another in terms of levels of pitch. It is here that the processes of melody construction are sharply differentiated … words in groups may be reproduced in the melody…,” but different from “the intonation processes of speech … There are various ways of modifying these internal relations, but the use of these will differentiate the artist from the ordinary performer.”182 Nketia also draws attention to the harmonious relationship between the instruments and vocal expressions in a performance. This is concerned with “the choice of tempo, through the absence or presence of a regulative pulse which the creative performer carries in his head and in terms of which he organizes the constituents of his phrases, through the choice of

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points at which to begin phrases, where to pause, what orders of durational values to use, or what phrase lengths to employ.”183 These mental processes constitute the fulcrum of creative energy in oral poetry and its performance. Nketia provides further description of these integrated processes as expressed in kinetic behavior. “The regulative pulse,” he says, “is sometimes externalized through movements of the body or some part of the limb, or sometimes through extra-musical noises which the performer makes quietly with his vocal apparatus at points in the music where the phrases start ‘off the beat’. It may also be externalized by implication in the musical sounds which may accompany the song, such as handclapping, beats of sticks or an iron bell….”184 The study of the Akan musician is concluded with comments of theoretical import for the oral poetic enterprise: From the point of view of the creative performer, musical structure must be seen in terms of procedures and images and not just in terms of static elements, for music is primarily an event: it happens as the result of activities of the creative performer and those with whom he collaborates. Such a performer must be guided by a knowledge of tradition, a knowledge of how to construct a phrase, how and where to add a second part, how to build up a new material and place it against something that is already going on, how to increase the animation of the piece. He can always reproduce what he has learned, but always the best performers … are those who can bring their own individual artistic contribution into what they are doing. Ability in handling these uncodified, structural procedures enables the creative performer to create and recreate pieces in appropriate contexts.185

Creativity, Performance, and the New Media The three musical traditions examined in the previous section serve as appropriate call tunes to conclude the chapter. As I have observed earlier, the research on which these traditions of creativity and performance were based was done in the 1960s and 1970s. In the intervening five decades, a great deal has occurred in these twin fields of African oral poetry. The most signal development has taken place in the area of what Walter Ong calls the technologizing of the word in terms of the seamless communication and transmission of knowledge. The phenomenal strides recorded in the mass communication media have reshaped the context, content, and methods of oral poetic creation and delivery. Whereas the artists in many of the traditions assessed in this essay created and performed for audiences in comparatively limited localities, especially in rural settings, modern poets and artists working in the changed socioeconomic environment have potentially global audiences and patrons to satisfy. As the experience of international artistic, musical, and sports festivals demonstrates, it is now possible for an artist in one corner of the world to entertain and educate millions of listeners, viewers, and spectators across linguistic and geo-cultural frontiers. African poets and performers are being influenced by these developments in communication and international cultural exchange. A good instance of this transformed context is provided by the career of oral poets in South Africa as contained in a study by Duncan Brown.186 It should be

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noted that the use of poetry and music for political and social mobilization has been recognized in African oral literature studies from inception. Finnegan devotes a chapter to this genre which she designates as “special purpose poetry.”187 These songs are usually composed with a loose structure to give room for improvisation during the performance. During the years of resistance against white minority rule in South Africa (1950s– 1990s), oral poetry performance featured in political rallies. Brown notes that oral poetic performances “were included on the agendas of many union meetings in the Natal region from 1984 onwards.”188 There is an interesting theoretical point made by Brown in relation to how to classify the new forms of performed poetry; he laments “the problem of imposing literate paradigms onto oral forms.”189 He explains further that “the history of Southern Africa is characterized by complex interactions of orality and literacy … Almost all oral cultures in Southern Africa have been influenced by their contact with the literate cultures of the colonial settlers.”190 The appreciation of the processes of composition and performance can also benefit from Brown’s observation about “the current lack of emphasis on performance on studies of oral poetry … A key difficulty for written criticism is re-creating the performance of the oral poem – accounting for the repertoire of gestures, the modulations of voice, the pace of delivery, the rhythmic interactions and the audience participation.”191 On Mzwakhe Mbuli, Brown notes that his profile is enhanced by “his greater modernity in an increasingly technologized South African society. He generally performs his poems to a musical backing which draws on a variety of forms, from inbaqanga and isichataniya to reggae and rap….”192 Due notice is taken of the technical problems encountered by the performing poet before a live audience. In the case of Mbuli, “he is limited in terms of movement by the necessity to remain before the microphone, and does not use bodily movement extensively in performance, though his facial expressions enact a ‘sense’ of the poem, and hand gestures punctuate climactic and dramatic movements.”193 Although Mbuli works mainly in English, he resorts to the use of oral rhetorical resources—riddles, tongue-twisters, rhymes, proverbs, and witticisms. “Certain of Mzwakhe’s poems create their effects through the dexterous manipulation of words and sounds for satirical purposes.”194 The South African situation takes us into the domain of what is sometimes referred to as “hybrid” forms in contemporary African oral literature discourse. Okpewho characterizes these emerging genres as part of the ceaseless flow of cultural continuity and renewal. It is of interest that Finnegan who is one of the major pioneers of the studies on African oral literature has found it necessary to reassess her earlier conclusions in the light of the changing reality in Africa and the rest of the world. In a recent essay, “Studying the oral literatures of Africa in the 1960s and today,” she observes as follows: I started from an image of African stories as functional and timeless, a traditional and collective product shared by ‘the Limba’. I had side-lined issues that, nowadays, would have at least entered a scholar’s mind: about individual creativity, for example, performance, co-constructing audiences and the literary and artistic contexts in which such stories were produced, appreciated or evaluated.195

Finnegan laments the losses suffered when an oral piece is rendered in translation:

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What I had experienced in the field was a performed art from whose full reality a transcript simply could not capture. My written reproductions did not convey the vivid characterisations enacted by the narrator, the drama, excitement, humour. They missed the art of gesture, of facial expression, postures, and the play of that wonderful instrument the voice, with its modulations of volume, pitch, tempo, repetition, timbre, emphasis, dynamics.196

According to Finnegan, “…the products of popular and contemporary culture are now accepted as part of the scene … Now such intercultural media are no longer automatically interpreted as somehow intrusive or strange … for scholars can take interest in the full range of modern media and culture, from rap, calypso, or trade union songs to radio, film, or, what used to be called ‘mixed’ or ‘hybrid’ genres, enacted in multicultural and transnational arenas.”197 I agree with Finnegan that there is still much to be done, particularly in the expanding field of oral poetry and performance arts, “to collect, to store, to win appreciation for, to remain responsive to the changing and diverse wonders of African literary forms….”198 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Isidore Okpewho (1992). Ibid., 9. Ibid., 12. Ruth Finnegan (2012: 12). Ibid., 14. Ibid., 15–16. Ibid., 17. Ibid., 4. Ibid., 6–7. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 7. Godini Darah, ed. (2008: 107). Karin Barber (1991: 7). Ibid., 24. Okpewho, 18–19. Quoted in Abdulkadir (1981: 22). Ibid., 22–23. Quoted in ibid., 29. Ibid., 30. Darah (2014: 689). Ibid. Darah (2005: 24). Ibid., 27. Tanure Ojaide (2003, 2009). Ibid. (2009: 30–31). Darah (2005: 49). Ojaide (2009: 32–33).

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28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72.

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Clark (2008: 107–108). Ojaide ibid. Clark ibid., 116. Ojaide (2003: 50). Darah (2014). Ojaide (2003: 48). Darah (2005: 50). Ibid. Ibid. Darah (2005: 51). Ibid. Ojaide (2009: 77–78). Ibid. Darah (2005: 55). Ricard (2004: 41–42). Babalola (1981: 4). Ibid., 5. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 8. Babalola ibid., 8. Ibid., 9. Ibid., 9–10. Ibid., 12. Ibid., 12. Ibid., 12–13. Olajubu (1981: 71). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 72. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 78. Ibid., 79. Ibid., 81. Ibid. Quoted in ibid., 81. Ibid. Ibid., 82–83. Ibid., 84. Hagher (1981: 38). Ibid., 45. Ibid. Ibid., 48.

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73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117.

Ibid., 49. Ibid. Nyitse (2006: 21). Ibid. Ibid., 22. Feriola (2010: 2). Bowra (1952: 215). Ibid., 216. Ibid., 217. Ibid., 219. Ibid., 221–222. Ricard ibid., 39. Ibid., 40. Ibid., 31. Makward (1990: 23–41). Ibid., 29. Ibid. Innes (1990: 102). Ibid. Ibid., 104–105. Clark (2006a: ix). Okpewho (1990: 163). Ibid., 164. Ibid., 141. Ibid., 165. Ibid. Ibid., 167–168. Ibid., 172. Ibid., 173. Ibid., 169. Ibid., 182. Okpewho (2014: 91). Ibid., 92. Clark ibid., xxv. Okpewho (1990: 7). Azuonye (1990: 42–75). Ibid., 48–49. Ibid., 52–53. Ibid., 53. Ibid., 54. Ibid., 57–58. Published as Chapter 5 in G. G. Darah, ed. (2008: 74–104). Ibid., 75. Ibid., 77. Ibid.

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118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158. 159. 160. 161. 162.

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Ibid., 93. Ibid., 101. Ibid., 101–102. Lord (1960: 4). Lord (1975: 5). Gunner (1990: 187). Ibid., 193. Ibid., 199. Ibid., 209. Ibid., 201. Ibid., 201–202. Ibid. Opland (1983: x). Ibid., 117. Ibid., 129. Ibid., 132–133. Ibid., 153. Ibid., 185. Opland (1998: 4). Quoted in ibid., 4, 5. Ibid., 5. Ibid. Ibid., 11–12. Ibid., 17. Ibid., 64. Ibid., 65. Ibid., 65–66. Ibid., 77. Ibid., 82. Mading Deng (1973: 78). Ibid. Ibid., 79. Ibid., 79–80. Ibid., 80. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 81. Ibid., 84. Ibid. Ibid., 94. Ibid., 94–95. Merriam (1975: 260–261). Ibid., 268. Ibid., 273–274. Ames (1975: 146).

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163. 164. 165. 166. 167. 168. 169. 170. 171. 172. 173. 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181. 182. 183. 184. 185. 186.

187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196. 197. 198.

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Ibid. Ibid., 147. Ibid., 148. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 153–154. Daba (1981: 209). Ibid., 210. Ibid., 211. Ibid., 212. Ibid., 214. Ibid., 217. Nketia (1975: 83). Ibid., 84. Ibid., 86–87. Ibid. Ibid., 90. Ibid., 91. Ibid., 93. Ibid., 97. Ibid., 98. Ibid. Ibid., 99–100. Duncan Brown. 1996. South African Oral Performance Poetry in the 1980s: MzwakheMbuli and Alfred Qabela. In New Writing from Southern Africa, ed. Emmanuel Ngara. London: James Currey, 120–148. Finnegan (2012). Brown ibid., 121. Ibid., 125. Ibid., 126. Ibid., 127. Ibid., 137. Ibid., 141. Ibid., 142. Finnegan (2010: 18). Ibid., 19–20. Ibid., 21. Ibid., 27.

References Abalogu, Uchegbunam, Garba Ashiwaju, and Regina Amadi-Tsiwala (eds.). 1981. Oral Poetry in Nigeria. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine.

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Abdulkadir, Dandatti. 1981. Oral Composition: A Historical Appraisal. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Uchegbunam Abalogu et al., 18–36. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine. Ames, David W. 1975. A Sociological View of Hausa Musical Activity. In The Traditional Artist in African Societies, ed. Warren L. d’Azevedo, 128–161. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. Azuonye, Chukwuma. 1990. Kaalu Igirigiri: An Ohafia Igbo Singer of Tales. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 42–79. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books. Azuonye, Chukwuma. 2008. Principles of the Igbo Oral Epic: A Study in Traditional Aesthetic and Oral Literary Criticism. In Radical Essays on Nigerian Literatures, ed. Godini Darah, 75–104. Lagos, Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Babalola, Adeboye. 1981. Ijala Poetry Among the Oyo-Yoruba Communities. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Uchegbunam Abalogu et al., 3–17. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine. Barber, Karin. 1991. I Could Sing Until Tomorrow: Oriki, Women and the Past in a Yoruba Town. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bowra, C.M. 1952. Heroic Poetry. London: Macmillan. Brown, Duncan. 1996. South African Oral Performance Poetry in the 1980s: Mzwakhe Mbuli and Alfred Qabela. In New Writing from Southern Africa, ed. Emmanuel Ngara. London: James Currey. Clark, J.P. 2008. Poetry of the Urhobo Dance Udje. Nigeria Magazine, No. 87. Reprinted in Radical Essays on Nigerian Literatures, ed. Godini Darah, 105–117. Lagos, Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Clark, J.P. 2006a. Preface. The Ozidi Saga: Collected and Translated from the Ijo of Okabou Ojobolo, ix–xiv. Lagos and Funama, Kiagbodo, Nigeria: Pec Repertory Theatre. Clark, J.P. 2006b. Introductory Essay. In The Ozidi Saga: Collected and Translated from the Ijo of Okabou Ojobolo, xv–xxxvii. Lagos and Funama, Kiagbodo, Nigeria: Pec Repertory Theatre. d’Azevedo, Warren L. (ed.). 1975. The Traditional Artist in African Societies. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. Daba, Habib Ahmed. 1981. The Case of Dan Maraya Jos. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Uchegbunam Abalogu et al., 109–129. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine. Darah, G.G. 2005. Battles of Songs: Udje Tradition of the Urhobo. Lagos, Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Darah, G.G. (ed.). 2008. Radical Essays on Nigerian Literatures. Lagos, Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Darah, G.G. 2009. Remarks on Professor Tanure Ojaide’s Inaugural Lecture. In Theorizing African Oral Poetic Performance and Aesthetics: Udje Dance Songs of the Urhobo, ed. Tanure Ojaide, 69–82. Trenton, NJ and Asmara: Africa World Press. Darah, G.G. 2013. A Survey of Studies on African Folklore and Oral Literature. Nigerian Journal of Oral Literatures, Number One: 23–52. Darah, G.G. 2014. Dramatic Presentation in Udje Song-Poetry of the Urhobo. In Drama and Theatre in Nigeria: A Critical Source Book, ed. Yemi Ogunbiyi, 2nd ed., 688–702. Lagos, Nigeria: Tanus Books. Deng, Francis M. 1973. The Dinka and Their Song. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Feriola, Diego. 2010. On the Oral Formulaic Theory and Its Application in the Poetic Edda: The Case of Alvissmal and Havamal. Nordicum-Mediterraneum: Icelandic E-Journal of Nordic and Mediterranean Studies 5 (1): 1–8. Finnegan, Ruth. 2010. Studying the Oral Literatures of Africa in the 1960s and Today. Journal des africanistes 80 (1–2): 15–28. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge, UK: Open Book Publishers. Gunner, Elizabeth. 1990. Wand or Walking Stick? The Formula and Its Use in Zulu Praise Poetry. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 185–207. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books. Hagher, Iyorwuese. 1981. Performance in Tiv Oral Poetry. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 37–56. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books. Innes, Gordon. 1990. Formula in Mandinka Epic: The Problem of Translation. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 101–110. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books.

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Knappert, Jan. 1979. Four Centuries of Swahili Verse: A Literary History and Anthology. London: Heinemann Educational Books. Kunene, Daniel P. 1971. Heroic Poetry of the Basotho. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Lord, Albert Bates. 1960. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lord, Albert Bates. 1975. Perspectives on Recent Work on Oral Literature. In Oral Literature: Seven Essays, ed. J.J. Duggan, 1–24. Edinburgh and London: Scottish Academic Press. Makward, Edris. 1990. Two Griots of contemporary Senegambia. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 23–41. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books. Merriam, Alan. 1975. The Bala Musician. In The Traditional Artist in African Societies, ed. Warren L. d’Azevedo, 250–281. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. Ngara, Emmanuel. 1996. New Writing from Southern Africa. London: James Currey. Nketia, Kwabena J.H. 1975. The Musician in Akan Society. In The Traditional Artist in African Societies, ed. Warren L. d’Azevedo, 79–100. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. Nyitse, Leticia Mbaiver. 2006. Form and Content of Tiv Songs. Makurdi, Nigeria: Aboki Publishers. Ogunbiyi, Yemi (ed.). 2014. Drama and Theatre in Nigeria: A Critical Source Book, 2nd ed. Lagos: Tanus Books. Ojaide, Tanure. 2003. Poetry, Performance and Art: Udje Dance Songs of the Urhobo People. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Ojaide, Tanure. 2009. Theorizing African Oral Poetic Performance and Aesthetics: Udje Dance Songs of the Urhobo People. Trenton, NJ and Asmara: Africa World Press. Okpako, David T. 2011. Kpeha’s Song: Ethics and Culture in Urhobo Udje Poetry . Ibadan, Nigeria: Book Builders Editions Africa. Okpewho, Isidore. 1979. The Epic in Africa: Toward a Poetics of Oral Performance. New York: Columbia University Press. Okpewho, Isidore (ed.). 1990. The Oral Performance in Africa. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Okpewho, Isidore. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character and Continuity. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 1998. Once Upon a Kingdom: Myth, Hegemony, and Identity. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 2008. ‘Once Upon a Kingdom…’: Benin in the Heroic Traditions of Bendel State, Nigeria. In Radical Essays on Nigerian Literatures, ed. Godini Darah, 49–74. Lagos, Nigeria: Malthouse Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 2014. Blood on the Tides: The Ozidi Saga and Oral Epic Narratology. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Olajubu, Oludare. 1981. Yoruba Oral Poetry: Composition and Performance. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Uchegbunam Abalogu et al., 71–85. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine. Omoko, Peter E. 2013. Oral Composition and Poetic Resources in Urhobo Popular Songs. Unpublished MA dissertation, Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria. Opland, Jeff. 1983. Xhosa Oral Poetry: Aspects of a Black South African Tradition. Johannesburg, South Africa: Ravan. Opland, Jeff. 1998. Xhosa Poets and Poetry. Cape Town, South Africa: David Philip Publishers. Ricard, Alain. 2004. The Languages & Literatures of Africa. Oxford: James Currey. Sekoni, Ropo. 1990. The Narrator, Narrative Patterns, and Audience Experience of Narrative Performance. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 139–159. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books.

Chapter 2

Concept and Components of Performance Anya Ude Egwu

Introduction In our time, performance has come to be viewed mostly as a seamless, noncategorizable cultural type. Performance studies (PS) scholars generally believe that the idea of performance is as elusive, shifting, straddling, ephemeral, and vanishing as the activities it represents. Performance is also being positioned by its scholars to suck into its mapping all human activities, from the most profane and private to the most sacred and public, from the most seemingly natural to the most heightened, and from the most artistic to the most scientific and industrial. As Freddie Rokem delineates: “‘To perform’ and ‘performance’ have become like a Pac-Man, swallowing everything they encounter;”1 and as enunciated by Henry Bial: “…One of the key features of twenty-first-century performance is its boundlessness and its capacity to cross borders,”2 or as Richard Schechner puts it: “anything and everything can be studied “as” performance.”3 Schechner further views performance as a continuum of human actions.4 It is indeed the preference and practice of PS scholars to perspective reality from the post-modern, historical avant-garde, and contemporary art lenses5 ; and in these sensibilities, they present performance as a cultural category which shuns nay subverts ordering and bordering. Going by the assumptions of these postmodern and avant-garde outlooks, it may seem futile to attempt to pin performance down to any one given definition or category of activity. This concern is shared by Marvin Carlson when he notes that “If we consider performance as an essentially contested concept, this will help us to understand the futility of seeking some overarching semantic field to cover such seemingly disparate usages as the performance of an actor, of a schoolchild, of an automobile.”6 But in this paper, we will attempt to track performance down to something isolatable. We will seek to differentiate it from some of its generally associated genres, A. U. Egwu (B) Department of English and Literary Studies, University of Nigeria, Nsukka, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_2

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with particular focus on theater, drama, and literature, showing where they differ from and are similar to one another. Doing this will also naturally lead us to isolating and examining the components or elements of performance. Finally, we will be endeavoring to show the possible implication of the expressed views on performance on the study of African oral literature.

What Is Performance? Performance means different things to different people according to their disciplines. But all definitions tend to narrow performance down to “action,” “doing.” Performing is carrying out an action. In the words of Richard Schechner, “Performances are actions.”7 The uncompromising focus of its study is action/behavior: “As a discipline, performance studies takes actions very seriously…behavior is the “object of study” of performance studies…dedicated focus is on the “repertory,” namely, what people do in the activity of their doing it.”8 Performance is an action carried out, the manner of carrying out the action, and/or the measure of success or outcome of the action. Merriam Webster defines performance as the “execution of an action” and says this is the sense in which it was first used in the fifteenth century. It is defined by The Chambers Dictionary (New Edition) as “the act of performing; a carrying out of something; something done; a piece of work; manner or success in working; execution;…an act or action…”. Performance is derived from the word “perform,” from the Old French word “parfornir,” meaning: to do, carry out, finish, accomplish (Online Etymological Dictionary). Performance, from perform + -ance, first occurred in English in the sense of doing an action in the fifteenth century. From the 1590s, performance began to take on the meaning of “a thing performed”; and from the 1610s, it started to refer to the “action of performing a play.” From 1709, the word began to mean “a public entertainment.” Its use in the sense of performance art occurred in 1971.9 In work/job and organizational psychology, performance is conceptualized by differentiating the action (behavioral) from the outcome aspects of performance.10 Performance, in this field, is not understood as all behaviors/actions, but only measurable behaviors relevant to the attainment of an organizational goal. Thus, individual actions do not count in the performance concept here: “… performance is not defined by the action itself but by judgmental and evaluative processes.”11 Some scholars here further distinguish between task and contextual performance. Task performance refers to “an individual’s proficiency with which s/he performs activities which contribute to the organization’s ‘technical core.’”12 Contextual performance, on the other hand, “refers to activities which do not contribute to the technical core but which support the organizational, social, and psychological environment in which organizational goals are pursued.”13 This relates to the individual’s awareness of the grammar of his profession or discipline and their actual practice of it within given contexts. It underscores the oppositional binaries of theory and practice and

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resonates with Ferdinand de Saussure’s and Noam Chomsky’s poetics in the field of Linguistics. Ferdinand de Saussure identifies two domains of language deployment: langue and parole. Langue is the social system of language, an abstract, theoretic construct. Parole is the individual’s practical realization of language, i.e., language in the context of use. Noam Chomsky, following Saussure’s theoretic, had later to formulate the same concepts as competence (langue) and performance (parole). Performance in the Saussurean and Chomskian understanding is thus the individual’s nuanced, practical/contextual realization of language. In legal terms, further, performance is understood as the fulfillment of a promise, an obligation, and contract conditions, among other things. In the performing arts such as music, dance, theater, and drama, performance means a show and/or the staging of it. That is, performance is both the show itself (the staged behavior) and its presentation (the manner of its behaving) on the stage. As Schechner suggests, “In business, sports, and sex, “to perform” is to do something up to a standard—to succeed, to excel. In the arts, “to perform” is to put on a show, a play, a dance, a concert. In everyday life, “to perform” is to show off, to go to extremes, to underline an action for those who are watching.”14 The overriding concern here is entertainment; other things (enlightenment, propaganda, catharsis, etc.), though, may and do usually follow. Also, the components emphasized are performer, performance, and audience. Drama’s, theater’s, and literature’s bordering with performance and with one another will be returned to later. But we will immediately turn to the mapping of performance in PS.

The Conception of Performance in Ps PS was inaugurated as a discipline in 1980 at the New York University. This followed the introduction by Richard Schechner of a new course, performance theory, in the university’s Drama Department in 1979. The Drama Department realizing that owing to this new introduction, it was no longer teaching only drama or theater renamed its department performance studies a year after, in 1980.15 Richard Schechner, recognized, alongside Victor Turner, as the father of performance studies/performance theory, has been the figure behind the development of the field. In his The Future of Ritual, he defines performance as behavior even if so slightly heightened “twice-behaved behavior.” Performance in the Schechnerian idiom is, one, heightened behavior, and two, repeated behavior. On the one hand, performance is not a natural behavior. It is heightened—unnatural, framed, or constructed. On the other hand, performance is not an original behavior. It is a repetition of an earlier (framed) behavior(s). The idea of repetition/ritualization of action undergirds Schechner’s definition of performance. At first look, Schechner’s view of performance as a twice-behaved behavior may seem to mirror Aristotle’s view of drama as an imitation of an action that has gone before. But Schechner’s repetition or reenactment of action/behavior is far from

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the Aristotelian poetics of imitation. When Schechner conceives of performance as heightened and a twice-behaved behavior, he means that all human actions are culturally constructed, ritualized/stylized, and learned/rehearsed and re-behaved. No human behavior is original with the individual or group acting: Performances – of art, rituals, or ordinary life – are “restored behaviors,” “twice-behaved behaviors,” performed actions that people train for and rehearse. That making art involves training and rehearsing is clear. But everyday life also involves years of training and practice, of learning appropriate culturally specific bits of behavior, of adjusting and performing one’s life roles in relation to social and personal circumstances. The long infancy and childhood specific to the human species is an extended period of training and rehearsal for the successful performance of adult life… Any and all of the activities of human life can be studied “as” performance. Every action from the smallest to the most encompassing is made of twicebehaved behaviors16

Schechner calls all of human activities in their various shapes of manifestation “restored behavior,” his definition/description of performance. No shade of activity is excluded—habits, rituals, and routines of life: Restored behavior includes a vast range of actions. In fact, all behavior is restored behavior – all behavior consists of recombining bits of previously behaved behaviors. Of course, most of the time, people aren’t aware that they are doing any such thing. People just “live life.” Performances are marked, framed, or heightened behavior separated out from just “living life” – restored behavior, if you will…Restored behavior can be actions marked off by aesthetic convention as in theater, dance, and music. It can be actions reified into the “rules of the game,” “etiquette,” or diplomatic “protocol” – or any other of the myriad, known-beforehand actions of life.17

Thus, Schechner and other PS scholars of his school hold that all human actions are performance. Schechner captures these actions as they occur, sometimes differently and sometimes together, in eight general situations: 1. in everyday life—cooking, socializing, just living, 2. in the art, 3. in sports and other popular entertainments, 4. in business, 5. in technology, 6. in sex, 7. in ritual—sacred and secular, and 8. in play. Komitee gives an unending list of particular activities which are considered to be performance: Live theater: Broadway, Off-Broadway, London’s Globe • Avant-garde performance: 1960 s ‘Happenings;’ Off-off Broadway; street performances; Edinburgh fringe festival • Modern dance, ballet, tap, hip-hop, freestyle • Opera, orchestra music, musical theater • Film, U.S. Hollywood culture • Religious ritual, rite ceremonies • Sermons/preaching; Gospel music • Sexuality: private sex, drag, pornography, voyeurism • Politics: campaign speeches, State of the Union address, voting • Gang activity and culture • ‘Secular’ ceremonies: sweet 16 s, weddings, job promotions, college graduations • The theatricality of everyday life: dress, posture, job uniform, wearing make-up • Radio talk shows, nightly news report • Fairs, Carnivals, Mardi Gras • Magic Shows, Puppet Theater • Popular entertainment: Stand-up comedy, Saturday Night Live; nightclubs • Blue-grass, country music • Dog shows, Bull Fights • Rap music, Spoken word poetry • Graffiti, Bumper-stickers • Internet chat-rooms, blogs, dating websites •Sports/Games, Superbowl Sunday • Pantomime • Civil Rights Marches, Labor strikes • College lecturing, student life on campus • Psychotherapy: psychoanalysis, face-to-face talk therapy, roleplaying • Military culture, boot camp • Colonialism; fascism (just think of the rallies!); apartheid; democracy; terrorism • Ways of speaking: promising, betting • Ways of writing:

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autobiography, ‘performative writing’ • Trials and executions, public beheadings, taking hostages on TV • Money markets (Nasdaq, Dow Jones), Wall Street culture • The ‘performance’ of cars: Top 25 Best Buys of 2006; mph and 0-60 times • Parenting • Computers, digital Animation • Animal Rights’ Protests • Portrait Photography, to name only a few.18

This disposition which holds every sphere of human activity as performance has attracted caution, criticism, and even outright condemnation from several critics. In fact, Richard Schechner himself is aware of such criticism and attempts also to caution against regarding all activities as performance. In the section of Chapter Two of his Performance Studies subtitled “Is” and “as” performance (quotations within quotation in the original), Schechner suggests that there is a difference between saying that a behavior is a performance and saying that a behavior can be considered as a performance. According to him, while all human actions may be studied as performances, not all such actions are performances. What may be performance is time- and culture-specific: What is the difference between “is” performance and “as” performance? Certain events are performances and other events less so. There are limits to what “is” performance. But just about anything can be studied “as” performance. Something “is” a performance when historical and social context, convention, usage, and tradition say it is. Rituals, play and games, and the roles of everyday life are performances because convention, context, usage, and tradition say so. One cannot determine what “is” a performance without referring to specific cultural circumstances. There is nothing inherent in an action in itself that makes it a performance or disqualifies it from being a performance…But from the vantage of cultural practice, some actions will be deemed performances and others not; and this will vary from culture to culture, historical period to historical period.19

But after this declaration, Schechner is not very willing to sustain the notion that not all actions can be called performance: “From the vantage of the kind of performance theory I am propounding, every action is a performance,”20 he says. It is hardly, therefore, in doubt that to Schechner all human behaviors are performances and can be so studied. This and other submissions of his have attracted, sometimes sharp, criticisms. For example, while acknowledging the loftiness and radicalism and speaking approvingly of Schechner’s thoughts and methods on performance, Simon Shepherd and Mick Wallis note that although Schechner’s “expansiveness signals a sincere radicalism,” it is “arguably naïve.”21 They also reveal that Schechner’s colleagues saw in his allinclusive project “a hand grabbing for institutional power,”22 and cite Jill Dolan as one of such critics. We may also observe that in some instances, Schechner sounds self-contradictory. An instance is as we pointed out above, where he fails to sustain his argument that every behavior is not performance. This contradictory, neitherhere-nor-there stance, however, may be deliberate since it is one of the stances that define PS as a field. PS is enthusiastically said to be characteristically and preferably in a flux; it is in the becoming state. In fact, Schechner notes that PS is a way of understanding the world in its “ceaseless becoming.”23 It will be right, then, to see the field itself and what it grapples with, performance, as also being in a ceaseless becoming. No definition of the subject and field, therefore, is considered final. Field

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and subject are said and meant to be in continuum, their embrace endless, never finished. But no matter how attractive the Schechnerian inclusive scheme may seem, a clearer/more concise description of the term or field of performance may be more desirable. Definite criteria to follow in determining what is and what is not performance need to be articulated. Every action and everything cannot be performance. This is the point made by Gay McAule: There is a tendency in performance studies to cast the net wider and wider, accepting an ever-expanding range of performance practices as legitimate objects of study. While such openness has its attractions, there are problems with the notion of a “field without limits”; it seems to me that even though understandings of what constitutes performance may differ from culture to culture over time, we do need to define with some care what we mean by it here and now. My own rule of thumb has been that for an activity to be regarded as performance, it must involve the live presence of the performers and those witnessing it, that there must be some intentionality on the part of the performer or witness or both, and that these conditions in turn necessitate analysis of the place and temporality which enable both parties to be present to each other, as well as what can be described as the performance contract between them, whether explicit or implicit.24

McAuley, as we can see, does not only point out the need to arrest the term “performance,” but also proffers definite criteria which could come to our service in doing so. We can outline the following criteria from McAuley’s schema: live presence of performer and audience together; intentionality—purpose; setting—performance environment; performance contract—artistic awareness and agreement about other issues (time and duration of performance, commitment/responsibility, etc., for example) on the part of the performer and the audience. McAuley’s schema seems to collapse performance and theater, as theater is also mapped by all of the criteria listed. Even though performance and theater greatly overlap, a clear distinction can be drawn between them. Furthermore, while in theater, there is usually or necessarily the live presence of the performer and those witnessing it—the audience—this live presence occurring together is not obligatory in performance. What are obligatory are the performer and their intentional and heightened behavior; behavior which doesn’t always have to engage a live audience. We can take this further by way of illustration. In many ritual performances, the performer—high priest/-ess—has as audience only the imagined supernatural being whose intervention is being elicited. This is also the case in many religious prayers. Similarly, when an individual about to leave his house dresses up at a corner of his room with a consciousness of the public and an intention to impress, behavior is heightened and thereby implicate performance. There is a presence of an audience, but an imagined and not a live one. His imagined audience may, of course, be reified as they step out of the home and begin to attract admirers. In addition, a performance contract is not necessary for a performance to take place. One very good example is the dack play where, as illustrated by Schechner, the performer does not notify the person witnessing the performance that play is going on, but forces them into becoming an impromptu audience and performer at once. See a report written for Schechner by a female student of his as a part of classroom exercise:

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I was 16 years old and on vacation at Yosemite with my father. I climbed out over the guardrail to get a better view of the waterfall. When I realized that my father was crying for me to come back, I went to the very edge and did an arabesque. I continued balancing on one leg until he got onto his knees, crying, begging for me to come back. Ten years later, in the Sierra Nevada range, I repeated the same act in front of my husband who shouted at me to think of our daughter as a motherless child. My initial inspiration for dancing on the edge was in both cases the thrill of the beauty and the danger of the dance. My father’s and husband’s anxiety sharpened the experience for me – the further I got away from them the closer I came to communion with some Other.25

Not long ago I watched a video clip of a Nigerian family in the United States of America. In the video, a young man walks into the house and announces to the father of his intention to marry a particular girl, I think. Strongly disapproving of his son’s intention, the father overcome by hysteria paces the room, threatening to disown the son and to send him back to Nigeria if he clings to his decision. The boy, apparently enjoying his father’s discomfort, feigns seriousness and allows the entertainment to go on for a while before laughing and telling the father that it is only a play. The father relaxes. In these instances, performance goes on without a performance contract between performer and spectator. There is no warning of father and husband, in the first play, and of father in the second ab initio that it is going to be only a play. Thus, these spectators who have been duped into also becoming players at once are unaware that a play is going on.

Pinning Performance Down We shall, in what follows, be attempting to pin performance down to something identifiable as that and differentiating it from theater, drama, and literature in an effort to give a clearer understanding of the general concept of performance. Our focus on these art forms should not be understood as an attempt to undermine the other arts that are also in the family of performance, namely: music, dance, and the visual arts. But there is a need to narrow this study down to the types that are more contested when put side by side. We will start our mapping of performance with schemata provided by Richard Schechner himself. One of them is what we label as his affectation dimension. The other is his functionality/utilitarian dimension. On the first schema, Schechner outlines four among other ways that performance may be understood. These are: being, doing, showing doing, and explaining “showing doing.”26 “Being,” according to him, is existence itself; “doing” is the activity of all that exists; “showing doing” is performing: pointing to, underlining, and displaying doing; “explaining ‘showing doing’” is performance studies. Our analysis takes from the second and third criteria: doing and showing doing. “Doing” and “showing doing” are behaviors, but different kinds of behavior. We will explain this by relating them to Eugenio Barba’s poetic of “technique.”27 What Barba calls technique is the deployment of the body to specific uses.28 Barba isolates

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two manifestations of body technique (behavior). He refers to one as daily techniques and the other as extra-daily techniques. The body can be employed for a normal, and perhaps innocuous, though culturally determined, actions of daily life. This normal or ordinary daily life is what Barba terms as daily technique or behavior. But the daily technique can be replaced by extra-daily technique for the purpose of performance. Thus, extra-daily behavior is the body in a performance situation. This is when the body engages effusive/extreme energy; when the body is dilated and tires itself out to entertain or affect in any other determined way. Barba summarizes: The way we use our bodies in daily life is substantially different from the way we use them in performance. We are not conscious of our daily techniques: we move, we sit, we carry things, we kiss, we agree and disagree with gestures that we believe to be natural but that are in fact culturally determined. Different cultures determine different body techniques according to whether people walk with or without shoes, whether they carry things on their heads or with their hands, whether they kiss with the lips or with the nose. The first step in discovering what the principles governing a performer’s scenic bios, or life, might be, lies in understanding that the body’s daily techniques can be replaced by extra-daily techniques, that is, techniques that do not respect the habitual conditionings of the body. Performers use these extra-daily techniques.29

We equate Barba’s daily behavior/technique with Schechner’s “doing” and would interpret them as the innocent, normal, unaffected actions humans embark on daily. This may be seen as actions done without consciousness of an observer (of an audience); an action is done without any effort or intention to impress or affect another person in any predetermined way. Performance is not implicated here. But as soon as the acting subject becomes aware that s/he is being watched, and begins to deploy the body in any way to affect and/or elicit a predetermined response from another person, performance has commenced. In this latter case, behavior, in Schechner’s words, is heightened, even if so slightly. This is also what Schechner means by “showing doing”; we may refer to this as displaying, showcasing action/behavior, or showing off, or simply, a show. This is what we also understand Barba to mean by extra-daily behavior/technique. We may tentatively, then, argue that performance is a contrived, heightened, unnatural, or affected behavior. On the other hand, performance may be mapped from Schechner’s functionality/utilitarian criterion. Schechner outlines seven functions of performance: to entertain, to create beauty, to mark or change identity, to make or foster community, to heal, to teach or persuade, and to deal with the sacred and the demonic.30 To this list, we have nothing more to add. As Schechner points out, these functions do not all have to be present in any given performance. A presence of just one of them, in our view, in any behavior qualifies the behavior as a performance. Conversely, the absence of all of them in a behavior equals also the absence of performance in that behavior. This argument, perhaps, needs some qualification if it will be consistent with our earlier submission which roots in performance’s affective praxis. Performance will be implicated if the function served is not only for/on the performer but also for/on another, according to the performer’s intention, except in cases where the performer is also his own other—the audience. For instance, a person (performer) may contrive an action, perhaps in imitation of another person, with the sole intention

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to amuse self (audience). This is a performance in which the performer is also her/his own spectator. We can here, then, say that performance is a heightened/affected, constructed, or contrived behavior which necessarily fulfills a function(s) and achieves a predetermined effect on the performer and/or the spectator. McAuley’s intentionality dimension suggests that performance is a deliberate activity. It also presupposes that it has a goal or purpose. These are implicated in this definition. Viewed this way, most human activities are likely going to be considered as performance. Every action intended to achieve an effect on somebody (else) will necessarily be heightened. We may identify all of such actions as performance. The same action may in one situation be seen as performance but may not be seen so in another situation. Sleeping, for instance, may be a normal activity when done to respond to the need for a tired body to rest. But sleeping can also be a performance when the purpose of sleeping is to impress another person directly or indirectly. Processes of industrial productions, advertising, media communication, political rallies/speeches, preaching, among other activities, are all performances because they have target markets/audiences. The aim is to influence, thus necessitating action to be heightened. So far, we have been striving to gain an understanding of performance. We have hinted on a few of its varied conceptions in line with different people’s orientations and tried to pin it down to something containable. Differentiating performance from its related genres: theater, drama, and literature, and isolating these genres could help to give further clarification of this concept. This is what the next section of the essay shall be engaged with.

Isolating Performance, Theater, Drama, and Literature Performance, theater, drama, and literature are closely related fields. Particularly more related are the first three. Often, there are used interchangeably by critics. It has indeed been suggested that the difference between them is tenuous. However, they have been viewed and studied as different concepts and fields of study. We are of the view that they are different but with very strong overlapping. But while it may be easy to isolate performance from the other genres, it is more difficult to isolate theater and drama, and drama and literature. Performance is larger in scope than the other three genres. Performance incorporates them and many other activities, as already shown. Figure 1 below gives a simple illustration of the nature of the relationship between these four categories. Because of the difficulty and contention involved in attempting to draw a line between theater and drama, and between drama and literature, it might be desirable to make it our next focus.

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Performance

Literature

Theatre

Drama

Fig. 2.1 The Borders of Performance, Theater, Drama, and Literature Source Author’s creation

Drama and/as Theater The main argument here is whether drama is in the domain of theater and performance or is purely literature. The word “drama” is a derivative of the Greek word “dran,” meaning “to do” and may be associated with another Greek word, “dramenon” which means “the thing done”; and usually distinguished from the word “mythos,” that is, the “thing said.”31 What this suggests is that drama was originally understood as a thing performed. This is corroborated by Aristotle in the Poetics when he intimates that drama “arose at first, as an improvisation (both tragedy and comedy are similar in this respect) on the part of those who led the dithyrambs, just as comedy arose from those who led the phallic songs…”32 Improvisation has been defined by Umukoro as drama in its purest form.33 Schechner, Umukoro, Boal, and Barba corroborate the view that drama was originally and essentially considered as performance. Drama as theater/performance, therefore, underscores the performance aesthetic of drama.34 Many critics have often made a distinction between drama and theater. Others hold that the difference between them is tenuous and many times, seamless, while some are of the view that drama is only part, and indeed the literary aspect, of theater. Drama is defined by this impulse as “words on a page,”35 or specialized script for communication and not for manifestation purpose, “the domain of the author,” “the-words-of-the-drama,”36 while theater is seen as performance. Expectedly, this sensibility privileges theater/performance above literature. Tracking drama and theater, Agoro assumes that drama is something that is arranged to be seen, a spectacle.37 It is only when drama is viewed this way that it may be regarded as theater. Theater, in his view, is the staging of drama. He sees theater as a larger whole incorporating drama. While theater “includes all aspects of

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play production,” drama is only “part of the gestalts of theater.” He further submits that: “… the performance of the text is more within the ambit of theater than drama. Drama is more restricted to the communication between the author and the reader via the play text, while the theater has to do with the communication between the playwright and the audience via the text, the performers and the other arts of the theater.”38 Agoro’s opinion is influenced, as evident in his book under reference, by Brocket, who sees drama as the script of a play upon which a theatrical performance is based; and theater as the performance of the written play by performers who impersonate characters in the performing place, before an audience.39 Ogundeji views theater as harnessing “all the other arts, including drama … primarily, for entertainment or aesthetic purpose.”40 Theater, according to him, “is larger in scope than drama.” He, however, highlights areas where drama and theater intersect. For him, drama and theater are “quintessentially mimetic and, therefore, performative.” Both of them incorporate other arts like “music, dance, poetry, dialogue, chant, song, role-playing, acrobatics, costuming, make-up, masking, spectacle, story-telling, and so on.” In the main, Ogundeji sees drama as the literary aspect of theater. For Agoro, theater includes everything that goes into the production of drama such as the author’s work, the director’s activities (including rehearsals), etc. But for Umukoro, drama is everything that is done before the play opens on stage; theater is only the formal staging of the play: According to him, “the audience factor makes all the difference” between drama and theater.41 Going by the poetics of the critics who view drama as (purely) literature, no oral tradition is qualified to be appreciated as drama. But recourse is made to the views of some critics who do not see drama as different from theater. The critics here hold that drama is complete only when it is presented on the stage before an audience. Brander Matthew (1852–1929) is one of these. Matthew is of the view that drama is separate from literature. Although he agrees that literary quality may be embodied or appreciated in drama, this, for him, is nonessential. Matthew’s thesis is that drama is comprehensible only in the theater, and not in the study. He defines drama as “a story in dialogue shown in action before an audience.”42 In many of his works, Matthew continues to insist that only in its presentation is any drama given meaning: it is “impossible to consider the drama profitably apart from the theater in which it was born and in which it reveals itself in its completest (sic) perfection.”43 This is because dramatic imperatives “grew naturally from the needs of the theater audience, which reacts as a crowd and not as isolated individuals.” Drama, therefore, according to Matthew, always appeals “to the mass and to the communal desires of the main body.” In essence, therefore, “the only true test of drama is whether it pleases the mass audience.”44 Although Matthew’s views are primarily set to challenge the tendency to dichotomize literature and drama and privilege literature over performance, they undoubtedly also reveal his view of drama as basically that which takes place on the stage before an audience. In a more pointed manner, Raymond Williams views both the drama text and its performance as drama. He argues that the word drama is used in two main ways: first,

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to describe a literary work, the text of a play, and second to describe the performance of this work, its production. According to him, the text of King Lear is drama and the performance of King Lear is also drama. This is apparently what Dasylva has in mind when he postulates that “there are two basic critical approaches. Most critics chose to approach the study of drama either as literature or as theater. As literature, the emphasis is on action, whereas as theater, the emphasis is on performance.”45 Waith also obliterates boundaries between theater and drama. In his view, “The distinctive feature of the drama is that it is designed to be presented by actors, whose voice, gestures, and movement are the chief means of conveying to an audience some idea, some feeling. There may or may not be a written text.”46 In essence, therefore, there can be drama without a written text. Waith is of the opinion that drama is fully realized only when it is performed : “Even when every word is written down, every entrance and exit carefully marked, and many indications of stage business given, the actors are still responsible for conveying the meaning of the play to the audience in the theater.”47 This disposition is apparent in The New Encyclopedia Britannica, which states that “drama meant something performed.” It goes on to identify its elements as “acting, directing, staging, etc.”48 Each of these elements projects the performance dynamics of drama. It is, therefore, not surprising that the encyclopedia rightly uses the term “dramatic literature” to distinguish dramatic text—the written play—from drama as performance. Thus, as a text to be read, the written play is dramatic literature, but as a performed text, it is simply drama or theater. It would be remembered also that oral forms are today regarded as literary forms, being artistic forms themselves. (We bear in mind, however, that some have argued that only when the oral forms are written down would they be termed as literature. That is, only the written version of it may be regarded as literature). As may be seen, those who do not view drama different from theater emphasize its performance, without de-emphasizing its literary realities, while those seeking to emphasize their differences mainly underline drama’s literary and performance nature, privileging one above the other, depending on the critic’s bias. As theater/performance, the elements emphasized in drama are performers and audience in addition to other theatrical elements, including the director and the script. It should be noted here that the iconoclast/avant-garde theorists’ sympathy seems to lie with the notion of drama as performance, in the sense of drama being an embodied behavior. Expectedly, then, the actor’s and/or director’s acts are stressed by these critics. However, some of them have rightly assumed that performance is different from drama, theater, and even script, as shown earlier. According to Schechner, the four terms operate in separate domains. He sees performance as the mega entity encompassing drama (the written play, the author’s craft), script (the written performance text, the director’s craft), theater (the realization of the script on stage, the performance text, the actor’s craft), and other behaviors, including ritual, street demonstrations, happenings, mating, preaching, lecturing, etc. We agree with the view that the difference between theater and drama is tenuous. We see theater as being larger in scope than drama. Drama may be seen as the very act of telling a story on stage by the agency of the scenic bio (the art body) of the

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performers. Theater is more than this. It incorporates all the other human and nonhuman agents who are utilized in the actualization of the “let us pretend” project. Theater includes the acting place and all the activities that go on in it, including the drama.

Drama and/as Literature From the time of Aristotle, some critics view drama as literature only and others as both performance and literature. Aristotle is of the latter group. But, apparently, Aristotle’s bias is with the literary dynamics of drama. His appeal is to literary texts. Thus, when he discusses drama in the Poetics, he discusses it as literature. It is no wonder, therefore, that his hierarchy of the elements of drama ranks the more literary-oriented elements higher than the performance-oriented ones. He identifies six parts or elements of drama, namely plot, character, thought, diction, spectacle, and melody. The first four elements are readily associated with literature and the last two with performance. He neither spares time to discuss these last elements in the Poetics nor hesitates to mention that they are inferior elements. Perhaps, from his time, drama became no longer emphasized as basically the performed. Indeed, among the Hellenistic critics and philosophers like Hermogenes, Horace, Cicero, Plautus, etc., drama was known only as the written text. Even at that, theorizing on drama went on only insofar as it helped to teach lessons in rhetoric. Interest in drama at the time was, in an overriding sense, literary, emphasizing mainly questions of style and diction. Cicero (106–43BC) well represents this impulse. According to Carlson, Cicero “spoke of comedy at some length, not as a dramatic genre, but as a general source for oratorical effect. Even when his examples were drawn from drama, his interest was in the source of humor and the methods of stimulating laughter in hearers by means of language.”49 This trend continued into the late Roman classic periods and the Middle Ages, when, being influenced by the works of critics of earlier periods and those of church fathers who showed aversion for performance, critics approached drama only as literature. In the late medieval church, however, interest in drama as performance was rekindled. The church began to enact short dramas which were aimed at moral instructions. According to Moody and Lovett, the earliest of these was a little scene representing the visit of the three Mary’s to the sepulcher of Christ on Easter morning and their interview with the angels who were there to tell them that Christ had risen and would meet them in Galilee—the Quem Quaeritis Trope. The dialogue consists of only four sentences, but the little scene contains the essential elements of drama; it presents a story by means of actors who impersonate the characters of the story. Drama is defined by its overwhelming mimetic feature. Those who stress mimesis as the imitation of things as they are, the Platonic scheme, hold that drama is performance. On the other hand, the Aristotelian school, stressing mimesis as a creative process using words—language—as building blocks restricts drama to literature or emphasizes its literary quality. The first emphasizes such elements as performer and

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audience—realization of character on the stage, and the acting place; there may or may not be a written text. There may or may not also be a linear plot structure, or even language. This is the ideal which the new drama espouses. Here, drama is viewed as acting out an experience on the stage. The experience may be human or non-human, depending on the impulse. For the realist temper, as championed by Stanislavski, for example, drama is “to recreate, on stage, ‘the simplest, most normal human condition.’”50 The Platonic mimetic sensibility favors indigenous African performances as drama. The iconoclast dramatists like Yeats, Appia, Wagner, Savarese, Artaud, Grotowski, Schechner, Ruffini and Barba demonstrate an inclination to oriental dramatic style which is most closely akin to African drama and theater in the emphasis on performance. This is not unexpected since African indigenous drama exists mainly as unscripted performances. This is also the reason why scholars like Horn and Ogundeji who see performed drama as only theater prefer to label indigenous African performances as theater. But when drama is considered in its simplest and earliest form as improvisation, which Umukoro labels as “unscripted drama, or drama of the moment,”51 the thinking (which is the disposition of this study) that indigenous African performances should not be seen as only theater, but as drama, theater, and indeed, performance would be justified. Following Umukoro’s argument, the main difference between the improvised enactment and dramatic literature is that while the former is extempore, the latter is scripted and therefore allows for reliance, in Self’s words, “on the verbal rather than on movement,”52 and encourages exact repetition and memorization, which are, according to Barnfield, absent in improvisation.53 However, contrary to Barnfield’s theory, perhaps most indigenous African performances, because of their ritual purpose, and, therefore, stylized nature, thrive on exact repetition and memorization, though unscripted. And the outcome of the middle and the end of many or most of them are known from the beginning. Umukoro writes of Barnfield: “Improvisation”, he points out, ‘is characteristically brief and spontaneous, whereby ‘at the start, its middle and end are not foreseen’. It defies exact repetition; otherwise, it is no longer improvised but memorized’.54 Certainly, however, very many indigenous African performances are improvised drama in the manner Barnfield speaks of.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to conceptualize performance and demonstrated that it could be pinned down to something definable. It has argued that the obligatory element or component of performance is heightened/constructed behavior or affectation. We agree with Schechner that performance necessarily and ontologically fulfills some functions. The chapter suggests that performance’s heightened and functional features are criteria which may be used to give it a definite mapping. The contested terms of theater, drama, and literature have been examined. It is suggested that theater is larger in scope than drama. While drama is concerned with the agency of the art

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body in the make-believe project, theater does more as it implicates the art body, the other human and non-human agents involved in the creation of the illusion of reality. Drama and theater are imitative arts. But this is the only way we can define drama. That is to say, in drama, imitation must occur. It can, therefore, be concluded that the obligatory element of drama is imitation—role-playing. Theater can occur without imitation. Performance is conceived to be larger in scope than its related genres: theater, drama, and literature. It involves every activity that is constructed as a show. African oral/festival performances are all performances in the sense of involving heightened behavior or being shows. Those of them which show evidence of imitation are also drama and theater. Notes 1.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

Quoted by Shana Komitee A Student’s Guide to Performance Studies. Accessed November 3 2018 http://hwpi.harvard.edu/files/hwp/files/peform ance_studies.pdf. Ibid. Schechner (2013: 1). Ibid., 2. See Kirshenblatt-Gimblett in Schechner (2013: 1). Carlson (1996: 31). Schechner ibid., 1. Ibid. Online Etymological Dictionary. Sonnentag and Frese (2002). Ibid., 5. Ibid., 6. Ibid. Schechner ibid., 28. Komitee ibid. Schechner ibid., Ibid, 35. Komitee ibid., 3. Schechner ibid., 38 Ibid. Simon Shepherd and Mick Wallis (2004: 107). Ibid., 108. Schechner ibid., ix & x. Quoted by Richard Schechner (2013: 38). Schechner ibid., 119 & 120. Ibid., 28. Barba (1991a) and Barba and Savarese (2006). Barba and Savarese (2006: 7). Ibid.

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Schechner ibid., 46. Americana (1997: 333). Poetics, Chapter 4, Lines 55–8. Umukoro (2002: 51). Schechner (2003), Umukoro (2002), Boal (1979), and Barba (1991a). Fortier (2002: 4). Schechner (2003: 69 & 70). Agoro (2001:1–3). Ibid., 2–3. Brocket (1969). Ogundeji (2000: 2). Umukoro ibid., 50. Matthews (1910: 92). Ibid., 93. Ibid. Dasylva (2004: 31). Waith (1967: 1). Ibid. The New Encyclopedia Britannica (2003: 143). Carlson (1993: 23). Ruffini (1991: 150). Umukoro ibid., 52. Self (1975: 11). Barnfield (1968: 100). Umukoro ibid., 52 & 53.

References Agoro, S.N.A. 2001. Theater and Drama in Education. Ibadan: Caltop Publications (Nigeria) Limited. Americana. 1997. Drama. Encyclopedia Americana, vol. 23. Danbury: Grolier Inc. Barba, Euginio. 1991a. Actions at Work. In A Dictionary of Theater Anthropology the Secret Art of the Performer, ed. E. Barba and N. Savarese, 68–72. London: Routledge. Barba, Euginio. 1991b. Meyerhold: The Grotesque; That Is, Biomechanics. In A Dictionary of TheaterAnthropology the Secret Art of the Performer, ed. E. Barba and N. Savarese, 154–157. London: Routledge. Barba, Euginio, and Nicola Savarese. 2006. A Dictionary of Theatre Anthropology: The Secret Art of The Performer, 2nd ed. New York: Routledge. Barnfield, Gebriel. 1968. Creative Drama in Schools. London: MacMillan. Boal, Augusto. 1979. Theater of the Appressed. London: Pluto Press. Brocket, Oscar G. 1969. The Theater: An Introduction. San Francisco: Holt, Rinehart and Winston Inc. Carlson, Marvin. 1993. Theories of the Theater a Historical and Critical Survey from the Greeks to the Present. Ithaca: Cornel University Press. Carlson, Marvin. 1996. Performance: A Critical Introduction. New York: Routledge.

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Dasylva, Ademola O. 2004. Studies in Drama. Ibadan: Stirling—Horden Publishers (Nig) Ltd. Fortier, Mark. 2002. Theory of Theater an Introduction, 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge. Komitee, Shana. 2018. A Student’s Guide to Performance Studies . Accessed November 3 2018 http://hwpi.harvard.edu/files/hwp/files/peformance_studies.pdf. Matthews, Brander. 1910. A Study of the Drama. New York: Houghton Mifilin Company. Online Etymology Dictionary, 2010. Douglas Harperhttps. Accessed November 3 2018 https://www.ety monline.com/word/perform. Ogundeji, P.A. 2000. Ritual as Theater, Theater as Ritual the Nigerian Example. Isese monograph series, ed. A. Ogundeji and A. O. Dasylva. Ibadan: Ibadan Cultural Studies Group. Ogundeji, P.A. 2005. Functions and Forms of “Traditional” Theater Practice in Nigeria. In African Culture and Civilization, ed. S. A. Ajayi, 211–245. Ibadan: Atlantis Books. Ruffini, F. 1991. Stanislavski’s System. In A dictionary of Theatre Anthropology the Secret Art of the Performer, ed. E. Barba and N. Savarese, 150–153. London: Routledge. Schechner, Richard. 1993. The Future of Ritual. London and New York: Routledge. Schechner, Richard. 2003. Performance Theory. London: Routledge. Schechner, Richard. 2013. Performance Studies: An Introduction. New York: Routledge. Self, David. 1975. A Practical Guide to Drama in the Secondary School. London: Ward Lock Educational. Shepherd, Simon, and M. Wallis. 2004. Drama/Theater/Performance. New York: Routledge. Sonnentag, Sabine, and Frese Michea.l. 2002. Performance Concept and Performance Theory. In Psychological Management of Individual Performance, ed. S. Sonnentag, 3–25. Chichester: Wiley. Umukoro, M.M. 2002. Drama and Theater in Nigerian Schools. Ibadan: Caltop Publications (Nigeria) Limited. Waith, Eugene M. 1967. The Dramatic Moment. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice—Hall. Webster’s New World College Dictionary . 2014. Fifth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. William, Raymond. 1968. Drama in Performance. London: C. A. Watts & Co., Ltd.

Chapter 3

The Role of the Audience in Oral Performance Clement Adeniyi Akangbe

Introduction Oral performance is a vital constituent of the socio-cultural life of Africans as it manifests itself in varying forms—poetry, song, oral narratives, proverbs, riddles, jokes, etc.—in virtually every aspect of their lives: cultural, spiritual, social, and occupational. Verbal art, as it is called, is therefore highly regarded and revered among them. Every occasion—formal and informal—offers a veritable opportunity for oral creativity, which provides entertainment, information, and cultural transmission. As a matter of fact, oral performance is an inseparable aspect of the lives of Africans. Oral performance is essentially public. Therefore, audience, the spectators whom the performers perform for, constitutes a crucial component. Like Siamese twins, audience cannot be divorced from performance. This is because the African audience is not a mere passive spectator but an active and informed one who is keen, critical, and commentarial. The audience’s crucial role provokes and galvanizes performer to better dramatization and rendition. African audience is, therefore, very dynamic. It is on this premise that this chapter explores the dynamic nature and critical role of audience of oral performance in Africa. The chapter is discussed under the following headings: overview of oral performance, characteristics of oral performance, audience, role of audience, and conclusion.

Overview of Oral Performance Oral performance is integral to oral literature. It is a performative art which is dependent on the performer and audience and is principally rendered through spoken C. A. Akangbe (B) Department of Library, Archival, and Information Studies, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_3

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words. It is therefore also called “verbal art.” Oral performance as a genre of literature is quite dynamic, entails creativity and originality, and is a potent medium of cultural transmission from one generation to another. Oral performance is invaluable to African society as it provides entertainment, promotes communal unity, instills a sense of identity, and projects history, custom, and tradition of different communities. Ranging from oral narratives, songs, oral poetry, panegyrics, proverbs, riddles, puns, tongue twisters, jokes, to children’s songs and rhymes, etc., it is diverse in form and content. Oral performance generally is flavored by flowery languages which exhibit symbolic association of words and phrases, dramatic gestures, affective tonal qualities, impressive use of pause and rhythm, active interaction with audience, etc. Oludare Olajubu, in his “Yoruba oral poetry: Composition and performance,” describes Yorùba oral poetry as “a living and dynamic verbal art.”1 According to him, “it is meant to be sung, chanted or intoned in performance in the presence of an audience, at a given society, religious, cultural, political or informal occasion. Its performance is usually accompanied by drum, music and dance.”2 This definition aptly captures the dynamism, entertainment, and functional nature of oral performance in Africa. It establishes the performer–audience–context continuum of oral performance. This view is ably corroborated by Ropo Sekoni that “oral narrative performance, like all other speech acts, is a communication system in which a social discourse takes place principally between a narrator/performer and an audience. All instances of such discourse are designed by the performer for an examination of the dominant concerns of the artists’ immediate community in particular and human behavior and the human condition in general.”3 This definition vividly establishes the communicative nature of oral performance, its communal concerns, and entertainment orientation. Essentially, oral performance in Africa, by its very nature, is oral, verbal, and spoken. It is, therefore, learned over time and is transmitted orally during performance. The oral nature enforces disparities and inconsistencies on its texts. This is what Olajubu refers to as “inaccuracies, inconsistencies, and repetitions.”4 Oral performance in Africa is either carried out singly or in groups. In most cases, it takes the form of orchestras which comprise the vocalist who is the lead singer, the chorus, drummers, and dancers. Other salient features which are compelling before oral performance can take place are the need or necessity for performance and availability of willing recipients of the performance. So, it is of essence that oral performance is put up on the premise that there is an occasion of need. The performance is usually in tune with the occasion at hand.

Characteristics of Oral Performance Context is very germane to oral performance. Oral performance occurs in countless different situations ranging from celebrations: naming, marriage, burial, rites, chieftaincy, house warming, etc. to rallies, initiation, work situation, etc. Finnegan identified oral performance in different situations and concluded that the factor of context is crucial and of great essence in oral performance. Two different settings are

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identified by Finnegan.5 While acknowledging that the usual emphasis is to associate oral performance with public places, she remarks that there are instances of solitary settings. As she puts it, “if delivery to an audience is indeed the characteristic setting for oral poetry, it has to be conceded that there are also occasions where there is no audience and the performance is a solitary one.”6 Vivid examples are the Nuer and Dinka pastoralists of the southern Sudan who sing solitary songs as they watch their cattle. The cattle constitute an audience of sort and the animals are approximated to human beings by the Nuer and Dinka. This is attested to by Deng, quoted by Finnegan, that “among the Dinka, a person may find entertainment to himself while walking along the road, herding in the forest, or tethering the herds at home. During the season of cultivation, many people can be heard, each singing loudly in his own field. In the stillness of the night, a mother may be heard singing any song as a lullaby at the top of her voice.”7 Avorgbedor also identifies the lone singer as a type of solitary setting. When a person sings alone to himself in a solo and secluded performance, he is engaging in solitary performance. According to him, “the singer, in his seclusion becomes an intermediary between himself and the song … A person who sings by himself whether in a room or outdoors, does so through himself, for himself and with himself.”8 This is a category of oral performance despite that the general notion is the public nature of oral performance of which audience is an integral part.

Audience Audience in oral performance refers to the spectators who gather to watch and enjoy the oral artists’ performance. They are the listeners who are there to listen to and enjoy the composition display by the artists. In other words, oral performance is performed primarily for the “pleasure” of audience; audience is, therefore, the consumer of the oral artists’ performance. The artist is of the essence in oral performance and his/her prowess, as measured by the audience, will go a long way to determine the success or otherwise of his/her performance. To arrest the interest and win the confidence of audience, the artist’s voice is a crucial factor. Voice refers to the oral artist’s speech rendition pattern. It consists of the tone, the timbre, mood manipulation, pitch, voice quality, and its appropriateness to color and conveys the right mood to the audience. To Morner and Rausch, “voice is a term used in literary criticism to identify the sense a written work conveys to a reader of its writer’s attitude, personality and character. As is the case with the closely related term, tone, voice reflects the habit of thinking of writing as a mode of speech.”9 In an oral context, voice acts on the audience, and on its account, the audience judges, weighs, and is endeared or repulsive to the artist. Voice is, therefore, crucial in oral artist–audience acceptance. In the view of Sekoni, possession of a good and charming voice by the narrator, his/her facility with the language of narration, and his/her ability to use body parts—face, trunk, arms, and legs—to evoke a fictive experience to audience will determine if the narrator will achieve aesthetic harmony with his

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audience.10 To command audience loyalty, s/he must display a consistent mastery of language, expressed in a captivating voice that can charm the audience. Charming voice, of course, is elaborately complimented with the use of what Sekoni refers to as “extra-verbal devices,” such as gestures, gesticulations, and spatial relations. Azuonye identities four voices in his analysis of Kaalu Igirigiri’s songs of tales on O.hafia in Igbo land.11 These are what he identifies as narrative voice, lyric voice, invocative voice, and oratorical voice. Narrative voice is the basic voice with which the singer tells his tales. It is the voice put on by the omniscient narrator who speaks of the hero in third person without addressing the audience directly. The narrative voice, which is primary, is interspersed by three other voices namely—lyric, invocative, and oratorical—for effect and beauty. The lyric voice is musical, i.e., it is in singing mode and serves to convey the emotional states of various characters. The singers themselves understand the values of these voices and the effects they have on their performance and their audience. As remarked by Azuonye (1990: 53), “one of Kaalu Igirigiri’s rivals, O.gbaa Kaalu of Abia in Nigeria, has in one of his usual detractive criticisms of Kaalu accused him of lacking the virtuosity to exploit the affective value of the lyric voice at points of intense emotional distress in his narratives.”12 This virtue O.gbaa Kaalu claims for himself: There are many things which we spell out clearly by name which Kaalu Igirigiri does not put into his songs. Thus, he fails to represent things as they really are. He cuts everything up into small unrelated bits. But when we on our part sing, we explain to you quite clearly how everything happened, from the beginning to the end… He cuts up everything into small bits … There is a person whose story he tells – I mean Amoogu, the person that first fired the gun with which the short-armed-one of Aliike was killed … If you are told how this really happened, from its beginning to the end, tears will roll down from your eyes. But he compresses it far too much. The pathetic cry of Amoogu’s mother, he did not cry it properly … But when we on our part sing it, we put in the lament of that woman when her son failed to return. There is a way in which one can simulate that lament and tears will roll down from your eyes.13

In Azuonye’s judgment, the criticism is unfair as Kaalu employed effectively the elegiac form of the lyric voice (akwa) to dramatize the grief of Amoogu’s mother when she heard of the assassination. The point of concern here is to emphasize the significance of voice in oral performance and how it constitutes a characteristic of effective performance, and indeed, emblematic in identifying a good artist and a good performance. Apart from the elegiac form of lyric voice, Azuonye identifies other two variants which he calls the apostrophic form (mkpo.ku) and the rhapsodic form (abu-obiuto.). These other two were equally employed effectively by Kaalu Igirigiri. In the apostrophic form, “an impassioned appeal is addressed to the hero as if he were standing directly before the narrator” and in the rhapsodic form, “the successful and over enjoyed hero expresses his sense of total well-being and happiness with himself and the world.” In invocative voice, which is the third, the oral artist venerates a second person by praising him/her in melodious voice. It is praise singing at a higher level when

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the artist employs robust language with complimentary figures of speech to link the heroes presented with particular ancestors and clans. This feature is equally true of oríkì—the praise poem—among the Yorùbá of South West Nigeria. The fourth voice of the narrative is the oratorical voice of the singer as teacher, moralist explainer and reviewer of secrets.14 This segment is largely in speaking mode and in conversational tone. Here the singer engages the audience directly in his/her own personal voice. In the case of Kaalu Igirigiri, Azuonye observes that he makes little use of oratorical voice in the body of his performance, and it is mostly confined to the introductory statements. Azuonye’s analysis, no doubt, has added weight to the quality of voice as an essential requirement by artists in oral performance. Apart from the factor of voice being an indicator of quality of oral performance in Africa, the organization of the story is another important indicator. Organization or structure of the story also provides aesthetic satisfaction of equal importance, if not more. Sekoni corroborates this that the sequence of the story and its rendition might aid the artist or narrator’s retention of the physical attention of the audience.15 The patterning of images or episodes of the story is the most important single factor in the attainment of the other two elements of aesthetic harmony, namely the emotive and cognitive satisfaction of the audience. These two elements are intricately intertwined and can thus be treated together even at the risk of sacrificing clarity. Emotive satisfaction implies the ability of the oral artist to create, sustain, and maintain the feelings and interest of the audience while the performance lasts, while cognitive satisfaction refers to the performer’s capacity to relate different units or images to a theme on a specific aspect of the communal life. In other words, it is the performer’s ability to creatively unify the different bits of his performance to make a unified whole.

Audience of Oral Performance Audience is pivotal to performance in Africa. It is basic to every speech act or verbal art. It serves as a tonic to performance and as motivation for the performers. Audience can play an active role or a passive role in performance. An active audience is one that is involved significantly in the performance. Such audience is alive and actively engaged in the performance. It is important to note that the audience wears varying pictures as the audience of one performance will not be exactly as that of another performance. In other words, the audience varies from one genre to another and from time to time. This is what O.lájubù called “variability.” According to him, variability is a very important nature of Yorùbá oral poetry. The variability affects all the elements that control the performance of the oral poem—the situation, the audience, and the text. The variability of the situation and the audience affects the poets/singers and it in turn imposes itself (variability) on the texts of the poem. There also exists variability of the actual place of performance, and of the socio-economic-political situation all, of which impress themselves in the “minds of the poets/singers.”16 To buttress Olajubu’s position, we can cite the example of e.se. ifá (Ifá Divinatory poems) which

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is chanted by Ifá diviner (the Babaláwo) for the client who has come to consult Ifá for possible solution to her/his problem, while ìjálá is performed mostly for an audience of hunters and worshippers of Ògún (Yorùbá god of Iron). Ozidi Saga, which is a tale among the Tarakiri Orua, a subgroup of the Ijo of the Niger Delta in Nigeria, is performed for a general audience. While e.se. ifá among the Yorùbá has a close or restricted audience, ìjálá performance has hunters as its primary audience and other spectators as secondary audience. Size is another notable attribute of audience in oral performance in Africa. The audience of oral performance varies in composition and numerical strength. There are instances where audience is composed of only men as in orò cult in Yorùbáland, which is a cultic performance. This is an example of a restricted audience. Some other performances may tolerate diverse audience, comprising men, women, young, old, farmers, artisans, etc., as in the case of gule wamkulu among the Chewa of Malawi and egúngún festival among the Yorùbá in Nigeria. In term of number, it ranges from zero audience as it is the case of o.f`o. (incantation) when poet chants to himself/herself and for himself/herself, two or three persons as in rárà, a few tens or scores of men or women as obtainable in cultic/ritual poems and large audience as in several festivals across Africa. The issue of performance location and audience retention is another attribute of variability. African oral performance is usually carried out in open space and not in an enclosed place like a modern stage that is housed in a building. Oral performance can take place in the market place, village square, in front of the palace, or any other accepted arena in the community. The setting, therefore, permits going and coming as audience can freely come in or take their leave. The audience is not controlled. The only factor of retention of audience is the quality of the performer’s art. The capability of the performer will determine the concentration or otherwise of audience. This is a crucial factor because the attentiveness of audience speaks volume about the level of satisfaction and enjoyment derived by audience from the performance, and by implication the level of acceptance and endorsement of the public for the art that is being performed. Finnegan identifies participatory audience as a popular type of audience in oral performance.17 Participatory audience is involved, and it is really part of the performance. A common example is in choral singing when the audience forms the chorus to the artist who is the vocalist. The audience is deeply engaged as an active participant in such a situation; as a matter of fact, the audience is actually “a co-performer” in this instance. This is different from the second category called distinct audience where the audience is functionally separate from the performance. A common example of participatory audience is found in religious contexts, political rallies, initiation ceremonies, festivals, etc. Work songs also offer clear examples of when oral poetry can create excitement and pleasure in a participatory audience. The Tiv people of North Central Nigeria, particularly their women, sing different types of songs during work. According to Hagher, women employ “both erotic and protest songs for their daily chores like weeding, grinding and pounding. The rhythm of these songs has a soothing and relieving effect on their moods in discharging their difficult chores.”18

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In a typical erotic grinding song for instance, Tiv women freely sing of their supposed affairs with their imaginary concubines. They long to have a date with their secret lovers but the ever presence of their husbands prevent this from taking place. The women become so elated when an opportunity suddenly presents itself but unfortunately, the slow response of the male partners scuttles this as the husbands soon arrive at the huts thus terminating the secret date. The song, though appears to be celebrating immoral deals of the wife, but figuratively, it is rather celebrating the seasons. The husband represents the rainy season when work is abundant while the lover stands for the romantic work-free dry season. The Yorùbá young men in South West, Nigeria, while working on their farms in group through a cooperative arrangement called àáró also have an equivalent work song which they sing to energize and motivate themselves. This song is meant to spur them to greater performance. Àáró is a cooperative work arrangement where a certain number of young men work in turn from farm to farm, on an agreed principle, until they go round all the farms of all cooperative members. This work arrangement often takes place at the onset of farming season when land clearing and preparation, ridge making, seed planting, and weed removal do take place. Àáró is also applied, though to a lesser extent, during harvesting season. This cooperative strategy solidifies relationships among members, `. y´o. facilitates progress, yields better results, and enhances productivity. Among the O people in Yorùbá land, particularly in Ìbàràpá division, this work song is common among the male youths: Òjò r`o. ká gb`e.gúsí Kís.u ó ta o K´o.l´o.mo.ge kó lè wáko Ká fo.w´o. kan bèbè Rain fall for us to plant melon Let the planted yam ripe So that maidens can come for harvest And we can touch their waist beads (Author’s personal collection & translation)19 The song, though appears to be amoral on the surface, is one of expectation and hope as it eagerly expects a bountiful harvest which will herald the influx of girls and young women to the farms to reap the labor of the male folks by taking the produce to the market for sale. Finnegan, quoting Whitelay, cites the example of the Swahili trade union songs in East Africa. In the song, they complain and lament that it is the workers’ efforts that generate money and provide clothes for the whites yet they get little or nothing for their efforts. They then encourage one another with a resolve to unite and crush the employers.20 The song creates a tendon which draws the participants together and creates in them a resolve to form a movement to articulate their collective view. In the distinct audience category, the audience is functionally separated from the performance. Examples of this are associated with performances that accompany

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marriage ceremonies, funerals, chieftaincy, coronation, house warming, initiation, ceremonies, etc. Oral performance in these instances is by professionals or experts who are hired to perform for a clearly different audience. An example can be taken from the ceremonies associated with death among the Limba of Sierra Leone. In this occasion, the burial is graced with extensive performance of oral poetry in the form of songs. “The songs go on for hours and can be heard clearly through the rings of thatched huts, which till recently, constituted many Lumba villages.”21 Finnegan identified a variant of the example above, which occurs when oral performance in poetry or songs expresses or resolves hostilities between individuals or groups. For example, at wedding ceremonies, relatives of the bride and groom make altercations in songs to get at each other while the others at the wedding act as audience. Perhaps, political songs offer more current and realistic examples of duel situations. The federal elections of 1959 in western Nigeria exhibited a lot of interparty exchanges. Two prominent political parties, National Council of Nigeria and Cameroon (NCNC) symbolized by a cock and Action Group (AG) symbolized by a palm tree sang eagerly to each other’s derision. The AG (represented by the palm tree) derided their opponent that if they got some palm oil with a little salt, and a couple of onions, they would readily make a meal of cooked rice spiced with the cock as a delicacy. To this, the NCNC (represented by the cock) also readily retorted that the palm tree grows in the far bush as nobody allows the leper to build his house in the farm but only in the far bush. This means that the AG would be completely routed at the elections. The altercations did not end there as the AG was quick to reply that no matter the number of cocks, even if twenty, one single basket, made from the palm tree, can readily contain them. This implies that no matter the number of the followers of NCNC, like basket, the AG was going to defeat them overwhelmingly.22 It is also possible for the primary audience to consist of basically a single person. This can be illustrated by Merriam’s account of the Bashi singers in Kuvi area of the Congo.23 Girls working on a plantation, who were dissatisfied with their conditions but who could not confront their employers, seize the opportunity of singing a song about their grievances in his presence. In their displeasure, they laid bare their grievances by alleging that Bwana had suddenly refused to give them incentives, such as oil, like he used to give to them before. They wondered why Bwana stopped giving them oil and threatened that if he did not give them oil, they would leave and go to work for the Catholic fathers. There, they hope to do little work and have plenty of oil. They categorically warned that if they did not get oil, they would not work there anymore. So, through songs, they did voice their complaints informally as expressed in their lyrical composition.24 The picture of audience-participant is perhaps more vivid in the performance of gule wamkulu. Gule wamkulu was used to be performed in conjunction with girls’ initiation into womanhood and their incorporation into the adult society. Its scope and objective, however, changed later and today it plays a major role in both female and male initiation ceremonies. A very permissive performance, gule wamkulu performance includes funeral ceremonies of dignitaries, commemorative rites for the dead (mpalo), festive occasions such as independence and republic anniversary, celebration, and political rallies. According to Mvula, all the main actors of gule wamkulu

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are male, although some of them dress like women to depict the behavior of women.25 The performers wear masks to conceal their identity and to imitate certain personalities and animals. They imitate animals like kalulu—the hare, njobvu—the elephant, mkango—iron, nkhwere—baboon, ng’ombe —cow and nguluwe—bush pig. The belief of the audience-participant is that the actors are the spirit of the ancestors which must be feared and revered. Therefore, the performers through their songs sing and dramatize freely about corrupt village chief, court counselor, foolish husbands who are controlled by their possessive wives, lazy or impotent men, quarrelsome and dirty wives, bad father-in-law or mother-in-law, irresponsible son-in-law, etc. The bad eggs in the societies are lampooned and pictured for ridicule. According to Mvula, “Kamchaa, for instance, acts and sings songs which depict the behavior of sexually loose, women.” “Kavinsabwe is an example of a masquerader who is supposed to teach the community cleanliness and personal hygiene routines” and many others.26 Mvula explains further that Akapoli, for instance, is reputed for singing songs of hate, love, hope, despair, joy, etc. Whenever he enters the bwalo (stage), the audience is electrified with excitement from the expectant audience participants, amidst drumming by the team of drummers and clapping of hands by the women in harmony with the drums. For instance, one of such Kapoli’s song was on domestic quarrel between husband and wife. In the song, the wife dares her husband to go and marry a second wife so that she can earn her freedom. She complains bitterly about the incessant labor which her husband subjects her to by making her pound maize even when her palms hurt her. She likens her husband to a wild-pig which was so greedy.27 With the song, Kapoli gets immersed in the performance fully as the dancing build up slowly to the climax. The audience-participants wear beaming faces as they “initiate the continuous elastic and plastic body movements of the Kapoli, as they take up the chorus and clap their hands.”28 After a while, Kapoli introduces a different sketch that touches another sensitive aspect of the communal life, to the delight of the audience-participant. It could be seen that the audience of gule wamkulu is not only very active; it also contributes a lot to the tempo of the performance. Artist–audience harmony is another perspective of analysis of audience of oral performance. This is so because there is a high sense of fidelity between the performer who is a member of the society, which his/her audience also belong to. He or she has a repository of the norm, custom, belief, culture, nuance, sentiment, and idiosyncrasy of the society just like the audience too. In other words, they—the performer and audience—both share the same worldview. This common background and orientation create a bond and commonality which enable audience’s active participation in the performance. In his article on “Oral performance and his audience: A case study of Ozidi Saga,” Okpewho submits that: Such a view of total harmony between artist and audience may be seen in Harold Scheub’s report of performances by women among the Xhosa of Southern Africa whom he has scrupulously researched. ‘There is full participation,’ he tells us, ‘by the members of the audience in the unfolding story’. No proscenium arch exists; there is no safety in distance or darkness. Everyone is known: the artist emerges from the audience and, her narrative complete, is

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C. A. Akangbe again swallowed up by the audience. The separate emotions and experience of individual members of an audience are woven into the narrative being evoked. The artistic experience is a complex one. The members of the audience know the images. They have experienced them a couple of scores of times. They know the performer intimately and she knows them. The artist seeks in a variety of ways to involve the audience wholly in her production.29

Okpewho, in this long excerpt, aptly describes the intimate relationship that the artist shares with the audience in the course of performance. This harmony remains sacrosanct as long as the artist maintains the status quo. The success of the performance is judged basically by the ability of the performance to maintain fidelity, uphold the common belief, and by so doing mirrors the outlook and expectations of the society as represented by the audience. Even in a situation where the narrator deviates from a communal point of view, the error will simply be taken as an aberration to which the rest of the society is liable. A different dimension to audience–artist harmony is one that injects audience disputation in the course of oral performance when the artist goofs. In such an instance, the audience confronts the performer and accuses him of aberration to which the performer may succumb or refute. Babalo.lá submits that “exclamation of disapproval usually greets any ìjálá improvisation whose burden is a series of utterances gilding the lily of a traditional ìjálá chant. If an ìjálá artist chooses to display originality by improvising on a traditional ìjálá chant which is a salute to a distinguished progenitor or to a particular lineage, his ìjálá composition interlarding the ancient text is frowned upon and condemned as a corruption of the original.”30 While expatiating on this, Finnegan31 submits that in Yorùbá hunters’ songs (ijálá), if other experts on ground think the performer is not singing properly, they will cut in with a correction that the performer has told a lie and has mistaken a seller of àbàrí for a seller of ègbo. Àbàrí and ègbo are both Yorùbá delicacies. Even though both of them are made of corn, the production processes are quite different. While àbàrí is made from corn ground into a paste with oil and condiments, ègbo is made from corn cooked whole and not milled or ground. The implication of this is that the performer was not accurate in his submission. The audience will even brazenly instruct him or her to listen to the correct version so that in case of future, he or she will not fall into the same error. Alternatively, the chanter may reply by pleading that the audience should respect his or her integrity. If the chanter knows his or her onions and is sure of his or her facts, he or she may categorically refute the audiences’ claim and even goes ahead to enlighten and school the audience. Finnegan remark that “such cases are interesting for what they show about the old theories about the possibly ‘communal’ nature of oral literature, and the part played by the ‘folk’ in its creation.”32 Despite this, however, it is also a tenable fact that audience can intervene directly in the course of performance. This leads to the issue of the nature and extent of the audiences of oral performance. It is widely believed that the audiences of oral performance are essentially popular and public, and that the knowledge of a particular oral literature is in wide circulation and as such it is in the public domain. This seemingly credible romantic submission is opposed by Finnegan who maintain that though oral literature is public in nature, “this does not mean that in a given case the audience are unrestricted and attendance open

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to all in the society. In fact, occasions and performers are conditioned by convention, and audience are restricted in constitution and distribution.”33 This submission is plausible because an audience is truly limited to her/his peculiar domain and restricted by her/his experience and exposure. As argued by Finnegan, “the work-songs of one occupational group are not always known by others. Initiation songs are often separated into those for men and those for women and adults usually do not know the words of the latest craze among children’s songs.”34 We align with Finnegan that oral literature is not necessarily widely disposed unhindered because no audience can be a know-all even in the same society because of certain limiting factors already enumerated above.

Role of Audience Audience is primary to oral performance; it is a basic component of any verbal art. It is therefore regarded as a compulsory compliment to any performance. Without an audience, there is no performance. Oral performance is dependent on the performance and audience. Audience is very significant to any performance. Primarily, it is a compelling component of the performance without which no performance can be said to take place. The audience is the spectator, the consumer, the buyer of the “creative product” be it oral narratives, songs, poetry, panegyrics, proverbs, riddles, puns, tongue-twisters, jokes, lullabies, rhymes, dirge, chants, etc. The audience also plays a complementary role in performance. As a matter of fact, the audience is an integral part of the creative act in an oral performance. Audience does not only consume the performance, but also serve as the weighing scale on which the performance is evaluated. It constitutes the lens through which a verbal art is judged and assessed. In his “Kaalu Igirigiri: An O.hafia Igbo Singer,” Azuonye lists four basic principles of evaluation to which we align and subscribe as the basic measures of oral performance.35 The four principles are functionality, authenticity, clarity, and creative variation. Functionality is a principle by which the O.hafia people, the audience, evaluate the songs as regard its compliance with culture, tradition, and acceptable behavior of the communal subjects. According to him, “it refers to the documentary and affective roles of the songs (a) as a record of the lives and careers of heroic ancestors and of various landmarks in the history of the clan and (b) as a source of enlightenment and edification, in response to which contemporary generation draw the inspiration to rise up to the challenge of their own age in the same way as their ancestors are believed to have risen to the challenges of their own more difficult times, in their heroic age.”36 Authenticity is the second principle. This is derived from the truthfulness of the songs to tradition, its ability to conform to the societal established norms and values. In line with this, “various informants in their testimonies describe what they expect to find in the songs as ezhiokwu (truth) or ife mee eme (what actually happened),

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i.e. reality.”37 This exactly represents the position of audience who expects nothing contrary to the communal reality. Clarity, the third principle, implies audibility and perceptibility. Best expressed in Igbo as: “Imezikwa ka o doo anya nke oma” meaning “making sure that what is said is clearly perceptible,” principle of clarity hinges on “form, content, language and vocalization of the songs” which are all vital to oral performance. Creative variation is the fourth and last principle. Varieties, they say, is the spice of life. This principle insists on creative ingenuity of oral artist through change of variation and employment of various images required to build up a growing repertoire of tales be it traditional heroic tales or newly composed contemporary tales. These four principles, no doubt, are effective instruments for evolving any kind of oral performance. The role of audience can also be viewed from the various ways by which it affects the nature and purpose of oral performance. For instance, a local evaluation of a song among the Dimka people must also take cognizance of the purposive quality of Dimka songs. An audience must be moved by a good song in the same way a good song should move the audience toward its objectives. A war song should be able to provoke a warlike spirit in the same vein as a dance song should excite the dancers. The effect of oral performance on audience is profound. Audience derives unparalleled pleasure and sheer enjoyment from oral performance. This is true of every audience category, be it a participatory or a passive spectator. Green captures the elation, conviviality, and ecstasy thus: “As for the women, I never saw them so spirited – They were having a night out and they were heartily enjoying it and there was a speed and energy about everything they did that gave a distinctive quality to the episode. It was also the only occasion in the village that struck one as obscene in the intention of the people themselves. Mixed with what seemed genuine amusement there was much uncontrolled abandoned laughter. There was a suggestion of consciously kicking over the traces about the whole affair.”38 This instance has clearly revealed that despite all, the entertainment value of oral performance is incontestable.

Conclusion We have attempted in this chapter to take a critical look at the concept of audience in African oral performance. The complex nature of the audience in African oral performance has been critically examined. It has been established that members of the audience have many parts, and they play different roles. The nature of the audience, its characteristics, and its role in the context of oral performance have also been carefully examined in detail with relevant examples. Notes 1. 2.

Olajubu (1981: 72). Ibid.

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

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Sekoni (1990: 139). Olajubu, ibid., 72. Finnegan (1979: 217–231). Ibid., 214–215. Quoted in Finnegan ibid., 215. Avorgbedor (1990: 217). Morner and Rausch (1997: 235). Sekoni ibid., 140. Azuonye (1990: 52–55). Ibid., 53. Interview conducted by Azuonye in March 1976. Azuonye ibid., 54. Sekoni ibid., 141. Olajubu ibid., 73. Finnegan ibid., 216. Hagher (1981: 4). `. y´o. This work song is in the public domain in Igb´o-o.r`a in `Ib`ar`ap´a zone of O State in Nigeria where this writer grew up and partook of the work fun. Finnegan ibid., 217. Ibid., 222. Beier (1960: 66–67). Merriam (1954). Ibid., 51–52. Mvula (1990: 81–2). Ibid., 83. Ibid., 91. Ibid. Okpewho (1990: 160). Babalo.lá´ (1981: 12). Finnegan ibid., 232. Finnegan ibid. Ibid., 233. Ibid. Azuonye ibid., 48–49. Ibid. Ibid. Quoted in Finnegan ibid., 227–228.

References Avorgbedor, D. 1990. The Preservation, Transmission and Realization of Song Texts: A PsychoMusical Approach. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 208–227. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited.

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Azuonye, C. 1990. Kaalu Igirigiri: an Ohafia Igbo Singer of Tales. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 42–79. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited. `. y´o. –Yorùbá Communities. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, Babalo.lá, A. 1981. Ìjálá Poetry among the O eds. V. Abaloju, G. Ashinoju, and R. Amadi-Tshiwala 3–17. Lagos, Nigeria Magazine. 3–17. Beier, H.U. 1960. ‘Transition Without Tears’. Encounter 15. Finnegan, R. 1979. Oral Poetry: Its Nature, Significance and Social Context . Cambridge: Cambridge Universities Press. Iyorwuese, H. 1981. Performance in Tiv Oral Poetry. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. V. Abaloju, G. Ashinoju, and R. Amadi-Tshiwala, 37–56. Nigeria Magazine: Lagos. Merriam, A.P. 1954. ‘Song Texts of the Bashi’. Afr. Music 1, 1. Morner, K., and R. Rausch. 1997. From Absurd to Zeltgeist: The Compact Guide to Literature Terms. Illinois: NTC Publishing Group. Mvula, Enoch S. T. 1990. The Performance of Gule Wamkulu—An Introduction. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 80–97. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited. Okpewho, Isidore. 1990. The Oral Performance and His Audience: A Case Study of The Ozidi Saga. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 160–184. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited. Olajubu, O. 1981. Yoruba Oral Poetry: Composition and Performance. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. V. Abaloju, G. Ashinoju, and R. Amadi-Tshiwala, 71–85. Nigeria Magazine: Lagos. Sekoni, R. 1990. The Narrator, Narrative-Pattern and Audience Experience of Oral Narrative Performance. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 139–159. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited.

Chapter 4

Orality, History and Historical Reconstruction Bukola Adeyemi Oyeniyi

Introduction I arrived at Aworo-Esile Compound, Ìr`e.sì, Osun State, Nigeria, in the summer of 2016 to a loud chant of the following lines by one of the wives in our compound, better addressed as ìyàwó-ilé–(literally wives of the house, i.e., wives of my paternal relations): Níbo le.bá n gbékò ó, o.mo. onílé´nlá? Níbo le.bá n gbékò babaà mi? Adáraníjo., o.` r`o. lódé, tó mú o.lo.gb´o.n d’e.gb´e. òmùg`o. (author’s personal collection, 2016). Where have you met him, the owner of the largest house? Where have you met my father? Adaranijo, death has made the wise the equal of a fool. I was a ten-year-old boy when I first heard this highly hierarchical and elaborate system of cognomen. It was my father’s favorite pastime whenever a task demanded the digging into one’s inner recesses for energy to carry through. As it was during those early years, I was and still remain pleasantly impressed with the musicality of those chants. Although I did not ask my father what the chants meant, especially to him, I later found out that those lines contained the histories of his ancestors, beginning with his father and, in reverse order, to his grandfather, his great grandfather down the line to the founders of Ìr`e.sì. They contained genealogies, accounts of exploits the men and women—my ancestors—whose names I bear today and whose names were given to my own children, as a way of transmitting them into eternity. To the utter amazement of the ìyàwó-ilé, whose task it was to chant my father’s cognomen on the occasion of his passing, I joined them in the chanting and dancing. B. A. Oyeniyi (B) Missouri State University, Springfield, MO, USA © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_4

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Have I not listened to my father chanting these and other lines over and over again for many years? My mother had regaled me with similar cognomen at different times. At times, in the morning after the usual e.káàár`o.,mà—an early morning salutation that a child first learnt, as he grows. At other times, when I was asked to perform a task or run an errand. Depending on the occasion, it could be an elaborately long rendition of my personal cognomen or those of my father’s family or that of Ìr`e.sì, my hometown. In church, at the graveside and at home after the interment, different cognomen, many of which I heard for the first time, were recited. I paid little or no attention to the cognomen at first, but two developments forced me to pay attention. During the church service, the women kept interjecting the program with more and more of my father’s and family’s cognomen. I found it strange that neither the officiating pastors nor well-wishers considered these interjections as a form of intrusion in the rites of passage for my late father. Later in the evening as I drove into the king’s palace, I met some drummers and an old woman at the entrance to the palace who, as I stepped out of the car, went into a adulation/praise-mode—recounting my family’s cognomen—with the drummers providing accompanying sounds. I was puzzled: how did she know me? Was she a relation? How did she know my family’s cognomen? Have we met before? The last time I was in Ìr`e.sì was in 1983. We came to bury my late mother. Except for Funmilade, who was then a newly married woman, Kemi—my senior sister, Wale— my immediate junior brother, and S.eun—then a toddler, we were considered too young and vulnerable to witness our mother’s interment. We left the following day. Was this old woman among the numerous mourners who graced the 1983 occasion? There was no way to tell. Even if she was there, it was impossible for her to remember my face, know my name, my family and our cognomen at that instant. Like a well-oiled machine, the old woman and the drummers recounted the exploits of my ancestors. Quite unlike my late father, these strangers traced the exploits of my ancestors who excelled in battles, in trade, in diplomacy and in sundry other activities. They encouraged me to walk into the palace, not like a slave, but as a prince. As if I did not know, they reminded me that my ancestors founded Ìr`e.sì. Listening to these strangers, the dark gloom and loneliness that descended over me at the graveside quickly disappeared, as I walked into the palace with a lifted spirit. The king was on his throne.1 He was a young man, possibly younger than myself. I prostrated in greeting and, as I turned to greet the chiefs sitting in a semi-circle on both sides of the king, I was greeted with a loud noise of èèw`o.—a taboo or an abomination. All the chiefs turned away on their seats. I knew I had transgressed a moral code. I caught myself in time and stood rigid, facing the king. As a prince, it was a taboo to prostrate in greetings to ordinary people, including the chiefs. My meeting with the king that evening was not pre-arranged. It was neither a part of the funeral nor a part of the rites of passage. An old man walked into our family house and demanded to speak with me in private. I initially took him for a well-wisher, as I knew practically no one except a few of my extended family. Given his age and the solemnity with which he spoke, I greeted him and held him as we

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retired into an adjourning room. “The King summons you,” he said and left without adding another word. My experiences in Ìr`e.sì—at the funeral, church service and at the palace—gave impetus to this chapter. Besides these experiences, I also draw on my recollections from having attended two marriage ceremonies in the spring of 2013 in Bloemfontein, South Africa.2 While these events were personal, the various activities marking the events were commonplace in Africa. Hence, they speak to a wide variety of things that have shaped and continue to shape the history of peoples and kingdoms in Africa. In general, this chapter deals with the question of orality, especially its persistence in African history and historical reconstruction today. As noted in section two, although writing has developed in different parts of Africa since the twentieth century, the deep history of peoples, societies and events in Africa still remained locked in oral traditions. This, without any disservice to literacy, is a sine qua non in understanding African history. As sections three and four showed, rather than reducing the kernel of African history into any or all of the European languages, efforts should be made to preserve African oral culture and transmit it as is to future generations. Africa’s oral history, as found in books and as taught in history departments in universities and colleges, amounted only to adapting or making African history intelligent to our Euro-American audience. Unlike in past generations, the technologies and allied tools necessary for preserving African oral culture and transmitting it as is, are now available. This, as this chapter concluded, should be the next agenda before African and Africanist historians.

Orality and History in Africa Undoubtedly, writing is a very important aspect of modern life, and the ability to read and write—otherwise known as literacy—is considered by many as one of the basic life-skills a person is expected to have in order to function effectively in society. This view to writing served to undergird the Eurocentric view that, to the extent that earliest African societies had no writing, they, therefore, had no history worth teaching except for the history of Europeans in Africa.3 While it lasted, proponents of such views never stopped to consider the broader implications of their views. For instance, in some African societies, writing tradition existed before the Euro-Arab contact. Traditional oral and written literature in African and Afro-Asiatic languages such as Egypt’s hieroglyphs, Ethiopia’s Ge Ꜥez and Amharic, and a host of others in West, Central and Southern Africa contained records of genealogies and peoples, human achievements and events that were not only preserved and transmitted in written form, but also orally (Oyeniyi 2017). In themselves, these orally transmitted traditions, or oral lore, were forms of human communication that ranged from folktales and ballads to chants and prose or verses. They contained knowledge, art, ideas and cultural materials, which were received, preserved and transmitted through speech or song from one generation to another.

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Must all these be written in European languages and in forms intelligible to Europeans before they could qualify as history? Rock-arts, archeological remains and other materials found in different parts of the North African deserts and in caves across Southern Africa, West, East and Central Africa continued to show that traditional African societies were sophisticated in different fields ranging from ironworking and masonry, nation and empire building, etc.4 All of these evidence calls into question the fundamental assumptions behind the European argument of Africa’s ahistorical nature and, among other things, Europeans’ obtuse fascination with the written text as evidence of history. As Adekunle and Afolayan have shown in their works, writing developed eons of years ago in some parts of Africa while it came into being in other parts, first, with the Arab intrusion and, later, the European intrusion. Ancient Egyptians, to consider just one example, not only had written records but also were reputed to be the first to invent writing—the hieroglyphic writing. Scholars from areas now known as northern Nigeria, Mali and Somalia produced written traditional literature in Hausa, Ajami and Arabic.5 This literature contained not only oral traditions, but also the contemporary societal issues. Whether in African societies where written tradition developed before the Euro-Arab contacts or in those that participated in the cultures of the Mediterranean and Indian Ocean basins and, through these, imbibed literacy culture; historical tradition in oral forms did not only exist but existed side by side with writing tradition. This coexistence between orality and traditional written literature began to disappear in the twentieth century, as European travelers and traders, itinerant preachers and explorers combined with mission-educated African elite to give undue importance to European historical tradition based on the written document. From North Africa to West Africa, Central and East Africa to Southern Africa, works by this motley of educated elite—whether written in African languages and Arabic or in European languages, pushed orality and traditional written literature to the verge of extinction. Earliest institutions of higher learning in Africa also played a role in this development. Established to provide manpower both to the colonial administration and to the missions, these institutions privileged the prevailing European historical traditions, with its obtuse fascination with the written texts. At this early period, it was not uncommon to hear that until the European intrusion, Africa, like pre-Columbian Americans, had no history.6 While these decorated academics and celebrated colonial administrators were not denying that historical events worth studying existed in traditional and pre-European Africa, they were concerned that orality cannot be a true source of African history. To them, to qualify as history, it must be documented and since they defined literacy purely in European terms, Africans, before the European intrusion, were deemed as incapable of being literate and therefore, historical developments in Africa were ahistorical.7 Before the establishment of institutions of higher education in Africa in 1948, Africans, mostly school teachers and pastors, had begun to challenge Eurocentric view to African history. In their writings, they presented Africa’s rich oral traditions

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and deployed these in writing the histories of their kingdoms and empires, genealogies and events, etc.8 Their main concern was not just to rescue from oblivion the deeds and actions of their ancestors, but also to preserve these legacies and histories for generations to come.9 One of the major criticisms of these pioneers was their uncritical acceptance of oral traditions as sources of African history and the deployment of oral traditions in their historical reconstructions. In writing the history of the Yoruba, Samuel Johnson not only collected oral traditions but also reconciled these with his personal experiences. His work not only comprised of histories of origin of cities and towns but also of kings and kingdoms as well as customs and traditions of Yoruba people. He also dwelt on the nineteenth-century Yoruba war, an intestinal war that destroyed the Yoruba nation from within and therefore rendered it weakened in the face of external aggression, first, from their Hausa/Fulani neighbor from the north and, later, the European colonialists from the south. Johnson not only participated in some of the events he reported but also had the opportunity to engage and collect materials from others who witnessed those things that he did not know about. Besides a series of treaties that the European intruders foisted on different Yoruba kingdoms, Johnson depended on oral sources for all his writings. The economic recession that engulfed Europe following World War II compelled the various European powers to seek alternative funding for the colonies. To this end, colonial officials were mandated to seek funding for the day-to-day administration of these colonies and resources for the economic recovery of the European metropoles within the colonies. Across the colonies, old taxes and levies were raised and new ones were imposed. For the first time in Africa, not only were women subjected to taxation, their sources of livelihood, especially local manufacturing of, for instance, textile, were subjected to life-sucking taxation. In most cities and towns, the reactions to the imposition of taxes and levies ranged from simple protests to bloody riots. In Abeokuta, Aba in Nigeria and in Accra, Ghana as well as in South Africa, women organized like never before, protesting the new tax regime.10 Paradoxically, this development played decisive roles in the use of oral traditions and orality in Africa. In its bid to seek a better understanding of why Africans refused to pay tax, colonial administrators collected oral accounts on the histories of the different African societies, thereby bringing oral traditions and orality into the mainstream of knowledge generation and knowledge production on (and in) Africa. Things, however, took a new turn when, in the 1960s, many African graduates from European higher institutions of learning began to take appointments in African universities.11 Trained in the European historical tradition, these earliest African scholars spent considerable time demonstrating to their European critics that, like knowledge of the past of other peoples, knowledge of Africa’s past did not depend exclusively on writing, but could be gleaned from records of different kinds. In addition, they demonstrated that just as the above applied to other people, it was also true of Africa as well. In both their teachings and writings, they presented concrete proofs that history could be reconstructed not only from writing but also from archaeology, and from whatever turned out to be all manner of evidence and from all manner of sources, including material remains, human language, customs, and oral traditions; plants, animals and geology with its record of climate change. Not

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only did they make arguments for the use of all of these in reconstructing Africa’s past, they also demonstrated how, in their writings, to combine all of these with written records, including indigenous written literature from the Islamic societies of West and East Africa. The discovery of earliest pre-human remains in Eastern and Southern Africa gave impetus to their works, as between the 1930s and 1960s, all sources presented by these earliest African historians were being considered as so many survivals from the past that should be deployed in reconstructing the history of Africa. There is no longer any debate about whether or not Africa had history before the European intrusion. The overwhelming evidence presented can no longer be denied. However, orality, the very vehicle that bore oral traditions from the past to the present, continues to receive criticisms. Issues raised ranged from biases and embellishments to inadequacies in human capacity to recall information, especially as days roll into months and months roll into years (Phillips 2006). While oral traditions are susceptible to these flaws, the flaws are also applicable to written sources. In other words, no source of history is infallible, whether oral or written. By employing European historical methods and techniques, earliest African historians presented African history as a mirror image of European history.12 Like European history, the African history that they wrote also focused on themes such as politics, economy, warfare, trade, relationships between and among nations, etc. Although this approach helped in asserting their claims about Africa and African history, it, however, failed to reveal anything unique about Africa and African history. In other words, rather than showing the dynamic nature of history in Africa, earliest African historians were contented only with proving that Africa had its own history before the European intrusion. Unlike document—fixed and lifeless, oral traditions, the very sinew of African history, is dynamic and lively. Owing to their efforts at mimicking European history, oral traditions, when collected, interpreted and reduced to writing, became oral history. African oral traditions’ practitioners were likened to bards and griots—mere storytellers of Medieval Europe. It must be noted that traditional African historians are more than mere bards and griots. They, among other things, played a broader, diversified and significant role than that of a mere storyteller of Medieval European tradition. They were the principal political advisors to kings, chiefs and other state officials. They were chief judicial advisors and no nation will go to any war without first seeking their advice. In other words, they were national defense advisors and/or secretaries. They were conflict mediators, mediating at all level of interactions—locally within their states, in interethnic and inter-state relations, etc. As ambassadors and diplomats versed in the lore of their respective states, they represented their states in neighboring states. Given their wider knowledge of societal culture and customs, they officiated at marriage and naming ceremonies, puberty rights and sporting events, harvest and religious festivals, national inaugurations and other national holidays as well as at rites of passage and funerals ceremonies. As shown in the next section, they were also the principal negotiators of customary marriage, lobola and dowry arrangements. The list is endless. Did Medieval European storytellers perform these tasks? How then

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were traditional African historians and genealogists, social and cultural anthropologists and archivists, musicians and dramatic performers likened to and equated with Medieval European bards and griots? Although the earliest African historians noted that the training of traditional African historians began at an early age, they were however too absorbed with the tasks of proving that Africa had a history and that oral traditions were credible sources for historical reconstruction that the need to put forward the subtlety of traditional African historians’ job and roles in any African society totally escaped them.13 It must be noted that the training of traditional African historians began from home, through close association with their parents and other family members who were also traditional historians. By adulthood, a pupil historian would have learned a great deal of his or her personal, family, and town’s socio-economic, political and cultural history. These young–adult historians were then expected to travel widely, learning the histories of other personalities, families, regions, kingdoms and empires. They could be in the services of renowned historians. Some might serve these masters for between 10 and 25 years. Upon completion of their apprenticeship, they would have become masters of the spoken words themselves, ready to take on the tasks of serving their states as historians and genealogists, social and cultural anthropologists and archivists, musicians and dramatic performers. They would have become experts in both their local and national culture and society, genealogy and history, politics and art. In some cases, they would have mastered a plethora of musical instruments, versed in oratory, singing and dancing as well as dramatic performance. Although these walking libraries use storytelling techniques and devices in their trade, they were more than mere bards and griots. They were the repositories of family and national histories, but their expertise in numerous professions set them apart in African historiography. In their trades, no line existed between the individual and the community, between the intellectual and the aesthetic, between the corporal and the spiritual and between the sacred and the profane. In all of these worlds, orality was the main tool of the trade. From the above, it needs no arguing that orality is essential to African historical traditions, whether in the past or now. Orality, therefore, is the structure of consciousness and verbal expression found in African societies and cultures. It was of little importance whether or not writing developed in these African society or not; orality is “verbal documents” that are made available in different forms to users. As the description of traditional African historian made clear, orality touches on society’s politics and economics, institutional and human development. In his classification of oral tradition, Jan Vansina noted that orality was the vehicle for the transmission of (i) memorized speech, (ii) accounts, (iii) epic and (iv) tales, proverbs and sayings.14 Although all of these were performative, as cultural expressions, they were social products and therefore remembered information from the past. As remembered information, they are real, conscious and accessible. To this end, it could be argued that whether performed or recounted from one generation to another, orality is inseparable from Africa’s oral traditions and, therefore, African history.

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So far, the works of African and Africanist historians, ranging from interviewing and recording oral traditions to preserving oral traditions in print or other multimedia forms, are attempts to turn oral traditions into oral history. Most departments of history across the world now teach various courses that aimed at training historians in the art or science of making oral history. Undoubtedly, these efforts have led to the preservation of “verbal documents” and producing them in more accessible forms. Perhaps the greatest impact of these efforts remains the pushing of orality into the verge of extinction. Given the pace of literacy in Africa since independence, to what extent has the ability to read and write reduced the place of orality in African historical tradition and culture? More fundamentally, it must be noted that in most history departments today, there are facilities dedicated to the collection, transcription and preservation of oral traditions; how have these efforts impact orality? These and other questions are answered in the next section.

The Persistence of Orality and Its Place in Historical Reconstruction Listening to the old woman and the drummers, chiefs and the king that summer evening in Ìr`e.sì, I was forced to reexamine the education that privileged writing over orality as the main through which human achievements, thoughts and ideas were to be documented and transmitted. Although I have no doubt in my mind that writing is fundamental to knowledge production, dissemination, storage and retrieval, that evening I encountered orality in ways that revealed its true richness and dynamic nature. Among other things, I found that despite the privileging of writing over orality, most history in Africa still remains oral in nature. In addition, the rich content of African history, culture and traditions still remains locked in orality, as orality remains the preferred means of expressing and communicating them. From the mundane, everyday human activities to religious, esoteric and spiritual matters, orality persists in traditional rulers’ courts, in churches and mosques, in covens and numerous other places where African tradition and culture still hold sway. That late Summer evening in Ìr`e.sì, I heard, once again, the full panegyric of my father, our ancestors and that of Ìr`e.sì, our hometown. As could be seen below, the various lines praised either him or his ancestors: Níbo le.bá ngbékò ó, o.mo. onílé n´ lá? Níbo le.bá ngbékò babaà mi? Adáraníjo., o.` r`o. lódé, tó mú o.lo.gb´o.n d’e.gb´e. òmùg`o. Bós.e wù ká s.e kórìkórí òkòtó tó, Bándélé Àyìnlá, ìwo. náà lo jàre gbogbo wo.n Adáraníjo., e.` rù o.ko. mi Àyìnlá n´ y´.o mií bà o! (author’s personal collection, 2016).15 Where have you met him, the owner of the largest house?

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Where have you met my father? Adaranijo, a knotty issue made the wise equal to a fool However, your Spinner turns, you will still be blameless. Adaranijo oh, I tremble at your presence. W´o.nní a b’eégún ilé, a b’eégún ilé. W´o.nní a b’òòs.à òkè, a b’òòs.à òkè. W´o.nni a sùsùká gàgàrà, A sùsùká gàgàrà, asì gb´e.bo. àj´e. kàta, Àwo.n àj´e. so. pé àwo.n gb´o. Bándélé, o.mo. a bá’ni s’ . r` o`o., Àyìnlá, má mà tan’ni je.! (author’s personal collection, 2016). We were mandated to worship the house masquerades, we did just that. We were mandated to worship the mountain deities, we did just that. We were mandated to worship the witches We offered the deities, the witches and wizards all the mandated sacrifices The witches did not refuse our sacrifice. Bándélé, the child of Ayinla, the adviser that never deceives! Níbo le.bá n gbé kò ó, o.mo. onílé n´ lá? Níbo le. bá n gbé kò babaà mi? E.` rù piriníkìí Àyìnlá n´ y´.o mií bà o! Adáraníjo., o.` r`o. lódé, tó mú o.lo.gb´o.n d’e.gb´e. òmùg`o. (author’s personal collection, 2016). Where have you met him, the darling of the crowd? Bándélé, where are you? Have you met him, Adaranijo? Fear grips my heart, I dare not call you by name, Adaranijo, my father Has death made a fool the equal of the wise? Bándélé, o.mo. a bá’nis’ . r` o`o., Àyìnlá, mámà tan’ni je.! Bó s.e wù ká s.e kórìkórí òkòtó tó, Bándélé Àyìnlá, ìwo. náà lo jàre gbogbo wo.n Adáraníjo., e.` rù o.ko. mi Àyìnlá n´ y´.o mií bà o! Bándélé ro àsìkò yí sí, rere ni o j´e. a máa s.e O . mo. mà n´ sunkún arò Àyìnlá l´.eyìn abiamo. (author’s personal collection, 2016). Bándélé, the son of the soil that makes no mistake, However, your Spinner turns, BándéléAyinla you are still blameless. Adáraníjo., I am scared! Bándélé, consider this time and do good Even, infants are wondering: has death made a fool the equal of the wise?

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Níbo le.bá ngbé kò ó, o.mo. onílé n´ lá? Níbo le.bá ngbékò babaà mi? Adáraníjo., o.` r`o. lódé, tó mú o.lo.gb´o.n d’e.gb´e. òmùg`o. Bós.e wù kás.e kórìkóríò kòtó tó, Bándélé Àyìnlá, ìwo. náà lo jàre gbogbo wo.n Adáraníjo. o, e.` rù piri ní kìí Àyìnlá n´ y´.o mií bà o! (author’s personal collection, 2016). Where have you met him, the owner of the largest house? Where have you met my father? Adaranijo, death has made a wise man the equal of a fool However, your Spinner turns, BándéléAyinla, you will still remain blameless, Adaranijo oh, I tremble at your presence. The above is a panegyric that spoke about Bámidélé, which, in typical Yoruba tradition, was elided as Bándélé. Two of his cognomen were mentioned: Àyìnlá and Adáraníjo.. Bándélé was not just the heir of “the great house,” another name for a palace—an heir to the throne, but also a fearless, honest and respectable man, whose words were his bounds. His death was likened to a journey; hence, the singer demanded rhetorically if anyone had met Bándélé. In traditional Yorubaland, the semiotic of meanings associated with these (rhetorical) questions include a desire for a reincarnation of a notable man such as the late Bándélé. In other words, the singer wanted the late Bándélé to be reborn by any of the women in the house. The description—Adaranijo, showed that the late Bándélé was not only a crowdpuller and a ladies’ man but also a man of valor. Hence, the singer informed the listeners that death is not a respecter of beauty and valor; hence, despite his look, wealth and power, Bándélé died just like a foolish, powerless and ordinary person. Notwithstanding this, it was acknowledged that although Bándélé succumbed to death, he was above all other men. In the second stanza, the singer indirectly informed the listeners that Bándélé died of a protracted illness. Among other things, he noted that Bándélé’s illness defied all cures, including sacrifices. In the third stanza, the singer once again returned to the deployment of rhetorical questions to illustrate Bándélé’s greatness and the futility of death, especially since death befalls both the wise and the foolish alike. In the fifth stanza, the singer not only used repetition for emphasis, but also added two new information: the unexpected nature of Bándélé’s death and the general grief that befell the society, even infants and toddlers. It must be noted that although the panegyric did not specifically mention Bándélé’s achievements, however the singer showed us his greatness through the use of repetition, comparison and exhortations—all of which left no one in doubt that Bándélé was a great man whose sudden death was felt by all and sundry. In purely African terms, the panegyric needs not mention Bándélé’s achievements, as these were known to all. He was reputed for his wisdom, affability, valor and beauty.

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As a child, I always thought my father was praising himself. That evening, I came to a new understanding: he was not praising himself, but gingering himself by recounting the life and achievements of an ancestor whose name he also bore. Who was the other Bámidélé? Till date, among the Fula, Mende and Wolof ethnic groups, the family heads, women, and griots continue to record and recall the histories of families, communities, and kings in this manner. Like among Yoruba of West Africa, the Zulu in Southern Africa also have this highly hierarchical and elaborate system of cognomen—called oríkì among the Yoruba and isithakazelo among the Zulu, which described additional names or by-names or aliases given to distinguish members of the same family or clan. These cognomen, which children would hear recited to them every morning by their mothers and other relatives in the homestead in response to a good morning greeting, or the long one, like the panegyric above, captures the rich history of individuals, their families, the clans to which they belong and towns from which they hail. The recitation of cognomen is not only a critical component of a process of acknowledging achievements but also a system of convincing a particular person, a member of a family or a town to either do or not to do something. These “history books” are preserved and stored away mainly by memorization and consulted by recitation not only by mothers and wives, chiefs and kings but also at celebrations by singers and drummers, relatives and well-wishers. While the above exemplifies the elaborate nature of Yoruba panegyric, the example below demonstrates a morning ritual that each Yoruba child is entertained with early in the morning. More often than not, at every early morning greetings, I grew up to the following lines: Àlàdé, o.mo. mo dúró, o.w´o. mi ò tó isin, Mo nà gà, o.w´o. mi ò tó isin W´o.n ní nb`o.dál`e., kí n lè baà rí isin je.; Mo d´o.bál`e. gbalaja tán ni isin bá tómi l´e.nu (author’s personal recollection of free oral poetry).16 Alade, I stood, but my hands were too short to pluck the ackee I jumped up, yet my hands were too short to pluck the ackee I was told to prostrate that I may taste the ackee; I prostrated and ate plentiful ackee. The above is not about the ackee; rather it is a lesson in humility. It taught its lessons by bringing together a set of contrasts. Ackee is always at the top of the tree. To eat the fruit of this tree, a short man needs either to depend on his taller peers or use any instrument to pluck the fruits. In this cognomen, a young man had tried to jump and use every conceivable means until he was advised to lie down in greetings. This wry advice sounds absurd, but it is the only way to get whatever seems impossible done. Among the Xhosa people of South Africa, a young bride is sent-forth to her new family with traditional songs, which are peculiar to the occasion. The Yoruba people called it bridal poetry—e.kún ìyàwó. Although a proper translation should

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read “wailing” and not “poetry”; however, it must be noted that it is not a wailing per se, but a series of songs that contained life lessons, histories of families and general perspectives about marriage. As the following examples reveal, bridal poetry not only tells stories and eulogizes the bride, but also serves as series of warnings for the new bride: Sesi aka itholele he mmatsale a bua (Young bride, keep quiet, your mother-inlaw is speaking), Se mo tseretsere senatla, se mo tseretsere senatla Ngwana o tsetse ke senatla (A mighty man has taken her) or Hellammatswale, mmatswaletlogeladipitsa; Mongatsonakeyoo we tla, Mosutelele (Mother-in-law, leave the pots, The owner of those pots is here). Undoubtedly, these are warnings that aimed at teaching a new bride that marriage is a transition that comes with new requirements, which if adhered to, will ensure a safe transition for the bride. In the first, a bride is warned not to interrupt her mother-in-law. In other words, her mother-in-law is unlike her mother, she deserves her respect. The second one is a warning to other young men in the society that this bride has not only been taken, but taken by a mighty warrior. In the third one, a mother-in-law is warned not to interfere in the life of her son, as his new wife who will prepare his food has just arrived. Using a call-and-response system, the following bridal poetry from among the Yoruba people encapsulates the very essence of this traditional material. It not only demonstrates the rich content of African history but also shows the communal nature of African historical system. It brought together the bride and her friends, her family members, especially her mother and the society at large. The life-lessons and histories of the bride, her hometown and the wishes of her family and society for her were captured in the poetry. Aduke’s Friends: Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! Bóo bá t’ . e`bà sí yàrá, o.mo. ni yóò bá o. je. e.´ Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! (author’s personal collection, 2016). May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren For, if you prepare food in your closet It is children who will help eat it up For, if you prepare food in your closet It is children who will help eat it up May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren Aduke: Okonkoko ni mi, ti mo k’osupa r’Osogbo

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Ti mo w’ewu oye r’Obaagun Ori ti o j’oloye ki fe, ori mi o d’oloye bo d’ola Ire loni, ori mi a fi Ire (author’s personal collection, 2016). I am a carrier, who carries the moon to Osogbo Who wears princely cloths to Obaagun The head who will wear a crown is less desirous My head will wear a crown tomorrow Blessings today, I call upon my head. Aduke’s Friends: Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! Bóo bá t’ . e`bà sí yàrá, o.mo. ni yóò bá o. je. e.´ Orí ìyá re., á bun e. l’o.mo., èsúrú kì í ya àgàn o! (author’s personal collection, 2016). May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren For, if you prepare food in your closet It is children who will help eat it up For, if you prepare food in your closet It is children who will help eat it up May your mother’s wish for you to be blessed with children come to pass, esuru is never barren Aduke: Baba mi, ìbà; ìyá mi, ìbà Ìbà ni n ó f’o.j´o. òní jú, o.mo. Alárápé To rí àdás.e ní´n hun’mo . , ìbà kògbo.d`o. hun’mo. ènìyàn Kò m`o. ní hun mí l’ónìí o, Baba, mo júbà, kí ìbà s.e.; ìyá, mojúbà, kí ìbà s.e. Ire e.ja, l’ómi ló kúkú mo., ire k`o.n` k`o., l’ódò ló m .o`wà Èyí t´e.e. bá wí l’ónìí; Aládùk . e´, mo ní, kár`o. ó r`o. m´o. o.n. Ire lónìí, orí mi à fi ire (author’s personal collection, 2016). My father, honor; my mother, honor I’ll spend the day giving honor, Alarape’s daughter I won’t be put to shame today Father, I give you honor, let honor be sustained Mother, I give you honor, let honor be sustained The blessings of a fish is inside water

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The blessings of a toad is in the river All that you will utter today, Aladuke, I say May it come to pass Blessings today, I call; I call upon my head. Aduke Friends: Aládùk´e., mo gbà f’óríì re., ìyá re. kò jigbèsè o Aládùk´e., mo gbà f’óríì re., ìyá re. kò jigbèsè o Àwo.n ènìyàn l’ó s.’èyí, tí wo.n ta ilé, ta o.` nà porogodo Àwo.n ènìyàn l’ó s.’èyí, tí wo.n ta ilé, ta o.` nà porogodo Aládùk´e., mo gbà f’óríì re., ìyá re. kò jigbèsè o (author’s personal collection, 2016). Aladuke, I congratulate you Your mother is not riddled in debt Aladuke, I congratulate you Your mother is not riddled in debt Some people did this, they sold All that they owned Some people did this, they sold All that they owned Aladuke, I congratulate you Your mother’ is not riddled with debt. Aduke: Ìyáà mi, ìyáà mi; ewé m´e.ta l’ . e`bá bá njá: E.` bá bá n já ewé p´e.p´e., kí np´e. l’áyé. E.` bá bá n já ewé t`e.t`e., kí n t`e.’lú jìnnà. E.` bá bá n já ewé olúy`e.e.´ r´e., olúy`e.e.´ r´e., k’ .o´mo.ó ye. l´e.yìn mi, Ire ló nìí, orí mi àfi ire. (author’s personal collection, 2016). My mother, my mother, Three leaves, I reckon, you should pluck for me Pluck for me pepe leaf, that I might live long Pluck for me tete leaf, that I might traverse long on the land Pluck for me Oluyere, Oluyere leaf That children might strut fittingly behind me Blessings today, I call upon my head.

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Aduke’s Mother: Orí re. má j´e. o f’àk .o´bí re., dí wóo ráìsì o, Orí re. má j´e. o f’àk .o´bí re., dí wóo ráìsì o, O . mo. làwòrán ère, o.mo. ni kókó ayé O . mo. làwòrán ère, o.mo. ni kókó ayé Orí re. má j´e. o f’àk .o´bí re., dí wóo ráìsì o. (author’s personal collection, 2016). May your head not allow it to happen, That you substitute your firstborn for rice. May your head not allow it to happen, That you substitute your firstborn for rice. Children are one’s heritage, They are the reason for life. Children are one’s heritage, They are the reason for life. May your head not allow it to happen, That you substitute your firstborn for rice. May your head not allow it to happen, That you substitute your firstborn for rice. Aduke’s Friends: Ilé o.ko., kò dà bí ilé ìyá, Abí´o.lá S.ùgb´o.n, kí ìwo. ó má gbàgbé àwa Bóo bá gún iyán, dákun má s.e gbàgbé odó Bóo bá ro o.kà, má s.e gbàgbé ìkòkò Ilé o.ko. lò n´ lo . l’ .o´j´o. òní o o.` r´e. mi, Àdùk´e., kí ìwo. má gbàgbé àwa Ire ló nìí, orí re. àfi ire. (author’s personal collection, 2016). Husband’s house is not like a mother’s house, Abiola However, do not forget us If you pound yam, please do not forget mortar If you prepare amala, never forget the pot You are going to your husband’s house today Our friend, Aduke’s, do not forget us. Owó orí dode, ó dóde; baba wa ló k´o. san Owó orí dode, ó dóde; baba wa ló k´o. san Àwo.n èèyàn tí ò san, w´o.n n´ be. látìm´o.lé Àwo.n èèyàn tí ò san, w´o.n n´ be. látìm´o.lé (author’s personal collection, 2016). Paying taxes is in vogue; Our fathers paid theirs first

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Paying taxes is in vogue; Our fathers paid theirs first Those who defaulted are now in jail Those who defaulted are now in jail Ìyàwó s.e, kò kúnl e.` f’ . e´rú ilé, Ìyàwó s.e, kò kún l`e. f’ún ìw .o`fà, Tó s.e ìyàwó, tóo dé ààfin O .` y´o., Abí´o.lá: S.ebí láìp´e. o.j´o., O gba ìkúnl`e. re. san Bèbè ìdí tóo mú jókòó lónìí; o ó sì gb’ .o´mo. l´e.s`e. tí ó mu e.` ko. Ìwo. àk´o.bí ará O .` y´o., o.mo. O .` y´o., o ó sì gb’ .o´mo. l´e.s`e. tí ó mu e.` ko. Ire lónìí, orí re. àfi ire. (author’s personal collection, 2016). New wife, ensure you kneel to greet the household slave New wife, ensure you kneel to greet the household pawn, Who got married and made it to the palace at Oyo? Abiola, is it not the case that in a short while, They would kneel for you in return? All these beads around your waists will not be in vain You will place your child on your laps and feed it pap Blessings today, I call blessings upon my head. Aduke: E.we.le. w`e.kún e.we.le., e.we.le. w`e.kún e.we.le., A kò ní péjú sunkún ara wa, e.we.le. w`e.kún e.we.le.. (author’s personal collection, 2016). Behold, what an entourage! What a crowd!! We shall not gather in sadness to mourn ourselves. From the above, we have an interplay of prayers, requests and lessons during the marriage ceremony of Aduke Abiola, a princess of Ataoja of Osogbo. It began with Aduke’s friends assuring her that just like yam, Aduke will bear children. These friends were not only praying and wishing Aduke well but were also doing so by invoking the example of Aduke’s mother. In response, Aduke expressed her desire for high office and good fortune, noting how she, a princess whose glory was comparable to that of the moon and her dressing was a delight to the king of Obaagun, a neighboring town to Osogbo, wanted nothing but good. After listening to the assurances of her friends, she turned to her parents, acknowledging and paying homage to them. She demanded their prayers, noting that whatever they say shall come to pass. In what appears to be an interlude, Aduke’s friend interjected by calling attention to the elaborate wedding that was given to Aduke, noting that the elaborate wedding was not a proceed of loans or debts but out of abundance, among other things. Aduke then went on to make three requests: to live long, to rule in a faraway land and to

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have children. Speaking for the family, the mother prayed not only for children but also for wealth. It is however melodramatic that Aduke’s mother would have nothing of her daughter’s desire for political control of other lands. She prayed for children and wealth. Aduke’s friends informed her that marriage is like going to school; it demanded patience, openness to new lessons and was unlike any other place. They implored her to remember them in her new wealth and powers. In celebration of Aduke’s parent, Aduke’s friends noted that unlike many in the town, Aduke’s father paid his taxes and levies. In other words, the elaborate marriage ceremony was out of abundance and not a product of loans or debts. From these lines, we not only have a picture of Aduke, as a princess but also that she was married to the king in Oyo. While Aduke was enamored with power and influence that her new position would bring her, her parents were more circumspect and focused their prayers on fertility and wealth. Another theme that rang out louder in both Xhosa and Yoruba bridal poetry is dynamism. As these societies age, the bridal poetry incorporated new materials; hence, it could be said that while the kernel of lessons and histories associated with this poetry remained, the poetry incorporated new materials such as rice, taxes and levies, etc.

Orality and Historical Reconstruction in Africa Like the Africa elephant, the history of peoples and cultures in Africa is gigantic. It composes of many different but interrelated parts. So far, the different disciplines—ranging from archaeologists and anthropologists, artists and linguistics to geographers and historians, etc.— each with its own specialism are like blind men and women charged with the responsibilities of describing and accounting for the different parts of the elephant they were able to touch. Although these blind men and women made claims to the absolute truth of African history, each, and without exemption, have had to describe the different parts they dealt with. Their productions, great as these have been, were, in consequence, one-sided stories of a single tale. As many African and Africanist historians have already shown, written records— the staple of European history—were not infallible themselves and, to the extent of their human mediations and biases, they were as guilty as oral sources. While material remains are unbiased witnesses to the past, they remained mute and silent about language, culture, customs, mental ability, etc. of their owners beyond the fact that they were products from their owners’ brains. As Glyn Daniel noted concerning archaeology, there is no way of telling a people’s culture, what language they speak, what music they dance to, what lessons and stories they told their young ones, from material remains. If these and other information existed in other sources, they certainly cannot be inferred from carved stones or fossilized bones. As demonstrated in the section above, orality persists despite human advancements in converting oral tradition into oral history. It remains one of the numerous

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ways through which the kernel of African history and cultures are preserved and transmitted, even in the twenty-first century. As it appears, archaeology covers the broad range of African past, especially periods where no written records exist. When insights from natural sciences such as physical anthropology, zoology, botany, geology, etc. are brought into the mix, archaeology’s claim is made stronger, especially given its reliance on stratigraphy and radiocarbon dating, which have yielded the firm chronology required for historical reconstruction of African past. The outcome has erroneously been treated as nearness to Africa’s past, but, in truth, what has been done so far amounted to merely creating a distinction between African prehistory—a period of time where no written records exist—and history. Efforts at writing African history have focused on combining archaeology and other sources, including languages. This effort, which aims at moving away from the attainment of archaeology into writing African history, has underplayed the importance of orality, as it was concentrated on reducing Africa’s oral tradition into oral history, a process that denied Africa’s oral tradition its uniqueness, dynamism and flavor. Unlike other sources, oral tradition not only holds the ace in linking material remains and written records with African history and culture but also serves as an umbilical cord that continues to link the present with Africa’s past. African oral cultures and oral literature are not only vigorous but also active and alive. As shown in the previous section, it is not at any risk of disappearing, despite increasing efforts at sending it into oblivion. Its styles and texts are linked to different African languages and rituals. Orality, the vehicle upon which it thrives, is performative in ways that inexorably tied it to its past. From the sampled oral traditions above, a number of observations could be made with respect to orality and historical reconstruction. For instance, references to items and developments such as rice, taxes and levies in Aduke Abiola’s bridal poetry are important in reconstructing not only Aduke Abiola’s history but also the social history of Yorubaland. To illustrate this, one needs only to juxtapose the materials mentioned in Aduke and her friends’ call-and-response rendition with other sources to build more than just the picture captured in the bridal poetry. Although there are no clues as to when Aduke Abiola’s bridal poetry was composed or the name of her father, a reference to imprisonment as punishment for tax evasion shows that the king must have been Oba Samuel Adeleye Adenle I who lived between 1944 and 1976. At no time in Yoruba history did tax evasion incurred punishment with imprisonment or in a severe manner as described by Aduke’s friends. This development, which was orchestrated by imperial Britain in Nigeria, followed the devastation of World War II and the need to provide for the Nigerian colony. To this end, colonial administrators were mandated to generate funds within the colony for their day-to-day administration. Levies were raised and new taxes, most especially the flat-rate tax on women, were imposed. Responses to the new tax regime were swift and widespread. In Abeokuta, Mrs. Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, a head teacher of a local school, led market women in an organized protest against the colonial administration, a development that led the king—Oba Ladapo Samuel Ademola II—to abdicate his throne in 1948. The situation was so bad that many men and women who refused to pay tax either ended up in

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jail or were fined (Byfield 2016). It could also be confirmed that Aduke Abiola was given to either Alaafin Siyanbola Oladigbolu I who lived between 1911 and 1945) or Alaafin Adeniran Adeyemi II who ruled from 1945 to his deposition in 1955. Just as any cognomen or panegyric can inject life into otherwise dry and mute evidence dug up by archaeologists or the linguistic evidence turned up by linguists, so can meanings be derived from African riddles and jokes, proverbs and idioms, heroic poetries and epics, etc. For a fact, the images in African oral poetry and epics interact in dynamic fashion with African history in much the same way as the metaphors used in the poems and epics served as axles and wheels in a motor. Frequently, as in riddles and cognomen, metaphor involves and invokes paradox. Alade, as shown in the last section, was taught the value of humility and patience, in achieving goals by pitching or comparing two opposing materials—Alade’s height and ackee fruits on the top of a tree. As the Xhosa witty sayings above showed, lessons and philosophies on different aspects of African life are packaged into oral poetries and epics. Just as the bride was tutored in right ethics, so also was the mother-in-law and unruly boys looking for casual sex. The resilience of these and other cultural materials and practices underscores their importance and survival. As seen in Aduke Abiola’s bridal poetry, Aduke, her friends and her mother organized and controlled the emotions of the audience as they systematically work their ways through the levels of the poetry. The connective threads in the poetry combine metaphorical sets, life-lessons, societal expectations and parental guidance into the poem’s totality. None of these items could be divorced from the overall intent of the poem. As these various items were brought into a conjugal bliss, involving interactions and interweaving between Aduke who made the calls, and her friends and mother, who were responding, the poetry brought the audience to a close, intense sense of the essence, layers of meaning and the historicity of the poem. Orality not only contributes to the performative aspects of the poetry but also provides an emotional clue to the overall design of the poem. As the translation of Aduke’s bridal poetry shows, oral history denies the readers the rhythmical aspects of the poem, which in themselves contribute to the message, the images, the organization and the movement of the Aduke and her friend’s body. If the Onitsha market literature of Nigeria and the popular fiction of Accra, Ghana, the popular love and detective literature of Nairobi as well as the complex comic strips in Cape Town are anything to go by, it can be argued that these attempts at translating oral tradition into written historical and storytelling traditions were not limited to academic historians but could be seen from Ancient Egyptian scribes to early Hausa copyists and Swahili memorizers, etc. These attempts by historians and other writers to make works of history popular by translating and presenting historical development in one culture in languages and forms intelligible to others is, in another sense, a disservice to the crucial importance of orality in African history.

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By Way of Conclusion: Orality and the Future of African History The importance of oral tradition in African history cannot be over-emphasized. It is the mains through which the true history, culture, and customs of African societies can be understood. As the main vehicle for transmitting African oral tradition, orality is undoubtedly important in studying African history. Over the years, efforts at making African history, culture and customs intelligible to others have led to situations whereby orality, as a vehicle through which oral tradition is transmitted, is pushed to the background. In its place, oral history—the collection of historical information using audiotapes, videotapes, or transcriptions of planned interviews— predominates. As the various examples used in this chapter have shown, orality still persists, most especially in traditional courts and palaces, religious and secular spaces—the very crucibles of change and continuities in African societies. The persistence of orality in the face of concerted efforts to minimize its role in the transmission of African history, culture and customs, shows, on the one hand, African peoples understanding of the importance of orality in the transmission of African history and culture. On the other hand, it underscores orality’s resilience. In cognomen and panegyric, witty sayings and proverbs, heroic poetries and epic poems, etc. as the various examples used in this chapter have shown, orality still predominates, as the mains through which African history and culture can be understood. In as far as African societies continue to value and preserve their cognomen and panegyric, witty sayings and proverbs, heroic and epic poems, orality will continue to serve these societies. While a few transcripts of these different forms of oral traditions have appeared in Arabic, English, French, Portuguese, and other foreign languages, the fact still remains that orality is the language of African history, cultures and customs. As the twenty-first century draws to a close, the task before African and Africanist historians is the need to fashion ways through which the kernel of African history, cultures and customs could be preserved through modern media and technology without altering their forms. Given current technological development, most especially the emergence of augmented reality (AR)—a computer-generated and interactive reproduction of real-world environment where information, sometimes across multiple sensory modalities, including visual, auditory, haptic, somatosensory and olfactory, is perceptually generated—the question should not be whether or not we have enough technology to capture orality in its original state, but when we will develop the will to push the boundaries of such technological development into the field of historical scholarship. At the moment, virtual reality (VR) has made possible the stimulation of scenario and experiences through senses and perception. If both VR and AR could be brought into the world of historical scholarship, not only would we be able to capture orality in its true state, we would also be able to preserve the histories, cultures and customs of different peoples across the world without bending and manipulating them to suit European perception.

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Given its importance in African history and historical reconstruction, any call for a reexamination of the way we treat orality should not be seen as essentially a withdrawal from the global knowledge sphere, but the appreciation of the true dynamic linkage between oral traditions and the written word. Notes 1.

2.

3.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16.

His Royal Majesty, Oba Sikiru Adeseun Ibiloye the Oluresi of Iresiland. Iresi is a Yoruba community of antiquated memory, is located in Boluwaduro Local Government Area of Osun State, Nigeria. I thank Mrs. Keneliwe Taeg of the South Africa Broadcasting Corporation, Auckland Office, Johannesburg, for the video recordings of her marriage ceremony and for translating Xhosa bridal poetry into English for me. I take full responsibility for any error or mistranslations in this essay. From Hegel, to Margery Perham and Hugh Trevor-Roper, the outlook to history and on scholarly research in history in pre-literate societies was such that such societies were considered as having no history prior to European exploration and colonization. Margery Perham maintained that “there is only the history of Europeans in Africa. The rest is darkness” and, as Hugh Trevor-Roper later added, African’s past is “the unedifying gyrations of barbarous tribes in picturesque but irrelevant corners of the globe.” These comments led to considerable debate among historians and anthropologists, sociologists and linguists in the emerging fields of postcolonial and cultural studies. This view to history is generally known as Eurocentrism. Falola et al. (2012). Ngom (2010). Trevor-Roper (1966). Perham (1937). Oyeniyi (2017). Johnson (1921). Byfield (2002). Notable among them were Kenneth Onwuka Dike, Jacob Adeniyi Festus Ajayi, Jacob Eghareva, Bolanle Awe, etc. Sonderegger (2007). Falola (1993). Vansina (1985). The nearest English translation of òkòtó is a spinner. It is made from a small snail shell. When force is applied with two fingers, òkòtó spins endlessly. In Yoruba lore, it describes fate or fortune or luck. In modern times, òkòtó is made from any flat, conical and round rubber to which the cover of a pen is attached. Ackee, also known as achee, ackee apple or ayee (Botanical name: Blighiasapida), is a member of the Sapindaceae (soapberry family) fruit. It is native to tropical West Africa.

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References Arno, Sonderegger. 2007. On Writing African History: Schools of Thought and their (Mis)Representation. Stichproben. Wiener ZeitschriftfürkritischeAfrikastudienNr. 13 (7): 49–78. Byfield, Judith A. 2002. The Bluest Hands: A Social and Economic History of Women Dyers in Abeokuta (Nigeria), 1890-1940. London: Heinemann. Byfield, Judith A. 2016. In Her Own Words: FunmilayoRansome-Kuti and the Auto/biography of an Archive.Palimpsest: A Journal on Women, Gender, and the Black International 5 (2): 107–127. Falola, Toyin. 1993. African Historiography: Essays in Honour of Jacob Ade Ajayi. London: Longman. Falola, Toyin, Jason Morgan, and Bukola A. Oyeniyi. 2012. Culture and Customs of Libya. Santa Barbra, USA: Greenwood. Johnson, Samuel. 1921. The History of the Yorubas: From the Earliest Times to the Beginning of the British Protectorate. London: CMS Bookshop. Ngom, Fallou. 2010. Introducing the Ajami Literatures of Islamic Africa. In African Language Literature in Ajami Script, Accessed 30 May, 2018 at http://alma.matrix.msu.edu/wp-content/upl oads/2010/02/AjamiIntroductionFallou.pdf. Oyeniyi, Adeyemi A. 2017. History and Historiography. In Cultures and Customs of the Yoruba, ed. Toyin Falola and Akintunde Akinyemi, 529–543. Austin, TX: Pan-African University Press. Perham, Margery. 1937. Native Administration in Nigeria: A Model Colony. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Phillips, John E. 2006. Writing African History. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Trevor-Roper, Hugh R. 1966. The Rise of Christian Europe. London: HBJ College & School Division. Vansina, Jan. 1985. Oral Traditions as History. Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press.

Chapter 5

Insights from Festivals and Carnivals Philip Adedotun Ogundeji and Mercy Ayo Fasehun

Introduction Festivals and carnivals are celebrations in pomp and pageantry that usually last a fixed period and are usually repeated at either regular or occasional intervals. Features of the two are virtually the same, and the two words may be seen as synonyms. Nevertheless, while the root of the word “festival” has a generic application to all celebrations, carnival has an etymological, specific semantic reference to the pre-lenten festivities that originated in medieval Roman Catholic Europe. The etymology of the word is traceable to Latin carnemlevare or carnelevarium, which means “removing or mortifying the flesh.” This denotes the tradition of abstention from red meat during the 40 days lent period. The Latin root of the word festival, festum, festa, festivus, festivalis refers to celebration in general. The English term “carnival” has, however, shed off its semantic specificity and assumed a generic scope that is similar if not the same as festival today. The semantics of the two terms, festival and carnival, in contemporary usages include the meanings of lexicons such as commemoration, pomp and pageantry, feasting and procession. Though today, there exist purely secular carnivals and festivals in Africa that are influenced by modernity, most traditional African festivals have sacred contents and functions that have equal weight with their secularity or entertaining relevance.1 Generally speaking and for the purpose of convenience, festivals that predate colonialism and the advent of Islam and Christianity in Africa are regarded as primary traditional festivals in this chapter, while those that originated during or after colonialism, but have very strong traditional contents and functions, are considered secondary traditional festivals. Those that have very little or no traditional contents and functions are the modern festivals. Focus here is more on the traditional African festivals of the primary and secondary types than on the P. A. Ogundeji (B) Department of Linguistics and African Languages, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria M. A. Fasehun Department of Yoruba, Adeye.mi College of Education, Ondo, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_5

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modern ones that tend to emphasize only entertainment and are regarded more as the carnival proper. In this chapter, it should be clarified that carnival is taken as the modern festivals that have little or no sacred essence. It emphasizes the secular more than the spiritual. This includes virtually all modern music festivals or more properly carnivals. The descriptive analysis of African traditional festivals attempted in this chapter, as indicated already, sees African festivals as a large performance umbrella in which other performances or events such as rituals, dance, acrobatics, masks and masquerading, sacrifices, prayers, singing, chanting, drumming and dancing among others are structured. The chapter shall explore the issue of the functions and utility of African festivals. As much as possible, examples shall be drawn from the wide range of African cultures. The emphasis here is on communal festivals than on personal ones. Festivals which focus primarily on the individual but have very strong secondary communal relevance are considered. For a celebration to be considered a festival, as perceived in this chapter, it has to involve directly or indirectly the community leadership, whose permission is sought before performance. There is also usually an indigenous institution, guild, cult or secret society, in charge of such festivals. Any African traditional festival, as implied above, can appropriately be described as a gallery of its people’s culture in general. Apart from displaying the grandeur of African oral and visual arts, cuisines, costumes, professions, the socio-political and religious organizations, the festivals also reveal the people’s belief systems, their history, skills and war prowess. African festivals are numerous; hence, the continent is often referred to as a continent of festivals. Mark confirmed that in ancient Egypt, there were many annual festivals known as heb.2 Fasehun, in her detailed study of three Ondo (Nigerian) festivals,3 listed 55 annual festivals for the town.4 Though Clarke-Ekong listed 35 festivals grouped into three in an appendix to his work on a political economic study of Ghanaian traditional festivals, he puts the conservative number of Ghanaian festivals at over 70.5 This proliferation of festivals (and carnivals) in the continent makes a neat typology cumbersome. African festivals are usually typified by their functions, purpose or utility. But there is no doubting the fact that a neat typology based on such an exercise cannot but be elusive. Apart from the fact that the festivals are numerous, hardly is there any single festival that is monofunctional. To solve the problem, we have taken into consideration the most prominent of the aggregate of a festival’s functions, purposes or utility. For the sake of convenience, the following five major functional types, considered widespread and prominent in Africa, are first discussed before considering other minor functions: historical festivals,6 agricultural festivals, royal festivals, passage rite festivals and purification festivals.

Historical Festivals Historical festivals commemorate origin or migration and war victory. They celebrate ancestral heroes and deities that have played important roles in the history of a people.

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Examples include Aboakyir annual festival of Winneba, Ghana, which celebrates the migration of the people from the ancient Sudan Empire to their present location under the leadership of two heroic brothers and their deity called Otu. Other Ghanaian examples of migration historical festivals include Akwantukese of New Juaben, Akwantutenten of the Worawora, Hogbetsotso of the Anlo-Ewe and the Kloyosikplemi of the Krobo people. Kloyosikplemi is reported to be used for commemorating the violent dislodgment of the Krobo people by the British from their original environment in 1892.7 In Zambia, Kuomboka festival of the Lozi people and Umutomboko of the Lunda tribe are also examples of migration historical festivals. Umutomboko is, for example, said to commemorate the migration from Congo of the Lunda people to escape the tyranny of Chief MwataYamvais.8 The festival is said to celebrate in addition the conquering of all tribes on the path of their exodus. The Mo.remi or Edì festival of the IléIf`e. Yoruba people in the South West of Nigeria commemorates how Queen Mo.remi in her bravery delivers the people of Ilé If`e. from the incessant invasion by Ùgbò masquerade warriors who were taken to be spirits. She sacrificed her only son Olúorogbo and risked her life when she offered to go on an espionage mission where she discovered that the supposed spirits were beings. She and her son were deified and celebrated annually during the festival instituted in their names. Both Umutokombo and Mo.remi festivals can therefore be said to partially commemorate war victory. According to the information garnered from Yirenkyi, Asafotufiam festival of Ada and Yaa Asantewaa of the Ejisu, near Kumasi, can be seen as two major Ghanaian war victory historical festivals. As the name denotes, the former is said to involve a lot of gun-firing while the latter is said to be in commemoration of the Ashanti Queen mother who, in 1900, led a battle against the British in their attempt to capture the golden stool, the symbol of Ashanti unity. Drawing inferences from the organization of Yinkreyi’s facts, we suspect that Feok festival of the Sandema and Kabili of the Sankana, which are said to be used in commemorating the trans-Atlantic slave trade, belong to the war historical festivals.

Agricultural Festivals Agricultural festivals have to do primarily with showcasing the agrarian culture of the Africans. Under this major category, we have planting and harvesting festivals, hunting and fishing festivals. They are also regarded in some cases as thanksgiving or calendric festival because the agrarian events or activities that they celebrate are seasonal. According to Yinrenkyi, the Odwira festival of Akropong in Ghana celebrates both war victory and the new yam harvest at the same time. The yam festival is also celebrated among the Èkìtì people of Yoruba extraction and Igbo of South-Western and South-Eastern Nigeria, respectively, and all over other West African areas where yam is a staple food. As Manus reveals, in his study of the Iri Iji Ohuru (New yam festival) of the Umueze community in Anambra State, SouthEastern Nigerian, the biggest new yam in the community, donated by a Di ji (Expert yam cultivator), is cut on an appointed market day by the Okpala (ritual master) and

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four slices of it are offered to Igwe (the sky god) and Ahinanjoku, the yam deity.9 A cock is also offered and its blood drained and poured on the ground. Incantatory prayers of thanksgiving, supplication for prosperity, peace and longevity are chanted, and libation of palm wine poured. Women cook the remaining yam and make pepper soup of the sacrificed chicken, which is ceremoniously consumed by the Okpala, other elders and helping hands. The rite is then replicated in every homestead of the community. The festival is celebrated all over Igboland with pomp and pageantry that ensues after the rite and it serves as the official declaration of the eating of the new yam for the season. The same thing applies in the Èkìtì communities in Southwest Nigeria where the festival is known as o.dún ìje.s.u (yam eating festival), and also in other places where the festival is celebrated. In most cases, yam festival and many other agricultural festivals also mark the beginning of a new season. Hence, some classify them as calendrical festivals. The Asogli Festival of the Ewe in the Volta region of Ghana is a yam (called ete, in Ewe language) festival. It was originally instituted to celebrate the beginning of yam cultivation among the people. The dzawuwu rite performed as a major component of the festival is, however, not different in intention to that already described as it emphasizes offering the boiled and mashed yam with palm oil, first to the gods amidst thanksgiving and other supplications before anyone starts eating it.10 The Nc’wala festival among Ngoni people of Chipta in Zambia is a harvest festival where the first fruits of the season—usually pumpkin, sugarcane and maize—are presented to the chief, costumed leopard skin.11 The Homowo (hooting at hunger) Festival of the Ga people of Ghana is also an agrarian festival that celebrates the victory of bumper harvests in the face of famine due to hard work and the blessings of the deities who, according to belief, provide rain. The main crop celebrated during the festival is maize, made into unfermented mashed paste called kpokple. This, together with fish and palm nut soup, is first offered to the gods, libations are poured and prayers made before people also partake in it. The Ga people are also fishermen, and they have rites that deal with fishing as aspects of the Homowo Festival too. The availability of bumper harvests as the myth behind the festival reveals made celebration with joy, singing drumming and dancing possible, so they were able to hoot at hunger, a metaphorical way of expressing making jest of hunger in the local language.12 Though there are other fishing festivals and rites in other coastal and riverine parts of Africa, it is in the Argungu communal fishing festival (Northern part of Nigeria) that one can say we have a spectacular African fishing festival. The major constituent rite of the festival is the fishing competition (sashinruwa) by about 30,000 fishermen who enter the river in Argungu village to try and catch the biggest fish with the use of indigenous fishing methods, involving the use of hands, small nets and calabash gourds. The river is closed for fishing outside the festival period to allow for bumper harvest during the annual festival.13

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Royal Festivals Whereas some historical festivals celebrate deities, ancestors and past hero and commemorate migration, war victory and other important events in the history of the community, royal festivals in Africa are meant to celebrate the incumbent royal figure. Such festivals are meant to consolidate the king’s authority and ensure the loyalty of his subjects. They present the grandeur and prowess of royalty and involve homage-paying, paying of tributes and giving of gifts to the royal figure. It affords the common man in the society to have direct contact with the royal father, if only in the form of catching a glimpse or just experiencing the feeling of his physical presence in the performance arena, at least once in a year. There is no doubting the fact that the king is the central figure of the festival. Such festival exists among the Yoruba and other West Africans. They include the extinct Be.e.re. festival of the old O.yo. Empire, the O.ba (King) Festival of O`ndó and Ojúde O.ba (King’s courtyard) of Ìj`e.bú Òde. The annual Kulamba Festival of the Chewa people of Zambia may also be seen in the light of royal festival in that the central figure of the festival is the paramount chief Kalonga Gawa Undi. The meaning of the title denotes “one who installs other chiefs, gives out lands to them and protects them.” His chiefs come to pay tributes at Katete in Mkaika, the capital of his extensive chiefdom, which extends to Malawi and Mozambique. In addition to paying tributes during the festival, they also give reports of their stewardship during the outgoing year.14

Passage Rite Festivals Virtually all Africans believe in the continuum of existence in the hereafter. Hence, birth and death are also regarded as passages that are celebrated with rites observed when the newly born is initiated into existence in life, here in the terrestrial world of the living, and the dead elderly is bided goodbye from the world of the living and ushered into the celestial world of the spirits or ancestors. To die without reaching a ripe age, to the average African, is aberrant. Five basic passage rites identified by Ampin are celebrated to mark birth, adulthood, marriage, eldership and ancestorship.15 There may be many more levels or stages between adulthood and ancestorship than marriage and eldership, especially in communities where the age grade system is operated. Such other transitional rites may also exist in professional guilds and other religious cults or social associations to which an individual may belong. Though initiation rites into new stages of life which people pass through in many African communities are communally marked by the celebration of festivals, birth and death, the most primary of such rites, may not be celebrated on a large communal scale. We shall, however, concentrate here on the initiation rites into adulthood, which is common in many parts of the traditional African societies. This category of festival is used to mark the movement of individuals (often in groups) from childhood to adulthood. The transitional or liminal stage in the celebration is usually marked with

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an initiation rite; hence, the celebrations are also referred to by some as initiation festivals. It may be an annual or occasional event depending on the culture of the people concerned. In this type of festivals, unlike in those already discussed, the primary focus is on the individual. It is the communal festivalization of the passage rite that, however, paves the way for the secondary societal relevance. Though the broad outline of the rites, making up the coming of age festival is similar, following the pre-liminal, liminal and post-liminal format, the one for the boys is conceptually different from that of the girls. It is usually more rigorous and tougher than that of the girls. The difference can be attributed to the African cultural worldview on the roles of men and women in society. Though the young one being prepared for the transitional initiation is the central focus of the celebration, members of her/his families, officials and members of the relevant supervisory cult in charge of the rites together with other members of the society are usually involved. Boys of the same age bracket considered to be ripe enough for the initiation according to each community, that observe the ceremony,16 are separated from their parents and loved ones and taken to the field, forest, or mountains according to the tradition of each festival with little or no provision where they face all kinds of endurance tests, receiving different strict and specific instructions on their societal manhood culture some of which they may be put on oath never to disclose to none initiates, especially their mothers and girls. An important part of the endurance tests is that the boys have to bear the pains of the circumcision of their genital foreskin stoically. This period of transition bonds them to other members of their age grade with whom they would do things together in the future. Such ritual rites exist among, but not restricted to the Bille tribes of the Adamawa plateau in Nigeria and Cameroon,17 the Maasai of Kenya, Xhosa of South Africa18 and some Zambian tribes.19 Among Zambian tribes that observe the Mukanda passage rite to manhood for boys are the Luvae, Luchazi and Chokwe. The period spent by both the boys and girls varies from one tradition to the other. The boys stay in the condition of segregation for between 4 and 12 weeks, under harsh weather and conditions to learn endurance and bravery among other qualities they need for their manhood life in the Xhosa (South African) version of the ceremony, for example. They may stay longer than that in some other cultures. The post-liminal final stage constitutes the reintegration of the new young men into society. It is at this stage that the festival aspect of the whole ceremony is celebrated. The new young men are welcomed into the society with pomp and pageantry. The transition of girls to womanhood, as celebrated in African communities that practice it, is as already noted, marked with ceremonial rites that have similar broad structure as that of the boys, but with different rites and activity details. Such a ceremonial rite for girls, known as the fattening room rite, is found among the SouthEast and South-South people of Nigeria such as the Ikwerre, Ogoni, Efik, Ibibio and `. w`o. and among the Àkókó-E`. dó and E`. dó others.20 It is also not unknown in O`ndó, O Bini. The Ovia-Osese Festival celebrated in three parts (Iviasi, Opa-obubwe21 and Iko, equivalent to the pre-liminal, liminal and post-liminal stages of the transitional rite) among the Ogori people of Kogi State, Nigeria, is an example of girls’ transition into womanhood rite.22 Girls of ripe age23 are secluded in a special home under the

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tutelage of elderly experts who take good care of them and prepare them physically and psychologically for womanhood. The girls are not allowed to do any rigorous work, their bodies are massaged frequently with shea butter, including other local ointments and are excessively adorned and beautified in accordance with the cultural tradition of each locality. They are, in addition, taught the details of all cultural skills needed to make each of them become a successful wife and mother, according to the practice of individual community: including sex education. The liminal period of segregation is also utilized to instruct the candidates in the performance art culture of the society which they are expected to know as good women in their society. The post-liminal outing stage is tagged maiden dance in many of the southern Nigerian cultures, when the new women display some of the dancing skills they have learnt while in seclusion to the admiration of their audience. There is usually enough to eat and drink for every well-wishers. Conceptually similar rites for girls are observed among the Ndembu, Lozi, Lunda, Luvale, Bemba, Kaonde, Chewa and Tumbuka tribes of Zambia. According to Taylor, it is called Kankanga rites among the Ndembu, where the liminal period can last between 1 and 3 months. Among the Lunda and the Luvale, it may last even up to 12 months, but among the Bemba, Kaonde, Chewa and Tumbuka the rite, known as ic(h)isungu, lasts only 3 days. The girls in the ic(h)isungu rite are allowed to be accompanied to the place of seclusion by one or more elderly attendants known in the local language as banacimbusa selected by the neophyte’s mother.24 For both boys and girls who pass through the rite of becoming adults, they are usually ready for the next passage rite which, in most cases, is usually marriage.25

Purification and Other Functions of Traditional Festivals The problem in using functional criterion for classifying African festivals, as already indicated above, lies partly in the fact that there is hardly any festival that is monofunctional. While this is true, one of the many purposes or functions of a festival is, more often than not, foregrounded, dominant or emphasized than the others. In many of the examples cited so far, it is the dominant aspects of the festival that is employed in categorizing them under different types and subtypes. It is, however, not impossible to find identifying the dominating function or purpose difficult and elusive to determine, where there are two or more functions of equal or almost equal emphasis. The first-hand knowledge of practitioners of the ritual festivals and indigenous members of the communities where they are celebrated would no doubt be necessary. The focus of Mo.rèmi or Edì Festival of the Ilé If`e. people in Nigeria is more on the celebration of the heroine than the war victory which she helped to achieve. Hence, we classified it above as a historical, divinity or past heroine celebration festival. If the Odwira festival of Akropong and other Akuapem towns in Eastern Ghana are, according to Yirenkyi, for example, both a war and yam festival at the same time, it becomes difficult to classify it appropriately. One would not be able to decide where to classify it, whether under the historical or agricultural generic types.26 We are

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able to decide in the case of the Mo.remi Festival because we are Yoruba, who have adequate information on the festival and its traditions. However, in the E`. y`o. Festival of Lagos in Nigeria, which is believed to be primarily celebrated in honor of past illustrious Lagosians, and at the same time has very strong purification functions, it is difficult for us, though Yoruba, to take an easy decision on its generic type. More first-hand information from the e.` y`o. cultists will probably be needed to take adequate decision. There seems to be equal emphasis on the aforementioned two functional aspects of the festival. Therefore, one does not know whether to categorize it as past hero festival or as purification festival. Though the purification function of Mo.rèmi Festival is also strong that one tends to see it as a competing classificatory paradigm, our aforementioned knowledge of the basic purpose of the festival has been helpful in taking a decision. It is a common phenomenon in African cultures to begin a festival with purification `. s.un Festival in Òs.ogbo, O `. s.un State of Nigeria, is an example. It opens with rites. O the ìwopópó (inspecting the streets) cleansing rites observed by the Àtáója (the king) of Òs.ogbo when he ceremonially inspects some of the streets in the town during a ritual procession through parts of the town in the convoy of some of his olorì (royal wives) and some of his chiefs. According to Echeruo, the MbomAma festival of the Umunumo people of Igbo extraction opens with the weeding and sweeping of every path in the town.27 This, no doubt, is a clear purification rite. This type of physical environmental hygienic rite is also known in many parts of West Africa. In his step-by-step description of the Asogli Yam Festival in Ho, Kpenoe, Takla and Akoefe towns of Asogli state in Ghana, Selase identifies and describes the Nublabla, tying of herbal leaves rite as serving a ritual cleansing or purification purpose.28 He reveals that it takes place in Akoefe town and comes only after the VoluofeNkeke, the first rite of the festival, celebrated in honor of departed souls. The Blabu who constitute the custodians of the land and protectors of the paramount stool are the ones saddled with the ritual duty of tying the leaves. This is done amidst chanting of incantations, drumming and sounding of gongs. It is believed that as each of the functionaries tie his own bunch of leaves during the ritual event, all evil spirits and powers working against the peace and good of Asogli and its people would be tied down under bondage. In the E`. y`o. Festival of Lagos, the e.` y`o. masquerade’s overflowing white garments and the o.` pá`nbàtà staff, made from coconut palm branches, used in gathering dust and playfully (at times seriously) threatening onlookers as they move about the town during the festival are believed to be symbolic of a process of spiritual removal of all the evils of the society. The evils are symbolically heaped on the scapegoat masquerade character, E`. y`o. Adímú, later in the day at dusk in an appointed arena of performance during another sober ritual involving all the white flowing garment cladded E`. y`o., who mount a guard of honor with their staffs for the evil bearing E`. y`o. to pass through unto his journey of no return in the lagoon.29 The Mo.rèmi festival, as `. f`o.nràn, when implied earlier, has not less than three purification rites. First is the O in the early morning of the first day of the festival, smoke drifting from burning fire woods made on road junctions (oríta) and frontage of houses (ojúde), and are believed to have powers of snuffing out all evil spirits in the nooks and cranny of

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the community, are allowed to fill the air. Second is the pípako dílé olè (sealing the house of the thief with weeds) where identified deterrent elements of the society are ridiculed in satirical songs. The third, which constitutes the major final rite of the festival, is the Tele, scapegoat rite of riru-ibi (carrying away the evil) of the society. In the pre-colonial time, the scapegoat is usually immolated but in most communities where the practice still exists, the symbolic evil heaped on the human scapegoat character is usually transferred also symbolically to an animal scapegoat that is immolated instead. In Ghana, the Aboakyer festival of Winneba and Akwambo festival of Agona district in the Central Region of the country are other West African examples of purification festivals cited by Yirenkyi.30 According to Yirenkyi, the essence of Aboakyer, “animal catching festival,” is to ensure healthy environment. The cleansing purpose of Akwambo festival is evident in the meaning of the name “path-clearance,” which it bears. The symbolic physical clearing of the paths in the community is believed to have spiritual cleansing implications for the new cycle/year that begins after the festival. This, we believe, is a general perspective all over the African communities, where such is practiced. There are other functions, benefits or purposes which the African traditional festival serves. Among them, as implied above are religious purposes involving the worship or veneration of deities and ancestors. They also serve the purpose of providing entertainment and relaxation. They similarly serve as a force of unity when, during the festival, all members of the society, relatives, friends and well-wishers from both far and near come together for the common purpose of celebrating the festival. Many of the festivals are performed during the season when there is less work on the farm where the people are mostly farmers. The ceremonies of the festivals, therefore, serve recreational functions for them. Most if not all the periodic or cyclical festivals are used in marking seasons in Africa. As noted earlier, this is why some scholars see such festivals, especially the agricultural ones as calendrical. It is, however, not only the agricultural festivals that can be used in cyclical time reckoning, virtually all festivals can serve that purpose in so far as they are celebrated at regular cyclical intervals. It is interesting to note that the Dogon of Mali celebrates the Sigui Festival at a cyclical interval of every 60 years and that each celebration can last several years. The last one was started in 1967 and ended in 1973. The next one will commence in 2027. This ancestral historical festival celebrates the first ancestor of the Dogon and it is supervised by a male cult. During the festival, all the Olubar, cult members wear masks and form a long procession moving from village to village during the night when non-initiates are not allowed to see them. The point we want to draw attention to here is that the long duration of the cycle of this Dogon Sigui Festival is evidence against Mbiti’s popular hypothetical generalization about African having a great sense of the past but a diminutive sense of the future. Surely the Dogon who have a 60-year festival cycle time reckoning, marked with the Sigui Festival, cannot fit into Mbiti’s hypothetical group of Africans with diminutive future time reckoning.31

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The ritualization and festivalization of monumental events in the life of the traditional Africans were necessary because they depended on oral and performative means for keeping records and passing traditions on to the next and future generations. They were originally non-literate. Their aesthetic concept of art could, therefore, not afford the luxury of western formalistic perspective but be essentially functional and utilitarian. Therefore, we maintain that the traditional festivals are intricate fusions of art in general, including poetry, drama, storytelling, singing, chanting, dance, drumming, acrobatics, masks and masquerading, costuming, make-ups and other relevant properties that are necessary as part and parcel of the performance paraphernalia. All these aesthetic features, together with the relevant cultic and other socio-political institutions, constitute the means of organization and actualization of the festivals. One misconception that is being removed gradually nowadays about rituals and festivals is that they are rigid in form and content. The developmental experiences of many African festivals from the pre-colonial epoch, through the colonial to the contemporary post-colonial periods, have shown that this is really not so. Modes of performances have changed in many cases, with old features giving way to new ones. Some of the changes are sometimes conditioned by necessities of modernization and others by socio-political or even economic compulsions. Change in costumes, properties and types of masks used in any festival are in most cases necessitated by sociological changes. But changes that involve human sacrifice in the scapegoat rituals and other such rites definitely were out of compulsion during the colonial period. There is, however, no doubt that the introduction of the two Abrahamic religions of Islam and Christianity, including Westernization, into Africa had had serious impacts on African culture. In many cases, traditional rituals and festivals are being obliterated and new forms are emerging. Due to the unsavory disposition of the new religions, modern education and civilization to the indigenous African religion in general and the traditional festivals in particular, which are regarded as fetish, a new set of festivals emerged among the Yoruba people of South-Western Nigeria. They are tagged town’s day festivals. Examples include Ìgàngàn Day, Èrúwà Day and ÒkèIgbó Day, etc. Whereas the traditional festivals are primarily organized, celebrated and supervised by the traditional functionaries, the new festivals are usually organized by an appointed committee made up of elite members of the three major religions— Traditional Religion, Islam and Christian. Apart from supplications for progress, peace in the modes of the three religions, pomp and pageantry, feasting and so on, there is also fundraising for executing developmental projects in the town. The leadership of the town is usually involved, so also are socio-cultural associations and societies in the towns. Were it not for the serious purposes of peace, progress and unity, one would have considered the new festivals a carnival. The traditional religious festivals have also been frequently reduced to mere entertainments. The serious sacred socio-religious and other utilitarian essences are therefore being removed gradually. The Eurocentric aesthetics is gaining grounds while the indigenous functional aesthetics is gradually fading out. Mini-performances of the traditional ritual festivals are, for example, today put up as shows used for entertaining guests at official governmental and even other non-governmental functions.

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In cases where governments are still supporting the annual or periodic performances of some traditional festival, it is primarily because of their tourist attraction relevance and economic implications and not necessarily because of their spiritual relevance and other humane values that they can add. There is, therefore, the fear that most if not all of these traditional festivals, which are already under threats of extinction in the face of the so-called modern civilizations and religions may be totally obliterated in the near future. These festivals are part and parcel of our cultural heritage and identity that should not be allowed to be wished away into oblivion. What should be done in the face of this precarious situation should concern all African and Africanist scholars. This was one of the issues addressed at a conference held at the Lagos State University, Lagos, Nigeria, on traditional Yoruba religious festivals in July 2011. Both Ogundeji, in his keynote address, and Alamu, in his lead paper presentation, agreed that a systematic and comprehensive documentation plan needs to be instituted and conscientiously implemented. Scholars in cultural studies, academic and non-academic associations and other stakeholder institutions and individuals were called upon to cooperate on the matter to help in effective documentation for posterity.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted a broad description of the functions of African traditional festivals. Attempt to employ this criterion for classification yielded the historical, agricultural, royal, passages rite and purification major types. The types identified are illustrated from many parts of Africa. Understandably, however, there are more examples from West Africa where the authors come from Nigeria to be specific. Some subtypes are referred to and attention drawn to the general overlapping nature that resulted from the multifunctional nature of individual festivals and prolific nature of festivals in Africa. Other relevant functions such as that of the aesthetic, reckoning of time and unity are also pointed out. Attention is drawn to the serious threats against African festivals. Identifying the festivals as an important cultural heritage and identity, it is suggested in the chapter that a detailed plan be put in place that will be rigorously and conscientiously pursued to document the cultural African festivals for posterity. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Ogundeji (2000, 2005, 2012, 2014). Mark (2017). The three festivals researched by Fasehun for her doctoral dissertation include Ogun, Oramfe and Oba festivals in Ondo Kingdom. Fasehun (2017). Clarke-Ekong (1997).

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22. 23.

24. 25.

26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

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It should be noted that in many traditional African societies, history is not separated from myths and legends (see Ogundeji 2014). Yirenkyi (2009). Taylor (2006) and (www.zambiatourism.com). Manus (2007). See www.mitriblog.org and Selase (2013). See ww.zambiatourism.com. See Osabu-Kle (n.d.) and Yirenkyi (2009). Asogwa et al. (2012). (www.zambiatourism.com/about-zambia/people/festival, 2018, accessed 7/5/2018). Ampin (2003) and Kyalo (2013). This may be between age 13 and 16 or 20. Boe (1968); Leis (2011). Maasai Association (n.d.) and Bullock (2015). Taylor (2006) and Zambia Tourism Agency (2018). Effiong (2013). A girl is ready for the rite among many of the communities that observe the rite, at puberty. The Iviasi rite in the Ovia-oseseOgori festival in Nigeria is established for celebrating puberty and enlisting for training afforded by participating in the Opa-obubwe liminal stage of the festival where the training in becoming a woman is carried out (see Ododo 2004). Ododo (2004). The ripe age (12–13) may be attached to puberty in some areas, like among the Zambians (Taylor, ibid.). In some other areas, where the primary purpose is getting the girls ready for marriage girls of age 14–18 and above are targeted (Ododo, ibid.; Effiong 2013). Taylor, ibid. In some African communities, aspect of marriage which is primarily a familial ceremony may be festivalized, where it involves many girls in the community observing it at the same time. Such is the case of o.dún ìyàwó (marriage festival) in Saho, near Ìlo.rin, Kwara State of Nigeria, where the brides in the convoys of their maidens and relatives dance and perform the e.kún ìyàwó (bridal chant) and orin e.l´e.gb´e. ìyàwó (bridal train songs) moving from one house of their relations to the other. The secondary information within our reach for this purpose is not detailed. Echeruo (1973). Selase, ibid. Adedeji (1973) and O.sanyin (2004). Yirenkyi, ibid. See CMG Archives (2013) and Ogundeji (2014).

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REFERENCES Adedeji, J.A. 1973. The AdamuOrisa Play. University of Ibadan: Department of Theatre Arts Occasional Publication. Alamu, O. 2012. Documenting the Yoruba Traditional Festival. OPAMBATA: LASU Journal of African Studies 5: 23–38. Ampin, M. 2003. The Five Major African Initiation rites, https://www.manuampin.com/AfricanIn itiationrites.htm. Asogwa, B.C., Umeh, J. C., and Okwoche, V. A. 2012. Community Fishing and the Argungu Fishing Festivals of Nigeria. Asian journal of Business Management 4 (2): 192–199. Boe, P.P. 1968. BilleCircumcission. Nigeria Magazine 99: 291–301. Bullock, R. 2015. A Month with Three Initiates During Xhosa Cirumcission Ritual. It’s Hard to Be a Man: Xhosa Circumcission Ritual. Africa Geographic Magazine 48, Friday 29 May 2015. Clarke-Ekong, S. 1997. Traditional Festivals in the Political Economy: The Case of Contemporary Ghana. Journal of Social Development in Africa 12 (2): 49–60. CMG Archives (Compiled and Edited). 2013. The Dogon: An Overview, http://www.campbellm gold.com, pdf. Accessed on 24 May 2018, 00:53:14 Echeruo, M. J. C. 1973. The Dramatic Limits of Igbo Ritual. Research in African literatures 4 (1): 21–31. Effiong U. P. 2013. Nigerian Fattening Room: Reinventing the Total Woman.http://www.philip-eff iong.com/Fattening-Rooms.pdf. Accessed on 27 May 2018, 21:04:44. Fasehun, M. A. 2017. Dramatic Features in Ogun,Oramfe and Oba Festivals of Ondo Kingdom, Nigeria, Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, University of Ibadan, Ibadan. Kyalo, P. 2013. Initiation Rites and Rituals in African Cosmology. International Journal of Philosophy and Theology 1 (1): 34–36 (http://www.aripd.org.ijpt). Leis, P. 2011. Past Passages: Initiation rites on the Adamawa Plateau (Cameroon). Ethnology 50 (2): 169–188. Manus, U. C. 2007. The Sacred Festival of Iri Ji Ohuru in Igboland, Nigeria. Nordic Journal of African Studies 16 (2): 244–260. Mark, J. J. 2017. Festivals in Ancient Egypt. In Ancient History Encyclopedia, retrieved from http:// www.ancient.eu/article/1032, Accessed on 24 May 2018, 00:53:15. Maasai Association. n.d. Maasai Ceremonies and Rituals. http://www.maasai-association.org/cer monies.html, Accessed on 19 April 2018, 18:49:50. Ododo, S. E. 2004. Womanhood and Virgo Intacta: Form and Aesthetic Reconstruction in OviaOsese Performance. Ufuhamu: A journal of African Studies 30 (2/3): 121–146. Ogundeji, P.A. 2000. Ritual as Theatre, Theatre as Ritual: The Nigerian Example. Isese Monograph Series: Ibadan Cultural Studies Group, University of Ibadan, Ibadan. Ogundeji, P. A. 2005. Functions and forms of Traditional Theatre Practice in Nigeria. In African culture and Civilization, ed. Ademola S. Ajayi, 211–245. Ibadan, Nigeria: Atlantis Books in Association with Ibadan cultural Studies Group. Ogundeji, P. A. 2012. Trends and Issues in Yoruba Festival Studies. OPAMBATA: LASU Journal of African Studies 5: 1–22. Ogundeji, P. A. 2014. Yoruba Drama in time Perspective. Inaugural Lecture, university of ‘Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. Osabu-Kle, D. T. n.d. Ga People and Omowo Festival Carleton University, htpps: //Carleton. Calafricanstudies/wp-content/…/Ga-people-homowo—FestivalinTogo. Accessed on 1/11/2018, 8.08 am. O.sanyin, B. 2004. Adamu-Orisha Play of Lagos: A Study in Ritual Drama. Lagos: Deocraft Communications. Selase, G.R. 2013. The Socio-Economic Benefits Derived from Festivals: A Case Study of Asogli Yam Festival in Ghana. Journal of Arts Science and Commerce, IV. 4: 63–72. Taylor, S.D. 2006. Culture and Customs of Zambia. Westport: Greenwood Press.

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Yirenkyi, G. 2009. Traditional festivals in Ghana: Categories and Unique Features, Ghanaian Times, Nov 28, p. 28 Downloaded from National Commission on Culture Newsletter, http://www.gha naculture.gov.gh/Index.Php?linkid=65&archiveid=18. Accessed on 5/7/2018, 3.14 pm. Zambia Tourism Agency. 2018. Festivals in Zambia, htpp;//zambiatourism.com/aboutzambia/people/festival. Accessed on 7/5/2018, 3. 22 pm.

Chapter 6

Fieldwork and Data Collection Arinpe G. Adejumo and Akeem Oyebamiji

Introduction African folklore is verbal in nature. The different forms, such as folktales, folksongs, myths, proverbs, legends, idioms, and so on, showcase the peoples’ oral resourcefulness and their life in general. African folklore is passed down from one generation to the other through words of mouth. Efforts have been made by scholars of African folklore to translate African folklore from its state of being intangible to being tangible through the collection of its various forms for documentation and preservation. The documentations are transcribed to form a text of African folklore, which may be used for analysis. This chapter reiterates, in a more novel dimension, necessary preparations to guide intending scholars of African folklore on fieldwork and data collection. This includes pre-field preparations, field, and post-field activities. The chapter also provides the best practices for overcoming certain challenges that are likely to confront researchers, especially in this world of insecurity and uncertainty. The work also proffers solutions to the challenges, in the form of recommendations. Folklore is the cultural knowledge transmitted from the past to the modern age. African folklore is culture-bound, and it is linked to various aspects of the culture of the people. It is entrenched in the tradition of the people and intricately linked to the African belief system and thought, performances (both ritual and secular), and medicine. In Falola’s view, African folklore is part of the “ritual archives.” It is an archive through which we can have an understanding of the African people and their way of life. African folklore is “worthy of preservation and organization as data.”1 The above view necessitates the need for fieldwork and data collection of African folklore. A. G. Adejumo (B) Department of Linguistics and African Languages, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria A. Oyebamiji Department of Yoruba, Federal College of Education, Zaria, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_6

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African folklore has been described as an “evanescent phenomenon,”2 an intangible form that is passed down from mouth to mouth from one generation to the other. The oral, verbal, and fluid nature of African folklore poses a challenge to having a text of oral literature that could be analyzed like its written counterpart. Hence, there is a need for the collection of data by scholars of African folklore. Fieldwork and data collection give soul and body to African folklore. Its study is incomplete without the acquisition of ways to tap into its source and to generate it as data for analysis, documentation, and preservation. Fieldwork has been defined as the “collection of information or data from a particular source.”3 It is in fieldwork and data collection that African folklore has its being and relevance in the past, present, and future.4 There are different approaches to the study of African folklore. Notable among the approaches that have been adopted by earlier scholars are historical geographical, structural–functional, and evolutionist approaches. However, the bedrock on which each of those approaches stands is the derived data which form the text for analysis. The different forms of African folklore are preserved by the raconteurs, sages, priests and priestess, diviners, artists, and commoners in society. However, according to Okoh, the above preservers of African folklore and their audience do not bother themselves with studying, dissecting, or analyzing the materials they are performing or listening to.5 Their main concern is the function which the lore performs. These functions may relate to entertainment, didacticism, and purification or sanitation of the society. It is the responsibility of the scholar of African folklore who wants to focus on analysis and documentation to go to the source to generate the text for analysis and archiving.

African Folklore: A Discussion African folklore is very diverse and expansive. For instance, Blavin explains that Ghanaian legislation defines folklore as “all literary artistic and scientific work belonging to the cultural heritage of Ghana which were created, preserved and developed by ethnic communities of Ghana.”6 Similarly, he cites the Nigeria law that defines folklore as a group-oriented and tradition based on the creation of groups of individuals’ reflection of the communities as an adequate expression of its cultural and social identity, its standards and values as transmitted orally. Blavin notes that almost identical definitions can be found in the laws of the Republic of Congo, Burundi, Mali, Cameroon, the Central Republic of African Republic, and Senegal. It could be deduced from the above that folklore depicts ways by which humans manage their everyday life events, including conflicts or crises. The major forms of folklore/oral traditions are folktales, fairytales, ballads, folk drama, proverbs, incantations, myths, genealogies, riddles, idioms, production of art, drawing, painting, carving, sculpture, poetry, terracotta, and architectural designs. African folklore demonstrates a keen interest in oral poetry despite the effects of contemporary civilization and Western education. The rationale behind it, as Irele and Ajibade noted, is that oral poetry represents that form of expression to which

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African sensorium is mostly ready attuned.7 Besides, in spite of the impact of literacy, orality is still the dominant mode of communication in Africa. Irele argues further that oral literature determines a particular position of imagination of a different order from that conditioned by literacy. Africans strongly believe that their oral resources must not go into extinction. This requires fieldwork, data collection, archiving, and documentation of the folklore. Oral literature is not necessarily traditional. Dorson gives the examples of Marchen epics, ballads, proverbs, romance, riddles, topical poems, praise songs, lyrics, reminiscences, recollections, anecdotes, reconstructions, testimonies, sages, genealogies, and myths.8 Some of these forms, by definition, are traditional, while some are not. For instance, oral poets who compose new and original songs are contributing to non-traditional oral literature. Only time will tell whether the folk will accept their production into tradition; by then, numerous singers would have reshaped the piece into a folksong. Dorson expatiates further that most of the forms of oral literature are folkloric genres. Some critics use oral literature interchangeably with oral tradition, which is itself synonymous with folklore. Ifie sees African folklore as a living subject because it is still being transmitted orally.9 Despite the fact that myth could have been created in the past, there could be additions and eliminations of motifs or theme in making the myth live and living. Ifie sums up the modification to myth in the following words: Myth told fifty years ago in Africa in which the canoe was the major mode of transportation and mass communication system when drums formed the general mass media are now being recast in language full of vocabulary relating to advanced technological conveniences such as airplane, rocket, or space exploring crafts.10

The above excerpt suggests that folklore is not only attributed to historical past events. It could be incorporated in contemporary life endeavors to entertain and educate especially among the children and the youth. The study of oral literature cannot be said to be complete without looking carefully into its preservation and documentation. Oral literature is generally believed to have an evanescent existence, and its study in Africa could not be easy when it is not properly documented and preserved. Orality has put the mark of being fluid on oral literature, and it does not usually have a text that can be ascribed to an author. Hence, an oral literary scholar who wants to do literary criticism of any form of oral poetic genre or sub-genre must be ready to do thorough fieldwork in order to collect data for his/her study. Until recently, when early scholars focus their documentation on the oral genre, oral poetry was not usually found as a body of text. Hence, any scholar who wants to study oral literature will have to go to the field to collect data in order to generate the text he/she wants to analyze. This means that fieldwork and data collection are central to the study of African folklore. The field, according to Okoh, should be treated as “an entire or full-fledged literary phenomenon.”11 This means that everything that happens on the field during a performance should be integrated into the text, hence the need for a systematic approach to data generation.

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Hints to Fieldworkers The field is very paramount in African folklore because “the field is actually the middle ground between theory and practice, the place where data are found, spectacles are created, observations are made, interviews are carried out, knowledge is boosted, practical life-changing experiences are acquired and interactions that engage both the researchers and the performers are established.”12 There are certain technical measures fieldworkers on African folklore are expected to observe before going to the field and while on the field. Some of these are discussed below.

Essence of the Data Before going to the field, the researcher must know the essence or purpose of the data being collected. This will determine the scope of the fieldwork. While specific and separate data could be collected for the purpose of studying a community’s taboos and superstition, for instance, data could also be generated on the proverbs and idioms of that community.

Sourcing for Expert Informants A researcher should source for informants that are vast in the specific area of his/her choice. This could be done through a link. The link could be a member of the community who is familiar with the people of the community and artists or performers who are knowledgeable in the lore.

Geographical Mapping and/or Visibility Study of the Field or Location The researcher should do a visibility study of the field or location on the fieldwork and be tactful on how to arrange his/her journey. A pre-field data collection plan could be done by paying a visit to the resource persons or the informants before the actual performance. This will assist the researcher on the appropriate logistic plans.

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Finances A researcher should have adequate preparation for finances on the field. He/she is expected to incur certain expenses before he/she would be able to collect data from informants. He/she should not underestimate this important factor. He/she should also prepare for miscellaneous expenses. For instance, if he/she is to spend 1000 in an African country local currency, he/she should prepare for 2000 to handle such expenses because of some unforeseen contingencies.

Getting Necessary Technological Equipment Ready Before the performance, a researcher is advised to get all the necessary technological equipment ready. For instance, if the interview location or the field lacks electricity, it is advised to prepare for alternative instruments that use battery or solar energy. The researcher should also get ready recording instruments, such as midget recorder, video recorder, and camera battery. All these instruments must be tested before proceeding to the field.

Familiarization A researcher should familiarize himself/herself with the culture of the people of the folklore setting. He/she should also discuss the culture, the people, and the importance of the culture of the people of the lore he/she is collecting data on. He/she should show love to the people and demonstrate his/her interest in the culture, the people, and the lore. This will build mutual trust, and the informants/resource persons will be encouraged to cooperate with the researcher. Familiarization also reflects in gender relation on the field. For instance, a female researcher from a non-Islamic region, who is in the field to collect data on court poetry tradition in the Islamic community, has to dress like a Muslim with Hijab before she can get the attention of the people. In the same vein, a male researcher must have prior appointment and be wholly permitted before he could enter a house in an Islamic community. A researcher should note these precautions for a successful data collection on the field on African folklore.

Learn Cultural Ethos Greeting is very important in African culture. A researcher should learn the greeting form of the community. A researcher may need to stay a while in the community in order to understand the language that will enable him/her to use the language

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for greeting and other cultural understanding and participation. Karin Barber’s case could be employed here when she stayed in a Yorùbá community, Òkukù, Nigeria, while collecting data on Yorùbá oríkì. She writes: I stayed three years in Òkukù. During this time, I experienced the intense pleasure of learning Yorùbá not only from books but people who loved their language and never missed an opportunity to demonstrate its capabilities. People would produce choice phrase-proverbs, idioms or current slang- and then take endless pleasure in expounding their inner meaning …Like other people I began to feel a pleasure in oríkì, independent of their meaning, and at the same time, I began to discover the meanings upon meanings.13

The above suggests immersion. A researcher should immerse himself/herself in the language and culture of the community. The people’s ways of dressing and diets should be imbibed, especially for the time of fieldwork. The community taboos and superstition should also be observed. For instance, female researchers are not permitted to collect data on the orò festival (a men’s cult among the Yorùbá). Not only that, women on their menstrual period are denied collecting data on certain African traditional festivals. The researcher should set achievable goals. These include how long will the field and/or data collection take and what will likely be the financial expenses. His/her plan should also include psychological and emotional preparation. The researcher should be physically fit. He/she should not embark on the field when he/she is sick. He/she should not be engulfed with much psychological thought about life in general. He/she should also be focused on the essence of the fieldwork and/or lore he/she intends to collect data on. Besides, he/she should also be emotionally balanced.

Proper Attitude While on the Field Proper The field is where the recording of the presentation or performance of the folklore proper comes up. The researcher should participate fully as a participant observer. He/she should not class himself/herself. Here are some hints he/she should abide by: i.

ii.

iii.

iv.

Timing: The researcher should time himself/herself on the recording, focusing on the minutes or hour that the presentational performance takes. He/she should also set when to start and stop. Abide by the goal: The goal of the data or fieldwork should not be diverted. Being vast in their repertoire, some informants may want to divert the goal of performance overtly or covertly. It is the duty of the researcher to make sure that the research discussion is not diverted away from the research goal. Monitoring the Recording: The researcher should check the recording whether or not the performance is being recorded. He/she should also play it back there and then so that any anomaly could be corrected immediately. Having several informants: This is laudable, especially when the field or the lore itself is wide and varied in nature. This will also make the researcher’s

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vi.

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collection more valuable, if the performances are compared, especially during the analysis. Confirmation: The researcher should confirm the recorded performance(s), making sure that everything is in order before he/she leaves the informant or the location. He/she should also exchange his/her contact with the informant. There may be the need for further communication and/or conversation on the recorded performance(s). Seeking the consent of the informants to use the data: This is very important. Some informants, especially on traditional festivals or cult guild performance(s), may not allow the researcher to use the performance for his/her personal enterprises. In this regard, the researcher should seek the informant’s consent properly. The consent should be in written form, with the two parties properly signing the consent form. If the informant could not read/write, the researcher should record the informant’s consent.

Post-fieldwork Stage Here are some of the steps to take at the post-field stage of data collection: i.

ii.

iii.

iv.

Transcription: Transcription should take place for further analysis. It is during transcription that the researcher understands some of the phrases that make up the lore. This may also prompt him/her to ask the informant(s) questions on the phrases or utterances he/she does not understand in the lore. This will also make the translation easier, and this should be done instantly. Translation: The lore transcribed should be translated into the language of the research if the language of data and the language of research are not the same. In Nigeria, for instance, English is the official language, and the language used to write research reports. A researcher that is working on Yorùbá lore must translate his/her data to English. Also, efforts could be made to translate the data into other leading languages of the world. As noted by Okpewho, it is in the name of documenting African folklore that “modern African writers mainly collect and publish texts of the oral literature of their people as practiced over time and the literature as the basis for writing original works that reflect from a more or less modern perspective.”14 Cross-checking: The researcher should cross-check both the transcription and translation in case there are missing gaps. If there are missing gaps, the researcher should go back to the field immediately to fill the gaps. This makes the work more valid and meaningful. Preservation of Data: The transcribed and translated data are then produced and documented for analysis. While working on Mandinka oral epics, Gordon Innes notes that any translation, however felicitous, of Mandinka praise names, can convey their emotive power and the heroic aura which they give to the epic, since they are generally allusive, obscure, and genealogical. He then asks whether we should try to convey to English readers something of the heroic

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aura by our translation of the epic as a whole, bearing in mind that the great bulk of it is everyday Gambian Mandinka.15 Okpewho avers that African folklore chooses a style or form of translation.16 For instance, the mythical value of the myth is not hampered, and it is preserved even through the worst translation. Whatever our ignorance of the language and culture of the people where it originated, a myth is still felt as myth by any reader anywhere in the world. Myth aligns with purely functional translation. Dorson applauds the system of translation of Scottish Gaelic oral traditions as meritorious because it indicates preserving the repertoire of two Gaelic-speaking master narrators of the Hebrides and buttressing the texts with valuable historical notes and glosses.17 Dorson also reports John Lome Campbell who followed modern folklore methods of translation by presenting literal texts recorded on wire or tape; he translated them directly from the recording into natural and equivalent English. Dorson warns that a translator should avoid pseudo-archaic styles.

Challenges of Fieldwork on African Folklore There are certain factors that hinder data collectors of African folklore. Some of these factors are discussed in this sub-section.

Finances Money plays a very critical influence on fieldwork and data collection on African folklore. No researcher can do without expenses on the field. There could be expenses on transportation, development of the questionnaire, provision of interview and data collection gadgets, feeding, unforeseen expenses, and possibly gift items or cash to be presented to the informant(s) or resource person(s). In Africa, many researchers do not get grants or financial support from the government for the preservation and documentation of African folklore. Much of the fieldwork is self-sponsored. This is why much of the fieldwork is precipitated on academic pursuit.

Insurgency This is another critical factor. Forms of insurgency including kidnapping, killing, inter- or intra-ethnic attacks, and other unhealthy behaviors are perpetrated across the continent. Fieldwork can be hindered when the field worker is kidnapped and the demand for ransom, which could not be easy to raise.

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Health and Medical-Related Issues The problems associated with the researcher’s health while on the field are not really those of exotic diseases and fear of wide carnivorous animals like hyena and leopard, which could be attributed to African environment. Rather, they are those of shortage of medical personnel and medical facilities, which may undermine the potential seriousness of the fieldworker. Newman comments that “health on the field is not luxury, it is an essential element to successful research. No matter how knowledgeable one may be in theory, no matter how skillful one may be in the technique of description and analysis, one may not achieve his/her goal if one is not medically fit.”18

Language Barrier Most professional African traditional artists, resource persons, and informants make use of their mother tongues or the local language/dialect of their communities for presentation or performance of their arts. This may create major problem for a researcher who is a non-native speaker of the language. Many of the narratives may be rendered in colloquial speech, where there could be frequent elisions, contractions, vowel lengthening, and abbreviations. All these must be represented in order to be faithful to the raw data. The researcher/data collector is also expected to pay proper attention to every phrase and word. He/she should be inquisitive enough, as the collection progresses, especially when there are allusions in the arts.

Infrastructural Facilities One of the prevailing factors that may hinder fieldwork and data collection in African folklore is the lack of good road networks to reach research locale. Apart from auto accidents, there could be unnecessary delays on the way. Not only that, most communities in Africa are still experiencing lack of electricity and pipe-borne water.

Issues in Audience Reception Kofoworola comments on the issue of audience and performance among the Hausa in the northern part of Nigeria.19 The Hausa traditional society is marked by remarkable social institutions which cut across their religious, political, economic, and social forms. Traditional oral poetry is, in effect, constrained to restricted audiences, which may at times influence quality and impact of performance. This is a task that should be faced squarely by modern scholarship of Hausa oral traditions. This means that the

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individual form of the folklore has its own target audience. This means performance would not be meaningful to any passer-by or onlooker as the cultural language of performance and the repertoire are coded for the consumption of the members of the group only.

Claim of Authorship Ownership of poetry is a remarkably complex phenomenon. Oral poetry is composed, performed, and sometimes owned by individuals. Its production and publication are not infrequently under the control of specific and differentiated groups within the society. However, most forms of African folklore are said to belong to the society where they evolved.

Child Rearing and Care With respect to child rearing and caring in Africa, Newman notes that nowadays, the spouse of the field linguist is likely to have his/her project or activities to carry out; or as increasingly common, the researcher is a single mom with children.20 People usually cope, but the problems are not inexistent, and they can interface with one’s work schedule if left unattended. Investigations reveal that some researchers/fieldworkers have abandoned many research projects owing to issues relating to their families, particularly child raising and care. An average African woman does not toy with her children.

Socio-Cultural Ethos and Gender Questions Men on fieldwork and data collection on African folklore may also have their peculiar challenges. This could border on religion. For example, male visitors are not permitted to enter people’s houses in the Muslim communities without prior permission. This is done to protect their women in purdah. In the same vein, women are forbidden from participating in some performances that are designated for men only. There are taboos and superstitions attached to some performances. For instance, Finnegan notes that anybody that has a living parent may not be part of ìgbàlá performance.21 This is also related to the case of initiates versus non-initiates. For instance, with respect to arò fífà, a chant rendered among Ògbóni fraternity among the Yoruba of southwest Nigeria, no researcher will be given the data unless he/she is a member of the cult or is an initiate.

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Time and Timing Time and timing also pose challenges to fieldwork and data collection on African folklore. Some traditional festivals and arts have specific times for their presentation and performance. Most African traditional festivals have times of worship and celebration. For instance, court poetry in Edo (Bini) region of southeast Nigeria could only be collected when the performance will be made for Uba Ughoron’s delight `. sun festival in Osogbo, southwestern at the festival. In the same vein, data on O Nigeria, could only be collected during the celebration of the festival in August. If a fieldworker misses the time, the researcher may have to wait till the following year because most African traditional festivals are held yearly.

Conclusion African scholars on African folklore have been able to prove that, in spite of literacy in Africa, orality has been a dominant mode of communication. This chapter stresses the importance of fieldwork and data collection on African folklore and oral traditions. The work highlights certain necessary steps that could guide any scholar who is interested in African folklore. Considering the current developments on the continent of Africa, vis-à-vis political and cultural life of insecurity and uncertainty, an intending fieldworker on African folklore may experience challenges such as finances, insurgency, infrastructural facilities, communication network, cultural ethos, visibility/location issue, gender issue, and family issue. The chapter has proffered some solutions to these challenges. The challenges notwithstanding, more fieldwork and data collection on African folklore should be encouraged such that there could be more forms of African folklore in documented form. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

Falola (2018: 13). Okon (2008: 158). Jegede (2012: 218). Okon ibid.; Jegede ibid. Okoh ibid., 159. Blavin (2003: 1). Irele (2007), Ajibade (2012). Dorson (1976). Ifie (1998). Ibid., 6. Okoh ibid., 165. Jegede ibid., 219. Barber (1991: 17).

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Okpewho (2003: 111). Innes (2003: 109). Okpewho ibid. Dorson ibid. Newman (2009: 11). Kofoworola (1981). Newman ibid. Finnegan (1979).

References Ajibade, Sola. 2012. The Yoruba Oral Artists and Their Use of Word. Yoruba: Journal of Yoruba Studies Association of Nigeria 7 (1): 30–62. Barber, K. 1991. I Could Speak Until Tomorrow: Oriki, Women and the Past in a Yoruba Town. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Blavin, Jonathan. 2003. Folklore in Africa. Open Knowledge Network. Harvard Law School. Dorson, Richard. 1976. Folklore and Fakelore: Essay Toward a Discipline of Folk Studies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Falola, Toyin. 2018. The Toyin Falola Reader on African Culture, Nationalism, Development and Epistemologies. Austin: Pan African University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 1979. Oral Poetry: Its Nature, Significance and Social Context . London: Cambridge University Press. Ifie, J. 1998. African Myth and Mythology. In African Culture and Mythology, ed. J. Ifie and Dapo Adelugba, 45–57. Ibadan: End-Time Publishing House. Innes, Gordon. 2003. Formulae in Madinka Epic: The Problem of Translation. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 101–110. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books Limited. Irele, Abiola. 2007. Orality, Literacy and African Literature. In African Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory, ed. Teju Olaniyan and Ato Quayson, 74–91. Australia: Blackwell Publishing. Jegede, Oluwatoyin. 2012. Fieldwork in Oral Literature: An Assessment of Oral Literary Studies at the University of Ibadan 2008–2012. Ibadan Journal of English Studies 8: 218–235. Kofoworola, Ziky. 1981. Preservation and Development of Traditional Poetry: The Hausa Example. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Chegbunam Abalogu et al., 290–308. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine. Newman, P. 2009. Fieldwork and Field Methods in Linguistics. Language Documentation and Conversation 3: 3–25. Okoh, Nkem. 2008. Preface to Oral Literature. Onitsha: Africana First Publishers Limited. Okpehwo, Isidore. 2003. Towards a Faithful Record: On Transcribing and Translating the Oral Narrative Performance. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 111–135. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books Limited.

Chapter 7

Documenting Oral Genres James Essegbey

Introduction The year, 2019, is UNESCO’s International Year of Indigenous year of languages. The website that UNESCO has launched to commemorate the year contains the following: The website will contribute to raising the awareness about this International Year and about the urgent need to preserve, revitalize and promote indigenous languages around the world. There are some 6.000-7.000 languages in the world today. About 97% of the world’s population speaks only 4% of these languages, while only 3% of the world speak 96% of all remaining languages. A great majority of those languages, spoken mainly by indigenous peoples, will continue to disappear at an alarming rate. Without appropriate measure to address this issue, the further loss of languages and their associated history, traditions and memory would considerably reduce the rich tapestry of linguistic diversity worldwide.1

Since 1970, there have been efforts to document languages before they disappear. In Africa, which is said to possess a third of the world’s languages, active research on language endangerment and documentation efforts were slow to begin.2 However, they have gathered momentum over the years.3 In this chapter, I briefly trace the history of language documentation. I then present the annotation of a folktale that I recorded when I documented Tutrugbu, a Ghana-Togo Mountain (GTM) language spoken in Ghana.4

J. Essegbey (B) Department of Languages, Literatures and Cultures, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_7

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From Traditional to Multimodal Language Documentation and Processing Woodbury defines language documentation as “the creation, annotation, preservation and dissemination of transparent records of a language.”5 Although the practice of documenting languages has existed for a long time, products of documentation in the earlier times were (descriptive) grammars, dictionaries, and collections of texts.6 Henke and Berez-Kroeker put it thus: “[documentation] during this period consisted mostly of textual materials such as field notes, translations, elicitation data, lexical compilations, and grammatical descriptions.”7 These were all physical products, and the documenters’ tool at the time mostly consisted of a pen or pencil and paper. Those who could afford it, at the earlier stages, used wax cylinder to record audio. This was later changed to the tape recorder. The 1990s saw a change in documentation practice in terms of both the type of materials collected and the tools used for documenting languages. Documenters now aimed at “[providing] a sizeable record of a language in use across a range of discourse, furnishing a copious amount of transcribed and annotated audio/video materials accompanied by contextual metadata.”8 Present documentation mostly involves the use of video camera. McConvell asserts that video recording enables one to identify speakers in a communication situation involving more than one person.9 He argues that multiperson applies even in monologues because they usually involve narration as co-narration. Other advantages mentioned by McConvell include the fact that the video captures the environment and objects in it, it shows signs that alter propositional meaning, and it captures gesture. The present method of documenting language is particularly suited to the African society which has been characterized as “the oral continent” by Finnegan.10 In another work of hers, Finnegan also mentions that “Story, song, and dance are of daily importance in Limba life.”11 Although this was in reference to the Limba people of Sierra Leone, the same could be said of many (if not all) African communities south of the Sahara. Most importantly, the three activities are often interwoven. For instance, the storytelling practice among communities in Ghana does involve not only the narrator, but also the listeners, some of whom interrupt the narration and, sometimes, break into a song. This is sometimes accompanied by dancing. Video recording enables the documenter to capture the relevant aspects of this typically multifaceted African oral genre. Processing recorded video data has been rendered particularly useful by ELAN, a tool that enables the time-alignment of transcribed text and other forms of annotation with video. Consider Fig. 7.1: Figure 7.1 is a screen grab of an ELAN document in which PW narrates the Frog Story to Evelyn in Tutrugbu.12 At the top left is the image of the participants engaged in the communication practice and, immediately below it, is the timeline. In the middle are waves that depict the audio recording, and below these are various transcription tiers. The analyst decides on how many tiers to include. The tiers in Fig. 7.1 are Participant (Narrator and Listener), Text (which is the transcription

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Fig. 7.1 Frog story narration (PW & Evelyn)

of the narrative), Morpheme Break for the words, Glosses of the words, Parts of Speech, and then Free Translation. The good thing about using ELAN is that one is able to represent many speakers, which enables the representation of conversations and interruptions in monologues. This way, when listeners of folktales interrupt storytelling to talk, comment, or sing a song, this is also included.

Archiving Woodbury’s definition of language documentation mentions preservation as one of its important components. Yet preservation did not use to be a primary goal of documentation. Nathan writes: It has been established that 90 percent of the world’s recorded cultural heritage materials, many of them unique and irreplaceable, lie stranded on researchers’ shelves, unknown to their originating communities and to the wider world, and irretrievably decaying.13

The way to preserve language documentation products is via archiving. An archive is defined as “[a] trusted repository created and maintained by an institution with a demonstrated commitment to permanence and the long-term preservation of archived resources.”14 Conathan notes that there are different types of archives, among which are “institutional archives, collecting repositories, community-based archives, and subject-specific archives dedicated exclusively to language documentation.”15 Just as the format of documentation output has evolved over the years with new technologies, so have archives. Henke and Berez-Kroeker describe the traditional format thus:

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Traditionally, archived resources consisted of physical objects (e.g., books, tools, photographs, artwork, and clay tablets) […] Typical homes for archived materials have long included museums, libraries, universities, and, of course, dedicated archival institutions.16

Henke and Berez-Kroeker note that with the exception of publications, such physical documentation products were only accessible to researchers with the inclination and means. Today, language documenters seek to archive their materials in digital archives which have been established with the primary goal of preserving digital data.17 Examples are the Endangered Languages Archives (ELAR), which is based at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London, and The Language Archive (TLA) at the Max-Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics, Nijmegen, the Netherlands. Materials that are deposited in digital archives are provided with metadata so as to make them accessible. These are, at the barest minimum, based on the Open Languages Archives Community (OLAC) format. Woodbury notes that metadata can be enriched with primary and secondary commentaries and links to other records, among others.

Unintended Consequences and the Documentation of Folktales in Tutrugbu In this section, I present a Tutrugbu folktale which I collected when I documented the language. It was narrated by an elder of the community (PB) who, sadly, is now deceased. Tutrugbu is one of 15 Ghana-Togo Mountain (GTM) languages spoken by the people who call themselves Batrugbu (Atrugbu for singular). The official name for the language and the people is Nyangbo (or Nyagbo). Simons and Fennig (2018) place the number of speakers at 6400 (a number which dates from 2003). My own survey, which I conducted in 2007, yielded 4680 speakers. All speakers also speak Ewe, the dominant regional language. Ewe is used in school, church, market, and the district and regional capitals where they access administrative services. As a result, adults complain that the younger ones are forgetting the language. Tutrugbu is a tone language with 3 level tones and two contour tones. It also has a noun class system. I began documenting the language in 2003. The annotation is presented on four tiers. The topmost tier is the pronunciation tier, which represents the way that the sentences are uttered. When people speak, they often drop class prefixes and agreement morphemes. The tone of words also changes in context and is different from that of words in isolation. The next tier represents the full form of the words, although without tone. Tier 3 represents the glosses for the words and morphemes, while tier 4 provides free translation. As in many folktales in Ghana, the spider is the protagonist in most animal tales in Tutrugbu. This documentation shows the way storytelling occurs among the Nyangbo people. The narrator begins with a standard phrase (001) to which the audience responds (002). In the next line (003), the narrator introduces the characters in the story. The audience responds with a fixed expression (004). Since this recording is

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annotated in ELAN, I am able to include this back and forth. In other words, I am not restricted to depicting the story as though it were a monologue. Similarly, when a member of the audience interrupts the story in (036) with the standard expression, which translates as ‘I was there’, this is also captured. This interruption is followed by lines of a simple Tutrugbu song before the one who interrupted it cedes the floor to the storyteller, who then continues as if there was no interruption at all. Just before the end, the narrator gives the morale of the story, after which he uses two standard phrases to indicate that he has ended the narration. The audience also uses a fixed expression that suggests welcoming the narrator (from the land of folktales). The same expression is used to welcome people who have returned from some place (e.g., work or journey).

The Spider and the Orphan \ref Spider-and-orphan.001 (PARTICIPANT: Narrator) Nolṹ ɔdzɛdzɛ́ oo. no-lṹ

ɔ-dzɛdzɛ

oo.

1PL-hear

CM2-story INTERJ

‘You all hear a story’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.002 (PARTICIPANT: listeners) ɔdzɛdz’ ɔbá ́ ɔ-dzɛdzɛ

ɔ-ba

CM2-story AM-come ‘The story should come’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.003 (PARTICIPANT: Narrator) Gɛnɛ tsãmbhí nɛ sahũɛ babazã Gɛ-nɛ

Tsambhi nɛ

Sahũɛ ba-ba-zã

REL-not_be

Orphan LNK spider AM-FUT-stay

‘Is it not Orphan and Spider who lived.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.004 (PARTICIPANT: listeners)

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J. Essegbey Bazã. Ba-zã. 3PL-stay ‘They lived.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.005 (PARTICIPANT: Narrator) Kɛzã sɛ bɔbhɛ badɔ̌ kɛ-zã

sɛ

bɔ-bhɛ

ba-dɔ

CL3-remain

that CM8-hunger

FUT-drop

‘It happened that hunger came (lit ‘hunger fell’).’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.006 kɛlɛ betinyi ɛkɛlɛ gɛ babagã pɛ babaŋa dɔ.̃ kɛlɛ

be-tí-nyí

ɛ-kɛlɛ

gɛ

and_then 3PL-NEG-know CM1-place REL ba-ba-ŋa

bɔ-dɔ.̃

3PL-FUT-eat

CM8-thing

ba-ba-gã

3PL-FUT-walk then

‘And they didn’t know where to go to find food to eat.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.007 Sahũ’ anyɔ riɖiɖi ao, sahũɛ

a-nyɔ

riɖiɖi

spider

AM-roamed continuously

ao, no

‘Spider roamed for a long time without finding anything.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.008 agɛmɔ ɛl’ ésí

pɛ

.

7 Documenting Oral Genres

137

a-gɛ-mɔ

kɛ-lɛ́

ke-sí

3SG-NEG:PST-see

CL3:IND CM3-down

‘he found no relief’ (lit. he couldn’t see under it) \ref Spider-and-orphan.009 Y’eyialɛ́ pétéé sɛɛ́ ̃ ́ ̃ ko teli etsí yɛ

be-yi-alɛ

3SG:IND CM5-child-PL

petee

sɛɛ̃ ̃

ko

te-li

e-tsi,

all

shortly

just

AM-SPECI

AM-die

‘All his children were dying one after the other’ (lit. shortly, some die) \ref Spider-and-orphan.010 sɛɛ́ ̃ ́ ̃ ko teli etsí sɛɛ̃ ̃

ko

te-li

e-tsi.

shortly

just AM-SPECI AM-die

‘shortly some will die’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.011 Atɛámɔ kɛl’ iesí ́ a-tɛ-a-mɔ

kɛlɛ

kesi.

3SG-NEG-PROG-see CL3:IND CM3-down ‘He couldn’t find relief’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.012 Balɛ pétéé bablɔ nɛ́ bɔpá ̃ mɛ. balɛ

petee ba-blɔ

3PL

all

nɛ́ bɔ-pã

AM-be_lean at

mɛ.

CM8-house inside

‘They had all grown lean in the house.’

138

J. Essegbey \ref Spider-and-orphan.013 Ko kɛlɛ y’alɔ́ pɛ adanyɔ́ riɖiɖi, ko kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-lɔ

pɛ

just and_then 3SG:IND AM-rise then

a-da-nyɔ

riɖiɖi,

AM-ITIVE-roam continuous

‘Then he (Spider) got up and went and roamed for a long time’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.014 ko kɛlɛ y’edekú ayɛ télí mɛ. ko

kɛlɛ

yɛ

e-deku

a-yɛ

te-li

mɛ.

just

and_then

3SG:IND AM-ITIVE-arrive_at CM1-forest AM-SPECI inside

‘Then he came to a forest’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.015 Ayɛ nɔ́ mɛ gɛ anyɔ́ ko adatɔnɔ ́ buvũ túlí gɛ babhɔ a-yɛ

nɔ́

mɛ

CM1-forest DEF bu-vũ

gɛ

inside REL

tú-lí

gɛ

a-nyɔ

ko

a-da-tɔnɔ

3SG-roam just 3SG-ITIVE-meet ba-bhɔ

CM8-building AM-SPECI REG 3PL-construct ‘When he roamed in the forest, he came across a building that had been constructed.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.016 ko amɔ sɛ ekú bɔpá ̃ mɛ ko

a-mɔ

sɛ

e-kú

bɔ-pã

mɛ

just 3SG-see that 3SG-arrive_at CM8-house inside ‘Then found himself inside the house’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.017 Bagbã bɔpá ̃ mɛ piapí ba-gbã

bɔ-pã

3SG-sweep CM8-house

mɛ

piapi,

inside

well

‘They had swept the house well’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.018 pɔ anɛanɔ ama bɔpá ̃ mɛ.

7 Documenting Oral Genres

139

pɔ

a-nɛanɔ

a-ma

bɔ-pã

but

CM1-nobody

AM-be_not_at CM8-house

‘However, there was nobody in the house.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.019 Ko amɔ sɛ bakpɛ́ opupú. ko

a-mɔ

sɛ

just

3SG-see

that

ba-kpɛ́

o-pupú CM2-door

\ref Spider-and-orphan.020 ‘He saw that there was a door’ e-bho o-pupu-ɔ kɔkɔkɔ 3SG-knock CM2-door-DEF kɔkɔkɔ ‘He knocked on the door’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.021 anɛánɔ agɛfɔɛ ́ ́ lũ a-nɛanɔ

a-gɛ-fɔɛ ́ ́

lũ

CM1-nobody

AM-NEG:PST-mind

hear

‘Nobody minded him’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.022 ebho kɔkɔkɔ, ́ ́ ́ e-bho

kɔkɔkɔ

3SG-knock kɔkɔkɔ ‘He knocked,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.023 anɛánɔ agɛfɔɛ ́ ́ lũ a-nɛanɔ

a-gɛ-fɔɛ ́ ́

lũ

mɛ inside

140

J. Essegbey CM1-nobody

AM-NEG:PST-mind

hear

‘Nobody minded him’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.024 Ezebhǒ bɔtramɛ ko kɛlɛ yasɛ “ɛhɛ́ ” kɛlɛ y’ádãlɛ buvũɔ.́ e-ze-bho

bɔ-tramɛ

ko

3SG-REP-knock CM8-third “ɛhɛ” “ɛhɛ”

kɛlɛ

yɛ

kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-sɛ

just and_then 3SG:IND AM-say

a-dãlɛ

bu-vũ=ɔ

and_then 3SG:IND AM-open CM8-building=DEF

‘He knocked again, the third time and she say “yes?” and then he entered the house.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.025 ́ ̃ buvũɔ ko, Adalɛ a-dãlɛ

bu-vũ=ɔ

ko

3SG-open CM8-building=DEF just ‘When he opened the door,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.026 abrɛwá kɛtakpú fúli frɛdɛdɛ́ edzí buvũɔ mɛ nɛ́ kegbǔ abhá. abrɛwa

kɛ-takpu

fuli

frɛdɛdɛ e-dzi

old_woman CM3-head white white nɛ

ke-gbu

ka-bha

PREP

chair

CM4-top

bu-vu-ɔ

mɛ

3SG-be CM8-building=DEF inside

‘An old woman with purely white hair was seated on a chair in the room.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.027 Asɛ kibui ɖúe gɛ bá? a-sɛ

ki-bui

ɖue

3SG-say

CM3-matter which REL

‘She said, “what’s the matter?”’

gɛ

ba come

7 Documenting Oral Genres

141

\ref Spider-and-orphan.028 sahũɛ asɛ bɔbhɛ bɔl’ eyi yɛ́ nɛ y’eyialɛ́ nɛ y’edzinalɛ.́ sahũɛ

a-sɛ

bɔ-bhɛ

bɔlɛ

spider

AM-say CM8-hunger CL8:IND AM-kill nɛ

e-yi

yɛ

be-yi-alɛ́

yɛ

3SG:IND

CM5-child-PL LNK 3SG:IND

yɛ

nɛ

3SG:IND

LNK

be-dzini-alɛ CM5-wife-PL

‘Spider said hunger was killing him and his children and his wives’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.029 Kliso pɛ aányɔ. kɛlɛ

so

pɛ

a-a-nyɔ

and_then

so

then

3SG-PROG-roam

‘Therefore, he was roaming.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.030 Kɛlɛ abrɛwá asɛ yɛ gɛ edzí abrɛwá, kɛlɛ

abrɛwa

a-sɛ

yɛ

gɛ

e-dzi

and_then

old_woman AM-say 3SG:IND REL

abrɛwa

3SG-be old_woman

‘And then the old woman said she who is an old woman.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.031 pɛ atɛádɛ ɔkɔnyɔkɔ, ́ ́ ́ pɛ

a-tɛ-a-dɛ

ɔ-kɔnyɔkɔ

and_then

3SG-NEG-PROG-go CM2-everywhere

‘and she cannot go anywhere’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.032 nɛ fa y’abamɔ kɛŋaŋa pɛ abakɔɛ otsiɛ? nɛ

fa

yɛ

a-ba-mɔ

kɛ-ŋaŋa

pɛ

a-ba-kɔ-ɛ

LNK where 3SG:IND AM-FUT-see CM3-food then 3SG-FUT-give-3SG

142

J. Essegbey otsí=ɛ? ́ now=TP ‘where is she going to get food to give to him now?’

\ref Spider-and-orphan.033 Kɛlɛ sahũɛ asɛ eɖe kúkú akɔ́ yɛ sɛ enyí asɛ ebetéŋú aplɛnɔ ́ yɛ.́ kɛlɛ

sahũɛ

a-sɛ

and_then

spider

AM-say AM-beg

sɛ

e-nyi

a-sɛ

that

3SG-know that

e-ɖe+kuku

a-kɔ-ɛ SCONN-give-3SG

e-be-teŋu

a-plɛnɔ

yɛ

3SG-FUT-be_able SCONN-help

3SG:IND

‘Then Spider said he pleads that he knows that she can help him.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.034 Kliso abá y’ɔkɔ́ n’ ɛkɛlɛ. ́ kɛlɛ

so

a-ba

yɛ

ɔ-kɔ

and_then

so

3SG-come

3SG:IND CM2-place

nɛ

ɛ-kɛlɛ

at

CM1-here

‘That is why he has come to his place here’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.035 So akɔ yɛ kɛtakpú sɛ tɛ aplɛnɔ ́ yɛ.́ so

a-kɔ

yɛ

kɛ-takpu

So

3SG-give 3SG:IND CM3-head

sɛ

tɛ

that

COMP 3SG-help 3SG:IND

‘So, he pleads that she should help him.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.036 (PARTICIPANT: Listener) ɔmɔ ɛzã kɛlɛ, ́ ɔ-mɔ

ɛ-zã

kɛlɛ

2SG-see 1SG-stay here ‘You see me here’

a-plɛnɔ

yɛ

7 Documenting Oral Genres

143

\ref Spider-and-orphan.037 kɛlɛ yálɛ atsɛ́ ɔdzɛ̃ kpɛ́ sɛ, kɛlɛ

yalɛ

a-tsɛ

ɔ-dzɛ̃

kpɛ

sɛ

and_then

3SG:IND AM-set_down CM2-song put_in that

‘then she put out a song that’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.038 Wɔ ŋútɔ́ kɔ́ kɛbadɛ,́ Wɔ

ŋutɔ

ɔ-kɔ

kɛ-ba-dɛ

2SG:IND

INT

CM2-place CL3-FUT-pass

‘You yourself determine (lit. it is from you yourself)’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.039 pɛ babadɛmɛ́ w’ebúı,́ ́ pɛ

ba-ba-dɛmɛ

wɔ

e-búí

then

3PL-FUT-agree 2SG:IND CM6-matter

‘whether people will like you.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.040 Vɛ ɔdzɛdzɛ́ n’ abha vɛ

ɔ-dzɛdzɛ

nɔ

ka-bha

go

CM2-story

DEF

CM4-top

‘Go on with the story.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.041 (PARTICIPANT: Narrator) kɛlɛ abrɛwa sɛ gɛ atɛbá ́ so atɛbakakaɛ, ́ ́ kɛlɛ

abrɛwa

sɛ gɛ

a-tɛ-ba

so a-tɛ-ba-kaka-ɛ́

and_then old_woman say REL 3SG-PERF-come so 3SG-NEF-FUT-drive_away-3SG ‘Then the old woman said, since he has come already, she would not drive him away.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.042

144

J. Essegbey kɛlɛ so abaplenií. kɛlɛ

so

a-ba-plenɔ-i

and_then

so

3SG-FUT-help+3SG

‘So she will help him’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.043 Amɔ kitsikpi lɛ? ́ a-mɔ

ki-tsikpi

kɛ-lɛ́

3SG-see

CM3-pot

AM-that

‘Does he see that pot?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.044 alɔk’ ɔlɛ́ ámana. a-lɔkɔ

ɔlɛ

a-mana

3SG-take CL:OBJ SCONN-bring ‘He should bring it.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.045 Kɛlɛ adzɛ̌ ̃ tseɖe kitsikpi nɔ́ s’ átɔ dɔ.̃ kɛlɛ

a-dzɛ̃

tseɖe ki-tsikpi

and_then

CM1-woman tell

CM3-pot

nɔ

sɛ

DEF that

‘Then the woman told the pot to cook food’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.046 Ko kitsikpi nɔ́ tɔ dɔ.̃ ko

ki-tsikpi

nɔ

tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

just

CM3-pot

DEF

cook

CM8-thing

‘Then the pot cooked food.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.047 Kɛtɔ asɛ,́ ̃ kekupe, kɛdɔnyɛdɔ ̃ ́ ̃ gɛ ɔpɛ sɛ́ tɛ ɔŋa ko,

a-tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

AM-cook CM8-thing

7 Documenting Oral Genres

145

kɛ-tɔ

a-sɛ̃

ke-kupe

kɛ-dɔnyɛdɔ ̃ ̃

CL3-cook

CM1-rice, CM4-yam_slice CM3-everything

tɛ

ɔ-ŋa

ko,

COMP

2SG-eat

just

gɛ

ɔ-pɛ

sɛ

REL 2SG-want that

‘It cooked rice, yams, everything that you’d want to eat’, \ref Spider-and-orphan.048 bɔdzya gbãgbã geɖe bukóéyi. bɔ-dzya

gbã-gbã

geɖe

bu-kóéyi

CM8-meat

RED-fry

several AM-exit

‘Lots of fried meat emerged (from the pot)’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.049 Kɛlɛ abrɛwá etseɖé kitsikpí nɔ́ sɛ “abɔ”. ́ kɛlɛ

abrɛwa

and_then

old_woman

e-tseɖe

ki-tsikpi nɔ

AM-tell

CM3-pot DEF

sɛ

“abɔ”.

that

3SG-enough

‘Then the old woman told the pot, “it’s enough”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.050 Kitsikpi nɔ́ kɛyɔlɔ ́ ́ bɔdɔ̃ tɔ. ki-tsikpi

nɔ

kɛ-yɔlɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

tɔ

CM3-pot DEF AM-stop CM8- thing cook ‘The pot stopped cooking’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.051 Kɛlɛ yasɛ “bɔdɔ̃ pétéé gɛ kitsikpi nɔ́ tɔ wɔ yɛ.́ Kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-sɛ

“bɔ-dɔ̃

petee gɛ

and_then 3SG:IND AM-say CM8-thing all

ki-tsikpi nɔ

wɔ

yɛ”

REL CM3-pot DEF cook 2SG:INDFOC

‘And then she said “all the food that the pot cooked is yours”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.052

tɔ

146

J. Essegbey Kliso yálɛ̄ bɔlɛ́ pétéé vɛnɔ kepíɛ.́ kɛlɛ

so yalɛ

bɔlɛ

petee

vɛ-nɔ

ke-piɛ

and_then

so collect

CM8:OBJ

all

go-COM

CM4-home

‘Therefore, collect it all and go home.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.053 Pɔ ɔvɛ ́ ɔtɛkɔ ́ ́ anɛanɔ nɛ́ kidzoɔ́ mɛ”. pɔ

ɔ-vɛ

ɔ-tɛ-kɔ

a-nɛanɔ

nɛ ki-dzo=ɔ

but

2SG-go 2SG-NEG-give CM1-anybody at

mɛ

CM3-road=DEF

inside

‘But as you go, you must to give anybody on the way.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.054 Kɛlɛ sahũɛ ayálɛ bɔdɔ̃ pétéé kɛlɛ y’ashɛ̃ avɛ bɔpá ̃ mɛ. kɛlɛ

sahũɛ

and_then

Spider AM-collect CM8-thing all

a-vɛ

bɔ-pã

a-yalɛ

bɔ-dɔ̃

petee kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-shɛ̃

and_then 3SG:IND AM-leave

mɛ

SCONN-go CM8-house inside ‘Then Spider collected all the food and went home.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.055 Gɛ edekúɔ́ kiwli nɛ samɛ bɔbá bɔ-pá ̃ mɛ. Gɛ

e-de-ku-ɔ

ki-wli

nɛ

samɛ

bɔ-ba

bɔ-pã

mɛ

REL 3SG-ITIVE-arrive=TP CM3-day LNK happiness AM-come CM8-house inside ‘When he arrived, the house was filled with joy and happiness’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.056 Y’eyíálɛ baŋa dɔ̃ bexui piapí ótsí álɛ ko bakpá kishu mɛ mɔ. Yɛ

be-yialɛ

ba-ŋa

3PL

CM5-yild-PL AM-eat

ko

ba-kpa

bɔ-dɔ̃

be-xui

piapi

CM8-thing 3PL-be_satisfied well

ki-shu mɛ

mɔ

otsi alɛ now this

7 Documenting Oral Genres just

3PL-start

147

CM3-body

inside see

‘His children were now satisfied and they began to put on weight.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.057 Gɛ kɛŋaŋa béle ko kɛhıá ́ ̃ sɛ tɛ Sahũɛ edzídz’ avɛ. Gɛ

kɛ-ŋaŋa

bele

ko

kɛ-hĩa

sɛ tɛ

Sahũɛ

e-dzidze

a-vɛ

REL CM3-food finish just CL3-need that COMP Spider AM-return SCONN-go ‘When the food got finished, Spider had to go back.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.058 Abrɛwá etseɖeé sɛ atɛdzídze abá ́ abrɛwa

etseɖe-é

sɛ

a-tɛ-dzidze

a-ba

old_woman

AM-tell-3SG that 3SG-NEG-return

SCONN-come

‘The old woman (had) told him that he couldn’t come back.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.059 Pɔ ɛkɛlɛ́ ko y’ azavɛ. pɔ

ɛ-kɛlɛ

ko

yɛ

but

CM1-there

just

3SG:IND

a-za-vɛ AM-REP-go ‘But that is where he went again.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.060 Gɛ edekúɔ́ edzebho opupúɔ,́ Gɛ

e-de-ku=ɔ

e-dze-bho

o-pupu=ɔ

REL

3SG-ITIVE-arrive=TP 3SG-REP-knock CM2-door=DEF

‘When he arrived there, he knocked on the door again.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.061 ko abrɛwá adɛmɛ́ ákɔɛ ́ ́ ko

abrɛwa

a-dɛmɛ

just

old_woman AM-agree

a-kɔ-ɛ SCONN-give-3SG

148

J. Essegbey ‘Then the old woman responded to him.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.062 ́ ̃ buvũɔ. Kɛlɛ y’adalɛ kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-dalɛ

bu-vũ=ɔ

and_then

3SG:IND AM-open CM8-building=DEF

‘Then he opened the door.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.063 Kɛlɛ y’asɛ “kibui ɖúe gɛ bá pɛ ɔdzɔbá ɛkɛlɛ́ dza?” kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-sɛ

ki-bui

ɖue

gɛ ba

pɛ ɔ-dzɔ-ba

and_then 3SG:IND AM-say CM3-thing which REL come then 2SG-REP-come ɛ-kɛlɛ

dza

CM1-place Q ‘Then she said, “what has happened that you have come here?”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.064 Egitseɖe wɔ́ sɛ ɔtɛɔba”? ́ ́ E-gi-tseɖe

wɔ

sɛ

ɔ-tɛ-ɔ-ba”?

3SG-NEG:PST-tell

2SG

that

2SG-NEG-PROG-come

‘Didn’t she tell you that you shouldn’t come?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.065 Kɛlɛ sahũɛ asɛ “fakɔ́ mɛbavɛ? kɛlɛ

sahũɛ

a-sɛ

and_then

Spider AM-say

“fakɔ

mɛ

ba-vɛ

where

1SG:IND FUT-go

‘Then Spider said: “where will I go?”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.066 Wɔ ko wo Wɔ

botéŋú ɔplɛnɔ ́ mɛ.́ ko

wo

bo-teŋu

ɔ-plɛnɔ

mɛ

7 Documenting Oral Genres 2SG:IND

149

just 2SG:IND

FUT-be_able 2SG-help

1SG

‘Only you can help me.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.067 Subha atɛádɔ. ́ subha

a-tɛ-a-dɔ

rain

AM-NEG-PROG-fall

‘It is not raining.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.068 Kɛŋaŋa nána kɛtɛpɛ. ́ ̃ Kɛ-ŋaŋa

nana kɛ-tɛ-pɛ̃

CM3-food

none

AM-be_good

‘No good food could be found.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.069 Kliso ɔkɔnyɔkɔ ́ ma gɛ ɛbavɛ, kɛlɛ

so ɔ-kɔnyɔkɔ

ma

gɛ

and_then

so CM2-everywhere

NEG:be_at REL

ɛ-ba-vɛ 1SG-FUT-go

‘So I can’t go anywhere.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.070 kliso wɔ ko obotéŋú ɔplɛnɔ. ́ kɛlɛ

so

and_then so

wɔ

ko

o-bo-teŋu

ɔ-plɛnɔ

2SG just 2SG-FUT-be_able 2SG-help

‘Therefore only you can help.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.071 Kɛlɛ so abrɛwa etseɖe kitsikpi nɔ tɛ kiwli tɔ bɔdɔ.̃ Kɛlɛ

so abrɛwa

e-tseɖe ki-tsikpi nɔ

tɛ

ki-wli

tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

and_then so old_woman AM-tell CM3-pot DEF COMP AM-again cook CM8-thing

150

J. Essegbey ‘Then the old woman asked the pot to cook again.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.072 Gɛ etseɖé kitsikpi nɔ́ ko kitsikpi kpa bɔdɔ̃ tɔ. gɛ

e-tseɖe

ki-tsikpi

nɔ

REL 3SG-tell CM3-pot

ki-tsikpi

ko

DEF just CM3-pot

kpa

bɔ-dɔ̃

tɔ

start

CM8-thing cook

‘When he told the pot, it started to cook.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.073 Kɛtɔ bɔdɔ̃ riɖiɖi bɔdɔ̃ kpe ko, Kɛ-tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

riɖiɖi

bɔ-dɔ̃

CL3-cook

CM8-thing continuously CM8-thing be_plenty just

When it had cooked sufficient food,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.074 kɛlɛ abrɛwá asɛ “abɔ”. ́ kɛlɛ

abrɛwa

a-sɛ

a-bɔ

and_then

old_woman

AM-say 3SG-be_enough

‘Then the old woman said it’s enough.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.075 Kitsikpi nɔ́ kɛyɔlɔ. ́ ́ Ki-tsikpi

nɔ

kɛ-yɔlɔ

CM3-pot

DEF

AM-stop

‘The pot stopped.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.076 Sahuɛ alɔkɔ ́ bɔŋaŋa pɛ ashɛ.̃ Sahuɛ

a-lɔkɔ

Spider AM-take

bɔ-ŋaŋa

pɛ

a-shɛ̃

CM8-food

then

3SG-leave

‘Spider took the food and left.’

kpe

ko

7 Documenting Oral Genres

151

\ref Spider-and-orphan.077 Sahũɛ y’eyiálɛ́ nɛ Tsambhí y’eyiálɛ́ bashɔnɔ ɛbhia. Sahũɛ yɛ

be-yi-alɛ

nɛ

Tsambhí

yɛ

Spider 3SG:IND CM5-child-PL LNK Orphan ba-shɔnɔ

be-yi-alɛ

3SG:IND CM5-child-PL

ɛ-bhia

AM-be_like CM6-friend ‘Spider’s children and Orphan’s children were friends.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.078 Tsambhí y’eyiálɛ́ betseɖé bal’ aka sɛ yɛ sahũɛ y’ eyiálɛ́ pétéé bamɔ kishu mɛ, Tsambhí yɛ Orphan

be-yi-alɛ

be-tseɖe

3SG:IND CM5-child-PL AM-tell

yɛ

Sahũɛ

3SG:IND spider

balɛ

a-ka

3PL:IND

CM1-father that

yɛ

be-yi-alɛ

petee ba-mɔ

3SG:IND

CM5-child-PL

all

sɛ

ki-shu

mɛ

AM-see CM3-body inside

‘Orphan’s children told their father that he Spider, his children have all put on weight.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.079 baŋa bɔdɔ.̃ ba-ŋa

bɔ-dɔ̃

3PL-eat CM8-thing ‘They have eaten.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.080 Balɛ aka edénɔ kɛŋaŋa nɛ́ ɔkɔ́ tolí mána pɛ baŋa. Balɛ

a-ka

e-de-nɔ

3PL:IND CM1-father AM-Igo-COM mana

pɛ

ba-ŋa

bring

then

3PL-eat

kɛ-ŋaŋa

nɛ ɔ-kɔ

CM3-food

at

to-li

CM2-place AM-SPECI

‘Their father was bringing food from a place for them to eat.’

152

J. Essegbey

\ref Spider-and-orphan.081 Kɛlɛ ́ ́ bababhɛtɛ ́ pɛ balɛ tsyɛ́ babavɛ ɛkɛlɛ́ dza? kɛlɛ

ba-ba-bhɛtɛ

pɛ

balɛ

how

3PL-FUT-do then 3PL:IND

tsyɛ

ba-ba-vɛ

ɛ-kɛlɛ

also

3PL-FUT-go

CM1-there Q

dza

‘How will they do so they also go there?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.082 Kɛlɛ Tsambhí asɛ “ei, kɛlɛ

Tsambhí

a-sɛ

“ei

and_then

Orphan

AM-say “ei

‘Then Orphan said what! \ref Spider-and-orphan.083 kɛlɛ ́ ́ kɛlɛ ́ ́ mɛ babhɛtɛ ́ otsíɛ́ dza”? kɛlɛ

kɛlɛ mɛ

ba-bhɛtɛ

otsiɛ

dza

how

how 1SG:IND FUT-do

now

Q

‘What will I do? \ref Spider-and-orphan.084 Kɛlɛ y’eyíɛ́ etseɖe y’ aka sɛ apɛ bɔtɔ́ ̃ tɛ alɔkɔ ́ kpɛ́ okotokú mɛ. kɛlɛ

yɛ

and_then

3SG:IND CM1-child=DEF AM-tell 3SG:IND CM1-child

a-pɛ

e-yi=ɛ

bɔ-tɔ̃

3SG-look_for CM8-ash

tɛ

e-tseɖe yɛ

a-lɔkɔ

kpɛ

COMP SCONN-take put

a-ka

o-kotoku

sɛ that

mɛ

CM2-sack inside

‘Then his children told their father that he should look for ash and put in a sack.’

7 Documenting Oral Genres

153

\ref Spider-and-orphan.085 Alɔkɔ ́ akpɛ́ okotoku nɔ́ mɛ t’ epú okotokú nɔ.́ a-lɔkɔ

a-kpɛ

3SG-take mɛ

o-kotoku nɔ

SCONN-put_in CM2-sack DEF

tɛ

e-pu

inside COMP

3SG-pierce

o-kotoku

nɔ

CM2-sack

DEF

‘He should put it in the sack and piece it.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.086 Kɛlɛ Sahũɛ alɔkɔ okotoku nɔ akpata pɛ ashɛ̃ koɔ, Kɛlɛ

sahũɛ a-lɔkɔ

o-kotoku

nɔ

a-kpata

pɛ

a-shɛ̃

and_then spider AM-take CM2-sack DEF AM-hang then 3SG-left

ko=ɔ just=TP

‘Then as Spider took the sack and hung it on his shoulders, and then he left,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.087 kɛlɛ bɔtɔ́ ̃ nɔ́ bɔbazã y’ edě. kɛlɛ

bɔ-tɔ̃

nɔ

and_then

CM8-ask DEF

bɔ-ba-zã

yɛ

ke-de

AM-FUT-stay 3SG:IND CM4-back

‘then the ash will be on his back.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.088 Kɛlɛ gɛ Sahũ ɛ avɛ koɔ, kɛlɛ

gɛ

sahũɛ

a-vɛ

ko-ɔ

and_then

REL

spider

AM-go just=TP

‘Then as Spider left,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.089 yɛ Tsambhí tsyɛ́ abatɔnɔ ́ bɔtɔ́ ̃ ko abadɛmɔɛ nɛ́ ɛkɛlɛ.́ yɛ

Tsambhí tsyɛ a-ba-tɔnɔ

3SG:IND Orphan

ko

a-ba-dɛ-mɔ-ɛ

also AM-FUT-follow CM8-ash just 3SG-FUT-ITIVE-see-3SG

nɛ ɛ-kɛlɛ at

bɔ-tɔ̃

CM1-there

\ref Spider-and-orphan.090 Kɛlɛ anuvɔ edebú bɔtɔ́ ̃ dakpɛ́ okotokú nɔ́ mɛ.

154

J. Essegbey kɛlɛ

a-nuvɔ

e-de-bu

and_then CM1-child

bɔ-tɔ̃

da-kpɛ

3SG-ITIVE-remove CM8-ash

o-kotoku

nɔ

mɛ

CM2-sack

DEF

inside

ITIVE-put_in

‘Then the child went and got some ash and put inside the sack.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.091 Kɛlɛ y’epú ɔlɛ. ́ ́ kɛlɛ

yɛ

e-pu

ɔlɛ

and_then

3SG:IND AM-pierce CL2:OBJ

‘Then he pierced it.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.092 Ko kɛlɛ olizãtɔ́ gɛ Sahũɛ alɔkɔ ́ okotokú nɔ́ akpata ko pɛ atɔnɔ ́ kidzóɔ.́ ko

kɛlɛ

o-lizãtɔ́

just

and_then

CM2-dawn REL

a-kpata

ko

pɛ

SCONN-hang just then

gɛ

sahũɛ

a-lɔkɔ

o-kotoku

Spider

AM-take CM2-sack DEF

a-tɔnɔ

kidzo=ɔ

3SG-follow

CM3-road=DEF

nɔ

‘Then at dawn, Spider took the sack and set off on the road.” \ref Spider-and-orphan.093 Egiti sɛ bepú okotokú nɔ.́ e-gi-ti

sɛ

be-pu

o-kotoku

nɔ

3SG-NEG:PST-know that 3PL-pierce CM2-sack DEF ‘He didn’t know that the sack had been pierced.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.094 Egiti sɛ bɔtɔ́ ̃ tsyɛ́ kpasɛ okotokú nɔ́ mɛ. e-gi-ti

sɛ

bɔ-tɔ̃

tsyɛ kpasɛ

3SG-NEG:PST-know that CM8-ash also be_contained

o-kotoku

nɔ

mɛ

CM2-sack DEF inside

7 Documenting Oral Genres

155

‘He didn’t know that there was ash in the sack.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.095 Kliso kɔyátsɔ kɔyátsɔ edikú ɛkɛlɛ́ béke kúráá tsyɛ,́ kɛlɛ

so kɔyatsɔ

kɔyatsɔ

e-di-ku

ɛ-kɛlɛ

beke

kuraa tsyɛ

and_then so hurry_up hurry_up 3SG-ITIVE-arrive_at CM1-there finish at_all also ‘Within a short time he was already there.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.096 etsyina ɖi kedéɛ́ ko amɔ sɛ bɔtɔ́ ̃ bɔlɛ y’ iede.̋ e-tsyina ɖi

ke-de=ɛ

ko a-mɔ

sɛ

bɔ-tɔ̃

bɔlɛ

yɛ

3SG-turn look CM4-back=DEF just 3SG-see that CM8-ash AM-be_at 3SG:IND ke-de CM4-back ‘He turned and looked back and saw the ash behind him.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.097 Okotokúɔ́ pú. o-kotoku=ɔ

pu

CM2-sack=DEF pierce ‘The sack was torn.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.098 Afána gɛ akpɛ́ bɔtɔ́ ̃ n’ ókotokú nɔ́ mɛ pɛ epú okotokú nɔ́ dza? Afana gɛ

a-kpɛ

bɔ-tɔ̃

nɛ

o-kotoku

nɔ

mɛ

Who

REL

3SG-put_in

CM8-ash

at

CM2-sack

DEF

inside

pɛ

e-pu

o-kotoku

nɔ

then

3SG-pierce

CM2-sack

dza DEF

Q

‘Who has put ash in the sack and then pierced it?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.099

156

J. Essegbey Tsãmbhi y’eyialɛ babaw’ ɔfu nɛ́ bɔpá ̃ mɛ. Tsãmbhi yɛ Orphan

be-yi-álɛ́

ba-wa

bɔ-wɔfu

3SG:IND CM5-child-PL 3PL-do

nɛ bɔ-pã

CM3-play at

mɛ

CM8-house inside

‘Orphan children have played (a trick) at home.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.100 Etsyína bɔtɔ́ ̃ lú, e-tsyina

bɔ-tɔ̃

lu,

3SG-turn

CM8-ash

set_down

‘He emptied the ash.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.101 ɛkɛlɛ́ ko etíkú bɔpá ̃ mɛ tsyɛ́ béke. ɛ-kɛlɛ

ko

e-ti-ku

CM1-there just 3SG-PERF-arrive_at

bɔ-pã

mɛ

tysɛ́

béke

CM8-house

inside

also

finish

‘Then he was already in the house’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.102 Bɔpá ̃ mɛ tikukú ko, bɔ-pã

mɛ

ti-ku-ku

ko

CM8-house inside CM9-RED-arrive_at

just

‘As soon as he arrived in the house’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.103 kɛlɛ tsãmbhi tsyɛ́ gɛ azã bɔtɔ́ ̃ n’íédé abatɔnií. kɛlɛ

tsãmbhi tsyɛ gɛ

and_then Orphan

a-zã

bɔ-tɔ̃

also REL AM-stay CM8-ash

nɔ

ke-de

DEF CM4-back

a-ba-tɔnɔ+i AM-VEN-follow+3SG ‘Then Orphan who was behind the ash came up to him.’

7 Documenting Oral Genres

157

\ref Spider-and-orphan.104 Kɛlɛ y’asɛ “sahũɛ sahũɛ sahũɛ kana ɔbhɛtɛ ́ dza? kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-sɛ

sahũɛ

sahũɛ

sahũɛ

and_then 3SG:IND AM-say Spider Spider

kana

ɔ-bhɛtɛ

dza?

Spider thus

3SG-do

Q

‘And then he said “Spider Spider Spider, is that how you behave?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.105 Aa ɛkɛlɛ wɔmɔ bɔŋaŋa dɛnɔ dza”. aa

ɛ-kɛlɛ

wɔ

aa

CM1-here 2SG:IND

mɔ

bɔ-ŋaŋa

dɛnɔ

dza

see

CM8-food

from

Q

‘Is this where you get food from?”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.106 ́ ̃ ɔlɛ.́ Bebho opupúɔ́ kɛlɛ badalɛ be-bho

o-pupu=ɔ

kɛlɛ

ba-dãlɛ

ɔlɛ

3PL-knock CM2-door=DEF and_then 3PL-open CL2:OBJ ‘They knocked on the door and it was opened’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.107 Kɛlɛ balɛ tábha betsokú buvũɔ mɛ. kɛlɛ

balɛ

ta-bha

be-tsoku

bu-vũ=ɔ

And_then

3PL:IND

AM-two AM-enter CM8-building=DEF inside

‘Then the two entered the building’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.108 Betsokú buvũɔ mɛ béke ko, be-tsoku

bu-vũ=ɔ

3PL-enter

CM8-building=DEF inside finish

‘When they entered the building’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.109

mɛ

beke

ko just

mɛ

158

J. Essegbey kɛlɛ sahũɛ asɛ, kɛlɛ

sahũɛ

a-sɛ

and_then

spider

AM-say

‘Then Spider said’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.110 “ɛkɛlɛ gɛ ɛgbana wɔ́ mána, pɛ ɔbá ɔmɔ ótsíɛ́ ɛkɛlɛ

gɛ

ɛ-gbana

wɔ

mana pɛ

ɔ-ba

CM-here REL 1SG-sweep 2SG bring and_then

ɔ-mɔ

otsiɛ

2SG-come 2SG-see now

‘“This place that I have brought you and you’ve come to see it’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.111 Ónúpɛ wɔ téníkpó wɔ lɔ́ pɛ ɔbá ɛkɛlɛ obotsí. onupɛ wɔ if

te-nikpo wɔ

lɔ

pɛ

ɔ-ba

ɛ-kɛlɛ

o-bo-tsi

2SG:IND AM-one 2SG:IND rise then 2SG-come CM2-here 2SG-FUT-die

‘If you alone get up and come here you will die.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.112 Kibúíɛ́ gɛ bababhɛtɛ ́ ákɔ́ lɔ́ ótsiɛ́ wɔ téníkpó tɛbá kewinyɛwi. ́ ki-bui=ɛ

gɛ

CM3-matter-DEF REL

ba-ba-bhɛtɛ

a-kɔ

lɔ

otsiɛ

3PL-FUT-do

SCONN-give

1PL:OBJ

now

wɔ

te-nikpo

tɛ-ba

ke-winyɛwi

2SG:IND

AM-one

NEG-come

CM4-everyday

‘The thing that they will do for us now, you alone cannot come anyday.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.113 Bɔlɔ nɛ wɔ́ bɔbabá, bɔlɔ

nɛ

wɔ

IPL:IND

LNK 2SG:IND AM-FUT-come

‘I will come with you.’

bɔ-ba-ba

7 Documenting Oral Genres

159

\ref Spider-and-orphan.114 pɛ bababhɛtɛ ́ kibúíɛ́ ákɔ́ lɔ”. ́ pɛ

ba-ba-bhɛtɛ

ki-bui=ɛ

a-kɔ

lɔ

and_then

3PL-FUT-do

CM3-matter=DEF

SCONN-give

1PL:OBJ

‘Then they will do the thing for us.”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.115 Kɛlɛ basɛnɔ abrewa. kɛlɛ

ba-sɛnɔ

abrewa

and_then

3PL-greet

old_woman

‘Then they greeted the old woman.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.116 Abrɛwá asɛ bal’ agã, abrɛwa

a-sɛ

balɛ

a-gã

oldwoman

AM-say 3PL:IND

AM-walk

‘The old woman welcomed them.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.117 kibui ɖúé gɛ bá pɛ bazabá babakpɛ́ yɛ luhũ dza. ki-bui

ɖue

gɛ

CM3-matter which

ba

REL

pɛ

come

then

ba-za-ba 3PL-REP-come

ba-ba-kpɛ

yɛ

bu-luhũ

dza

3PL-VEN-put_in

3SG:IND

CM8-trouble Q

‘What is the reason that they have come to bother her?’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.118 Kɛlɛ basɛ aa kɛŋaŋa má ɔkɔnyɔkɔ ́ ́ pɛ babaŋa. kɛlɛ

ba-sɛ

aa kɛ-ŋaŋa

ma

ɔ-kɔnyɔkɔ

pɛ

ba-ba-ŋa

and_then

3PL-say aa CM3-food NEG:be_at CM2-everywhere then 3PL-FUT-eat

160

J. Essegbey

\ref Spider-and-orphan.119 Kliso pɛ bazabá y’ ɔkɔ.́ kɛlɛ

so pɛ

ba-za-ba

And_then so then 3PL-REP-come

yɛ

ɔ-kɔ

3PL:IND

CM2-place

‘Therefore they have come to her place again’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.120 Kliso beɖe kúkú ákɔɛ ́ ́ t’ aplɛn’ ́ alɛ.́ kɛlɛ

so

be-ɖe+kuku

a-kɔ-ɛ

tɛ

a-plɛnɔ

alɛ

and_then

so

3PL-beg

SCONN-give-3SG

COMP 3SG-help 3PL:OBJ

‘Therefore they beg her to help them.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.121 Abrɛwa asɛ “kitsikpi nɔ́ edzí ɛkɛlɛ́ álɛ. abrɛwa

a-sɛ

ki-tsikpi

old_woman AM-say CM3-pot

nɔ

e-dzi

ɛkɛlɛ

alɛ

DEF

AM-be

CM2-there

thus

‘The old woman said “there is the pot’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.122 Notseɖé lɛ́ tɛ kɛtɔ bɔdɔ”. ̃ No-tseɖe

ɛlɛ

tɛ

2PL-tell

CL3:OBJ COMP

kɛ-tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

CL3-cook

CM8-thing

‘Tell it to cook food.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.123 Kɛlɛ sahũɛ tseɖé kitsikpi nɔ́ sɛ, “tɔ dɔ,̃ tɔ dɔ” kɛlɛ

sahũɛ tseɖe ki-tsikpi nɔ

And_then spider tell

sɛ

bɔ-dɔ̃

tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

CM3-pot DEF that cook CM8-thing cook CM8-thing

‘And then Spider told the pot, “cook cook”’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.124

tɔ

7 Documenting Oral Genres

161

Kitsikpi nɔ́ tɔ bɔdɔ.̃ ki-tsikpi

nɔ

tɔ

bɔ-dɔ.̃

CM3-pot

DEF

cook

CM8-thing

‘The pot cooked.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.125 Bɔdɔ̃ kpe piapí. bɔ-dɔ̃

kpe

piapí

CM8-thing be_plenty well ‘The food was a lot.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.126 Kɛtɔ bɔdɔ̃ béke kɛ-tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

béke

CL3-cook CM8-thing finish ‘When it had finished cooking,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.127 kɛlɛ sahũɛ etseɖe lɛ́ sɛ kɛyɔlɔ ́ ́ bɔdɔ̃ nɔ́ tɔ. kɛlɛ

sahũɛ e-tseɖe ɛlɛ

sɛ

kɛ-yɔlɔ

and_then spider AM-tell CL3:OBJ that CL3-stop ‘Then Spider told it to stop cooking.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.128 Kɛlɛ bayálɛ bɔdɔ̃ pétéé, kɛlɛ

ba-yalɛ

bɔ-dɔ̃

petee

and_then

3PL-collect

CM8-thing

all

‘Then they collected everything.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.129 kɛlɛ bashɛ̃ bashɛ̃ vɛ epíɛ.́

bɔ-dɔ̃

nɔ

CM8-thing DEF

tɔ cook

162

J. Essegbey kɛlɛ

ba-shɛ̃

vɛ ke-piɛ

and_then

3PL-leave go CM4-home

‘Then they left and went home.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.130 Bedekú kepíɛ́ kɛlɛ baŋa dɔ.̃ be-de-ku

ke-piɛ

3PL-ITIVE-arrive_at CM4-home=TOP

kɛlɛ

ba-ŋa

bɔ-dɔ̃

and_then

3PL-eat CM8-thing

‘When they got home, they ate.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.131 Baŋa dɔ̃ ko, ba-ŋa

bɔ-dɔ̃

ko

3PL-eat CM8-thing just ‘When they ate,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.132 Tsãmbhí xɔnɔ ́ ̃ ́ asɛ gɛ y’eyiálɛ́ bakaŋa eɖí soɔ, Tsãmbhí xɔnɔ ̃ Orphan

a-sɛ

gɛ

yɛ

be-yi-alɛ

as_for AM-say REL 3SG:IND CM5-child-PL AM-NOT_YET-eat

e-ɖi

so=ɔ

SCONN-look so=TP ‘Orphan said since his children have not eaten before,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.133 Baŋ’ alɛ pétéé béke. ba-ŋa

ba-ka-ŋa

alɛ

3PL-eat 3PL:OBJ

petee beke all

‘They finished eating it all.’

finish

7 Documenting Oral Genres

163

\ref Spider-and-orphan.134 Kliso apɛ́ sɛ tɛ edzídze avɛ, Kɛlɛ

so

a-pɛ

sɛ

tɛ

And_then

so

3SG-want

that

COMP 3SG-return

‘Therefore he wanted to go back’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.135 tɛ adayíkɛ bɔŋaŋa. tɛ

a-da-yɛkɛ

bɔ-ŋaŋa

COMP

3SG-ITIVE-receive CM8-food

‘And he went and collected food.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.136 So kɛlɛ yɛ tenikpó ávɛ, so

kɛlɛ

yɛ

te-nikpo

so

and_then

3SG:IND AM-one

a-vɛ AM-go

‘So he went (to the place) alone.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.137 Edebho opupúɔ,́ e-de-bho

o-pupu=ɔ

3SG-ITIVE-knock CM2-door=DEF ‘He went and knocked on the door’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.138 pɛ atɔ bɔdɔ̃ pɛ ashɛ.̃ pɛ

a-tɔ

then 3SG-cook

bɔ-dɔ̃

pɛ

CM8-thing then

‘Then he cooked food and left.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.139 Etínyí sɛ ɔsha lɛ́ sɛ ɔyíkɛ bɔŋaŋa, ́

a-shɛ̃ 3SG-leave

e-dzidze

a-vɛ SCONN-go

164

J. Essegbey e-ti-nyi

sɛ

ɔ-sha

3SG-NEG-know that CM2-law

lɛ

sɛ

ɔ-yɛkɛ

bɔ-ŋaŋa

be_at

that

2SG-receive CM8-food

‘He didn’t know that there is a rule that when you receive the food,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.140 pɛ ɔbá ́ otíbotsyína ɖi kedě. pɛ

ɔ-ba

o-ti-bo-tsyina

ɖi

ke-de

then

2SG-come

2SG-NEG-FUT-turn

look CM4-back

‘As you are returning, you cannot turn and look back’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.141 Gɛ adatɔ dɔ̃ béke, gɛ

a-da-tɔ

bɔ-dɔ̃

be-ke

REL 3SG-ITIVE-cook CM8-thing finish ‘When he finished cooking’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.142 kɛlɛ y’ ayálɛ akpɛ́ okotokú nɔ́ mɛ, kɛlɛ

yɛ

a-yalɛ

a-kpɛ

and_then

3SG:IND AM-collect SCONN-put_in CM2-sack DEF

‘Then he collected them and put them in the sack.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.143 pɛ ashɛ.̃ pɛ

a-shɛ̃

then

3SG-leave

‘Then he left.’

o-kotoku

nɔ

mɛ inside

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\ref Spider-and-orphan.144 Gɛ okotokú nɔ́ loyí soɔ, gɛ

o-kotokú

REL CM2-sack

nɔ́

lo-yí

so=ɔ

DEF

AM-be_full

therefore=TP

‘Since the sack was full,’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.145 gɛ aába bɔŋaŋa telí awɔlɛ. ́ gɛ

a-á-ba

bɔ-ŋaŋa

REL

3SG-PROG-come CM8-food

te-lí

a-wɔlɛ ́

AM-SPECI

AM-drop

‘As he was going home, some of the food fell on the ground.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.146 Kɛlɛ yɛ etsyína pɛ eɖi édeɛ.́ kɛlɛ

yɛ

e-tsyina

and_then

3SG:IND AM-turn

pɛ

e-ɖi

ke-de=ɛ

then

3SG-look

CM4-back=TP

‘And then as he turn to look back’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.147 Ko kɛlɛ yɛ etsyína dzi kɛklagbǔ. ko

kɛlɛ

yɛ

just and_then

e-tsyina dzi

3SG:IND AM-turn be

kɛ-klagbu CM3-stone

‘Then he turned into a stone.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.148 Kliso ónúpɛ anɔ télí amɔ kɛdɔ télí, kɛlɛ

so onupɛ a-nɔ

and_then

so if

te-li

a-mɔ

kɛ-dɔ̃

CM1-person AM-SPECI AM-see CM3-thing AM-SPECI

‘Therefore if someone sees something’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.149 pɛ etseɖe wɔ́ sɛ ani kɛlɛ tɛɖɔ sɛ aní. pɛ then

e-tseɖe 3SG-tell

te-li

wɔ 2SG

sɛ that

ani kɛlɛ this and_then

tɛ-ɖɔ sɛ ani NEG-say that this

166

J. Essegbey ‘and tells you this is how it is, don’t say otherwise’

\ref Spider-and-orphan.150 M’ ɔdzɛdzɛ́ lɔbá, Mɛ

ɔ-dzɛdzɛ

lɔ-ba

1SG:IND CM2-story AM-come ‘My story came.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.151 M’ ɔdzɛdzɛ́ lɔsɛ́ ̃ mɛ

ɔ-dzɛdzɛ

lɔ-sɛ̃

1SG:IND

CM2-story AM-end

‘My story is ended.’ \ref Spider-and-orphan.152 Yoo wɔ dɛ́ oo yoo

wɔ

dɛ́

okay

2SG:IND go_come

oo INTERJ

‘You have been there.’

Lessons on Orthography An archive should have not only the video and audio recording of the narration but also the annotation, as represented above. This way, people who watch it are able to appreciate the multifaceted nature of storytelling, together with other communication genres that are recorded in the course of documenting a language. Ameka cautions against unintended consequences of documentation.18 Language documenters often seek to develop an orthography with which to publish materials for the community whose language they document. In Africa, particularly, communities appreciate seeing their language reduced to writing.19 Ameka argues that there is the risk of prioritizing one dialect over others because it is the one chosen for orthography development, or creating new language structures. The latter occurred in Ewe, a dialect cluster of the Gbe family that is spoken in Ghana, Togo, and Benin. The progressive construction in Standard Ewe is not used by any dialect even though it shares characteristics of most dialects.20 In my 2015 work, I point out that this depends on the type of orthography system that is chosen. One can choose to represent the language as it is spoken or develop a standardized version which is not necessarily representative of the way (all the) people speak. In that same work, I discuss how the orthography that I developed relied mostly on tier 2. That is to say, I sought to represent the full form of the words rather than

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leave out class markers and agreement morphemes as speakers do when they speak. For instance, in (141), the speaker uses d˜O instead of bOd˜O for “thing.” This happens when the nouns occur in object position. Although, for the linguist, the context in which noun classes are dropped is easy to describe, putting them back, as I have done in the second tier, renders the language strange to speakers. When I first presented a primer for the community using the writing system, some chiefs thought that I had chosen to use one specific dialect instead of theirs. The interesting thing is that the chief of the dialect which the others thought I had used also had problems reading what I had written. Thus, in choosing to represent the underlying form of the words, I ended up creating artificial structures similar to the one that missionaries created for Ewe. Apart from potential confusions that my initial writing system caused, Ameka argues that such orthography system could also lead to the loss of variation.21 That is to say if speakers are given one variety in a written form, that one automatically gains prestige and may become preferred over the others. In a previous essay, I argue that the solution is to use an orthography system that is like the first tier of the folktale above.22 By teaching communities to write the way they speak, the risk of prioritizing one dialect is removed. It also makes it easier for community members, especially the old ones who have not been to school or, if they have, spent less time there, to learn the writing system. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

https://en.iyil2019.org. McGill and Austin (2012). Essegbey et al. (2015). Essegbey et al. (2011). Woodbury (2011: 159). Evans and Dench (2006). Henke and Berez-Kroeker (2016: 413). Ibid., 415. See McConvell (2007). Finnegan (2007). Finnegan (2017 [1967]: 25). Mayer (1969). Nathan (2011: 256). Johnson (2004: 153). Conathan (2011: 240). Henke and Berez-Kroeker (2016: 412). Nathan (2011: 255). Ameka (2015). See Essegbey (2015). See my discussion in Essegbey (2015). Ameka ibid.

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Essegbey ibid.

References Ameka, Felix. 2015. Unintended Consequences of Methodological and Practical Responses to Language Endangerment in Africa. In Language Endangerment and Documentation in Africa, ed. James Essegbey, Brent Henderson, and Fiona McLaughlin, 15–36. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Conathan, Lisa. 2011. Archiving and Language Documentation. In The Cambridge Handbook of Endangered Languages, ed. Peter K. Austin and Julia Sallabank, 235–254. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Essegbey, James. 2015. Is This My Language? Developing a Writing System for an EndangeredLanguage Community. In Language Endangerment and Documentation in Africa, ed. James Essegbey, Brent Henderson, and Fiona McLaughlin, 153–177. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Essegbey, James, Brent Henderson, and Fiona McLaughlin (eds.). 2015. Language Endangerment and Documentation in Africa. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Essegbey, James, Kofi Glover, Judith Glover, and Osunu V. Togbe. 2011. 1kla Tutrugbu. Legon: School of Communication Studies Press. Evans, Nicholas, and Alan Dench. 2006. Introduction: Catching the Language. In Catching the Language: The Standing Challenge of Grammar Writing, ed. Felix Ameka, Alan Dench, and Nicholas Evans, 1–40. Berlin: de Gruyter. Finnegan, Ruth. 1967. Limba Stories and Story-Telling, 2017 ed. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Finnegan, Ruth. 2007. The Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa. Oxford and Chicago: James Currey and University of Chicago Press. Henke, Ryan E., and Andrea L. Berez-Kroeker. 2016. A Brief History of Archiving in Language Documentation, with an Annotated Bibliography. Language Documentation & Conservation 10: 411–457. Johnson, H. 2004. Language Documentation and Archiving, or How to Build a Better Corpus. Language Documentation and Description 2: 140–153. Mayer, M. 1969. Frog, Where Are You? New York: Dial Press. McConvell, Patrick. 2007. Video—A Linguist’s View (A Reply to David Nathan). Languages Archives Newsletter 10: 2–3. McGill, Stuart, and Peter K. Austin. 2012. Editors’ Introduction and List of Contributors. Language Documentation and Description 11: 5–27. Nathan, David. 2011. Digital Archiving. In The Cambridge Handbook of Endangered Languages, ed. Peter K. Austin and Julia Sallabank, 255–274. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Simons, Gary F., and Charles D. Fennig (eds.). 2018. Ethnologue: Languages of the World. https:// www.ethnologue.com/. Woodbury, Anthony. 2011. Language Documentation. In The Cambridge Handbook of Endangered Languages, ed. Peter K. Austin and Julia Sallabank, 235–254. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 8

Retrospect and Prospects of Oral Traditions and Folklore Oluwole Coker

Introduction Conceiving of a future for African oral traditions and folklore necessitates examining its very beginnings, at least, in the sense of the written tradition where it is now comfortably domiciled. As Chinua Achebe, one of Africa’s greatest writers so far, puts it, “a man who does not know where the rain began to beat him cannot say where he dried his body.” 1 The task of this chapter is to, therefore, evaluate the stature and status of African oral traditions vis-à-vis their deployments across major fronts of the literary and cultural productions of Africa. In doing this, cognizance shall be taken of the various milestones and intellectual dissipations that have shaped the coming of age of African oral traditions and folklore. This chapter is, therefore, a kind of stock-taking that ultimately gravitates into projecting a future for the utilization and exploration of folklore in modern-day Africa and the prospects of its continued mining for aesthetic, pedagogic and epistemic values. This is located in the fact that “The African oral traditions facilitate the transmission of knowledge and conventions from generation to generation. The economic structure and relationships, political traditions and practices, social rules and values of the African societies are still transmitted orally.”2 It must be stated from the onset that scholars have been wary of the dynamic evolution and patterns which continue to shape oral traditions and folklore in Africa. In his essay, “African Oral Tradition Then and Now: A Culture in Transition,” Akintunde Akinyemi dwells extensively on the historical antecedents and the modern-day realities of African cultural productions. Using terms such as verbal arts, oral arts and other nomenclature, he enumerates the value of the digital world on the corpus of African folklore. In addition to this, he clearly articulates the status quo of African folklore as one which has appropriated diversities and divergences, including of O. Coker (B) Obafemi Awolowo University, Ife, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_8

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course, the imperatives of information and communications technology. Akinyemi summarizes his argument with these words: The question that begs further research is how orality continues to adapt and function within the modern-global world. Oral tradition exists only in so far as society allows it to exist. It is the interrelationship between context and text, which permits it to grow. Orality is not a static culture, but remains ever changing and dynamic3 (emphasis added).

From Akinyemi’s viewpoint above, it is clear that forms of African cultural products have not only been valuable resources of culture, they have also become important measures of societal advancement. However, what remains to be seen is how all of these optimisms adequately address Akinyemi’s poser on the subject of orality on the modern global world. This, in a sense, is the task of this chapter; which simply challenges the place of indigenous knowledge systems driven by orality which is central to the appreciation of African folklore and oral tradition, in the emerging fast-pace world order of globalized epistemologies.

A Shaky Start Ruth Finnegan’s Oral Literature in Africa, without doubt, contributed immensely to the appreciation and blossoming of the field of oral literature in Africa. Through her extensive fieldworks and examples from cultures across Africa, especially the Bantu, Finnegan distills the reality of a virile African oral tradition and folklore against earlier held misconceptions. She cites Burtoon’s prejudiced line as take-off point: The savage custom of going naked, we are told, ‘has denuded the mind, and destroyed all decorum in the language. Poetry there is none…There is no metre, no rhyme, nothing that interests or soothes the feelings, or arrests the passions’…

Finnegan’s response to the above blanket statement through her book represents a major attempt at defining the literariness and diversities of African oral art. Finnegan not only debunks the sweeping generalizations, she also counters them by literarily “advertising” the oral literatures of Africa. In her words: In fact, there is a strong indigenous tradition of both unwritten and, in some areas, written literature in Africa. The oral literature in particular possesses vastly more aesthetic, social, and personal significance than would be gathered from most general publications on Africa.4

By any standard, Bernth Linford’s is a significant voice in the criticism of African literature. Nothing captures the state of African oral tradition from the beginning than the fears expressed in his book, Folklore in Nigerian Literature. Apart from his profound statements on the state of the art, he identified certain tendencies that have subsequently shaped the development of African folklore generally, especially within the context of the written tradition. According to him, “Bearers of a culture are better equipped to interpret that culture than aliens who have experienced its realities only vicariously. Those who share a writer’s background can more readily comprehend

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the full implications of his message.”5 (2). Linfords’ statement vividly represents the shaky foundations through which African folklore and oral tradition were received by the critical establishment. Of course, this is a paradoxical scenario given that, strictly speaking, the body of cultural productions that form what is now referred to as the folklore of the African people needed no validation. They are part and parcel of a people’s experience. Notwithstanding this, however, just like any colonial heritage, early critics embarked on a kind of self-affirmation to establish the “literariness” of folklore whose foundations predated Western delineations and prescriptions. Apart from setting the critical tone for the appreciation of African folklore and oral traditions, Linfords goes a step forward by admitting that folklore should be defined its “broadest sense” and that, it includes “popular beliefs, stereotypes, proverbs and other forms of patterned oral art.”6 (3). This definition is significant to the evolution of African folklore and oral traditions in several ways; the most significant being that the diversity of African oral traditions and their aesthetic values seem not lost on the Western critical apostates. Interestingly, this is a sort of self-denial or grandstanding since, according to Oyin Ogunba, “every culture of the world has had a creative oral past, but that orature has lingered much longer in some cultures than some others.”7

A Toast of All After initial doubts and skepticisms, there is no doubt that the fields of African folklore continue to grow in leaps and bounds immediately after independence across most African states. Given the renaissance enjoyed in this discipline, the coast now seemed clear for homebred studies of African cultures and traditions. To these developments came the realization by many scholars that “The celebration of tradition is also a call for reflections on the human condition under which that tradition is produced, nourished, and redefined.”8 With the volume of studies in forms of publications in learned journals and doctoral theses, the blossoming of folklore studies gradually assumed phenomenon proportions. Names such as Ruth Finnegan, Oyin Ogunba, Karin Barber, Graham Furnis, Isidore Okpewho and others subsequently emerged as critics who defined the disciplines. Others such as Adeboye Babalola, Kofi Anyidoho and Wande Abimbola occupied dual roles as scholar-practitioners of several indigenous art forms. In the sphere of creative writing, the works of writers like Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ngugi wa Thiongo and Ayi Kwei Armah all deployed elements of oral tradition which became synonymous as identity markers for African literature. This resurgence resonates with the words of Chiji Akoma that: Folklore not only occupies a unique position in addressing the connection between the oral and the written, but it is also the central constituent in the African diasporic narrative tradition. From myths to the dozens, from the trickster to the black sermon traditions, an aesthetic based on the dynamics of folk expression can be discerned. An expressive tradition fashioned from the interaction of the community at the grass roots not only forms the foundation of much

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of African and Afro-diasporic art, but it also constitutes the paradigm by which it may be appreciated.9

Akoma suggests in the above statement that folklore is the main element for creativity in the black imaginations. His thesis is that, in addition to the cultural essence of African oral tradition, the exegesis of its folklore has sustained African creative consciousness in Africa and its diasporas. This is captured in Abiola Irele’s aversion that orality is the “basic intertext of the African imagination.”10 In effect, the upsurge of interests in African traditions, especially the cultural productions which derive from the same, is a direct realization of the value of the spoken word, represented first, in the verbal productions and later in the emerging written traditions in Africa its Diasporas. Theorizing on and about African oral traditions have impacted positively on the critical reception of the forms. As a matter of fact, it is in these theorizing that a firm critical base was established for the appreciation of African verbal cultures. These critics, especially Abiola Irele, Ngugi wa Thiongo, Oyin Ogunba, Michael Echeruo and several others across the African literary landscape all canvassed for an Afrocentric order in African oral tradition. Added to this development is the contribution of Walter Ong, whose book Orality and Literacy redefined the conception of orality by categorizing African oral traditions as constituting what is termed secondary orality. In this sense, African oral traditions and the creative forms are seen as constituting analytical categories which are distinctively African, and marked by the art of verbal productions. In essence, the wave of resurgence at both creative and critical levels shaped the development of African oral traditions and folklore. In effect, orality and writing become bases of evaluating the imperatives of literacy with neither given unfair advantage over another. This authenticates African oral traditions as viable mechanisms of knowledge production.

Projecting a Future: New Age, New Media, Newer Forms Projecting a future for African oral tradition is an interesting venture. This is against the backdrop that the signs are already on the artistic landscape across Africa that the oral text is gradually relocation to multiple media. As both Nnodim and Adejumobi have demonstrated in their studies of the Yoruba and Malia’s poetry respectively, the digital revolution is already a fact, not only of creative agency but also of audience reconfiguration. This informs Adejumobi’s position on the fact that digital technology is now enhancing “both mediated and unmediated forms of performance as acceptable modes of textual distribution for literate verbal artists in low literacy contexts.”11 This statement seemingly captures the emerging future for African oral tradition and folklore. More than ever before, even though African traditions remain relevant in rethinking some notions in the contemporary age, there is a sense in which the corpus of creative expressions must also continually yield to the irresistible pressure of modernity. This is in full realization of the fact that, in the new age, “narrative

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knowledge must come to the aid of scientific knowledge in post-colonial/post-modern Africa therefore in defining the actions and expressions as well as the set-rules that constitutes the social bonds.”12 Ruth Finnegan is a widely known scholar of African oral tradition scholarship. However, she has earned her pre-eminence not totally because she authored a seminal book, Oral Literature in Africa, or because of her consistency over the years. Rather, Finnegan derives her enduring relevance in one’s opinion in her continued engagements with African oral tradition and orature studies generally—keeping abreast of developments and updating herself as the situation may demand from time. For example, she recently writes that: The subject of oral literature has similarly acquired wider connections. It ties directly into the burgeoning and insightful perspectives of performance studies, of new approaches to text - of textualisation, intertextuality, and the dynamic processes of capturing and negotiating script - and of the problems of conservation and ownership. All these go beyond the confines of Africa. Gone are the days when ‘Africa’ was seen as self-contained and the setting for’simple’ traditional oral products, timeless and fixed. Now we see oral literary expression, both in Africa and worldwide, as diverse and varied indeed, multifaceted and dynamic and, like any literary text, with a complexity that lays it open to many differing approaches from a wide range of disciplines. Its study both draws from and contributes to wider comparative scholarship.13

In a recent essay, Rose Opondo suggests that despite the advances in information technology, the value of oral traditions has not diminished in Kenya. Actually, she locates her study on the art of storytelling, which is an integral part of the African oral traditions. This implies that even if the medium of instructions has been altered, the essence of storytelling has not been obliterated. For Opondo, what is being witnessed is a compliment rather than a stifling tendency, especially in the sense of multimedia propagation of African cultural aesthetics, which assures continuity. In her opinion, the adaptive capacity of the oral narrative is visible through “expansion of literacy and new media across world societies,” which reflects in “contemporary structural, thematic and contextual” sensibilities.14 The performance poetry of Akeem Lasisi, a cosmopolitan Nigerian artist, typifies an example of the dominant trends in the emerging tradition. A fusion of the traditional African performance poet, Lasisi combines elements of the heroic poetry, bridal chants panegyrics and invocation in his oeuvre. His location as a poet in both virtual and physical spaces is symbolic. Thus, as a modern performance poet, he reaches his audience both off and online while still conveying this same tradition that hitherto would have been associated with the traditional bard. Yomi Olusegun-Joseph describes Lasisi in the following words: Akeem Lasisi may be described as the new generation poet-laureate of the oral memory and an imaginative archivist of the traditional Yoruba poetic tradition. Born in a family of a revered line of hunters in Oyo State of Nigeria, Lasisi was very early in life ‘initiated’ into the lores and life of the Yoruba traditional culture, immersing him in a literary cosmos which was later to fertilize his experimentations with the recreation of some of the oral poetic forms in writing and in the English language. Lasisi has also re-packaged these poetic forms in performances negotiated in English and Yoruba, re-creating their native flavours in (post)modern aesthetic contrivances.15

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What can be gleaned from the above is that the future of African oral tradition lies in a performance orientation that has multimedia realizations. In a larger sense, this will ensure the preservation of important art forms and at the same time, relocate the agency of activations to such platforms that develop over time. At present, this is visible across several social media platforms where the contemporary performing artists showcase their works. Festivals as major components of African oral traditions are also undergoing radical changes. These changes are several ways producing tensions been tradition and modernity. In this regard, there is a conscious attempt at de-ritualizing or demythologizing of African ritual performances. Although this seems to have created a kind of aesthetic liberalism and openness, it has, however, reduced the robustness of the rituals. What this portends for African oral traditions in the very near future is an assemblage of festivals that would have gradually become “festivities.” Several factors are, of course, responsible for this. The first is the irritable pull of modernity which consistently demonizes these ritual performances to the extent that most of the traditional adherents now subscribes to other faiths hence threatening sustainability. Another factor is the economic tension in several African states, which has over the years makes tourism as an alternative source of income. Therefore, most important festivals are now known for their tourism potentials. The Osun Osogbo Festival among the Yoruba of Western Nigeria or even the Argungu Fishing Festival in Northern Nigeria are cases in point in this regard. This is what M.B. Omigbule rightly refers to as “the unfortunate circumstances of impending annihilation.”16 He further carpets both Christianity and Islam as launching constant “myriad of attack on the traditional practices of the people.”17 In as much as the critic’s point is valid, there is a larger challenge that emanates from this tendency; this is in relation to how rituals, which are the very essence of drama and theater in African creative imagination, are undermined. There is no gainsaying the fact that, with rituals downplayed in African festivals, a lot is lost in the aesthetic and formal constitution of African drama, since, according to Fred Akporobaro, “the origins of African drama cannot be divorced from traditional religious ceremonies of African people irrespective of ethnic group.”18 In contradistinction to the above, however, African oral tradition is vibrant in the Diaspora. This is propelled by the fact stated by Chiji Akoma that “Folklore largely reflects every community’s cultural consciousness. The New World black ‘community’ is no exception. Because of historical circumstances, the African diasporic written narrative carries an artistic heritage composed of oral and written forms.”19 In essence, one key survival agency for African oral traditions is the pre-eminence of the African Diaspora in the emergence of global African aesthetics. This has the capacity to extend the frontiers of cultural and artistic frontiers. In specific terms, there is no doubt that hip-hop culture for example in the African Diaspora offers a viable platform for the continued flourishing of African folklore in the way the resources of the culture are constantly harnessed and utilized. This is in full realization of Molefi Kete Asante’s declaration that “Africans brought to America a fertile oral tradition.”20 In other words, the growth and artistic entrenchment of hip-hop

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music in the contemporary age is a positive signal of a form that warehouses African values. To push the argument a little further is to consider the extent to which popular music has become strategic in the consolidation of African oral traditions and folklore. What is hinted at is the fact that popular music of the present age presents a hybrid of tradition and modernity. In actual sense, several African popular musicians seem to be revolutionizing their art by constantly infusing elements of the oral traditions in their constructions. Apart from their cultural significance of this in a globalized order, it clearly serves purposes of identity construction and authenticity. Several studies, especially by language scholars, have attested to the fact that hip-hop music, despite its American ancestry, has gradually transformed the music landscape and is fast becoming a “global cultural product.”21 Even though scholars emphasized the linguistic dimensions language crossing and multilingualism as enabling factors, one contends that these still involve oral traditions and folklore, especially given that language is the vehicle of culture. In other words, the agency of popular music in the new age clearly suggests that the value of African oral tradition has not diminished. In relation to hip-hop as a musical form, this is understandable given the fact underscored by Rose that “It is the tension between the cultural fractures produced by postindustrial oppression and the binding ties of black cultural expressivity that set the critical frame for the development of Hip Hop.”22 In written African literature, reemphasizing the continued relevance of oral traditions and folklore is like stating the obvious. It is a well-known fact that the corpus of African literature has always shown an abiding commitment to the exploration of the intricate resources of the oral traditions. Even for writers with visible political ideologies as Wole Soyinka and Ngugi wa Thiongo, they have also deployed their knowledge of oral tradition in their artistic callings. What the future holds in the area of written literature is envisaged by Harold Scheub in the following words: There is an unbroken continuity in African verbal art forms, from interacting oral genres to such literary productions as the novel and poetry. The strength the oral tradition seems not to have abated; through three literary periods, reciprocal linkage has worked these media into a unique art form against which potent influences from East and West have proved unequal. Vital to African literature is the relationship between the oral and written word.23

As hinted above, the distinctive value of exploration of African oral traditions will remain ever-potent in the creative oeuvre of African literature. Across the major genres of poetry, drama and prose fiction, writers continue to draw valuable insights from the indigenous resources of African oral tradition. Among the new wave of novelists, for example, there is a rich harvest of mythic explorations which are used to engage contemporary realities. This is evident in a writer like Helen Oyeyemi’s whose transnational deployment of ìbejì myth among the Yoruba of southwestern Nigeria in The Icarus Girl has added a refreshing dimension to narrating post-independence angst. In the drama category, Ahmed Yerima, Esiaba Irobi and others also continue to demonstrate the inexhaustibility of African oral resources not only in the thematic explorations but also in the stylistic fervors replete in their works. Similarly, there is a continued deepening of oral poetic traditions among poets in the contemporary age.

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This is prevalent not only in the younger poets but also in the older generation who are still actively engaged in the art. Their inclinations confirm Jegede’s statement that: Indigenous oral poetic traditions have functioned in various ways in contemporary modern Nigerian poetry. Apart from providing it with images and symbols, these traditions provide poetry with aesthetic directions. This has enhanced the works the works of writers who transfer into writing oral tradition of African literature. Their works have become vibrant, lively, audience-conscious and concrete in nature.24

Jegede’s contention above applies across Africa and to all traditions of poetry. Interestingly, it also speaks to the practice of performance poetry in the contemporary age. In effect, orality is gradually becoming a dynamic construct which propels artistic creativity. This finds support in the opinion of Iris Chapman that “orality – one of the greatest living cultural traditions – has been a persuasive art form throughout history and a key influence on people whose heritages link back to Africa.”25 Even then, what is orality if not the quintessence of African oral traditions and folklore? It is therefore apt to assert that, though newer forms may emerge through newer mediums in the new age, the basic principles of mining oral traditions remain sacrosanct. Actually, beyond performance praxis, forms of African cultural productions seem to owe their survival to this conscious mechanism of infusion and preservation of “old wines in new bottles.” Another major source of excitement and promise for the continued survival and appreciation of African oral tradition is the vibrant African film industry. With the renaissance currently being experienced across Africa in film production, undeniably led by Nollywood, Nigeria’s ever-growing film industry, the value of oral traditions has, more than ever before, appreciated. As Nikolaus Perneczkya puts it, “village films” have become synonymous with the African film industry and more filmmakers are looking inward and seeking “recourse to the oral traditions.”26 This certainly shows that there is a logical connection between exploration of tradition in African films and their enduring vibrancy. Just like in African drama and theater, African films benefit immensely from the seemingly inexhaustible reservoir of African oral tradition. In all its ramifications, therefore, the oeuvre of African films in the emerging age would continue to aid the continued utilization of African oral traditions, thereby ensuring its sustainability. Digital technology as a site for the preservation and appropriation of African oral tradition and folklore remains very impressive. This relates to how such spaces as YouTube and other social platforms now serve as points of contact for the location of African cultural forms. As of now, the online spaces can be reasonably said to house African oral tradition, thereby providing alternative media spaces. In addition to this, there is a gradual relocation of performance poetry to the digital space. This is further enhanced through the ownership of personal websites or Facebook pages by modern performance poets who are interested in African folklore practices. As such, the next generation can encounter poetic forms not only through physical performances but mostly through various online forums. Finally, a major development which provides ample opportunities for the growth and sustenance of African oral tradition and folklore is the renewed interest in African

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languages and literatures in African languages. For the latter category, which Adams Bodomo categorizes as “Afriphone literatures,” there is a sense in which renewed interest in this corpus would showcase their inherent values and relevance in the contemporary age.27 This is in addition to the growing body of scholarship on world literatures generally. Hence, the acknowledgment and promotion of the “vernacular literatures” will ultimately enhance African folkloristic traditions. This is in line with the view expressed by Ngujiri that “it is very important that African peoples do not lose their languages. If they lose their languages, they lose their identity and the wisdom carried in them.”28

Conclusion: A Future Assured African oral tradition and folklore remain fertile sites for exploring the consciousness of the continent. Ruth Finnegan hints that “the study of oral traditions and verbal art has moved from earlier preoccupations with origins and the ‘old’, to more recent emphases on meaning, structure and contemporary dynamics.”29 (26). This is because, despite pulls of modernity and tendencies which reconfigure the aesthetic practices, the influence of African cultural productions continues to be strong at both individual and public spaces. Whether in the digital spaces or in the growing film traditions across Africa, these forms of cultural expressions are well suited to interpret human experiences. In fact, as Karin Barber captures this optimism in her influential essay, “Popular Arts in Africa.” She declares: Art forms do not merely reflect an already constituted consciousness, giving us a window onto something already fully present. They are themselves important means through which consciousness is articulated and communicated. In times of rapid social change, it seems likely that popular art forms, with their exceptional mobility (whether through technology such as the radio, record, and cassette tape, or through physical transportation from place to place by travelling performing groups) will play a crucial role in formulating new ways of looking at things.30 (4)

What Barber suggests can be interpreted as what to expect in the constitution of African folklore when the essay was written thirty years ago. Interestingly, the truism in her remarks has been further affirmed in a more robust way. African oral traditions and folklore continue to influence lifestyles and social perceptions. Through their utilizations across various media in recent times, for example, the artistic merit and functional values have been further reinforced. In several instances, one can say that the continued appropriation of African folklore and traditional materials is a major reason why the future of the art is assured. Actually, Isidore Okpewho has made the point that “the survival of the African oral narrative tradition is equally guaranteed by its appropriation into traditions of modern creativity on both sides of the Atlantic.”31 This suggests that moving forward, African cultural productions must adequately represent the aspirations of the contemporary age in such dimensions that would exude artistic creativity and dynamism.

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Indeed, as this chapter has tried to show, African folklore and oral traditions have come a long way. But, as the saying goes, its best is yet to come. This is because, as the world gradually moves toward a redefinition of knowledge systems to be in sync with a global knowledge episteme, African oral traditions and folklore become a dynamic system which not only responds to the inevitable changes, it also adapts to the demand of engaging and contending with modernity, as well as its discontents. In a similar vein, the articulation and utilization of African folklore and oral traditions interestingly become part of a global whole, especially in relation to the globalizing effects of new media and the continued expansion of the information gateway through the agency of information and communications technology. The future that beckons is, therefore, one where apart from the imperatives of decolonization, a consistent decentering eventually gives African oral tradition its pride of place as a jewel among the world’s indigenous knowledge systems. This is in keeping with the spirit of a world undergoing, as Tejumola Olaniyan suggests, “quantitative and qualitative changes that introduce elements of the new, the different, and perhaps the puzzling into social life.”32 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

Achebe (2012: 1). Hussein (2005: 15). Akinyemi (2011: 47) Ibid., 30. Linfords (2002: 2). Ibid., 3. Ogunba (2006: 13). Afolabi (2007: 330). Akoma (2007: 17–18). Irele (1990: 56) Adejumobi (Adejunmobi 2011: 20). Ibid., 44. Finnegan (2017: 30). Opondo (2014: 118). Olusegun-Joseph (2011: 6). Omigbule (2015: 170). Ibid., 171. Akporobaro (2001: 422) Akoma ibid., 134. Asante (1998: 96). Akande (2012); Liadi (2012). Opondo ibid., 21. Scheub (1985: 1). Jegede (2003: 158). Chapman (2000: 10).

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Perneczkya (Perneczky,Nikolaus 2014: 2). Bodomo (2016: 267). Ngujiri (Ngunjiri 2006). Finnegan (2017: 26). Barber (1987: 4). Okpewho (2009: 7) Olaniyan (2016: 389).

REFERENCES Achebe, Chinua. 2012. There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra. London: Penguin. Adejunmobi, Moradewun. 2011. Revenge of the Spoken Word?: Writing, Performance, and New Media in Urban West Africa.” Oral Tradition 26 (1): 3–26. Afolabi, Niyi. 2007. The Persistence of Orò-Ilé: Spirituality and Identity in African Performance. Journal of Asian and African Studies 42 (3/4): 329–336. Akande, Akinmade. 2012. Appropriation of American Vernacular English and Jamaican Patois by Nigerian Hip Hop Artists ZAAA Quarterly of Language. Literature and Culture 3 (3): 237–254. Akinyemi, Akintunde. 2011. African Oral Tradition Then and Now: A Culture in Transition. CentrepointHumanities Edition 14 (1): 27–51. Akoma, Chiji. 2007. Folklore in New World Black Fiction: Writing and the Oral Traditional Aesthetics. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press. Akporobaro, Fred. 2001. Introduction to African Oral Literature. Lagos: Lighthouse. Asante, Molefi. 19989. The Afrocentric Idea. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Barber, Karin. 1987. Popular Arts in Africa. African Studies Review 30 (3): 1–78. Bodomo, Adams. 2016. Afriphone Literature as a Prototypical form of African Literature: Insights from Prototype Theory. Advances in Language and Literary Studies 7 (5): 262–267. Chapman, Iris. 2000. Orality: The things that will never fall apart…”Le Griot. VIII: 1–12. Hussein, Jeylan W.2005. The functions of African Oral Arts: The Arsi-oromo Oral Arts in Focus.African Studies Monographs, 26. (1): 15–58. Irele, Abiola. 1990. The African Imagination. Research in African Literatures 21 (1): 49–67. Jegede, Olutoyin. 2003. Towards a Conceptual Definition of the Poetics of New Nigerian Poetry in English. Iba: Essays on African Literature in Honour of OyinOgunba, ed. W. Ogundele and G. Adeoti, 151–158. Ile-Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. Liadi, Olusegun. 2012. Multilingualism and Hip Hop Consumption in Nigeria: Accounting for the Local Acceptance of a Global Phenomenon Africa. Spectrum 1: 3–19. Linfords, Bernth. 2002. Folklore in Nigerian Literature. Ibadan: Caltop. Ngunjiri, J. 2006. Non-Gikuyu Readers Deal from Ngugi The Nation. Nairobi, June. Ogunba, O. 2006. 2006. Commitment to Literature and Orature: Ago Iwoye, Olabisi Onabanjo University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 2009. The World of African Storytelling. FORUM: University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts09: Autumn: 1–11. Olaniyan, Tejumola. 2016. African Literature in the Post-Global Age: Provocations on Field Commonsense. Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry 3 (3): 387–96. Olusegun-Joseph, Yomi. 2011. The Unfortunate Generation Writes Back: The Signifying Tears of Akeem Lasisi’s Night of My Flight. California Linguistic Notes. XXXVI (2): 1–17. Omigbule, M.B. 2015. City of 201 Gods: Ile Ife in Time, Space and Imagination. A Review. Ife Journal of Humanities and Social Studies 2 (2): 170–172.

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Opondo, Rose 2014. Oral Storytelling and National Kinship: Reflections on the Oral Narrative Performance in the Kenya Schools and Colleges Drama Festivals. TydskrifVir Letterkunde 51 (1): 118–131. Perneczky,Nikolaus. 2014. Continual Re-enchantment: TundeKelani’s Village Films and the Spectres of Early African Cinema Frames.Cinemal JournalIssue 6, December: 1–18. Rose, Tricia. 1994. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover: Wesleyan University Press. Scheub, Harold. 1985. A Review of African Oral Traditions and Literature. African Studies Review 2 (2/3). June-Sept.: 1–72.

Part II

Themes, Tropes and Types

Chapter 9

Epic Tradition Tal Tamari

Introduction This chapter presents an overview of debates about the epic in Africa, including such questions as the definition of the epic, relationships to other literary genres, processes of transmission, social status of the performers, performer-audience interactions, stylistics, value as historical sources. Introductory general analysis is completed by a survey of representative works and traditions from each of the areas of the African continent that have been deemed to have epics, including: northern Africa (Egypt and the Maghreb), West Africa (mainly the Sahelian and Sudanic regions), Central Africa, and East Africa (mainly the Swahili written epics.) Some points made: (1) Transmission of most epics is based on progressive assimilation of contents and style, followed by recreation in the performance situation. However, several cultural traditions require formal memorization. (2) Most West African epics are closely related to praise songs and historical narration, whereas many Central African ones may have developed from myths. (3) Epics from Sudanic and Sahelian West Africa developed in a context of restricted literacy, rather than of a fully oral civilization.

Epic Tradition A considerable number of narratives from the African continent have been described as “epics.” Most are from Egypt, the Maghreb, West and Central sub-Saharan Africa, and the Swahili coast. Although most field collecting was accomplished in the second half of the twentieth century (with a peak in the 1960s and 1970s), when several traditions were already reported to be in decline, it is likely that further works, T. Tamari (B) Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_9

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including some from hitherto undocumented traditions, will be identified. The advent of user-friendly sound and video field recording technology has been essential to the identification and study of this particularly complex literary form. The concept of “epic” initially referred to several ancient Greek narrative poems, especially the Iliad and the Odyssey attributed to Homer, but has been progressively extended to include a range of ancient and medieval Asian and European works. Most of the items described as “epics” are believed to be rooted in initial oral composition and transmission. However, due to perceived analogies in subject matter, length, and style, the term has also been applied to narrative poems—such as Virgil’s Aeneid or John Milton’s Paradise Lost—composed in writing by individual authors. Aristotle’s discussion of the epic (epopoiía, from epos, “word, utterance” and poieîn, “to make, compose”) has informed most subsequent analyses. According to this philosopher, it constitutes a specific poetic genre, characterized by extended narration in elevated language with particular metrical traits, chanted or sung to musical accompaniment; centered on heroes and the marvelous, it has unity of action but not of time and space.1 Though not recognized as a major form of African verbal art until the 1970s, the epic has been the subject of a considerable number of synthetic studies and two major anthologies.2 John William Johnson’s essay “Yes, Virginia, There is an Epic in Africa” must be singled out here, since it decisively swung the balance in favor of recognition of this literary genre in sub-Saharan Africa.3 Johnson distinguishes four “primary” characteristics, which he believes are true of epics everywhere, and four “secondary” ones, which according to him apply to “Mande” and some other sub-Saharan, but not necessarily all, epic traditions. The first four are the “poetic,” “narrative,” “heroic,” and “legendary,” whereas the remaining ones are “length,” “multifunctionality,” “cultural and traditional transmission,” and “multigeneric qualities.” In his discussion of the first trait, Johnson counters the view that most sub-Saharan African “epics” (including Sunjata, see below) cannot be considered such, because they are in “prose” rather than “verse.” Building on earlier analyses by A.M. Jones (1964) and Charles Bird (1971), he points out that the African works do have prosodic systems, but that, due in part to differences in language structures, they differ from those of the Western canon. In most African performance traditions, verbal discourse is inseparable from its musical accompaniment, and scansion of the former is partially a function of the latter. To explicate Johnson’s argument here: Though many African poems may not have regular rhyme or meter, they do display other formal linguistic traits, including alliteration, assonance, and tonal plays—the last not available in European and many Asian languages. Imagery, including metaphor and simile, is fully developed in African traditions, while—again correlating to differences in linguistic structures—ideophones, onomatopoeia, and the depiction of action and motion are more highly developed than in most other traditions. Like European and Asian ones, several African epic traditions have specific lexical resources, employing words and expressions not used in everyday discourse nor in other poetical forms. In recalling the “legendary” character of epics, Johnson emphasizes that the events recounted conform to heroic patterns recurrent in folklore, thus also implicitly

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acknowledging the importance of the marvelous. But it may be equally important to recognize that in many African and other societies, “epics” are believed to be true accounts—or at least grounded in true accounts—of past events. There are just a few notable exceptions: for example, mvet performers (of the Fang people of Cameroon; see more below) are encouraged to create new stories—not just retell ones from the established repertoire. The early twentieth-century scholar and diplomat Momolu Massaquoi (of the Vai people of Liberia and Sierra Leone; life dates ca. 1870–1938) came very close to identifying “history” and “literature.”4 Although Johnson’s “secondary characteristics” were proposed on the basis of an analysis of Mande epic traditions, the first three at least appear to be universal, while the fourth applies to all African ones. The term “multifunctional” refers to the social roles of epics, especially as vectors of collective identity, expressions of social and cultural ideals, models for behavior, and—one may add—social and political charters. The term “multigeneric” refers to an extremely important feature of African (and perhaps many other) epics: They integrate examples of several other genres, including some (or more usually all) of the following—myths, folktale motifs, songs (especially praise songs), proverbs, riddles, and folk etymologies.5 These multigeneric traits furthermore provide clues as to the historical development of the epic. The relationship between praise songs and epic is particularly close: They differ mainly in that the former are shorter, allusive rather than narrative, and do not integrate other genres. As will become apparent from the analyses of individual works (ordered by geographical region) below, most sub-Saharan epics have developed primarily or exclusively through processes of oral composition. However, those from the West African savannah and Sahelian regions bear the imprint of a partially literate environment, whereas the Swahili ones were composed in writing. Egyptian and Maghrebi epics have developed through both written and oral composition and transmission. Northern African, as well as most sub-Saharan epics, consist in alternating “prose” (spoken or chanted) and sung passages, performed to musical accompaniment. However, the Swahili ones, which are entirely composed in verse (as defined by culturally recognized metrical and rhyme schemes), have traditionally been chanted, generally without instrumental accompaniment. An enduring controversy about African (and other) oral epics has concerned modes of transmission. On the basis of the evidence gathered here, it may be asserted that the narrative portions of the great majority of African epics, north as well as south of the Sahara, are transmitted in accordance with the principles outlined by the “oral-formulaic school”—i.e., the bards mentally assimilate subject matters, plots, epithets, and other verbal formulae, and recreate them in performance. Such recreation involves an element of improvisation, and therefore, narratives are not transmitted word-for-word: Even successive performances by the same bard display some verbal variation.6 Nevertheless, at least two traditions (those of the Soninke-speaking gesere bards in Mali and the related Songhay-speaking jesere bards in Niger) require the controlled memorization of substantial narrative passages, while everywhere, praise songs are generally transmitted word-for-word. At least one culture (that of

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the Luba of the Democratic Republic of the Congo) makes use of a specific mnemonic device—a wooden “memory board.” The Northern African epics are generally transmitted by hereditary bards, while those of the West African savannah and Sahelian zones are the preserve of endogamous (as well as hereditary) bard groups. In many Central African societies, would-be performers must undergo complex initiation rituals in the course of their apprenticeship. The data presented here call into question the frequent assumption that oral literary works develop through processes of anonymous composition and transmission. In several cultures, the names of initial composers and major transmitters are remembered. In all cultures, each bard can provide information about the line(s) of transmission through which he/she came to master the art. Furthermore (as will be detailed below), certain phases in the composition of some epics are approximately datable. All cultures surveyed here distinguish several literary genres. However, as their categorizations are only partially congruent with Western ones, only a few possess a term that can be unambiguously translated as “epic.” In others, the works that Western or Western-trained scholars have identified as epics are sub-categories of one or more locally recognized literary genres. Most or all African epics have a religious element, as suggested by the major roles played by deities and the supernatural in the narratives, as well as the abovementioned initiations. Furthermore, performances may be preceded or punctuated by rituals, or alternatively, include allusions to rituals. Annual ceremonies traditionally provided the main venue for the performance of several epics, and some Central African epics may also be categorized as myths. Though the Northern African epics may appear to be largely profane in subject matter, they implicitly and sometimes explicitly stress the value of Islamic belief and practice. Although the hypothesis, formulated in the early twentieth century, according to which epics typically arise in a social and cultural environment marked by incipient state-building or small, warring political entities,7 has been much criticized, it does appear to receive some support from the African data. Indeed, the Sahelian and Sudanic works, which conform so closely to Western conceptions of epic, tell of the rise (and sometimes the demise) of empires and kingdoms that severally span most of the second millennium C.E. Many researchers have drawn broad comparisons between the West and Central African epics. Supernatural and fantastic elements are particularly marked in the latter, and many or most can be construed as myths (in the sense of sacred stories relating the origins of the universe or human society). Furthermore, these epics tend to focus on just a few extraordinary individuals, leaving the larger community in the background. Their heroes wield esoteric and physical powers far greater than those of their West African (or, for that matter, Northern African and Swahili) counterparts, and are also more likely to display anti-social, Enfant terrible (“Dreadful child”) personality traits.8 Performance is more likely to involve multiple musical instruments or even a full-fledged orchestra, dramatic enactment, dance, and mime. Typically, the Central African works are also much longer, and they could well be described as total performances. It has been hypothesized that these differences

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correlate to ones of social structure—to the contrast between state and segmentary societies. However, it should be noted that at least one of the Central African epics—that of the Luba—emerged in the context of a major state. In his attempts to characterize the novel, Mikhail Bakhtin compared it to the epic, which he claimed—drawing on the earlier interpretations of Goethe and Schiller— represented an “absolute past”—which, though it might be the repository of unsurpassable ideals, was also hermetically separated from the present.9 However, this view can hardly apply to African epics, which reactivate ever-relevant links to the ancestors. Moreover, West African epics provide models for present and future conduct, while the enactment of Central African ones temporarily abolishes the distinction between past and present. Editions of African epics are typically preceded by caveats as to the impossibility of rendering the realities of a multimedia performance on a written page, as well as the difficulties and ultimate inadequacy of translation. While these cautions are of course justified, a fair number of translations appear to convey something of the style as well as the contents of the original. Some publications include audio excerpts, while, more exceptionally, certain performances have been filmed.10

Northern Africa (Egypt and the Maghreb) Arabic literature includes a category of about a dozen works that have been compared to epics. These works, known as sira (literally, “a journeying,” and by implication “life course” or “biography”), are enunciated in dialect (as far as the oral versions are concerned) or in a linguistic register intermediate between dialect and the literary language (as concerns the written, manuscript, or printed versions).11 They tend to be very long (running into several volumes) and appear to be the products of alternating phases of written and oral composition and transmission. Ostensibly set at various times from the pre-Islamic era to the late medieval period, written versions are typically composed in rhymed prose interspersed with songs in the rajaz meter.12 While some of the heroes around which they are structured are named for historical figures, most of the events recounted are imaginary, and the marvelous usually looms large. In his great study of early nineteenth-century Cairene society, Edward William Lane mentions that three romances (the term “folk epic” has since gained greater currency) were publicly recounted to (male) coffeehouse audiences. These were: that of Abu Zayd of the Banu Hilal tribe (initially from central Arabia, it first migrated to Egypt, then invaded Tunisia in the mid-eleventh century); that of alZahir Malik Baybars, Mamluk ruler of Egypt from 1260 to 1277; and that of c Antar, partially based on the life of the famous pre-Islamic poet (sixth century C.E.). Each performer specialized in a single work. According to Lane, performers of the first two works recited from “memory” (but, more likely, associated memorization and improvisation, along the lines described by the oral-formulaic school), whereas performers of the third work read out or chanted from a book. Performers of the

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Abu Zayd epic accompanied themselves on a one-stringed viol used exclusively for this purpose; they were generally assisted by a second instrumentalist, playing the same type of viol. Performers of c Antar might sometimes also read out from manuscripts relating to the adventures of Sayf ibn Dhi Yazan (a Himyarite, i.e., South Arabian, king, who lived ca. 518–578) and of Dhat al-Himma (who appears to be entirely fictitious, though some of this heroine’s associates are inspired by historical figures).13 Abu Zayd is the only sira still performed orally in the twentieth century; it has been recorded or described in both Lower and Upper Egypt and in all the Maghrebi countries, including Libya, Tunisia (where the tradition was probably strongest), Algeria, and Morocco, as well as among the Arabic-speaking populations of northern Sudan and northeastern Nigeria.14 Wherever detailed studies have been made, it is clear that it is (or was) transmitted in accordance with the principles posited by the oral-formulaic school, as demonstrated notably by verbal variants in successive performances by the same artist. These artists accompany themselves on musical instruments (which vary according to region, and sometimes also familial identities); they may also be assisted by additional instrumentalists. A field study conducted in a large village in Lower Egypt in the 1980s mentions the following contexts of performance: life-cycle ceremonies such as weddings and circumcisions, saints’ festivals, and especially, the sahra or lela—evening parties held at private homes, attended primarily by men.15 Full versions of Abu Zayd recorded in the 1970s and 1980s in Tunisia and Egypt have ranged from twenty to over one hundred hours. The Tunis-born historian Ibn Khaldun (1332–1406) quotes from dialect poems about the Banu Hilal tribe and its heroes transmitted by Arabic-speaking nomads, thus suggesting that an oral literary tradition was forming by this time.16 It has been argued, on the basis of both content and style (including implicit political references) that c Antar took shape mainly in the period 1000–1400, while Sayf b. Dhi Yazan acquired its current configuration in the late fourteenth to early sixteenth centuries.17 Elements from these epics (and the older sources that gave rise to them) have seeped into Saharan and sub-Saharan oral traditions. The Sefuwa dynasty of Kanem (later also of Borno; in present-day western Chad and northeastern Nigeria, respectively) has been claiming descent from Sayf b. Dhi Yazan since at least the thirteenth century.18 The pre-Islamic poets c Antar and Imru l-Qays have become folk heroes— with some trickster traits—among the Tuareg of Niger.19 Printed versions of Sayf — as well as The Thousand and One Nights—are avidly read by Muslim scholars in Mali (and presumably neighboring countries), and are at times translated orally into local languages for a general audience.20 That both Abu Zayd and c Antar are Black may have contributed to their popularity south of the Sahara. c Antar includes what appear to be descriptions of the natural milieu and populations of Kanem.21 A substantial portion of the action of Sayf b. Dhi Yazan is set in (a largely imaginary) Ethiopia and Sudan. Tales of Abu Zayd collected from the Arabic-speakers of northeastern Nigeria credit him with extraordinary physical prowess while accentuating his anti-social, Enfant terrible traits.22

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West Africa Savannah and Sahelian Zones A number of epics from the Savannah (“Sudanic”) and Sahelian regions of West Africa have been reported and published. Of these, by far the most famous is the Sunjata epic, which relates to the emergence of the medieval Mali empire (generally dated ca. 1235–ca. 1599, on the basis of written, primarily Arabic-language, sources). While researchers had long been aware of legends relating to this ruler, interest in the epic as a literary genre was largely sparked by the publication, in 1960, by the Guinean scholar Djibril Tamsir Niane, of an extended summary, in French prose, of recitations collected from several Maninka bards of northern Guinea.23 Since then, several additional versions, recorded in Mali, Guinea, and The Gambia, have appeared; these more recent publications include transcriptions of the Maninka or Mandinka originals as well as European-language translations.24 Other works described as “epics,” performed in this region, include those pertaining to the Mandinka kingdoms located in what is now The Gambia, the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Bamana kingdom of Segu (centered on the city of that name, located in present-day Mali), Fulbe society of the Masina region (presentday Mali) in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the Songhay empire and the migration of the Zarma people to their current locations (in present-day Niger); the Wolof and Serer kingdoms of Senegal, as well as ones centered on Muslim religious leaders (who were often military leaders as well) of the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.25 Several Soninke traditions, relating to the Wagadu (Ghana) empire and other medieval states, may also be described as epics.26 Nearly all these works focus on past rulers and warriors, and share several formal characteristics. Recited “prose” passages alternate with song, the whole being performed to musical accompaniment. This is most usually provided by stringed instruments, including the Maninka kora (a twenty-one-stringed harp lute). However, the bala xylophone—made from wooden laths fixed atop calabash resonators—is the preferred instrument of some Maninka bard lineages. The narrator typically provides his own instrumental accompaniment, but he may be assisted by a second instrumentalist. Among the Manding-speakers, who have received the greatest scholarly attention, male bards generally narrate and provide instrumental accompaniment, while female bards perform most of the songs; male bards, however, may also sing, especially in the absence of a female vocalist. Throughout the savannah and Sahelian zones, performance of the epics is restricted to members of hereditary, endogamous bard groups. Although they possess distinct (though etymologically related) designations in the several West African languages, in European ones they have come to be collectively designated by the term griots (a word of uncertain etymology, attested in French since the early seventeenth century).27 Among Fulfulde-speakers, who distinguish several categories of bards, the members of only one category—that of the maabo, pl. maabuube—perform epics; members of the other bard categories specialize in other oral literary forms.28

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Bards usually begin their lengthy apprenticeship by studying within their natal lineages, but may later continue their training elsewhere. Maninka bards ideally complete their training by a grand tour, in which they gain first-hand acquaintance of the principal sites mentioned in the Sunjata epic and study with renowned representatives of different bard lineages.29 However, it appears that—with the exception of praise songs and epithets, which are often enunciated in archaic language—Manding oral literary traditions are not transmitted word-for-word. In contrast, Soninke gesere bards, and the Songhay jesere who share a common origin with them, insist on the memorization of genealogies and at least some narratives. In at least some regions, master bards provide formal instruction at residential schools—in several respects similar to Qur’anic ones—in which pupils recite their lessons back to their teacher and must ultimately demonstrate their knowledge to an assembly of masters.30 The value of these oral traditions as historical sources has been a major subject of controversy. Most Western researchers have displayed considerable skepticism, particularly with regard to the Sunjata epic. It has been argued, for example, that the large number of folktale motifs makes it unlikely that this oral tradition ever had or still retains a historical basis.31 In contrast, the present writer considers that these elements testify to the epic’s antiquity. Furthermore, a late fourteenth-century Arabic source confirms the basic sequence of political events recounted in Sunjata (or, at least, its inclusion in Maninka oral traditions by that time). According to Ibn Khaldun (wrote 1374–1394): “[…] the people of Mali […] vanquished the Susu and acquired all their possessions, both their ancient kingdom and that of Ghana as far as the Ocean on the west.”32 Arabic sources also provide some clues as to the development of the Sunjata epic itself. According to the great Moroccan traveler Ibn Battuta, who visited the Mali empire in 1352–1353, during certain ceremonies, the “poets” (whom he also designates by their Manding name jali, still used today) exhorted the ruler to accomplish “good deeds” while recalling those of his predecessors.33 This, as several commentators have noted, may well be a reference to praise songs that would eventually form the core of the epic. Ivor Wilks has argued, on the basis of both internal and comparative evidence, that praise poems may remain stable for centuries, whereas loosely structured narratives undergo greater change.34 The epic is ritually recited every seven years in Kangaba (southern Mali), while several bard lineages observe rituals centered on some of the objects, beings, or places evoked in the epic.35 Whether or not these cults are antique (a contested point), they not only testify to the continuing social significance of events recounted in the epic but facilitate its stable transmission. On the other hand, bards seek to magnify their patrons’ (and their own) ancestors,36 and the epics’ contents are progressively and insidiously adjusted to ever-changing social, religious, technical, and natural environments. Christiane Seydou, pointing both to the non-existence of an epic genre among nomadic Fulbe and to stylistic and structural similarities between the epics of the Fulbe of the Masina and those of the neighboring Manding (specifically Bamana), has argued that the former created an epic genre on the basis of Manding models.37 Indeed, the dense distribution of “epic” in the savannah and Sahelian zones would

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appear to result from intense cultural interchange among contiguous, often geographically intricately intertwined, populations. This is evidenced by shared designations for bards used in different languages, the oral traditions of both the bards and their patrons, the fact that some bard groups transmit a corpus of traditions sung or recited in a language other than the one they ordinarily speak, and in some instances, also by written sources.38 Jack Goody has argued that the literary works generally recognized as “epics” (including the Homeric poems) have arisen in cultures characterized by incipient or restricted literacy,39 and this condition indeed holds true of the savannah and Sahelian societies discussed here. It has been alleged that the Maninka bards of Kela (southern Mali) possess an Arabic-language manuscript version of Sunjata.40 Although this item is likely to be a summary—rather than a full version, let alone an original written prototype—of Sunjata, the very claim underscores the cultural significance of writing in this part of Africa. Charles Bird has suggested that the Sunjata epic developed from what have subsequently become known as “hunters’ epics.”41 These narratives, of which numerous examples have by now been published, typically recount the struggles of a skilled hunter with considerable esoteric knowledge against one or more forest animals gifted with supernatural powers, or who might even, in some instances, be described as supernatural beings who have assumed animal form.42 It is true that hunting themes, present in the rituals of the mid-fourteenth-century Malian court, are also found in Sunjata. However, it must be noted that not only are these narratives substantially shorter than the “political epics” discussed above, but they are performed using different musical instruments, by persons other than hereditary bards. At least in Mali, the performers typically belong to the hereditary, endogamous blacksmith (numu) group. The cubballo (pl. subalbe), Fulfulde-speaking fisherfolk established along the lower Senegal River (in present-day Senegal), have a literary genre, called pekaan, which tells of life-and-death contests between heroes belonging to this social group and aquatic animals (such as crocodiles and hippopotami) gifted with supernatural powers. Like the hunters’ epics just mentioned, they are considerably shorter than the political epics. They are performed, to musical accompaniment, by subalbe rather than members of a hereditary bard group.43 “Farming epics,” which honor and encourage hardworking, efficient cultivators, have been reported from the Maninka areas of northern Guinea; these, too, are not performed by hereditary, endogamous bards. Judging from the few examples recorded so far, they overlap in content with the hunters’ epics, though they do include praise songs for outstanding cultivators.44 Thus, there can be little doubt that a form of verbal and musical art that conforms to most definitions of “epic” has flourished among several peoples of the Sudanic and Sahelian regions. This is not to say, however, that these peoples recognize a literary category that corresponds exactly to Western concepts of “epic.” For example, it has been affirmed that the Manding term maana can be translated as “epic.”45 Yet, maana is a very general term, and can, for example, also designate a narrative enunciated in plain language by an elder or group of elders, or a brief episode or anecdote within

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an epic. The term fasa, which is a constitutive element of the Maninka designation for the Sunjata epic (Sunjata fasa), is also the general term (in both Bamana and Maninka) for “praise song.”46 There may be greater congruence, in this respect, between Fulfulde and Western literary categories. Thus, the Fulbe of the Masina label their long, heroic, partially sung narratives hoddu, after the instrument (a four-stringed lute) that usually accompanies them, thus terminologically distinguishing them from several other poetic and narrative genres.47 It is surely significant that so many West African terms, among those used to distinguish various forms of verbal discourse, are of Arabic etymology48 —showing that these oral literary genres evolved in an environment characterized by partial literacy. Over the past twenty years, the enthusiastic interest in African epics has sometimes resulted in a very loose usage of this term, particularly with respect to Manding verbal art. Thus, it has, for example, been suggested that the Maninka Sara, which may be performed either as a song or as a brief, partially sung narrative (less than fifteen minutes), with a sentimental focus, should be considered an epic.49 In a different vein, several valuable historical traditions, spoken in unornamented language without musical accompaniment, elicited from elders rather than bards, have also been categorized as “epic” (or as together constituting, or emanating from, an epic).50 Surely, such indiscriminate usage deprives epic of its usefulness as a category for comparative literary analysis. However, the discussion about Sara does bring out the fact that there is no linguistic nor stylistic break between bardic narratives with a heroic, “political” focus, and ones with a sentimental focus: The categories of maana and fasa simply do not correspond to the Western “epic.”

Woi Epic Other West African epics include that of Woi, collected among the Kpelle of Liberia (speakers of a southern Mande language, and thus distantly related to the Manding, Soninke, and Bozo—speakers of northern Mande languages—discussed above). A single, partial rendition has been published.51 Unlike the narratives discussed above, it is not thought to have a beginning and an end, or perhaps more accurately, it should be told in such a way as to give the impression that it will never end. It may be recounted over several day or evening sessions by a main singer who also mimes some of the scenes he describes, prodded along by a questioner who keeps the action moving forward. Several percussion players provide accompaniment while the audience forms a chorus. Certain sequences, which relate how several animal species and objects came into being, may be interpreted as creation myths, while the epic as a whole centers on Woi as a civilizing hero.52 It should be noted that the question-and-answer format is not characteristic of epic and is only exceptionally evidenced in the other African traditions surveyed here. Rather, this kind of exchange is reminiscent of that between main performer and audience characteristic of folk story-telling sessions in many African societies.

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Ozidi Saga The Ozidi saga is told among the Ijo-speaking people of Nigeria; a complete transcription and translation of a performance held in the early 1960s, over seven nights “to music, dance and mime,” has been published.53 The main narrator was accompanied by a drum orchestra, male dancers who also formed a chorus, and hand-clapping women, with additional input from the audience. Set in the context of conflictual succession to the chiefship in the ancient Ijo city-state of Orua, it also involves the themes (quite frequent in African folktales) of a child who rapidly and miraculously grows to youth and maturity, the son who avenges his father, and the mother-son relationship. Rarer is the team formed by the hero (named Ozidi like his deceased father) and his esoterically skilled maternal grandmother Oreame. The collector and editor of the work, J.P. Clark-Bekederemo, has likened this pair to a “boy champion” and his trainer. Also rare is the comic figure cut by an “idiot” older relative (the elder Ozidi’s brother). The hero’s adversaries include not only formidable warriors with unusual physical and mystical powers but monsters and personified diseases. According to local oral tradition, the story originated in a revelation received some generations ago by the high priest of the god of a particular clan (the Tarakiri clan) while he was in a trance. Links between the story and religious belief and practice are apparent in the sacrificial offerings, prayers, and processions that precede each performance, as well as the roles assumed, in the narrative itself, by the ancestors and a host of supernatural beings, including the creator goddess. Traditionally in Orea, the work was performed annually, in a ceremony dedicated to the god who had revealed it. In terms of performance style as well as narrative contents, the Ozidi epic is closer to those of the Bantu-speakers of Central Africa than it is to the Sudanic and Sahelian epics discussed above.54

Central Africa Several, geographically largely discrete, epic traditions have been reported from Central Africa.

The Mvet Tradition Perhaps the best known is the mvet literary genre, named for the harp lute that typically accompanies it, performed among the Fang people of southern Cameroon, Equatorial Guinea, and Gabon, as well as the related Bulu people of southern Cameroon.55 There is considerable regional variation as to the technical characteristics and precise tonal range of these harp lutes. A mvet performance is a large-scale, participatory event. It may last all night or be performed on several consecutive nights. The main performer, in special dress,

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sings, narrates, moves about expressively and dances. He/she is accompanied by an instrumentalist, playing the emblematic harp lute, while the audience provides additional percussion accompaniment, acts as a chorus, and dances. The narratorsinger usually knows how to play the mvet, but given the dramatic nature of the performance, this role is generally delegated to another person. There have been several famous women narrator-singers. The would-be bard must submit to a long apprenticeship with a recognized artist and undergo a ritual initiation, in which he or she may be required to sacrifice (by occult means) a part of him/herself, and one or more relatives. One outstanding Bulu woman artist (whose performance recorded in 1965 was finally published in 2009!), born about 1914, lost both her parents about the time she began her initiation, and her eyesight shortly afterward. Her instructor was a renowned—and equally blind—woman artist.56 The mvet differs from all other works surveyed here in that artists are allowed and encouraged to create new stories—which are thus not considered literally true— within a basic conceptual framework. This framework is the rivalry, marked by armed conflict, between two peoples: Immortals, associated with iron, and ordinary humans, who despite their relative weakness, perpetually challenge the former and try to wrest the gift of immortality from them. Surely these profoundly philosophical tales deserve detailed study and analysis. The woman artist mentioned above had learned many narratives from her teacher but claimed that additional episodes were revealed to her in dreams.57 Because the mvet is not regarded as fixed, it easily integrates references to a changing world; for example, several mvet refer to modern machine technology or include barely veiled allusions to colonial forced labor. There are some clues as to the history of this performance genre. A mvet artist recorded in Gabon in 1960 claimed that he was the twelfth in a line of transmission. He furthermore stated that his own master (eleventh in the line) witnessed the ritual suicide of the seventh master, who thereby established new initiatory practices. He added that mvet singers accompanied the warrior vanguard as the Fang migrated to their present locations.58

Jeki la Njambe The narrative cycle (also including songs) centered on Jeki la Njambe is performed among the Duala of coastal Cameroon and some of their neighbors. Among the Duala, where they are most elaborate, performances typically take place at night, and the main narrator may be accompanied by a singer and an orchestra playing bells, drums, and rattles. The main narrator engages in verbal exchanges with his audience, and performers and the audience dance at appropriate times.59 This narrative cycle recounts how a son (Jeki) opposes his father (Njambe Inono), and, after demonstrating his mastery of the air and the waters, finally overcomes him. Though certain researchers have perceived this cycle as “secular,” it should be noted that among some neighboring peoples, in particular, the Batanga, Njambe Inono means “God the Eternal”; therefore, this would be the story of a struggle between God the Father and His Son (or, perhaps more accurately, between God and

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a divinely conceived Son of Man—who is also a superman). Furthermore, it has been argued, the social structures depicted in this narrative cycle are closer to those of the Batanga than to those of the Duala; therefore, the story may have emerged among the former.60

The Basaa Sons of Hitong The Basaa people of southern Cameroon (who neighbor on the Fang, Bulu, and Duala) have (or had) a very long, heroic narrative, whose title has been translated as The Sons of Hitong. It is an example of the mingen mi hilun, literally “marvels of the hilun,” narratives sung and chanted to the accompaniment of the hilun, a five-, later eight-stringed, musical instrument. The instrument was said to inspire its player.61 As a preliminary, the performer might invoke Divinity, requesting that he be placed in a trance and thus successfully impersonate the epic’s protagonists. The performances, which typically lasted all night, had a theatrical element, with the narrator dancing and miming as well as singing and playing his (or more rarely her) musical instrument. Works were not transmitted word-for-word, and no two performances, even by the same artist, were verbally or otherwise identical. Recognized artists underwent a lengthy apprenticeship including a ritual initiation requiring the sacrifice of some of their bodily powers.62 The Sons of Hitong recounts the conflict between two lineages, in which one was completely exterminated; descendants of the surviving family were still identifiable in the 1970s. On the basis of oral traditions, it has been estimated that the events in question took place in the first third of the nineteenth century, while the person reputed to have been their first narrator (and whose name is remembered) presented his composition to his chiefly patron (whose name is also remembered) some years later.63

Kalala Ilunga Narratives about Kalala Ilunga are told among the Central Luba as well as several neighboring peoples of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.64 This hero is credited with the founding of the Luba kingdom (perhaps in the seventeenth century). The fullest, most complex versions—which involved singing, dancing, and acting, as well as narration—were performed at kingly courts by members of the Mbudye secret society. However, simpler versions were told by ordinary persons in a domestic setting. As Luc de Heusch has so clearly shown, the narrative as a whole should be interpreted as myth as well as epic or history. While evoking the relations of various populations who have at different times shared Luba territory, the narrative describes the introduction of sacral kingship, in which the king is not only held responsible for the social and political welfare of his people but is believed to be in close relationship to natural and cosmological phenomena. The narratives furthermore allude to royal

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rituals. Building on the methodologies developed by both Claude Lévi-Strauss and Georges Dumézil, Luc de Heusch shows that mythical themes may be associated to produce narratives—a perspective that can surely illuminate several of the epics considered here.65 The stable transmission of the myth or epic of Kalala Ilunga within the Mbudye secret society was facilitated by the use of wooden “memory boards.”66 Beads of various sizes and colors, symbolizing the narrative’s protagonists, were fixed at appropriate places on the board, while incised markings symbolized certain events; cowrie shells placed around the board’s edges represented astronomical entities. The Mbudye titleholder recited in public while manipulating the memory board. Both men and women could join this society, and correlatively, each board surface had a “male” and a “female” half, while the board as a whole was characterized as either “male” or “female.” The numerous proverbs and praise songs associated with this narrative also facilitated its accurate transmission to succeeding generations.

Lianja Stories about Lianja, forming a cycle, are told among the Mongo-speaking peoples of the northeastern Democratic Republic of the Congo.67 Their segmentary social organization is clearly reflected in the various episodes. These stories, which in their fullest forms associate narrative and song, recount the lives, marked by extraordinary births and marriages, of Lianja’s ancestors; the extraordinary births of Lianja and his twin sister Nsongo; how Lianja avenges his father, embarks on a conquest expedition, establishes his people, and finally, together with his sister, a brother, and their common mother, rises to heaven. Cosmological themes, involving the sun, moon, rain, thunder, and lightning, figure prominently. A magical bell plays a crucial role in numerous episodes. Stylized imitations of the songs of different bird species are among the epic’s attractive performance features. In some regions of Mongo country, Lianja’s annual return is celebrated in processions.68 Like the Luba narratives, Lianja may be categorized as myth as well as epic.

The Mwindo Cycle Tales centered on the culture hero Mwindo, who after a miraculous birth quickly attained adulthood, are told among the Nyanga, located in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo.69 Like Jeki la Njambe, Mwindo travels by air and in the water (and in his case, also underground) as he struggles against his father, prior to their ultimate reconciliation. Virtually all information about the Nyanga comes from fieldwork carried out in the 1950s, when hunting was still important to their economy and way of life. Performances took place in the evening, or sometimes on several consecutive evenings. They involved singing, narration, and dramatic enactment. The bard aimed for stylistic effect, exploiting an extensive vocabulary, the morphological resources of

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the language, direct and indirect dialogue, and highly developed imagery. He accompanied himself on a rattle and often also held a scepter or other object symbolizing Mwindo. He was furthermore accompanied by several percussionists and an apprentice (usually a close relative) who participated in the verbal performance. The bard and his assistants were devotees of the supernatural spirit Karisi, and both they and their art form were named after him. Furthermore, a bard’s vocation might be determined by illness provoked by Karisi. Daniel Biebuyck (the main ethnographer) furthermore states that according to the Nyanga, the Mwindo stories originated among those groups most closely associated with the Pygmies (who are well represented in the area and with whom the Nyanga maintain symbiotic relationships). He is thus led to hypothesize that Karisi might be identified with Kalisia, a Pygmy hunting divinity, while Mwindo’s permanent small size might reflect an original Pygmy identity.

Synthetic Remarks Most African epics begin with a description of the birth of the hero, which generally presents some unusual features. However, this trait is particularly accentuated in the Central African Jeki, Lianja, and Mwindo, as well as in Ozidi. The mother’s pregnancy is generally very long and difficult, while several future heroes may leave and return to the womb at will. While still in the womb, Jeki and Ozidi prepare tools, weapons, and power objects, which they will later be able to draw directly from their bodies; Lianja is born fully armed, while Mwindo too is born with several attributes. The birth of Lianja is preceded by that of various animal species, suggesting that, like the Woi Epic of the Kpelle, it is also a creation myth. Lianja is additionally preceded by retainers who prefigure the Mongo peoples and their neighbors—indicating that this epic, like the Luba one, also functions as a political charter. Overt father-son conflict is a prominent feature of three Central African epics (Jeki, Mwindo, and certain episodes of Lianja), whereas relationships with the sister (when they are evoked) are always cooperative, and those with the mother and grandmother (with a few significant exceptions) usually so.70 Whereas several West African epic narratives may have developed from praise songs, some Central African ones may be largely grounded in myth.

East Africa The Swahili The existence of long narrative poems written in the Swahili language (using adapted Arabic script) came to European attention by the 1840s, and the first examples were published in the 1890s. The first critical, philological edition of a Swahili

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epic (centered on the Arab-Byzantine wars, see below) was published in 1911 (with an accompanying German translation).71 Indeed, Swahili literature comprises a considerable number of written works that have been labeled “epics.” These are in the utendi or utenzi (thus pronounced in the northern and southern dialects respectively) format, consisting in quatrains of eight-syllable lines; the final syllables of the first three lines of each quatrain rhyme with each other, while the final syllables of the last line of each quatrain remain constant throughout the poem.72 It is important to note that the Swahili meters are quite distinct from Arabic ones—which, due to differences in the phonological and syllabic structures of the two languages, could not, in any case, be applied. The Swahili epics are also characterized by the use of elaborate, archaic language (termed kingovi or kingozi) and highly developed imagery. Although the term utendi has often been translated by “epic,” it properly refers to a formal verse scheme that has also been used for non-heroic subject matters and relatively short poems. The oldest known Swahili epic is dated to or before 1728 (based on the date of the oldest surviving manuscript copy). The author identifies himself, in the final verses of the poem, as Bwana Mwengo (“Mister Mwengo”) son of Uthman from the island of Pate (in the Lamu archipelago, now part of Kenya). The story centers upon conflict between the early Muslim community and the Byzantine emperor Heraclius (lived ca. 575–641). While this conflict is mentioned in several (possibly apocryphal) Arabic sources, the Swahili work—which runs to over 1100 quatrains—is far more detailed and elaborate than any known, potential Arabic prototype. Several other eighteenth-century works are known, and a greater number from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Composed by scholars, most are inspired by the Arabiclanguage maghazi literature, which relates to the military campaigns led by the Prophet and his immediate successors. The song cycle relating to Fumo Liyongo (fumo being a chiefly title) has also been considered an epic.73 According to these songs, Liyongo ruled over seven “towns” (currently small villages) in the lower Ozi River region (also part of present-day Kenya) just south of the Lamu archipelago. Based on references to the Pokomo and Oromo peoples of the mainland and allusions to European trade items, different authors have variously speculated that he may have lived sometime between 1100 and 1700 (!); though the evidence is tenuous, the existence of a historical figure who may have inspired that of the epic hero has rarely been placed in doubt. The composition of over thirty songs has been attributed to Liyongo, who is represented as a great poet and dancer as well as hunter and warrior. Nevertheless, specialists consider (on internal evidence) that the song cycle as it is now known is incomplete; furthermore, there is considerable variation among the different versions of a given song, and the homogeneity of the corpus has been questioned. Though most of the songs have been preserved largely through manuscript versions, in this case, it is likely that (in many or most instances) oral poems preceded the written ones (though it is also likely that written versions fed back into and influenced oral ones). The meters used are distinct from those of the written epics discussed above and suggest a closer relation to oral poetry. The archaic language of the Liyongo songs further testifies to their age. Several of the songs were traditionally performed

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on social occasions, especially weddings. There is also at least one prose version and one relatively recent composition in the utendi meter. Tales about Liyongo also circulate among the Bantu-speaking Pokomo agriculturists and Cushitic-speaking Dahalo hunter-gatherers on the Kenyan mainland.74

The Haya The enanga poetic tradition of the Bantu-speaking Haya people of northwestern Tanzania (thus named for the eight-stringed harp lute played by the usually solo performer) has been described as epic.75 These narratives, which depict armed conflict, include numerous praise songs and allude to several divinities as well as the different social categories that were traditionally present in the several small Haya kingdoms. The performance is dramatic, involving mime.

Twentieth- and Twenty-First-Century Adaptations Though traditional performances have long been in decline, African epics have inspired new literary creations and been adapted to new media. Thus, the Sunjata epic, legends of Wagadu, and Ozidi have all been adapted to theater.76 The former two, as well as Bamana epic narratives and hunters’ tales, have also inspired cinematographic interpretations—most notably, Dani Kouyaté’s Keita: The Heritage of the Griot and Sia, the Dream of the Python.77 The Sunjata epic has additionally inspired novels—most famously the Guinean writer Camara Laye’s Guardian of the Word and also the Malian historian Drissa Diakité’s Kuyatè—both composed and initially published in French.78 Furthermore, traditional oral literature has provided inspiration for the creation of written epics in several cultures that are generally not considered to have had an epic genre. Thus, the Rwandan collector of oral traditions and philosopher Alexis Kagamé (1912–1981) composed, in his native Kinyarwanda, a lengthy, unified poem about the creation, fall and redemption of Man, whose verse style is based on traditional pastoral poetry.79 In South Africa, Thomas Mofolo composed in his native Sesotho, a novel (first published in that language in 1925) based on oral traditions about the Zulu conqueror Chaka (ca. 1787–1828), which has often been termed an epic—though probably more on account of its contents than its style.80 More recently, Mazisi Kunene (1979) composed, in his native Zulu, a lengthy unified poem about the same conqueror, whose style draws upon Zulu praise poems.81 Notes 1. 2.

Aristotle, Poetics. These include: Biebuyck (1972, 1978a), Okpewho (1979), Johnson (1980), Knappert (1983), Belcher (1999), Derive (2002), Derive and Seydou (2008).

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4.

5.

6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

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Barber (2007: 46–58, 95, 146–150, 228–229) also provides a substantial discussion. The two anthologies are Johnson et al. (1997) and Kesteloot and Dieng (1997). Johnson (2003: 30–57) further elaborates on these criteria. The 1980 essay is a reply to Ruth Finnegan’s (1970: 108–110) “Note on Epic.” This author subsequently revised her position; Finnegan (2016) is her most recent statement. The term “Mande” has been used in several different ways. Here Johnson is referring to a group of closely related and in most instances mutually intelligible languages, including Maninka, Mandinka, Bamana, and Jula—all of which present considerable dialectal variation (“Maninka” and “Jula” may even be considered shorthand labels for several languages); the terms “Core Mande” and “Manding” (used in this essay, except in quoting from other authors) have been employed with the same meaning. “Mande” is also the designation, in Maninka oral traditions, for the geographical area (straddling the Mali-Guinea border) that this people considers to have been their original homeland. Finally, in linguistic classification, “Northern Mande” refers to a group of languages that includes Soninke and Bozo as well as Manding, while “Southern Mande” includes Kpelle (see below). “They [the Vai] have a history, both oral traditional and written, and therefore a basis for literature” (Massaquoi 1911). As discussed in his article, Massaquoi translated extracts of the Iliad into Vai for his pupils learning to read their own language using the Vai syllabary (invented ca. 1830). For Massaquoi’s biography, see Smyke (2004). Or, as Biebuyck (1972: 266) put it: “The epic is … a supergenre that encompasses and harmoniously fuses together practically all genres known to a particular culture.” Major statements of the theoretical positions of this school include Lord (1960) and the papers collected in Parry (1971). Chadwick (1912), Chadwick and Chadwick (1932–1940), Bowra (1952). For this concept as applied to West African oral literature, see Calame-Griaule et al. (1980). Bakhtin (1983). Goethe and Schiller’s essay “On Epic and Dramatic Poetry,” written in 1797 but first published in 1827, conserves many elements of the Aristotelian paradigm. Seydou’s (1972, 1976, 2010a, b, 2014a, b) translations into French, and Clark’s (1977) into English, are generally recognized as exceptional. G. Towo Atangana’s (2009) French translation surely deserves to be singled out as well. Johnson (2003) and Bornand (2005) include audio excerpts, as do most works in the “Classiques africains” series. Sira also designates a major early biography of the Prophet and may designate biography in general. Literary scholars have, since the 1950s, employed the technical expression sira shac biyya, which may be translated as “folk epic.” Lyons (1995) is an important general work that includes detailed summaries and analyses of several epics.

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18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26.

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28. 29.

30.

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This is the most easily obtained of the Arabic meters. It is frequently associated with rhymed prose and systematically employed in didactic versification. Lane (2003 [1860], Chapters 18, 21–23). Major studies and editions include Patterson (1930), Galley and Ayoub (1983), Saada (1985), and Reynolds (1995). Reynolds (1995: 103–128). Ibn Khaldun, translated by Rosenthal, vol. 3, pp. 412–420. See respectively: Norris (1980), Garcin (2004), Blatherwick (2016). Bohas and Guillaume (1985–1998) provide a French translation, based on their critical edition of the Arabic text, of the Baybars corpus. Ibn Sac id’s Geography (completed ca. 1269), in Hopkins and Levtzion (1981: 188). See also Smith (1983). Casajus (2002). Tamari (2013). Norris (1980). Patterson (1930). Published in English translation in (1965). These other versions include: Innes (1974), Johnson (2003 [1986]), Cissé and Kamissoko (1988, 1991), Jansen et al. (1995), Conrad (2004). Relevant publications include: Si. Camara and Sa. Camara (2010), Dumestre and Kesteloot (1975), Dumestre (1979), Conrad (1990), Seydou (1972, 1976, 2010a, b, 2014a, b), Mounkaila (1988, 2008), “The Epic of Askia Mohammed”, in Hale (1990: 178–291), Dieng (1993), Faye (2016). Charles Monteil states that an oral tradition he collected in 1898 from a Soninke gesere bard was recited, making no mention of a musical instrument (study published in 1953). The Malian scholar Youssouf Tata Cissé stated in his lectures at the Sorbonne (ca. 1990) that the most highly qualified transmitters of Soninke traditions pertaining to Wagadu recited from memory without instrumental accompaniment (or did not perform these particular traditions to music?). However, many Soninke bards do accompany themselves on an instrument, and in some bardic “schools,” memorization of both music and verbal discourse is required. See Bathily (1967), Meillassoux et al. (1967), Dieterlen and Sylla (1992), Diawara (1990a, b), Tandia (n.d.). Hypotheses include a derivation from the Wolof gewel (meaning “hereditary bard”) or from the Portuguese criado (“servant”), or possibly an association of the two. The Wolof were among the first populations with whom Europeans came into contact. As stressed by Seydou (1972: 11–15, 19–38; 1976: 7–8). As first pointed out by Niane in the introduction to his Soundjata (1960). See also Se. Camara (1996, 1999). Two films by Durán (2013a, b) provide numerous insights into the apprenticeships, social status, and performances of Maninka bards. Soninke: see Monteil (1953: 363), Diawara (1990a: 94–111; 1990b), Dieterlen and Sylla (1992: 93–98); Songhay: Olivier de Sardan (1982: 120, 225, 230), Hale (1990: 178–180, Bornand (2005: 206–227).

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31. 32. 33.

Innes (1974: 24–27). In Hopkins and Levtzion (1981: 333). Ibid., 292–293. Tamari (2005) is a reply to the more extreme criticisms of the Arabic and the oral traditional sources. Wilks (1999). See especially: Meillassoux (1968), de Ganay (1989), Jansen (2002), Kouyaté (1970), Cissé and Kamissoko (1988: 2, 16–17, 263, 329, 388; 1991: 250–252). See especially Jansen (2001). See especially Seydou (1972: 18–26; 1976: 35–38). Concerning the social status of the bards, see inter alia So. Camara (1992 [1976]), Olivier de Sardan (1982: 224–230, 281–282, 289–290, 310–311, 353–354), Hale (1998), Hoffman (2000), Schulz (2001), and Bornand (2005). Tamari (1997) (English summary: 1991) shows that the diverse endogamous specialist groups (“castes”) of the Sudanic, Sahelian, and adjacent desert- and forest-edge regions—of whom the bard groups are but a fraction—differentiated, over several centuries, from only a few centers. Goody (1987). This author introduced the concept of “restricted literacy” in Goody (1968). Se. Camara (1996, 1999). Bird (1972: 290–293). Bird employed the more neutral “hunters’ songs”; the French “chants de chasseurs” corresponds precisely to this term. These include: Bird et al. (1974), Thoyer-Rozat (1978), B. Camara (1998), Derive and Dumestre (1999), Traoré (2000). Cissé (1994) is the fullest study of the hunters’ associations. See also Charry (2000: 63–89). Sy (1978). This author has published two fine examples of these narratives, in Fulfulde accompanied by expressive French translations. Lorin (2015) further documents the oral literature of this social group. The Bozo, who live along the Niger River in central Mali, also possess long, epic-style narratives which tell of the contests between members of their group and aquatic beings gifted with supernatural powers. Hayidara (1987) has collected a recitation in Bamana from a well-known bilingual Bozo singer, and published it with an accompanying French translation. A. Camara (1999), the only study so far, includes the transcription and translation of three performances. See, e.g., Johnson et al. (1997: xix), Belcher (1999: 91). The expression Sunjata fasa can thus be literally translated as “In praise of Sunjata.” Hoddu (from the Arabic c ud, “lute”) is the Fulfulde designation for the fourstringed lute that the neighboring Bamana call ngoni. Though the names are different, the instrument is the same. Thus, maana is etymologically derived from Arabic mac ana, “meaning,” while fasa almost certainly comes from the Arabic root f(a)s(a)h(a)—which denotes eloquence and literary or classical Arabic. This list could be extended. For example, tariku, which, depending on the region, can be either a general word for “story” or refer to genealogies or specifically historical accounts, comes

34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42.

43.

44. 45. 46. 47.

48.

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49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57. 58.

59. 60. 61.

62. 63. 64. 65.

66. 67.

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from the Arabic ta’rikh , “chronicle,” while masala, sometimes also described as a Manding equivalent of “epic,” derives from Arabic mathal, “parable, example.” The designation for hunters’ bards among the Maninka of northern Guinea, serewa or in its shorter form soro, comes from seere, “witness,” itself borrowed from the Arabic shahid, “witness” (as shown by the comparison of similar terms shared by several West African languages). Charles Bird and Kassim Kone, ed. by Charles Bird, in “The Epic of Sara”, pp. 114–123 in Johnson et al. (1997). Timothy Geysbeek, “The Epic of Musadu”, pp. 80–91 in Johnson et al. (1997), Geysbeek (2002). Stone (1988) is the main source here. Concerning this concept, see especially Tegnaeus (1950). Clark (1977 reprinted in 1991) is the main source here. Okpewho has contributed insightful analyses: the “Critical introduction” in ClarkBekederemo (1991) and a book (2014). As already indicated by Belcher (1999: 44–47). Major sources include Pepper et al. (1972), Eno Belinga (1978), Boyer (1988), Towo Atangana et al. (2009). Towo Atangana et al. (2009: 14–15). Towo Atangana et al. (2009: 15). Pepper et al. (1972: 11–12). Among most Bantu-speaking populations, ironworking is a highly prestigious occupation, often symbolically (and sometimes practically) associated with kingship. Primary sources concerning this art form include Bekombo (1993), Austen (1995, 2004). Etymologies and historical interpretations based on Austen (1995, 2004). Ngijol Ngijol (1980) is the main source concerning this literary form. The work includes (vol. 1, pp. 2–279) a full-length transcription and aesthetically very successful French translation. However, it appears that this transcription is based on a “corrected” synthesis of at least four performances, and thus does not strictly correspond to any one of them. Ngijol Ngijol (1980), vol. 1, p. xxviii, vol. 2, pp. 23–24. Ngijol Ngijol (1980), vol. 1, pp. xxvi–xxviii, vol. 2, pp. 18, 61. Major recent primary sources include Reefe (1981) and Studstill (1984). De Heusch (1972) provides a comprehensive listing and analysis of earlier sources. De Heusch (1972), with some further discussion in 1982b and 2000. Dumézil (1968–1978) showed that both the early Roman “histories” and the Sanskrit “epics” were essentially the narrative transpositions of mythical themes. James Frazer, in his Golden Bough (1890–1935), was the first to identify the institution of sacral kingship (or “divine kingship,” as he called it). Concerning these, see specifically: Reefe (1977), Studstill (1979), Roberts and Roberts, eds. (1996: 12–46, 65, 117–150). Primary sources include Boelaert (1949), Boelaert (1957–1958), De Rop (1978), and De Rop and Boelaert (1983). Collected as early as the 1920s, most of these texts (published in the original languages, with French or Flemish

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71. 72.

73.

74. 75. 76.

77.

78.

79.

80.

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translation) were taken down from dictation. De Heusch (1982a: 234–238) comments on the Lianja narratives. Boelaert (1949: 73–74), Boelaert (1962). The primary sources here are: Biebuyck and Mateene (1969), Biebuyck (1978b), Biebuyck and Mateene (2002). His mother and, especially, grandmother are Ozidi’s mentors and best allies. In contrast, his maternal grandmother tries to kill Lonkundo (one of Lianja’s ancestors), while Lianja blames his mother for having, by her unreasonable requests, provoked the death of his father. This section draws, inter alia, on the following sources: Harries (1950, 1962), Knappert (1979, 1983), Miehe et al. (2010). Vierke (2009: 17–94). This book, by far the most detailed linguistic and stylistic study of the utendi, includes a critical edition and translation of the Utendi wa Haudaji, possibly composed by three women toward the end of the nineteenth century. Miehe et al. (2004) is by far the most comprehensive and rigorous study of this topic. All general works about Swahili literature include some discussion of Liyongo. Geider (1990, vol. I, pp. 144–147), Tosco (1991: 117–120). The major primary sources concerning these narratives are Seitel (1999), Mulokozi (2002). Discussions include Austen (2004), Barber (2007: 51–58). These adaptations include a play in English (Ozidi, 1966) by J.P. Clark, the editor and translator of the Ijo epic; a play in French by the Mauritanian author Moussa Diagana (1994; life dates: 1946–2018); the unpublished “Waramba, opéra mandingue” (“Waramba, a Manding Opera” 1991), loosely inspired by the Sunjata epic, by the Guinean (Abidjan-based) theater director and playwright Souleymane Koly (1944–2014); and unpublished adaptations of the Sunjata and Segu epics by the Burkinabe (Paris-based) actor Sotigui Kouyaté (1936–2010) and his sons Dani and Hassane. Derive (2010) has analyzed the Kouyaté family’s adaptations. Dani Kouyaté’s films were performed in French and Jula. Moussa Diagana’s 1994 play is the immediate source of Kouyaté’s second film. Episodes from the Segu epic have been adapted to the silver screen by Sidy Fassara Diabaté (2011) and to television by Boubacar Sidibé (2010–2012; analysis in Tamari 2014). “Keita” is, according to the Sunjata epic, the clan name of medieval Mali’s royal dynasty, whereas “Kuyate” (in French, usually spelled “Kouyaté”) is that of a major bard clan. Like all other clan names mentioned in the epic, it is still in use today. Kagamé’s French translation of the first part of this poem, together with citations from the original Kinyarwanda, was published in an artistically illustrated edition in 1952. Composition completed ca. 1910. The first English translation was published in (1931). Excerpts from this work have, for example, been anthologized in Kesteloot and Dieng (1997).

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81.

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Published in (1979) in the author’s English translation.

The literature on epic in Africa is extensive. Only the most essential references, cited in the main body of the chapter, are included here.

References Aristotle. 2008. Poétique, ed. and trans. J. Hardy. Paris: Les Belles Lettres (First edition, 1932). Austen, Ralph A. 1995. The Elusive Epic: Performance, Text and History in the Oral Narrative of Jeki la Njambè (Cameroon Coast), n.p. [Atlanta]: African Studies Association Press. Austen, Ralph A., 2004. The Emergence of Oral Epics in Bantu-Speaking Africa—The Cameroon Littoral and Buhaya. In Epic Adventures: Heroic Narrative in the Oral Performance Traditions of Four Continents, ed. Jan Jansen and M. J. Henk Maier, 11–21. Münster: LIT. Bakhtin, Mikhail Mikhailovich. 1983. Epic and Novel. In The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays by M.M. Bakhtin, ed. Michael Holquist, trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist, 3–40. Austin: University of Texas Press. Barber, Karin. 2007. The Anthropology of Texts, Persons and Publics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bathily, Abdoulaye (ed.). 1967. La légende du Wagadou, texte soninké de Malamine Tandyan. Bulletin de I’Institut fondamental d’Afrique noire 29 (1–2): 134–149 (Preliminary note by Vincent Monteil). Bekombo Priso, Manga. (ed. and trans.). 1993. Défis et prodiges. La fantastique histoire de Djèkila-Njambé. Récit épique dwala dit par Jo Diboko’a Kollo . Paris: Classiques africains. Belcher, Stephen. 1999. Epic Traditions of Africa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Biebuyck, Daniel. 1972. The Epic as a Genre in Congo Oral Literature. In African Folklore, ed. Richard M. Dorson, 257–273. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Biebuyck, Daniel P. 1978a. The African Heroic Epic. In Heroic Epic and Saga: An Introduction to the World’s Great Folk Epics , ed. Felix J. Oinas, 336–367. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Biebuyck, Daniel P. 1978b. Hero and Chief. Epic Literature from the Banyanga, Zaire Republic. Berkeley: University of California Press. Biebuyck, Daniel P., and Kahombo C. Mateene (eds.). 1969. The Mwindo Epic from the Banyanga (Congo Republic). Berkeley: University of California Press. Biebuyck, Daniel, and Kahombo Mateene (eds.). 2002. Mwendo. Une épopée nyanga (R.D. Congo), translated into French by Daniel Biebuyck, Mihaela Bacou and Brunhilde Biebuyck. Paris: Classiques africains. Bird, Charles S. 1971. Oral Art in the Mande. In Papers on the Manding, ed. Carleton T. Hodge, 15–25. Bloomington: Indiana University Publications. Bird, Charles. 1972. Heroic Songs of the Mande Hunters. In African Folklore, ed. Richard M. Dorson, 275–293. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Bird, Charles, with Mamadou Koita and Bourama Soumaoro. 1974. The Songs of Seydou Camara, vol. I: Kambili. Bloomington: African Studies Center, Indiana University. Blatherwick, Helen. 2016. Prophets, Gods and Kings in Sirat Sayf ibn Dhi Yazan. An Intertextual Reading of an Egyptian Popular Epic. Leiden: Brill. Boelaert, E. (ed. and trans.). 1949. Nsong’a Lianja. L’épopée nationale des Nkundo . Antwerp: De Sikkel. Boelaert, E. (ed. and trans.). 1957–1958. Lianja-Verhalen. Tervuren: Annales du Musée royal du Congo belge, 2 vols. Boelaert, E. 1962. La procession de Lianja. Aequatoria 25 (1): 1–9. Bohas, Georges, and Jean-Patrick Guillaume (trans.). 1985–1998. Roman de Baïbars, 10 vols. Paris: Sindbad.

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Derive, Jean, and Gérard Dumestre, with the collaboration of Ansoumane Camara, Brahima Camara, Marie-José Derive, and Nounké Traoré, editors and translators. 1999. Des hommes et des bêtes. Chants de chasseurs mandingues. Paris: Classiques africains. Derive, Jean (ed.). 2002. L’Epopée. Unité et diversité d’un genre . Paris: Karthala. Derive, Jean. 2010. Diaspora mandingue en région parisienne et identité culturelle. Productions de littérature orale en situation d’immigration. Journal des Africanistes 80 (1–2): 237–250. Derive, Jean, and Christiane Seydou. 2008. Genres littéraires oraux: quelques illustrations. In Littératures orales africaines. Perspectives théoriques et méthodologiques, ed. Ursula Baumgardt and Jean Derive, 177–243. Paris: Karthala. De Rop, A. (ed.). 1978. Versions et fragments de l’épopée Mongo I . Brussels: Académie royale des Sciences d’Outre-Mer. De Rop, A., and E. Boelaert (eds.). 1983. Versions et fragments de l’épopée mongo. Nsong’a Lianja. Partie II. Mbadandaka, Democratic Republic of the Congo (Etudes Aequatoria, 1). Diabaté, Sidy Fassara. 2011. Da Monzon, la conquête de Samanyana. Bamako: Centre national de la cinématographie du Mali (CNCM). 110 minutes (In Bamana) [Film]. Diagana, Moussa. 1994. La légende du Wagadu vue par Sia Yatabéré. Théâtre. CarnièresMorlanwelz, Belgium: Lansman. Diakité, Drissa. 2009. Kuyatè, la force du serment. Aux origines du griot mandingue. Preface by Moussa Sow. Bamako: La Sahélienne; Paris: L’Harmattan. Diawara, Mamadou. 1990a. La Graine de la Parole. Dimension sociale et politique des traditions orales du royaume de Jaara (Mali) du XVème au milieu du XIXème siècle. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1990. Diawara, Mamadou. 1990b. Le retour aux sources de l’histoire soninké. Les écoles de traditions orales des geseru (Kingi, Soroma au Mali) du XVIème au milieu du XIXème siècle. Paideuma 36: 37–57. Dieng, Bassirou (ed. and trans.). 1993. L’Epopée du Kajoor. Paris: Agence de coopération culturelle et technique (ACCT); Dakar: Centre africain d’animation et d’échanges culturels (CAEC), Khoudria, and IFAN. Dieterlen, Germaine, and Diarra Sylla, with the collaboration of Mamadou Soumaré, Lamine Cissé, Youssouf Cissé, Lise Minost, and Jean Rouch. 1992. L’Empire de Ghana. Le Wagadou et les traditions de Yéréré. Paris: Karthala and Arsan. Dumestre, Gérard, and Lilyan Kesteloot, with the collaboration of J.-B. Traoré (eds. and trans.). 1975. La prise de Dionkoloni. Episode de l’épopée bambara raconté par Sissoko Kabinè . Paris: Armand Colin (Classiques africains). Dumestre, Gérard (ed. and trans). 1979. La geste de Ségou, racontée par des griots bambara. Paris: Armand Colin (Classiques africains). Dumézil, Georges. 1968–1973. Mythe et épopée, 3 vols. Paris: Gallimard (revised 1978). Durán, Lucy (director). 2013a. Da Kali—The Pledge to the Art of the Griot . Growing into Music in Mali, part I. 86 minutes. www.growingintomusic.co.uk [Film]. Durán, Lucy (director). 2013b. Dò farala a kan: something has been added. Growing into Music in Mali, part II. 2013. 69 minutes. www.growingintomusic.co.uk [Film]. Eno Belinga, S[amuel-] M[artin]. 1978. Mvet Moneblum, ou l’homme bleu. Yaounde: Centre d’édition et de production pour l’enseignement et la recherche. Faye, Amade (ed. and trans.). 2016. La route du pouvoir en pays seereer. De l’Ancêtre-arbitre au Chevalier gelwaar. Paris: Karthala. Finnegan, Ruth. 2016. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970. Second revised edition: Cambridge: Open Book Publishers, 2012, further edits. Galley, Micheline, and Abderrahman Ayoub. 1983. Histoire des Beni Hilal et de ce qui leur advint dans leur marche vers l’Ouest . Versions tunisiennes. Paris: Armand Colin, 1983 (Classiques africains). Ganay, Solange de. 1989. Le sanctuaire Kama blon de Kangaba. Histoire, mythes, peintures parietales et ceremonies septennales. [France]: Nouvelles du Sud.

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Kunene, Mazisi. 1979. Emperor Shaka the Great: A Zulu Epic. Translated from the Zulu by the author. London: Heinemann. Lane, Edward William. 2003. An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians. Cairo: American University of Cairo Press (Based on the fifth edition: London: John Murray, 1860). Laye, Camara. 1980. Le Maître de la Parole. Kouma Lafôlô Kouma. Paris: Plon, 1978. Translated by James Kirkup: The Guardian of the Word. London: William Collins Sons. Lord, Albert Bates. 1960. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lorin, Marie. 2015. La poésie orale peule des pêcheurs de la vallée du Fleuve Sénégal (Pékâne): approche géopoétique, 2 vols. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, Paris: Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales. Lyons, Malcolm Cameron. 1995. The Arabian Epic: Heroic and Oral Story-telling, 3 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Massaquoi, Momolu. 1911. The Vai People and Their Syllabic Writing. Journal of the African Society 10, n° 40: 459–466 + 1 folding chart. Meillassoux, Claude, Lassana Doucouré, and Diaowé Simagha (ed. and trans.). 1967. Légende de la dispersion des Kusa (épopée soninke). Dakar: IFAN. Meillassoux, Claude. 1968. Les cérémonies septennales du Kamablo de Kaaba (Mali) (5-12 avril 1968). Journal de la Société des Africanistes 38 (2): 173–183. Miehe, Gudrun et al. 2004. Liyongo Songs. Poems Attributed to Fumo Liyongo. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe. Miehe, Gudrun, and Clarissa Vierke in collaboration with Sauda Barwani and Ahmed S. Nabahany. 2010. Muhamadi Kijuma: Texts from the Dammann Papers and Other Collections. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe. Mofolo, Thomas. 1967. Chaka: An Historical Romance. Translated from the original Sesuto by F.H. Dutton. Introduction by Sir Henry Newbolt. London: Oxford University Press for the International African Institute. First ed.: 1931 (Initially published in Sesotho, in 1925). Monteil, Charles. 1953. La légende du Ouagadou et l’origine des Soninkés, Note by Vincent Monteil, in Mélanges ethnologiques. Dakar: Institut français d’Afrique noire: 359– 408 (Mémoires de l’Institut français d’Afrique noire, n° 23). Mounkaila, Fatimata. 1988. Mythe et histoire dans la geste de Zabarkane. Niamey: CELHTO. Mounkaila, Fatimata. 2008. Anthologie de la littérature orale songhay-zarma, 4 vols. Paris: L’Harmattan. Mulokozi, Mugyabuso M. 2002. The African Epic Controversy. Historical, Philosophical and Aesthetic Perspectives on Epic Poetry and Performance. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Ngijol Ngijol, Pierre. (1980). Les fils de Hitong. Vol. I: Texte épique, traduction et notes ethnolinguistiques. Vol. II: Contribution à l’étude de l’épopée comme genre. Yaounde: Centre d’édition et de production pour l’enseignement et la recherche (CEPER). Niane, Djibril Tamsir. 1965. Soundjata ou l’épopée mandingue . Paris: Présence africaine, 1960. Translated by G.D. Pickett: Sundiata, an Epic of Old Mali. Harlow, Essex: Longman Group. Norris, H[arry] T[hirwall]. 1980. The Adventures of c Antar. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Okpewho, Isidore. 1979. The Epic in Africa: Toward a Poetics of the Oral Performance. New York: Columbia University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 2014. Blood on the Tides: The Ozidi Saga and Oral Epic Narratology. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Olivier de Sardan, Jean-Pierre. 1982. Concepts et conceptions songhay-zarma. Histoire, culture, société. Paris: Nubia. Parry, Milman. (ed. by Adam Parry). 1971. The Making of Homeric Verse. The Collected Papers of Milman Parry. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Patterson, J[ohn] R[obert] (ed. and trans.). 1930. Stories of Abu Zeid the Hilali in Shuwa Arabic. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner.

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Pepper, Herbert, Paul De Wolf, and Paule De Wolf (eds.). 1972. Un mvet de Zwè Nguéma. Chant épique fang. Paris: Armand Colin (Classiques africains). Reefe, Thomas Q. 1977. Lukasa: A Luba Memory Device. African Arts 10(4): 48–50, 88. Reefe, Thomas Q. 1981. The Rainbow and the Kings: A History of the Luba Empire to 1891. Berkeley: University of California Press. Reynolds, Dwight Fletcher. 1995. Heroic Poets, Poetic Heroes: The Ethnography of Performance in an Arabic Oral Epic Tradition. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Roberts, Mary Nooter, and Allen F. Roberts (eds.). 1996. Memory: Luba Art and the Making of History. Munich: Prestel. Saada, Lucienne (ed.). 1985. La Geste hilalienne. Version de Bou Thadi (Tunisie). Recited by Mohammed Hsini. Paris: Gallimard. Schulz, Dorothea E. 2001. Perpetuating the Politics of Praise. Jeli Singers, Radios, and Political Mediation in Mali. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe. Seitel, Peter. 1999. The Powers of Genre: Interpreting Haya Oral Literature. New York: Oxford University Press. Seydou, Christiane (ed. and trans.). 1972. Silâmaka et Poullôri. Récit épique peul raconté par Tinguidji. Paris: Armand Colin (Classiques africains). Seydou, Christiane (ed. and trans.). 1976. La geste de Ham-Bodêdio ou Hama le Rouge. Paris: Armand Colin (Classiques africains). Seydou, Christiane. (ed. and trans.). 2010a. L’épopée peule de Boûbou Ardo Galo. Héros et rebelle . Paris: Karthala and Langues O’ (INALCO). Seydou, Christiane (ed. and trans.). 2010b. Profils de femmes dans les récits épiques peuls (MaliNiger). Paris: Karthala. Seydou, Christiane (ed. and trans.). 2014a. Les guerres du Massina. Récits épiques peuls du Mali. Paris: Karthala. Seydou, Christiane (ed. and trans.). 2014b. Héros et personnages du Massina. Récits épiques peuls du Mali. Paris: Karthala. Sidibé, Boubacar. 2010–2012. Les Rois de Ségou. TV5 Monde [Television series]. Smith, Abdullahi. 1983. The Legend of the Seifuwa: A Study in the Origins of a Tradition of Origin. In Studies in the History of Pre-Colonial Borno, ed. Bala Usman and Nur Alkali, 16–56. Zaria: Northern Nigerian Publishing. Smyke, Raymond J. 2004. The First African Diplomat: Momolu Massaquoi (1870–1938). [Philadelphia]: Xlibris. Stone, Ruth M. 1988. Dried Millet Breaking. Time, Words, and Song in the Woi Epic of the Kpelle. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Studstill, John D. 1979. Education in a Luba Secret Society. Anthropology and Education Quarterly 10 (2): 67–79. Studstill, John D. 1984. Les desseins d’arc-en-ciel: épopée et pensée chez les Luba du Zaïre . Paris: CNRS. Sy, Amadou Abel (ed. and trans.). 1978. Seul contre tous. Deux récits épiques des pêcheurs du Fouta Toro. Dakar: Nouvelles éditions africaines. Tamari, Tal. 1991. The Development of Caste Systems in West Africa. Journal of African History 32 (2): 221–250. Tamari, Tal. 1997. Les castes de l’Afrique occidentale. Artisans et musiciens endogames. Nanterre: Société d’ethnologie. Tamari, Tal. 2005. Les appréciations portées sur les traditions orales maliennes : constantes et évolutions. In Mali-France. Regards sur une histoire partagée, ed. GEMDEV and Université du Mali, 259–278. Bamako: Donniya; Paris: Karthala. Tamari, Tal. 2013. Les œuvres orientales parmi les sources d’inspiration de la littérature orale ouestafricaine: un ‘roman de chevalerie’ arabe en traduction bambara. Journal des Africanistes 83 (1): 214–254. Tamari, Tal. 2014. Les rois de Ségou: de l’épopée à la série télévisée. Tydskrif vir Letterkunde 51 (1): 102–117.

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Tandia, Aliou Kissima. n.d. Poésie orale soninké et éducation traditionnelle. N.p.: Les Nouvelles Editions Africaines du Sénégal. Tegnaeus, Harry. 1950. Le héros civilisateur. Contribution à l’étude ethnologique de la religion et de la sociologie africaines. [Uppsala]: Studia ethnographia upsaliensa. Thoyer-Rozat, Annik. 1978. Chants de chasseurs du Mali, 3 vols. Paris: L’Harmattan. Tosco, Mauro. 1991. A Grammatical Sketch of Dahalo, including texts and a glossary. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Traoré, Karim. 2000. Le jeu et le sérieux. Essai d’anthropologie littéraire sur la poésie épique des chasseurs du Mandé (Afrique de l’Ouest). Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe. Towo Atangana, Gaspard, Françoise Towo, and Marie-Rose Abomo-Maurin (eds.). 2009. Àjònò Àlá. Les Trois Oyono. Un mvet boulou (Cameroun) de Asomo Ngongo Ela. Paris: Classiques africains. Vierke, Clarissa. 2009. On the Poetics of the Utendi. A Critical Edition of the Nineteenth- Century Swahili Poem “Utendi wa Haudaji” together with a Stylistic Analysis . Münster: LIT. Wilks, Ivor. 1999. The History of the Sunjata Epic: A Review of the Evidence. In In Search of Sunjata: The Mande Oral Epic as History, Literature, and Performance, ed. Ralph Austen, 25–57. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Chapter 10

Divination and Divinatory Systems Omotade Adegbindin

Introduction In classical literature, we read of a serious debate surrounding the possibility of divination. More specifically, we read of Cicero’s alleged denunciation of divination as superstitio, leading to divergent reactions and also urging the need to provide justification for the possibility of divination. Although it is often said that Cicero’s de Divinatione has suffered different interpretations since his time to date, the suspicion still remains that, perhaps, the text itself assumes that science—and, by extension, the imposition of certain cognitive modes on others—is the h egemon in matters concerning the state and human existence; the oracular cannot disclose the true nature of the universe. For the African, however, the issue of debate on the possibility of divination does not arise: as a matter of fact, divination, for him, serves as the only means through which he can understand the configurations of the entire universe and his place in it. As we shall see in what follows, divination in Africa “functions within the context of a larger social system.”1

The Idea of Divination Indeed, for the African, “the cosmos does not constitute a fixed, cold and mute world. On the contrary, it is a world charged with meanings and laden with messages, a world which ‘speaks’”2 Dominique Zahan adds more aptly. Thus, man finds in his surroundings a partner with which he can enter into communication, with which he must in fact maintain an almost constant dialogue if he wants to be informed about himself. This is because the macrocosm contains n itself all the potentialities of the microcosm which is man. In this sense the world possesses an absolute value. Consequently, O. Adegbindin (B) University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_10

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to know oneself it is necessary for now to know the messages which the universe continuously sends. It is through these messages that one can interpret one’s own destiny.3

The above shows, therefore, that “the messages which the universe continuously sends” are held to be both authoritative and deserving interpretation as this also stipulates a cross-communication. The idea of cross-communication underscores a possible link between mortal individuals and the cosmic order which, mostly held as a divinely created order, is eternally in the hands of the gods, angels, and so on. Consequently, it is thought that humans have always wanted to penetrate the cosmic order in order to have “answers to questions beyond the range of ordinary human understanding.”4 For they are aware that the gods or higher powers communicate their plans, intentions and decisions—or, better distilled as divine secrets—as they relate to human existence “by means of perceptible patterns of phenomena,”5 humans employ a plethora of methods to know the position of the gods most especially on matters of life-crises. With the help of certain gifted individuals, referred to as diviners, divine secrets are deciphered and revealed to mortal men, leaving them with choices to make—whether to heed certain warning of the gods and observe some rituals or to see the cosmic order as a matter of chance. In light of the foregoing, divination is defined as “a practice, usually involving the use of supernatural means which seeks to reveal or discover hidden knowledge or occult realities.”6 In other words, it is “a process for obtaining information which is (typically) unavailable by ordinary means, that is, which cannot be gotten by the usual techniques of indigenous practical epistemology, such as seeing, hearing, being told by another person—the commonplace categories of evidential coding systems.”7 For John Middleton, it is “the attempt to discover events that do or will affect human begins for good or evil, but that are beyond their control and are believed to have a supernatural, mystical, or other-than-human cause.”8 In this way, divination is understood as “a stepping stone between pondering a problem and acting to solve it, whether by ritual action or otherwise. It is a means of clarifying thought, of answering recondite questions.”9 According to Anne Marie Kitz, divination presupposes that “all divine action causes material reaction,”10 implying that the deities, gods, angels, and so on “are the activating directors of a material world in which individual components can function as their agents.”11 Kitz provides the basis for recognizing a divine activity further, namely the extraordinary quality of the event or activity, its recurrence, and its ritualistic mode. She breaks down the first feature and explains that an activity or event divine if it goes beyond the “anticipated behaviors and/or exhibits great power.”12 In this sense, she explains: Such natural phenomena as eclipses, comets, earthquakes, floods, and storms would be seen as divine activities. Likewise, the effects that these occurrences generated (the material manipulation), including lightning strikes, erosion, and catastrophic flooding, would naturally be understood as signs that required further explanation.13

The feature of recurrence, according to Kitz, stipulates that a divine activity could be understood through signs—for example, dreams—that are repetitive. In other words, signs that do recur often attract the need for divinatory confirmation and, therefore, in the words of Kitz, “the doubling or tripling of divinatory procedures around the

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same issue served to establish the degree of inevitability of what was predicted.”14 She adds that “the inability to find a negation, whether solicited or unsolicited, to a particularly strong sign would also indicate the inescapable completion of whatever that sign portended.”15 With illuminating illustration, Kitz offers ritual as a means of identifying a divine activity. Since every human culture has the idea of a plethora of deities, rituals often help to identify the deity that is involved in a particular divine activity and know the dimensions of the deity’s involvement or disposition. More succinctly: … rituals were a tool that not only established which deity was acting and how that deity was to reply (birds, stars, lightning) but also enabled the diviner to identify the heavenly action that was sent in reply to his or her inquiry. To press the argument further, rituals could also enable diviners to distinguish an otherwise ordinary sight as a sign sent in reply to a ritually pored question. Therefore, when an omen of extraordinary character was not available, rituals helped maintain an ongoing dialogue between the heavenly and earthy realms.16

In his dialogue Phaedrus, Plato distinguishes between mantike or mantic trance and oionistic. The first is the type of divination “that comes through divine madness and inspiration.”17 The word mantike is derived from mania or furor in Latin and it connotes “madness,” “insanity” or when tied to the art of divination, “divine possession.” This type of divination is also classified as natural as “it requires no interpretive skill on the part of the diviner,”18 or, following David Zeitlyn, “inspirational” or “revelatory,” a type of divination “in which the diviner has direct contact with a deity (often via a form of possession).”19 Mantic trance is, therefore, an altered state of consciousness in which a deity or spirits are believed to influence the process or outcome of divination.20 The second type of divination, oionistic, is a Greek term that connotes “enquiry.” It is variously referred to as the “technical,”21 “artificial,”22 and “mechanical.”23 As technike, this type of divination requires that the interpretive exercises of the technical practitioners—that is, their skills or techniques—are used to decode or interpret signs to produce answers. In Phaedrus, this type of divination is regarded as that which “is undertaken by sane men through birds and other signs.”24 That is, “the inductive art of the uninspired and sane who inquire purely from human reasoning into the future by observing birds flights and other omens.”25 Although Plato does not disregard this type of divination completely, he, however, sees the inspirational as superior or “more honorable because it is inspired,”26 proceeding from a god, while the technical is undertaken by mortal individuals.

African Diviners and Divinatory Systems Across different cultures and in several parts of the world, divination is characterized by material manipulation by a deity, a sign, and lastly, the interpretation of the sign. Taking the first, a deity communicates his/her disposition to humans usually by manipulating any element—animate or inanimate—in the physical world, leaving humans with the problem of deciphering or analyzing, through divination, a “divine

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activity as manifested in its effect on the physical universe.”27 Divination is in this light a human response to the material manipulation through which deities express their divine sentiments.28 Kitz explains that a system of divination also is characterized by a sign or an omen, regarded as “something that can be identified as representing the disposition of a deity.”29 She explains that: …the material manipulated by the deities obviously does not constitute the sign. Thus, the liver in a sacrificial animal is not the sign; rather, the heavenly inscribed marks on the liver are the sign. The birds themselves are not the sign, but it is their divinely prompted calls and/or movements from right to left or left to right, and so on. Therefore, a human being is not necessarily the sign, but it is the heavenly generated dream, vision, word, or divinely orchestrated deed that actually constitutes a sign.30

With the above in mind, divination is therefore characterized with the need to interpret the signs and this is associated with the activity of those referred to as diviners.31 Hence, diviners are “those individuals who possess either the innate ability or have acquired the necessary intensive, protracted education and training to peer into otherwise hidden events.”32 M. W. Payne identifies two broad categories of diviners in Africa, namely “those individuals who themselves are spirit mediums” and “those who divine through the manipulation and interpretation of material objects.”33 According to Payne, the first category has to do with those individuals who, as humans with corporeal existence, still “establish a direct connection with the spirit world.”34 Payne adds that: This category of diviners includes those mediums who, generally within a ritual context, are possessed by a spirit, who then speaks through the medium. Alternately, diviners in this category may actually see, hear, feel or intuit the spiritual world and are not possessed in order to relay a message to beings within the corporeal world.35

Diviners who belong to the second category are actually those trained individuals whose depth of training, retentive memory, and intellectual acumen are harnessed in the course of interpreting the manipulated material objects such as, in Payne’s words, “Water, mirrors, palm nuts, kolanuts, pebbles or stones, seed shells, cowrie shells, groundnut shells, mats, leaves, bones, roots beads, the Koran, and sand.”36 Payne offers a subset of the two categories identified above, which includes “mediums who manipulate physical objects which, to some degree, interpretation.”37 He contends that knowledge of divination in this subset “is seldom, if ever, codified to the point where standard patterns can be recognized and taught to prospective apprentices.”38 Incidentally, however, the two previous categories of diviners are most consequential to our discussing of African divinatory systems; although Africa can boast of a cluster of divinatory systems, these systems can be grouped under two major types, the mediumistic and the manipulative or interpretive. We must note that these two categories or labels are not distinctly different from the ones drawn from classical literature, the inspirational and the technical. To avoid undue duplication of divinatory ideas or performance and for dearth of space, I limit myself to the citing of two or three instances for each of the two types of divinatory systems. These are drawn mainly from enlightening documentation by earlier scholars.

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Mediumistic Divinatory Systems Although the Sukuma of Tanzania employ divination “in cases of casual fortune seeking,”39 they and the Fipa of Tanzania undertake divination mostly to reveal the occult cause of sickness. The two Tanzanian communities recognize the pivotal role of the ancestral spirits in divination. Among the Sukuma, for instance, a diviner is reputed to be someone who has been afflicted by an ancestral spirit and is therefore summoned by the ancestor involved “to carry on his or her divining tradition.”40 Referred to as ng’hambo , this type of divination features the use of an inala (a euphorbia twig), a gourd rattle, and a winnowing basket.41 Koen Stroeken explains that “Fresh euphorbia twigs secrete a milky substance to which the subject has transmitted his or her saliva so that the medium can divine it.”42 For the skepticism that certain forces can intervene to corrupt the outcome of an oracle, a Sukuma client, especially, does not rely heavily on the mediumistic pronouncement of a diviner. Thus: Clients go to remote villages to find diviners without inside information and double-check their conclusions with yet other diviners, supposedly unaware of each other’s diagnosis. New techniques to purify oracular objects from occult influence are introduced, such as their submersion in water or their passage through tilled mounds of earth.43

Among the Fipa, the aka miyaao are the most revered since it is believed that they had been chosen by the gods.44 As spirit mediums, these diviners, unlike non-specialists or “possessors and practitioners of esoteric magico-medical lore and expertise,”45 are employed “in the case of individual, private sickness and on occasions of general public distress, such as during epidemics and famines.”46 Roy Willis describes the method of divination involving the aka miyaao thus: The medium uses a long string of white beads (ukasi) and some small gourds, in each of which a grain, usually of maize, is put…If the medium agrees to attempt divination, he goes and puts the beads around his neck and takes up the gourds. He then goes to a suitable spot and shakes the gourds, calling on the spirits (imyaao). He begins to tremble violently. The audience remove his beads and take away the gourds. He then begins to pronounce.47

Imyaao are a multitude of spirits or gods who are ranked next to Indeesa, the creator of the world.48 In deferring to ancestral spirits, Fipa divination puts much premium on two classes of ancestral spirits, namely the imisimu and the ifiiswa . Willis explains that the former, who are benevolent spirits, cause misfortune only when their descendants fail to make offerings to them, while the latter, who are malevolent spirits, “harm their descendants without justification.”49 Through divination, therefore, a man’s sickness or misfortune is traced to either of these two mystical agencies. The Gisu, a Bantu speaking people of Uganda, demonstrate a strong connection between ancestral power and divination in their system of divination. Gisu diviners, referred to as bafumu, claim to have “direct communication with the ancestral world and access also to distinctive forms of counteraction.”50 According to Suzette, Heald: Diviners … may attempt to interpret the wishes of the ancestral ghosts (bamakombe), or the ancestral spirits (basambwa) and their associated powers (kimisambwa), while some also

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claim powers to counteract sorcery. Of these latter, some are recognized sorcery seekers, known as balyuli, who ‘smell out’ sorcery substances buried along the paths or in the compound or hidden in the thatch of houses. Others are known to practice more direct forms of vengeance sorcery.51

It must be added here that Gisu divination is not predictive but revelatory because divination is undertaken only to reveal “the cause of a misfortune which has already occurred.”52 The Yaka of the Democratic Republic of Congo employ different divination processes like the adhering horn oracle, rubbing oracle, ordeal by fire or poison, and ngoombuweefwa.53 Filip de Boeck and Rene Devisch seem to suggest that ngoombuweefwa—perhaps, because of its tie to the ngoombu cult of divination—is given great credence among the Yaka.54 Yaka divination cannot be displaced from both patrilineal descent and matrilineal filiation, and this is why, as René Devisch puts it, “The concern of divination among the Yaka must be placed in the context of kinship and particularly in that of uterine relations.”55 This means that Yaka divination, following Devisch again, “implies an etiological grid in relation basically to uterine life-transmission.”56 Arthur Bourgeois notes that ngoombu divination is indifferent to age or sex and, therefore, the diviners “can be male or female and some may be hardly out of their teens.”57 During initiation, an initiate undergoes a ritual affliction which, for the Yaka, indicates that the initiate is called to be a diviner and also suggests why ngoombuweefwa is “concerned with hereditary curses and curing.” Complementing the path of becoming a Yaka mediumistic diviner, Bourgeois lists the features of an initiation: “…seizure by a persistent illness, …trance occurrence with bizarre behavior, …testing for extra-sensory knowledge, and …formal training under ngoombu practitioners.”58 He adds: Most extraordinary is the diagnostic ngoombu trance during which the victim leaps onto the roof of a village cabin and scratches apart the thatched roof amid high-pitched cries …, all the while the head and body twitching and jerking like a chicken’s. During this behavior the person reveals the name of the deceased diviner forebear responsible for the possession.59

The paranormal behavior is the proof of an initiate’s calling.

Interpretive Divinatory Systems The Sisala occupy the savannah woodland of northern Ghana, and their social organization is based on patrilineal descent. With regard to divination, the Sisala see a connection between religious rituals and divination, whereby there is a strong emphasis on the role or involvement of the ancestors in the process of divination. For the Sisala, therefore, divination forms a central part of their religious behavior, which is usually defined in terms of a “ritual behavior in response to some concrete affliction.”60 This highlights the fact that divination is mostly carried out among the Sisala to discern the cause of an affliction through which the ancestors are believed

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to communicate to the living. An affliction then suggests, mostly, that an ancestor is offended and, therefore, seeks to communicate the ritual remedy to the client through a diviner (vugura), “the human agents of the ancestors.”61 In light of the foregoing, Eugene Mendonsa defines the Sisala divinatory process as “…sequence of events beginning with the perception of affliction which leads to the consultation of a diviner and which further leads to a retributive ritual act, usually sacrifice, which is thought to appease the offended ancestor or other occult entity responsible for the affliction.”62 Closely linked to divination among the Sisala are the concepts of time and fate. In view of the former, the Sisala distinguish between fafa and lele and this relates directly to the ritual process whereby the Sisala consult a diviner after an affliction and proceed to sacrifice on an ancestral shrine.63 As a timeless reality, fafa is the occult abode of God, spirits, and ancestors. It is, according to Mendonsa, “the realm of the mythological events about the beginning of man, the exploits of culture heroes and remembered ancestors. Occult causation originates in this state and the only way to determine this causation is by consulting a diviner who has the power to contact the ancestors.”64 It must be noted here that the idea of a “diviner’s power,” as construed by Mendonsa, may give the impression that this divinatory system is mediumistic; a careful reading of the system shows however that it is manipulative or interpretive as the diviner—with a thorough involvement of the client—relies mostly on the use of certain apparatus in determining the cause of an affliction. In other words, the divinatory process may not hold if, for instance, the diviner fails to use vugura dang (the divining wand), vugurakpasing (the code-objects) and tayangba (the two metal discs).65 The use of these apparatus or paraphernalia of divination shows further that both the diviner and the client are involved in the process of divination. As a matter of fact, to arrive at the cause of an affliction and determine the solution to it, the client can be said to be more involved than the diviner in the divination process. For instance, vugurakpasing helps the clients to distill a series of binary questions— in form of a “yes-no”—to either a “yes or no,” thereby determining “the ancestor responsible for his illness, the exact shrine which must be sacrificed on, and the kind of animal required in the sacrifice.”66 In this way, Mendonsa is right to point out that the function of the Sisala diviner “is a passive one.”67 The concept of fate among the Sisala evokes the perennial problem of God in traditional African thought. Recall that, in most Eurocentric writings, God in Africa has been variously described as Deo Remotus, Deo absconditus, presenting the derogatory idea that Africans do not have an idea of a Supreme Being. This is also the basis for such ascriptions as polytheism, polydemonism, pantheism, in respect of African religious persuasions. Of course, the Sisala acknowledge that the ancestors can be appeased in matters of health crises to get positive results; they also know that some afflictions cannot be subdued through divination or by appeasing the ancestors. In short, the Sisala are aware that “there is a possibility of control over ancestral anger; there is no control over the will of God.”68 Among the Yorùbá of southwestern Nigeria, Ifá is consulted in virtually all matters concerning human existence, not necessarily during private or public crises. Ifá can be used interchangeably to refer to both the system of divination and Ò.rúnmìlà, the

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Yorùbá deity of wisdom. Interestingly, the objects of divination among the Sisala draw our attention to the objects of divination used by Ifá diviners or babalawo. Like vugura dang of the Sisala, ìbò in Ifá divination is a pair of cowry shells strung together and a piece of animal bone. To aid and expedite the process Ifá divination, the client is expected to hide away the cowry shells and the bone each in a palm. This way, the client is said to d’ìbò (literally, to vote) which involves “the use of specific alternatives of “yes” and “no” by the Ifá priest to arrive at the answer to the client’s questions which are posed in terms of two statements, the first affirmative, the second negative.”69 In the case of Ifá divination, however, the Yorùbá diviner, unlike his Sisala counterpart, is more involved in the process than the client. The Yorùbá diviner may need to manipulate the divining chain (`o.p`e.l`e.) several times before he determines the source of the client’s problem and the sacrifice involved. Again, in the use of ìbò, the clients are naturally not in doubt of the outcome of the divination and the suspicion that the Yorùbá diviner is the author of the figure that emerges after the cast of the o.` p`e.l`e. is thereby removed.70 Another important difference to note has to do with the types of divine intervention involved in the two divinatory methods. While the Sisala lays so much emphasis on the intervention of the ancestors during `. rúnmìlàwho occupies divination, the Yorùbá metonymically attribute theirs to Ifá or O a primordial status far above that of an ancestor. The few divinatory systems cited above naturally aid a typology for other plentiful divinatory systems across Africa: nggam du (spider divination) among the Cameroonian Mambila71 ; four-tablet divination in Southern Africa72 ; maraboutic and cowrie divination performances in Senegambia73 ; sikidy divination in Madagascar74 ; and many more. There are, however, some African divinatory processes and performances that may not yield to easy classification under either the mediumistic or the interpretive. A good example is found among the Nyoro of Bunyoro, Uganda. According to John Beattie, the Nyoro have three modes of divination, namely the mechanical modes of divination, divination by augury, and divination by reference to spiritual powers. Beattie75 explains that the first has to do with “the manipulation of material objects and the operation of what we should call ‘chance.’” The second is “the observation, in specially prepared conditions, of the behavior or some other aspect of animals,” while the third, among the Nyoro, is “divination by reference to “spiritual” powers or forces with quasi-human attributes, sometimes mediated through techniques of spirit mediumship, sometimes involving the use of ventriloquy.” Except for the last, the other two still have their different kinds.

African Philosophy and African Divinatory Systems African philosophy faces the crisis of definition because there are varying opinions about its definition. One, it is defined as the logic of oral tradition, whereby it connotes “the understanding, attitude of mind, logic and perception behind the manner in which African peoples think, act or speak in different situations of life.”76 Two, it is seen as the dispute between the traditionalists and the modernists. In this

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sense, “it is a philosophical reflection on and analysis of African conceptual systems undertaken by the two camps.”77 The traditionalists argue that authentic African philosophy lies in the past for the sake of the present and therefore can be uncovered by delving into traditional African past and distancing ourselves from foreign ideas and cultures. The modernists, on the other hand, put much premium on the need for African development, especially by embracing science and technology, arguing that traditional African society was erroneously guided by authoritarianism, religiosity, and superstition. Three, African philosophy is defined as a collection of texts produced by African philosophers, as well as philosophical writings on Africa. Four, understood as the historical source of ethnophilosophy (which is the spine of our discussion here), D.A. Masolo explains: African philosophy… the historical roots of which are purported by some scholars to be found in the pre-colonial indigenous cultures of African societies, which, according to this view, contained subtle philosophical elements within their respective worldviews. Because it claims that African philosophy is closely interwoven with the practical and verbalized cultural idioms through which it is expressed, this view of African philosophy, launched by the Belgian missionary PlacideTempels in 1944, has come to be designated as ethnophilosophy.78

Masolo distinguishes between the negative and positive uses of ethnophilosophy. On the negative side, ethnophilosophy “refers to the ethnographic and non-philosophical methods used by the ethnophilosophers, mainly disciples of Tempels, to recover from African cultural texts propositional beliefs and ideas that they purport to be philosophical.”79 The term is used in the positive sense when it is understood “as a branch of the more general ethnomethodology which is a phenomethodological approach to interpreting everyday cultural expressions as a guide to philosophical research into, and interpretation of, socio-cultural contexts of participants’ practices and speech.”80 Coined by Marcien Towa and Paulin Hountondji ethnophilosophy “is based on the presupposition that African philosophy and European philosophy are each of a fundamentally different nature.”81 For Polycarp Ikuenobe, ethnophilosophy is “characterized as the myths, norms, values, beliefs, practices, folktales, proverbs, and other culturally ‘organized’ and accepted ways of how people come to understand and explain their experiences, which they informally talk about and transmit by oral tradition, but without systematic and critical reflection.”82 Of course, academic or professional philosophers have overtly expressed their indignation against “the suggestion that an anonymous corpus of writings that included myths, legends, poetry, song, and proverbs was truly worthy of the title ‘philosophy.’”83 They maintain that philosophy is “a strict discipline involving criticism, reflexion and logic and done by individual thinkers, who engaged in a discussion together, defend and perfect their theories and contribute to the creation of a written philosophical tradition.”84 It is instructive therefore to bring out the important points in the above rendition of the position of professional philosophers, namely “criticism,” “reflexion,” “logic,” and “written philosophical tradition.” Recall that professional philosophers adopt the features of the universalist notion of philosophy85 and set their critical barb against ethnophilosophy which, in their opinion, “is not a philosophy ex hypothesi.”86 One of the reasons offered by Anthony Appiah, for instance, in support of this claim is

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that ethnophilosophy implies a strong cognitive relativism, the view that “what is true is relative to a conceptual scheme and that what is true for one may be false for another.”87 Ikuenobe distills Appiah’s argument to show that Appiah, following the logical positivists, believes that there are “scientific methods of determining whether a belief about matters of fact can be objectively true or false.”88 By implication, Appiah’s position suggests that ethnophilosophy does not accommodate the idea that there are objective facts about reality. Let us examine the foregoing in respect of African divinatory systems and see if we could foreground in African divinatory systems such elements as “criticism,” “reflexion,” “logic,” and “written philosophical tradition” that are constantly hammered on by professional philosophers in denigrating ethnophilosophy. The last point has been taken care of by the historical development of philosophy. To insist that writing is a precondition for philosophy is to say, among others, that the philosophical persuasions that endured from Thales to, say, Plotinus do not constitute “philosophy” because those Ancient figures did not document their thoughts. This point has been over-flogged in the field of African philosophy by most scholars who disagree with an insistence on writing as a precondition for doing philosophy. This is not to say however that the art of writing is completely out of place in African divinatory systems, especially those involving the use of objects or paraphernalia in the process of divination. In other words, if hieroglyphs, pictography, logography—and all such symbolic categories—are regarded as constituting writing, then Ifá graphemes, the outcome of the cast of o.` p`e.l`e. in Ifá divination, for instance, cannot be ruled out as forms of writing which could only be read or interpreted by those socialized or trained in the system. The point here is simple: if a professional philosopher (a literate observer) visits an African diviner (say, an Ifá diviner) with the understanding that the latter is not literate, then he is likely to be stunned by the time the diviner reads or interprets the signature or “writing” that is revealed after the process of divination. Put another way, our untrained observer will struggle vainly to make any meaning of the vertical markings of Ifá graphemes among the Yorùbá or, among the Senegambians, the kaleidoscopic images that result from cowrie shell divination,89 or the reading of entrails among the Me’en, an ethnic group of southwestern Ethiopia.90 Thus, Adeleke Adeeko says of Ifá system that “[t]o the untrained observer, the link between palm-nut manipulation (or string casting) and readable, visible imprints are thoroughly occultic.”91 Knut Graw’s description of the principles that are involved in Senegambian cowrie shell divination further shows that, like Yorùbá Ifá, Senegambian cowrie shell divination “rests upon a technical basis that can be learned and acquired.”92 According to Graw: Each count is followed by interpretations, instructions, sometimes questions, soliciting the client’s response to the messages of the cast shells. The diviner pronounces what he sees, moves on in his interpretation, elaborates upon specific points, and responds to the reactions of his or her client by recasting the cowries for further detailing. Even gesture, every word forms yet another element in the diviner’s search for the nature and development of the client’s predicament.93

Aside from the issue concerning writing, the other three elements—criticism, reflexion, and logic—are interrelated. Because of their revelatory and symbolic

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modes of arriving at truth, African divinatory systems are sometimes seen as lacking these elements. Elsewhere, I have used Ifá divinatory system to show that Yorùbá diviners “often come together in seminar-like gatherings to exchange view on e.se. Ifá and ensure that the e.se. Ifá are intact as historical material.”94 These gatherings initiate a disposition for criticism and reflection and serve as avenues for a diviner to exchange useful ideas with “better informed colleagues on various subjects beyond his knowledge.”95 This no doubt attests to the ratiocination of African diviners which, unfortunately, is questioned when “philosophy” is understood through the lens of logical positivism that reduces philosophy to science or the analytic tradition that stipulates that “the nature and method of philosophy involve conceptual and critical analysis.”96 This further suggests that, in arriving at truth during divination, the African diviner does not rely only on the revelatory mode but sometimes—in revealing the culprit of a murder, for instance—employs the analytical mode in place of the revelatory mode. This, according to J.P. Kiernan, means that we can have a sharp shifting “from the revelatory mode to a more analytical one, from hidden knowledge to visibly unspoken or cryptic knowledge, and, finally to knowledge articulated in clear intelligence speech.”97 In light of this, Kiernan adds, “the analytical discourse can assume primacy over the revelatory and symbolic modes.”98 Because of their mythical or religious coloration, African divinatory systems, like all other legitimate candidates of ethnophilosophy, may not be easily amenable to logical thinking in the Aristotelian sense. History has it that, in an attempt to correct the Greek intellect which itself was undisciplined and chaotic during his time, Aristotle founded logic.99 This historical fact is, perhaps, the stimulant behind Western dogmatic intellectualism that sees logic as a virtual sinecure of Western philosophy. The fact is that, in impartial terms, the indigenous African intellect is logical. If, following Will Durant, logic is the “art and method of correct thinking,”100 and thinking is a natural attribute of man, then M. Akin Makinde is right to contend that there are no “systems of human thought anywhere in the world in which the principles of logic (noncontradiction, identity, and excluded middle) are never employed in reasoning, either consciously or unconsciously.”101 Makinde adds that “these fundamental principles of logic need not be learned by, or taught to, people before they could reason logically,”102 thereby dissolving the critical and negative use of ethnophilosophy. The inference here is that even if we grant that African divinatory systems be categorized under a people’s religious conceptions, we should not forget that “the circumstances of men’s lives do much to determine their philosophy.”103 This, in turn, empowers the view that philosophy cannot be completely distanced from a people’s inherited religious conceptions.

Conclusion In Africa, African divinatory systems elicit, among others, a high level of skepticism on the part of the clients who often test the diviner’s mnemonic ingenuity and his ability to decipher the causes of and solutions to the problems brought before him.

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This is one of the reasons why, in most cases, clients go from one diviner to another in ways that reflect a questioning of the objectivity of the divining process. This point shows that “the diviner’s dominance is neither absolute nor exclusive.”104 To maintain his credibility before his clients, therefore, a diviner often makes sure that his clients are not dissatisfied with his divinatory process. In respect of the foregoing, J.P. Kiernan explicates that: …diviners are particularly attentive to the nuances of their clients’… solutions and to the complexities of the social symptoms, in order to produce a measure of fit between what the belief system allows and what the clients perceive to be their needs. Consequently, specialist and client enter into a protracted process of negotiation in order to establish within the parameters of shared beliefs a truth that is both palatable and actionable.105

Outside of Africa, African diviners do not enjoy the form of respect their people accord them at home. It is true, as J.P. Kiernan observes, that “they are commonly regarded as weavers of spells, purveyors of superstition and agent of sinister forces.”106 Expectedly, too, African divination—because of its oral nature—has been dragged into the rationality debate whereby it is contended that anonymous corpus of writings, including such practices as African divination, should be discarded as subterfuge or irrational. But the rationality debate is stale as we now have volumes of published materials that reveal the irrational nature of that line of thought in the first place. Insistent champions of literacy, with strong fervor for hegemonic science, have also used the notion of non-normal mode of cognition to undermine what Knut Myhre phrases as “two prevalent aspects of African divination: popular participation in séances and transcultural divination.”107 Myhre argues that the best way to appreciate African divination as a form of inquiry is to “account for the epistemic relationship between diviner and client.”108 The position Myhre is pushing is aptly rendered by Philip M. Peek, a foremost scholar of African divination, who contends that: With our emphasis on divination as a system of knowledge in action, we are reminded that our scientific tradition is but one way of knowing and that we can gain much from other systems proven effective over the centuries. African divination systems involve a combination of (as we commonly label cognitive processes) “logical-analytical” and “intuitive-synthetically” modes of thinking, while in the European tradition the separation of these modes is rigidly maintained.109

Notes 1.

2.

3.

M.W. Payne, “Akiwowo, Orature and Divination: Approaches to the Construction of an Emic Sociological Paradigm of Society,” Sociological Analysis 53.2 (1992: 181).Sociological Paradigm of Society,” Sociological Analysis 53.2 (1992: 183). Dominique Zahan, The religion, Spirituality, and Thought of Traditional Africa, Translated by Kate E. Martin and Lawrence M. Martin (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1979), 81. Ibid.

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4. 5. 6.

7.

8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

21.

22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

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Barbara Tedlock, “Divination as a Way of Knowing: Embodiment, Visualisation, Narrative, and Interpretation,” Folklore 112.2 (2001: 189). DephnaArbel, “The Highest of all Tapsarim? 3 Enoch and Divinatory Traditions,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 15.4 (2008: 296). OmotadeAdegbindin, “Divinatory Systems,” in Culture and Customs of the Yoruba, edited by Toyin Falola and Akintunde Akinyemi (Austin: Pan-African University Press, 2017), 363. John W. Du Bois, “Meaning without Intention: Lessons from Divination,” in Responsibility and Evidence in Oral Discourse, edited by J.H. Hill and J.T. Irvine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 54. John Middleton, “Divination,” in The Encyclopedia Americana, International Edition, 9 (Danbury: Grolier Incorporated, 1997), 196. David Zeitlyn, “Spiders in and out of Court: Styles of Spider Divination in Their Sociological Contexts,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 63.2 (1993: 225). Anne Marie Kitz, “Prophesy as Divination,” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 65.1 (2003: 24). Ibid. Ibid., 25. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 27. Kathryn A. Morgan, “The Voice of Authority: Divination and Plato’s “Phaedo”,” The Classical Quarterly 60.1 (2010: 68). R.J. Hankinson, “Stoicism, Science and Divination,” Apeiron:A Journal for Ancient Philosophy and Science 21.2 (1988: 127). Zeitlyn, “Spiders in and out of Court: Styles of Spider Divination in Their Sociological Contexts,” 226. Alan M. Greaves, “Divination at Archaic Branchidai-Didyma: A Critical Review,” Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens 81.2 (2012: 181). See Tedlock, “Divination as a Way of Knowing: Embodiment, Visualisation, Narrative, and Interpretation,” 190; Hankinson, “Stoicism, Science and Divination,” 127. See Hankinson, “Stoicism, Science and Divination,” 127. See Zeitlyn, “Spiders in and out of Court: Styles of Spider Divination in Their Sociological Contexts,” 226. Morgan, “The Voice of Authority: Divination and Plato’s “Phaedo”,” 68. Tedlock, “Divination as a Way of Knowing: Embodiment, Visualisation, Narrative, and Interpretation,” 190. Morgan, “The Voice of Authority: Divination and Plato’s “Phaedo”,” 68. Kitz, “Prophesy as Divination,” 28. Ibid., 27–28. Ibid., 32.

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30. 31. 32.

Ibid., 33. Ibid., 34. Payne, “Akiwowo, Orature and Divination: Approaches to the Construction of an Emic Sociological Paradigm of Society,” 181. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Payne notes however that “In Africa, the process of diffusion and reinterpretation were at work and have prompted divination with certain objects, originating outside of Africa, such as mirrors, cowrie shells, and the Koran.” Ibid., 182. Ibid. Koen Stroeken, “Believed Belief: Science/Religion versus Sukuma Magic,” Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice 52.1 (2008: 146). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 151. Roy G. Willis, “Changes in Mystical Concepts and Practices among the Fipa,” Ethnology 7.2 (1968: 155). Ibid., 142. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 140. Ibid., 141. Suzette Heald, “Divinatory Failure: The Religious and Social Role of Gisu Diviners,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 61.3 (1991: 301). Ibid. David M. Anderson and Douglas H. Johnson, “Diviners, Seers and Spirits in Eastern Africa: Towards an Historical Anthropology,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 61.3 (1991: 294). Arthur Bourgeois, “MukokuNgoombu: Yaka Divination Paraphernalia,” African Arts 16.3 (1983: 56). Fillip de Boeck and Rene Devisch, “Ndembu, Luunda and Yaka Divination Compared: From Representation and Social engineering to Embodiment and Worldmaking,” Journal of Religion in Africa 24.2 (1994: 120). RenéDevisch, “Mediumistic Divination among the Northern Yaka of Zaire,” in African Divination Systems, edited by Philip M. Peek (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991: 112). Ibid. Bourgeois, “MukokuNgoombu: Yaka Divination Paraphernalia,” 56. Ibid. Ibid.

33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51. 52.

53. 54.

55.

56. 57. 58. 59.

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60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70. 71. 72.

73.

74.

75. 76. 77.

78.

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Eugene L. Mendonsa, “Etiology and Divination among the Sisala of Northern Ghana,” Journal of Religion in Africa 9.1 (1978: 36). Ibid., 35. Ibid., 36. Ibid., 38. Ibid. Ibid., 34. Ibid., 35. Ibid. Ibid., 39. See William Bascom, Ifa Divination: Communication Between Gods and Men in West Africa (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1969), 53; Olufemi Taiwo, “Ifa: An Account of a Divination System and Some Concluding Epistemological Questions,” in A Companion to African Philosophy, edited by Kwasi wiredu ( Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 2004), 304 – 312; OmotadeAdegbindin, Ifa in Yoruba Thought System (Durham: Carolina Academic Press, 2004), 64. Olufemi Taiwo, “Kín N’Ifá Wí?: Philosophical Issues in Ifá Divination,” in Ifá Divination, Knowledge, Power, and Performance, edited by Jacob K. Olupona and Rowland Abiodun (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 100–116. Adegbindin, Ifa, 59. See David Zeitlyn, “Mambila Divination,” The Cambridge Journal of Anthropology 12.1 (1987: 20–51). See Wim van Binsbergen, “Regional and Historical Connections of FourTablet Divination in Southern Africa,” Journal of Religion in Africa 26.1 (1996: 2–29). See Knut Graw, “Locating Nganiyo: Divination as Intentional Space,” Journal of Religion in Africa 36.1 (2006: 78–119); Knut Graw, “Beyond Expertise: Reflections on Specialist Agency and the Autonomy of the Divinatory Ritual Process,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 79.1 (2009: 92–109). See Pierre Vérin and Narivelo Rajaonarimanana, “Divination in Madagascar: The Antemoro Case and the Diffusion of Divination,” in African Divination Systems, edited by Philip M. Peek (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991: 53–68. John Beattie, “Divination in Bunyoro, Uganda,” Sociologus 14.1 (1964: 44– 62). John S. Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy (London: Heinemann, 1969), 2. See Olusegun Oladipo, The Idea of African Philosophy, A Critical Study of the Major Orientations in Contemporary African Philosophy, Third Edition (Ibadan: Hope Publications, 2000) D.A. Masolo, “African philosophy: A Historical Overview,” in A Companion to World Philosophies, edited by Eliot Deutsch and Ron Bontekoe (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 1999), 63.

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79. 80. 81.

Ibid. Ibid. Alena Rettová, “The Role of African Languages in African Philosophy,” Rue Descartes 36 (2002): 133. Polycarp Ikuenobe, “Logical Positivism, Analytic Method, and Criticisms of Ethnophilosophy,” Metaphilosophy 35.4 (2004): 480. Barry Hallen, A Short History of African philosophy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 11. Rettová, “The Role of African Languages in African Philosophy,” 135. See Polycarp Ikuenobe, “The Parochial Universalist Conception of ‘Philosophy’ and ‘African Philosophy’,” Philosophy East and West 47.2 (1997: 201). Ikuenobe, “Logical Positivism, Analytic Method, and Criticisms of Ethnophilosophy,” 486. Kwame Anthony Appiah, Necessary Questions: An Introduction to Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1989), 211. Ikuenobe, “Logical Positivism, Analytic Method, and Criticisms of Ethnophilosophy,” 486. See Graw, “Beyond Expertise: Reflections on Specialist Agency and the Autonomy of the Divinatory Ritual,” 92–109. See Abbink, “Reading the Entrails: Analysis of an African Divination Discourse,” 705–726. AdelekeAdeeko, ““Writing” and “Reference” in Ifá,” in Ifá Divination, Knowledge, Power, and Performance, edited by Jacob K. Olupona and Rowland Abiodun (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 70. Graw, “Beyond Expertise: Reflections on Specialist Agency and the Autonomy of the Divinatory Ritual,” 94. Ibid. Adegbindin, Ifá, 183. Wande Abimbola, “The Literature of the Ifá Cult,” in Sources of Yorùbá History, edited by Saburi O. Biobaku (Oxford Clarendon Press, 1973), 48. Ikuenobe, “Logical Positivism, Analytic Method, and Criticisms of Ethnophilosophy,” 482. J.P. Kiernan, “The Truth Revealed or the Truth Assembled: Reconsidering the Role of the African Diviner in Religion and Society,” Journal for the Study of Religion 8.2 (1995: 15). Ibid., 16. Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy (New York: Simon and Schuster Inc., 1961), 47. Ibid., 48. M. Akin Makinde, African Philosophy: The Demise of a Controversy (Ile-Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press, 2007), 42. Ibid. Bertrand Russell, History of Western Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1996), 14.

82. 83. 84. 85.

86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91.

92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97.

98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103.

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104. 105. 106. 107.

108. 109.

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Kiernan, “The Truth Revealed or the Truth Assembled: Reconsidering the Role of the African Diviner in Religion and Society,” 10. Ibid., 11. Ibid., 3. Knut Christian Myhre, “Divination and Experience: Explorations of a Chagga Epistemology,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 12.2 (2006: 315). Ibid. Philip M. Peek, “Introduction: The Study of Divination, Present and Past,” in African Divination Systems, edited by Philip M. Peek (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991), 3.

References Abbink, J. 1993. Reading the Entrails: Analysis of an African Divination Discourse. Man 28 (4): 705–726. Abimbola, Wande. 1973. The Literature of the Ifá Cult. In Sources of Yorùbá History, ed. Saburi O. Biobaku, 41–62. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Adeeko, Adeleke. 2016. “Writing” and “Reference” in Ifá. In Ifá Divination, Knowledge, Power, and Performance, ed. Jacob K. Olupona and Rowland Abiodun, 66–87. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Adegbindin, Omotade. 2004. Ifa in Yoruba Thought System. Durham: Carolina Academic Press. Adegbindin, Omotade. 2017. Divinatory Systems. In Culture and Customs of the Yoruba, ed. Toyin Falola and Akintunde Akinyemi, 363–376. Austin: Pan-African University Press. Anderson, David M., and Douglas H. Johnson. 1991. Diviners, Seers and Spirits in Eastern Africa: Towards an Historical Anthropology. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 61 (3): 293–298. Appiah, Kwame Anthony. 1989. Necessary Questions: An Introduction to Philosophy. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Arbel, Dephna. 2008. The Highest of All Tapsarim? 3 Enoch and Divinatory Traditions. Jewish Studies Quarterly 15 (4): 289–320. Bascom, William. 1969. Ifa Divination: Communication Between Gods and Men in West Africa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Beattie, John. 1964. Divination in Bunyoro. Uganda. Sociologus 14 (1): 44–62. van Binsbergen, Wim. 1996. Regional and Historical Connections of Four-Tablet Divination in Southern Africa. Journal of Religion in Africa 26 (1): 2–29. Boeck, Fillip de, and René Devisch. 1994. Ndembu, Luunda and Yaka Divination Compared: From Representation and Social Engineering to Embodiment and Worldmaking. Journal of Religion in Africa 24 (2): 98–133. Bourgeois, Arthur. 1983. MukokuNgoombu: Yaka Divination Paraphernalia. African Arts 16 (3): 56–80. Devisch, René. 1991. Mediumistic Divination among the Northern Yaka of Zaire. In African Divination Systems, ed. Philip M. Peek, 112–132. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Du Bois, John W. 1992. Meaning Without Intention: Lessons from Divination. In Responsibility and Evidence in Oral Discourse, eds. J.H. Hill and J.T. Irvine, 48–71. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Durant, Will. 1961. The Story of Philosophy. New York: Simon and Schuster Inc.

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Graw, Knut. 2006. Locating Nganiyo: Divination as Intentional Space. Journal of Religion in Africa 36 (1): 78–119. Graw, Knut. 2009. Beyond Expertise: Reflections on Specialist Agency and the Autonomy of the Divinatory Ritual Process. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 79 (1): 92–109. Greaves, Alan M. 2012. Divination at Archaic Branchidai-Didyma: A Critical Review. Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens 81 (2): 177–206. Hallen, Barry. 2002. A Short History of African Philosophy. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hankinson, R.J. 1988. Stoicism, Science and Divination. Apeiron: A Journal for Ancient Philosophy and Science 21 (2): 123–160. Heald, Suzette. 1991. Divinatory Failure: The Religious and Social Role of Gisu Diviners. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 61 (3): 299–317. Ikuenobe, Ikuenobe. 2004. Logical Positivism, Analytic Method, and Criticisms of Ethnophilosophy. Metaphilosophy 35 (4): 479–503. Ikuenobe, Polycarp. 1997. The Parochial Universalist Conception of ‘Philosophy’ and ‘African Philosophy’. Philosophy East and West 47 (2): 189–210. Kiernan, J.P. 1995. The Truth Revealed or the Truth Assembled: Reconsidering the Role of the African Diviner in Religion and Society. Journal for the Study of Religion 8 (2): 3–21. Kitz, Anne Marie. 2003. Prophesy as Divination. The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 65 (1): 22–42. Makinde, M. Akin. 2007. African Philosophy: The Demise of a Controversy. Ile-Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. Masolo, D.A. 1999. African philosophy: A Historical Overview. In A Companion to World Philosophies, ed. Eliot Deutsch and Ron Bontekoe, 63–77. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell. Mbiti, S. John. 1969. African Religions and Philosophy. London: Heinemann. Mendonsa, Eugene L. 1978. Etiology and Divination Among the Sisala of Northern Ghana. Journal of Religion in Africa 9 (1): 33–50. Middleton, John. 1997. Divination. In The Encyclopedia Americana, International Edition, 9, Danbury: Grolier Incorporated, 196–197. Morgan, Kathryn A. 2010. The Voice of Authority: Divination and Plato’s “Phaedo”. The Classical Quarterly 60 (1): 63–81. Myhre, Knut Christian. 2006. Divination and Experience: Explorations of a Chagga Epistemology. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 12 (2): 313–330. Oladipo, Olusegun. 2000. The Idea of African Philosophy, A Critical Study of the Major Orientations in Contemporary African Philosophy, 3rd ed. Ibadan: Hope Publications. Payne, M.W. 1992. Akiwowo, Orature and Divination: Approaches to the Construction of an Emic Sociological Paradigm of Society. Sociological Analysis 53 (2): 175–187. Peek, Philip M. 1991. Introduction: The Study of Divination, Present and Past. In African Divination Systems, ed. Philip M. Peek, 1–22. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Rettová, Alena. 2002. The Role of African Languages in African Philosophy. Rue Descartes 36: 129–150. Russell, Bertrand. 1996. History of Western Philosophy. London: Routledge. Stroeken, Koen. 2008. Believed Belief: Science/Religion versus Sukuma Magic. Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice 52 (1): 144–165. Taiwo, Olufemi. 2004. Ifa: An Account of a Divination System and Some Concluding Epistemological Questions. In A Companion to African Philosophy, ed. Kwasi wiredu, 304–312. Oxford: Blackwell. Taiwo, Olufemi. 2016. “Kín N’Ifá Wí?”: Philosophical Issues in Ifá Divination. In Ifá Divination, Knowledge, Power, and Performance, ed. K. Jacob, 100–116. Olupona and Rowland Abiodun Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Tedlock, Barbara. 2001. Divination as a Way of Knowing: Embodiment, Visualisation, Narrative, and Interpretation. Folklore 112 (2): 189–197. Vérin, Pierre, and Narivelo Rajaonarimanana. 1991. Divination in Madagascar: The Antemoro Case and the Diffusion of Divination. In African Divination Systems, ed. M. Philip, 53–68. Peek Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

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Willis, Roy G. 1968. Changes in Mystical Concepts and Practices Among the Fipa. Ethnology 7 (2): 139–157. Zahan, Dominique. 1979. The Religion, Spirituality, and Thought of Traditional Africa, trans. Kate E. Martin and Lawrence M. Martin. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Zeitlyn, David. 1987. Mambila Divination. The Cambridge Journal of Anthropology 12 (1): 20–51. Zeitlyn, David. 1993. Spiders in and Out of Court: Styles of Spider Divination in Their Sociological Contexts. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 63 (2): 219–240.

Chapter 11

Myth and Mythology Oluwatoyin Bimpe Jegede

Introduction Africa is a vast continent with several countries that have diverse cultures, languages, people and myths. It is a continent where several beliefs thrive. These beliefs are represented and given artistic expression through various mythic imaginations in magic, taboo, totems, ritual festivals, folktales, fables, legends, myths and other literary expressions. Some of these literary expressions like legend, fable, folktale and others, which are produced through similar mythic imaginations, are sometimes confused with myth. Myth abounds all over Africa, and African leaders have been known to rely on their native intelligence to create it. It is a story about a group of people, which reflects customs and expresses their ideological beliefs as a people. It is also, a form of narrative which explains a people’s understanding of the mysteries that they find in nature, including weather, cosmology, superhuman beings, and strange utterances. It is for this reason that BolajiIdowu1 described it as explanatory notes while other scholars, like Akporobaro, maintained that it is both explanatory notes and imaginative expressions, “entertaining stories with a serious purpose of either explaining the nature of the universe or instructing members of the community in attitudes and behaviors necessary to function successfully in the culture.”2 Bascom upheld that myth is a sacred and truthful account of events.3 This nature of myth has been interrogated by scholars like Yusuf with reference to correlating women with animals.4 Maggie Humm tried to establish the connection between imagination and reality in the understanding of myth.5 Her position is that when myth relates to reality, they are presented as metaphoric versions of actual events which were not documented. Jegede affirmed that myth is one of the tools used by the dominant group to oppress the dominated, on account of its “sacred” and “truthful” nature.6 O. B. Jegede (B) University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_11

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BolajiIdowu7 and William Bascom8 described myth as a story that provided answers to man’s question about life. Carl Jung9 and Sigmund Freud10 examined myth as ritual. Freud foregrounded the relationship between myth and psychoanalysis while Jung related myth to the notions of “collective unconscious” which occur in the form of repeated themes and images. Levi Strauss and Northrop Frye identified myth as one of the five modes of fictional expression, “an art of implicit metaphorical identity.”11 Frye interestingly differentiated between reality and myths and their various types. Akporobaro further classified myth into two types: romantic and rational versions.12 In the first categorization, a myth is described as purely imaginative while in the second, it is said to be intuitive and explanatory. Myth is, therefore, a product of man’s creative, explanatory and intuitive abilities, though a single myth may not have all the qualities at the same time. The “romantic” type is found in literary contents and is described as: Fictional stories containing deeper truths, expressing collective attitudes to fundamental matters of life, death, divinity, existence (sometimes deemed to be universal). Myths are usually distinguished from legends in that they have less of an historical basis, although they seem to have a similar mode of existence in oral transmission.13

As a form of oral literature, myth can be literal, symbolic or allegorical. When a myth is the narration of the life of a person who had actually lived (legend) or an explanation of the origin of a certain natural phenomenon or a validation of a custom, (gender myth/taboo) it is described as sacred and considered a factual account of events. On the other hand, myths about deified heroes and kings are allegorical because individuals are expected to know their heroes and their roles in civic society, admire them and learn from their strength and weaknesses. Myth then becomes instructive of human behavior. Furthermore, mythic elements like totems and taboos serve to caution individuals from certain behaviors. In this chapter, myth is discussed as a distinct category of oral literature that is different from other prose forms in high or low degrees. According to David Bidney, “myth originates wherever thought and imagination are employed … deliberately … to promote social delusion.”14 Myth is discussed as a product of the environment or explanations of nature and as products of the mind or reflections of the structure of the mind. The chapter, therefore, adopts both the external and internal approaches to the interpretation of myth and provides examples of both from creation myth, founding or origin myth (etiology or ritual), afterlife myth and hero myth. Through these examples that are drawn from different parts of Africa, attention is paid to similar African beliefs. This provides the opportunity for the discussion of myth that authorizes and validates current social customs; explain certain religious ceremonies or origin of things and serves to mediate between the contradictions in life. It deals with the perception and reconciliation of these opposites that are a reflection of the mind’s binary organization (life/death). In Okpewho’s books on myth,15 the space allocated to the subject is commendable and quite unlike what is done by Akporobaro and Anene Boyle. Though Okpewho differentiates between myth and fanciful ideas on the one hand and myth as oral narratives on the other, his discourse upholds the quality of myth as fanciful ideas.

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The study covers such important areas as myth-making, myth and social reality and myth and contemporary African literature. The current study focuses on myth as a distinct form of oral narrative and aligns with Thomas Bidney’s view that myths must be interpreted literally as an “ethical pattern of thought and a record of man’s culture identity.”16 The purpose of myth is, firstly, among other things, to instruct members of a community about their acceptable way of behavior by providing examples of virtuous character in the mythical heroes and unacceptable ones in the villain. It is expected that by knowing about their way of behavior, people will learn from their strength and weaknesses, respectively. Secondly, myth “describes the nature and function of divinities.”17 Thirdly, myth explains the origin of things such as natural phenomena (mountains, rivers, trees, etc.) death, towns, taboos, totems, or particular practice. Myth is therefore important in understanding human nature, human practice and the natural environment. It helps in keeping things in check. It depicts the awesome nature of God, gods, things and man, the position of man in the universe and the relationship of all of them. Myth is sometimes about human and non-human beings and it operates between the natural and esoteric realms. It is of different types and it has to do with religion, occupation, people and the environment. The study of the collection of myths of a particular group of people or culture is referred to as mythology. So, in this chapter, common types of myth which connect Africans as a people are brought to the fore. In “Myth vs Mythology,” Kees et al. argued: Mythology is the study and interpretation of often sacred tales… of a culture known as ‘myths’ or the collection of such stories which usually deal with human condition, good and evil, human origins, life and death, the afterlife, and the gods. Myths express the belief and values about these subjects held by a certain culture.18

Traditional myth reflects people’s belief and values. There are views and beliefs that are “common” to African countries and there are others that are different and which reflect the diversity of the continent. This article focuses on those views and beliefs that are common in Africa. The trope that is common in African mythology is that of the creator God who made everything in nature; most times, he is said to make the first being (man or animal) from the earth.

The Concept of the Divine Africans belief system centers on the existence of a supreme God who is the creator of the universe but has many messengers who are lesser gods and spirits. This belief informs the act of multiple naming of God. Africans give God many names among which are the variety of names from each country, which were identified by John Metzler in Africa News. He is called Njinyi (Cameroon), Akongo (Congo), Nyame (Cote D’Ivoire), Mawu (Ghana), Chukwu, OlodumareHinegba (Nigeria), Jok (Sudan, Uganda and Kenya), Chilenga (Zambia), Mwari (Zimbabwe), Inkosi

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(South Africa), Imana (Rwanda), Leve (Sierra Leone) among many other names. It is believed that the supreme God created the universe; either directly by himself, or indirectly through his messengers (lesser gods, spirits) who are instructed to do certain things. The supremacy of the divine is connoted and the reverence and worship of god is expressed in the names. In a single culture, multiple names are given to god.

Creation Myth Creation myth is a universal myth. Africans explain the way they understand the beginning of the world through this narrative. It is taken to be a truthful account of events in the community where it is used. Every community has its own account of how the world came to be. While some cultures may be interested in the creation of the entire universe, others may be interested in the creation of things in their immediate environment. Africans are particularly interested in explaining natural occurrences in their creation myth. For example, the Yoruba of Nigeria express their belief in this creation myth. It is said that God (Olodumare) sent Oduduwa his son to the earth, at a time when the earth was full of water without any dry land. Oduduwa was let down to the earth through a chain. He was given a handful of sand and a chicken. In order to descend on dry ground, he sprinkled the sand on the water and put down the chicken that was with him. The chicken spread the sand on the face of the waters. Through this, the first dry earth was formed, so the earth was created and the exact location is believed to be at Ile-Ife, a town in the Yoruba speaking Osun State. Oduduwa was the first king of Ile-Ife. He was said to have had sixteen sons and grandsons; each of whom he sent out to establish their own kingdoms when they became adults. The kingdoms established by them are said to be the main Yoruba kingdoms that are found in Nigeria and parts of the Republic of Benin. Like other forms of oral literature, a myth is transmitted and preserved orally from generation to generation or through a griot who transmits it through performance. Therefore, a single myth may appear in versions and variants. In another version of the same Yoruba creation myth, it was said that at the beginning, only three things were visible on earth. They were the sky above, marshland below and water. The supreme god ruled the sky above while the river goddess Olokun ruled the earth below. One day, Obatala, another god, asked for permission from the supreme god to create dry land for different kinds of living creatures. His permission was granted and he asked Orunmila, the prophetic voice and the oldest son of the supreme god, to give him counsel on the journey. He was told he would need five things. These are a long gold chain by which he would move from heaven to earth; a snail’s shell that is filled with sand, a white hen, a black cat and a palm nut. All the gods in heaven contributed to all forms of gold that they had. When all the items were ready, they were put in the bag and the bag was hung on Obatala’s shoulder. He dropped the chain in one side of the sky and climbed it down. He poured the sand from the snail’s shell and immediately dropped the hen too. The hen

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scattered the sand. As the hen did that, the first dry land was formed. The bigger piles of sand became hills while the smaller piles of sand became valleys. Obatala jumped on a hill and called the place Ife. He planted the nut. It grew and matured into a palm tree immediately. The cat kept him company for a while until he decided to create human beings like himself. He dug into the sand where he found clay; and with this, he molded many figures. He got tired and took wine from the nearby palm wine tree. He got drunk in the process without realizing it. So, in the process, he molded some deformed beings. He asked the supreme god to breathe into those beings. The next day, he realized that he had been drunk and he swore never to drink again. So, because of his act of drunkenness, Obatala vouched to protect them. This was how he became the protector of the deformed. The other gods visited the earth and after a while, Obatala visited his home in the sky. However, Olokun, the ruler of the earth, was angry that Obatala had usurped part of her land. She, therefore, sent a great flood that swept away the land and the people. Orunmila was informed and he intervened by casting many spells which caused the flood water to retreat and the dry land appeared again in Africa. Though this myth is a creation story, it is a narrative of the divine, the natural and the eschatological. It gives an account of the creation of three important things: earth, human beings and palm tree. It also gives an account of how the great flood destroyed the earth. In doing this, the misdeed of Olokun illustrates evil. Significantly, the creation story is allegorically conceived to reflect the mind’s binary organization. There is, therefore, a presentation and reconciliation of these opposites: creation/destruction, death/life, pleasure/life. Whereas, the Boshongo, a Bantu tribe of Central Africa, believed that Bumba was the creator of all things and that he was said to be a man. In another version, it was said that in the beginning, when the great god Bumba came into being, he was made with darkness and water. One day, he had stomach pain and then he vomited the sun. The sun dried up the water and left the land. Bumba also vomited other things in nature, like the animals, moon, star and then a white man. The man resembled Bumba himself. A third variant of the Bantu creation myth says that Olofi created everything in the earth including the big and small, the beautiful and ugly, the low and mighty, falsehood and truth. Truth and falsehood always fight; and one day when they met, the two of them fought and Falsehood cut off the head of Truth. Truth struggled to get back his head and with great fury, he cut off the head of Falsehood. Truth then put on the head of Falsehood on his own neck. The myths depict the imperfection of man even despite the fact that they are created by gods, as in the examples of the Bantu and Yoruba myths. It also presents ideas as opposites (big and small, beautiful and ugly, low and mighty, falsehood and truth) and what we see again is the triumph of good over evil. The myths further validate Claude Levi Strauss position that myths reflect the way man’s mind is organized, as binary opposites.19 The myths perceive them as opposites and reconcile them. According to the Fon people of Benin, Cui the oldest son of the creation twins Mawu (moon) and Lisa (sun). Cui came to earth in the form of an iron sword and

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became a blacksmith. His mandate was to get the world ready for people to inhabit. He taught humans to make tools which enabled them to grow food and build shelters. In most of these myths, there is a creator God or divine figure who is usually the first to appear on earth. Other things are created by him and for his use and at other times, he teaches human beings certain skills that they would need to master, so as to become independent and ensure the continuity of such skills whenever the presence of the divine is withdrawn. The presence of a creator is felt in all the creation myths. Whether he is human or godly, he is the facilitator of all actions. These myths express the basic values of each community and the inherent African belief in “one or more divine powers that create life and control the direction of the universe” these divinities are anthropomorphic because they think, act and speak like human beings.20 In most African cultures, they are ambivalent in attitude. These myths indicate that in God’s original plan, man was meant to live a peaceful and orderly life in a state of immortality; but due to man’s disobedience, death came and man lost his position.

Origin/Founding Myth The same African belief in a divine creator is further seen in the idea that everything in nature is put in its place by the creator so as to establish order through hierarchy among them. Many groups that started together were therefore encouraged to move beyond their immediate environments with a view to founding new towns. Others had to move due to certain circumstances such as war, ambition and coming of age, to found new areas. Thus, Africans provide historical or explanatory notes about how a group of person or things came to be or moved to their present location. In some cases, it is about how rituals started. According to Wikipedia, founding myth is cultural, traditional and religious. It describes the earliest beginning of things. It is the commonest type because every community has it. Some of these myths describe the transformations that happen to communities or the process of creation from chaos to its present state. Some refer to it as cosmogonical myth, that is, myths about the ordering of societies. Such myths tend to include mystical events along the way to make the “founders” seem more desirable and heroic. In the founding myth of Owu Iponle (now Orileowu) in Osun State, Nigeria, according to an elder statesman, Prince Amusat Oyerinde Adejobi, of Oba Afelele’s compound, Owu, the founding father, Ajibosin was the grandson of Oduduwa. His parents were Obatala and Olawunmi. Olawunmi was the daughter of Oduduwa, the ruler of Ile-Ife and she gave birth to Ajibosin. Ajibosin’s parents died quite early in life. As a child, Ajibosin lived in the palace of Oduduwa. One day, Oduduwa went to ease himself in the toilet, he put down his crown, because the crown is not meant to be used in a dirty environment. Before Oduduwa came back, Ajibosin had put the crown on his head. When Oduduwa came back, he removed it from Ajibosin’s head and put it on his own head. Ajibosin started crying. Oduduwa put the crown back on

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Ajibosin’s head for a while but he later removed it and put it back on his own head. Each time the crown was removed, the child cried until they realized that he wanted the crown. This action earned him the title of Asunkungbade (one who cries to get the crown). Ifa oracle was consulted and it was confirmed that Ajibosin wanted to wear the crown as king, he really wanted to be king, so a town should be founded for Ajibosin in a place where there is a cotton wool forest. At the age of twenty-one, sacrifices were offered on Ajibosin’s behalf and some of Oduduwa’s assistants were asked to go with him to locate the new place. Obalufon carried the sacrifice on his head. As they moved from Ile-Ife to the new location, they came across wild animals, spirits, gnomes and other strange beings. They fought with them and won before they located the forest. The said cotton forest (owu) was located between Isasa and Osun River. So, the sacrifice was placed between river Isasa and Osun River. Three hours after the sacrifice was placed down, the sacrifice turned into a river called Obalufon River in Orile Owu. It is believed that the river is there till today and no one is allowed to fish in the river. Anyone who disobeys and breaks the taboo pays dearly for it. The fish does not get cooked and so it becomes inedible. Thus in this myth, the founding of Obalufon River and Owu Iponle (now Orile Owu) is narrated. Ruling monarchs or aristocrats like that of Orile Owu may also allege descent from mythical founders/gods/heroes in order to legitimize their positions. Thus, monarchs rely a lot on founding myths. They usually trace their ancestry to the progenitors of their communities through the deployment of myths. Oba Akinfalabi, the incumbent Olowu traced his genealogy to Oduduwa, the mythical father of all the Yoruba and by extension to Ajibosin the progenitor of the Owus. One of the origin myths of the Mende of Sierra Leone says that God gave a message to a dog and another message to a toad to deliver to human beings. The message to be delivered by the dog was “Life has come” while the one to be delivered by the toad was “Death has come.” The dog stopped on the way in order to eat. The toad overtook him and so he delivered his message of death first. That was how death came to the world. In the original plan of God, man was meant to be immortal. Among the Bushmen (Khoi) eating an antelope is a taboo. The following narrative validates the taboo by explaining why this is so. The myth tells that Kaang had two sons. Then, he gave birth to an antelope. He nurtured it, but his two sons mistakenly killed the antelope. He asked that the antelope’s blood be boiled and spread across the landscape. Through this act, after a while, it became other antelopes and animals. Kaang provided the meat. She warned his people not to hunt, kill or eat an antelope. This myth, therefore, is a narrative on this taboo. In Africa, founding myths are sometimes generated from the people’s quest for expansion and the belief that two kings do not live together in a domain; one has to leave the environment and find a more suitable place. It was from this belief that towns and cities of the Yoruba were established. The sixteen children of Oduduwa were sent out to establish their different towns e.g., Orangun went to establish Ila, Sabe went to establish Sabe, Oranmiyan went to Oyo, etc.

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The African Concept of Death Hope Obamwonyi identifies two schools of thought on the issue of life and death.21 The first school sees death as evil, while the other describes it as a place of bliss and an afterthought of creation. In most Africa myths, death was described as a situation that arose as a result of man’s mistake. It was not part of the original plan of God for his creation to die. The Khoi Bushman myth about death states that the supreme God (Kaang) created the world as a peaceful place. He gave man some rules and regulations on how to live in it but man disobeyed God, so God sent death and destruction to them because of their disobedience and antagonism. His spirit still resides in all living things. Death is, therefore, not seen as a natural occurrence, though it is inevitable. In Africa, its cause is usually attached to some unseen evil powers such as witches and wizards. Death is seen as a movement or passage to the afterlife, and a continuation of life in some cases. This explains why some tribes appreciate their dead by burying valuable materials with them. The dead, who were bad when alive, have their lives cut short because no member of the family will want to name their children after them. The Yoruba name their newly born children after their dead individuals to signify reincarnation. The Abaluya of Kenya (Bantus) bury their dead naked as a mark of preparation for rebirth in the next world. Africans, like every other people, believe in the inevitability of death. The myths that are connected with death operate between the natural and esoteric realms. Death is seen as a movement from one realm of existence to another. It is described as “home call,” “sleeping,” “resting,” “transition” and so on and in orature, it is described with a metaphor of journey because of the belief that life is a journey, and indeed an unending journey which starts from birth and moves to death and continues in rebirth. Life does not, therefore, end with man’s physical death—the individual moves from one phase of existence to another; from the physical to the spirit realm. Different types of burial ceremonies are done for the dead. These ceremonies are believed to ensure easy passage of the dead to the world beyond. According to M’passou in Cox,22 the Swazi people of Southern Africa bury their dead only after three days because of the belief that the dead would need rest before he continues his journey, whereas the Chagga of Tanzania believe that the entire journey to the other world takes nine days. So, no burial ceremony is done within those days. After those days have passed, the burial ceremony begins. Thomas Gale records in Encyclopedia of Religion, that the Chagga of Tanzania prepare their dead for the journey by feeding them with milk, anointing them with fat, covering them with hide and burying them with their important earthly possessions. Among the Swazi, the dead are buried with their earthly belongings and their family members keep vigil for three reasons. The first is as a way of consoling the bereaved; the second is as a means of keeping the deceased company; and the third is as a means of preparing them for the journey as they move from this world to the other world. The Luo of Kenya use surrogates like Yago fruit to represent missing bodies of individuals that might have drowned or been eaten by a wild animal to the extent that their bodies are missing. In addition,

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integration rituals are also performed in order to prepare the dead for the next phase of his journey and also to “inform” the deceased’s ancestors of his coming. These funeral rites indicate that death is a mere passage to another life. Any failure on the part of the family to do the burial this way is believed to make passage difficult and the dead restless. The dead would then become a wandering spirit called jochiende (Luo), mashava (Shona). There is close interaction between the living and the dead. The dead communicate through dreams, the living invite their dead for family reintegration through this situation. By inviting the dead for family reintegration, the living invites the dead to become an ancestor, a status of honor for the dead who lived exemplary lives. In most African countries, Christian notions of death and the afterlife have replaced traditional ones. The dead are traditionally referred to, either as mwendwo mi in (the beloved of the people) among the Gikuyu or muimwoniiri (rejected by the people) in most African countries. Africans generally believe in the cyclic nature of life. So, death is seen as a transition of people from human beings to spirits and possibly to human beings again. What becomes of an individual after he dies depends largely on his behavior while on earth. It will determine what he would be reincarnated into. Misconducts are also said to provoke divine anger.

Death, Burial, Reincarnation and Reintegration According to Mbiti, “Though the deceased may be physically gone, they are not dead. They are still here as persons and the living can still communicate with them. Paradoxically then, the dead are not dead.”23 This same belief is reechoed by Birago Diop in the poem titled “Those who are dead are never gone.”24 If an individual lived a good life, he is likely to reincarnate as a human being, but if he lived a bad life, he would likely reincarnate as an animal or roam about the world and then choose another existence in another country other than where he left. Lack of proper burial rites for a dead person might make the dead unable to complete the journey successfully and become frustrated. The Luo and Shona believe that such a frustrated spirit will be restless, “come back” and look around his family members for help. In some cases, he will haunt and afflict the living in order to get their attention. In different ethnic groups, the dead are reintegrated as ancestors into the families they left behind only if they lived exemplary lives while on earth. It is a mark of honor to institute the dead as ancestors. For example, among the Gikuyu of Kenya, the Luo of Kenya, the Xhosa of South Africa, and the Shona of Zimbabwe among others, such rituals of reintegration are performed to honor the dead. In different African myths, death is represented as a mistake of existence because it was never part of God’s original plan for man to die. In the Nuer myth of afterlife, it was said that a thin rope separated heaven and earth and men were free to move

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between the two realms. Everyone lived in happiness. Indeed, anyone who dies goes to heaven through this rope and comes back at will. He is expected to stay there for a while and come back refreshed after he has rested enough. The rope was later cut and death became a permanent thing with man’s immortality gone forever. According to the Dinkas of Sudan, in the beginning, God gave men a few grains to plant. There was a greedy woman who was not satisfied with the grain that God gave her, so she planted more grains than necessary. She made heaps where she planted, and in the process, she hit God in the eye with her hoe. God became angry and he cut the connecting rope between heaven and earth, which he put there for easy access. So, the notion of heaven, hell and final judgment is common to Africans and expressed in their myths, especially the LoDagga of Ghana and the Yoruba of Nigeria among other African countries. Idowu explained that reunion with the ancestors is a reward for the dead among the Yoruba. The belief in reward and punishment or hell and heaven is common among the Yoruba of Nigeria, the Lodagaa of Ghana and the Tutsi of Rwanda. The Tutsi have a myth of “paradise lost,” which established that God (Imana) created the world below and the world above. The world above was very beautiful, while the one below was ugly. Human beings enjoyed all the privileges and beauty of the world above without struggle or labor. There was no sickness and when people died, they were brought back of life by God within three days. However, due to disobedience and greed, man lost this relationship and started facing hardship. In a Nuer myth of a similar idea which was narrated earlier in this study, heaven and earth were connected by a rope. So, man enjoyed easy access, favors and benevolence of God. Through this rope also, dead people went to heaven and came back to earth in a rejuvenated form. When the rope was cut, death became a permanent thing. This myth describes a place where people go and is similar to the Yoruba notion of afterlife that was explained by Idowu in Olodumare: God in Yoruba belief . The reward for living a good life on earth is going to paradise (orun rere) while the punishment, for living a bad life is being subjected to hell (orun buburu). This position has been said to show the great influence of the Christian religion.

Myths About Legendary Heroes Some myths are created around the pantheon of gods and legends that are spread all over Africa. In African mythology, stories about heroes abound and they are sometimes described as prestige myth. Some of the heroic figures earned their statuses as legendary rulers, that is, as people who actually lived at a particular time in history. Africa has a strong tradition of kingly heroes. These heroes were able to do outstanding things in their communities. For example, Osei Tutu, the ruler of the Ashanti people in Ghana, was said to have used his magical stool to work out the freedom of his people (Hunter, Heroes of West African Mythology). Similarly, Shaka the Zulu, a leader of the Zulu people of Southern Africa, gathered a great army and had a great empire in the early 1800s. In the Sunjata myth from Mali,

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the female character, Nana Triban, like the Biblical Delilah and Moremi Ajasoro of Ile-Ife, asked Sunmanguru Kante for the source of his power. When she was told, Nana Triban revealed the secret to her brother Sunjata and this helped Sunjata to triumph over Sunmaguru. Furthermore, the Amazons of Dahomey were women warriors who served as the king’s bodyguard. They truly lived. Among the Angolans, there is also a warrior queen named Nzinga, who fought against the Portuguese and for many decades succeeded in keeping the Portuguese away from colonizing Angola. Many of these African heroes and heroines came to life through the unusual union of humans and non-human beings or are born under mysterious circumstances. Sundiata was said to be a real person who actually lived between 1217 and 1255. In the epic of Sundiata, as documented by D.T. Niane, it is said that Maghan Kon Fatta, a very handsome king in Mali, was advised by a seer to marry a very ugly being named Sogolon Kedjou; she is the spirit of the buffalo. The king had a beautiful queen and a handsome son. Though the king Maghan had a son, it was predicted that Sogolon would bear a son who would be the heir to the throne and he would make Mali great. He is said to be the one that would unite Mali. Maghan approached the relatives of the buffalo and paid Sogolon’s bride prize. For one week, the king could not possess his wife or meet her as his wife until he engaged many sorcerers. Her magic is powerful enough to resist male advances. The king later offered the sacrifice of a bull and slept with Sogolon. She became pregnant the same day. Sogolon gave birth to Sundiata, a very ugly child. He had a difficult childhood. He was crippled, so he could not walk or play until the age of seven, and no child was allowed to play with him. Marghan died, so the queen joined forces with the elders of the community to ill-treat Sogolon and her son Sundiata. They were made to live in the hut outside the palace. By the age of seven, he was able to bend iron into a bow and the same day, he uprooted a baobab tree that the community used for spices and wood. With this great feat, people respected him and encouraged their children to associate with him. He eventually united Mali at the battle of Krina in 1235 and he built the largest empire in West Africa before its fall in 1670. In another version of this epic, titled Sundjata, the hero Sundjata was carried in his mother’s womb for seven years. He was eventually born in the dry season. On the said day, “the sky darkened, there was great cloud with thunder rumbling and lightning flashing and strong wind blowing. Rain started and then stopped and immediately, the sun appeared.”25 The hero was a person with unusual background and a man of imposing stature. He has great historical and legendary significance. He was the savior of his age. His birth and early childhood were also unusual. He possesses superhuman qualities. These mysterious circumstances are the source of inspiration for the hero and source of awe for his community. The hero is therefore depicted in opposing images: horrifying and admirable, weak and strong. The deeds of the queen in the epic Sundiata are intended to illustrate evil (jealousy and hatred); and that of Sundiata /Sundjata are meant to teach virtue such as patience.

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Conclusion In conclusion, we have attempted to discuss and study selected myths of Africa and the common beliefs of the people in the different areas of life, existence and afterlife. Thus, we discussed creation myth, origin or founding myth, afterlife myth and hero myth. These are areas of life that we consider to be common in certain ways. We found that though the continent is vast and their beliefs are many, there are certain beliefs that are common to them and their myths yield their meanings in about the same ways. These beliefs are fashioned into imaginative stories that either explain a situation or explore it. We further found that these stories may validate certain customs or explain the origin of things or even describe achievements of people. The myths express how society is organized and how the mind of an individual is organized. Therefore, a robust interpretation of myths and mythology of Africa would reveal their internal and external values. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

BolajiIdowu (1962). Akporobaro (2005: 163). Bascom (1965). Yusuf (1997). Humm (1995). Jegede (2016). Idowu (1962). Bascom (1965). Jung (1944). Freud (1957). Newton (1988: 100). Akporobaro, ibid. Akporobaro, ibid., 49. Bidney (1979: 22). Okpewho (1983 and 1998). Bidney, ibid., 22. Ibid., 162. www.differencebetween.net/lang. Strauss (1970). (Akporobaro, ibid., 163.); Obamwonyi (2016). Cox (1998: 28). Mbiti (1961: 68). Roscoe (1971). Dasylva and Jegede (1997: 28).

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References Akporobaro, F.B.O. 2005. Introduction to Oral Literature. Lagos: Princeton Publishing Co. Anene- Boyle, F.A. 2002. Weaving the Tale: An Introduction to the Performance of Oral Literature. Ibadan: Kraftbooks. Bascom, W. 1965. The Forms of Folklore. Journal of Africa. 78: 3–20. Bidney, David. 1979. Myth Symbolism and Truth. In Myth: A Symposium, ed. A. Thomas, 1–14. Sebeok. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Cox, James. 1998. Rites of Passage in Contemporary Africa: Interaction Between Christian and African Traditional Religions. Cardiff: Academic Press. Dasylva, A.O., and O.B. Jegede. 1997. Epic Poetry. Poetry in English, 29–39. Ibadan: Sam Bookman Ltd. Frye, N. 1988. Archetypal Criticism: Theory of Myths. In Twentieth Century Literary Theory, ed. K.M. Newton, 99–102. London: MacMillan. Gale, Thomson. 2016. “Afterlife: African Concept” In Encyclopedia of Religion, 2005 retrieved from encyclopedia.com. Humm, Maggie. 1995. Practising Feminist Criticism: An Introduction. Harvester Wheatsheaf: Prentice Hall. Idowu, E.B. 1962. Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief . London: Longman. Jegede, O.B. 2016. Myth and Conflict in Ahmed Yerima’sIgatibi in Grammar, Applied Linguistics and Society: A Festschrift for Wale Osisanwo, eds. A. Odebunmi, A. Osisanwo, H. Bodunde and S Ekpe, 681–686. Ibadan: Kraft Books. Kolawole, Mary Modupe. 1998. Womanism and African Consciousness. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Mbiti, John. 1969. African Religions and Philosophy. N. H.: Portsmouth. Metzler, John. 2018. African Names of God in Africa News, Exploring Africa, African Studies Centre, East Lansing: Michigan State University Press @ exploringafrica.matrix.msu.edu/afr ican_names_for_gods. Newton, K.M (ed.). 1988. Twentieth Century Literary Theory. London: MacMillan. Obamwonyi, Hope. 2016. “Life after Death according to Several African Traditions” Culture and Society, June 18, 2016, retrieved from blog.swaliafrica.com/life-after-death-according. Okpewho, Isidore. 1980. Rethinking Myth. African Literature Today 11: 5–23. Okpewho, Isidore. 1983. Myth in Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 1998. Once Upon a Kingdom: Myth, Hegemony and Identity. Indianapolis/Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Roscoe, Adrian. 1977. Mother is Gold: Study in West African Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sundjata. Retrieved from https://faculty.washington.edu on 16 March, 2018. Yusuf, Y.K. 1997. “The Sexist Correlation of Women with Non-Human in English and Yoruba Proverbs.”De Proverbio 3 (1): 1–12.

Chapter 12

The Dirge Felicia Ohwovoriole

Introduction Oral literature may be defined in several ways. According to Okpewho, “oral literature comes from the past and is handed down from one generation to another.” Sometimes, there is prejudice to oral literature in the sense that the material is simply passed on from mouth to mouth and nothing really new is added.1 On her part, Finnegan regards oral literature as “dependent on a performer who formulates in words on a specific occasion, there is no other way in which it can be realized as a literary product.”2 Of several definitions, the one by Nandwa and Bukenya is apt and succinct. According to the scholars “oral literature may be defined as those utterances, whether spoken, recited or sung, whose composition and performance exhibit to an appreciable degree the artistic characteristics of accurate observation, vivid imagination and ingenious expression.”3 Characteristics of oral literature are diverse. According to Akporobaro, the identity of oral literary form is shaped by a number of features. It is a performed act mostly orally communicated. It is flexible and the personality of the artist affects its delivery. It can be improvised and there is often audience participation and contains stylistic literary qualities.4 The types and themes of oral literature include prose narratives, dramatic forms, musical forms, gnomic forms, and oral poetic forms. Of the subset of oral poetry, we have three main categories: songs, chants, and recitations, all of which are found in funeral poetry. Funeral poetry is also referred to as elegy but commonly referred to as dirge in Africa. In this chapter, the two terms have been used interchangeably. Dirges are poems, chants, recitations, or songs of lamentation expressing sorrow, usually performed at funerals or memorial rites. Death is a natural phenomenon. Though all living things are subject to death, its only human beings who celebrate rites or rituals that articulately celebrate their transition from this life to another mode F. Ohwovoriole (B) Department of English, University of Lagos, Lagos, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_12

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of existence. The dirge as a poetic form, performed within the context of bereavement, constitutes part of the rite of passage for the dead. It provides a valuable framework for many communities in Africa to explore the nature of life and death and relate this to the ultimate purpose of human existence. The dirge also serves as an avenue for distinctive creativity, unchaining the people’s poetic sensibilities in the process of the expression of grief and sorrow. As a unique literary type, the dirge takes various forms and tackles diverse subjects, especially those related to religio-philosophical matters.5 For Leach, mourning songs include dirges, laments, eulogies for the dead, funeral ballads or merely rhythmic wailing cries, sung at the deathbed or at the graveside during funeral rites and in the mourning period and sometimes repeated on other occasions such as anniversaries of death, exhumations, and feasts of the dead.6 Ong observes that “in primary oral culture conceptualized knowledge that is not repeated aloud soon vanishes.”7 Gunner also sees orality in the African context “as the means by which societies of varying complexity regulated themselves, organized their present and their past, made formal spaces for philosophical reflections, pronounced on power, questioned and in some cases contested power.”8 Given the scope of this study, the content/subject matter of all dirges in Africa cannot be analyzed. What is pragmatic is to examine the common features in many nationalities. Though a lot has been done on the funeral dirge in Africa, there is a need to provide an updated overview of the place and role of dirges in Africa. The aim of this chapter is to present an overview of the dirge in Africa, including the forms, functions, dominant themes, as well as trends.

Elegy We have elegiac poetry in different cultures. According to M.H. Abrams, “elegy” in Greek and Roman literature denotes any poem written in elegiac meter.9 The term was also used to refer to the subject matter of change and loss frequently expressed in the elegiac verse form, especially in complaints about love. In accordance with this latter usage, poems in old English on the transience of all worldly things are often called elegies. In the seventeenth century, the term elegy became limited to a formal and sustained lament in verse for the death of a particular person, usually ending in a consolation. Occasionally the term is used in a broader sense, for sober meditations on mortality. According to Princeton Encyclopaedia of Poetry and Poetics, elegy is a lyric, usually formal in tone and diction, suggested either by the death of an actual person or by the poet’s contemplation of the tragic aspects of life. In either case, the emotion, originally expressed as a lament, finds consolation in the contemplation of some permanent principle. In German literature, elegy refers both to a specific verse form and to the emotions frequently conveyed by that verse form. Originally, any poem in this distich form was known as an elegy; whether it concerned the dead, was a war song, a political satire, or dealt with love. In Spain, the elegy began as imitations of Italian models while in France, the first attempt at copying the elegy form from the

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ancients was by imitating the classic distich in alexandrine couplets.10 In England, the term elegy was used in the sixteenth and early seventeenth century for poems with a variety of content, including Petrarchan love poetry as well as laments. Threnody and monody are also used as an equivalent for a dirge. The dirge is also sometimes referred to as an elegy, a requiem, funeral lament, chant, or song. Cuddon explains that “in classical literature on elegy was any poem composed of elegiac distich, also known as elegiacs, and the subjects were various: death, war, love and similar themes.”11 A dirge, on the other hand, has been referred to by Cuddon as “a song of lament, usually of a lyrical mood.”12 As a literary genre, it comes from the Greek epicedium, which was a mourning song sung over the dead and a threnody sung in memory of the dead. In Roman funeral processions, the nenia, a song of praise for the departed, was chanted. In the African tradition, as stated earlier, an elegy or the dirge is a poem, chant, recitation, or song of lamentation, expressing sorrow, usually performed at funerals or memorial rites. Apart from expressing sorrow at the loss and exalting the virtues of the deceased, a dirge will usually insinuate on the causes of the death and the suspected villain. Finnegan, in her definition of laments, points out that elegiac poetry ranges from “funeral dirges” to “simple laments.” She does not make a clear distinction between the dirge and the lament.13 Nketia makes this distinction: “an interesting feature of the lament…is its tendency to generalize- to see particular events of death in terms of fate or mortality in general, to state general truths, to use aphorisms…in our collected texts of dirges, such generalizations are not common.”13 The emphasis is on particular events. There is a tendency to reflect individual deceased’s persons, particular bereaved mourners, and particular situations rather than on mortality in general or particular situations. The dirge is more interested in saying something to the deceased person, in mentioning the fate of a particular person than in what death can do. Na’Allah and Ogunjimi see the dirge as funeral poetry which deals with universal meaning based on the philosophy of human existence. To them, death is a universal phenomenon, the fate everybody must embrace.14 Okoh is of the view that “a funeral song may be chanted, hummed or performed in certain private contexts, in complete disregard of such occasionality rule.”15 Finnegan, drawing from Nketia’s study of the Akan funeral dirges, sees dirges as “songs sung or intoned by women as part of the public mourning during funerals.”16 In most African communities, dirge is only performed within the context of a funeral. According to Sanka, the African dirge can be seen as a compendium, an avenue of values, beliefs, practices, and aesthetic expression. However, in many African communities, the dirge and the lament often co-occur. The predominant oral nature of African community enhances the promotion of many dirges drawn from memory of artists from generation to generation. It should be emphasized that dirges are mostly performed in an atmosphere of grief. Lindermann defines grief as “the state of pain, discomfort, and often physical or natural impairment that in most persons follows from the loss of loved ones.”17 Hertz, however, argued that the intensity of grief expended by any individual or group was dependent on a socially constructed formula, rather than an innate or natural feeling.18 For example, the loss of an elderly person is more of a celebration than grief, unlike

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losing a young person. In many traditional African societies, the belief is that the deceased elder would transit into the afterworld where he or she could transform into a postmortem jural authority over his or her living lineage members. The elaborate ritual and funeral was to ensure his or her comfort in the afterlife. An African elder who has lived well-contemplated death with little or no anxiety because at death he becomes an ancestor after being given a lavish farewell party. According to Kamerman, “the symptoms of normal grief include bodily distress, a preoccupation with the image of the deceased, guilt, hostility and alteration or loss of normal patterns of conduct.”19 According to Platt and Persico, “four significant variables tend to influence the human response to grief.”20 These are the social meaning of death, the relationship between the deceased and the survivors, the significance of the mode of death, and the nature of the support network available to the bereaved. Burial rites are treated as rites of passage in which sociological dramas around corpses are enacted. McCoskie explains it as follows: “In the first act, the deceased individual was ritually detached from the social, often by means of ‘primary’ burial or some other alternative form of temporary disposal of the corpse. In the second act, the corpse was given final or ‘secondary’ burial the social role of the dead individual was reallocated, and society moved on from its temporary dialogue with mortality.”21 This points out the notions of first and second burial in many African communities.

Causes and Types of Death Among the common causes of death as believed in many African communities are witchcraft, sorcery, neglect of filial duties to the ancestors, breaking of any of the taboos and sanctions of the divinities. Trampling on the moral values of the society and thereby attempting to set disharmony and disintegration among the people evokes the anger of the ancestors who withdraw the person trying to cause chaos among the living. But as Mbiti observes: “Although people may fear that the living-dead would cause them to die, there is little evidence of the belief that they actually case death…if a family feels that its living-dead are dissatisfied, it immediately takes measures to harmonize the situation, and avoid its deterioration to the point of actual death.”22 Another cause of death is God. He uses his instrument of wrath, such as thunder and lightning, stroke, and smallpox to punish the evildoers. Death is also caused in accordance with the person’s predestination.

Content and Themes Propp affirms that each lament contains unique motifs.23 Uzochukwu, in his study of the Igbo dirge, identified the following themes: the themes of death, praise, religion, satire, and the themes of value, norms and achievements.24 The dirge can also be used as a context for expressing religious beliefs, myths, and their artistic significance.

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A major feature of this dirge form is that its religious content consists of invocation and supplication and is sometimes eulogistic, using sacred and allusive imagery.25 Most African people respond to their spiritual world in various ways. This response also takes the form of worship that is eternalized in different acts and sayings during a funeral. These acts may be formal or informal, regular or extempore, communal or individual, ritual or unceremonial, through word or deed. It is a widespread feeling among many African peoples that man cannot approach God alone or directly but that he must do so through the mediation of special persons or other beings.26 Ruth Finnegan also looks at sample dirges from different ethnic groups in Africa emphasizing more on Akan dirges by Nketia. She identified other preoccupations such as praise, grief, resignation, and acceptance of the inevitable as some of the themes that manifest themselves in African dirges.27 In Uganda, six main themes have been identified in Acoli dirge, and they include themes of the pathway, battle with death, surrender, the cruelty of fate, the attack on the dead and the attack on the living.28 Eulogy or poem in praise of the dead is a major attribute of funeral poetry. It is given in recognition of the subject’s outstanding or estimable characteristics.29 A eulogy is not only a catalog of conventional attributes; it also aims at giving an assessment of the subject that is consistent with reality. Unfavorable physical qualities that a deceased had are not attributed to him and these are overlooked. There is frequent reference to the ancestor of a deceased during the delivery of eulogy. Eulogy includes the whole personality of a deceased, his life, achievements, aspirations, and total history. The effect which praise is said to have on the subject can be seen in Babalola’s assertion: It is traditionally believed that the correct performance of oriki in honour of a progenitor gladdens the progenitor in the world of spirits and induces him to shower blessings on his offspring on earth. The reciting or chanting of the appropriate oriki in honour of the ancestors of a particular family causes members of that family who hear the performance to feel very proud of their pedigree, and if they are then away from home, they also feel exceedingly homesick.30

Other themes include references to ancestors and the deceased.31 Social commentary is another theme reflected in most dirges—comments on issues and events in the community. Reflections on life also constitute a theme by dirge performers. These usually exhibit philosophical lessons and values that are pertinent to life. In addition, religion and spirituality are also given adequate expression in dirges.

Literary-Aesthetic Features of the Dirge According to Alembi, Okpewho, and Agyekum, the poetic stylistic qualities of oral poetry which includes the dirge feature repetition, tonality, ideophones, digression, allusion, metaphor, symbolism, alliteration, parallelism, piling, and association.32 The aesthetic aspects of the dirge refer principally to the combination of feeling and thought stimulated by the dirge performance. They include sources of beauty in the songs such as spontaneous exclamations, rhetorical questions, emotional reaction to

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the songs, captivation of audience, retention of audience, and the transfer of cognitive experience to the audience. Other features are the possession of a good and charming voice by the lead singer. Furthermore, we have the singers’ facility with language and their abilities to use their bodies, faces, trunks, arms, and legs as materials to make listening or looking at the dirge performance pleasurable.33 A major literary and aesthetic aspect of the dirge is its rhythm during performance. Rhythm, the beat, or tempo of the dirge represents one of the major aspects of the dirge singer’s creative interest. The beat is an essential part of the lyric expression and is created through a variety of means-instruments, drums, rattles, gongs, the clapping of hands, or the modulation of voices. Many a dirge whether a song, chant, or recitation cannot be readily measured in foot because of tonal variation in delivery. The dirge, like other forms of oral poetry, has “perceptible rhythm” and this rhythm has been defined by Anyidoho as poems which “have no consistent metrical scheme that is…have a freedom of form, the prevalent predetermined arrangement of stressed and unstressed syllables, but do have a poetic language organized so as to create impressions and fulfil functions of poetic rhythm.” To relate this to the dirge in various communities, we shall highlight the factors, which contribute to the free rhythm. These factors include breath pause, timeline, and sense balancement. Uzochukwu has shown in his study of Igbo elegy that these factors of rhythm are not employed in equal degree in the various dirge types like songs, chants, incantations, and recitations. The same is true for dirges in many communities in Africa. Repetition is an important stylistic feature of the dirge. According to Cuddon, repetition “may consist of sounds, particular syllables and words, phrases stanzas, metrical patterns, ideas, allusions and shapes.”34 Okpewho observes that repetition “has both an aesthetic and a utilitarian value.”35 Agyekum further explains that repetition as a device in oral literature can be used to achieve fullness of an effect, to sustain audience attention and interest, to mark off segments in oral performance are obtainable in the execution of dirges in the African context.36 The singers use conscious repetition in order to achieve artistic coherence. Bennison Gray asserts, “Repetition is prevalent in folk and primitive literatures because these are both oral literatures.” Repetition in dirge performance often produces a pleasing musical effect, which delights the listeners. Repetition also serves as an important creative tool that helps to intensify ideas, increase the length of poetic performance. Digression during performance of dirges is rampant. Voice pitch is another stylistic element that is often put to good use by oral artists when it comes to performance of dirges. This is due to the tonal quality of African languages.37 Ideophones also constitute one of the stylistic techniques that are often used in executing African funeral songs.38 Nketia refers to such ideophones as “end particles.”39 They are used to achieve rhythms which include “ee” “oo.” Archetypal images and symbols abound in the dirges. An archetype image is one, which evokes profound emotional responses in the audience or reader because it connects with an already existing image in their subconscious minds. Used in the dirges archetypal images that are evoked are often connected with the people’s history, values, and physical environment. Mourners in performing dirges during a funeral

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make profuse use of these images. Symbolism like archetypal images depends on the ability to use words whose meaning extend beyond the superficial level. These words or symbols used by the mourners cover a wide range of experiences. One peculiar characteristic of symbolism in the lament is that most of the commonly found symbolic objects are animals like the civet cat, the termite, and the elephant. Other symbolic references to death include: “sleep,” “sudden rain,” “rain that gives no notice.” No one can escape from death, be he a chief, noble, or common man. In eulogy, there is the employment of devices that include conventional features of allusions to ancestry and accomplishments, kinship terms, epithets, and terms of endearment. Chanting and recitation stand half way between normal speech and song, hence Nketia refers to it as “half spoken and half song.”40 The chanter or reciter is anxious to give prominence to the beauty of his or her vocal style and to impress the words on hearers as audibly as possible. In addition, the costume of the mourners often black and the prevailing mood at the moment of performance all add to the aesthetic presentation of the dirge. The musical aspect of the dirge is of aesthetic importance, for the verbal expressions and melody are interdependent. What Nketia says of the Akan funeral dirges applies to dirges in other African societies: “Verbal prosodies are combined with musical prosodies, and the emotional depth of the dirge is maintained and strengthened through the combination of language and music.”41

Form and Structure of the Dirge The kinds of songs performed during funeral ceremonies vary depending on factors such as the age of the deceased, his status in the society, his profession or cult affiliation. Feld notes that dirge forms include ritual wailing, mourning songs, memorial songs, eulogy, and other lament varieties.42 These dirge forms are found in various nationalities in Africa but are culture-specific. The dirge can be sung, chanted, or recited. Sankah identifies four structural types: Dirges which are sung and consist of very short lyrical compositions. There are longer dirges that combine tales, appellations and songs as well as social types of dirges. Depending on the age of the deceased, there are dirge performances which are dominated by lament, didacticism, commentaries, and reflections. In addition, there is the solo-chorus pattern. These patterns have some varieties similar to what Uzochukwu identified in the study of Igbo elegy as follows43 : 6.1. Laments where the refrains of the chorus comprise little but repeated humming or echoing which may or may not make meaning in themselves but are merely employed for rhythmic effect. 6.2. Laments with differing words for solo and chorus with variation and repetition for chorus. 6.3. Laments where the chorus repeats the lines of the solo. In some examples, the repetition may be with little or no variation.

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Functions of the Dirge The purpose of performing dirges in African communities is essentially the same, though varying explanations are advanced and the details of the observances differ. The custom is protective for the living and sometimes also a comfort to the dead. It is propitiation to the spirits of the departed, who are believed to be hostile to and envious of the living. The relations of a deceased mourn him/her for various reasons. Some of the reasons include the significant roles that the deceased had played in their lives. In such cases, chants and laments are used to express their sense of loss and helplessness as shown in this dirge: Inene mo rhi ni Inene mo rhi ni Inenemorhi n’ obo wojovwokimo. Kparho ma rhe, o.shomuvwe Kparho ma reudubruvwe Inenemorhi n’ obo. Wojovwokimo. (collected by the author during her research fieldwork) Mother come back and behold Mother come back and see Mother come back and see what you left behind for me Hurry up I am scared Hurry up I am having palpitation Mother come and see, What you left behind for your child The history, culture, beliefs, and practices of indigenous people of Africa are found in their dirges. Awoonor sums up the functions of the dirge in Akpalu’s performance: “He made death personal and brought to the fore man’s ultimate loneliness and his need for support…funeral dirges are not for the ears of the dead.”44 They are for the living. So Akpalu made them vehicles of self-lamentation, philosophy, ideas on morality and ethics, and comments on the total human condition. The dirge in African culture is both situated in time and beyond time, as observed by Attoh. It is this latter attribute that allows space for composers to create dirges years after the burial ceremonies are completed. The element of indefiniteness of the dirge also allows the dirge singer to contribute to historical purposes in his community— the reflection that comes at a moment of sobriety that enables participants to review an individual’s contribution during his or her lifetime. Ganyi asserts that among the Luo, a funeral was an important event where the community united in grief and love, kindness and solidarity.45 Mourning included driving animals into the house of the deceased to signify that the whole community is in the loss. From our study, we can discern the following functions of the dirge: It employs death as a metaphor of existence, which sensitizes people to the ephemeral nature of human existence. It is a repository of historical knowledge and serves as a tool for social criticism.

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It orientates community members toward the didactic moral and ethical values for humanistic behavior and modality of good living. It is an avenue for fostering spiritual aspects of mourning and celebrating the life of the deceased. For Awoonor, “[t]he poet is the ultimate visionary, and like the priest (he is at times the same person) takes ideas from the known and unknown world and thrusts them back to his people, his chorus, who in turn translates them into comprehensible and worldly dimensions.”46 A lot of dirges celebrate national values such as respect for morals and creativity. These values can enhance national unity. History features prominently in these dirges, especially personal and communal history due to the appellations which are often chanted by eulogists. Some eulogists would recount some of the major exploits or peculiar characteristics of the founding fathers of various clans and villages. In some cases, totems of clans, their specific values, names of places of earlier settlements as well as principal occupations of founding fathers are often incorporated into the appellations. In this context, one comes across an enduring method that is used by the people who cannot read and write to preserve their history and to pass it on from one generation to another.

Dirge Performers There are different categories of dirge artists in Africa. In some communities, there was dirge singing and mock fighting with death and evil spirits called sira.47 The performance of dirges can also be by a specialist group such as cult groups, guild of hunters with their ritual observances as reported by Babalola and Ajuwon.48 There are three major categories of performers who play different roles in a funeral ceremony. We have (a) the chronicler/eulogist reciter, (b) soloists or cantor, (c) chorus, audience burial officials and specialists.49 In some Tiv communities, the participation of women in dirges performance is sometimes restricted to certain stages in the funeral rites. Funerals of warriors, who belong to the girinya (warriors) cult, for instance, are characterized by women’s laments only at the initial mourning over the corpse. After the burial rites, however, the men who are initiates of the group take over from the women and sing songs expressing the valor and bravery of their departed companion. Participation in a funeral performance may be a voluntary activity or an obligation imposed by one’s membership in a family, social group, or town. Such a group may be of descent, that is a group of people who trace their ancestry back to the same person, or it may be any group based on the broader societal classification of age, sex, interest, or occupation. In his study of the Akan dirge, Nketia observes the singing of funeral dirges is the function of women.50 Finnegan also notes that among the Yoruba, women lament at funeral feasts and the zintengulo songs of Zambia are sung by women mourners. To buttress her point further, she adds “that these songs often involve wailing, sobbing and weeping makes them particularly suitable for women-for in Africa as elsewhere such activities are considered typically female.”51 She recognizes the involvement of men in chanting funeral dirges in some African societies especially among Ibo and Yoruba communities of Nigeria, West Africa.

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Aborampah Osei-Mensah, notes how women play central roles in the funeral burial processes in some communities in Ghana.52

Composition and Performance Most African dirges are rendered orally, also composed extempore. Lord suggests an unconscious process of assimilating formulae of songs and, in this way, various songs can be learned and assimilated during a variety of occasions including remembrance or funeral ceremonies.53 In performance of the dirge, we can have an interactive session with an active audience participating. The songs have no fixed length of performance. The performance of funeral dirges by Africans is very closely tied to their belief in life after death. Ezekiel Alembi discusses the role of song and dance in the context of a funeral among the Abanyole of the Western Province of Kenya. In addition, he looks at who performs the dirge among the Abanyole, the time at which the performance takes place, the structure of the performance as well as the implications of such performances in the funeral context. IsidoreOkpewho also touches on certain areas of dirge performances in Africa. The accompanying resources include histrionics, that is, movements made with the face, hands, or any part of the body as a way of dramatically demonstrating an action contained in the text.54 Other resources are dance and music. On composition, some dirges are composed in performance. That is the eulogist or the lamenter performs her poetry/song as she composes it in the presence of an audience. Composition and performance cannot be separate; they go simultaneously. There is no room for rehearsal or prepared composed poems as suggested by Babalola. Combination of performance and composition has been examined by Lord in The Singer of Tales when he asserts that a “singer of tales is not a mere carrier of oral traditions, but a creative artist making the tradition…He is not a mere performer who merely reproduces by rote what someone else or even himself has composed. He is a composer and a poet.”55 Many African mourners use much of existing traditional verbal elements such as allusions, verbal formulas, clichés, proverbs, and idioms. These are used by the mourners to express new thoughts and in so doing build new dirges. Audience participation is minimal in funeral recitation; it is more of an individual’s performance, reflecting the reciter’s intense feeling of loss. An important characteristic of the dirge is the element of constant improvisation. In his or her performance, the dirge artist does not actualize in a dogmatic manner, a pre-established form. In her performance, she exercises her creative originality by introducing new and exciting words, images, motifs, and even names of objects. Sometimes the eulogist introduces contemporary issues and personalities in her recitation to reflect the everyday realities. As Dorson pointed out “the bard and the narrator facing their live audience employ gestures, eye contact, intonation, pantomime, histrionics, acrobatics and sometimes costumes and props as the author of written words never does.”56 Bauman, while writing on the dirge, posits that “performance as a mode of spoken verbal communication consists of responsibility

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to an audience for a display of communicative experience. This competence rests on the knowledge and ability to speak in socially appropriate ways. Performance involves on the part of the performer an assumption of accountability to an audience for the way in which communication is carried out above and beyond its referential content.”57 Chanting or recitation of the dirge hardly promotes audience participation. Attention is focussed on the reciter. On the other hand, the song is characterized by a high degree of musicality produced by both vocal and instrumental input. Song performance involves audience participation. Supplications to the ancestors may be in the form of recited or sung prayers. Direct prayers by the reciter call on the ancestors to listen to supplications and come to the aid of those left behind. The ancestor’s name is usually evoked as a means of communicating with the spirit world. The instrumental resources at the disposal of performers during a funeral are those in which each community specializes. These include drums, bells, rattles, stick clappers, ivory trumpets, and hand clapping. Drumming is central to dirge performance. Whenever drum rhythms are intensely appealing, they evoke bodily responses, such as lurching of shoulders, jerking of the head, and sometimes stamping of the feet. Nketia in studying modes of drumming identified three modes, which can also be identified in many African funerals. The first is the signal mode of drumming, the second is imitative of speech, and the third is the dancing mode of drumming.58 All drums are beaten loudly irrespective of the modes of drumming which are applied or the time of the day. In addition to drums, some communities make use of flutes which may be used as solo-instruments for playing fixed tunes or improvised pieces for conveying signals, or for superimposing sounds on the music of an ensemble in order to create a definite mood or atmosphere. The elephant tusk may play notes intermittently in the course of a burial ceremony. Instrumental sounds may be used for a variety of purpose: as signals for bringing people together, for example, shooting of gun to announce the arrival of a deceased or preparation for interment. Some poets compose their songs and appellations, elegies and poems to suit the occasion. As observed by Agyekum, among the Akan, every woman is expected to master a little bit of funeral dirges to the extent that one who cannot perform it is considered to be communicative incompetent.59 Performance is an essential aspect of the dirge. It should be emphasized that without performance, the dirge has muted attraction. The most basic characteristic of oral literature is that it is a performed expression. On the subject of performance, Finnegan asserts: “There is no mystery about the first and most basic characteristic of oral literature. Oral literature is by definition dependent on a performer who formulates it in words on a specific occasion-there is no other way in which it can be realized as a literary product.”60 The mourner or oral artist supplements her verbal efforts with dramatic actions, gestures, sorrowful voice, facial expressions, poetic use of pauses and rhythms and “receptivity” to the reactions of the audience. Performers participate in various styles of performance in delivering the dirge. These include the singing mode, the chanting mode, and recitation. These modes have different levels of musical accompaniment. Communication with the dead very often takes the form of a conversational monologue. Many dirges about a single subject may be

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in a formulaic fashion in which new attributes are incorporated as each new dirge is introduced. The speech may combine complaints, scolding, sometimes even anger, appeals, and forgiveness.61

Influence of Modernization and Trends of the Dirge Like other forms of literature, modernity has affected traditional burial forms and dirge poetry performance. Some of the changes have been highlighted by Akuu. In traditional times, there were announcements of death by a town crier or a family delegation. Modern technology in the form of phone calls, radio and television announcements and other electronic devices are used to enable relations living far away get information, especially if they possess these electronic devices. In a similar vein, Acqua discusses this trend where various forms of announcements are made these days in sub-Saharan Africa to notify family and members of the public about the demise of a loved one.62 These include verbal, media, billboards, text messages, and phone calls. In addition, there is now a dearth of professional mourners owing to the effect of western lifestyle. Economic factors and urban migration of professional singers are also mitigating reasons. The disintegration of traditional extended family values and religious influences because of the adoption of Christianity and Islam has affected burial practices. These days many orchestras perform during funeral ceremonies. In Ghana, there are certain funerals called “Burger Funerals.”63 These are funerals where some members of the bereaved family reside abroad, especially in Europe and America. These people normally elevate the status of the funeral and make them very glamorous. Westernization, modernization, and urbanization have made inroads into funeral ceremonies even in the rural areas. Modernity has influenced mourning and dirge patterns, and these new performances tend toward popular culture and as observed by Adjaye. According to him, these funeral celebrations now constitute “distinctive moments in the production, circulation, consumption and reproduction of cultural forms.”64 Death is framed in religious terms even though secular dimensions are apparent. Popular culture is reflected not only in the dirges and odes sung to praise the deceased but more importantly in music dance. The contemporary celebration of death has become largely secularized and/or Christianized. The bereaved mourn in a language that links the event to some causal agent in the supernatural world.65 The communicative value of the songs entails the transfer of indigenous cultural behavior and value system that existed within the sociocultural scene. The dirges in Africa are sometimes a reflection of the concerns of the culture of which they are a part.

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Conclusion Death is inevitable. As a result, many communities in Africa have developed elaborate rituals to ease the pain of physical separation and to ease the dead into the spiritual world of the ancestors. In communities, accustomed to expressing dirges for the dead, the patterns of expression are diverse in the communities and social status of the deceased also affects the performance of dirges. In some communities, the expression of spontaneous grief is formalized. Occasionally dirge singing is a part of a mock funeral performed for magical purpose. The dirges cover the whole spectrum of social life, including kinship, marital and familial relations, economics, political activities, and societal values. The dirge is primarily a form of poetry in Africa, which makes use of imagery. A funeral occasion has the predominance of the emotion of sorrow but many of the dirges are not limited to sorrowful utterances, but rather there is a mixture of sorrow, reflection, and even an existentialist view of human existence. Thus, other than lamenting the dead, mourners (dirge performers) engage in moral education, social criticism, and philosophical reflection on life. The first section of this chapter presents an interpretive understanding of the dirge and elegy in Africa through a review of the socio-anthropological approaches to issues of death and burials, highlighting only the aspects germane to our discussion. The second section provides the methodology emphasizing on how we sought materials for our write-up. The third and concluding section indicates our findings as discerned from different regions of Africa. Acknowledgments I am very much indebted to Professor Augustine Ohwovoriole for his invaluable suggestions both with regard to the general scheme of the paper and on several points of detail. I am grateful to my informants and colleagues who also contributed in one way or another to the writing of this chapter.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

Okpewho (1992: 2). Finnegan (1977: 2). Nandwa and Bukenya (1983: 1). Akporobaro (2012: 2–3). Ohwovoriole (2004). Leach (1977). Ong (1984: 41). Gunner (2007: 67). Abrams (2005: 72). Harmsworth (1968: 40). Cuddon (1998: 253). Ibid., 227. Nketia (1955: 23). Na’Allah and Ogunjimi (2005: 183). Okoh (2008: 86). Finnegan ibid., 153.

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17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

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Lindermann (1963: 703). Hertz (1960). Kamerman (1988: 66). Platt and Persico (1992: xi–xii). McCoskie (1989: 426–427). Mbiti (1955: 13). Propp (1984: 16–38). Uzochukwu (2010). Ohwovoriole (2010). Mbiti (1969: 58–64). Finnegan (1977: 147–151). P’Bitek (1974: 144). Ohwovoriole (2008). Babalola (1966: 27) Nketia (1955: 19). Alembi (2002: 37), Okpewho (1992: 71–104), and Agyekum (2007: 67–82). Ohwovoriole (2005: 64–84). Cuddon (1998: 742). Okpewho (1992: 72). Agyekum (2007). Finnegan (1977: 56). Okpewho (1992: 92), Agyekum (2007: 51), and Babalola (1966). Nketia (1955: 75). Nketia (1955: 23). Nketia (1974: 74). Feld (1990: 241). Uzochukwu (1981: 183–219). Awoonor (1974: 12). Ganyi (2016: 2). Awoonor ibid., 24. Okwach (1989: 29). Babalola (1966), Ajuwon (1982). Ohwovoriole (2012: 299). Nketia (1955: 23). Finnegan (1970: 89). Osei-Mensah (1999: 257). Lord (1964: 32–33). Okpewho (1992: 46) Lord ibid., 66. Dorson (1972: 11). Bauman (1978: 11). Nketia (1963: 56). Agyekum (2007: 54). Finnegan (1977: 81). Ohwovoriole (2012: 296).

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Acquah (2011). Agyekum (2007: 52). Adjaye (1997: 6). Mbiti (1969), Mbuya (1983), Wiredu and Gyekwe (1992), and Malo (1999).

References Abrams, N.H.A. 2005. Glossary of Literary Terms, 8th ed. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth. Acquah, F. 2011. The Impact of African Traditional Religious Beliefs and Cultural Values on Christian–Muslim Relations in Ghana from 1920 through the Present: A Case Study of NkusukumEkumfi–Enyan Area of the Central Region. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Exeter, England. Adjaye, J.K. 1997. Introduction: Language, Rhythm and Sound. In Black Popular Cultures in the Twenty-first Century , ed. J.K. Adjaye and A. Andrews, 1–16. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Agyekum, Kofi. 2007. Introduction to Literature, 2nd ed. Accra: Media Design. Ajuwon, Bade. 1982. Funeral Dirges of Yoruba Hunters. Enugu: Nok Publishers International. Akporobaro, F.B.O. 2012. Introduction to African Oral Literature. Lagos: Princeton Publishing Company. Alembi, E. 2002. The Construction of the Abanyole Perceptions on Death through Funeral Poetry. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Helsinki, Finland. http://ethesis.helsinki.fi/jul kaisut/hum/kult/vk/alembi/theconst.pdf. Accessed Dec 2017. Awoonor, Kofi. 1974. Guardians of the Sacred World: Ewe Poetry. New York: Nok Publishers Ltd. Babalola, S.A. 1966. The Content and Form of Yoruba Ijala. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Bauman, R. 1978. Verbal Arts as Performance. Rowley, MA: Newbury House Publishers. Beier, Ulli (ed.). 1966. African Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cuddon, J.A. 1998. The Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, 4th ed. London: Penguin Group. Dorson, R.M. (ed.). 1972. African Folklore. New York: Anchor Books Publisher. Feld, Steven. 1990. Wept Thoughts: The Voicing of Kaluli Memories. Oral Tradition 5 (2–3): 241–266. Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Nairobi: Oxford University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 1977. Oral Poetry: Its Nature. Significance and Social Context London: Cambridge University Press. Ganyi, F.M. 2016. The Rites of Passage: Funeral Dirge Performances as Artistic Modes of Celebration of Transition Rites among the Baker People of Northern Cross River State Nigeria. Madona: Journal of English and Literary Studies 2 (5): 94–113. Gunner, Liz. 2007. Africa and Orality. In African Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory, ed. Tejumola Olaniyan and AtoQuayson, 67–73. London: Blackwell. Harmsworth, J.R. 1968. Dictionary of Poetical Terms. London: Coles Publishing Company Ltd. Hertz, R. 1960. Death and the Right Hand, trans. R. Needham and C. Needham Glencore. New York: Free Press. Kamerman, J.B. 1988. Death in the Midst of Life. Englewood Cliffs and New York: Prentice-Hall. Leach, Maria. (ed.). 1977. Funk and Wagnalls Standard Dictionary of Folklore and Mythology and Legend. Vol. 1. New York: Harper and Row Publishers. Lindermann, E. (1963). Grief. In The Encyclopedia of Mental Health, ed. A. Deutsch and H. Fishman, 703–706. Vol. 2. New York: Franklin Watts. Lord, Albert, B. 1964. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Malo, S. 1999. Luo Customs and Practices. Nairobi: Science Tech Network.

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Mbiti, J.S. 1955. African Traditional Religion. London: Oxford University Press. Mbiti, J.S. 1969. African Religions and Philosophy. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Mbuya, P. Luo. 1983. Kusumu. Kisumu: Anyage Press. McCoskie, T.C. 1989. Death and the Asantehene: A Historical Meditation. Journal of African Historical Studies 28 (3): 481–508. Na’Allah, A., and B. Ogunjimi. 2005. Introduction to African Oral Literature and Performance. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Nandwa, J., and A. Bukenya. 1983. African Oral Literature for Schools. Nairobi: Longman. Nketia, J.H. 1955. The Funeral Dirges of the Akan People. Achimota: James Townsend and Sons Ltd. Nketia, J. 1963. Folksongs of Ghana. Legon: University of Ghana. Nketia, J.H.K. 1974. The Music of Africa. New York: W.W. Norton. Ohwovoriole, Felicia. 2004. Urhobo Dirges: Poetic Forms and Social Functions. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Lagos, Lagos. Ohwovoriole, Felicia. 2005. Performance and Its Aesthetics: An Analysis of Ile Uvweri. Ihafa: A Journal of African Studies 5 (2): 64–84. Ohwovoriole, Felicia. 2008. Laudation in Mournful Observance. ABIBISEM: Journal of African Culture and Civilization 1: 126–143. Ohwovoriole, Felicia. 2010. Eschatological Motifs and Socio-Spiritual Aspects of Urhobo Funeral Poetry. JISR: Journal of International Social Research 3 (11): 445–454. Ohwovoriole, Felicia. 2012. Enacting the Dirge: An Excursus on the Performative Categories in Urhobo Funeral Ceremonies. IJEL International Journal of Educational Leadership. University of Education, Winneba, Ghana 4 (4): 296–305. Okwach, L. O. 1989. The Luo Funeral Rite: Liturgical in Acculturation. Unpublished M.A. Dissertation, Catholic University of Eastern Africa. Okoh, Nkem. 2008. Preface to Oral Literature. Onitsha: Africana First Publishers Limited. Okpewho, Isidore. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character, and Continuity. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Ong, Walter J. 1984. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Methuen. Osei-Mensah, Aborampah. 1999. Women’s Roles in the Mourning Rituals of the Akan of Ghana. Ethnology 38 (3): 257–271. P’Bitek, Okot. 1974. The Horn of My Love. London: Heinemann Educational Books Ltd. Platt, L.A. and V. R. Persico, Jr. (eds.). 1992. Grief in Cross-Cultural Perspective: A Casebook. New York: Garland. Preminger, A. (ed.). 1965. Princeton Encyclopaedia. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Propp, Vladimir. 1984. Folklore and Reality. In Theory and History of Folklore, ed. A. Liberman, 16–38. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Uzochukwu, S.U. 2010. Traditional Elegiac Poetry of the Igbo: A Study of the Major Types. Lagos: University of Lagos Press. Wiredu, K., and K. Gyekwe. 1992. Posen and Community in Alan Thought: Ghanaian Philosophical Studies, 1st ed. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. Zelalem Zewdie, T. 2010. Thematic Analysis of Amharic Oral Lyric Poetry of West GojjamZone. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, Addis Ababa University. https://www.cam.ac.uk/affiliations/world-oral-literature-project. https://webaccess.psu.edu/?cosign-scripts.libraries.psu.edu&https://scripts.libraries.psu.edu/scr ipts/ezproxyauth.php?url=ezp.2aHR0cDovL2xpdGVyYXR1cmUucHJvcXVlc3QuY29tL2xp b24.YWNjb3VudGlkPTEzMTU4. https://www.en.Wikipedia.org/wiki/oralliterature. https://www.openbookpublishers.com/reader.php/186?186#page/1/mode/2up. http://www.foklore.missouri.edu/whatis.html. http://www.urbonlegends.about.com/od/glossary/g/foklore.html.

Chapter 13

Dreams Within the Context of the Basotho Culture Anastacia Sara Motsei

Introduction Many literary critics and most of the readers, in general, tend to downplay the significance of dreams in the life of African people in general, and the Basotho nation, in particular. This chapter, therefore, intends to investigate the significance of dreams with a view to yielding a broad understanding of the role of dreams in the Basotho culture. The controversy embedded within the whole analysis of dreams is that dreams are mostly interpreted on the basis of their meaning without delving deep into their cultural, religious, spiritual and ethical implications among the Basotho. The chapter illuminates the fact that dreams cover almost all aspects of human life. It also becomes clear that dreams are very diverse in terms of the meaning and not just monologic as most people tend to think. Dreams among the Basotho are polyphonic and cover a wide spectrum of references in a Mosotho life. In other words, the semantic reference of a dream has always been foregrounded whereas a variety of the sociocultural aspects in the Basotho life were backgrounded.

Aim of the Chapter As alluded in the introduction above, the aim in this chapter is to situate dreams within their proper perspective in terms of their definition, interpretation and cultural significance among the Basotho. The intention is to demystify the view that dreams are nonsignificant and have no particular reference to culture. It is also important to reflect along the line whether the same dream yields the same or different meaning A. S. Motsei (B) Department of African Languages, Faculty of the Humanities, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_13

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and/or significance from one society to the other. Ullman and Zimmerman (1987: 42) maintain that: “dreams played a central role in revealing the relationship between God and man.”1 The idea is to determine the revelatory power of dreams and how they portray or predict real events. Otherwise, for this particular research work, the prime focus will only be on the Basotho within the South African context.

Modus Operandi Theoretical Background This work will find its tune from Freudian philosophy of dreams. Freud opines that there are two levels of a dream, namely the “manifest,” or the surface level, dream content and the “latent,” or unconscious, “dream thoughts” expressed through the special language of dreams.2 One of the keywords within the Freudian philosophy regarding dreams is that dreams are expressive of a wishful thinking. For that matter, Freud posits that all dreams represent the fulfillment of a wish on the part of the dreamer. It is no wonder, therefore, that even anxiety dreams and nightmares are expressions of unconscious desires. Freud explains that the process of “censorship” in dreams causes a “distortion” of the dream content; thus, what appears to be trivial nonsense in a dream can through the process of analysis be shown to express a coherent set of ideas. The “dream work” is the process by which the mind condenses, distorts and translates “dream thoughts” into dream content. He proposes that the ultimate value of dream analysis may be in revealing the hidden workings of the unconscious mind. The stage where dream analysis is made is actually the period when the culture of the dreamer comes into the picture. This is assumed to be so because, at this stage, all the relevant factors that would be crucial in interpreting a dream are considered in order to yield a convincing justification in the analysis of a dream in question. It is precisely this stage that influenced the researcher to try to establish how culture is significant in the analysis or interpretation of a dream. It would be proper to try to determine whether the interpretation of dreams among the Basotho also presents a particular significance. For the purpose of this chapter, we would identify a dream, give a short explanation thereof, and provide the meaning of specific dreams and discuss the significance of the dreams within the Basotho cultural context. Delaney reflects on dreams that: “… these nightly phenomena were often imbued with substantial religious and spiritual significance and as such, played a central role in the spiritual or religious experience of most cultures and the individuals living within them.”3 Dreams could prove very valuable in assisting at least some individuals with the resolution of grief over a deceased loved one.

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Conceptualization Based on Freudian theory outlined above, it will be prudent to identify the concepts manifest level and the latent content level as important to have a basic understanding of the interpretation of a dream. We will recall that these concepts underpin the Freudian approach in the interpretation of dreams. We have already indicated that it will serve as the theoretical basis underlying this particular research work. Van de Castle opines that the latent content can be referred to as dream thoughts.4 These are dream aspects that consist of unconscious and often unacceptable wishes that are due to processed further through dream work. It is at this stage where dream work can be divided into four mechanisms, namely condensation of a dream, displacement, considerations of representability and secondary revision or further clarification of a dream. This latent content is always more or less determined by the personality, the age, sex, station in life, education and habits, and by the events and experiences of the whole past life of the individual. Delaney is of the view that the manifest level is perceived as a remembered dream or a disguised fulfillment of a suppressed or repressed wish. This is the surface level of a dream where a dreamer merely recalls perceptions of his unconscious mind without presenting the equivalent meaning thereof.5 To amplify the understanding of the interpretation of dreams, we deem it necessary to determine the meaning of the following two crucial concepts that would be paramount to reflect on the dream process in this research work, namely monologic and polyphonic. Within the context of this work, the monologic view will mean one particular interpretative meaning of a dream (one single voice) whereas polyphonic will imply diverse ways (multiplicity of voices) through which a dream can be interpreted. In other words, reference is made here of a dream imbued with a number of possible meanings. Therefore, the two concepts will be used as the categorization mechanisms of dreams in this work. Lodge makes a relationship between dream and fantasies. He propounds that: “…it was no longer difficult to recognize that night-dreams are wish-fulfillments in just the same way as day-dreams, that is, the fantasies which we all know so well.”6 This implies that dreams have something in common with fantasies in the sense that they involve an element of a wish, a desire or almost an anxiety to find or reveal something in life. It then ties up nicely with Freud, who also maintains that dreams are just wishful thinking that need to be unpacked by those who are skilled and gifted in order to yield a meaningful or a convincing explanation. The interpretation of dreams in this work will be made with the understanding that such an interpretation refers to a process of discovering the connection between the dream and the emotional life of the dreamer. Many people tried to define a dream. Dreams are perceived and defined as a reflection of our waking experience in a new form. However, from a medical point of view, a dream is caused by organic disturbances somewhere in the body, but more particularly in the stomach. Dreams sometimes are said to reveal the coming diseases in the life of a dreamer. The dream world is construed as the reproduction of

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the waking world. In this way, there is a close connection between the waking world and the dream world.

Operationalization Mind Map A.

Dreams that seek thorough interpretation

Dreams date back from the Bible epoch. During the Biblical period, Pharaoh had a dream that could not easily be interpreted by just anybody and in whatever manner. Freud maintains that a “symbolic” interpretation of a dream has been applied where Pharaoh’s dream of the fat and lean cows signified good and bad Egyptian harvests. With a “decoding” approach, Freud demonstrated how a dream reflects on the current life situation. In other words, the actual meaning of a dream with reference to the actual situation of a dreamer and what significance it has in his life. Having had an Egyptian example of a dream above, the situation among the Basotho is not very different. Among the Basotho, there are dreams that seek a thorough explanation as they are deemed to determine the future prospects of a dreamer. It is at this stage where people would undertake long journeys to travel to a place where they would consult an experienced sangoma or seer for meaningful interpretation of their dreams. Otherwise, if people do not do so they may be risking with their opportunities and sometimes regressing instead of attaining anticipated prosperity. Very seriously, if African dreams derived from the ancestors are not properly interpreted, that may even cause loss of sanity or even sudden death. B.

Dreams that do not necessarily need a thorough interpretation

Most of the dreams in human life belong to this particular category. It must be understood, however, that in this category an interpretation is also necessary even though it is not so pressing as in the first category. What happens is that a good interpretation determines a good focus and prediction in life. It is therefore important that a thorough effort is made to do a good interpretation of the particular dream. Sometimes people are aware of many different and often contradictory systems for interpreting dreams, sometimes within one’s own family. The following example reflects on three possible options in the interpretation of the same dream within the same Basotho society: Option 1: Ho lora noha ho bolela mahlohonolo a badimo. (To dream of a snake means blessings of an ancestor.) Option 2: Ho lora noha ho bolela hore ho na le boloi. (To dream of a snake means there is witchcraft.) Option 3: Ho lora noha ho bolela hore o na le matemona. (To dream of a snake means you have a demon.)

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Dreams associated with pregnancy Option 1: Ha o lora mefuta e fapaneng ya ditholwana (When you dream of different fruits)

This means that a family member or friend is pregnant. Option 2: Ha o lora o ja ditholwana. (When you dream that you are eating fruits.)

This means that you are the one pregnant or that you will be pregnant very soon. Option 3: Ha o lora o sesa metsing a tletseng seretse. (When you dream that you are swimming in muddy water.)

It means that you are the one who is pregnant.

Biblical Symbolism in Dreams Objects and symbols found in the Christian Scriptures that we are also part of a spiritual dream. Delaney maintains that: “… In the Bible itself, several references are made to the divine origin and nature of dreams” (e.g., Genesis 41:25, Acts 2:17, Numbers 12:6 and Job 33:14).7 The general meaning may not be the only meaning but is the most common possible meaning.

The Object Arrows It has been reflected on Numbers 24:8 that Moses wrote that God defeated His enemies by using arrows. The meaning of arrows, in this case, is derived or based on the battle. This particular meaning is then shifted in a dream to mean the Word of God. This implies, therefore, that arrows are associated with the Word of God. In other words, in this context, it then means that God has defeated His enemies through His Word or Scriptures. It again implies that the Word of God is as powerful to deal with an enemy as sharp arrows would do to the body of an enemy. This researcher also realizes a change of tone in a spiritual dream. The tension that was a typical experience in the case of a battle now changes to a humble tone of a change (though powerful) but without any pressure or in any way nerve-wracking to any individual as it would be in the battlefield. Likewise, the Basotho people associate meaning to arrows. In this research work, the metaphorical meanings associated with arrows in Basotho culture are discussed. For example, if someone passes away, that particular family is assumed to have experienced a pinching arrow. Again in another context, the Basotho refer to an arrow as the opposite of fortune in life, Basotho say lerato le ha le monate, le na le meutlwa ya lona (Though love is so sweet it has painful arrows).

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The Object Bread In Genesis 3:19, God said that man would eat his bread by the sweat of his face. This means that bread is a basic staple diet that sustains life, especially among empires of antiquity. We should pray for our daily bread. Bread can allude to the Word of God. In Matthew 4:4, this means that a direct reference of bread is, in fact, the Word of God. Jesus is also acclaimed as the bread of life. The meaning interpreted in real life is that Jesus is the source of the sustainability of our life. It is through Him that the human soul survives. The Basotho associate themselves with bread. Bread serves as Basotho cultural daily experience. It represents the availability of food and sorts of meal in abundance. Talking about bread among the Basotho, it implies fortune. So bread in this research work has been used as a metaphor that indicates a prime mechanism to signify the Basotho experience and the virtues in life. In other words, individuals who have bread among the Basotho are recognized as fortunate. For an example, they say: O se a sebetsa, o se a kgona ho beha bohobe tafoleng (He is now employed, therefore, he is capable to put bread on the table for a meal).

Cattle as the Symbolic Dream Object In Genesis 1:24, the cattle is presented as a dream object that alludes to your personal or business prosperity. Within the culture of the Basotho, the wealth and richness of a person is determined through the number of cattle in his or her possession. In other words, it is traditionally known that a rich man will be identified through the nature of his kraal. Dreaming about the cattle, therefore, can be interpreted as a symbol of wealth and progression in one’s life. It is imperative to point out at this stage that the cattle among the Basotho are symbolic objects through which the ancestors talk to man. In other words, for every ritual to be performed to its finality and successfully so, the blood of a cattle has to be shed. This implies that the unconscious message of the ancestors has been fulfilled.

Chain as the Symbolic Dream Object There are two possible meanings attributed to a chain as the symbolic object. A.

The leader

The first meaning could be symbolized by a golden chain. This particular chain symbolizes a leader, as reflected in the book of Daniel 5:7. The chain here actually serves as a crown to designate or identify an individual as the king of a particular

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society. In Basotho culture, the golden chain represents the dignitary, the hero, the conqueror, men of virtue and the one who pays way. So the one who is wearing the golden chain is perceived as having more powers than other people. In some cases, that person may even be presumed to have supernatural powers. It is, therefore, a firm belief among the Basotho that the leader, the one wearing the golden chain, is respectable and therefore is a trendsetter. B.

A binding mechanism

The chain, in this case, serves as a tool that is used to bind two objects together. This meaning is extended in 2 Peter 2:4 to refer to a situation where a criminal is bound in prison. Within the Basotho culture, a chain represents unity. It is, therefore, representative of the life view or the philosophy of life of the Basotho people (Ubuntu). As a distinctive feature of this character, a chain as a binding mechanism, it manifests itself in many cases within the Basotho idiomatic expression such as Kopano ke matla (Unity is strength) and Hlaahlela le lla ka le le leng (The Basotho people assist one another) as well as Matlo ho tjha mabapi (A problem is reckoned as societal problem among the Basotho).

A Desert as the Symbolic Dream Object In Exodus 3:1, the meaning of a desert can be interpreted in different ways. The various ways in which this symbolic object can be interpreted are actually informed by the culture within which the interpreter operates. It is no wonder, therefore, that in the Basotho culture, a desert can be interpreted to mean disbelief or uncertainty. It is obvious in this case that if you find yourself in a desert in a dream, it implies that you are not sure about your future in life. Furthermore, dreaming about a desert in one’s dream means that one is facing a temptation in the sense that one does not know how to approach such a challenge. It also means that one is uncertain as to what next to do and how to proceed. On the other hand, such a dream may be interpreted to imply being isolated and feeling lonely or standing alone without any form of support.

Dreams Based on Folktales There is a close connection between dreams and folktales. Most of the Basotho dreams are based on stories told by grannies around the fire. In the contemporary context, most of the written folktales are collected and compiled into storybooks for students’ and learners’ consumption as well as other interested readers.

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Hare In Jacottet’s work, the hare is reflected as one of the animals that are common in Basotho dreams and has an impact in the life of a Mosotho.8 A dream interpretation involving the hare always depicts it as a cunning and clever animal that manipulates other animals regardless of their body sizes. The hare ridicules and leaves the jackal burning to ashes. As if it was not the end, a hare play-fooled the lion by tightening its tail on top of the roof only to die later due to a terrible hailstorm.

Dinanabolele (Mythical Animals) The miraculous unnatural animals are usually presented in most folk narratives to serve as threats to young children when they misbehave. Being transcended in dreams in Jacottet, dinanabolele are normally used to present a moral lesson to dreamers about the dynamics of life.9

Dimo le Mmadiepetsane On many occasions, people dream about cannibals without any particular meaning. Jacottet turned this common dream into a story with a particular awareness message among readers. The message is to educate people that whatever evil thoughts or actions that one does to another will indirectly and without one’s awareness bounce back negatively to him or her.10 This means that the message is intended to caution people to refrain from plotting others with a view to do harm or have malevolent thoughts and intention against them. Little did the cannibal know that Mmadiepetsane will come to power and actually kill his mother when he thought that Mmadiepetsane herself will be the obvious victim. This again implies that a deeper meaning enshrined in a story as in a dream is only possible through proper interpretation and thorough understanding of a dream. An association of a dream with the current life situation is of an added value.

Phokojwe Jacottet reflects the life of a jackal as full of tricks to maneuver and manipulate other animals.11 Dreaming about a jackal always implies dreaming about a rogue and destructive person in your life. It depends on whether one would be able to come to grips with the finer details of a dream at the end of which he would understand the implications of a jackal in his dream. The latent meaning of such a dream is that

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one has to be careful and critical to life. It means that one may land in trouble caused by people he never thought would be dishonest to him/her if he/she does not pose questions to his/her life experiences and to people in his/her social interaction.

Kgodumodumo This is the story that Jacottet derived from a dream on Kgodumodumo, a gigantic mythical animal. Based on the story entitled “Moshanyana Senkatana,” Jacottet has reflected the fact that a good leader can never be degraded by ordinary people.12 A sense of humanity and ubuntu that is embedded in the leader will never perish due to ill-thoughts of some members in a society. Senkatana’s fame and legacy stood resilient even after being killed by a mob of people. However, his human principles and philosophy of life persisted to flourish and exist even beyond his death. It, therefore, means that one has to pause and endeavor by all means to unpack the hidden or the latent meaning of the text.

Animal Symbols in African Horizon Kriel appears to have done a survey that involves a number of animal symbols that are crucial not only in folktales but also surface as key elements in most of our dreams.13 The interpretation of dreams involving the animal symbols is based exclusively on the nature of interpretation of the role of the animal symbol in that particular dream.

The Lion It is generally known that a lion is brave, strong, ferocious and reckoned as the king of all terrestrial animals. In the case of a dream, the interpretation leveled at the dreamer is that he or she should be brave to face the challenges that seem to be implied in the particular dream. We, therefore, understand and learn that embedded within such a dream is a message that one has to be courageous in whatever trials and tribulations one faces in life. Otherwise, one would not realize the goal or dream out of fear.

The Snake A moral lesson directed to a dreamer about the snake is that he or she is made aware of meandering ways within which people operate. In other words, the message is clear that one does not accept life as it appears or as it presents itself, but one has

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to be critical and interrogate the experiences as they may not necessarily mean what they appear to be.

The Hyena Somebody may be presented in a dream in the form of a hyena or a glutton who does not envy but acts as governed by a lot of jealousy against other people. Such a dream seems to be a wake-up call to a person who goes all out in putting his trust unreservedly in another person.

The Baboon The philosophy of life of Basotho is that witchcraft is existing and very rife among the Basotho people. In the whole philosophy, the baboon is said to be the indication of witchcraft or evil spirits.

The Tortoise In normal everyday life, the mannerisms of a tortoise are associated with patience and dedication. A tortoise stands against all the mockery from other animals that it is naturally slow and may not achieve its destination in good time. However, it always tends to be persistent in pursuing its goals without hesitation or failure.

Dream Symbols with Standardized Meanings The following are dream symbols with standardized meanings in Basotho society. Their interpretations are normally obvious as already known in many instances in any Basotho society. While the meaning may be said to be standard and common, in this research work, it will be illuminated that the meaning of such dreams may go beyond the obvious. Ho lora ka sephooko ka hodima ntlo (Dreaming about an owl on top of the roof of the house)

May be interpreted as bad luck as an owl symbolizes bad luck (death or witchcraft) among the Basotho. Primarily, while bad luck may be the obvious focal point in the interpretation of a dream, it may not be the only meaning implied in the particular dream. On the other hand, it may imply that the ancestors await a particular reaction

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on the part of a dreamer to act swiftly to appease them; otherwise a worse scenario can be experienced. Ho lora ka mantle a motho (Dreaming about Human Feces)

May be interpreted as good luck /a lot of money /richness as human feces symbolize good luck. The implication of this dream can be that one has to have a positive view of life and have faith that the ancestors are liable to bless him with all the values, not only money. In other words, it works on the mentality of a dreamer to develop a particular attitude toward life. Ho lora ka pula ya sekgohola kapa ho lora ka ntlo e tjhang (Dreaming about heavy rain or a burning house)

May be interpreted as a death in the family. A heavy rain may refer to tears flowing at the funeral. Fire demolishes buildings and causes death to many people same as heavy rain. Ho lora o fuwa dijo hore o je (Dreaming about been given food to eat)

This is a sign or symbol of witchcraft or initiation into Satanism. Ho lora o ja ka letsoho le letona (Eating with the right hand in a dream)

This means success. The latent implication of the meaning could also be that one has to do things properly. A right hand is commonly associated with correctness or procedural. Therefore, by implication, this particular dream may bring about a strong motivation that one has to have courage that he is doing things right toward attaining success. Ho lora o ja ka letsoho le letshehadi (Eating with the left hand in a dream)

This means falling into the trap of one’s enemy and displeasing one’s friends. Ho lora o ja dijo tse phehilweng, mme ho na le nama (Eating a meal that is cooked with meat in a dream)

This means riches for a poor person. Ho lora o ja dijo tse phehilweng mme ho se na nama (Eating a meal that is cooked without meat in a dream)

This means poverty or it could mean devotion. If one’s meal turns into something better in the dream, it means advancement. However, within the context of African people in general, and the Basotho in particular, eating in a dream is generally perceived as dangerous. It can mean that your enemy is feeding you poison (sejeso/isidliso).

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Ho lora o tshwara mantle a motho kapa a ntja (To dream about touching human or dog feces)

This means death. In some instances, it, however, means that you become rich or find a lot of money. Here we mark a difference as opposed to the case where feces imply good luck. In other words, it depends on the state of affairs at the time of dreaming as well as the culture of the society of a dreamer for it to be interpreted as either good luck or bad luck. Ho lora o hlaselwa ke dintja kapa o dikanyeditswe ke mollo. (To dream about attacks by dogs or be encircled by fire.)

These are signs or symbols of witchcraft attacks. Such a dream is a reflection of danger that can be equated with danger as caused by witchcraft to an individual. Ho lora o tshwasa tlhapi e tshweu kapa e ntsho. (To dream about catching a white fish or a black fish.)

A white fish symbolizes good luck whereas a black fish symbolizes bad luck. It implies that somebody will die in the near future. In this case, we realize the role of color in the culture of the Basotho. It then appears that black is associated with bad luck (sometimes with evil) whereas white is associated with good luck. This is the reason the Basotho would talk about tsela tshweu (have a pleasant journey) when they wish someone a protected and successful journey. The understanding is that success is suggested to be embedded in white color— hence it is good luck when someone dreams about a white and not a black fish. Ho lora o tsamaya o tsotse (To dream about walking naked)

This means that somebody may be trying to bewitch you. In other words, this is a reflection that someone may be changing your mental functioning so that you may no longer differentiate between right or wrong.

Dreams with Opposite Meanings The following examples are aimed to show that within the Basotho culture and perhaps other cultures as well, there is a tendency not to confine the interpretation of a particular dream to one single dream. In other words, if it happens that a dream can be interpreted as death, it should not be construed that it will at all times, at all contexts imply death. It can as well mean the opposite in some instances under certain sociocultural circumstances. Ha o lora lenyalo (Dreaming about a wedding)

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A wedding may be associated with death as people gathered together for a particular purpose as they would do during the funeral of someone. This dream, therefore, can be interpreted to mean that you will have a funeral. Ha o lora lefu (When you dream about death)

Death may be interpreted to mean just the opposite of death, namely birth. Kriel talks about the dynamics of procreation among the Shona people, which does not fall too far from the Basotho.14 In this way, we realize that dreams may operate with opposites as in the case of death and birth, wedding (happiness) and death (sorrow). It, therefore, tells us that the interpretation of dreams of this nature may not just be confined to one specific optional interpretation but it is open to any other interpretation as being guided by the cultural inclinations of the people concerned. Ha o lora o nka mantle a motho (When you dream of picking up excreta or human feces)

We have already alluded to the fact that this dream may be interpreted to mean that a dreamer will be rich. Everybody despises human feces and would not (under normal circumstances) like to be seen to pick up such a wasteful human physiological product.

Extended Meaning of the Concept “Dream” In reality, people tend to extend the meaning of the word dream to the concept aim or goal. In other words, if one aspires to acquire a particular goal in life, then that is normally perceived as their dream. That implies, therefore, that a dream can be taken to be a goal that one aims to achieve or the career that one contemplates following or the intention to be fulfilled. Based on Freud’s argument discussed earlier, it had been clearly illuminated that a dream is perceived as wishful thinking and that dreams enshrine the aspirations of an individual. The extension of the meaning of the word “dream” is, therefore, based on the understanding that one aims to achieve a particular goal or would like to have a philosophy of life. In most cases, when people are engaged in rhetoric, or in any public discourse, then they would talk of their aspirations as their dreams. When President Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela agitated that people should work hard to achieve their dreams (in the sense of goals), he said: “A bright future beckons. The onus is on us, through hard work, honesty and integrity, to reach for the stars.”15 In this way, the late President Mandela gave people a moral and an encouraging lesson that people should exert more pressure in whatever they do if they intend to achieve their goals in life. President Thabo Mbeki reflecting on the future that looms in a dream for Africa and the African people said:

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Whatever the setbacks of the moment, nothing can stop us now! Whatever the difficulties, Africa shall be at peace! However improbable it may sound to the sceptics, Africa will prosper!16

Within the Basotho cultural and historical background, there had been a prominent prophet named Walter Matita. He predicted a lot about the future prospects of the Black man in South Africa. Walter Matita is a prophet from Lesotho who founded the Church of Moshoeshoe. It is, for that matter, not surprising to hear many people and mostly eloquent speakers in the history of the Basotho making reference to Walter Matita.

Observation The observations in this research work are accumulated and discussed as follows: Some dreams originate from folktales. Most of the folktales present the human as well as animal symbols that commonly emerge in many of the Sesotho folktales as collected by Jacottet. The interpretation of dreams involving these symbols is based on the understanding of the sociocultural significance of the symbol discussed. From the moral lesson that each folktale entails, an interpretation of a dream is determined. In other words, in some cases, the justification of the relevant interpretation of a dream is based on the understanding of the theme in a folktale in question.

The Symbology of Dreams Actually Underpins the Animal Folktales The research has made a discovery that animals venerated by the Basotho are common in the Basotho dreams and are interpreted on the basis of the nature and characteristics of the animal venerated. A dream presents to a dreamer the same kind of clue of the nature of people that he interacts with as the kind of animal that surfaces in his dream or unconscious state. It, therefore, implies that a dream illuminates what has been suggested in a dream clearly.

The Interpretation of the Same Dream Differs from One Culture to Another There is no level of rigidity in interpreting a dream. This is so because culture, morality and language aspects are factored in the interpretation of a dream. One other important aspect is that dream interpretation is a process and not a one-act

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occurrence. In this process, there are issues considered to try to verify and streamline the activity of interpreting a dream effectively and efficiently.

A Dream Is a Multifaceted Phenomenon Linked to the process of dream interpretation that has been discussed in the paragraph above, this work has made a discovery that a dream has diverse stages as part of its analysis process. The idea behind this is to ensure that the latent level of a dream becomes meaningful and accessible to a dreamer. In the case where a dream has many possible interpretations, dreams have a polyphonic reference and yield a number of possible meanings.

Distinction Between Dreams on Bad Luck and Good Luck in Terms of Interpretation Dreams based on bad luck do not need to be analyzed as they are straightforward in terms of their meaning, whereas dreams representing luck may fluctuate from bad luck to fortune. This means that they may start off with apparent bad luck but end with signs of good luck. It, therefore, claims a particular knowledge or expertise to deal with such dreams to realize the appropriate or convincing meaning thereof. If we have to flag some of the salient points regarding dreams in our observations, we can cite the following: • Dreams do not directly reveal our desires. They always aim to fulfill our deepest desires, but they often hide which desire it is. • Dreams originate elsewhere and have particular original sources. It, therefore, claims that a skilled dream analyst should be afforded the opportunity to interpret dreams. The content of dreams originates from three different sources, namely recent real-life events; childhood memories; and bodily stimuli. • The mind structures dreams by condensing, displacing and coherently arranging their contents (condensing—repressing your thoughts or combining thoughts; displacement—important matters are always represented in trivialities in dreams; and coherence—no matter how different the actual events and memories, your brain will always bring all your dreams’ elements into a logical sequence.) These are not the only observations discovered in this work, but, of importance, observations may be as many as the number of dreams themselves. Having had dreams operationalization in our everyday life, we can then focus on the final conclusions attributed to the analysis of dreams.

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Conclusion and Recommendation In this chapter, an endeavor has been made to explain the pitfalls in the interpretation of dreams. It has been apparent that most readers and literary critics concentrate more on the meaning of a dream without delving deep into its overall reference to the life of a dreamer. In the same breath, the research has illuminated the view that the meaning of a dream goes beyond its superficial meaning. This is where the difference between a monologic and a polyphonic dream came in. We can then conclude that a good interpretation of one’s dream is as important as the future life view of an individual himself. Dream interpretation is in a constant state of flux as it changes with time and context. It even changes from one cultural group to another and, therefore, cannot always be expected to be rigid. The research has revealed that the immediate or long past eventualities keep on coming to either the unconscious mind of a dreamer and if they are successfully interpreted, they end up being realized in a waking state of consciousness. Given this information as background, the power doctors or sangomas realize their callings in the form of a dream. The power doctors even dream of a possible remedy and the place where it may be found in order to attend to the patient skillfully. It then nurtures and nourishes the ideology of a dreamer to say that dreams should not be perceived trivially as people always thought. Dreams are geared to determine the future of the people involved. The power philosophy in the life of man in terms of the basic expectations and the future plans of the ancestors about an individual is made possible by dreams and the accuracy in their interpretation. It becomes apparent in this work that dreams often serve as sources of spiritual inspiration, insight and guidance, as well as feedback on decisions and ways of living. They even make it easier for people sometimes to come to terms with bereavement. This is so because they occur at a time when the ancestors deliver their messages to an individual in solitude and privacy. By virtue of the power philosophy (that we remarked about), consultation has to be made with the prophet or fortune teller to unravel the task of interpreting a dream decisively. In this case, this is the time when the hierarchy of power philosophy comes in with a view to give shape, direction and meaning to the life of an individual. This work has focused on dreams as pertinent human elements that provide more meaning to the life of man. In other words, in one way or other, human life is influenced by dreams to give more meaning and shape to the future as well as understand the present. Dreams are tied to a deep-seated understanding of the nature of human life and the human person. This chapter illuminates the fact that people would not clearly understand their situation and conditions in life without dreams and dreaming. Dreams constitute a valuable and necessary source of information, namely announcements of deaths in the family, announcements of future events due to come (fortunes, misfortunes or sickness). Dreams, the paper reflected, that they serve as a warning about the activities of harmful people and the spirits that are around, manifest the harmful activities of witches and Satanists.

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Of importance is to reflect that the paper has shown that dreams are seen as an important medium through which God (or ancestors) can speak. Some people sometimes tend to change their religious inclinations due to their dreams. Dreams serve as the unifying mechanism between the world of the living and the dead. In other words, there is a close connection between the living and the dead in terms of giving directives from the dead to the living and making requests to God, the almighty through requests directed to the ancestors. This close cooperation is only possible through dreams. But such dreams have to be properly, effectively and meaningfully interpreted by the traditional healers. One might think that dreams do not relate directly to the conscious waking life of a dreamer. It has therefore been apparent in this work that in dreams, various elements of the previous day, so-called day-residues are always present. However, the manifest dream level is not of special significance. The important dream meaning is revealed by tracking down the latent dream thoughts that are prudent to reflect on the underlying meaning of a dream. In order to come up with a palpable understanding of dreams within the Basotho cultural context, one has to focus on dreams beyond their conceptual level. In other words, one has to try to establish the effect of a dream within the culture of a particular society. We need to avoid looking at dreams superficially in trying to determine just their meaning but their actual referential or predictive content. It is of great importance to remember always that the meanings and the interpretation of dreams differ from one society or language group to another. In other words, it should not be construed that when a dream has death as referent in one language group, so will it be in another language group. The interpretations of dreams differ from one language group to another. Dreams have “a preference for using impressions from days just past, yet they also have access to early childhood memories.”17 It therefore implies that embedded within a dream are experiences of the past that only need to surface in the form of an unconscious state of mind. Many people resort to specific predictions documented in books as possible interpretations of dreams. These are not necessarily reliable because they are preprogrammed and do not consider different context, situation and time within which a dream is made. In this way, they cannot be totally reliable. Dream occurrences and dream interpretations are fluctuating and historic phenomena that may not necessarily be confined to a specific time and context. Dreams are always about the self. In other words, they make reference to oneself, that is, the dreamer himself. However, people should be aware that different layers of meaning in a dream surface in a different format than they used to be. This is the reason there should be a correct interpretation of a dream. Notes 1. 2.

Ullman and Zimmerman (1987: 42). Freud (2010: 9).

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Delaney (1998: 9–12). Van de Castle (1994). Delaney ibid. Lodge (1972: 39). Delaney ibid., 48. Jacottet (1991: 8). Ibid, 106. Ibid., 137. Ibid., 16. Ibid., 35. Kriel (1971). Kriel ibid., 83–85. From The speech of Thabo Mbeki 25 May 2017 (The future is in our hands#future Africa54). Lecture delivered by the former President of South Africa, Thabo Mbeki, on the occasion of the 30th Anniversary of the death of Stephen Bantu Biko in Cape Town in 2007 and his address at the Launch of the Thabo Mbeki Foundation at Sandton Convention Centre, Johannesburg in 2010. Freud (2010).

16.

17.

References Delaney, G. 1998. All About Dreams. San Francisco. CA: Harper Collins Publishers. Freud, S. 2010. The Interpretation of Dreams. New York: Basic Books. Jacottet, E. 1991. Ditshomo tsa Basotho Buka ya pele. Morija: Morija Sesotho Book Depot. Kriel, A. 1971. African Horizon. Rondebosch, Cape Town: Permanent Publishing House. Lodge, D. 1972. 20th Century Literary Criticism. New York: Longman. Mbeki, T. 2017. The Future Is in Our Hands#futureAfrica 54. www.thisisafrica.me. Ullman, M., and N. Zimmerman. 1987. Working with Dreams. Northamptonshire: The Aquarian Press. Van de Castle, R.L. 1994. Our Dreaming Mind. New York: Ballentine. Zondervan. 2014. Holy Bible. New International Reader’s Version. Michigan, USA: Zondervan.

Chapter 14

Drum Language and Literature Mobolanle Ebunoluwa Sotunsa

Introduction The talking drum is an hourglass-shaped membranophone made of a hollow wooden stock which is hourglass shaped with both ends covered by goatskin. Leather tension cords are used to connect the drum skins across the hourglass frame. It is known in many different African cultures by various names including: dùndún or gángan by the Yoruba of Nigeria and Benin Republic, tama by the Wolof of Senegal, mbaggu by the Fulani of sub-Saharan Africa, Dondo by Akan of Central Ghana and Cote d’Ivoire, atumpan by the Asante of Ghana, lunna by Dangomba of northern Ghana and Mossi of Burkina Faso, kalangu by the Hausa of Nigeria.1 Other talking drums include tamanin by the Dyula of Mali and Burkina Faso, doodo by the Songhai people, Kponlogo of the Ga people, Djembe of the Mandika people, among others. African cultural retentions in the form of drumming and aspects of the talking drum are found in the diaspora such as Brazil, Cuba, the Caribbean Island, Trinidad and in the United States. The talking drum is a major symbol of indigenous African tradition and an instrument of music. It has transcended a mere traditional artifact or a musical instrument; it has become an icon of African culture not for its music-making capabilities, but specifically for its producing speech—drum language, a specialized form of esoteric poetry which is both literary and artistic. The art of drum poetry is enhanced in some African cultures as experienced drummers perform short or elaborate poetry on the drums. In traditional Africa, the talking drum was used for communication purposes such as relaying messages, making announcements, announcing visitors to kings’ palaces and performing court poetry. Talking drums are the principal instruments at weddings, funerals, ceremonies and celebrations, especially in countries across West Africa. M. E. Sotunsa (B) Babcock University, Ilishan-Remo, Nigeria e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_14

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Contrary to fears expressed that the art might be dead in contemporary times, it has actually become more dynamic and adjusted to meet the complex communication demands of the contemporary age. For instance, since the twentieth century, the talking drums have become a part of popular music in West Africa, especially in the music genres of the Fuji and Juju music of Nigeria and the mbalax music of Senegal. It has also been adapted into the theater and staged or written plays. Besides existing traditional functions of drum poetry, there are other significant uses to which the resources of drum poetry can be put for purposes of compatibility and relevance with the sophistication and demands of the contemporary society. Drawing examples from various cultures in Africa, this chapter examines the forms, practice and principles of drum language in Africa. It further elucidates on the uniqueness and style of drum literature which distinguishes it as a distinctive form of poetry. Finally, the essay suggests potential contemporary usage of talking drum literature.

The Mechanism of Drum Language Drum language is membrionic verbal communication, which imitates human speech at the prosodic level. It is verbal communication in the sense that the language can be analyzed linguistically. As an instrumental form, drum language is a surrogate language; as such, it is based on a different mechanism from that of speech produced by the human voice. The drum is a transmitter. However, unlike other transmitters such as the telephone, radio and television, it does not transmit the human voice. Rather, the drum transmits aural signals in the form of drum sounds, which are decoded by an experienced or trained ear as a verbal message. Of all the features of human language, drum language largely appropriates the tone and rhythm. This is especially true for tonal languages. A drum is manipulated by the talking drummer to produce sound imitating speech tones. The armpit control technique can be used for smaller drums to manipulate the drum to produce tones. Here, the drum is held under the armpit and manipulated by using the underarm to press and release the drum to get the required tones. The drummer uses the other hand to hold the drumstick with which he beats the drum. Another technique is the thigh/hip control technique where the drum is held over the drummer’s shoulder with a leather strap. The drummer uses the underarm to press the drum to the thigh/hip. The drum can be beaten or played with a curved stick. To play a big talking drum like the ìyá-ìlù dùndún, of the Yoruba, the leather strings with which the two membranes and bells around the two edges are connected are gripped by the drummer’s left hand and by tightening them, the drummer is able to raise the pitch of the drum to produce the required tones. J.K.H. Nketia recognizes three modes of drumming in Akan society. These are the signal mode, the dance mode and the speech mode. In the signal mode of drumming, drums are assigned short rhythms or tone patterns, which are repeated over and over again. These patterns function and may serve as call signals, warning signals

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or signals which herald the approach of a chief: “texts used in the signal mode are burden texts and are rarely conceived as poetry.” 2 The second mode of drumming is the dance mode.3 Drums are organized in single, in pairs or in larger ensembles for playing music for the dance. The rhythms may be conceived in abstraction as pure music or they may have a verbal basis. The third mode of drumming is the speech mode. Here, the emphasis is on the use of drums solely for linguistic communication rather than for playing music for dance. The drum rhythms are based on the rhythms of specific words, phrases and sentences. The text drummed may range from single utterances to complex forms intended to be heard as poetry. They include simple short directions to a dancer in a dancing ring to poems drummed as odes to the unseen. Drums provide an avenue for creative verbal expression, an avenue for recitals of traditional poetry on a variety of subjects. In decoding the language of the drum, the challenges of interpretation and ambiguity may exist. Several scholars such as Ajayi and Sotunsa have noted that the problem is resolved as drum language is context bound.4 Even though there are words which share the same tonal patterns, the context of performance and subsequent phrases helps to clarify the drum speech. Members of the audience who share similar semantic experience with the drummer and foregrounded by the context of performance do understand to a very great extent, the language of the drum. Ajayi gives two conditions by which the problem of ambiguity and misinterpretation of drum language can be resolved. According to him: One who interprets must have a common semantic dialogue with the drummer over a conventional meaning attributed to the drummer. In other words, both the drummer and he who is to decipher the drummer’s message must have the same semantic universe which thrives on conventional usage.5

Secondly, Ajayi argues that “it is possible that the communication pact is clear as in the case when singers are the initiators while the drummer is simply an amplifier.”6 Therefore “it is the pre-existing semantic pact that prevents ambiguity.”7 It must be emphasized that even when an existing semantic pact exists between the drummer and the decoder, sometimes related, but not the exact meaning intended by the drummer may be assigned to the drum sounds. According to Ajayi, in this type of situation, “all the interpretations are valid and constitute part of the total meaning of the utterances.”8 For example, among the Lokele people of the Congo who use a two-tone percussion instrument they call a boungu or bongungu, the word for “bananas” has the same tonal pattern (three low tones) as their word for “up” or “above.” However, when these words are drummed in the context of a phrase, the difference between them is obvious. In drum language, vocabulary is always understood and defined in the context of well-known phrases.9 Similarly, among the Kele people of the Stanleyville area of the Congo, the words meaning manioc, plantain, above and forest all have identical tonal and rhythmic patterns. However, by the addition of other words, complete tonal and rhythmic differentiation is achieved and the meaning is transmitted without ambiguity. Thus manioc is always represented on the drums with the tonal pattern of “the manioc which remains in the fallow ground,” plantain with

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“plantain to be propped up,” and so on. Money, for instance, is usually drummed as “the pieces of metal which arrange palavers.” It is apparent that they not only make for clear differentiation of intended meanings but also, in Carrington’s words, are often “poetical in nature and constitute an important part of the oral literature of the tribe.”10 Finnegan argues that it must be stressed that “what is transmitted in drum language is a direct representation of the words themselves. This is worth repeating, because for someone unacquainted with this medium, it is not easy to grasp that the drums actually speak words, that from the point of view both of the analyst and of the people involved, the basis is a directly linguistic one.11 From this, it follows that the content and style of drum communication can often be assessed as literature, and not primarily as music, signal codes, or incidental accompaniment to dancing or ceremonies.”12

The Poetry and Music of the Talking Drum Finnegan asserts that although its literary significance has been overlooked in general discussions of African oral literature, expression through drums often forms a not inconsiderable branch of the literature of a number of African societies.13 The interrelationship between poetry and music of the talking drum foregrounds the features of drum language and literature. The talking drum is primarily regarded as a musical instrument, although it is an instrument that performs both literary and musical functions. But more importantly, it is for its literary functions that it is designated the talking drum. Many cultures regard music and poetry as sister arts. This relationship is obvious in African oral literature, where most poems are songs and vice versa. The talking drum, as a musical instrument, typifies the relationship between poetry and music adequately. The interrelationship between poetry and music is not peculiar to African literature; it exists even in Western literature. Scholars such as Carol Kimbali, Dianne Kersley Mccolles and Wilfrid Mellers, among others have studied the relationship between poetry and music.14 According to David Lindley: That some kind of relationship exists between the arts of music and literature is a proposition unquestioned since classical times. The nature of that relationship however has been a matter of considerable controversy throughout history. If music and poetry are in Milton’s famous phrase “sphere born harmonious sisters” then sibling rivalry has been a constant feature of their relationship.15

In the same vein, Peter Le Hurray and James Day contend: It is evident that these two arts (music and poetry) can never be as powerful singly as when they are properly united. For poetry when alone must be necessarily forced to waste many of its richest ideas in the mere rousing of affections …And music, when alone can only raise affection which soon languish and decay if not fed by the nutritive images of poetry.16

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The Style of Drum Poetry Although drum poetry texts have a verbal basis, its evaluation is based on all the stylistic and aesthetic features employed in its performance and not simply on the text alone. It is the sum of the literary devices, the performance techniques and the kinesis utilized in the performance of drum poetry that establishes it as a unique form of poetry in its own right. By virtue of its own distinct quality of production, drum poetry possesses special characteristics that engender its artistic value. It is significant that with or without an understanding of the drum language, people can enjoy the aesthetics of the art because of the rhythmic and harmonious arrangement of the sounds and the music incorporated into it. Audience participation is an integral part of actual performance and it characterizes oral literature. The esoteric nature of drum poetry deepens its aesthetic value in that drum literate individuals of a language understand the drum texts and are able to derive special pleasure. Similarly, members of the audience who do not understand drum language are often fascinated by its esoteric value and can learn the art of decoding drum language through sustained exposure to the performance. Furthermore, there are usually two levels of responsorials in drumming performance. The first level is by the co-drummers while the second level is by the audience who respond vocally to the “membronic calls.” The drum as a medium of poetry bestows on drum poetry a special quality which affects and defines this form of poetry. Another aesthetic quality of drum poetry is its musicality. The exact manner of production of the drum speech is different from that of the human voice when made to speak the same text in the speech mode. The talking drum brings out clearly lyricism or rhythm in human speech. The intonation of the talking drum is an elaborated version of the intonation of the ordinary speaking voice. Drum utterances and actual human speech are slightly different, especially when made independent of each other. Yet this minute discrepancy characterizes the drum speech’s uniqueness both in style and substance. Whenever the drum imitates the speech pattern, the consonants and vowels glide. There is no sharp cut as we have in vocal speech mode. The membrionic speech mode is indeed very similar to the vocal-chant mode. In both cases, orthographic and lexico-semantic rules take new dimensions such that only discerning ears can hear intelligibly. The following drum poetry texts in Yoruba language serve as illustrations: O . mo. e.kùn náà dà? O . mo. e.kùn náà rèé (Where is the leopard’s offspring? Here is the leopard’s offspring). In this text, the drum version employs vowel harmony. Instead of rendering ‘o.mo. e.kùn náà dà?’, the drum version harmonizes /o/that is /O:/and /e/that is /e/such that what is actually produced becomes o.mo. e.kùn náà dà? o.mo. e.kùn náà rèé. In addition, in the drum version, gliding of vowels takes place. For instance, naa glides into the next word whereas no such glide or vowel doubling occurs in the human speech mode. Again, the text A-jí-s.e-bí O .` y´o. làá rí, O .` y´o. kì í s.e bíi baba e.nì kankan (We only see those who endeavor to imitate Oyo people Oyo people are not imitators of anybody) serves as another illustration of the uniqueness of drum speech. In this example, the pauses used in the drum version are longer than in actual speech. Between a-jí and

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s.e, there is rhythmic elongation, which is not present in the spoken version. Again, gliding of vowels occurs in bí and O .` y´o. which becomes bí O .` y´o.. In O .` y´o. òs.e… one `. y´o. is transformed into notices a doubling of the vowel sound (vowel clustering). O O .` o.` y´o.. Similarly, baba e.nì kankan which is split into two words in actual speech turns into a single word baba e.nì kankan in drum speech. It is apparent that in drum speech, there is a conscious digression from the norm of orthographic rules to achieve a rhythmic effect, which is close to music. The variation in pitch, pauses, and vowel clustering and gliding as well as rhythmic elongation distinguishes drum speech from actual speech and endows it with a unique style of its own. Attempts by the drum, to render utterances in speech mode, normally end up as a near chant mode. Here is one of the drum speech’s uniqueness. Furthermore, the frequency or sound wavelength of drum and voice versions of texts differ in many ways. In order to explain these differences lucidly, it is necessary to define some basic terms, namely: frequency vibrations, sound, pitch, timbre, overtone, loudness and ambience. i. ii.

iii. iv.

v.

vi.

vii.

Frequency vibrations: This is another name for sound waves. The pitch of a sound is increased when the vibration is doubled. Sound: This is vibration transmitted from an elastic material or solid, liquid or gas (air) with frequencies capable of being detected by human ears.17 Sound can be distinguished by three basic parameters. These include pitch, timbre (or quality) and loudness. Pitch: Musically, pitch means to set a part or note into a particular musical scale. Pitch is often influenced by frequency. Timbre: Another name for timbre is tone color. It is a property of sound that distinguishes it from other sounds of the same pitch and volume. This quality of sound is heard from the presence of notes of higher frequencies along with the fundamental one. Timber can be regarded as the thickness or texture of sound. Overtones: These are extra high notes, which one can hear as a direct multiplication of the fundamental frequency. The fundamental frequency is the lowest level of sound or the normal level of frequency at which sound operates. Overtones are similar to echoes of sound. Loudness: This refers to the volume or amplitude. The intensity or the energy expended in creating the sound results in louder volume. “Intensity is measured in a logarithmic unit called the decibel.”18 Ambience: Ambience is related to the intensity and texture of the sounds, which often results in overtones.

Using the three basic parameters by which sound can be distinguished (i.e., pitch, timbre, loudness), the sound wavelengths of voice and drummed texts are different. There are usually more overtones in drum versions of texts than in the voice versions. This is as a result of the resounding echoes that characterize the membrionic feature of talking. Such echoes in voice texts are far less audible if they are present. In contrast, the ambiance is much less in the voice version. Similarly, the timbre of sound is lighter in the voice versions.

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Drum texts are often more lyrical because of the characteristic overwhelming gliding vowels and consonants than spoken versions. Very often, repetition is employed to enhance the musicality of drum texts. In the following Yoruba drum texts, there is copious use of repetition to achieve musical effect: Ó ti w’ówó lo. (2ce) O . mo.’lóòkú dà? Ó ti w’ówó lo. Ogun ò kó wa rí (2ce) Ará Ìbàdàn ò s.e.rú e.nì k´o.o.` kan Ogun ò kó wa rí (author’s personal collection) He’s gone in search of money (2ce) Where is the offspring of the deceased? He’s gone in search of money We were never war captives (2ce) Ibadan dwellers are no slaves to anybody We were never war captives In each of the above illustrations, the first line is repeated twice and it also forms the closing line. This makes the line a form of refrain. “A characteristic method of sentence construction in ìyáàlù drumming is that in which a consequent phrase is presented before its antecedent.”19 In these examples, the consequent phrases are repeated twice before the antecedent phrase is stated and finally the consequent phrase is repeated. From the poetic dimension, the repetition underscores the importance of these lines as the core messages in each of the text. Since repetition is used for emphasis, the messages in these lines are accentuated. In addition, the repetition extends the performance. Furthermore, each of the texts can be repeated several times since they are generally short. When this is done, as often is the case, the poetry is transformed into a song. In Ewe drumming, with the use of atsimevu ensemble, copious repetition is also obvious. Like other cultures, atsimevu comes in an ensemble which is regarded as a family comprising father, mother and children. Atsimevu is the father. It is the master drum responsible for giving signals to start, stop or change rhythm. It is imbued with a deep and loud voice, similar to the sound of thunder and can produce complex cross-rhythms and improvisations. Another drum in the ensemble which is smaller than the atsimevu is called sogo. It is regarded as the elder brother (or sometimes the father) because he plays the same support role as kidi (the mother drum) or sometimes takes over the role of the master drum whenever needed. Kidi is the mother and plays the supporting role. She talks and responds to the master drum and sometimes improvises on their little conversation a bit. Kroboto and tototzi are the twin brothers. They are exactly the same in size and shape. The only difference between them is the tuning. Kagan is the baby brother. He always plays the same simple rhythm throughout the whole piece without changing.20

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The following illustration highlights performance patterns and repetition of drum poetry in Ewe drumming. The father Atsimevu calls: Tso tso avawovi, Mitso ne mia bla alidzi, Kple dzidodo; tso, tso, tso, Avagbedzi nya de dzo (Stand up, stand up, warriors! You stand up and gird your waists. With courage, stand up, stand up, stand up! Hear of the battlefield; something has happened). The baby Kagan continuously repeats the father’s words: Mitso, mitso (You stand up, you stand up!) Kidi interjects: Kpo afe godzi (Turn to see homeward, let’s go back home). Kroboto says: Gbedzi ko ma do (I will die in the bush, at the battlefield). Tototzi supports him with: Koko dzi (For sure!) The dancers follow the father’s words and carry through the fight.21 Another feature of drum poetry is its performance. Watching the drummer as he engages his drum with the drumstick evokes in the audience a great deal of aesthetic pleasure. The drum beats and other acrobatic displays of the drummer synchronize and enhance in no small measure the aesthetic quality of the entire performance. The emotional excitement of both the drummer and the audience is consequently raised. According to Ibrahim A. Mukoshy: To acquire the knowledge of the gestures, one has to go through a process similar to the one of acquiring a language. One must internalize the sounds of the language and the syntax… they, also as a medium of communication have vocabulary, grammar and syntax. The vocabulary of gestures ranges from the blinking of an eye to the swaying of the whole body. The grammar dictates the combination of the vocabulary, and the syntax determines the semantic interpretation of the gestures. Gestures apart from using the body as an axis also utilize time and space as variables. A simple single movement or several movements of the eyebrow are distinguished by the amount of time and space they occupy, whether they both indicate simple acknowledgment signal or astonishment.22

The aesthetic pleasure, which the gestures and kinesis of the drummer arouse in the audience during performance sessions, is better experienced than explained. Dancing, another performance art goes hand in hand with drum poetry performance. As noted earlier, poetry and music are often intertwined in drum poetry performances. Very often, drummers and dancers share a close affinity during the performance for a good dancer serves as a source of inspiration to the drummer. The good dancer indirectly challenges the drummers to perform excellently. A good drummer makes a similar impact on the dancer, often; he encourages the dancer with his aggravated body movements. According to Omofolabo Soyinka-Ajayi, “Dance is poetry in motion. It writes its poetry in space, non-verbally and in rhythmic kinesics, using the human body as its primary tool.”23 The use of the talking drum usually involves at least four performing art media. These are music, dance, drama and poetry. The gestures of the drummers and dancers, as well as audience participation, make the performance dramatic in nature. Moreover, the drum itself is an artistic object. Drums come in different shapes and sizes. The type of sound(s) it is expected to produce usually determines the shape as well as the size of a drum. In addition, elaborate drawings and carvings are made on the drum. Some drums may also be decorated with shells or brass. The decorations on the drum add additional aesthetic value to it and enhance the performance in the fashion that costume enhances a play.

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Furthermore, the distinctive discourse of drum poetry forms part of its stylistic features. By discourse, we mean a systematically organized mode of talking. In the view of Kress Gunther: Discourses… give expression to the meanings and values of an institution. Beyond that, they define, describe and delimit what is possible to do and not to do with respect to the area of concern. A discourse provides a set of possible statements about a given area and organizes and gives structure to the manner in which a particular topic, object, process is to be talked about in that it provides description of social and individual action.24

Drum poetry texts are often drawn from the traditional lore like proverbs, praise chants, witty sayings and maxims, among others. The talking drummer, often, does not relay his messages in plain language. The principle can be illustrated with the example from the Kele drum representation of a simple message: “The missionary is coming up river to our village tomorrow. Bring water and firewood to his house.”25 The same principle applies to Yoruba drum poetry. For instance, if a Yoruba talking drummer wishes to greet a person through the use of his drum, he does not simply say e.` k’aar .o´(good morning). He would rather make an elaborate salutation, which includes reciting the individual’s oriki or lineage poetry. For instance, when saluting an individual named Gbeminiyi Akintunde, a talking drummer using the drum states: E.m´o. jí ire lópòó ilé Àfè jíire nísàal`e. Gbéminíyì o.mo. Akíntúndé Oò jí ire bí o? (author’s personal collection) The rabbit wakes up with fortune in its house. The bush rat wakes up with fortune in its house underground Gbeminiyi, child of Akintunde Hope you woke up with luck? Song mode: Àbùs.e bùs.e o.mo. Akíntúndé Àbùs.e bùs.e ee (author’s personal collection) All is well then, child of Akintunde All is well. The above salutation is obviously poetic. The evocation of the imagery of the rabbit and the bush rat waking with fortune (or luck) leads to the rhetorical question “Gbeminiyi child of Akintunde, hope you certainly woke up with fortune (luck)?” Implicitly, Gbeminiyi’s waking with fortune or luck is leveled metaphorically with that of the rabbit and bush rat. Again, the conclusion “if you woke up with fortune or luck then all is well” in the Yoruba language employs the use of pun and alliteration in àbùs.e bùs.e. The poem then glides into music with the repetition of àbùs.e bùs.e.

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Similarly, if a Yoruba talking drummer wishes to call someone using the drum, he beats: sáré tete tete wá(run quickly, quickly come). This differs from simply saying sáré wá (come quickly). Here again, alliteration “t” and assonance “e” are present in re, tete, tete. The repetition of tete also helps to heighten the poetic effect and lends a musical quality to the utterance. Among the Akan almost every ordinary proverb can be reproduced on drums, and in drum poetry in general, there is frequent use of proverbs to provide encouragement and incitements, but there are also extended proverbs specifically intended for performance on the drums. Thus the common Akan proverb, “if a river is big, does it surpass the sea?” according to Finnegan (2012: 518), can be played just as it is, or appear in the special drum form: The path has crossed the river, The river has crossed the path, Which is the elder? We made the path and found the river. The river is from long ago, From the Ancient Creator of the Universe.26 The Akan have a special series of proverbs associated with the akantam dance and especially constructed for performance on drums. These have a regular metrical form and are marked by repetition of words, phrases and sentences which create metrical and musical effects. In akantam series, each piece contains at least two proverbs. It is preceded by special introductory rhythms, and the proverbs are then beaten out in unison by all the heavy drums while the small drums provide the musical background. As the performance proceeds, the proverbs are repeated as a refrain, and the piece is concluded with special rhythms which merge into the introduction of the next piece in the cycle.27 The discourse of drum poetry is not limited to verbal texts alone. It includes stylistic elements such as dance rhythms and onomatopoeic sounds. In order to enhance the aesthetic effect of drum poetry performance, musical techniques are employed by the talking drummer. Some compositional techniques used in drum poetry performances include variation, repetition, truncation, elongation, tonal shift and improvisation. Although these are musical techniques, they are also employed in drum poetry to heighten the poetic effects and endow the poetry with musical qualities.

Contemporary Uses of African Drum Language and Literature Besides existing traditional functions of drum poetry, there are other significant uses to which the resources of drum poetry can be put for purposes of compatibility and relevance with the sophistication and demands of the contemporary society. This

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is because for any art to thrive and enjoy fresh creativity, it must be dynamic and address itself to relevant challenges of the time. Despite the advent of the modern-day media in Africa, drum language and literature in Africa is a unique system of communication which possesses some attributes that makes it relevant even in contemporary times. Drum language holds a special appeal for the indigenous people in Africa as it reflects the deep nuances of their culture, depicts their beliefs and connotes their ethics and ideals. Moreover, drum literature as an indigenous system of communication also uses symbols, values and indigenous institutions, which enhance messages’ effectiveness. Again, it projects African historical past, which is derived from the culture, beliefs and the way of life of Africans. Drum literature is rooted among the local people and respected by the people; drum language relies on indigenous technology, employs values and symbols that the people identify with. Bade Ajayi argues that the Yoruba talking drum can be used for social mobilization.28 The assertion is true for African talking drum generally. The resources of African drum poetry constitute viable mechanisms of mobilization and enlightenment, which appears to be under-utilized. As an indigenous medium, the resources of drum poetry are capable of being exploited more consistently and aggressively as a medium of mass mobilization in Africa. Its capabilities as a medium of education and enlightenment should be further employed to meet the complex communication demands of the contemporary African society. Desmond Wilson observed that government policies in the third world countries meet with little success because the traditional systems have been ignored where modern media have been employed exclusively.29 In contemporary Africa, it appears that the fear of cultural imperialism and realization of the limitations of exogenous mass media have helped in the preservation of indigenous media. Similarly, it is obvious that indigenous media can be more effectively employed for mass mobilization, especially in the African regions where the majority of the population have limited access to western education. The disadvantages of exogenous media include the fact that most people in the rural areas lack access to it, except the radio. Furthermore, the rural masses receive messages from exogenous media with a degree of suspicion because the channel is regarded as an instrument of cultural imperialism. On the other hand, the advantages of an indigenous system of communication lie in its familiarity to the audience, its credibility, as well as the potentials of audience participation. The resources of African drum literature can be utilized as an effective means of mass mobilization in both rural and urban societies in Africa. As a unique form of poetry possessing special attributes, drum poetry can be further harnessed and used to advantage by the African governments for the purpose of mass mobilization and public enlightenment on various issues. For instance, public interest, support and participation for electoral registration, census as well as enlightenment programs on agriculture and healthcare delivery system and related messages, can all be generated by employing expert drummers, who are educated, to create interesting and relevant drum texts which are capable of appealing to the audience, creating awareness and encouraging active participation of the masses in such programs. To accomplish

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this, direct performances would be necessary at various locations. Similarly, electronic media such as television, radio and films can be employed simultaneously to broadcast the drum texts and performances in order to reach a greater number of people. Furthermore, activities and programs of the non-governmental organizations, and international bodies such as the World Health Organization (WHO), United Nation Environmental Protection Agency (UNEPA), United Nations Development Program (UNDP) Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO) and United Nations’ Educational, Scientific Cultural Organization (UNESCO) can be disseminated using the resources of drum poetry which indigenous society is likely to relate or identify with easily for a more effective reception of their messages. The campaign against the global threat of AIDS and other deadly diseases may be more readily received through drum texts which succinctly capture the menace of such diseases, mobilizing the masses for children’s vaccination against the six killer diseases like polio, measles, tuberculosis, diphtheria and tetanus. Besides family planning messages and the baby friendly breastfeeding campaign can also receive a greater boost through the employment of popular drum texts as message carriers. Besides being an effective facilitator of change, the latent potentials of drum poetry can be highly beneficial to the advertisement industry. Few itinerant salesmen utilize the talking drum effectively for the advertisement of their goods in market places. However, modern advertisement industry in Africa can further develop this technique on a greater scale for the promotion of goods and services. Moreover, they may employ electronic media as channels of broadcast in order to reach a wider audience. Furthermore, there is a need for the mass media to consciously promote positive cultural values of the African nation to counteract the negative aspects of globalization. Olatunji Vidal argues that music is a powerful medium of expression and transformation.30 In order to achieve the above objective, the electronic mass media must develop and broadcast programs, which are rich in indigenous idioms. In addition, there should be more encouragement in the use of drum poetry as signature tunes for news hours, as well as other sundry programs in the electronic media, radio and the television. Similarly, in the film industry, more efforts should be directed in iconizing drum and drum poetry. Furthermore, drum poetry can be used for purposes of cultural tourism, which in turn is a means of economic development in Africa. If developed, the art is capable of attracting international patronage. Foreigners may also learn the art of drumming and decoding of drum language in the spirit of globalization. In addition, the music industry stands to gain if drum poetry and other indigenous idioms are integrated to a greater degree into musical forms like art music and church music. Popular music in Africa is already leading in the integration of drum literature into their music especially among the Yoruba and Senegalese people. Finally, drum poetry is a veritable means of oral history. With greater experimentation, its resources can be used to transmit the norms and values of the society and it can also be used to codify the achievements of contemporary society. Moreover, the abilities of talking drummers, as public critics can be further developed to enhance

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the accountability of government officials. For instance, current topical issues such as socioeconomic problems, political realities and current religious tensions can inform new motifs and themes, facilitating newly developed drum texts and performances.

Conclusion and Recommendations The chapter has described the principles of drum language and the literary, compositional and technical devices, which bestow uniqueness of style on drum literature. The study has revealed a range of stylistic devices and formal attributes which characterize and are peculiar to African drum poetry performances. In light of the above, drum language and literature possesses its own distinctive features and style. Style gives a work its identity; that is, it describes the peculiarities of a phenomenon. Some features of drum poetry as a form of instrumental poetry, identified so far, confirm its uniqueness. First, the drum is a membrionic media that broadcasts aural signal. As a surrogate language, drum poetry also possesses a distinct quality of sound. Drum poetry is at the same time highly melodious as a result of the variation in pitch, tone, vowels which are employed in its performance. The use of musical and compositional techniques such as variation, truncation, elongation and tonal shift in the performance endows drum poetry with an aesthetic quality even without a verbal interpretation. Drum poetry also involves other performing media such as music, dance and drama in its performance. In addition, the artistic form of the drum as an object contributes to its aesthetic effect. Moreover, drum poetry possesses its own discourse, which constitutes the drum lore. In addition, gesture and other forms of kinesis of the drummer inevitably increase the aesthetic value of drum poetry. Furthermore, the chapter suggests several ways by which African drum language and literature can be utilized and integrated with existing art forms in order to achieve greater relevance and fresh creativity in contemporary times. The use of drum texts in various current art forms such as the theater, popular music and the media is evidence of its potential relevance as art even in the present times. However, there is a greater need for development and modernization of the art of drum literature such that the art can be further explored, harnessed and exploited for the advancement of African cultures and indigenous technology. In light of the robust aesthetic experience which African drum language and literature produces, it remains a unique cultural asset, which must be further explored, harnessed and exploited for the advancement of African cultures and indigenous technology. Notes 1. 2. 3.

Ifegunni (2015). Nketia (1967). Nketia (1968).

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4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

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Ajayi (1990); Sotunsa (2009). Ajayi ibid., 31–32. Ibid. ibid. Ibid. Carrington (1949). Tulga (2007). Finnegan (2012). Ibid. Ibid. Kimbali (2007); Mccolles (1997); and Mellers (2008). Lindley (1990:1004). LeHurray and Day (1981: 39). Adesina (2000). Ibid. Euba (1990). Swiss (2009). Ibid. Mukoshy (1981: 258–259). Soyinka-Ajayi (1998). Gunther (1985:57) Carrington ibid., 54. Finnegan ibid., 518. Ibid. Ajayi (1992). Wilson (1997). Vidal (2002).

References Adesina, Mike. 2000. An Introduction to Music Technology. Ibadan: Caxton Press. Ajayi, Bade. 1990. Yoruba Drum Language: A Problem of Interpretation. Nigeria Magazine 29–37. Ajayi, Bade. 1992. The Role of the Yoruba Talking Drum in Social Mobilization. Research in Yoruba Language and Literature 1 (1): 1–9. Carrington, John F. 1949. Talking Drums of Africa. London: Carey Kingsgate Press. Euba, Akin. 1990. Yoruba Drumming: The Dundun Tradition. Altendorf: D: Grabner. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. African Oral Literature. Open Edition Books. Accessed May 24 2018. http:// books.openedition.org/obp/1176. Ifegunni, Jonathan. 2015. Hotels.NG Travels. November 27. Accessed May 20 2018. https://hotels. ng/travel/history-of-the-talking-drum/. Kimbali, Carol. 2013. Art Song: Linking Poetry and Music. ND: Hal Leonard. LeHurray, Peter, and James Day. 1981. Musical Aesthetics in Eighteen and Early Nineteenth Centuries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lindley, David. 1990. Literature and Music. In Encyclopedia of Literature and Criticism, ed. Martin Coyle et al., 1004–1014. London: Routledge.

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Mccoles, Diane Kesley. 1997. Poetry and Music in Seventeenth Century England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mellers, Wilfrid. 2008. Harmonious Meeting: A Study of the Relationship Between English Music, Poetry and Theatre, C. 1600–1900 . London: Travis and Emery Music Bookshop. Mukoshy, Ibrahim A. 1981. Emotional Symbolism in Hajiya Pampo’s Performance. In Oral Poetry in Nigeria, ed. Uchegbulam Abalogu et al., 258–264. Nigeria Magazine: Lagos. Nketia, J.K.H. 1967. Poetry in Akan Society of Ghana. In Introduction To African Literature: An Anthology of Critical Writing, ed. Beier Ulli, 23–33. London: Longman. Nketia, J.K.H. 1968. The Poetry of Akan Drums. Black Orpheus 27: 27–35. Sotunsa, Mobolanle. 2009. Yoruba Drum Poetry. London: Stillwaters Studio. Soyinka-Ajayi, Omofolabo. 1998. Yoruba Dance: The Semiotics of Movement and Body Attitude in Nigeria. Trenton: Africa World Press. Swiss, Helen. 2009a. African Music Safari. Accessed May 27 2018. http://www.african-music-saf ari.com/ewe-drumming.html. Swiss, Helen. 2009b. African Music Safari.com. Accessed May 27 2018. http://www.african-musicsafari.com/ewe-drumming.html. Tulga, Phil. 2007. Phil Tulga. January 19. Accessed May 27 2018. http://www.philtulga.com/Tal king%20with%20Drums.html. Vidal, Olatunji. 2002. The Institutionalization of Western Music Culture in Nigeria and the Search for National Identity. Ile Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. Wilson, Desmond. 1997. Communication and Social Action. PortHacourt: Footstep publications.

Chapter 15

Oratory and Rhetoric: Praise Poetry David Adu-Amankwah

Introduction Many of the ethnic groups located in sub-Saharan Africa (such as the Akan of Ghana, the Anang Ibibio and Igbo of eastern Nigeria, the Limba of northern Sierra Leone, and the Yoruba of southwestern Nigeria and southeastern Benin Republic) are well noted for their impressive mastery over words. Oratory in Africa is often accomplished through basic traditions and creative cultural processes that regulate and control the day-to-day behavior of the people within the communication systems of the various ethnic groups. This chapter explores the verbal artistry and expressive cultural heritage of the peoples located in Africa south of the Sahara, and royal praise performance among the Akan people is used as a case study, focusing on the role of indirection. Despite the fact that a number of cultures the world over cherish the view that ambiguity or obscurity of expression must be avoided as much as possible in communication, we sometimes notice in these same cultures a placement of high premium on discourse strategies that tend to avoid directness. The Akan of Ghana, like several other ethnic groups on the African continent, for example, believe that it is not everything that should be said in a straightforward manner. This, in fact, constitutes yet another confirmation of the view that mastering a given language is not merely knowing its phonology, syntax, morphology, and so on, but, more importantly, knowing when to do what with such a body of knowledge. The chapter constitutes a contribution to performance analysis, exploring Akan royal praise (especially the use of indirection in its performance) within the framework of the ethnography of speaking. The main argument, simply stated, is that Akan royal praise performers use indirection mainly to vividly convey the magnitude of power that the king wields rather than maintain and preserve face.1 This understanding helps reshape an earlier D. Adu-Amankwah (B) Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_15

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argument that Akan royal praise performers may criticize the king in public. Before dealing with the issue at hand, however, indirection, as reported in earlier works on language and communication, is discussed.

The Study of Language Use Ferdinand de Saussure, whose main ideas seem to have formed the foundations for the twentieth-century development of linguistics, notes that “language is a social phenomenon.”2 Saussure argues, however, that the linguist must take the study of linguistic structure as a primary concern, and relate all other manifestations of language to it. Indeed, as Goodwin rightly mentions,3 Saussure’s focus on the study of language as an autonomous formal system to be investigated in isolation from other social processes implicated in the act of speaking (a kind of leaning toward Saussure’s langue rather than parôle) set the agenda for modern linguistics. Prior to the early sixties, researchers had almost always analyzed language as an encapsulated formal system divorced from all sociocultural phenomena. Concentration was on the “cognitive system of rules for the production and comprehension of grammatically appropriate sentences.”4 Competence was accordingly defined in terms of grammar (linguistic competence)—i.e., the ability of native speakers to create and understand grammatical sentences—or, in Chomsky’s words, “the speaker-hearer’s knowledge of his language.”5 What the speaker actually does in using language, Bauman and Briggs rightly mention, was excluded from the purview of linguistic theory. But modern research trends point to a gradual shift from the focus on isolated sentences and features to the total speech act. Language does not consist of sentences; rather, it consists of text, or discourse—the exchange of meanings in interpersonal contexts of one kind or another.6 Moreover, the nature and role of speaking are not the same everywhere.7 A context of speech, Halliday mentions, is a semiotic construct, having a form (deriving from the culture) that enables the participants to predict features of the prevailing register—and hence to understand one another as they go along.8 Similarly, one of the assumptions Basso makes in his discussion of how to understand the way Western Apache people “speak with names” is that spoken discourse is a cooperative activity in which individuals seek, within the bounds of negotiated social properties, to accomplish a range of purposes.9 He mentions that spoken discourse is more than a chain of situated utterances. Language, therefore, needs to be viewed as social semiotic, interpreting it within a sociocultural context. In other words, there is the need, as Halliday puts it, “to interpret linguistic processes from the standpoint of the social order.”10 This, in a way, means looking at language from the outside inward, as against looking at it “from the language outward”—a phenomenon that tends to banish all reference to the social context of language—which had been the dominant practice over the past few decades. Halliday rightly argues: “We shall not come to understand the nature of language if we pursue only the kinds of question about language that are formulated by

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linguists.”11 This view and, of course, similar others expressed within the past few decades brought into being various approaches to language, including the ethnography of speaking, conversation and discourse analyses, and research on performance.12 Tremendous findings have been reported by scholars using one or a combination of the above approaches. Sherzer, for instance, operates from the perspective of the ethnography of speaking to demonstrate how language and speech play organizing and central role in the social and cultural life of the Kuna.13 Similarly, Heath employs the ethnography of speaking approach and discovers, inter alia, that detailed descriptions of what actually happens to children as they learn to use language and form their values about its structures and functions tell us what they do to become and remain acceptable members of their own communities.14 Along the same broad lines, Briggs, working within the framework of ethnopoetics and performance, indicates how the study of verbal art can contribute to our understanding of the nature of communication, noting that the comparison of systems of genres is essential to the understanding of the nature of competence that underlies performance.15 Similarly, Goodwin, operating within conversation analysis, demonstrates how talk is used to build social organizations. She indicates that “the analysis of face-to-face interaction provides an opportunity to study language, culture, and social organization from an integrated perspective.”16 I do not intend to bore readers with a rather long list; suffice it to close the debate by mentioning Duranti whose combined ethnographic and structural analysis has helped unearth the truth that rather than paying back the addressee for potential loss of face, Samoan “respectful words” may be used as an emergent pragmatic force which makes recipients “do what they might not otherwise do.”17

On Praise Poetry in Africa Finnegan discusses royal praise performance under “panegyric” (court poetry), indicating that it is one of the most developed and elaborate poetic genres of Africa.18 She mentions alliteration, assonance, peculiar syntactic constructions, and the use of special idioms, elaborate adjectives, and adjectival phrases as some of the major techniques that the composer of praise poetry is required to master. Okpewho similarly explores royal praise, mentioning, inter alia, that in the traditional society of the Mandinka of the western Sudan kings used to keep skilled singers (griots) in their courts to sing their praises, serve as advisers, and keep a record of events within the context of their praise poems.19 He also states that the language of praise is usually lofty and exaggerated, adding that people in many African communities seek to coopt the aid of a god by acknowledging its power and attributes in chants of praise. It must also be mentioned that some scholars have successfully analyzed praise poetry among several ethnic groups in Africa, using linguistic and literary tools. For example, Yankah, Boadi, Anyidoho, and Adu-Amankwah work on the genre in Akan,20 while Babalola analyzes Yoruba ijala.21 Similarly, Olatunji22 explores the

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features of Yoruba oral poetry, while Kunene23 discusses metaphor and symbolism in heroic poetry of southern Africa.

Data Nketia’s collection of an Akan verbal art form (royal praise), which he titled Amoma, constitutes the main source of data for the present work.24 I examine the text in its entirety to identify how Akan royal praise performers are able to effectively carry across the message of royal power to their audience. I must mention, however, that since stanza determination in the art form under consideration remains arbitrary and controversial, a stanza in the present work is the same as indicated in the original text.25

Verbal Indirection Verbal indirection has been and continues to be prominent in African communication. One of the main reasons for adopting indirect communicative strategies, Obeng argues, is to ensure that conversational participants do not “step on one another’s toes or threaten each other’s faces.”26 Put differently, it is employed to maintain and preserve “face,” which Goffman27 defines as the positive social value a person effectively claims for himself by the line others assume he has taken during a particular contact. Verbal indirection, Obeng indicates, is that communicational strategy in which the interactants abstain from directness in order to obviate crises or in order to communicate “difficulty,” and thus make their utterances consistent with face and politeness.28 Indirection, he goes on, finds expression in such strategies as proverbs, metaphors, innuendoes, euphemisms, circumlocution, and hyperboles. Obeng separates “proverb” from “metaphor” but, strictly speaking, a proverb is metaphorical in that its use normally implies a transfer of meaning from one plane to another.29 Yankah rightly states that the verbal component of indirection involves the manipulation of the linguistic code, where literal or delicate talk is routed through a linguistic vehicle partly for artistic effect and sometimes as a face-saving strategy in the conduct of culturally delicate business.30 Wagner, Ricoeur, and Fernandez have indicated that metaphor succeeds in creating meaning by transforming a people’s experience of the world, bringing different domains of experience into relation to allow people to see “similarity in dissimilars.”31 According to Wagner, the establishment of a metaphoric relationship between different realms of experience involves the replacement of “conventional meaning” with “innovative meaning” “symbolic obviation,” as he calls it. In another development, Basso has observed about the Western Apache people that “speaking with names” enables interactants to acknowledge a regrettable circumstance without explicitly judging it, to exhibit solicitude without openly proclaiming it, and to offer

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advice without appearing to do so.32 I draw on the above views to show how and why Akan royal praise poets employ indirection (especially through the use of metaphor) in performance. In other words, I explore how the performers say or announce royal supremacy and power without saying or announcing them. We now meet the Akan people.

The Setting: Introducing the Akan People and Their King The Akan are known to occupy greater portions of lands of southwestern and central Ghana, and parts of La Côte d’Ivoire. They may be classified, according to the dialect spoken, into subgroups, including Asante, Fante, Akuapem, Akyem, Bono, Kwahu, Agona, and Wassa. Akan speakers constitute over 40% of the total population of Ghana, and they primarily occupy as many as five of the nation’s current ten administrative regions.33 They are predominantly farmers who occasionally go hunting. Those who live along the coast, especially Fantes, engage in fishing. The majority of Akan people live in villages with a chief, called Odekuro (i.e., “owner of the town or village”) as the traditional head. The traditional head of a big town is called Ohene, whereas an Omanhene rules over a group of towns and villages. As a mother owns her child, so does the Akan Ohemmaa (lit., “female king”) own the state. The Ohene (“male king”) is appointed by the Ohemmaa as ruler of the state. The Ohemmaa is regarded as the mother of everybody in the state and particularly of the king, whether she is the biological mother or not.34 To the Akan, the most powerful being on earth is their king. This is not to argue, though, that he is the sole authority in the traditional system. In fact, he may be dethroned if his performance falls short of required standards. He is considered the greatest warrior and supreme commander of the traditional army. One of his numerous appellations is Okasaprεko, a compound which literally means he is the one with the last word in all matters concerning the nation over which he rules. His subjects look to him for guidance, leadership, and protection. To enable him to maintain the necessary self-confidence to play his roles effectively, there is the need to devise a means to lift him as high as possible. Praise poetry recital (what may be called ahempaeε) is one sure way to elevate the king.

Akan Royal Praise: Performance and Risk Involved Praise recital in societies is governed by rules of varying rigidity. Among the Sotho, for instance, the expectation is that all men should be skilled in the composition and performance of self-praise35 ; and in several parts of West Africa, a person who accomplishes a feat may have his chains of appellations recited for him by loved ones, relatives, or professionals.36

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Akan royal praise is sacred and a provision is made as to who performs it, when, how, and where it should be performed. Unlike other forms such as proverb, folktale, or riddle, not all persons are allowed to perform ahempaeε, and the few who are allowed, perform only on specific state occasions, such as festivals and durbars, often following laid-down principles. The task of ahempaeε performance is entrusted to abrafoO (i.e., the king’s bodyguards), who normally undergo formal and rigorous training. During performance, the king—gorgeously dressed in traditional clothing—is seated on a raised platform, flanked by his elders, facing the audience. To perform ahempaeε, the ObrafoO is required to stand in front of the king and raise his sword with the right hand, while the left hand holds the lower lip and jaw. He must be in a serious mood, with a voice loud enough to be heard by all assembled. He wears his cloth to the waist level, leaving his chest bare. In some Akan areas, such as Denkyira, reciters put on a special robe which, according to them, puts them in a different world.37 In fact, the reciter’s outfit and posture in addition to the drum and horn accompaniments form part of the elements that go to emphasize the dramatic aspect of ahempaeε. Moreover, the approved setting—i.e., durbar grounds, with the king seated on a raised platform facing the people—enhances the entire performance tremendously since members of the audience (i.e., receivers of the message of royal power and authority) are able to have a full view of the king (the object of praise). The king’s gorgeous dressing, heavily adorned with golden and expensive ornaments, helps to give credence to the claims of supreme power and wealth the performer makes about him. Furthermore, the state sword that the performer holds is the symbol of royal power and authority, and the picture of the sacredness and importance of the message is vividly portrayed as the performer supports his jaw with the left hand—the message is so important and weighty that the lip cannot utter it without adequate support. The ahempaeε reciter must, of necessity, be proficient in performance. There is evidence that in the olden days any reciter who faltered during a recital was executed.38 What obtains these days, however, is that the ObrafoO whose performance does not measure up to the required standard is immediately replaced, though poor performance hardly occurs. The abrafoO take turns in performance, and the end of a stanza is often confirmed by drumming and the blowing of horns. During this interlude, the ObrafoO usually dances around and displays with his sword. This, Yankah points out, is to enable him to collect his thoughts together to recite the next stanza or to pave the way for the next reciter.39 Generally, the stanzas do not follow any fixed sequence during recital. However, Yankah hints that among the Denkyiras, there is a specific stanza which ends the day’s ceremony. Until this stanza is recited, the king does not rise to go.

The Theme of Praise Indeed, ahempaeε primarily aims at projecting the king (in praise) as extraordinarily superhuman, and this the reciter achieves mainly through his artistic use

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of language in performance. Basso mentions in regard to the Western Apache people that discourse or conversation consists in a running exchange of “depicted pictures and pictured depictions, a reciprocal representation and visualization of the ongoing thoughts of participating speakers.”40 This is equally true of the ahempaeε performer, who constantly provides his audience with different shades of pictures during performance. To enhance the superhuman nature of the king, the reciter sometimes presents him as a controversial figure. An enigma of some sort is thus brought to the fore, and the audience becomes unsure as to whether the results of the actions attributed to the hero are beneficial or rather detrimental to his subjects. The question now is, if the latter should eventually be established as true, can the hero continue to receive praises? Perhaps a few exemplifications from the text will help clarify the point. Let us consider stanza 32, reproduced below: C C C

1. no no! 2. manso-nyennyen ee! 3. manso-nyennyen ee! 4. Wo ne sεe Tutu twe manso a, wobO nyennyen oo. 5. korO-man-so-fone a wo ne no twe manso a, wofOn. 6. pusu-adum-ako a yεto no nkwanta a, yεbisa no. 7. Ohwintinpraku a Ote abunu te akOkOO. 8. Opuroposi-prεmpε a Obu adupOn nkOn. 9. sεe Tutu, wobu anini kOn mu. 10. Wobu anini k‫כ‬n mu, εdε˜e! 11. Apampammire a εsi abura, 12. Kosua di ayiye. (Nketia 1978, italics and numbering mine) C

C C C

1. Here he is! 2. The troublesome litigant! 3. The troublesome litigant! 4. If you enter into litigation with sεe Tutu, you are doomed. 5. The notorious sojourner who wears out his adversaries. 6. He who shakes odum trees for use as ammunition. He is the one to give directions at cross-roads. 7. The ohwintinpraku trap that plucks the unripe and the ripe. 8. The mighty thunder that breaks the top of mighty trees. 9. sεe Tutu, you break male necks 10. You break male necks, quick! 11. The apampammire weed that blocks the well, 12. The egg is used for sacrifice.41 C

C

C

Here, sεe Tutu,42 the hero, is being portrayed as a strong and brave man—he wears out his adversaries and breaks male necks. Whoever provokes him is doomed. He is a brave warrior and, therefore, a big asset to his people. At crossroads, he is there to direct and the mighty odum tree is his weapon of war. Nevertheless, like the powerful

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ohwintinpraku, he destroys indiscriminately. The original expression used (in line 7) is, Ohwintinpraku a Ote abunu te akOkO‫כ‬. The literal translation may be given as Ohwintinpraku |

Ote

a |

(“Ohwintinpraku” te

| that

abunu |

he plucks

unripe [pl.]

akOkOO

|

|

plucks ripe [pl.])

The ohwintinpraku trap (snare) is very powerful because when it snaps back, it demolishes everything in its way. If it is this powerful object that the hero is being compared to, then all we can say is that everybody trembles when he acts. The fact that he plucks both the ripe and unripe suggests that nobody is spared. Whoever falls in his trap is sure to suffer. Can one be secure in a relationship with such a fellow then? It becomes all the more difficult to approach him since one can never be sure when one will incur his displeasure. The hero, thus, becomes a controversial figure—he is the brave warrior who is undoubtedly a big asset to the nation. But is he not a liability at the same time since he cannot forgive anybody who offends him? For an answer, there is the need to go deeper than the surface structure. Among some African groups, such as the Swazi and Ngoni, the praise-singer may include lines which are critical of the leader’s personality or actions, but the same cannot be said of the Akans, as regards ahempaeε performance.43 The reason is not difficult to find: It is clear that ahempaeε reciters are not permitted to alter the content or historical facts, though they are at liberty to introduce stylistic variations. This makes it difficult to accept any view which seeks to support the reciter’s freedom to make negative remarks about the king. As mentioned earlier on, any reciter who faltered in performance in the olden days was executed, and it is unlikely that any of them would risk his dear life. The reciter’s main task is to depict the physical power and strength of the king. Let us consider stanza 26, reproduced below. C C

1. no no! 2. kwampresu-kwmpresu a Oyε n’abura a, obi ntumi nsa bi nnom. 3. Anomaa birekuo a ne ntakra bu abugyen. 4. Pε-nsεm-ako e! 5. sεe Tutu, wotia dadeε so a, εbu asiriasa oo, 6. kafrafra! (Nketia 1978, italics and numbering mine) C C

Here he is! The swift-flowing river whose well none can draw water from. The clockbird with brittle feathers. He who always looks for a pretext to wage war sεe Tutu, when you step on a metal, it breaks in three pieces, Apologies! C

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

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C

sεe Tutu, in the above stanza, is portrayed as a powerful, strong, and brave man, but it appears he is at the same time seen as a clear example of a wicked man. We might be tempted to accept this view, for line 2 states that the hero is a swift-flowing river whose well none can draw water from. You make the attempt, and you give him a pretext to wage war. Nevertheless, this should not be taken to mean wickedness at all. Rather, it is a conscious effort to lift the king onto a plane where he will be different from all other people. He is so strong and powerful that nobody can share in his privileges. The reciter is only leading his audience to “a more profound kind of truth which eludes bald factual statement.”44 Yankah quotes a similar ahempaeε stanza from the court of the King of Denkyira Traditional State, in which Bediako (the hero) orders Okoduadu Sampa, a great warrior, to be murdered, and later conspires with a subject to liquidate a Yaa Yεbi.45 However, when the murder was effected, Bediako denied his involvement. It appears on the surface that there is “immunity” of a sort which allows the reciter to freely criticize the king in public.46 But, from the reasons given earlier, we know this is only a calculated attempt to make the king’s superhuman nature more complex. The king becomes all the more extraordinary when his actions remain unpredictable. It must be borne in mind that whatever happens, praise remains the predominant issue in ahempaeε, as clearly seen in the stanzas quoted so far.

Analysis of Content The content of ahempaeε is a catalog of selected “indirect” strategies that primarily aim at highlighting the uniqueness of the king. The rather numerous techniques include references to notable historical events, grammatical formations, introduction of imaginative dialogues, extensive use of laudatory epithets,47 and metaphor. We now examine selected examples of these features.

Notable Historical Events Just as is found in the praise poems of other ethnic groups, such as the Tswana of South Africa, some ahempaeε stanzas allude to notable Akan historical events.48 For example, in stanza 13 we read, Sεε anka yεrekurukuru, yεrekrakra, yεrekO man bεn? YεrekO Banna Abenase OnkOe, wawie kunafoO (Nketia 1978, italics and numbering mine) Where are we hurrying to? To Banna Abenase He hasn’t gone yet, but he has created several widows already.

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The mention of “Banna Abenase” brings to mind the Asante victory over Banna in the eighteenth century. In this war, the Asante army conquered and murdered Worosa, King of Banna.49 Similarly, stanza 45 brings to memory an encounter between Tibo and Kwaku ApotO50 on the one hand and the Asantehene (King of Asante) on the other.51 The question to ask at this point is, why this reference to history? Two main reasons may be given for the reference to historical events in ahempaeε poetry: First, the selected events often depict the bravery (usually in war) of the kings. When such events are mentioned, the kings involved, if they are still alive, are made to feel proud. If they are dead, their successors claim and exercise the glory on their behalf.52 Moreover, these historical events not only remind the people of their strength as a nation and urge them on to struggle for greater victories, but also, they help the young ones to know about important events in the nation’s history. Incidentally, these points and several others elude us when we separate ahempaeε lines from the sociopolitical and historical facts surrounding them.

Laudatory Epithets Laudatory epithets, used to refer to the object of praise, are a common feature in ahempaeε stanzas. Of course, the number of epithets varies from one stanza to another but a stanza can hardly be complete, without them. A few examples may throw more light on this point. Stanza 21 (Nketia 1978) includes the following: i. Fiti-Adu ee! ii. se: Agya, nnunu me, Na sεe Tutu amfiri me yiye. iii. Mese meresO me tuo mu, na sεe Tutu afiti. C

C

C

(i. ii.

The fast one! He says: Don’t blame me, Father, For sεe Tutu took me unawares. sεe Tutu appeared before I could lay hands on my gun.) C

C

iii. C

Here, sεe Tutu is called Fiti-Adu (the fast one) who gets to his destination as soon as he starts off (i.e., “Ofiti ara a, na Oadu”). He is so fast that he often takes his challengers unawares. In line (ii), a victim explains that he is not to blame, for the hero—as usual—took him by surprise. He was not even given the chance to hold and use his gun. Stanza 42 (Nketia 1978) includes the following lines: C C C C

sensereman asi nsuo mu asi bo‫ כ‬so ama nan ayera i. ii. tweremp‫כ‬n so homa a ‫כ‬sono atwεn no ak‫כ‬, atwεn no aba, pèm-mená-mu a ‫כ‬tu abε aseε, iii iv. som-panin a asomufi asiane no v. Opirimu Ankoma Tibrεkεsε,

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(i. The confusionist has stepped on a stone in the river, leaving no room for any other leg. ii. The trustworthy one whose assistance the elephant has enjoyed in its journey to and from home, iii. The great elephant that uproots the palm tree iv. The king of elephants, surrounded by its subordinates v. Ankoma, the stout one with unkempt hair,) In the above, we may identify laudatory epithets as follows: C C C C

‘ sensereman’ ‘ tweremp‫כ‬n’ ‘ pèm-mená-mu’ ‘ som-panin’ and ‘Opirimu Ankoma Tibr εkεsε’ C

“ sensereman” is a multisyllabic epithet formed from the items “sensere” (disorganize) and “man” (nation/state). This suggests that the hero is able to disorganize a whole nation. He is a confusionist who is feared by all. It is not surprising, therefore, that no other foot can step where the hero has stepped. Similarly, twerempOn53 is derived from “twere” (lean on) and “pOn” (fall off). The presence of the negative marker “m” only indicates that whoever leans on the hero does not fall off. In other words, he is trustworthy. The line continues to state that even the elephant (king of all Akan beasts) has been dependent on the hero. This is evident from the common saying “εsono akyi nni aboa” (there is no other animal greater than the elephant). If a whole “king” has been dependent on somebody, then the latter must be a prominent figure. That is the hero! “ pem-mena-mu” is the appellation of the elephant, derived from “pe” (to thrust), “amena” (hole) and “mu” (whole/full). This appellation is drawn from what happens when the elephant steps on the ground. Because of its weight, a big hole is left behind wherever its foot touches. In other words, Opem a, amena mu (its thrust creates a full hole). This comparison elaborately portrays the hero’s strength, power, and might. som-panin—derived from εsono (elephant) and panin (elder)—vividly describes the hero as a king surrounded by his subordinates. Tibrεkεsε (unkempt hair) is reminiscent of the king’s headgear, the decorations on which make it resemble unkempt hair. These decorations are meant to make the king appear fearsome. The inclusion of various laudatory epithets in ahempaeε stanzas, no doubt, helps to project the hero’s greatness and strength. Moreover, as Olatunji points out, this helps eliminate monotony.54 We can also agree with Finnegan who states that some poems seem to make special use of these praise names, but in all of them, the inclusion of these colorful epithets adds both grandeur and imagery to the verse.55 C

C

C

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D. Adu-Amankwah

Grammatical Formations Nominalization and relativization56 constitute two of the major grammatical formations that are extensively employed in ahempaeε performance, often to highlight the hero’s prowess. Let us consider specific examples of these devices from the text, beginning with nominalization. The opening lines of stanza 30 (Nketia 1978) are as follows: no no! Otutu-k‫כ‬b‫כ‬-so‫ כ‬ee! Otutu-k‫כ‬b‫כ‬-so‫ כ‬ee! sεe Tutu, woatutu Dankyira AkObO Wasa oo–! C

Here he is! Uprooter-and-piler! Uprooter-and-piler! sεe Tutu, you have uprooted (the nation of) Dankyira and piled it up on Wasa! C

1. 2. 3. 4.

C

1. 2. 3. 4.

The nominal compound otutu-kObO-soO occurs in lines 2 and 3. This is derived from the underlying construction tutu kObO so (uproot and pile up on another). In other words, sεe Tutu, the hero, can and does uproot something (which the audience is to see later) from its original place to another place. The habitual aspect of the verb used is very significant. This suggests that it is the habit of the hero to “uproot and pile up on another” and not simply that he did it once and stopped. Line 4, which immediately follows, serves to throw more light on the compound. It is clear that the compound represents the hero’s action—he has succeeded in uprooting Dankyira (a whole nation) and piling it up on Wasa (another nation) and, therefore, qualifies to be called “the one who uproots and piles up on another.”57 If a single person has been able to move a whole nation to another place forcibly, then that person must be extraordinarily brave and strong. This person is the hero, who has no equal under the sun. Another interesting piece to consider regarding nominalization in ahempaeε may be stanza 56 (Nketia 1978), which is reproduced below. C

C

1. no no! 2. Okuntun-kantan-mmoho ee! 3. Okuntun-kantan-mmoho ee! 4. sεe Tutu, woma onipa yε kuntunn, 5. Na woama wayε bohoo, 6 Na woama yεafrε no Okuntun-kantan-mmoho. C

1. 2. 3.

Here he is! The “okuntun-kantan-mmoho”! The “okuntun-kantan-mmoho”!

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309

C

4. sεe Tutu, you cause a person to be bloated, 5. Then you cause him to be weak. 6. So, he will be called (i.e. “people will call him”) “okuntun-kantan-mmoho,” the bloated, stretched and weakened one. The whole stanza is woven around the nominal compound okuntun-kantan-mmoho which only represents how far the hero can go in treating anybody who dares challenge him: The challenger becomes bloated only to be weakened later, and the hero is the sole cause of all this, hence his appellation okuntun-kantan-mmoho. However, line 6 seems to introduce a controversy since the objective pronoun “no” (him) suggests that the epithet refers to the challenger. Meanwhile, the opening line makes the audience aware that the hero is the one being introduced. This controversy is yet another strategy meant to heighten the hero’s unpredictable nature. On relativization, we may consider stanza 24 (Nketia 1978), which includes the following lines. i. Osunsum Akwa a wo ne no di asunsumasunsum a, Osum wo to pàm-awúo so. ii. kwadum Asamoa a ‫כ‬hwan afidie ma tor‫כ‬m-bedeε k‫_כ‬adidie. C

(i. The “free-pusher” who pushes his opponents onto the thorns of dry “pam” trees. ii. Asamoa of kwadum who snaps the trap (snare) to release the female antelope to move out for food.) C

We may identify the use of relative clause constructions as follows: i. Osunsum Akwa

ii. ‫כ‬kwadum Asamoa

[a wo ne no di asunsumasunsum a, Osum wo to pam-awuo so] (who pushes his opponents onto the thorns of dry “pam” trees) | RELATIVE CLAUSE [a ‫כ‬hwan afidie ma tor ‫כ‬m-bedeε k‫ כ‬adidie] (who snaps the trap to release the female antelope to move out for food) | RELATIVE CLAUSE

In (i), a relative clause is introduced after the head noun phrase (NP) “Osunsum Akwa” (the “free-pusher”). This NP depicts the hero as a strong man who freely pushes his opponents. But the reciter does not end there. He introduces the relative clause construction to further strengthen what the hero can do: His pushing lands the opponents on the sharp thorns of the dry “pam” tree. Similarly, the relative clause construction in (ii) paints the picture of a brave man who sets weaklings (such as the female antelope) free from trouble. This aims at bringing out the powerful and sympathetic nature of the hero (referred to as Okwadum Asamoa)—he snaps the

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trap (snare) with ease to release the rather weak female antelope. In other words, the hero is the savior of the afflicted. We now turn our attention to the use of imaginative dialogues in ahempaeε performance.

Imaginative Dialogues Another observable strategy usually employed by the ahempaeε reciter involves the introduction of dialogues with overwhelmingly lurid scenes about the hero’s military exploits. Such scenes usually seek to vividly demonstrate the magnitude of doom the hero’s victims have to suffer. The opening lines of stanza 65 (repeated below) exemplify this. C C

se: “Buoo e!” se: “Akosua e! Adwoa e! Fa me ntamaban brε me oo! se: “Ad εn o?” se: “Ny ε asεm a εbaa nnaano Na ebi aba bio!” se: “Eei! Sεε wo ab‫כ‬fra yi woyε abOfra pa! Kane a meyε pipiripie mantumi no. mine) C C C

(Nketia 1978, italics and

He says: “Alas!” He says: “Akosua! Adwoa! Get me my loin cloth! He says: “Why?” He says: “What happened three days ago has happened again!” He says: “Hey! You’re only a kid! I couldn’t overcome him even when I was stout. In this stanza, the reciter introduces a dialogue between the hero’s latest victim and an earlier one. The latest victim rushes home, totally confused from a confrontation with the hero. The other victim confesses that even when he was stout, he could not stand the hero’s strength and that the latest victim has only been childish to decide to challenge the hero. A scene like this, no doubt, highlights the hero’s extraordinary powers.58 As we draw to a close of our discussions, we do not want to forget metaphor proper as a powerful tool in the hands of Akan royal praise performers.

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Metaphor The use of metaphor is a common phenomenon in ahempaeε recitation (as noticed in the stanzas considered so far). The hero may be associated with animals, natural phenomena such as thunder, lightning, storm, or with other objects59 to effectively convey meaning. In other words, a concise way of giving a vivid insight into the reciter’s claim is provided. The corresponding literal version hardly succeeds in capturing the intended vividness. I reproduce below a few lines selected from stanza 28 (Nketia 1978) to help exemplify this point. C

brεdwane ee! Osεe Tutu yε pem-yεya-wo Asiama brεdwane a yεapem wo asan wo Asiedu Katawere a wadi asεmpa na yεtwiri wo. Odwammara katakyi birekuo, whoOn anini abεn. Apampammire a εsi abura The dry palm branch! When sεe Tutu is shaken, he doesn’t fall The unyielding dry palm branch that has been abandoned. The strong one who has received insults for his kind deeds. The powerful ram, you break male horns The apampammire weed that blocks the well C

In the above lines, the hero (as “tenor”) is compared to a variety of objects (“vehicle”) to portray his strength, power, and uniqueness vividly. First, a comparison is drawn between him and “Obrεdwane,” the dry palm frond which does not budge when shaken.60 Men of valor have tried one strategy or another to silence the hero but all to no avail, just like the dry palm frond, which does not easily fall off when shaken. Not only that, the dry palm frond is asianan brεdwane (literally, replaceable dry palm frond). This denotes that even when it appears the hero’s strength is going down, there is a ready replacement, which renders him perpetually unconquerable. Challengers, therefore, have no other alternative than to avoid facing him, just as the Obrεdwane is abandoned. The hero is again referred to as asiedu Katawere (impregnable Asiedu) who incidentally receives insults for his kind deeds. Despite this ungratefulness on the part of beneficiaries to his magnanimity, the hero is not discouraged for the simple reason that he is uniquely superhuman. Moreover, he is being compared to odwammara (the powerful ram) that breaks male horns, to portray his strength. He is able to overpower his challengers. Finally, he is the apampammire weed that captures the well. This water plant is notably dangerous since it is able to overgrow to cover the full length of a well. The comparison here is, therefore, an apt one that vividly portrays the hero’s ability to capture all for himself. In short, he is overwhelmingly powerful.

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D. Adu-Amankwah

Conclusion I recall, in conclusion, the following words by Dell Hymes: “The great stumbling block is that the kinds of organization most developed by linguists presuppose the grammar as their frame of reference.”61 We miss a great deal of truth about the nature of language by restricting ourselves to the kinds of questions that hard-core linguistics seeks to address. There is a need to recover these losses by studying language as social semiotic. Truly, it takes more than phonology, morphology, and syntax to clearly understand what people are doing when they speak. The present study has revealed, inter alia, that verbal indirection in Akan royal praise may not be for maintaining and preserving face per se. Rather, the performer may embark upon indirection (especially through the use of metaphor) to vividly convey his message of royal power and authority. Available evidence from the Akan sociocultural dynamic seems to demonstrate this with peculiar clarity. Not only does the Akan king have the last word on all matters concerning the state, but people are not allowed to speak directly to him in public. All messages are to reach him through his Okyeame (i.e., spokesperson).62 This means that all “facework” is already taken care of by the Okyeame, speaking for the king. With such a mighty protective communicative wall around the king, what sense will it make for the royal praise performer to think about face-saving? Rather, he chooses to invest his rich resource of indirection in something else—vivid description of royal power. He draws heavily upon his communicative competence, on which performance rests to carry the message of royal supremacy to the audience, mainly through indirect means.63 Stated much more precisely, he says it without saying it, tapping from the rich source of Akan sociocultural foundation. Yankah’s argument that “uncomplimentary appellations or stanzas may be performed, withheld, or deemphasized according to the demands of the situation” may call for some slight changes since the performer, I strongly believe, is not primarily concerned with logical statements.64 The “uncomplimentary” appellations and utterances are, in fact, metaphorical and cannot be taken literally. Indeed, they constitute the performer’s attempt to make the king appear superhumanly great and supreme. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Goffman (1955). Saussure (1983: 6). Goodwin (1990: 3). Bauman and Briggs (1990: 78). Chomsky (1965: 2). Halliday (1978: 2). Sherzer (1983: 8). Halliday ibid. Basso (1988: 106). Halliday (1978: 3).

15 Oratory and Rhetoric: Praise Poetry

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41.

42.

313

Ibid. Hymes (1962), Bauman and Briggs (1990: 64). Sherzer (1983). Heath (1983: 8). Briggs (1988). Goodwin (1990: 2). Duranti (1992: 80). Finnegan (1970 [2012 open book edition]). Okpewho (1992: 142–147). Yankah (1983), Boadi (1989), Anyidoho (1991), and Adu-Amankwah (1994). Babalola (1966). Olatunji (1984). Kunene (1972). Nketia (1978). See Adu-Amankwah (1994: 5). Obeng (1994: 40). Goffman (1955: 213). Obeng ibid., 24. Ibid., 42. Yankah (1991: 2). Wagner (1986: 7), Ricoeur (1979: 143) and Fernandez (1974). Basso (1988: 114). See Adu-Amankwah (2013: vi). Meyerowitz (1951: 27). Finnegan ibid., 116. Yankah (1983: 383). Ibid., 387. Yankah (1985: 27). Yankah (1983: 388–389). Basso ibid., 109. This translation is based on Nketia (1978: 42), which mentions ohwintinpraku as a type of trap (snare). The present writer’s personal communication with other Akan elders, however, reveals that the word refers to any wood that is thrown to pluck a ripe fruit from a tree. As it gets on top of the tree, it plucks both ripe and unripe fruit. But, no matter the version one adopts, the hero’s strength and power remain prominent. It must be noted that the stanzas of Akan royal praise are the bona fide property of the stool and not of any individual occupant of it (i.e., the king). The current occupant has the right to claim appellations of his predecessors for himself and accept them in lines recited in his honor. The name sεe Tutu above, therefore, does not necessarily refer to the king sεe Tutu, founder of the Asante nation. Finnegan ibid., 126. Leech (1969: 166). Yankah (1985: 20–21). C

C

43. 44. 45.

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D. Adu-Amankwah

46.

As a rule, the Akan king cannot be openly criticized. The only exception may be during some brief moments within specific festivals like the ApoO Festival of Techiman, Nkoranza, and Wenchi, in the Brong-Ahafo Region of Ghana. This is what Olatunji (1984: 93) describes in his discussion of Yoruba oriki (praise poetry) as “Multiple Reference to the Subject of the oriki.” Yankah (1976: 89) refers to this device as “praise-expansion” in his discussion of Akan praise poetry. Schapera (1965: 25). See Nketia (1978: 37). “Kwaku ApotO” may be a variant of “Kwaku Apotae.” However, there appears to be a controversy over the facts of the encounter: Nketia (1978: 44) mentions that Tibo was the chief of Assin and Kwaku ApotO was one of Tibo’s elders who suffered at the hand of the Asantehene. But Adu-Boahen (1975: 18) states that both Kwaku Apotae and Tibo were Assin chiefs who rebelled against the Asantehene and sought refuge with the Fante. Since the latter were not prepared to hand them over, the Asante, under the able leadership of their king, attacked the Anomabu Castle (where the two chiefs had escaped to) in June 1807. It was in this campaign that Kwaku Apotae was killed. Despite this controversy, however, each of the versions clearly shows the valor of the Asantehene, and that alone should settle it. It must be noted, however, that it is usually the favorable events that are mentioned. Misfortunes are often reserved and labeled as ntam (often unsatisfactorily translated as “oath”). One of the greatest ntam of the Asante, for example, is Memeneda (Saturday) which alludes to the day King ‫כ‬sεe Tutu was killed by the Akyem at Praso. Ntam is so sacred that it is not to be invoked for fun. Whoever invokes an ntam is immediately summoned to the palace for interrogation, and he is severely punished if found guilty. He can even lose his life. This is the same as tweaduampOn, appellation of the Almighty God. Olatunji (1984: 97). Finnegan ibid., 128. See Crystal (1985) for the definitions of these terms. See Yankah (1976: 69). Other stanzas in which this type of dialogue has been introduced are 29, 33, 37, 60, and 80. This phenomenon is similar to what obtains in Southern Bantu panegyric (see Finnegan 1977: 115). This comparison is an apt one since the palm tree is not only strong in the sense that it can withstand long periods of drought, but also it has many uses within the Akan society. Members of the audience are too familiar with the importance of the palm tree to miss the picture being drawn with it. Dell Hymes (1974: 433). Yankah (1995). Bauman (1993: 194). Yankah’s (1983: 397).

48. 49. 50. 51.

52.

53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

61. 62. 63. 64.

C

47.

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315

References Adu-Amankwah, D. 1994. A Study of Language Use in an Akan Verbal Art Form Compiled by J.H.K. Nketia. Unpublished M. Phil. Thesis, Department of Linguistics, University of Ghana. Adu-Amankwah, D. 2013. Wo Nso Ka Bi: Akan Basic Grammar and Practice. LINCOM GmbH. Adu-Boahen, A. 1975. Ghana: Evolution and Change in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. London: Longman. Anyidoho, A. 1991. Linguistic Parallels in Traditional Akan Appellation Poetry. Research in African Literatures 22: 67–81. Babalola, S.A. 1966. The Context and Form of Yoruba Ijala. Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Basso, Keith H. 1988. ‘Speaking with Names’: Language and Landscape Among the Western Apache. Cultural Anthropology 3: 99–130. Bauman, R. 1993. Disclaimers of Performance. In Responsibility and Evidence in Oral Discourse, ed. Jane H. Hill and Judith T. Irvine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bauman, R., and Charles L. Briggs. 1990. Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life. Annual Review of Anthropology 19: 59–88. Boadi, L. 1989. Praise Poetry in Akan. Research in African Literatures 20: 181–192. Briggs, Charles L. 1988. Competence in Performance: The Creativity of Tradition in Mexicano Verbal Art. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Chomsky, N. 1965. Aspects of the Theory of Syntax. Cambridge, MA: The M.I.T. Press. Crystal, D. 1985. A Dictionary of Linguistics and Phonetics. New York: Basil Blackwell. Duranti, A. 1992. Language in Context and Language as Context: The Samoan Respect Vocabulary. In Rethinking Context: Language as an Interactive Phenomenon, ed. A. Duranti and C. Goodwin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fernandez, J. A. 1974. The Mission of Metaphor in Expressive Culture. Current Anthropology 15: 119–133. Finnegan, R. 1977. Oral Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Finnegan, R. 2012 [1970]. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge: Open Book Publishers. Goffman, E. 1955. On Face-work: An Analysis of Ritual Elements in Social Interaction. Psychiatry 18: 213–231. Goodwin, Marjorie H. 1990. He-Said-She-Said: Talk as Social Organization Among Black Children. Indianapolis and Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Halliday, M.A.K. 1978. Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning. Baltimore: University Park Press. Heath, Shirley B. 1983. Ways with Words: Language, Life, and Work in Communities and Classrooms. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hymes, D. 1962. The Ethnography of Speaking. In Anthropology and Human Behavior, ed. T. Gladwin and W. C. Sturtevant, 13–53. Washington, DC: The Society. Hymes, D. 1974. Ways of Speaking. In Explorations in the Ethnography of Speaking, ed. R. Bauman and J. Sherzer, 433–451. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kunene, Daniel P. 1972. Metaphor and Symbolism in the Heroic Poetry of Southern Africa. In African Folklore, ed. Richard M. Dorson, 295–318. Garden City, NY: Anchor Books. Leech, G.N. 1969. A Linguistic Guide to English Poetry. London: Longmans. Meyerowitz, Eva L.R. 1951. The Sacred State of the Akan. London: Faber and Faber. Nketia, J.H.A. 1978. Amoma. Accra, Ghana: State Publishing Corporation. Obeng, G.S. 1994. Verbal Indirection in Akan Informal Discourse. Journal of Pragmatics 21: 37–65. Okpewho, I. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character, and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Olatunji, O.O. 1984. Features of Yoruba Oral Poetry. Ibadan: University Press. Ricoeur, P. 1979. The Metaphorical Process as Cognition, Imagination and Feeling. In On Metaphor, ed. S. Sacks. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Saussure, F. 1983 [1916]. Course in General Linguistics, ed. C. Bally and A. Sechehaye. Illinois, La Salle: Open Court.

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Schapera, I. (ed.). 1965. Praise Poems of Tswana Chiefs. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sherzer, J. 1983. Kuna Ways of Speaking: An Ethnographic Perspective. Austin: University of Texas Press. Wagner, R. 1986. Symbols That Stand for Themselves. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Yankah, K. 1976. Some Poetic Genres in Akan. Unpublished M.A. thesis, Department of Linguistics, University of Ghana. Yankah, K. 1983. To Praise or Not to Praise the King: The Akan Apaeε in the Context of Referential Poetry. Research in African Literatures 14: 381–400. Yankah, K. 1985. Giving unto the King Praises That Are Not Due: The Problem of Anachronism in Akan Praise Performance. Ba Shiru (A Journal of African Languages & Literature) 12 (1): 17–30. Yankah, K. 1991. Power and the Circuit of Formal Talk. Journal of Folklore Research 28 (1): 1–22. Yankah, K. 1995. Speaking for the Chief: Okyeame in the Politics of Akan Royal Oratory. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

Chapter 16

Proverbs, Naming, and Other Forms of Veiled Speech Cécile Leguy

Introduction How should one study formulations that belong to oral tradition, but that emerge directly from ordinary discourse, such as proverbs, idiomatic expressions, and message-names attributed to people? How should they be studied as folklore data, and as practices that make sense socially too? In France, linguistics and anthropology have developed independently of each other. First-generation ethnographers were, however, aware of language issues, under the influence of Marcel Mauss, who can be considered a trailblazer for his approach to language as a social phenomenon. Then, with the publication of Words and the Dogon World (Ethnologie et langage) (1965/1986), Geneviève Calame-Griaule founded French ethnolinguistics as an autonomous scientific discipline, encouraging scholars to pay close attention to speech, particularly in the oral tradition, as well as its uses and effects on social life. This chapter applies this cross-disciplinary approach to a study of veiled and unspoken communication in Africa. By paying attention to indirectness and other uses of implicit information in ordinary communication, its aim is to refine the principles and tools of a pragmatic approach to oral traditions and language practices for both anthropologists and folklorists.1 First, I will briefly set out the foundations of the French anthropological approach to language practices, starting with the Mauss’s seminal work, then look at the turning point in the 1960s with Calame-Griaule’s work and ethnolinguistics as a new discipline. Then, I will present the terms of proverbial speech and seek to show how the study of ordinary communication leads us to understand social relationships better. Finally, drawing from research on naming, I will show the power that implicit words can have, and conclude by demonstrating the necessity of a pragmatic approach, paying close attention to the “unmentionable.” C. Leguy (B) Université Sorbonne Nouvelle – LACITO (CNRS), Paris, France © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_16

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The Basis for a Pragmatic Approach to Oral Tradition in French Anthropology Marcel Mauss is an important reference point for French anthropologists on a great many topics. He introduced social anthropology in France and also wrote many essays on various topics with keen intuition. His successors continued to reflect on them and develop them further. However, from the point of view of linguistic anthropology, when he broached “the prayer,” the subject of a thesis he never completed but one part of which was published in 1909, he developed an approach that can be considered “pragmatic.”2 Unfortunately, this approach was ignored for a long time after him. With hindsight, we can see that he was indeed a pioneer. In fact, what interests Mauss is not only the place of prayer as an oral rite in all the religions of the world but also its effectiveness and its role as an action: In the first place, every prayer is an act. It is not just dreaming about a myth or simple speculation on dogma, but it always implies an effort, an expenditure of physical and moral energy in order to produce certain results.3

However, this interest in what we might call the pragmatic aspect of speaking was consistent with a concept of language that was dominant at the turn of the twentieth century. At the same time, Malinowski—whom Mauss read fervently—exposed his own ideas about language,4 later developed in Coral Gardens (1935). He perceived language as both an action and a system, but the concept was somewhat ignored before being rediscovered. The period from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is indeed rich in reflections on language as action, notably in France where approaches emerged that would lead to the theory of enunciation, mainly represented by Benveniste.5 Mauss, following in this tradition, is considered by Nerlich and Clarke to be representative of the “proto-pragmatic” approach to social anthropology: The theory of enunciation, being originally rather psychological in nature, was however counterbalanced and also influenced by a more sociological theory of language which included a theory of speech acts and a theory of conversation. The main proponents of this approach were Frédéric Paulhan (1856–1931), Gabriel Tarde (1842–1904) and Marcel Mauss (1872– 1950), the first an individual psychologist, the second a social psychologist, the third a social anthropologist.6

So Nerlich and Clarke (1996, 1999), laying out the basis of the modern pragmatic approach, present Mauss as a pioneer in recognizing the importance of speech acts, which was only truly established in the second half of the twentieth century.7 As Nerlich and Clarke state, “Tarde’s work as well as Mauss’s prefigure microsociology and the ethnography of speaking.”8 Mauss’s interest in social facts leads him to an approach to language phenomena as language facts.9 He encourages his students to start from what is concrete, from observation. But for Mauss, speech acts are not only to be observed in their details like other social facts; they also provide ways to gain access to reality. In this respect, Mauss is also interested in investigating the meaning of what is unspoken.10 In France, the 1950s and 1960s were dominated by structuralist theories. In these approaches, the context-in-itself is not a priority, even though Lévi-Strauss takes into

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consideration the ethnographic context in his analysis of myths.11 This period is not really favorable toward a “language as used in social life” approach. In his well-known chapter, “The Sorcerer and His Magic,” Lévi-Strauss proposes a sensitive approach to the effects that words can have on people.12 He is, however, more particularly interested in the psychology of persuasion and manipulation. In another chapter, he discusses the psychological manipulation performed in a song to facilitate difficult childbirth, viewing this phenomenon, as the title makes clear, as “the effectiveness of symbols.”13 For Lévi-Strauss, the shaman’s power resides more in the collective faith in this power than in his use of language. Calame-Griaule’s landmark book about speech among the Dogon people opens a new avenue in French research by focusing on the use of language.14 CalameGriaule participated for the first time in a field study in 1946 alongside her father, Marcel Griaule, the year that he met the old blind hunter Ogotemmêli.15 Like a lot of anthropologists of that time, Griaule was interested in “mythical speech” or cosmology, about which the anthropologist, through inquiry, can identify a system. Calame-Griaule, on the other hand, is more interested in ordinary speech, meaning the everyday use of language.16 The publication of Words and the Dogon World established a new approach, one might even say a new paradigm, to linguistic anthropological research in France. Just as Duranti17 points out that a new paradigm was established in America in the 1960s, following the work of Dell Hymes,18 in the same way, a complete reorientation was necessary following Calame-Griaule’s research in France. Indeed, Calame-Griaule and Hymes have much in common. Hymes was aware of Calame-Griaule’s work, referring to it as “pioneering.” In the preface to the English translation, he draws links between her work with the Dogon and the methods of “the ethnography of speaking” that he was promoting himself. Hymes presents Calame-Griaule’s book as “the first and perhaps still fullest ethnography of speaking” insofar as it offers a complete ethnography of speaking carried out in specific contexts.19 Few studies, indeed, express such attention to detail and such sharpness in understanding different communicative practices.20 Duranti notes that the work of Hymes and the ethnographers of speaking led to a radical change in researchers’ approach toward speech events; “the study of language use across speakers and activities” became central.21 What counts here is the emphasis on the study of speech events in situations, in relation to the sociocultural context in which they take effect. This emphasis on context is also found in Calame-Griaule’s work, distinguishing it from other studies of that time. While retaining some analytical tools that seem relevant to her from structural analysis (Calame-Griaule was not radically opposed to structuralism), she was able to propose a new way of doing anthropology from the early 1960s which, in fact, represents a paradigm shift in several respects. First, in dealing with the notion of speech among the Dogon, she highlights a phenomenological approach close to the emic perspective advocated by Olivier de Sardan: she started listening to the way people speak in their daily lives, thereby taking into account speakers’ concepts and their ways of speaking.22 She was not

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only interested in “everyday talk” (la parole vécue), she also sought to understand indigenous concepts. In her research on verbal art, she focuses on performance (especially in her work among the Tuareg and Isawaghen in Niger beginning in 1967). By advocating an “ethno-linguistic approach of African oral literature,” (Calame-Griaule, 1970) she stresses the importance of accounting for everything that surrounds the utterance of poetic words, of the larger context of the performance event. She encourages scholars to seek out enunciation rules regarding time, place and participants with respect to the genre studied. She deplored the fact that France had fallen behind in taking into account “the heterogeneity of performances.”23 If the analytical framework she proposes in the introduction to this book seems rather static, she nonetheless pays great attention to the event and to the actor, especially in her chapter on “narrative gestures” published in the same book.24 In her very innovative—and too often ignored—work on gestures of storytellers, she pays close attention to individuals, for example, by emphasizing the differences in the use of the gestures she observed. A young nobleman, she tells us, is expected to act with a certain restraint whereas blacksmiths and storytellers of servile origin are much freer in their actions and use of words. Thus, the study of gestures leads to an understanding of the social issues of speech. In the same way, more specific attention to the context of a performed tale allows for improved understanding of the issues between people of different social statuses and of power relations. A conception of speaking of an oral society like the Dogon led Calame-Griaule to develop an interest in the power of speech, both in its embodiment and by the inclusion of its power and independence. For the researcher, this implies close attention to ways of managing everyday talk. Calame-Griaule dedicated a chapter in Words and the Dogon World to “monitoring speech,”25 which has inspired many scholars.26 It concerns representations of good speech, seen by the Dogon as constructive and lifegiving, and of bad speech, such as insults, which have negative consequences and that one must learn not to use. “Monitoring speech” involves first and foremost, acquiring some mastery of speech. The first step is to not produce bad speech unintentionally. In that sense, special attention is paid to women, whom the Dogon consider as being more sensitive and capable of being overtaken by uncontrolled words. Speech, as experienced by the Dogon and more widely in West Africa, is a power that one learns to master, especially in the use of metaphors and euphemisms. This aspect of language is valued in many societies all over the world. Calame-Griaule teaches us to understand it in its totality. In reality, although her monograph focuses on a local context, it is of much more general interest because it raises questions about the ways in which all cultures manage this creative and unpredictable dimension of language.

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Proverbs and Other Forms of Veiled Speech How can we understand ordinary communication strategies, when they consist of speaking in poetical forms? And how can we study verbal art as ordinary speech? In West Africa where I do my fieldwork—principally among the Bwa people of Mali and Burkina Faso—as in most regions of Africa, proverbs are highly valued and are not only used by the elders. In general, people like to express their opinion or give advice without being explicit. Proverbs, the sayings of the ancestors, make use of implicit information and metaphors. Moreover, this emphasis on veiled speech requires harnessing language as a strategy to regulate social relationships in a way that is no less effective for being inexplicit.27 Proverbs are interesting to anthropologists, then, not only as aspects of folklore expressing a given cultural context but also in the way they reveal social issues that may be difficult to grasp because they are not directly expressed. However, even though it became clear from the 1960s onwards that proverbs should be studied in relation to the context in which they are spoken,28 few researchers have actually taken up this challenge, as Mieder (1997: 19–20) remarks: Today it has almost become a cliché to point out that proverbs must be studied in context, but it took a long time for anthropologically oriented proverb collectors to go beyond mere texts and look at the use and function of the proverbial materials in actual speech acts… We clearly need other studies of this type.29

In my own fieldwork, I have always given priority to collecting speech events in natural contexts, whether proverbs or other speech genres. Practicing this method of observation and collection is not only an attempt to understand a word in its context (in the broadest sense) but also to better understand the proverb itself, or any other word for that matter. It also, and perhaps above all, requires grasping what is at stake in communication, in order to access the meaning of the situation itself. Paulhan demonstrates this in a pertinent description of his own Malagash language learning, including the challenge of using proverbs wisely and in a way that would be understood.30 Many Bwa people are indeed reluctant to employ any word that might be understood as abusive, insulting, or even simply critical. Like the Dogon, they identify such language with “bad words” (dEmu’ue ) as opposed to “good words” (dEmu tetia). At the same time, everyone intends to be understood. For the anthropologist, paying attention to ways of speaking is a means whereby some understanding can be achieved: not only of the ways people speak in a given context but also of the means for regulating social relations and the hidden violence that animates them.31 As an observer, the aim is thus to consider what is implied behind ways of speaking, the social games people play, and their scope for action in social reality. Undertaking research on proverbs, then, involves studying ordinary speech. Data collecting methods are different from those used when studying oral literature, where narrative and poetic genres are presented as extraordinary forms of speech, often introduced with designated formulas. The same cannot be said of proverbs: the best way to hear them is to listen to everyday conversations, although admittedly even

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in ordinary speech they do stand out because of their form, their rhythm and the emphasis which is sometimes placed on them. The word for proverb is wawe in Bomu, the Bwa language.32 The same word refers to the riddle, a word game practiced mostly by children and young people during festive evenings in the form of question-and-answer competitions. This dual designation is found in other African languages such as Zande.33 In fact, the Bomu word wawe seems to qualify a rhetorical process more than a speech genre. In both proverbs and riddles, something is unspoken and must, therefore, be guessed by the listener. The same thought process is triggered by both speech acts, even though they cannot be confused in practice. To use a proverb rather than another figure of speech is to encourage the listener to “guess” what needs to be heard. Whatever the social context, no one can afford to say something carelessly. This is arguably even more true in a society where solidarity and reciprocity are the ideal goals, not to say imposed. The proverb is often expressed as a criticism or a comment when propriety calls for someone to be understood without speaking too explicitly. Thus, this type of speech can be observed and studied as an indicator of meaning: in other words, if a proverb or another form of veiled speech is ventured, it is because there is something left for the listener to decipher. And, of course, for the anthropologist as well. However, using a proverb means taking the risk of not being immediately understood. Speakers must accept this margin that gives listeners the freedom to misunderstand.34 When a proverb is spoken, the speaker hands over interpretation to the listener. Indeed, it is the listener who provides the answer to the riddle (and riddles, like proverbs, can have several possible answers). In this way, the one who hears a proverb is actively involved in the construction of its meaning. To perform a proverb, one must first be somehow empowered to do so. Such power results from one’s own social status and also depends upon one’s relationship with the addressee.35 So, a father can afford to make disapproving comments to his son, but the son cannot respond in the same way, given his inferior status. He can pretend to not understand the criticism of his father, but only to a certain extent. If his father speaks with a simple proverb, it is impossible for the son to pretend to not understand without appearing foolish. It is, therefore, up to the son to take advantage of this language game. Uttering and interpreting a proverb is a matter of knowing one’s proper place in life. It also involves preserving it and preparing for future authority as anchored in language use, formulaic expressions, and social relationships. Thus, a person who uses polemical proverbs against older people, without having acquired some form of social authority, would be criticized for that and would be denied certain responsibilities. Indeed, people who do not control their language plant seeds of doubt about their ability to control themselves in general. Conversely, people who do understand when they can respond and when to be silent—what they can afford to say and what they can afford to accept without comment—will slowly gain the trust of their elders and thereby obtain an honorable position in society. The exchange of proverbs in such a case is not only experienced as a pleasure or as a need to share common references, but also as a means of self-construction made possible by language.36 Power management is more important here than comprehension itself,

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which leads us to challenge Grice’s “Conversational maxims.”37 Intelligence and keenness of mind are highly appreciated qualities: mastery of proverbs is a reliable indicator of them. Thus, in relation to speech where innuendo is favored, we might question whether the use of the proverb, as a well-known formula with a relatively limited meaning, is not a way to escape from the vagueness of what is left unsaid—the unspoken—while taking care not to say things directly. In this respect, while the cause of potential conflict (disagreement, annoyance, misunderstanding, etc.) is revealed, the conflict itself is neutralized by the use of veiled speech that makes it possible to point it out without anger and without using bad words. Indeed, social relationships are such that, sooner or later, everyone will need help from others to solve problems. The aged father knows he will need the support of his son if he becomes ill or bedridden, for example. Use of innuendo and implicit messages is a way to protect oneself from bad words and to maintain good relations with others, even when one does not agree with them.

Naming and the Power of the Implicit Numerous Africanists have written on the topic of naming. In my own fieldwork, I quickly became aware that naming is, quite often, a means of using language that is related to proverbial speech, and that a name was given to a child, or sometimes to a dog, entails certain discourse strategies. Indeed, many names given by the Bwa, as in most other African societies, can commonly be called “message-names” or “proverbial names” as Obeng calls them with reference to Akan, in the sense that “Proverbial names criticize, admonish, praise, or explain a course of action by a member or members of the community and are used as strategic alternatives to confrontational discourse.”38 Often, they are messages expressed to a third person. Thus, the naming of a newborn baby provides a pretext to express something that cannot be said openly: an insult, a reproach, angry words, or even hope or a cry of victory. Thus, investigating names can give the anthropologist access to the unspoken. As with proverbial speech, that which is said in a veiled manner can reveal precisely what cannot be said, and what may be of greatest importance. Community members are indeed very attentive to the simple utterance of a name, a choice that cannot be changed, and that can be especially bitter or critical. Whatever its virulence, the name will be repeated every time the person is called by it, until the end of their life. In this way, the name-giver has the assurance that the intended message will not fall into oblivion, and that their voice will continue to be heard beyond their own death. An attempt to interpret implicit meaning as it is practiced in a given context will, at times, lead us to contradictions between what is said and what is done. Such contradictions may be significant. What especially caught my attention in my fieldwork is the difference between the unspoken messages of names given by a member of

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the maternal lineage and those given by a member of the paternal lineage.39 Social tensions at weddings are especially common. The strong desires of the young often awaken old disputes. For example, a rivalry between lineages may prohibit a new marriage, or hidden truths about a forgotten servile origin may come to the surface. Thus, marriage often reveals past conflicts among the older generations. And when this occurs in a context where the value placed on personal freedom, such as one finds among the Bwa, outweighs any objection, only well-crafted discourse strategies can overcome such difficulties. It is generally the grandparents who name the child at its birth. Names related to marriage chosen by a maternal grandparent often express dissatisfaction, or even protest, in the case of a disapproved union. Handing over a daughter to an unknown family or, worse, allowing her to marry a member of a lineage with which a long-time rivalry has been maintained, can make things complicated for the marriages of other family members. It can be heartbreaking, especially for parents who regard the marriage of their daughter as a way of building or renewing an alliance. Many names found in my corpus carry a negative message addressed indirectly by the grandparents to the mother of the child, such as “we failed to restrain a daughter and she is in love with a stranger.” This happens more and more frequently as young women leave their village to take up housekeeping jobs in the city. In such cases, parents might name their granddaughter Weta, which means “make your choice.” In other words: “you have not listened to our advice, this is the choice you have made and so you are not to complain,” addressed to their own daughter. What finally seems to unfold through the allusions made in these names is the manifest desire to maintain good relations and to maintain the network of alliances. When marrying their daughter, a family aspires to establish new relationships that will bring the promise of future weddings for the family. Interestingly, the paternal grandparents may also seek to pacify and rectify hostile situations with their son-inlaw when naming the child in order to ensure the strength of their network for future marriages. In the end, the two sides want the same thing while having a different perspective. Criticisms and disappointments are not expressed explicitly; however, in this language game allowing for the allusive naming of newborn babies, deep sentiments and judgments are consciously brought out into the open. One might think that, if the objective is to avoid conflict, it would be best to say nothing. In reality, such veiled speech is not only better received than silence, but with such a strategy, one can also be confident of its reception.40 Relational or political problems may also inspire name-givers, who thus find a way to express their views on decisions or situations that they do not like. This is often what the old women do. They do not necessarily take part in village decisions but may suggest, with use of an allusive message, that a contentious situation has lasted too long, or that a decision is unwise. They give the speech indirectly, knowing that they will be heard. For example, Sabuse, “I am tired of that,” was named by her grandmother who, because she was unwilling to denounce family conflicts openly, took advantage of the birth of her granddaughter to open her heart without directly criticizing anyone.

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So, most names are the expression of an implicit criticism, a sort of violence contained in this language strategy, which is not as innocent as it seems. For anyone who has the power to name, that one single word—never forgotten, spoken every day, carrying on after the death of the name-giver throughout the named person’s life—becomes a real weapon: it recklessly carries the virulence of the name-giver’s thoughts; it perpetuates suspicion, bitterness, and infidelity; it reveals secrets, forcing them into the open. A name has the power of the implicit, namely to make one’s voice heard by the concerned person, who is thus ordered to change their behavior or acknowledge wrongdoing. Message-names given to children are like poisoned arrows, the carriers of family secrets, shot at just the right moment and hitting their targets with precision.41 The name stated in the simple settlement of a small familial ceremony without pomp and presented as an unimportant event is often the expression of a deliberate strategy. It expresses the intention not only to give meaning (a viewpoint, a disappointment, bitterness, etc.) but also to get the person concerned to act. Such names are indirect messages aimed “against” someone (as the Bwa say); that is, they connote disapproval of actions that disrespect Bwa customs. In this way, the elders hope to be heard by future generations. They will not fail to comment on the name given, to clarify the message and to convey its meaning, transmitting the conventional and critical viewpoint it contains at one and the same time. The advantage of using this kind of strategy is similar to that found in the use of proverbs, replacing harsh words or critical comments that someone might otherwise make. The target of the proverb is the only one who will feel concerned. However, they cannot complain, for fear of revealing their faults or bad behavior implicitly denounced. As for names, the same act is carried out with nothing more than a few syllables. Indeed, someone chooses a name to express an opinion or dissatisfaction, while allowing tensions to be pacified with implicit words, with kindness and without threatening social cohesion. But it is also a matter of being heard and bringing back into line those who deviate from a certain “standard.” Naming is indeed a strategy implemented to communicate ways of thinking and ideas that would not otherwise necessarily be received. In certain societies, for example, the Baatombu of northern Benin, names of dogs are based on proverbs, making the naming a doubly indirect means of communication.42 On the basis of the Bwa names in the corpus along with whatever could be learned about the context of their first utterance and the identity of the giver, it is often social organization which is really at stake.43 Finally, when someone denounces a misalliance or, conversely, manifests satisfaction with a marriage, is the real message not broader, by virtue of the fact that it recalls and reinforces social norms that are intended to guarantee the sustainability of the group? Similarly, when someone tries to outwit fate by pretending until death that he doesn’t care for a child by naming it Dofio (“manure pile”), or when someone expresses a desire to have a boy by naming a girl MahEáo (“not refused on a whim”), isn’t it a way to register the child as belonging to history, by making reference the desire for progeniture? However, the messages carried by such names remain in the domain of the implicit and are not necessarily comprehensible to those who are unaware of the context of their initial utterance. If it

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is a speech strategy to make one’s own conception of social organization heard, only those who are truly concerned may gain access to the message. However, speech is veiled in order to be better understood by those concerned: it is always the intention of the speaker to be heard. Thus, every birth brings about anxious expectation in the parents of the baby, as they ask, “What name will the elders give the child? What is the message that they intend for us to hear?” We see that naming, even circumstantial or anecdotal as it may appear in the practice of African message-naming, is never reduced to a simple choice of a word. In a context where the word is viewed as having significant performative value, to be able to state indirectly what cannot be openly spoken is not only proof of speech mastery but also of kinship management within the family and more broadly, within the field of social relations. Giving names to children (or dogs) is a bargaining process. Naming acts as a modulator between these two poles of social life that are standards (normative discourse, alliance rules, and classifications) and practices. Naming, which is needed in everyday life and openly transmits allusive, discreetly chosen messages, ultimately fits social relationships into a rather rigid framework. Chosen, spoken, and reiterated, ordinary and circumstantial names, therefore, have some effectiveness. They are like implicit discourse aimed at adapting speech to actual practices, but also demonstrating their effectiveness as pragmatic “tools”44 tending to adapt practices to standardized speech.45

Conclusion This paper has highlighted a gap in anthropology concerning the use of the implicit in speech. Research such as Abu-Lughod’s analysis of Bedouin poetry indicates the usefulness of learning to listen for what is not explicitly stated.46 A more focused study of the strategic uses that people make of proverbs and naming of children, as well as other tropes, clearly has much to reveal to anthropologists. As I have shown, veiled speech is often a vehicle for meaningful messages to be deciphered by the listener. We have seen how different motivations for choosing a child’s name can often reveal social and family conflicts and disagreements. However, one should not be too quick to infer the presence of recurring relationship problems from the frequency of such names in an attempt to draw a statistical conclusion: names are also selected for the pleasure obtained by their use. People enjoy commenting on their names and using them to recall important moments in their family history. However, the “veil” can be understood as being an indicator of meaning, of the fact that there is something there to “unveil”; it is that which hides by revealing. When someone attributes a message-name, it is because they have something to say. When a proverb is performed, something important is communicated. Speech acts are undertaken not only for the purpose of making poetry even though this function is also important. For those who use such strategies, they do so in order to be heard and to ensure that their words have an impact on their audience.

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This type of speech is significantly effective. It is commonly held that a wellcrafted message is more powerful than loosely spoken words. This is especially true for contexts in which a direct criticism, for example, or failure to create a proverbial veil, may have the consequence of being ignored. Such language practices are a way of acting efficiently in the world and towards others.47 Veiled speech is used by those who are in a position of authority over the others, specifically the elders, and also by those who find themselves in an unfavorable situation, as a means of making themselves heard.48 When someone performs a proverb to express a complaint; when an elder gives a name to a child to drive home his or her opinion; when someone responds to criticism by giving a different name to the same child or a younger one (or a dog), clearly something more than a simple communication game is taking place. Indeed, naming is a particularly effective communication strategy, and the use of the implicit is an indicator of what matters in a given context. In this sense, the anthropologist is interested in the importance attached to it, not just because of an interest in speech and communication, but also in the hope of finding elements that will make it possible to untangle the complexities of social life.49 This paper has sought to show how the proverb—and more generally the use of the implicit in any genre of speech— leads us, as anthropologists, to be more attentive to the diversity of communication strategies: how social relationships are constructed and deconstructed, how disputes are settled, and how the contingencies of daily life are managed. These questions seem even more crucial in an African context where, even in rural areas, a form of “individualism” is increasingly imposed.50 This approach should be of particular interest to those who study power relations. Masquelier states with respect to works promoting this methodology51 : “Several recent studies confirm that it is vain to try to understand the dynamics of power if we continue to ignore the place that language activity holds in its various forms.”52 One can only regret the lack of interest in the analysis of language practices, including literary practices, found in the works of those conducting investigations in political anthropology.53 Whatever the topics of their investigations, anthropologists stand to benefit not only from paying careful attention to wordchoice, as Mauss and Malinowski encourage us to do, but also to be attentive to language practices and communication strategies based on observed social situations.

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Acknowledgements I would like to thank Catharine Mason and David Roberts for translating the manuscript from French into English and Bertrand Masquelier for his comments on the draft. Thanks are also due to Alexandra Argenti-Pillen and Stephen Pax Leonard for their invitation to present a previous version of the chapter at a seminar of the Royal Anthropological Institute in London in November 2015. I am also grateful to Yasushi Ushiyamada for the coaching he gave me in preparation for the chapter.

Notes 1.

2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

This goal is shared by my colleagues at LACITO, a research laboratory affiliated to the French National Centre for Scientific Research in Paris, and is especially developed in our seminar series on metaphor. It has also been promoted in a book co-authored with Sandra Bornand, Anthropologie des pratiques langagières (Paris: Armand Colin (collection U), 2013), which is an attempt to synthesize European and American linguistic anthropology for the first time. Leguy (2013). Mauss (2003: 54). Malinowski (1916). As far back as 1910, Malinowski explains his concept of language in a note in Polish about Frazer’s “The Golden Bough” (see Thornton and Skalnik 1993: 117–122). Benveniste (1971). Nerlich and Clarke (1999: 279). Nerlich and Clarke (1996: 265ff.). Ibid., 280. I use the term “fact” to insist on the factual or empirical existence of a linguistic phenomenon. Mauss (2007: 158). Lévi-Strauss, whose research covers the entire American continent, presents myths as being much more determined by each other than by their enunciation context. However, he does not completely neglect the socio-cultural context. Indeed, he even gives it some importance and considers it interesting insofar as the dialogue with the socio-cultural context alone makes it possible to understand the scope of a mytheme. In his analysis, he is thus continually led to study a particular element of social organization, the symbolism of a particular animal, rite or custom, etc. He suggests three methodological guidelines for succeeding in the study of myths, including knowledge of the ethnographic context being the second part of the third guideline (1976: 60–67, “Comparative Religions of Nonliterate Peoples”). So although he completely neglects the enunciation context of oral production, it cannot be said that he neglects the socio-cultural context. However, it is not so much the context that interests him as the functioning of the human spirit in its various manifestations. Moreover, even though the socio-cultural context is indispensable to the analysis of myth, it is not this existing reality that myth retranscribes according to Lévi-Strauss.

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12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

19. 20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34.

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Rather, myth speculates about possibilities and latent potentiality; it does not pretend to represent reality, but rather to suggest the various possibilities that it offers. Lévi-Strauss (1963: 167–185). Ibid., 186–205. Buggenhagen (2006). Griaule (1965). See her preface to the 2009 French edition, p. iv. Duranti (2003). Dell Hymes, along with John Gumperz, initiated a new and influential theory which they initially called “the ethnography of speaking,” and later “the ethnography of communication” (Hymes 1962; Gumperz and Hymes 1964, 1972). Foreword by Hymes (Calame-Griaule, 1986: vi). We can, however, criticize some aspects of Calame-Griaule (1986), including a forced construction of indigenous concepts, which are, in reality, disparate and fragmentary. This reproach specifically concerns the first part of the book, devoted to the theory and mythology of speech, in line with her father’s work. However, the part she devotes to “speech in society” (“la parole vécue” as it is called in the French version), Calame-Griaule looks more closely at the diversity of situations and interlocutors. It is this sizeable part of CalameGriaule’s work that has proven significant and innovative in the field. Duranti ibid., 329. Olivier de Sardan (1998). Calame-Griaule (1977: 12, footnote 1). Ibid., 303–359. The title in the French original is “Le soin de la parole”. Calame-Griaule (1986: 296–338). For a discussion of the performativity of unmentionables, see Fleming and Lempert (2011). Particularly since the publication of Arewa and Dundes (1964). Mieder (1997: 19–20). “The Experience of the Proverb,” written in 1913, was published for the first time in 1925. Paulhan spent more than twenty years writing this Ph.D. thesis about proverbs but never finished it. About Jean Paulhan, see Syrotinski (1998), Milne (2006). See Abu-Lughod (1986), Casajus (2000), Fabian (1990), Yankah (1989, 1995). See also Argenti-Pillen’s (2003) research about Sri Lanka. Bomu (ISO 639-3: bmq), a dialect of Bwamu, is a Gur language. Zande has no designated term defining the proverb as a traditional saying. The word ‘sanza’ is wider in meaning and refers to “any remark or action which is intended to be oblique, opaque, ambiguous, any words or gestures which are intended to suggest a meaning other than they have in themselves” (Evans-Pritchard 1956: 166). See Siran (1987, 1993) about proverbs among the Vute (Cameroon).

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35. 36. 37.

Leguy (2000). Possible but also risky, as Paulhan (2008) notes. Grice (1975). See also Ochs Keenan (1976) for a discussion about Grice’s conversational maxims. Obeng (2001: vii). Leguy (2005). Leguy (2011). In a similar context, among the Kasina of Burkina Faso the behavior of young men is often questioned by the elders in the names they give to newborn babies. Since the young men cannot respond directly, not being entitled to name children themselves, they respond instead through the names they give to puppies (Bonvini 1985, 1987, 1988). Schottman (1993). Leguy ibid. See Bloch (2006: 98) who defines names as: “tools used in social interaction, which can be put to ever-new uses.” Leguy (2011). Abu-Lughod (1986). See for example the texts presented in Furniss and Gunner (1995). Yacine-Titouth (2001). As James Fernandez writes, this is the case even in a context of acculturation where the use of metaphors may have been modified by a change of life and activities. “However men may analyse their experiences within any domain, they inevitably know and understand them best by referring them to other domains for elucidation. It is in that metaphoric cross-referencing of domains, perhaps, that culture is integrated, providing us with the sensation of wholeness. And perhaps the best index of cultural integration or disintegration, or of genuineness or spuriousness in culture for that matter, is the degree to which men can feel the aptness of each other’s metaphors” (1986: 25). Marie (1997), Dacher (2005). Masquelier (2000: 414); see also Duranti (1994), Bloch (1975), and Paine (1981). Our translation of the French original. Anthropology has much to learn from literary studies as Furniss and Gunner (1995: 5) point out: “Oral literature in Africa, as discussed here, is not a discrete and self-contained, inward-looking sphere of human activity but constitutes a field in which the dynamics of the political process and the daily representation of social life are central. Song, poetry, popular representations of kinds, are an integral part of the way in which people in Africa today are commenting upon what is happening to their societies.”

38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51. 52. 53.

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References Abu-Lughod, Lila. 1986. Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press. Arewa, E. Ojo, and Alan Dundes. 1964. Proverbs and the Ethnography of Speaking Folklore. American Anthropologist [Special Publication, The Ethnography of Communication, ed. J.J. Gumperz and D. Hymes] 66 (6, Part 2): 70–85. Argenti-Pillen, Alexandra. 2003. Masking Terror: How Women Contain Violence in Southern Sri Lanka. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Benveniste, Émile. 1971. Problems in general linguistics, 2 vols. Coral Gables, FL: University of Miami Press (Translated by Mary Elizabeth Meek from the French: 1966, Problèmes de linguistique générale 1. Paris: Gallimard; and 1974, Problèmes de linguistique générale 2. Paris: Gallimard). Bloch, Maurice (ed.). 1975. Political Language and Oratory in Traditional Society. London, New York, and San Francisco: Academic Press. Bloch, Maurice. 2006. Teknonymy and the Evocation of the “Social” Among the Zafimaniry of Madagascar. In The Anthropology of Names and Naming, ed. Gabriele Vom Bruck and Barbara Bodenhorn, 97–114. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bonvini, Emilio. 1985. Un exemple de communication orale: les noms de chiens chez les Kasina de Haute-Volta. In Linguistique, ethnologie, ethnolinguistique (la pratique de l’anthropologie aujourd’hui) , ed. J.M.C. Thomas, 113–126. Paris: SELAF. Bonvini, Emilio. 1987. Anthroponymes et zoonymes dans le contexte de la communication orale. In Kalevala et traditions orales du monde, ed. J. Fernandez-Vest, 503–510. Paris: CNRS. Bonvini, Emilio. 1988. Anthroponymes et zoonymes comme négation de l’événement. In Die Oralliteratur in Afrika als Quelle zur Erforschung der traditionellen Kulturen, ed. W.J.G. Mohlig et al., 215–225. Berlin: Reimer. Briggs, Charles, and Richard Bauman. 2009. Genre, Intertextuality and Social Power. In Linguistic Anthropology: A Reader, ed. A. Duranti, 214–244. Malden: Blackwell. Buggenhagen, Beth Anne. 2006. Picking Up the Thread: Recasting Dogon Ideas of Speech in the Work of Geneviève Calame-Griaule. Anthropology and Humanism 31 (1): 57–74. Calame-Griaule, Geneviève. 1970. Pour une étude ethnolinguistique des littératures africaines. Langages 18: 22–47. Calame-Griaule, Geneviève (ed.). 1977. Langage et cultures africaines. Essais d’ethnolinguistique . Paris: Maspero. Calame-Griaule, Geneviève. 1986. Words and the Dogon World, Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issue (Translated by Deirdre LaPin from the French 1965/2009: Ethnologie et langage. La parole chez les Dogon. Limoges: Lambert Lucas). Casajus, Dominique. 2000. Gens de parole. Langage, poésie et politique en pays touareg. Paris: La Découverte. Dacher, Michèle. 2005. Cent ans au village. Chronique familiale gouin (Burkina Faso). Paris: Karthala. Duranti, Alessandro. 1994. From Grammar to Politics: Linguistic Anthropology in a Western Samoan Village. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press. Duranti, Alessandro. 2003. Language as Culture in U.S. Anthropology: Three Paradigms. Current Anthropology 44 (3): 323–348. Evans-Pritchard, Edward E. 1956. Sanza, a Characteristic Feature of Zande Language and Thought. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 18 (1): 161–180. University of London. Fabian, Johannes. 1990. Power and Performances: Ethnographic Explorations Through Proverbial Wisdom and Theater in Shaba, Zaïre. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Fernandez, James W. 1986. Persuasions and Performances: The Play of Tropes in Culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Fleming, Luke, and Michael Lempert. 2011. Introduction: Beyond Bad Words. Anthropological Quarterly 84, no. 1: 5–13. https://doi.org/10.1353/anq.2011.0008.

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Furniss, Graham, and Liz Gunner. 1995. Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Griaule, Marcel. 1965. Conversations with Ogotemmêli: An Introduction to Dogon Religious Ideas. London: Oxford University Press (International African Institute) (Translated by Ralph Butler and Revised by Audrey I. Richards and Beatrice Hooke from the French 1948: Dieu d’eau. Entretiens avec Ogotemmêli. Paris: Fayard). Grice, H. Paul. 1975. Logic and Conversation. In Syntax and Semantics, vol. 3, ed. Peter Cole and Jerry L. Morgan, 41–58. New York: Academic Press. Gumperz, John J., and Dell Hymes (eds.). 1964. The Ethnography of Communication. American Anthropologist 66 (6, Part 2): 1–34. Gumperz, John J., and Dell Hymes (eds.). 1972. Directions in Sociolinguistics: The Ethnography of Communication. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Hymes, Dell. 1962. The Ethnography of Speaking. In Anthropology and Human Behavior, ed. Gladwin Thomas and Sturtevant William, 13–53. Washington, DC: Anthropological Society of Washington. Leguy, Cécile. 2000. Bouche délicieuse et bouche déchirée: Proverbe et polémique chez les Bwa du Mali. Langage et Société 92: 45–70. https://doi.org/10.3917/ls.092.0045, https://www.cairn. info/revue-langage-et-societe-2000-2-page-45.htm. Accessed 28 Nov 2017. Leguy, Cécile. 2005. Noms de personne et expression des ambitions matrimoniales chez les Bwa du Mali. Journal des Africanistes 75-2: 107–128. http://africanistes.revues.org/129. Accessed 28 Nov 2017. Leguy, Cécile. 2011. Que disent les noms-messages? Gestion de la parenté et nomination chez les Bwa (Mali). L’Homme 197: 71–92 (English Translation: What Do “Message-Names” Say? The Management of Kinship and the Act of Naming Among the Bwa [Mali]. http://www.cairn-int. info/article-E_LHOM_197_0071–what-do-message-names-say.htm. Accessed 28 Nov 2017). Leguy, Cécile. 2013. Une conception pragmatique du langage chez Marcel Mauss? In Marcel Mauss. L’anthropologie de l’un et du multiple , dir. E. Dianteill, 57–79. Collection Débats philosophiques. Paris: PUF. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1963. Structural Anthropology. New York: Doubleday Anchor Books (Translated by Claire Jacobson and Brooke Grundfest Schoepf from the French 1958: Anthropologie structurale. Paris: Plon). Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1976. Structural Anthropology, Vol. II. Chicago: University of Chicago Press (Translated by Monique Layton from the French 1973: Anthropologie structurale deux. Paris: Plon). Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1916. Baloma: The Spirits of the Dead in the Trobriand Islands. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 46: 353–430. https://doi.org/ 10.2307/2843398; http://www.jstor.org/stable/2843398. Accessed 28 Nov 2017. Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1935. Coral Gardens and Their Magic: A Study of the Methods of Tilling the Soil and of Agricultural Rites in the Trobriand Islands. London: G. Allen & Unwin. Marie, Alain (ed.). 1997. L’Afrique des individus: Itinéraires citadins dans l’Afrique contemporaine. Paris: Karthala. Masquelier, Bertrand. 2000. Consentir au désaccord. Pour une anthropologie de l’interlocution. Rhétoriques du quotidien, ed. Bertrand Masquelier and Jean-Louis Siran, 383–415. Paris: L’Harmattan. Mauss, Marcel. 2003. On Prayer. Edited and with an introduction by W.S.F. Pickering. New York and Oxford: Durkheim Press and Berghahn Books (Translated by Dominique Lussier from the French 1909/1968: La Prière. Œuvres I. Les fonctions sociales du sacré. Paris: Minuit). Mauss, Marcel. 2007. Manual of Ethnography. New York and Oxford: Durkheim Press and Berghahn Books (Translated by Susan Leslie from the French 1947/1967: Manuel d’ethnographie . Paris: Payot). Mieder, Wolfgang. 1997. Modern paremiology in retrospect and prospect. In Embracing the Baobab Tree. The African Proverb in the 21st Century. W. Saayman ed. 3-36. Pretoria: University of South Africa Press.

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Milne, Anna-Louise. 2006. The Extreme In-Between: Jean Paulhan’s Place in the Twentieth Century. Oxford: Legenda. Nerlich, Brigitte, and David D. Clarke. 1996. Language, Action, and Context: The Early History of Pragmatics in Europe and America, 1780–1930 . Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Nerlich, Brigitte, and David D. Clarke. 1999. Protopragmatic Theories of Language in Europe, 1780–1930. In Sprachtheorien der Neuzeit I: Der epistemologische Kontext neuzeitlicher Sprachund Grammatiktheorien (Geschichte der Sprachtheorie, 4), ed. P. Schmitter, 254–300. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag. Obeng, Samuel Gyasi. 2001. African Anthroponymy: An Ethnopragmatic and Morphophonological Study of Personal Names in Akan and Some African Societies. Lincom Studies in Anthropology. München: Lincom Europa. Ochs Keenan, Elinor. 1976. The Universality of Conversational Postulates. Language in Society 5 (1): 67–80. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4166850. Accessed 20 Aug 2010. Olivier de Sardan, Jean-Pierre. 1998. Emique. L’Homme 147. Alliance, rites et mythes: 151–166. https://doi.org/10.3406/hom.1998.370510; www.persee.fr/doc/hom_0439-4216_1998_num_ 38_147_370510. Accessed 28 Nov 2017. Paine, Robert. 1981. Politically Speaking: Cross-Cultural Studies of Rhetoric. Philadelphia: Institute for the Studies of Human Issues. Paulhan, Jean. 2008. The Experience of the Proverb. In On Poetry and Politics, ed. Jennifer Bajorek and Eric Trudel, 3–27. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press (Translated by Eric Trudel from the French 1925/2009: “L’expérience du proverbe”. Œuvres complètes II – L’Art de la contradiction, 167–194. Paris: Gallimard). Schottman, Wendy. 1993. Proverbial Dog Names of the Baatombu: A Strategic Alternative to Silence. Language in Society 22 (4): 539–554. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4168473?origin= JSTOR-pdf. Accessed 28 Nov 2017. Siran, Jean-Louis. 1987. Signification, sens, valeur. Proverbes et noms propres en pays vouté (Cameroun). Poétique 72: 403–429. Siran, Jean-Louis. 1993. Rhetoric, Tradition and Communication: The Dialectics of Meaning in Proverb Use. MAN 28 (2): 225–242. Syrotinski, Michael. 1998. Defying Gravity: Jean Paulhan’s Interventions in Twentieth-Century French Intellectual History. Albany: State of University of New York Press. Thornton, Robert J., and Peter Skalnik (eds.). 1993. The Early Writings of Bronislaw Malinowski. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Yacine-Titouth, Tassadit. 2001. Chacal ou la ruse des dominés. Aux origines du malaise culturel des intellectuels algériens. Paris: La Découverte. Yankah, Kwesi. 1989. The Proverb in the Context of Akan Rhetoric: A Theory of Proverb Praxis, 2012th ed. New York: Diasporic Africa Press. Yankah, Kwesi. 1995. Speaking for the Chief: Okyeame and the Politics of Akan Royal Oratory. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

Chapter 17

Oral Poetry: Monyoncho’s Orature and Abagusii Culture of Non-violence Augustine Agwuele and Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange

Background and Context Oral literature aids the recovery of own values in the face of superior weapons and forceful oppression. African folklore, as suggested by Lindfors, is analogous to the continent’s vastly mysterious and uncultivated terrain with undiscovered and neglected abundant valuable minerals.1 One of such African folkloric terrain is protest music. As shown by Mphande, the broadcast of patriotic songs in the 1950s helped the Somalis to rally to the cause of independence.2 Some of the songs of that era included “Soomaliyeey Toos” by Cali Mire Cawaale. Some important Somali poets such as Mohamed Ibrahim Warsame were jailed for their poems of protest. Similar to observation of Wainaina for Gikuyu, there is a close relation between contemporary Gusii popular songs and its traditional orature.3 Among the major Gikuyu performers of the 1970s and 1980 is Joseph Kamaru whose popular work glorified the mother figure in Gikuyu culture.4 The poetry of Monyoncho is not the only one that occurred in response to the socio-cultural disorganizations that were occasioned by colonialism. Mwomboko poetry, which occurred between 1930 and 1940, was itself preceded by Muthirigu poetry that emerged in the 1920s.5 In the Moi era, a popular song by David Karanja, Gitumia Giiki (the other woman) was banned. This song, which captured the anguish of a son whose mother was ill-treated by his stepfather, asked that the man be sent away so that peace could once more reign in the family, was misconstrued by the paranoid Moi regime as a wish for its removal.6 Orature in general, therefore, is such an important means for the expression of discontent. Musical orature, especially, has A. Agwuele (B) Texas State University, San Marcos, TX, USA e-mail: [email protected] A. N. Nyamwange Kisii University, Kisii, Kenya © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_17

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been observed to possess the potentials to develop social consciousness among the oppressed class and hence forms an effective tool for resistance.7 Monyoncho’s performance is comparable to the popular Tanzania ngonjera (a poetic drama) which is owed to Mathias Muyampala. It was performed in the form of a dialogue.8 Whenever there is conflict or perceived injustice, music, as suggested by Perullo, becomes a powerful instrument for the generation of social action.9 Several oral practitioners across the continent have continued to draw attention to inequalities, generate awareness for social ills and mis-governance, showcase the wishes and desires of the nation, and channel popular expectations. Exploiting the powerful imagery in music to conscript emotion, to capture popular imagination using culturally instituted knowledge and quite significantly, to subtly use familiar tropes to disguise perceived affront by despotic government and through non-violent means, wrestle against injustices, African orature indelibly features across the whole sociocultural and political spectrum of African lives. Wielded as a popular unrestrainable powerful force, orature garners attention due to its ability to surreptitiously excite the mind, rouse the emotions, and galvanize people into action. Further: 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Orature is an instrument of education. Through the use of songs and dance, proverbs, riddles, and folktales among other oral devices, it has been a stable of informal education across traditional societies in Africa. Afolayan exemplified this for Yoruba people of Nigeria.10 The renowned West African Griots, for instance, used orature for over 3 thousand years to keep account of events, chronicle history and social customs in addition to entertaining the community. The famous epic of Sundiata of Mali was handed down orally by Griots. Orature is a veritable means for maintaining vigilance over political office holders and offering critiques, for instance, the annual Oke-badan festival in Ibadan, Yorubaland. Being rooted in familiar imagery, cultural lore, and folk sagacity, orature is unmutable; it offers interpretations that elicit instant reactions. For instance, Nyairo and Ogude who examined the idioms of popular Kenyan freedom music.11 With orature, odes are offered to personalities who have achieved valiantly. Consider, for instance, Brenda Fassie’s “Black President” of 1993, which dwelled on Mandela’s imprisonment and wished for his release and elevation as President.

Several scholars have examined orature as a genre and found in it an instrument of social movements that has aided cohesion among the oppressed, and functioned as the voice of the collective in agitating for freedom as in the case of South Africans during apartheid. In fighting against the evil apartheid in South Africa in a non-violent way, artistes not only relied on protest songs, they also used them to maintain morale among the people and to give hope for their cause. Popular agitation remains in the many songs of freedom, songs of protest, including anthems which were carried far and wide by many artistes including Mariam Makeba (Ndod’emnyama) and Hugh Masekela. Vivid in African collective memory are plights of many who have used orality in plays and rhymes for collective social good only to draw the ire of those who

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wielded violent instruments of oppression who either incarcerated, killed, or forced these artistes into exiles. Protest music and poetry remain strong means of expressing the views of the powerless as they easily distinguish between “we” and the “others”.12 Through performative orature, oppressed people openly voice their discontent using subtly presented cultural images and identity symbols. This combination assures the immediacy of the message, its popular appeal and its force in the mobilization of people to a cause. Hubert Ogunde of Nigeria had his plays banned in colonial Nigeria and was himself imprisoned. The Mau Mau resistant movement in Kenya used songs as means of documenting historical events, political figures and forms of social actions aside from their function as instruments of entertainment, education, and encouragement.13 Youssou N’Dour of Senegal also expressed outrage through song. Fela Kuti of Nigeria suffered several incarcerations on account of calling out the oppressive Nigerian regime that kept on underperforming and making poverty, misrule, and corruption a principle of government. Keita Fodeba of Guinea, who lead the Guinean ballet corps was not spared the wrath of the state just on the account they used performance to challenge the ills of the government and give voice to the masses. Aside from scholarly interests in the raising awareness to oppressive regime’s relationship to the activist orators and performers, scholars have studied the orature in the works of many influential African words-smiths, poets, musicians in order to understand how they were able to capture popular imaginations and inform uprisings.14 Protest music has been momentous in the political history of Kenya. Ngugi wa Thiong’o had to go into exile having been persecuted for organizing open-air theater that involved peasants and workers at Kamirithu. In recognition and in celebration of its ability to unite and excite people to quest for political changes as well as to underscore its influence on the music industry in general, Ketebul Music in Kenya compiled in 2014 a CD and a book which they titled: Retracing Kenya’s Songs of Protest: Music as a Force for Changes in Kenya 1963–2013. This compilation of defiance music includes such a hit like GidiGidi MajiMaji’s “Unbwogable” (I am not afraid), that was popularly used by the opposition during the political regime change in Kenya in 2003; it energized the campaigns and galvanized the people toward a collective political goal. During the KANU one-party regime and Moi’s 24 years’ absolute rule of Kenya, artistes like Joseph Kamaru and D.O. Misiani were constantly persecuted for their protest arts. No doubt, “Certain songs grate on the ears of those in power because they criticize their excesses and cry out for the suffering masses-igniting the public demand for change, crystallizing the ideology of the movement for reform, sharpening our understanding of the wrongs that need to be made right besides strengthening resolve and sustaining anger and hope.”15 All these protest messages, like Monyoncho’s orature, grappled with issues of exploitation, oppression, resources equanimity, and divisive politics, stemming from the people’s cultural image and their icons of identification. Some other scholars have studied the empowerment that derives from musical orature. For instance, Purello studied political songs in Kenya and Tanzania and showed that the composition of these songs gives the youths the opportunities to not only attain authority but to shape popular opinion on a host of social issues.16 The

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disillusionment of the youths following Sierra Leone’s civil wars were expressed in their lyrical compositions underlining their socio-political and economic marginalization and their bitterness.17 Invariably, this same music has granted exceptional economic success to the many African youths through their commercialization. And in some cases, opened the door to political office, as in the case of the rap artist Joseph Mbilinyi, who was elected into Tanzania’s parliament in 2010. The 38 year old pop star, Bobi Wine (real Name, Robert Kyagulanyi), questing to unseat the long time President of Uganda, Yoweri-Museveni, in Uganda’s 2021 lections, was galvanized into popular consciousness by his musical lyrics that capture popular discontents. The orature of Christopher Monyoncho Araka music is very popular among the AbaGusii community that occupy the Western part of Kenya, specifically the highlands and plains of Kisii and Nyamira counties. The AbaGusii, as the people are called, attribute their origins to a mythical place called Misiri, the same place of origin of their other Bantu kinfolks such as Baganda, Kuria, Logoli, Suba, Agikuyu, and Meru. From there, they journeyed for about 200 years to finally settle in their current abode. Through their migratory journey, they resided, interacted with, and were assimilated into, other groups such as the Masaai, Kipsigis, and Luo, or subsets of these other peoples; all the while influencing and being influenced by these groups. These contacts have informed aspects of their present culture and customs. Residing in the fertile Kavirondo Gulf, the Gusii are predominantly agriculturalists and as is the case with every Bantu, their society is patriarchal and is based on oral historiography.18 Writing, as we know it, came with different Missionaries from around the fifteenth century. The first document in their language was the translation of the Bible to Ekegusii (Gusii language). Their major creative works predominantly center on their environment and family and are borne by orature. Thrusting orature to the fore as a veiled means of resistance was the pacification of Gusii land between 1890 and 1907. The Gusii were victims of the 1890 Anglo-German Treaty that ushered colonization in the Kavirondo section of East Africa.19 Like other African groups, the Gusii through their diviners such as Sakawa and Moraa Ngiti had known that strangers with white skins will visit and strongly advised against hostilities. However, some of the clans of the Bogetutu and Nyaribari resisted; using their spears, bows, and arrows, they confronted the British’s superior gunfire and were decimated. According to Ochieng, in 1904, a police detachment, Kenya African Rifles (KAR), and a contingent of soldiers, under the command of Jenkins, a colonial officer, entered Gusii country by way of South Mogirango, they shot indiscriminately, burnt huts and granaries, and seized herds of cattle.20 The Gusii, men, women, and children killed in that expedition numbered around 100, with about 3000 heads of cattle seized. Unlike the other Gusii clans, the Abagesero and Bagirango welcomed the foreigners. And being ambivalent to their community’s leadership dealings with the invading Europeans, they avoided the fate suffered by the restive Gusii. By 1907, the British had established an administrative post in Getembe that they named Kisii Boma with Northcote as the officer-in-charge. Despite the earlier pacification of the people and the establishment of an administrative post, violent protests against the British administration did not end. For instance, Mr. Otenyo from Bogetutu, the stepson of the seer Moraa,

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made an attempt at Northcote’s life in 1907 after being fortified against bullets by the prophetess. This failed attempt to kill Northcote and associated rebellions earned yet another brutal bloodbath. The colonizers, using their superior weapons of war, massacred the spear-armed counterparts in order to teach the Gusii people “good behaviour.”21 The extent of the forceful response from the colonizers effectively ended open and violent resistance to British Administration in Gusiiland. The British colonial administration ushered in a set of values and cultural institutions aimed at subjugating, controlling, and eventually overhauling the existing bases and lifestyle of the AbaGusii and thus ensured complete domination of the people and their land. By 1910, for instance, monocultural cultivation of coffee, tea, cotton, maize, and groundnuts was strongly encouraged among the people in order for them to pay taxes and afford some of the exotic goods from the Indian dukas or shops. The existing barter system was abolished and replaced by the newly introduced money economy. The introduction of the monetary exchanges and capitalistic mode of subsistence radically influenced AbaGusii people’s outlook on economic matters and life chances. Part of the consequences is the mobility of people to different communities (for work either in domestic capacities, mercenaries, or on plantations and support services) and greater interactions between peoples settling in presumed economically viable centers that afforded them earning potentials. The influx of people into Gusii land raised questions concerning the way economic resources were distributed. Thus economics, as well as issues of exploitation and inequality, became a common theme around which the people would agitate. These issues as would be shown, found outlets in the orature and music of Monyoncho. Thus pressured and militarily weakened, the Gusii had to seek non-violent means of protesting the colonizers’ siege on their land, culture, and mind without being decimated and they had to thwart their neighbors’ incursions without drawing their ire, and above all, they wanted to sustain their ways of life, values and worldview. To achieve these goals, they adopted a non-violent protest using their most reliable cultural resource, orature. Through the use of carefully crafted phrases and public performances, the AbaGusii sought to maintain their culture, assert their identity and resist cultural domination. Monyoncho’s music provides a case study for the form of protest that the people adopted; in it are revealed certain imageries reflective of their identity through which they purposed to combat the forces aligned against the cultural forces which had insured their existence and sustained them as a people. The studies of oral performance of the Gusii people have shown music and dance to have always been at the center of AbaGusii social life.22 Aside, the people are ever keen to celebrate and preserve their unique existence and identity, peculiar aspirations and idiosyncratic values in their arts.23

Scope of the Study Since it is the duty of scholars who truly understand the language and culture from which a piece of oral literature comes, to explain its literary qualities so that an

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outsider can appreciate it,24 our goal is to introduce Christopher Monyoncho (1946– 2013) and his orature as a post-colonial resistant voice. As a child growing up during the colonial era, he inherited the self-preservative instinct of non-violent protests against the colonial regime. Quite adroit in cultural knowledge of orature, he offered non-violent resistance to state-sponsored terror of the post-Kenyan colonial state similar to that which is embodied in the works of Ngugi’ Wa Thiong’o in the 1970s. In line with the ways his people have always told their lives, Monyoncho decried oppression of every kind in the most poignant and yet non-violent ways. He made use of existing tropes, explored popular imagery, cultural elements, gestures, and mimics. These were dramatized, sang, and performed. The wise understand them, and the socio-culturally informed are wise to their messages and nudging. Thus, out of commonly shared practices, a communicative code ensued that avoided the state-sponsored violence as recompense. The griots of Gusiiland are responsible for expressing collective wisdom through orature in order to encourage, motivate, and urge people to action. As the mouthpiece of the community, their words are carefully chosen. As the personification of the people, their orature equate the worldview of the people. Thus, to explore Monyoncho’s music is, therefore, to explore invaluable data that unveil the cultural goods of the society.

Approach and Data Monyoncho’s work spanned around 43 years (1970–2013); it has a large discography that deals with different themes. Out of a 20% random selection, Ngechu (2004), of the recordings of Moyoncho’s songs on the theme of protest, a relevant audio recording by Monyoncho was carefully selected. The song was transcribed into lines, stanzas, dots, and phrases in line with ethnopoetic and oral-formulaic methods. In glossing the texts, efforts were made to reproduce the power and beauty of oral performance without merely utilizing meter and familiar Western metaphorical references that sound “sweet” to Western ears even when absent in the original music.25 We also made sure not to compromise the native voice or individual cultural elements in the performance. Unlike the old debate which invariably instigated the oral-formulaic theory, there is no question about the nature of African orature. Africans have continuously educated and socialized members by exposing them to a collective experience of performed history. This orature remains seasonal or associated with life cycles. It is thus expected that the public performers will retain oral patterns of its thinking, poetry, and rhetoric.26 Performers conceive and produce their works within a tradition; this is reflected by a recurrent pattern of phrases that convey certain significant notions and is formulaic. At the very least, the description of the ambient conditions within which the performer, in this case Monyoncho, produced and performed is necessary to uncover the background cultural milieu and to reflect the local preoccupations encapsulated in his works. Such socio-cultural contextualization allows

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the unearthing of subtle nuances and meanings, making it possible to offer explanations pertaining to the why and how the evolving discourse between the artiste and audience transpired. Given that the primary medium is language, the connections between the use of language in the social and political contexts in which it occurs (including issues of gender, ethnicity, cultural differences, and identity in terms of construction and reflection) could be interpreted following the approaches collectively called Critical Discourse Analyses (CDA).27 Through CDA texts may be demystified, light shed on discourse and societal structure. These can be achieved through open interpretation and explanation and by a reliance on systematic scientific procedures such as occur with some distancing from the data and setting the data in the context of their occurence.28

Monyoncho and His Orature Christopher Monyoncho Araka was born in 1945 in Kitutu Chache, Kegogi, Kenya, at the height of colonial dominance. He completed his Kenya African Preliminary Examination (KAPE) in 1965. He grew into a prolific singer, composer, guitarist, and bandleader. Due to his versatile Benga music guitar playing style, he will be nicknamed Riyo Riebasweti (meaning python skin).29 The python skin among the Gusii is known for its medicinal value; it protects its wearers from evil spirits. Monyoncho’s music is reputed to possess such a soothing charm. Monyoncho’s musical band moved across several major Gusii town centers such as Keroka, Kisii, Nyamira, and Ogembo. They performed to crowds in these centers.30 Their performance would invariably elicit vigorous competition from other artists, leading to greater creativity, new improvisations that often re-appropriated songs, rhymes, and themes that existed traditionally. The backbone of these performances was a people’s oral tradition—the truths and aspirations cherished by the community. A community’s music becomes a way of living their ideas and values, organizing and involving themselves with their communal relationships, imbued with their tradition of performance.

Eguto: The Ant Bear The song “Eguto” (the Ant Bear) has two parts. Played in the Benga style, the first part narrates the story of three old men who are drunk. Returning home in the evening from their drinking spree, they came across an Ant Bear that they mistake for a sheep. They lasso it and take it to the home of one of them where they keep it. They plan to sell it the following day. However, during the night, the Ant Bear digs through the house and disappears with the family sheep. This act is cause for consternation and a lot of embarrassment to the three gentlemen whose inebriated state of mind clouded their judgment concerning the identity of the animal that they brought home.

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Eguto: Part One-Song • 1. Abanto baito tegerera tobatebie (2x): My people, listen, we tell you. The song starts with an appeal to the people, the singer’s targeted audience. The use of the pronouns “my” and “we” creates a cultural image of collectiveness, belongingness, and individual and communal accountability. The use of the verb “listen” constructs an image of an important message that is to be shared. • 2. Amangana eee akorekanete abuo kare (2x): Events that took place long ago. All these happened in the past, hence it is a narrative, the normative way of passing cultural goods and values in society to the next generation. • 3. Amangana eee: Yeah, events. • 4. Karatotebia ango: [Sotto voice with an old man’s voice]: Go on and tell us. The voice of an Old Man urging the narrator to go ahead elevates the narration to a depository of cultural wisdom and richness. • 5. Bagaka bande bare korwa esabari (2x): Some old men coming from a journey. The old men coming home characterize the role of men as opposed to women. Men were known to work outside the homestead so as to provide for the family. Other times they could come home late due to sharing a drink in one of their age mate’s home, making the beer parlor a male’s sphere. • 6. Bakaumera eguto bagakaga ne’ngondi (2x): They found an ant bear and mistook it for a sheep Against the cultural image and popular expectations from the old men known to be wise, something stupid happens. Being in the best position to recognize different animals, it is shocking to see their judgments impaired. Essentially, men, leaders, wise ones, on whom the family and the society depends, have descended into foolishness. • 7. Bakanyebeka engori bagatema gochia inka (2x): They tied it with rope and led it home. The “they” show a collective act. They tied a wild animal and led it home. This was a careful jab at the elders being culprits in bringing home foreign ideals, foreign “goods.” Perhaps, the political leaders, being inebriated, enabled foreign invasion of Gusii lives. • 8. Ee bagatema ee: Yeah, led it home.

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• 9. Bagakagane’ngondi,mbare korora neguto? [Sotto voce]: Mistook it for a sheep; why wouldn’t they see it was an ant bear? This voice of protest intrudes into the narration. It seeks to understand why elders would commit such grave mistake. However, the reason is not offered at once thus creating more suspense, as a way of attracting the audience’s full attention. • 10. Bagatebia oyomo nyeire bwo onyegache (2x): They asked one of them to go keep it. Instead of a reflective response, the safety of the sheep and how to keep it becomes their overriding concern. • 11. Nyeire bwo onyegache toche koonia mambia (2x): To keep it so that we sell it on the following day. • 12. Tonyore chibesa: Sell it to make money. It is obvious that selfishness, personal gain rather than communal good is the motivating factor for their interest in the sheep. Ordinarily, found goods are never kept. Efforts are made to find the rightful owner while the found good or sheep is in the care of the founder. This assured good neighborliness and enhanced cohesion in society. In a way, Monyoncho is quietly protesting the selfish nature exhibited by those who should be the custodians of social capital good. It was also a protest of the commercialization of all things due to the newly established capitalist mode of distribution. • 13. Banyeonetie gose mambia?: [Sotto voce] Did they get it for sale in the morning? The intrusive voice inquires about the success of their venture. • 14. Omogaka oyio akanyebeka ase chingondi (2x): The man kept it with his sheep. • 15. Akanyebeka ase chingondi akagenda mwaye korara (2x): Kept it with his sheep and went to his room to sleep. Alas, the man kept it with his existing flock. A mixture of the foreign, wild, and unknown with the trusted and proven! This utterance underscores how selfish interests undermine collective ideals. He retires to bed with a false sense of security. • 16. Eee akarara eee: Surely, he slept. • 17. Mbwakiete anyore chingondi nebinto bosa! [Sotto voce]: Did he in the morning get his sheep intact? • 18. Eguto eria ekarema enyomba egasoka (2x): The ant bear dug through the house and escaped. • 19. Ekarema enyomba egasoka amo nechingondi chiaye (2x): It dug a hole and escaped with his sheep.

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Being an ant bear, it acted in accordance with its nature. It dug through the house to escape the entrapment. The escape is dramatic. That which was supposed to be beneficial to the custodian becomes a terrible personal loss. The “sheep’s” actions are also deliberate and planned as illustrated by the digging and escaping. • 20. Ee chigasira ee: The sheep got lost. Regret now ensues. • 21. Eee: Surely. • 22. Chiagendete gochia inani,gose ingai? [Sotto voce]: The sheep may have gone into the forest or anywhere? Also, uncertainty and confusion emerge as suggested by the phrase “may have gone.” The nearest suspected place is the forest. In olden times, forest coverage in Gusii was extensive. But the use of “anywhere” creates more confusion. The narrator seems to be protesting the loss that cannot be traced to a known or clear place. • 23. Ndio Samuel…[Remarked in a different voice]: Yeah, Samuel. • 24. Nigo natebigwe ochire gochia abuo [Sotto voce]: I have information he is gone that way. The narrator becomes part of the story by putting himself squarely at the center of the narration. The statement shows he is part of the proceedings when he asserts that he has information. This proves that he wants us to believe his story as he is not only an active commentator or witness but also an active participant. • 25. Amaiso abarirete burure, chingondi chiasirere: His eyes are red…his sheep is lost In further inserting the self in the narrative, he comments on the color of the man’s eyes, which he observes to be red, redness due to perhaps lack of sleep or of a troubled mind. Perhaps, the anguish of the nation: • 26. Gose roche, gose inani… They are gone to the river or forest… • 27. Gose nengoro ime, gose ngai?: Into a hole or somewhere unknown. • 28. Nanyorire okorigia chingondi: He is searching for the sheep. The search for the possible location of the “sheep” further shows the continuing confusion, the prevailing uncertainties that now envelope the nation. Further, there is a question of why the community is not party to seeking solutions. • 29. Chikabora bono: They have vanished. • 30. Bono chiaborire: Now they cannot be found.

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The “now” refers to the contemporary nature of the problem. • 31. Omonto omanyete ne’gutoeyio : The only person in the know is the ant bear! Consciousness is now attributed to the ant bear that now is conscious and knows. Coming on the heels of the confirmation of the complete loss then the song is generally decrying something bigger: the act of abusing a host’s generosity and kindness by taking off with what he treasures when he is little aware of it. Therefore, the conflict in this narrative is between existing cultural generosity and hospitality and the new foreign impositions as well as the nefarious acts visited on the usually well-meaning hosts. • 32. Omanyete ese ekairete chingondi echio (Sotto voce): He alone knows where he took the sheep. The loss appears irredeemable. Note the earlier use of the words “somewhere unknown” in line 27 and “anywhere” in line 22. The loss in abstract terms is a reference to something like dignity or identity that one cannot finger with certainty but can be felt to have been eroded or lost. It can also be referring to the difficulty of recovering what is lost as you cannot in practical terms place it. Conclusively, Monyoncho’s song is a protest construct on several levels. It protests the unwise decisions made by the supposedly wise elders in the community that unleashed troubles in the community. The story portrays the monstrosity of greed and selfishness that unraveled existing cultural institution by presumably bringing into it a foreign culture without discernment. Metaphorically, it protests the complicity of the elders in enabling colonization and entrenching its pillaging of existing socioeconomic, cultural, and political resources of the land. “Things fall apart” as it is, and the center has unraveled. The Ant Bear becomes the colonizer who was generously hosted by African leaders in the continent. The leaders were obviously blinded by colonizers’ superior technology, monetary inducement, and the possibility of personal gain and now are part of the problem. Just like the ant bear, the colonizers pillaged and murdered, leaving behind confusion, destruction, and conflict. The second component to Monyoncho’s music is the dramatized portion, the transcript of which is now presented below.

Eguto: Part Two: Drama • 1. MAN: Mbarabi aaba? Banto gose mbabisa?: Who are these? People or enemies? The encounter begins with a man, a newcomer, making inquiry about the identity of the people he encountered; the three men on their way home from a journey. Since it was already getting dark, part of the customary exchange of pleasantries includes

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verifying the identities of the interlocutors as part of the security procedures of the community. [A growling snarling sound accompanied by Eeeeeeeee is heard] • 2. MAN (screaming): Obii obee: Alas! Alas! A Gusiiman’s first attribute was bravery. If he screamed out of fear, he was likened to a woman. Therefore, whatever scares this man to the point of screaming would really be terrifying. • 3. OLD MAN: Yaya,nintwe Nyamarangeti: It is us, Nyamarangeti. It is virtuous for one to give their correct identity. It is a way of showing one’s honesty, decency, and cultural knowledge. • 4. Ntwakogosire mogisangio? Did we scare you [age]mate? The word mogisangio,‘age mate’, is a phrase used by those who underwent circumcision together, that is ekegori-age. This usage shows familiarity and assures belongingness. One might say, a badge of identity. • 5. MAN: Ee mwangosire: Certainly, indeed. • 6. Engondi eye nauomeire ekorisia: The sheep grazing over. • 7. Moino aiga neyango gose?: There, belongs to who? Having completed the process of identity, the man inquires about the strange animal grazing yonder. • 8. OLD MAN: Namaiso oukorete yaa?: Are you blind age mate? • 9. Torochie nintwe tonyebwate: Can’t you see we own it? The Old Man protests. He wonders whether the Man is blind. Why can’t you see the obvious? However, this form of exchange is customary. In greeting, people ask about what they are currently doing. For instance, if someone is weeding, you simply greet them and continue to ask whether they are weeding. • 10. MAN: Indoche naende inkoboria? Motakoigwa bono?: I couldn’t have asked if I were sure. In return, the Man protests by saying he couldn’t ask if he was aware. Somebody not akin to this banter might think there is bad blood between the two groups. The plural prefix, mo, in Motakoigwa introduces the collective, calling upon the community to attest the reality.

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• 11. OLD MAN: Nigo twanyeigwa korwa moino aiga: We were given from there. • 12. Buna mosio omesuto: As a gift by the in-laws. The Old Man gives an answer to an unasked question either as a sign of guilt or to fill the silence. Remember he has no right to the animal as he doesn’t own it. He hides his guilt behind the collective, also using the plural pronoun twa- or “we” and then calls it omosuto—a gift from one’s in-laws, A gift that one receives when a married sister is found virtuous. • 13. MAN: Chiombe chiaerire mokwegwa chingondi emesuto?: What? A mere sheep? They couldn’t afford a cow? The Man questions the value of the gift from the in-laws as the customs suggest that a cow was the rightful gift for the situation. • 14. OLD MAN: Engombe keyaborai nki twaregokora: Without a cow, what could we do? • 15. Gose ense ya engereire: Grazing land has become scarce. • 16. Chin’gon’go nkare chiarenge : Land for cattle-keeping was in yester-years • 17. Narero ntwagatwarire chiombe: Even so, we don’t have cows nowadays. • 18. Kai orosie rore rero: Where is the pasture anyway? • 19. Yaa totoibera. Ntoroche: Age mate, dare not steal it. We are very observant. The Old Man’s long rant is an attempt to explain away the inferior gift. He suggests that he feels imposed on to accept the gift. To prevent any accusation, he refers to scarcity of pasture as the reason for lack of a noble gifting. He uses the term ntoroche—we are alert or observant as a way of supplanting the blame on the inquirer, in case they lose their obviously inferior gift as a way of showing they have no problem with it. • 20. MAN: Mokobora bono! Nonyan’goko moraigwe buna mesuto,tata : You mean you could have accepted even a hen? Insisting on establish‘hed cultural norm, the man wonders how low one would descend to accept any gift. • 21. OLD MAN: Noebwa magenaa’ngoko kai kwanyaroche : Even hen eggs can do as a gift. • 22. Kanyagokwana aye: You argue senselessly!

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Shamelessly, the Old Man continues to lower the standards. The interlocutor concludes that he is bereft of reasoning and further discussion is meaningless. We should recall that the Old Man’s “sheep” is a gain for him at any level. Nevertheless, the fact remains that there are set standards of relating among in-laws. • 23. MAN: Aha wah. Eee nabo: Surely? I agree. • 24. ANOTHER VOICE: Enkai gose engondi eye yarwa: Where did this sheep come from…? The confusion is pronounced as other people find it difficult to accept his explanation and to understand the source of the sheep. • 25. OLD MAN: Togende riso irabu mogisangio!: Move with the light of the eye! • 26. MAN: Eee mbuya mono abagaka baminto. Nainwe mogende buya: Thanks, fellow elders. Go well too. Despite the lack of agreement, they go their separate ways, wishing each other well in line with their customary etiquette. • 27. OLD MAN(conspiringly): Nachire bono?: Is he gone? • 28. VOICE: Ee ochire. Rora engondi eye: He’s gone. Look at the sheep. • 29. Kiaba n’engondi boronge bori? : Is it a real sheep? Relieved that the man has left, the three continue to show their concern about the source and identity of the sheep. • 30. ANOTHER VOICE: Eee n’engondi amaene : It is truly a sheep. • 31. OLD MAN: Nyebwate rende: Get hold of it. • 32. VOICE: Nanye bwatire: I’ve done it. • 33. OLD MAN: Nyebwate mono: Hold it strongly. • 34. VOICE: Nanyebwatire: I’ve done so. Despite their reservations, they watch as the Old Man works to secure the sheep, which by now has become precious to him and which he is determined to hold unto and to profit from as shown in the next scene. • 35. NARRATOR: Ekero banyebwatete bakanyeira inka: From here they took it home

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• 36. Bakanyea oyomo akanyeira: They gave it to one of them for safe keeping • 37. Erio mambia banyar ekonyeira echiro: Until when they were to sell it at the market. • 38. Tiga toigwe ango gose banyenyorete mambia: Let’s hear whether they found it the next day. • 39. Bakanyeira echiro: To sell at the market. The narrator now reveals the real intent of keeping the sheep. The Old Man wants to sell it the following day. • 40. OLD MAN [Calling]: E’nyantugutana? Nyantugutana : Nyantugutana? • 41. CHILD’S VOICE: Eeeee: Yeeaah. • 42. OLD MAN [shouting]: Enyantugu tanagokira?: Nyantugutana, why keep quiet? • 43. CHILD: Eeeee: Yeeaah. In the next scene, a familiar voice calls out one Nyantugutana. The response comes in the voice of a child. Note the common way of attracting attention by asking why one is quiet, even when they are not. • 44. OLD MAN [with urgency and abusively]: Ooo gochaga bwekoye!: Cursed one! Scratchyourself! • 45. Gocha gaendasi ekorase!: Get stung by the stinger! • 46. Gochaga bwetugutane engeno!: Throw yourself completely! • 47. Enkenyabouro eke! Minyoka!: You, idiot! Run here! The Old Man’s new approach to the child is quite disturbing. For reasons better known to him, he resorts to placing imprecations on the innocent child. His foul language and bad mood are conveyed by his tone. This untoward behavior reveals that all is not well. • 48. CHILD: Naachire: I am coming. • 49. OLD MAN: Minyoka oigorere chingondi… Run and open for the sheep. Adhering to culture, submissively, the child obeys and does as told. Despite bad behavior, age must still be respected. • 50. [Cursingly] Kai tata! Karaigwa: Alas, what a..! Listen first.

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• 51. Naki [Stammering] oko …okonteneneria : Don’t show off… • 52. Emerondo buna nekeguye: Those long legs like a bird. • 53. Ogende ngoora. [Slowly and lowly]: Walk quietly. • 54. CHILD: Eeee: Yeah. The child’s eagerness to execute the mission is shown by the father’s restraining words before he is given further instructions. The stammer could reflect an aspect of anger, equally the fact that he continues to abusively address the child whose response is a simple yes at the end. • 55. OLD MAN: Inaki ogotaruria amagoro buna esiriria!: Why are you shuffling your legs like …? • 56. Engondi neero engeni: There is a new sheep. • 57. CHILD: Eee: Yeah • 58. OLD MAN: Tebasoka: Let it not run away. The Old Man keeps finding fault with the child and continues to make sure that the sheep is secured. The child’s simple answers on their own would be quiet protests to an otherwise a repulsive and oppressive regime signified by the father’s imposing position and stature. Lapse of Silence. • 59. CHILD: Tata, enachi kogenda nanyora ngondi chichiyio: Father, I went, however, I did not find any sheep. • 60. OLD MAN: Ekige ngiase ngekire?: Was the door secured? • 61. CHILD: Eeee: Yes. It is not one new sheep that is missing but all the sheep in the fold! The Old Man does not understand how it could be. We expect him to make an instant move to unravel the mystery. • 62. OLD MAN [Calling]: Eeee mosubati o’ Nyagechoka? Eeee? : Daughter of Nyagechoka? • 63. WOMAN: Eeee: Yes. • 64. OLD MAN: Otakoigwa buna omwana agoteba: Listen to what the child is saying.

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The man keeps his elderly poise. Instead of engaging the child, he calls the mother in the customary manner (daughter of X). Rather than explain the child’s message, he allows the child, the eye witness, to do so. • 65. WOMAN: Inee? Moisirumbwa nabo are igo: What? The lazy one is ever like that. • 66. Nigo arora ne’chinyangau chikomoria? : Could he be fearing being eaten by hyenas! The mother attacks an already victim of his father’s verbal abuse by calling him the lazy one and coward. Suddenly, the child becomes the victim, being insulted by both parents without any apparent wrongdoing. • 67. [Singing]Motandege bwamire rooche (2x): The gum tree is grown by the riverside. • 68. Motandege bwamire rooche, ndero eee: The gum tree is grown by the riverside, yeah, today. The mother switches into a song about a blue gum that is grown by the river. Such an exotic tree is really tall and consumes lots of water. It was introduced by the colonialist to reclaim Gusii swamplands. The tree, an alien species, grows into imposing and towering heights at the expense of local species and is destructive to the natural ecology. Tension is now expressed. The ending of the song with the word “today” marks the moment of reckoning. The truth will definitely be realized. • 69.[Screaming] Obeee. Nyamerondo metambe?: Alas! Long legged one? • 70. Kwanyora ekige ngiansengekire?: Was the closure in place? The mother’s horrified exclamation and verbal attack at Nyantugutana’s physical appearance are apparently out of place. Was the abuse indirectly directed at her lazy husband? She asks the same question her husband had posed concerning the safety latch on the sheep pen, which by now metaphorically implicates the security and safety of the community. • 71. Inee? Amaroba nayaki angana aiga?: What is the meaning of all this soil? • 72. Amaroba nayaki aremire nyomba aiga?: What dug all this earth in the house? • 73. Nki gose kiaremete nyomba aiga?: What did this inside the house? • 74. Nao chingondi chiane chiasokerete?: Did my sheep get out through the hole? The presence of a hole, an outlet from the house squarely takes us back to the dubious identity of the “sheep.” • 75. Uuiiiiuuiiii. Motagocha morore:

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Alas! Alas! Come and be witness! • 76. Inki eke? Bakari uuiiii!: What is this? Please come, alas! • 77. Nki eke gose kiaremete nyomba?: What could have dug my house? Uuiiii is communally screamed by women to raise alarm in case of death or any other calamity. Accompanying the scream, they alert the community to whatever is amiss. Hearing this, the community rushes in to assist. In case of a death, other women would join in screaming. If it is a fight, those who respond would settle the quarrel. If it is an enemy invasion, the men would join to repel the attack, while the women continue to scream for reinforcements. However, in this case the woman calls the people to an unusual occurrence. • 78. VOICE [Calling]: Ee Nyankabaria? Nyankabaria?: Nyankabaria? Nyankabaria? • 79. MAN: Ooo. Gose engondi eria nchenyankonete: Surprise. That sheep puzzled me. • 80. Buna yatambetie amato gochia igoro: The long ears pointed upwards • 81. Ngondi chianya gotambea mato buna masero?: Do sheep ever have such long-ears? The Voice, apparently that of one of the three men who brought the sheep there, questions the sheep’s unusual appearance that now puzzled him. He was not comfortable with the size of the sheep’s ears, yet he kept quiet. Does this explain our inability to question wrong decisions, policies until a disastrous outcome due to them befall us? • 82. NYANKABARIA: Etwatindete bono?: Were we that seriously drunk? • 83. MAN: Nyankabaria mangana kiaya?: Nyankabaria, what next? • 84. OLD MAN: Gose nainche omwonwa nonkonete buna otaambeete: I also doubted the long mouth. • 85. Naamato gochia igoro: And pointed ears. • 86. Mangana kiaya,neguto, twarentete?: What next? Was it an ant bear? Nyankabaria blames their error on drunkenness. For the Man, their respectful image and reputation as community elders are at stake. Now, they wonder how to come out of it unscathed. In his wondering of how this should unfold, he utters one word that explains the whole scenario to us. The strange sheep is indeed an Ant bear. • 87. WOMAN: Uuiiii. Neguto bandeterete?: Alas! Did they bring me an ant bear? • 88. Uuiiiibakari? Motagocha morore. Uuiii… : Alas!Alas! My people! Come and witness.

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The instant reference to the ant bear by the Woman shows she has been keenly following the trio’s conversation carried out in low tones. In loud protest, she chooses to amplify it now that she has an explanation to the mounds of earth in the house. She is calling all and sundry to come and witness the men’s “stupid and costly mistake.” • 89. OLDMAN [Commandingly]: Otagokira!: Keep Silent! • 90. Mosubatio’Nyagechoka, otagokira !: Daughter of Nyagechoka, shut up! • 91. Naki ogotwaka enyaro iga: You’re embarrassing us. • 92. Abanto bagocha,bakoigwa naki baratebe?: What will people say when they find out? The public revelation by the wife does not amuse her husband and he tries to silence her forcefully. Wife battery was a common societal happening and the threat has such an implication. His respectful address to the wife and request for her to stop causing them embarrassment is a form of dialogue or conciliation from a typical traditional man’s standpoint. Typical of him, the man worries about his public image. • 93. WOMAN: Uuiiii. Eguto bandeterete? Neguto… uuiiii : Alas, they might have brought an ant bear… The Woman’s protest and refusal to be silenced rekindles the loss to the family’s wealth and humiliation of the family head that was engineered by the men’s actions. For her, this is the opportunity to seek redress in line with Gusii custom. • 94. OLD MAN: Eee.Ningwake!Kira!..: Silence! I am going to strike you! • 95. WOMAN: Uuuiii neguto? Uuuiii: Alas! It was an ant bear! Alas the while! As expected, the Old Man threatens her with a beating. He orders instant silence. The agitated woman who has reached a point of no return damns the consequence and continues to scream. This way, she registers a subtle protest against traditional mores that uphold the hegemony of men even when they are at fault. She takes a swipe at the husband’s authority and seeks to be heard. • 96. OLD MAN: Kira!KaiNyanyo… : Silence! Where is Nyanyo… • 97. WOMAN: Kai gose abana bagenda?: Where are my children? • 98. [Calling]Eee Maria? Eee Mariachana?: Maria? Mariachana? • 99. Neguto bandeterete?: Did they bring me an ant bear? • 100. Inga ekeburugo? Uuiiiii: Give me a cooking stick? Alas!

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• 101. OLD MAN: Eeke: Here! The Old Man again orders for silence before calling out for a nondescript person. He seems to be seeking a stick to whip a recalcitrant wife. The woman, as if taking a cue, remembers her children at this moment of great mental anguish, her major bond to the angry man. Her move is a form of security and perhaps one way of reminding the angry husband that she has foot soldiers, although it was a taboo for children to involve themselves in their parents’ fights. She calls out their names as a symbol of endearment. Note the use of the first name Maria, which is biblical, is anachronistic and may be a pointer to changing times. Then, with the refrain, neguto bandeterete, a humiliating and accusing refrain, she calls out: “of all things, they brought me an Ant Bear.” Note the plural pronoun “they” in the statement which exonerates the husband from the singular blame. A master stroke by a brilliant woman, the decision was made by several men and so the blame goes to the committee. No wonder, she requests her cooking stick, assuming her role as a housewife; a request which was instantly heeded by her husband. Perhaps, this was his way of accepting guilt. Monyoncho confronts the unquestioned male authoritative position in the community. He attacks the cultural hegemony by the perennially underprivileged lots either by their child-like silence with truthful facts as shown by the wailing of the women. He showed that for the collective to survive and make progress, everyone has to work together toward a solution. Conclusively, the Ant Bear song was metaphorically used by Monyonchoto to protest the selfish complicity of the elders in forcing foreign manners upon the nation. They brought “them” home, housed “them” and protected them. African communal leaders who were inebriated by the shiny foreign ideals end up the losers. The voices of the weakened as presented by the woman and child can no longer remain silenced. They would face the monster of their oppression and enslavement with facts and shame them. Perhaps, it was time, the youth, women and less influential community members who have not been compromised by the momentary gains of foreign values rose up and reclaim the land. Monyoncho, it seems, was surreptitously calling for a revolution. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Lindfors (1977). Mphande (2007: 363). Wainaina (1988). Mwaura (2007). Muhoro (2007). Mutonya (2007). Ayu (1986). Nyoni (2007). Perullo (2011).

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10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

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Afolayan (2012). Nyairo and Ogude (2005). Eesuola (2015). Perullo (2011), Mwaura (2007). See for instance the anthology by Njogu and Maupeu (2007). Gazemba (2014). Perullo (2011). Shepler (2010). Bosire and Machogu (2013). Ochieng (1974). Ibid., 231. Ibid., 237. Nyamwaka (2011). Orina (2014). Okpewho (1992: 11). Hymes (1981). Foley (1991). Cameron (2001). Tenorio (2011). Maina (2013), Mogire (2013). Nyamwaka (2011).

References Afolayan, M.O. 2012. Elaloro: A Didactic Approach to Yoruba Education. In Development, Modernism and Modernity in Africa, ed. Agwuele, 108–120. Augustine, NY: Routledge. Ayu, I. 1986. Creativity and Protest in Political Culture: The Political Protest in Popular Music of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. Essays in Popular Struggle, 1–55. Oguta (Nigeria): Zim Pan Publishers. Bosire, K.M., and Machogu, G.K. 2013. Ekegusii-English Dictionary with English Index. Nairobi. Ekegusii Encyclopedia Project. Cameron, D. 2001. Working with Spoken Discourse. London: Sage. Eesuola, O.S. 2015. Political Protest Songs and Actual Protest Values: Analysis of Fela’s “Sorrow, Tears & Blood” and Bob Marley’s “Stand Up, Get Up.” An International Journal of Arts and Humanities 4 (2): 82–96. Foley, J.M. 1991. Orality, Textuality, and Interpretation. In Vox Intexta: Orality and Textuality in the Middle Ages, ed. A.N. Doane and C.B. Pasternack, 34–45. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Gazemba, S. 2014. Retracing Kenya’s Songs of Protest, Nairobi. Ketebul Music. Retrieved on October 21, 2017, from www.musicinafrica.net. Hymes, D. 1981. In Vain 1 Tried to Tell You: Essays in Native American ethnopoetics. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Lindfors, B. 1977. Forms of Folklore in Africa: Narratives, Poetic, Gnomic, Dramatic. Austin and London: University of Texas Press. Maina, B. S. 2013. The Demise of Monyoncho Araka. In The Daily Nation, Retrieved on October 17, 2017, from www.nation.co.ke.

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Mogire, G. 2013. The Burial of Monyoncho Araka. In The Daily Nation, Retrieved on October 21, 2017, from www.nation.co.ke. Mphande, L. 2007. If You’re Ugly, Know How to Sing: Aesthetics of Resistance and Subversion. In Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa, ed. Kimani Njogu and Hervé Maupeu, 377–401. Dar es Salaam. Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Muhoro, P.M. 2007. The Poetics of Gikuyu Mwomboko: Narrative as a Technique in HIV-AIDS Awareness Campaign in Rural Kenya. In Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa, ed. Kimani Njogu and Hervé Maupeu, 73–92. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Mutonya, M. 2007. Ethnic Identity and Stereotypes in Popular Kenyan Music: Mugiithi Performance in Kenya. In Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa, ed. Kimani Njogu and Hervé Maupeu1, 57–175. Dar es Salaam. Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Mwaura M.W. 2007. Artistic Discourse and Gender Politics in the Gikuyu Popular Song. In Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa, ed. Kimani Njogu and Hervé Maupeu, 49–57. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Ngechu, M. 2004. Understanding the Research Process and Methods: An Introduction to Research Methods. Nairobi. Acts Press. Njogu, K., and H. Maupe (eds.). 2007. Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Nyairo, J., and Ogude, J. 2005. Popular Music, Popular Politics: Unbwogable and the Idioms of Freedom in Kenyan Popular Music. African Affairs 104(415): 225–249. Nyamwaka, E.O. 2011. Creative Arts and Cultural Dynamism: A Study of Music and Dance Among the Abagusii of Kenya, 1904–2002 . Nairobi: Kenyatta University. Nyoni, P.N. 2007. Music and Politics in Tanzania: A Case Study of Nyota-wa-Cigogo. In Songs and Politics in Eastern Africa, ed. Kimani Njogu and Hervé Maupeu, 241–272. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. Ochieng’, W. 1974. A Pre-colonial History of the Gusii of Western Kenya: From CAD 1500 to 1914. Nairobi: East African Literature Bureau. Okpewho, I. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character, and Continuity, vol. 710. Indianapolis/Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Orina, A.F. 2014. Analysis of Symbolism and Transcience in the Oral Literature of Abagusii of Western Kenya. Nairobi: University of Nairobi. Perullo, A. 2011. Politics and Popular Song: Youth, Authority and Popular Music in East Africa. African Music 9 (1): 87–115. Shepler, S. 2010. Youth Music and Politics in Post-War Sierra Leone. Journal of Modern African Studies 48 (4): 627–642. Tenorio, E. H. 2011. Critical Discourse Analysis, an Overview. Nordic Journal of English Studies 10 (1): 183–210. Wainaina, M. 1988. Aspects of Orature in Selected Gikuyu pop Songs. Thesis, Kenyatta University, MA.

Chapter 18

Ifá: A Womanist Deconstruction of Gender Politics Olusegun Adekoya

It is irrefragable that traditional Yoruba society was patriarchal and put several limitations in the path of women that restricted their audibility, visibility, and participation in the political and social process. Men exercised power to their advantage and created an inferior status for women. For example, women were forbidden from performing the role of diviners and, by implication, prevented from gaining direct access to orac`. rúnmìlà gave his children “as ular lore symbolized by the sixteen palm-nuts that O instruments of divination” to remove chaos and confusion caused by the intemperate departure of the Grand Patriarch of Ifáfrom the world in rage because of the blunt refusal of O.l´o.w`o., one of his children, to bow and “give the salute.”1 His son’s claim of equality provoked him to take his leave of the human world in the same way that many men in modern society are incensed by the struggle of women for equal rights and liberation from male oppression. The significance of the sixteen palm-nuts (divination) resides in a belief that it `. rúnmìlà’s offers solutions to all problems that confront humanity, as revealed in O instruction to his children in heaven, his new place of abode: When you reach home, If you want to have money, That is the person you should consult. When you reach home, If you want to have wives, That is the person you should consult. When you reach home, If you want to have children, That is the person you should consult … Any good thing you wish to have on earth, That is the person you should consult …2 O. Adekoya (B) Obafemi Awolowo University, Ife, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_18

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By extrapolation, the global clientele of Ifá should be the happiest and most successful in the world. But is it the case? Introduction of Western education in the colonial period did not significantly change the inferior status of women as many fathers refused to send their female children to school on the grounds that money spent on their education would amount to a waste when eventually they left their parents’ home for their husbands. There is no better site for breaking fetters that bind women than the body of knowledge that pretends to proffer solutions to all problems, be they existential, human-invented, nature-caused, or divinity-ordered. However, it is not only Ifá that is culpable for marginalizing and silencing women. Even in many female cults such as G`e.l`e.d´e. in E`. gbádò, Obìre.n-Òjòwú in Ìj`e.bú land and Òs.un worship in Òs.ogbo, men still dominate and play prominent roles because women do not wear masks and are forbidden from participating in rites and rituals aimed at purifying society until they attain the age of menopause. It is believed that menstrual blood is so potent that it could neutralize any `. s.un, a virgin carrier of O `. s.un emblems in powerful charm or ritual sacrifice. ArugbáO a large brass bowl, does not even know the contents of what she bears on her head. Only men, according to Abí´o.láAdéo.láAdékúnlé, place the goddess on a stool on the day of lighting the sixteen-point lamp, gather her emblems, and put them in the bowl (57). Womanism, as defined by Mary E. Modúp . e´K´o.láwo.lé in Womanism and African Consciousness, is the “totality of feminine self-expression, self-retrieval, and selfassertion in positive cultural ways” (24).3 Self-expression and self-naming, Clenora Hudson-Weems, asseverates in Africana Womanism: Reclaiming Ourselves, are important and liberating.4 Ifá speaks for women, believing that it possesses full `. rúnmìlà, the founder knowledge of them. To what extent is the claim true? Does O and grand patriarch of Ifá, not consult other Ifá priests in recognition of his limitations and lack of full presence?Ò`nyà casts divination for both Mother Earth and `. bàrà B.”5 A Yoruba proverb on the impossibility of fullness Almighty God in ÒtúáO of self-presence is germane: “We see other people’s napes, while they in turn behold ours.” Although Ifá claims to know all things, it would take another body of knowledge such as Womanism to see through the lore and identify its blind spots because, according to another pertinent Yoruba proverb, “However sharp a cutlass is, it cannot carve its own handle.” Assuming that Ifá has spoken well for women, it would still be good, healthy and just to allow women to speak for themselves, for there cannot be an excess of truth. Biological differences, the basis of all manner of discrimination against women under patriarchy, cannot be wished away. However, as Audre Lorde has made known in Sister Outsider, “it is not those differences between us that are separating us. It is rather our refusal to recognize those differences.”6 Pushed to the extreme, recognition of difference turns negative and impairs gender relations in radical Western Feminisms such as Lesbianism and thus disqualifies them as analytical tools in navigating the contours of an Oracle that is mostly consulted by women who desire children. Lesbianism, Jill Johnson’s solve-all remedy for female problems, is an abomination to such women, and so are other brands of firebrand Western Feminism that reject marriage as an institution invented by men to subjugate women.7

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Their strategies may bring women greater economic prosperity, but they simultaneously vitiate family values and breed more psycho-social problems. Consequently, individualism, materialism, and violence fester and the dream of peace and wholeness of being recedes further. Rather than achieve the desired balance of power, the revolution distorts gender relations and causes dismay and distrust all over. We now proceed to an examination of the representation of women and gender issues in the selected Ifá lyrics, which are all in pairs labeled A and B and were translated by Ayo Salami, the collector, beginning with “OgbèÒfún B” that projects women as one of the desirable objects that money can buy. OwóLe.l´e.wà, who is coming from heaven to earth, is asked to perform sacrifice in order to possess “all things necessary for use as showoff in life such that he could have them all in abundance.”8 The poem highlights values that the Yoruba consider as important in order to have a truly happy and fulfilled life. They all coalesce around the family, the basic unit of society: If one has no money It is not good If one has no wife It is awkward If one has no child He has only passed through life as a sightseer If he cannot find a house to live in It is disturbing.9 As glossed in the note to the poem, the name OwóLe.l´e.wà is literally “Money is the one that has the beauty.”10 Comparable are the contrasting graffiti on a toilet wall in AyiKweiArmah’s The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born: “VAGINA SWEET.” “MONEY SWEET PASS ALL.”11 There is a closely related Yoruba maxim, “Money `. bàràÌrosùn B,”12 is Senior, Child is Junior,” which is precisely the point made in “O for there is not much that could be accomplished in the world without pelf, which Karl Marx in Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts perspicaciously labels “the universal whore, the universal pimp of men and peoples.”13 A good servant and a bad master, it corrupts morals, inverts all relationships, and distorts all values. “It transforms loyalty into treason, love into hate, hate into love, virtue into vice, vice into virtue, servant into master, master into servant, nonsense into reason and reason into nonsense.”14 Nothing moves in the world but for money. In short, humanity’s excessive love for money, the universal medium of exchange, a prime source of alienation, is the root of all evils. Even imams and pastors who rail against money find the filthy lucre irresistible and strive to make as much of it as they could in order to live the good life and take care of themselves and their families. Highly remarkable is the foregrounding of Èjìgbòme.kùn Market in the verse. Market economy is profitdriven, and the Yoruba conceptualizes the world as a market. Profit-making lies at the center of the noise, conflicts and crises that go on in the market (the world), where one person is always scheming to cheat the other in order to maximize profit and the latter is struggling to resist the suspected greed and insist on fairness and justice.

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`. w´o.nrín A,” a man called Àp´o.nÀko who is searching for a good wife In “ÌrosùnO meets a woman called ÀgánIf`e. who is looking for a good husband at a junction where three roads meet and where they have been instructed by their respective Ifá priests to deposit their sacrifices and offer prayers to their “Heads” (destiny or inner being) for good fortune.15 The junction symbolizes the melding of male and female to produce a third force, that is, children. The poem shows clearly that gender difference is a force for good, oneness, and procreation. The three roads figure essential components that comprise a nuclear family, which itself constitutes a complete circle that is endlessly repeatable, for the progeny proceed to replicate the same process that engendered their coming-into-being. In Ifá, performance of sacrifice, in obedience to the Oracle, brings blessings and good fortune, but disobedience leads to misfortune and regret. The implication is that Ifá is not a liar but Truth personified. However, Friedrich Nietzsche,16 the archetypal philosopher-skeptic and nihilist declares “untruth as a condition of life,” perceives “Life as a means to knowledge,” and calls on humans to “Either abolish your reverences or – yourselves!”17 His exposition of truth in “On Truth and Lies in an Extra-Moral Sense” challenges the claim of Ifá and is worth quoting at length: What is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms, in short, a sum of human relations, which were poetically and rhetorically heightened, transferred, and adorned and after long use seem solid, canonical, and binding to a nation. Truths are illusions about which it has been forgotten that they are illusions, worn-out metaphors without sensory impact, coins which have lost their image and now can be used only as metal, and no longer as coins. We still do not know where the desire for truth originates; for until now we have heard only of the obligation which society, in order to exist, imposes: to be truthful, i.e., to use the customary metaphors, or in moral terms, the obligation to lie according to an established convention, to lie collectively in a style that is mandatory for everyone.18

Life itself reveals limits, limitations, and relative strengths of oracular lore. So far, it defies and defeats every final solution. “ÌrosùnÌká B” presents an image of a loyal wife G´e.g´e.lós.e who saves her husband Olúawo from death plotted by her own kinsmen. The plotters send for Olúawo to come and perform burial rites of his deceased father-in-law and intend to use the opportunity to execute their sinister design and marry G´e.g´e.los.eto another man after Olúawo’s demise. The poem represents life as war. Fortunately for Olúawo, his faithful wife who has left home a day before him for the burial ceremony of her father eavesdrops on the evil schemers, goes to the route that her husband will take `. han and sings Ìjàsì (Ifáentreative song) to warn him to neither enter the town nor to O sleep on the roadside because there are enemies all around. Disturbed by a bad dream at night, Olúawo consults Ifá that admonishes him to take his dog that is painted white on the right side and his sheep that is painted with camwood on the left front leg with him as he goes to bury his father-in-law. Both animals aid G´e.g´e.lós.e to identify her husband from afar in her hideout, and she immediately sends him a warning signal to which he replies with a song, “Olúawo has heard and he is leaving” with which the poem closes.19 The lyric shows clearly that a faithful wife is her husband’s savior in the days of trouble. The popular Yoruba saying that women kill men and women deliver them

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from both danger and death is indisputable. To enjoy marriage, both husband and wife must complement and truly love each other. The twin principle of complementarity and symmetry in love and marital relationships is what the name G´e.g´e.lós.e (Perfect Fit) symbolizes. The life of a man who marries a wrong woman who is destined for another man would not only be full of problems and woes but would also be unsafe. The poem signifies the necessity to consult Ifá and adhere to its counsel in order to make the right choices and meet fortune on the perilous journey of life. It also suggests that although the world teems with bad wives, there are nevertheless good ones. `. bàràÌká B” indicts husbands who neglect to take care of their wives, as does “O Oládùbádà who does not sacrifice to the Head of his wife and, instead, sacrifices to the Head of his horse, a misplacement of values that is traced to the lack of proficiency of the Ifá priest who divined for him. It does follow that there are charlatans among Ifá priests and people who consult them must carefully choose, which again requires `. kànrànO.w´o.nrín B,” Ajá (Dog) neglects and maltreats the help of the Oracle. In “O Àlá Òru (Night Dream), his wife. Consequently, she abandons him. Howling of Dog at dusk is a sign that he is searching for Àlá Òru. The moral lesson of the poem is that husbands should cultivate temperance and not provoke their wives to anger. The idiophone O . kànwo.o.` nw´o.o.` n that captures the barking of a dog at dusk is exceedingly remarkable.20 `. bàràÒtúrúp`o.n A” signifies the inestimable value of a husband in the life of a “O woman. It portrays a woman who does not receive her husband’s attention in the first two lines as bad-tempered, moody and repugnant: “She sounds repugnant like a wife the husband does not play with/She sounds pushed to tears like a woman the husband `. bàràÒtòkú who could not find a man to play with is asked to does not talk to.”21 O make sacrifice and be submissive to her husband in order to fully enjoy him. Being submissive is an indispensable condition every woman must meet in order to relish the pleasure of marriage, which implies that a wife is a junior partner in a marital relationship. As the lyric pointedly puts it: You are in the world to care for men You will be rich and wealthy But you have to be submissive to men.22 Undoubtedly, radical feminists would consider the poem as totally outrageous and unacceptable, for it reduces women to the lowly status of maids whose role in the world is to labor to please men, their masters, who must always be pampered and unstintingly served in order to enjoy their goodwill. As though the idea of being `. bàràÒtòkú, subservient to men was not degrading and humiliating enough, Ifá tells O “You will have to buy yourself a husband / So that you will not miss your way.”23 Going by the standards of marital relationship scripted in the poem, a wife who demands equality and reciprocity of attention, honor, respect, rights, and service of her husband has violated marriage ethics. Ironically, purchasing a husband truncates his manhood and commodifies him. Similarly, winning his love with self-deprecating obsequiousness demeans the quality of the love so grudgingly and contemptuously

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`. bàràÒtòkú buys E`. dú a poor man and makes given and ingratiatingly received. O `. rúnmìlà her husband and subsequently starts having children, becomes wealthy, O and lives long to enjoy her bounty. Love is an intense emotional exchange that is best enjoyed if it is freely given and freely received. Commercialization debauches it. However, since mediation of money is unavoidable in any human relationship in modern society, marriage is just a glorified euphemism for legally certified prostitution or slavery if one partner buys and preys on another. Same-sex marriage is not immune from the corruption of filthy lucre. `. kànrànÒgúndá A” signifies the imperishable value of panegyrics. At first, the “O logic of including the lyric in the present discourse seems far-fetched. However, as the poem itself argues, “Discussion about twenties/ could concern fifties.”24 Although `. rúnmìlà’s the subject of panegyrics has no direct bearings on our gender agenda, it is O declaiming of the panegyrics of the lineage of M´o.rin´e.wà, his wife who has decided to leave him, that wins back the woman’s love and, she rescinds her decision to return to her father’s house. At a deep sub-structural level, all things that appear on the surface as discrete and unrelated are interfused. What spell lurks inpanegyrics that it movesM´o.rin´e.wà so much that she changes her mind and chooses to stay with her husband? It is no other than the affective power of words, their magic to charm auditors and influence them one way or another, which is the secret of entreative, incantatory, and love poetry. The uncanny force of natural sympathies impacts human language. Knowing the panegyrics of M´o.rin´e.wà’s lineage is a clear indication that `. rúnmìlà considers the lineage important and rendering them amounts to paying O homage to the glorious achievements of its past and living members, and M´o.rin´e.wà finds both impressive and irresistible. Hence, she yields to the centripetal force of poetry, the creative element that defines it as a labor of love. The lyric leads credence to the commonplace idea that women are moved by what they hear, whereas men are `. rúnmìlà must have been attracted to M´o.rin´e.wà charmed by what they see. Certainly, O in the first place by her physical beauty that, coupled with the nobility of her family, was simply overwhelming. He does not want to part with the beauty and, therefore taps into the, power of praise poetry to retain and keep it as a priceless possession that gives endless joy. “ÒgúndáÌwòrì B” narrates the story of an exceedingly beautiful, well-mannered, `. gbo.k`o. who is persistently troubled by other men who want to and respectful wife O snatch her from her husband Oníyinmì Akin Àràpà who is “not performing as a real man.” One day, she asks her husband, “Why are you undisturbed? Don’t you see these people troubling me?” She then bursts into an Ìjàsì song: …it was exactly as her Babalawo had said Òtìtà-´n-láa-bìdí-yèrèpéyèrèpé Casts divination for Oníyinmì Akin Àràpà On the day he was crying of having no wife Oníyinmì Akin Àràpà Didn’t you say your forehead is strong enough To withstand a deep cut when I married you? And that your back is strong enough

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To withstand an arrow shot before I married you? Didn’t you say your torso is strong enough To be held before I married you? She is leaving …25 `. gbok`o., Oníyinmì Having performed the sacrifice prescribed by Ifá before marrying O Akin Àràpà is unperturbed by men making advances to his wife. However, his wife expects him to take action against the men disturbing her, for it is a man’s responsibility to protect his wife from such lecherous men. Sacrifice is not sufficient a shield of protection from incessant attacks and harassment in a world conceived of as a battlefield and therefore requires the reinforcement of action. Similarly, the choice of a fortunate “Head” (destiny) does not preclude the support of good character. Believers hold the view that a good thing could be made better and enhanced by the power of prayer. The argument of the poem is that a man who marries an extraordinarily beautiful woman must be ready to do battle with other men who, struck by her wondrous beauty, would attempt to partake of her sexual pleasure in the same manner that butterflies are attracted to beautiful flowers and suck their nectar. It foregrounds the enormous danger that inheres in beauty and portrays women obliquely as fatal temptresses, men’s veritable death. Only a brave and valiant man could marry such a woman and keep her, which explains why a man must first pass a manhood test in wrestling or some other dangerous sport in some traditional societies before he is deemed qualified to marry. The difficulty of a man keeping beauty in his possession is compared to chewing sand in one’s mouth.26 Oníyinmì rises up to the challenge, picks up a cutlass and confronts his enemies, aided of course by the agency of sacrifice as prescribed by Ifá. Any man who marries a ravishingly beautiful woman must be ready to either share her with other men who find her alluring and irresistible or constantly do battle with them. History is replete with such wars. Not many pretty women rebuff men’s advances, especially if such men are well-endowed corporeally and materially. Perhaps, the whole concept of beauty itself needs to be deconstructed from the perspective of the English Romantic poets whose aim is to teach humans to see. William Wordsworth perceives uncommon beauty in all that exists, lauds lowly things, and cognizes their greatness. He declares pontifically in “The Old Cumberland Beggar”: ‘Tis Nature’s law That none, the meanest of created things, Of forms created the most vile and brute, The dullest or most noxious, should exist Divorced from good - a spirit and pulse of good, A life and soul, to every mode of being Inseparably linked.27

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An acute consciousness of Romantic irony and a rigorous application of its principle of perception to love relationships would tremendously reduce strife and warfare bred by concupiscence and bloody contestations over female beauty. A combination of malignant forces such as envy, greed, and pride drives men who abandon their wives at home and madly pursue other married women outside because they no longer perceive beauty in their own marital partners, owing largely to the trammel of familiarity that breeds contempt. Such importunate men who are `. bàràÒdí A” to stay at home and have oppressed by wanderlust are admonished in “O all the sexual pleasure they desire, for they proverbially go seeking in S.ókótó that is over seven hundred kilometers away what is right there with them in their s.òkòtò `. bàrà did not cover the buttocks/His buttocks do not tarry at (trousers pockets): “O home/Let the ants in your house sting you.”28 Leaving buttocks uncovered exposes one to public jeer and ridicule, while an ant bite is a metaphor for sex. Similar to the moral taught in the poem is the injunction in the Scripture that every man should drink water from his own cistern, rejoice in the wife of his youth, be intoxicated with her love and not be drunk with another man’s wife, a wayward woman.29 Married men who embrace the bosom of a strange woman often end up with egregious obloquy and shame and by the time they realize their foolishness and return home, they find to their eternal regret that they have lost the loyalty and love of their wives. They are metaphorically left naked. Exchange of wives between two male friends is the thematic focus of “ÒgúndáÒdí A,” which portrays woman as a temptress that lures man to sinning and violating bonds of friendship. The poem affirms the duality that defines human nature. `. rúnmìlà, husband of Àdí and Ògún, husband of Epo are friends. Àdí is the oil O extracted from palm kernel nuts and used as body lotion, while Epo is the red oil made from the pericarp of the palm fruit and used for cooking or as fuel for lighting the èpùpù lamp. Ògún takes Àdí with him on a long expedition and throughout the period there is no sexual intercourse between them. However, on their return journey, they have cause to sleep together at night. Àdí has a restless sleep and her body keeps touching Ogun’s. Unable to control himself and rein in his sexual urge any longer, he makes love to her. On arriving home, guilt arising from his act of betrayal prevents Ògún from going `. rúnmìlà’s house. Then, one fateful day, O `. rúnmìlà meets Ògún on a narrow way to O and tells him: You did really well on your to [outward] journey You were very humane [human] on your return trip It remains just a little to persevere You then messed everything ………………………………………………………. Now that you have had sex with Àdí You can have her permanently But you have to exchange her for me with Epo.30

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`. rúnmìlà. Wife Thus does Àdí become the wife of Ògún and Epo the wife of O swapping between two male friends is not a modern novelty but an ancient practice, an indisputable proof of the irrationality of sexuality and human proclivity for vengeance. However, it is much better than resorting to violence to resolve issues of adultery and spouse-snatching among friends. Radical pragmatists and postpostmodern realists might even argue that the practice is neither evil nor immoral but an expression of true friendship in that it involves sharing of love. Sexually liberated women might even initiate it and not perceive it as degrading to womankind. The lyric exposes the danger, if not stupidity, of a man releasing his wife to accompany his male friend on a long journey in full recognition of the fact that, starved of sex for an appreciable length of time, either his wife or friend might fall prey to the weakness of flesh and lure the other into violating society’s ethical code. A prolonged absence is minatory to marriage, one of the primary functions of which is constant companionship. Oneness of human nature is expressed not only through the naming of the two women Àdí and Epo, two different kinds of oil sourced from the same tree, but also through the connection of the two men to the tree. Ògún is connected with the palm tree, which is associated with wealth. Its fronds are his `. rúnmìlà uses clothes and its shells are used at the blacksmith’s forge to make fire. O sixteen palm-nuts for divination. Each of the sixteen palm-nuts has four eyes and it is a taboo to use such multi-eyed palm fruit for the production of palm-oil. As projected in the poem, human beings are essentially paradoxical in behavior and capable of good and evil. Àdí and Ògún behave morally and rationally on the outward journey, but succumb to the promptings of the flesh on the homeward journey. Nature could endure a great deal of privation but has its limits. Given the imperfection of human `. rúnmìlà should have been wiser and, therefore, should not have asked his beings, O wife to accompany Ògún on such a long expedition. His mental blindness in this respect indicates that he is not omniscient and lacks foreknowledge. “ÒgúndáÌká B” represents the evil of co-wife jealousy and polygyny and portrays a jealous wife as her husband’s death. It also depicts the immeasurable benefits that inhere in geniality and obedience to Ifá. A thief steals maize that he needs to offset his debt from a farmer’s barn twice in two years and each time the farmer, in obedience to Ifa’s injunction, would remonstrate with his wife not to curse the rogue because, as he reasons, he has “taken only the quantity he desires” and “there is still more than enough in the barn.”31 While the thief is stealing maize in the barn the third year, he watches the farmer’s junior wife serve her husband’s food and leave, and the senior wife mix it with poison and leave. Soon after, the farmer sits down to eat and as he thrusts his hand into the food, the thief shouts “Halt! … Do not eat that food,” comes out of the barn where he is hidden and asks the farmer to call out his two wives and request the senior to mix the stew well and with it swallow three handfuls of the food.32 The poisoner-wife starts shivering and would not eat. Thus, the thief delivers the farmer from his murderous wife. His reason for performing the work of salvation is insightful: “It is because he is alive that gave me the opportunity of stealing his grains.”33 The logic is hard and twisted but true. Our enemy, the poem posits, could be indeed our greatest friend and savior from death. It could be deduced from the story that, if jealousy could induce a wife to kill her husband, then, the safest

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mode of marriage is monogamy. Nevertheless, a woman could be in a monogamous marriage and still kill her husband in order to inherit his wealth. The opening line of the lyric “The barn is torn in the legs and is wrecked on top” refers obliquely to a marriage that is corrosive and gives full rein to jealousy.34 Ideally, marriage, like a barn, should foster joy, love, peace, and prosperity. However, when it is broken through the introduction of a third party, the virulent emotion of jealousy ensues and it becomes toxic and death-dealing. Female texts, such as Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood, reverse the image of women as poisoner-witches and represent men as the real devils who destroy the joy of marriage by marrying more than one wife simply because they are greedy and cannot control their libido. “ÒgúndáÒtúrúp`o.n A” projects a powerful woman, O.bà, a river Deity, who proves invincible to her male suitors, turns their love advances to wrestling matches, and floors all of them in single combat, one after another. Defeated, each suitor retreats from pursuing O.bà, an Amazon, and takes consolation in the cold logic that they do not want a woman who would be beating her husband. Seeing the futility of all efforts by other Deities to break O.bà’s iron will, Ògún sacrifices sixteen cobs of maize, meets O.bà on his homeward journey, and engages her in a wrestling contest. While the wrestling is proceeding apace, Ès.ù, who is described by Fúns.o´. Aiyéjìnà as “a divine trickster, a disguise-artist, a mischief-maker, a rebel, a challenger of orthodoxy, a shape-shifter, and an enforcer deity,”35 throws down a cob of maize on which O.bà steps, slips, and falls flat on the ground. Ògún quickly falls on top of her, rips her underpants, and has sexual intercourse with her. Analogous to the Ògún myth of creation in which all Deities fail in their bid to reunite with humanity and it is only Ògún who seeks and finds knowledge and with it fabricates an iron implement with which he cuts a path through the thick undergrowth that separates Divinities from humanity, as narrated by Wo.léS.óyínká in “Idanre”; the poem foregrounds the prime place occupied by Ògún among Yorùbá Deities. His valor and adamantine will stand him in good stead in the wrestling match with O.bà, another willful Deity. The lyric depicts lovemaking as warfare. It is little or no wonder that the incidence of rape is rife in the world and has given birth to the “Me Too Movement,” a global female protest against sexual harassment that has caused the fall of many famous men in the entertainment industry in the USA. Perhaps, men who rape women do not believe in first seeking a woman’s consent before having intimacy with her and assume rightly or wrongly that every woman, like O.bà, conceptualizes love as war, expects a man to apply force to break her resolve, and prefers to be conquered and ravished to being tenderly treated as though she were friable. What further complicates the matter is women’s desire in intimacy for valiant men and vigorous sex. However, the law is on the side of the right of a woman over her body and whoever desires to touch and penetrate her must first seek and gain her consent. Otherwise, a man who forces himself on an unwilling woman is guilty of intrusion, defilement of her body, and stealing carnal love and deserves punishment. Not even marriage gives a husband uncontrolled access to his wife’s body. It may sound ludicrous and risible to people whose view of marriage is ultra-patriarchal, but a man could be prosecuted and jailed and his marriage dissolved on the grounds of committing marital rape in a postmodern and post-truth society.

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There is no indication in the poem that O.bà protests Ògún’s onslaught and sexual assault, which implies that the female Deity has only been waiting to be conquered and mastered. Her turning men’s advances to wrestling contests are further proof that she figures love as an act of aggression, indeed as warfare and, in war, all is fair. Ès.ù’s intervention, therefore, is in order. But is it fair? He and Ògún have forged an alliance, which could be interpreted as the product of the latter’s sacrifice. People who perceive life as strife, which is amoral and savage, as cogently and convincingly argued by Dennis Lee in Savage Fields: An Essay in Literature and Cosmology, would consider Ès.ù’s intervention as good and noble, but moralists who insist on charity, love, and reason would condemn it as criminal, unjust and treacherous. HoweverÈs.ù’s role is interpreted, it is in consonance with his paradoxical image and unfettered predilection for the subversion of rules and regulations. `. sáÒtúá A” is an excellent illustration of the central place of sacrifice in Ifá, an “O ingenious device that ensures that its priests always have food on their table. Divination is cast for three women, namely So.múróg´e. (Make Breasts Stand Erect and Stable) the daughter of Alárá, S`o.kùndìgbà (Make Belly Bulge and Swing) the daughter of Ajerò, and So.múlùk´e. (Make Breasts Pulsate) the daughter of O.wáràngúnàga. “The three of them decided to take a wise man as their husband, / Only the person who `. rùnmìlà, who could know our real names / That is the person we would marry.”36 O desired to marry them when they were ripe, was asked to perform sacrifice of three dishes of èkuru (baked ground beans with no oil added) placed in the footpath that the girls normally took to fetch water from the stream and hide in the bush, not far from the oblation. He did as instructed. As the ladies called out to their colleagues, one `. rùnmìlà memorized their names. After after another, to come and see the dishes, O ` the ladies had eaten the dishes, O.rùnmìlà came out of his hiding place, demanded for his dishes, refused to take money offered by the parents of the ladies as compensation for his broken dishes and, instead, demanded for a whole human being for each of them. One after another, the parents asked their daughters to follow him. Objectification of women in the lyric is through symbolic naming. The ladies are reduced to breasts and the womb and identified by their reproductive roles. It could be argued, from a mythopeic perspective, though, that, rather than objectifying women, the lyric is actually celebrating their fertility and sexuality. Thus interpreted, the names of the three ladies are not strictures on women but indirect expressions of the transition from girlhood to womanhood and finally to motherhood. So.múróg´e. represents girlhood when female breasts are firm and pointed. So.múlùk´e. signifies womanhood when, fully developed, female breasts are pendulous and pulsate. S`o.kùndìgbà symbolizes a pregnant woman’s womb that is big with life and appears to swing from one side to another because of its heavy fetus load, each step she takes walking. `. sáÒtúá A” and works wonders, it is shunned Whereas sacrifice is performed in “O ` ` in “O.sáO.s´e. B” with negative consequences. ÒòsàÒwújìn is asked to make sacrifice for his daughter Ère (Carved Figure) so that her life will run smoothly and men will not fight over her and kill her in the process, but he refuses. Three men, namely O.mú (Breasts) the child of Ikúho. (Death Flees), Ààsàthe child of Mòkítì and Líìlíthe child `. y´o.Apèrí (O `. y´o. that Calls and Receives), who want to get married, are of the king of O also requested to perform sacrifice. Ère marries O.mú and after a while divorces him

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and marries Ààsà. She also divorces Ààsà and goes to marry Líìlí. O.mú and Ààsà reason together: Does this woman know the consequences of her acts? … Even if she is going to divorce us Why should she be circulated [circulating] among us friends? And we all have been longstanding friends This woman would cause disaffection between us.37 They start to make war against her. Her father consults Ifá and is told: You are the one that is not nice enough You are not humane at all You did not offer the sacrifice prior to Ère’s arrival as a child.38 It is not Ère and her second and third husbands who are blamed for their bad behavior but her father who failed to make sacrifice at the right time. The plea that the divorced husbands should not kill Ère fall on deaf ears, which indicates that performing sacrifice late would render it ineffectual. In Ifá, the world is spiritualized and projected as a place of ceaseless warfare and perpetual conflict between benevolent and malevolent forces and the agency of sacrifice is necessary to curry the favor of the former and appease the latter that muddy up the river of life for people. All ecological, economic, political, religious, and social problems are traced to divine or spiritual sources. To run the race of life successfully without mishaps, the lyric implies, sacrifice is a sine qua non. Both the depraved Ère who is killed, on the one hand, and her angry killers, on the other, fail the test of mediating gender relations and negotiating the complex labyrinthine contours of life with the agency of sacrifice of appeasement. Ère, whose name signifies absence of reason and thought, stirs up the pool of marriage and breaks its customary and ethical codes with utter disdain, and her lack of discretion and moral restraint costs her life. Certainly, the poem is aimed at maintaining not only the sanctity and stability of marriage but also patriarchal hegemony. It is apodictic of revolutionary feminists’ claim that marriage is an institution invented by men to control and oppress women. Written from a male perspective, it gives no plausible reason for Ère leaving O.mú and Ààsà. What it considers utterly abhorrent and unacceptable is not the repeated act of divorce itself but the fact that Ère leaves her husbands, one after another, to marry their friends without an iota of guilt and shame. She is the liberated woman who lives not according to rules of men and laws of society but in strict obedience to her own heart’s desires and inclinations. O.mú (Breasts), Ajodóe.migbára (Eater of a Mortar without Physical Harm?) and Ajètèyo.kùnuny`o.k`o.t`o. (A Kisser with a Fat and Rotund Belly), praise names of Líìlí, evoke images of unchecked sexual indulgence and a sybaritic life.39 Since marriage involves two persons, all the three husbands and Ère are culpable for breaking bonds of friendship and marriage and their lack of discretion and self-control. Blaming ÒòsàÒwújìn for not making sacrifice for her unborn child amounts to punishing an innocent soul for sins of others. People should

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be held responsible for their actions. Although it protects the trade of diviners and guarantees them a regular source of income, the overemphasis on ritual sacrifice in Ifá appears a diversionary mystification of existential problems. `. bàrà A” warns an Ifá priest against keeping concubines: “‘The free booties “ÌkáO that I give to you / You must never use it to keep concubines’, Òrúnmìlà instructed” diviners.40 It also emphasizes complementarity and cooperation, the pillar on which a fruitful, harmonious, joyous, peaceful, and prosperous society should be constructed: Cover me up in Bàrà So that I will cover you up in B`o.b´o. àájíílé Whenever we all wake up at dawn We should be caring for each other.41 One of the supremely insightful lyrics in the collection, it recognizes the value of a communal ethos and affirms the duality of gender difference and sameness, without which love and marital relationships can neither achieve nor maintain a proper balance. `. kànràn A” asserts ineradicable individuality that causes perpetual tension “ÌkáO between female and male genders and all forces of opposition in the cosmos: Ìká gives birth to one O.l`o.kànràn gives birth to one It is uncomfortable for the rope It is uncomfortable for the chicken The chicken is swinging back and forth The rope also is swinging back and forth.42 The struggle between female and male cannot be resolved in any finite sense, but it could be ameliorated through application of wisdom properly grounded on mutual recognition of their difference and sameness. In its mediating role, Ifá offers clientswise counsel that centers on attitudinal change. Gender complementarity is also `. sá A”: stressed in “ÌkáO Once a Cutlass has no wooden handle It becomes useless And conversely if the Handle is not on the Cutlass The Handle also becomes worthless.43 Male and female must complement each other and work together in synergy in order to achieve progress. “Cutlass that would take his wooden handle as his wife” is advised to perform sacrifice, and he obeys.44 Therefore, their marital life is blissful. Made for each other, male and female must fuse to activate the Life Force, perpetuate the human race, and reproduce culture continually on a higher plane. “ÌkáÒtúrúp`o.n B” states a proposition that if and when man and woman, like mating dogs, do not unwind their hands and legs respectively, they cannot enjoy their union and would continue to bite each other as do people of Ìhànrín City before they copulate. Freedom for either spouse is a precondition that must be matched with

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total self-release to the other in order to have a fulfilling and salutary relationship. Therefore, “Ifá asks this person to exercise restraint / Such that an object would not stay held in her vagina.”45 The lyric offers a lesson in moderation in whatever people do. “ÌkáÒtúá B” reinforces the idea of a certain measure of freedom from friction as a necessary condition for mobility with ease. The idea is couched in a linguistic code: Two short and stocky words If they continue to collide with each other They would chop each other to form powders.46 Building walls enhances independence, makes for good neighborliness, reinforces identity, and promotes homogeneity and security, but it contracts freedom, feeds curiosity, and breeds fear and tyranny. Choked, the heart yearns for ventilation. `. rúnmìlà throws caution to the winds and In “ÌkáÒs´e. A”, Oyèb´o.ádé the wife of O would not listen to her husband who tries to correct her on a particular undisclosed matter, possibly sexual immorality. Consequently, Ifá imprisons her. After a while in confinement, she starts singing Ìjàsí (entreative songs) pathetically to the effect that fingers of stubborn extremists are broken, crushed and bent backwards and “death by `. rúnmìlà, please sword is better than hunger.”47 She pleads passionately plaintively, “O 48 release me.” However, instead of pleading for men to set them free from patriarchal bondage, modern educated women employ the power that education (knowledge) and work give them to liberate themselves from dependence on men and all maleforged fetters. Keeping wives in a harem and purdah is a strategy by which Muslim men prevent them not only from committing adultery but also attaining economic empowerment. Whereas Islam permits polygyny, it forbids polyandry. Domestication of women, from a historical perspective, was coterminous with their disempowerment and synonymous with the overthrow of matriarchy. They receive no payment for their reproductive and numerous domestic roles that are all undervalued and taken for granted, which probably explains rejection of heterosexuality by lesbians. S.ùgùdù does not offer sacrifice to prevent priapism, a life-threatening erectile dysfunction, in “Òtúrúp`o.nÌre.t`e. B.”49 Consequently, his penis stands permanently erect and would never contract. Certainly, S.ùgùdù has made love to a woman on whom a charm called “Do Not Climb” has been placed. The reason behind the admonition to the protagonist in “ÌkáÒtúrúp`o.n B” to exercise restraint is now obvious. Unrestrained sexual indulgence would inevitably result in an embarrassing and lifethreatening accident for her during copulation, a situation in which the penis would be permanently trapped in her vagina and the man and the woman would not be able to disengage. Sacrifice is performed in “ÒtúáÒtúrúp . no` A” to ensure that the penis of Òròrò penetrates and makes holes in Awo. (Hide) his wife.50 There is nothing in the Ifá corpus for which sacrifice, like praise in the Yoruba world, cannot be made. “ÒtúáÌká B” highlights some aspects of female character that are in consonance with the nature of trading in the market-place, and all are geared toward profitmaking:

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With their deceit With their poke nosing habits [and] With sweet talks on their lips.51 Ifá upholds the spirit of mercantilism and is not opposed to market women making profit, an incentive for economic expansion and wealth creation. However, it recognizes the problems engendered by haggling at the market-place that, we have argued, is symbolic of the world. Whereas sellers of goods hike their prices in an attempt to make maximum profits, buyers negotiate hard in order to pay minimum prices. Such negotiations produce a market din. A Yoruba proverb puts it nicely, using the metaphor of madness: “Take madness; I would not take madness is why the market is excessively noisy.” Transposed into the domain of gender discourse, the proverb provides a plausible explanation for difficulties encountered in marriage and all man-woman relationships that are not based on the principle of equity. Just as sellers and buyers are guided and motivated by self-interest and practice wheedling arts to filch a little money from one another, man and woman strive to outwit each other in gender interactions that are not founded on love. A version of the tale of the ravishingly beautiful but arrogant girl who turns down all suitors on the grounds of having one defect or the other and ends up choosing a `. s´e. B” tells the story of Ìwó the daughter of Olórèé who demon as husband, “ÒtúáO rejects Igún (Vulture) because he is bald, Àkàlà (Ground Pelican) because he has a goiter and T`e.n` t´e.r´e. because of a deep bààmú (scarification) mark on his buttocks.52 Ifá asks her parents to offer a koto (an earthen pot) full of ash that she will throw down when she finds a suitor who is acceptable to her. She marries a rich man who, unknown to her, is Ikú (Death), who maltreats her. She resolves to divorce him and Ikú enters his room, puts on his full regalia, comes out with his club and pursues Ìwó as she flees, naked, to her father’s house. Immediately she enters, an elderly woman in the house quickly fetches the container of ash and breaks it in front of the house so that Ikú loses trail of footsteps of his quarry and heads in another direction. Ìwó’s folly and nakedness are exposed, but Ifá saves her from a certain death. Amos Tutùo.lá and Gabriel AdéjàreAdéwo.lé have produced slightly different versions of the tale.53 In “Ìre.t`e.Ogbè A,” a sacrifice of two hundred rats each is prescribed for Olókun, O.l´o.sà and Atan who desire greatness. Each protagonist gradually gathers the rats while his wife helps to keep them. On the day of the sacrifice, Olókun (Ocean) brings out his rats and the number is complete. O.l´o.sà (Sea) still requires a few rats to meet the required number. Atan(We Are Related) could not find any rat to bring for sacrifice because every time he told his wife Akínt´o.kùn that there was no money with which to buy meat, she would simply pick one of the rats and use it to make stew. “Atan is the name of all those lands that are swampy.”54 The moral of the tale is explicitly stated on line 45: “husbands ought to be of good character … at home.” The lesson equally extends to wives. Good management of resources is required of both husband and wife to make a happy home and of government to build a prosperous and successful nation. Size is a measure of each protagonist’s degree of buoyancy, generosity, and

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geniality in the poem. Ocean with the largest body of water tops the list, followed by Sea, while Swamp that is extremely miserly makes the rump. The Christian cliché “Givers never lack” is key in understanding the ironic message of the lyric. A man reaps whatever he sows, the lyric suggests, infidelity to the arithmetic of husbandry. Those who sow liberally will reap bountifully, while those who sow grudgingly will reap sparingly. Those who do not sow anything reap nothing. Disappointingly, in the human world, things are not so cut and dried. Nature could waste the fruit of hard labor and a sluggard could inherit or stumble upon wealth. There is an element of chance and unpredictability about life that is puzzling. `. kànràn A,” O `. rúnmìlà snatches a woman already betrothed to a farmer In “Ìre.t`e.O whose top priority is not marriage but his farm work. The farmer gives the woman up `. rúnmìlà’s sacrifice and says disdainfully, “Let her go.”55 It is not clear whether it is O or the farmer’s disinterestedness in marriage that makes the bride-snatching without consequence possible. Many husbands lose their wives to other men because they have no time for them and, instead, concentrate on their work. For marriage or any love relationship to succeed, both partners must consciously create time for play and sharing affection with each other. Inadequate or lack of communication, coupled with poor management of time, could ruin a marriage. `. s´e.Òdí A,” our final example, pleads with men that just as they expect their “O wives to respect them, they, too, should honor them, for respect begets respect and disrespect is matched with disrespect. The first two lines of the lyric are lucid on `. s´e.dìí / Òrudìí” (Holy Day Wraps it / Night wraps it.”56 the matter of reciprocity: “O A husband who contemns his wife in the day and expects her to shower love and affection on him at night deceives himself. Mature Ram shames Sheep his wife and she leaves him. He starts searching for her. If people see a woman who resembles her, they would bring her to him and after sleeping with her they would take her away. In other words, Mature Ram is sexually starved and no longer enjoys the warmthgiving companionship and pleasure of a wife. Loneliness and unhappiness become his hard lot. It is ironic that human beings do not value what they have until they lose it. Mature Ram does not show maturity in the uncouth manner he contemptuously treats his wife and thereby loses her because of foolish machismo and selfishness. The chapter has copiously demonstrated that Ifá recognizes human imperfections, probes them within a schematic ontological framework, and teaches important moral lessons in order to effect proper attitudinal change and improve overall well-being of society. Ifá poetry is replete with representations of gender and marital relations, and its binary system enhances explorations of principles of complementarities, cooperation, opposition, and reciprocity in the cosmos at large and the human world in particular. However, the corpus has its blind spots. It inferiorizes and objectifies women who exist in its canons for men’s sexual gratification, procreation, housekeeping, and massaging of their husbands’ inflated egos. By privileging male over female, it celebrates and perpetuates cultural values that reinforce patriarchy at the expense of support for the global struggle by women for freedom from all fetters that hold them down and prevent full realization of their natural endowments as sentient human beings, and thereby makes collective salvation of society extremely difficult, if not impossible.

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Sacrifice, the cure-all nostrum of the Oracle, derives from a distorted, false and mystical apprehension of the universe and therefore limited in proffering solutions to material problems. Mending the broken world demands more than metaphysical or religious explanations. Constant pacification of aggrieved and vengeful supernatural forces amounts to leaving leprosy to spread and destroy society and treating instead ringworm, which is indubitably a misplaced priority. To find workable solutions to material problems that confront humanity requires knowing in-depth laws and properties of nature as well as dynamic economic, political, and social forces at work in the world. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

Abimbola (1977: 2). Ibid., 4. Kolawole (1977: 24). Hudson-Weems (1993: 55–57). Salami (2002: 704). Lorde (1984: iii). Johnson (1973). Salami ibid., 50, lines 6 and 7. Ibid., lines 9–16. Ibid., 53. Armah (1976: 106). Salami ibid., 357, lines 52–54). Marx (1975: 377). Ibid., 378 and 379). Salami ibid., 230. Nietzsche (1967: 9). Nietzsche (1989: 255, 287). Nietzsche (1989: 250). Salami ibid., 251, lines 54–57. Salami ibid., 420, line 1. Ibid., 378. Ibid, lines 9–11. Ibid., lines 13 and 14. Ibid., 424, lines 5–6. Ibid., 461, lines 16, 19–20, 22–30. Ibid., line 62. Wordsworth (1936: 444, lines 73–79). Salami ibid., 353, lines 32–34. Proverbs 5: 15–21. Salami ibid., 465, lines 43–50. Ibid., 490, lines 15, 17. Ibid., 491, lines 59 and 61.

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Ibid., 490, line 52. Ibid. Aiyejina (2010: 10). Salami ibid., 552, lines 12–14. Ibid, 565, lines 34–38. Ibid., lines 42–44. Ibid., 566, lines 5–6. Ibid., 594, lines 5–6. Ibid., 594, lines 13–16. Ibid., 596, lines 1–7. Ibid., 602, lines 7–10. Ibid., line 18. Ibid., 605, lines 13–14. Ibid., 608, lines 1–3. Ibid., 612, lines 15–24. Ibid., lines 25–28. Ibid., 666. Ibid., 728. Ibid., 726, lines 5–7. Ibid., 735, lines 9–22. Tutuola (1990: 17–31), Adewole (2013). Ibid., 749, line 56. Ibid., 783, line 23. Ibid., 828.

References Abimbola, Wande. 1977. Ifa Divination Poetry. New York: NOK Publishers. Adewole, Gabriel Adejare. 2013. O . mo.-Ìlò and Other Stories. Lagos: G. A. & H. Books. Aiyejina, Funso. 2010. Es.uE.le.gbara: A Source of an Alter/Native Theory of African Literature and Criticism. Lagos: Centre for Black and African Arts and Civilization. Armah, AyiKwei. 1976. The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born. London: Heinemann. Emecheta, Buchi. 1980. The Joys of Motherhood. Lagos: Heinemann. Hudson-Weems, Clenora. 1993. African Womanism: Reclaiming Ourselves. Troy, Michigan: Bedford Publishers. Johnson, Jill. 1973. Lesbian Nation: The Feminist Solution. New York: Simon & Shuster. Kolawole, Mary E.Modupe. 1977. Womanism and African Consciousness. Trenton, New Jersey: Africa World Press. Lee, Dennis. 1977. Savage Fields: An Essay in Literature and Cosmology. Toronto: House of Anansi Press. Lorde, Audre. 1984. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Berkeley, CA: The Crossing Press. Marx, Karl. 1975. Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts: Early Writings, Trans. Rodney Livingstone and Gregor Benton. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1967. Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future. Translated by Helen Zimmern, London: George Allen & Unwin.

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Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1989. Friedrich Nietzsche on Rhetoric and Language, ed. and trans. Sander L. Gilman, Carole Blair, and David J. Parent. London: Oxford University Press. Salami, Ayo. 2002. Ifa: A Complete Divination. Lagos: NIDD Limited. Tutuola, Amos. 1990. The Palm-Wine Drinkard. Ibadan: Spectrum. Wordsworth, William. 1936. The Old Cumberland Beggar. In Poetical Works, ed. Thomas Hutchinson, revised by Ernest de Selincourt, 443–445. London: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 19

A Repertoire of Bukusu Nonverbal Communicative System: Some Gender Differences Margaret Barasa and Augustine Agwuele

Introduction The importance of nonverbal communicative gestures as corollary of verbal codes with respect to different peoples of Africa is at its infancy in terms of the number of ethnography that has been written and in terms of the scope. Nevertheless, there is a growing awareness of the need to completely reflect the comprehensive scope of form-meaning that obtains across different peoples and their cultures since gestures, like speech, are culturally informed. Increasingly, there is interest in the study of the orature of African peoples in order to obtain insights to the therein contained sociocultural dynamic, political and economic achievements, and heritages of the people. So also, scholars are equally vested in uncovering the expanse wealth of the knowledge of African peoples’ that are coded in their nonverbal communicative gestures. Indigenous knowledge of a people is coded in various ways, e.g., which subsumes a system of meaning operating as a form of relationship between symbols and their various connotations and denotations. Different linguistic groups and community of practices exploit language in diverse ways to make sense of their lives and communicate their intentions. A lexical item, for instance, could be studied to understand how it features in the life of a people and reveals their perception of reality as shown for example, by Agwuele’s explication of the pronoun wo.n among the Yoruba. Agwuele showed that the phrase wo.n, as used in its’ unbounded form, is rooted in the worldview of Yoruba people, and it unveils their unwavering belief in the existence of nefarious spiritual beings that are able to thwart the good fortunes of, or

M. Barasa Department of Language and Linguistics, Kisii University, Kisii, Kenya A. Agwuele (B) Department of Anthropology, Texas State University, San Marcos, TX, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_19

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stymie the progress of an individual.1 Gestures of various kinds could also be examined in order to make sense of the universe of their users. Thus, the body of knowledge encased in different nonverbal communicative gestures is inseparable from the documentation and revitalization of the culture of its owners, as demonstrated by Moges for the Hamar people of Ethiopia.2 Thus, to explore Babukusu communicative gestures is to explore their system of cognition. This very ubiquitous and entrenched channel of codification of values, communication of ideals, dissemination of norms and generational achievements is a cultural capital whose preservation amounts to the preservation of a people and their rights to their ways of knowing as well as their epistemology, even when they are not imbued with western phrases and cadence.3 Yet, even when indigenous knowledge is increasingly being acknowledged as a legitimate source of those information that has sustained a people, the focus has mostly been on development of technical knowledge in the realm of agriculture and health. As such, there is the need also to examine the embodied communicative gestures different from the usual attention that linguistics has paid to spoken language. This is because language codifies the knowledge, behaviors, and institutionalized assets of a people. Hence, Bourdieu names it a cultural capital. Language is a significant instrument of cognition that allows humans to take in the worlds of objects and people through the formation of symbols.4 Through language, humans name things, construct meaning, define others and themselves. Social identity and group cohesiveness often arise and are sustained through the codifying function of language which also mediates the process of social integration, rearing of children, coordination of behavior, constructing and negotiating reality, and indexing those things that are of value to the sustenance of a people. Without language, social organization and the transfer of skillset would be impaired and disadvantage the survival of humans. Furthermore, its function as cultural signifier, i.e., social identification would equally be void.5 To therefore document this social-cultural heritage of a people is to inject vitality into it, assure cross-cultural understanding and above all, continue, uninterrupted, its intergenerational transfer. For peoples of Africa, documentation and explication of their nonverbal code must occur with keen awareness and consciousness of the sociocultural and political history of the people. Additionally, there has to be certain urgency given that most nations subsumed under diverse countries of Africa are under pressure to relinquish their identity and be integrated into a state which now offers them education in a foreign language in addition to controlling their economizing behavior. Thus, it would seem proper to explore Babukusu gestures in line with Asante’s Afrocentricity notion, the approach and interest in documenting the indigenous knowledge encased in the nonverbal communicative signals of peoples of Africa require familiarity with the history, language and philosophy of the people been studied as well as the worldview informing their usages.6 Our goal in this chapter is to describe aspects of Babukusu nonverbal communicative signals. There are two forms of nonverbal communicative gestures. There are those identifiable segments that convey meaning independent of speech; these have been termed quotable gestures and those that accompany speech.7 This distinction has previously been made by Efron, who made a differentiation between gestures defined in terms of differences in the nature of the meanings expressed.8 Thus, a

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gestural movement may be ‘meaningful’ by (a) the emphasis it lends to the content of the verbal and vocal behavior it accompanies, (b) the connotation (whether deictic, pictorial, or symbolic) it possesses independently from the speech of which it may, or may not, be an adjunct.9 A very similar distinction is drawn by Abercrombie, who uses the labels ‘independent gesture’ (expressing referential meaning) and ‘dependent gesture’ (expressing emotive meaning).10 Our focus is on those gestures that carry independent meanings. Given the expanse of the field, there is a wide variation in the classification of nonverbal communications. For instance, while there are five traditionally recognized nonverbal domains (facial actions, vocal cues, proxemics, gaze, and kinesics) of nonverbal communication, contemporary scholarship offers eight different domains or codes (physical appearance, olfactory, kinesics, vocalic, proxemics, haptics chronemics, and environmental features). Physical appearance relates to how people look, how they are adorned as well as their physique. Since appearance is immediately loud and present, it elicits instant and subconscious appraisal from onlookers. Cultures differ in the valuation of people’s appearances, for instance, Agwuele documented the negative emotion elicited among Yoruba people of Nigeria by dreadlock and cornrow hairstyles when worn by an adult male Yoruba who is not a film artiste, musician, or athlete and showed how the observed reactions are informed by Yoruba worldview.11 Given media obsession with thinness as the ideal body size, females view of their body and the idealized representation of the body has become important research themes. For instance, Silverstein et al. studied body representations and perceptions in the media12 and Downs and Harrison explored the messaging of attractiveness in television commercials.13 Through facial expression, significant number of affect is conveyed. Some of these are presumed universal.14 Thus, happiness, sadness, disgust, approval and disapproval, fear, surprise, and anger could be conveyed by the face. The perception of these would vary across cultures as shown by the face of forlorn described by Agwuele for Yoruba people.15 Olfactory information, i.e., smell of different kind conveys different forms of information across cultures. In northern America, the smell of pine sol equates cleanliness while the smell of the perfume worn by interviewees was used to judge how well dressed or groomed they were (Baron 1986). In Yorubaland, there is aversion to smelling anything that one is about to eat and to the use of the word ‘smell’ and not aroma when talking about food is to elicit disgust. A significant work that examines the cultural underpinnings of emotion owes to Elfenbein and Ambady,16 while Ekman et al. offered a system of analyzing facial emotions.17 Proxemics pertain to the use of space, how space is perceived and framed as well as physical contact. Hall and Sommer have been influential in this regard. Hall explored the awareness of positioning and movements of the body in space.18 This includes the way people walk, sit or hold their heads. In noting that cultures differ in their perception of the physical space between interacting individuals, he offered the now familiar notions of intimate, personal, social and public spaces. Thus, to stand for example in Kenya at a checkout counter and to keep the amount of distance, that one would expect at a checkout counter in the USA between the person being served and the next customer, would be interpreted as yielding your turn to others behind

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you. Studies informed by the notion of proxemics include Altman,19 which was focused on crowding, territoriality, and interpersonal relations. Related to proxemics is haptics, the study of tactile behaviors such as touch, hug and holding hands or patting another on the shoulder.20 Also concerned in haptics are issues of gender and power. Who initiates touch, hug or pats the other on the shoulder during conversation offer insights into the social configurations observed by a society. Gaze is another area of study in non-verbal communications and it was pioneered by Kendon (1967) with Noller (2005) providing one of the very informed studies that explicate different gaze variables. Through gazing, individuals obtain visual information that allows for monitoring and regulating verbal communication, especially turn-taking, show of interest or reflection of attitude. Among Yoruba people, aversion of direct eye contact with an elder is a mark of respect, whereas in the USA, to avert gaze with an interlocutor is construed as a sign of guilt and is associated with negative emotions as shown by Kendon.21 Aside from gaze, eyebrows and eyelids have been shown to be implicated in showing affect. For instance, raised brows to indicate surprise and lowered brows to show anger or blinking related to show anxiety.22 Kinesics is the fifth traditionally recognized domain of nonverbal communication. Kinesics is the study of body movement. Ekman and Friesen offered largely familiar categories of kinesics that have been studied across different cultures.23 These include Emblems, e.g., ok sign, shoulder shrug. In this chapter, we focus on expression of emotion, gaze, and kinesics.

Study of Nonverbal Communication Codes in Africa The study of nonverbal communication is for western countries relatively established, however for the peoples of Africa, it is at its infancy. Some of the earlier studies on gestures in the continent include a comprehensive overview of studies on gestures in West African languages of Agni-Shanti, Mandig, and Yoruba by BaduelMathon.24 Written in French, this work includes a bibliography and a description of gestures that occur among the aforementioned peoples. Olofson studies gestures among Hausa people of Northern Nigeria.25 His data on gestures were in the context of written plays, which he translated with the aid of one informant from the city of Zaria. The excerpted gestures were then presented as a list free of their context to a second informant, an elderly man originally from the city of Katsina for verification. Thus, the data he presented were obtained in the context of another project. Nevertheless, this work remains informative and preceded more extensive film research into Hausa kinesics. Olofson presents Hausa terminology for gestures. For according to him, language about gesture was a neglected aspect of the anthropological study of communication among non-western peoples. A careful review of the Olofson’s data suggests an interesting contradiction between many of the gestures and his informants description of Hausa social norms which ideally govern face-to-face interactions. The most important of these is kunya, it covers situations of name avoidance between kin, and shyness at culturally specified times and places, and modesty over natural

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functions among others. There is a feeling of embarrassment when the norms are broken. Kunya, according to Hausa, is manifested facially and is communicated by bowing the head and averting the gaze from the face of the other. A second norm is girma mawa; this gesture is used to show respect, especially to superiors. Kunya and girmamawa are positively correlated and intertwined. These norms prescribe the use of elaborate greetings and if an individual fails to perform them normatively, others may describe them as ill or perhaps evil (mugu). In addition, there is also according to Creider, a cheerful face, fara’a. Analogous to Creider, we will explore some Bukusus gestures that perform emotive functions. Eastman and Omar describe verbal independent and verbal dependent gestures among Kenya coastal Swahili speakers.26 The latter they call verbal/visual or gestural/speech units because speech and gesture combine to create a specific meaning that separately would be meaningless. Their verbal independent gestures range from those gestures that can be glossed with a sentence to those that are exclamations and have no verbal gloss or equivalent. Claessen also gives an account of the gestures of native speakers of Swahili, including a set of body-based measure gestures, in which the arm is used as a measuring stick that is delimited by the other arm/hand.27 Creider mentioned a similar type of gesture for the Luo of Kenya. Caprile analyzed the relation between counting gestures and the spoken numeral systems in four Central Sudanic languages as spoken in Chad, Central African Republic, and Zaïre.28 He showed that these languages operate Complex Words in their spoken number system. ‘These words can be analyzed as reflecting more or less explicitly a corporeal context that is built out of gestures that represent both cardinal and ordinal numbers. Reciting cardinal numerals is passed on through the techniques of the body.’29 More focused and insightful documentation and explication of gestures began to appear in the 2000s. Worth noting are two substantial studies on pointing practices in Ghana and Nigeria. Kita and Essegbey analyze pointing in Ghana30 and Orie examines pointing among Yoruba in Nigeria.31 Both studies demonstrate that pointing practices are shaped by sociocultural factors. Kita and Essegbey, and Orie describe how different functions and social values are ascribed to the left and right hands and to the use of both hands. These functions and values affect how speakers use them when gesturing and pointing. Many African cultures associate the left hand with negative values and actions, and therefore there is a taboo against using it for giving, receiving, or eating. Pointing with the left hand is taboo among Yoruba speakers in Nigeria, in Ghana and in many cultures in sub-Saharan Africa.32 For instance, pointing with the left hand is also taboo among the Igbo, the Iyala and the Hausa (Nigeria), the Gikuyu and the Luhyia (Kenya), and among the Chichewa (Malawi). Orie suggests index finger pointing is also socially circumscribed in many African cultures. According to her index finger pointing to people may be taboo under certain conditions because of cultural beliefs about its supernatural powers. Index finger pointing is subject to social restrictions in terms of social hierarchy relating to age and status. Status was suggested to be more important than age. Brookes studied gestures among black urban South Africans in the province of Gauteng, quotable gestures are a prominent feature of everyday communication.33

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Most notable is a gesture commonly glossed as clever meaning ‘streetwise’ and ‘city slick.’ An analysis of the clever gesture in everyday communicative situations shows that it conveys a variety of meanings and functions related to the core paradigmatic meaning of ‘seeing’ and the core socio-interactional function of acceptance and inclusion. ‘Seeing’ is an important cultural value in black urban society, particularly in relation to being clever. ‘Seeing’ is also the central characteristic of modern urban African identity in contrast to the ‘non-seeing’ rural, tribal, and primitive African. The clever gesture is a focused expression of this key social division within South African society. Consideration of the clever gesture in relation to its social role and the gestural repertoire suggests that key cultural concerns determine both quotable status and semantico-grammatical nature. Language and gesture are key elements in the expression of male urban township identity and play a central role in the negotiation of social identity and group membership. To belong to these street-corner groups, a young man must exhibit the values and skills expected of someone who is streetwise and city slick, the core characteristics of male urban township identity.34 Key among these skills is knowledge of the latest iscamtho and proficiency in the use of both iscamtho and its gestural repertoire especially while narrating stories of male daring and sexual contest that capture the attention of their peers. Such skilled communicative performance is crucial to gaining and maintaining access and status within these street-corner structures.35 Sufficient status to control a streetcorner group depends on a young man’s ability to remain communicatively dominant by outperforming his peers. If a young man does not display streetwise qualities, particularly the communicative skill to hold the attention of his peers, they describe him as boring and call him ‘stupid.’ He thus becomes an object of ridicule. Ridicule may lead to beatings from his peers, an important male ritual that boosts their status within male neighborhood social networks and ensures the young man’s exclusion.36 Brookes gives a social-semiotic account of five gesture families- sleep, money, talk, child and clever gestures.37 It examines semantic expansion and conventionalization in the form-meaning relations of gesture families in the gestural repertoire of speakers of urban varieties of Zulu and South Sotho. Gestural forms vary in the extent to which they undergo semantic extension and conventionalization. Brookes analyzed and compared five gesture forms and their families from the repertoire of gestures in use among urban Zulu and South Sotho speakers in Johannesburg.38 These family gestural forms, according to Brookes, have a limited semantic range. That is, they express a single meaning and are often literal metonymic depictions of everyday objects and actions.39 They are visually analogous to their concrete referents. We underscore the connection between non-verbal felicity and status and identity deference for the Babukusu. Brookes and Nyst studied gestures in West Africa, specifically, left hand (taboo) in Ghana.40 Several communities in Ghana, as in many other African countries, observe a restriction on left-hand use (henceforth taboo). The studies reported on two studies carried out on left-hand taboo in Ghana. The first study was conducted with Sotaro Kita among the Anlo (Ewe) people in Keta in the Volta Region of Ghana. The second, and more recent study, was conducted among the Dwang people in Kwame Danso in the Brong Ahafo Region. The left-hand taboo occurs in three main domains,

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namely eating, giving and receiving, and pointing. These three domains belong to an implicational hierarchy such that people aware of giving and receiving taboo necessarily know of the eating taboo while those who know about the pointing taboo also know of the giving and receiving taboo. There are different ways to mitigate the negativity associated with the left-hand use, especially as regarding giving and receiving. Furthermore, the taboo itself has given rise to a number of pointing gestures such as semi-pointing and hyper-contra-lateral pointing.41 Agwuele documented, illustrated, and described some of the hand and facial gestures in use among Yoruba people of Nigeria.42 The gesture descriptions were within the sociocultural context of their usage. The gestures were collected from across three Nigerian Yoruba states Oyo, Osun, and Lagos. A video-recording of naturally occurring interactions was done and some data were elicited. Agwuele established that Yoruba gestures are used by all ages and by both sexes irrespective of status.43 He documented gestures for supplication, begging, regret, boastfulness and expression of confidence, threat of vengeance, reject a curse, admonition and warning, curse, swear an oath and promise, surprise, sorrow, and countenance of earnest. For instance, when begging, supplicating, and showing regret, the two palms are held out before the face, fi o.w´o. w´o.’nú is a quotable gesture for calm down, ta ika (fingers snapping) is a quotable gesture for threat, ya e.nu (opened mouth gesture), ask´o. (inquisitiveness) and the face of earnest gesture. Moges studied nonverbal communication codes, structures, and functions among the Hamar of Ethiopia.44 He established that the Hamar uses an intricate system of nonverbal communication system including body scar, body paintings, and object language (clothing, hairstyle, necklaces, and decoration with animal skins) in order to communicate various social, cultural, and political meanings that are largely conscious acts. A person’s social status (married, unmarried, engaged, hero, wealthy, etc.), political rank as well as cultural values, norms and expectations are communicated through a range of nonverbal codes. Moges examined the linguistic encoding of the nonverbal communication system and looked into the structure, functions, and evolution of the nonverbal codes.45 Moges established that the Hamar have a robust tradition wherein nonverbal codes are regularly and intentionally displayed with a range of social, cultural, and political meanings that are of paramount importance in the life of individuals as part of their recognition and integration into the mainstream society. These nonverbal codes used in the processes of initiation and transition to adulthood, marriage and ultimately the right to continue one’s lineage are socially constructed and have consensual meanings that are perceived equally by both senders and receivers. The selected gestures discussed in this chapter are conventionalized. Both senders and recipients share same understanding of their meanings. Ayobade makes a case for appreciating the subtle connections between the spectacular and the gestural.46 He examined the salience of the gestural in perpetuating the spectacular not just in a particular moment of performance, but also in subsequent iterations of that performance. Ayobade examined Fela’s double ‘Black Power’ salute: the statuesque pose that entails holding up both fists in the air with arms aligned with the erect body so that the upward pull of the fists extends the body’s height, highlights its frame, and holds the performer’s body in tension. In enacting

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the salute, the head is held erect, with the enactors’ gaze directed forward at the receptors. Therefore, within the landscape of the 2012 Occupy Nigeria Movement, this gesture is referred to as the Afrobeat salute, which has endured as an important symbol in the overall distinctiveness of Fela’s Afrobeat. The Afrobeat salute has played a crucial role in cementing Fela’s ideologies in the Nigerian public imaginary, carrying forward elements of the racial politics of its Black Power extraction. Sanders explored the symbolic and practical significance of handedness, the choosing of one or both hands to carry out activities in Malawian daily interaction, especially during everyday rituals.47 Sanders argued that handedness plays a major role in displaying important cultural values such respect, inclusiveness, but this is meaningful only when it takes place in a public setting, and when the interlocutors are less familiar with each other. Sanders (2015) observed that handedness is closely associated with the opposing cultural values of generosity and selfishness, strength and weaknesses, and skillfulness and clumsiness. Sanders surveyed multiple forms of gesture within three everyday rituals—access, exchange and dining rituals—to establish whether using the left hand communicate anything significant about the gesturer and the relationship between the interlocutors. The study confirmed the dominance of the right hand in exchange and eating activities. Using both hands is, however, more favored in giving and receiving rituals, while the dining ritual not only has a preference for right-hand use but also produces an environment that facilitates right-side dining. The least polite is using the left hand only; however, using it among intimate friends will not be considered impolite. Thus, the right hand is associated with positive social values—strength, dexterity, and sensitivity. It is also used in public and highly visible interactions, regardless of the biological handedness of the individual. All these wide-ranging and emerging works revolve around everyday gestures in use by the people studied. We extend the same courtesy in this chapter to Babukusu’s use of nonverbal communicative gestures. We dwell on aspects of quotable gestures and we show certain gender-related differences.48 The gestures here described are considered a class in terms of their elicitability outside of the context of interaction, i.e., in terms of their existence as free forms. The data were recorded using videos and photography.

The Babukusu of Kenya This work was conducted with Bukusu community of the Luhyia nation in Southwestern Kenya. The Babukusu predominantly occupy Bungoma County in western Kenya. They are one of the seventeen sub-nations, or more, that comprise the Baluyia cluster of the Bantu groups of the East African region.49 They live intergenerationally in a homestead. The families are extended and marriages are largely polygamous. The males, mostly circumcised, are the heads of the homesteads and thus the society is male-dominated. Although decentralized, it is patriarchal. Authority revolves around an elected headman and notable functionaries in the society such as prophets, healers,

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diviners, and various performers who as custodians of various traditional values, customs and religion, are responsible for maintaining and assuring their continuity and rightful place in Babukusu life. The chief position or status for women in the nation remains that of a wife. They are charged with running the home and rearing children.

Babukusu Nonverbal Communicative Gestures As an initial documentation and description of some of the gestures in use by the Babukusu, it is important to stress that what we have presented here are excerpted from an ongoing investigation and as such, they are not comprehensive. Also, given that communicative gestures are dynamic in nature and often reflect cultural changes, there should not be any expectation of completeness. In what follows, we describe selected gestures in use among Bukusu people. Secondly, we describe the context in which they occur, and thirdly, we explain their communicative functions.

Hand and Arm Gestures Begging, Supplication, and Regret Politeness is an integral part of Bukusu culture. Thus, the begging act is accompanied by gestures that exemplify politeness. Occasions where politeness in begging occurs include begging for forgiveness, or requesting food and help, including asking the gods for intervention. The three gestures for begging and supplication are shown in Figs. 19.1a and b, 19.2, and 19.3. To beg for food or a favor, one may assume any of the postures, and they can be accompanied by uttering the phrase “help me if you can”, “mbekho/njete nosima”. The gestures in Fig. 19.1a and b, commonly known as mbekho, are displayed in various situation of needs, but most specifically, when asking for alms or when begging for food. The gesture in Fig. 19.1b is known as mbeele (which literally means forgive me). This gesture occurs when a person is terribly remorseful of a wrong committed and thus begs for forgiveness. It is the gesture of choice among young people when they seek pardon from an older person. The mbeele gesture is gendered, it is commonly used by women and rarely by men. When it is used by Bukusu men, then it is to show extreme weakness as women are the ones expected to bend with a downward gaze to convey submission and respect. Another gender specific gesture is shown in Fig. 19.2. It is mainly used by young females when asking either for forgiveness from a fellow young person or begging for assistance. This female gesture ties with the Bukusu cultural views that consider knee bending as a sign of respect and submission. A man making this gesture portrays himself as weak, a coward, and an inferior person.

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Fig. 19.1 a Male begging posture. b Female begging posture

Fig. 19.2 Female begging posture

Prayer When praying to the gods for intervention, the Babukusu raises his\her head gazing upward; they lift both hands and open their palms heavenwards. This is shown is

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Fig. 19.3 Praying to the Gods posture

Fig. 19.3. This is the khusaba gesture; it is used by both men and women in prayers and more importantly, when seeking a miracle.

Daringness/Boastfulness There are several different gestures that express boastfulness or daringness in Bukusu culture. These gestures occur separately for women and men. Female daring gestures are often satirical in nature. Most popular female gestures are acheko /eputusi/ese mbula and aseno. The acheko gesture is performed with the back turned to the interlocutor. The left foot is placed forward and the right one stretched backward. The right hand is folded at the back and the left one is swung out as if making a hop. This gesture is accompanied with mocking laughter and the phrase ewe noli umukhasi incha ukhupe (Fight me, if you are a real woman). Most often, the gesture is a precursor to a fight. Culturally, the acheko gesture is deemed to be the worst form of daringness that can be displayed because as the person performs this gesture, most often, the skirt or dress rides up revealing the modesty of the performer. This gesture is seen as swearing by her womanhood to dare the other person into a fight. The eputusi gesture (Fig. 19.4b) is performed by young girls and younger women when satirically daring each other. The performer spreads the hands sideways as in the picture and struts around like a peacock. This she does by swaying her whole body. This is accompanied by smiles or laughter with the phrase eputusi (I don’t care) uttered several times. It is a dare to do your worst. This gesture is offered when the gesturer is ready for the worst consequence.

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Fig. 19.4 a Acheko (I dare you) posture. b Eputusi (I don’t care-) posture. c Aseno (Nonsense) posture. d Khukhwiteya/ Khukhupa Sifuba posture

The aseno gesture is displayed when dismissing what another person has said as useless. It is used with the intent to demean the other person. To perform this gesture, the right hand is raised to the lips and using the thumb the lower lip is tapped and moved to the right side producing a clicking sound and simultaneously saying the words aseno (nonsense). The aseno gesture is seen as a rude daring gesture.

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Fig. 19.5 a Daringness among males. b Male daring posture

Chest thumbing similar to the one reported by Agwuele for the Yoruba is found among the Bukusu for women as means of boasting.50 The gesture is displayed when someone is involved in serious arguments concerning their material possessions, especially in the domestic sphere. The chest is thumbed in order to lay claim to domestic items and mark her household items as dear to her. Different from women, Bukusu males express daringness and make boast using gestures as shown in Fig. 19.4. When ready to face the ultimate consequence, males make the gesture in Fig. 19.5a and b. The performer balloons the cheeks and folds the arms across the chest while crossing the legs too. Boastfulness is also displayed by pushing the chest forward with pursed lips and dropping hands by the sides. Whereas Bukusu females chest thumb, Bukusu males protrude their chest.

Provocation and Anger Gesturing anger or disappointment is also gendered as shown below for males and females. Often the depiction involves ballooning the cheeks. Women who appear before the council of elders to answer to any form of accusation are not expected to speak. Silence for women indicates respect and deference to their authority. Being denied speech, they resort to gestures to express either their disappointment or anger. This is shown in Fig. 19.6a. Another version of it is shown in Fig. 19.6b.

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Fig. 19.6 a Provocation posture. b Anger posture

Fist clenching by women (not shown) is another gendered gesture. Different from men, the thumbs are folded in, while men rest their thumbs on the fingers. Inward folding of the thumbs for women reflects their genital and indicates their submissiveness. The outward clenching for male also signifies the male private parts, hence strength and power. As such, among the Babukusu, a female does not clench like a male, and if this happens, then it is assumed that the female is usurping male’s power. Similarly, when a man is provoked to anger, and especially with a fellow man, he will clench like a female as a way of insulting the male counterpart, hence resulting in anger from the other party. Women also express their anger by biting down on the pointing finger and quickly it against clenched thumb and middle finger to produce a clicking sound (Fig. 19.7). This is then followed by making a verbal clicking noise. Women who are angered by men have as their only recourse such an expression of anger. They are not allowed to engage in altercations with men; neither are they to be involved in physical fights. As such, woman mainly bite the index finger as a way of restraining from hurling insults at the man, while making very explicit their displeasure. In the Babukusu culture, when a woman is provoked by a man, she only sends threats by touching the lips and at the same time shaking the head. When a Bukusu man uses this gesture, then it is to convey his sexual attraction towards a woman who has turned down his advances. Thus for males, the gestures would be a demonstration of their determination to getting the woman at all costs. Different from women, Bukusu men and boys show anger by ballooning the cheeks as already mentioned and shown in Fig. 19.5a. When men are angry, they make clicks. For maximum anger, this is accompanied by clenched fists with the

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Fig. 19.7 Bukusu female gesture of anger

utterance of the swear words bakheba khabili (May I be circumcised twice). This appeal to the circumciser’s knife is a precursor to a physical fight. This gesture is particularly used when men are quarreling among themselves and never with women.

Swear an Oath and Promise The Bukusu land belongs to the Bukusu ancestors. Due to the indubitability of land ownership and the position of the ancestors, the people swear by land and by extension the ancestors. The swear gesture that pertains to land involves touching the ground with the pointing finger, then lifting it to touch the lips and then raising it upward, to point to the sky. Sometimes this gesture is followed by uttering the words wele mulala (one god). Differently, Bukusu men would accompany the gesture by invoking the circumciser’s knife bakheba khabili (they will circumcise me twice) or the ancestors. The touch to the ground seals the oath with the ancestors while touching the lips is the promise itself and lifting it to the gods calls them to be witnesses.

Embarrassing and Shaming Somebody Khukhomola (The Embarrassment Gesture): This gesture is a combination of movements, it involves lowering of the head, using the pointing finger of the right hand to pull down the lower eyelid so that the right eye is wide open and opening wide the mouth at the same time as shown in Figs. 19.8a and b. Figure 19.8a occurs when the offense is not egregious, such as when the skirt of a woman is torn or shabby.

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Fig. 19.8 a Shaming gesture. b Khukhomola Gesture of embarrassment

Khukhomola gesture as in Fig. 19.8b is performed by pulling down the eyelids of both eyes while keeping the mouth gapped and emiting the sound ooh. This gesture occurs in an intensified shaming acts such as when a woman is very scantily dressed woman, immodest, or engages in acts deemed shameful. These are female gestures. Bukusu men, on the other hand, would engage in verbal insult using strong language or proverbs to shame or embarrass each other.

Sorrow and Distress Khubelela is the term used in Bukusu community to refer to sorrow or sadness. The gesture that captures this is commonly referred to as khukhwiumbilila (showing sorrow or distress) commonly used by women. This is a gesture which is not specific to the Bukusu community, it is also in use among the Yoruba people of Nigeria.51 On the contrary, Bukusu males in distress cross their arms over their heads. A person in distress is said to be in a state of khukhwiumbilila. To express this nonverbally, the distressed person would rest the chin on the palm or they could rest the back of the head on both palms as in Fig. 19.9b. These gestures are displayed when one is bereaved or has serious domestic issues with the husband, such as when a woman has been chased away from her matrimonial home. Different from the female gestures shown above is the male gesture shown in Fig. 19.10. Males perform this gesture in a sitting position; the elbows are rested on the

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Fig. 19.9 a khukhwiumbilila posture. b khukhwiumbilila posture

Fig. 19.10 Khukhwinamilila (Looking down) gesture

knees and made to support the head which sinks into it. This gesture, khukhwinamilila (looking down), appears when a man has lost a loved one or his properties. Since men are not expected to show sorrow openly, the main outlet for overt expression of sadness that still preserves their masculinity is by casting a dejected look as captured in the image of Fig. 19.10.

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Greetings Customary to the Bukusu, as is the case among every people, is the exchange of greetings and pleasantries. For the Bukusu, this is a mark of inclusiveness. Due to the role that age plays within the Bukusu society, different gestures are used among peers and between non-peers. Walking by another Bukusu without offering the requisite customary salutation is an unacceptable behavior. As with other gestures, the gestures for salutations are gendered. Some of the gestures in use are described below.

Gestures for Women and Girls Shown in Fig. 19.11 is the omurie gesture. This occurs between sisters-in-law, mothers-in-law, or during traditional weddings known as sitekho when women from both the family of the bride and groom meet. It could also be offered when long lost friends meet. For this gesture, both women may either squat or kneel; they lean forward and shake hands, clasping their rights hand. Each woman places their left hand on the forearm of the right hand that is offered to the other. Supporting the right hand with the left is a gesture of honor and respect. This face-to-face interaction observed for women has also been noted by Tannen.52 Different from the omurie gesture is the liria (Fig. 19.12) which is offered by women to their fathers-in-law or to men who are greatly revered in the society such as seers or old wise men. The woman genuflects with hands closed as a sign of reverence. The head is lowered. This is a very important gesture in Babukusu land, where it is disrespectful for daughters-in-law to touch their fathers-in-law hands. Fig. 19.11 Omurie gesture

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Fig. 19.12 Liria gesture

Where a daughter-in-law shakes the father-in-law, propitiatory sacrifice in the form of a sheep is made in order to avert a curse. This stringent behavioral ‘hurdle’ is put in place to prevent the development of any ‘sexual’ feelings between the daughterin-law and the father-in-law. In a similar way, sons-in-law do not shake hands with mothers-in-law. It is equally an abomination. However, the sons-in-law do not bend as the women; rather they just stand and put their hands together as they greet the mother-in-law. It is, however, important to mention that Bukusu men do not kneel or bend before women or fellow men, to do so is to show weakness.

Greeting Gestures for Boys Middle-aged boys or teenagers commonly use the Kete gestures shown in the Figure above as greetings. In Fig. 19.13a, the boys squat while facing each other and each raises their right hand as they also raise the thumb. In Fig. 19.13b, the boys stand and touch the inside of thier feet as if shaking hands. These gestures are specific to teenagers who are acquaintances. The touching of the fingers or the feet is a cultural sign of inclusivity and friendship. Different from Figs. 19.13a and b, which are used between acquaintances, are the gestures of Figs. 19.14a and b, that are used in exchanging pleasantries with nonacquaintances or people with whom one does not want to establish closeness. As shown in Fig. 19.14a, the greeter raises the hand with opened palms but no waving is involved. In Fig. 19.14b, the right fist is clenched with the thumb pointing outward. As already mentioned, strangers rarely shake hands in the Bukusu society for fear of touching hands which are laced with evil potion (commonly referred to as kamaloko (witchcraft)) thus non-contact form of greeting is preferred.

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Fig. 19.13 a Kete gesture—i.e., Greetings between boys. b Kete Gesture II—(Greetings between boys)

Fig. 19.14 a and b Salutation with non-acquaintances

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Fig. 19.15 a Khusiniola gesture. b Ridicule or disgust gesture

Ridicule and Contempt (Khusiniola) Khusiniola is a gesture of ridicule that is performed by pointing with pursed lips either to the right or left side and is accompanied by sucking air inward to produce a click sound as in Fig. 19.15a. In Fig. 19.15b, the face is made longer or stretched by twisting the lips downwards. Then with the right finger, the right cheek is pulled downwards thereby stretching down the lower eyelid. The gestures in Figs. 19.15a and b are performed to show ridicule and contempt. Specifically, the gesture in Fig. 19.15 known as khusiniola is that of contempt, whereas the gesture in Fig. 19.15b is the gesture of ridicule. The pulling of the lower eyelids to reveal the inner parts of the eye is culturally deemed funny. In some instances, the person may flip over the upper eyelids just to mock the other person. These gestures are mainly found among women.

Innocence This gesture is performed kneeling. It involves raising and crossing the hands at the wrist, palms wide open. A variant involves kneeling with arms to the ide, palms facing forward, or by folding the left hand to the back, around the waiste while the right hand is stretched out in front of the body, palm open. The gesture in Fig. 19.16 is commonly known as khukhwikana, which literally translates to denying or refusing an allegation.

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Fig. 19.16 Khukhwikana (Plea of innocence) gesture

This gesture, khukhwikana, is specific to Bukusu females and it is displayed when one has been cornered into a serious allegation either of witchcraft, adultery, theft, or gossiping. The raising of the hands while crying is a symbol of calling upon the heavens to attest the innoncence of the person swearing an oath.

Nature of Gestures; Meaning and Usage We sampled some of the ‘signs and symbols’ that by virtue of their consistent usage and agreed upon interpretation form some of the gendered nonverbal communicative gestures in use among the Babukusu of Kenya.53 These gestures, implicated in organizing their society, unveil aspects of the principle guiding Bukusu interactions. We underscored some of the powerful impacts that Bukusu gestures have on their community, the place of proxemics and haptics in sustaining intimate friendship. Gestures on the area of emotions were also highlighted; we showed the difference between male and female gestures in relation to their family and to their friends. The use of gesture regulates the socially sanctioned extent of affection expected between parents’ in-law and their children-in-law. Explicating this single multichannel system of human interaction provides insight to certain aspects of the culture of the people and their worldview. While there are no prescriptive rules to which nonverbal behavior subscribes universally, they tell eloquent stories and they carry useful information.54 For instance, the usage differences between males and females among the Bukusu reflect the hierarchical organization of their society, the behavioral expectations of males and females, and the duties that each has to perform in service to the nation and family. The sexual division of labor that sustains the people,

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in which the males are to be strong provider and defender of the community, and the women, the home builder in charge of raising the children is found instantiated in their nonverbal communicative behavior. The world of the Babukusu, as is the case with every people, is codified orally and gesturally, these are cultivated, passed on intergenerationally, and are, as every cultural item, dynamic and responsive to different situations. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

Agwuele (2014). Moges (2015). Spivak (1988). Bourdieu (1986). Ibid. Asante (1990). Kendon (1992). Efron (1972). Ibid., 69. Abercrombie (1956: 78ff.). Agwuele (2016). Silverstein et al. (1986). Downs and Harrison (1985). Ekman and Friesen (1969). Agwuele (2015). Elfenbein and Ambady (2002). Ekman et al. (2002). Hall (1966), Sommer (1959). Altman (1975). Heslin (1974). Kendon (1967). Ekman and Friesen (1977), Harrigan and O’Connell (1996). Ekman and Friesen (1969). Baduel-Mathon (1969). Olofson (1974). Eastman and Omar (1985). Claessen (1985) Caprile (1995). Ibid., Kita and Essegbey (2001). Orie (2009). See Kita and Essegbey ibid.; Orie ibid. Brookes (2001). Ibid. Ibid.

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36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

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Ibid. Brookes (2004). Ibid. Ibid. Brookes and Nyst (2014). See Kita and Essegbey ibid. Agwuele (2014). Ibid. Moges (2015). Ibid. Ayobade (2015). Sanders (2015). Creider ibid. Wasike (2013). Agwuele (2014). Agwuele (2014). Tannen (1994). Keeley and Hart (1994: 136). Hall (1984).

References Abercrombie, D. 1956. Problems and Principles in Language Study. London: Longmans. Agwuele, A. 2014. A Repertoire of Yoruba Hand and Face Gestures. Gestures 14 (1): 70–96. Agwuele, A. 2015. Nonverbal Message: Yoruba View of ‘Deviant’ Male Hairstyles. In Body Talk and Cultural Identity in the African World, ed. Augustine Agwuele, 162–180. Sheffield: Equinox. Agwuele, A. 2016. Popular Culture and the Study of Africa. In Oxford Bibliographies Online: African Studies, ed. Thomas Spear, No page numbers. New York: Oxford University Press. Available online: https://doi.org/10.1093/obo/9780199846733-0056. Altman, I. 1975. The Environment and Social Behavior: Privacy, Personal Space, Territory, and Crowding. Monterey, CA: Brooks-Cole. Asante, M.K. 1990. Kemet, Afrocentricity, and Knowledge. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Ayobade, D. 2015. Fela’s Clenched Fists: The Double “Black Power” Salute and Political Ideology. In Body Talk and Cultural Identity in the African World, ed. Augustine Agwuele, 37–57. Bristol: Equinox. Baduel-Mathon, C. 1969. Pour une sémiologie du geste en Afrique Occidentale. Semiotica 3 (3): 245–255. Baron, R.A. 1986. Self-Presentation in Job Interviews: Where There Can Be Too Much of a Good Thing. Journal of Applied Social Psychology 68: 16–28. Bourdieu, P. 1986. The Forms of Capital. In Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, ed. J. Richardson, 241–258. New York: Greenwood Press. Brookes, H.J. 2001. O Clever ‘He’s Streetwise.’ When Gestures Become Quotable: The Case of the Clever Gesture. Gesture 1 (2): 167–184. Brookes, H.J. 2004. A First Repertoire of South African Quotable Gestures. Linguistic Anthropology 14 (2): 186–224.

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Brookes, H.J., and V. Nyst. 2014. Gesture in the Sub-Saharan Region. In Body-LanguageCommunication: An International Handbook on Multimodality in Human Interaction, ed. C. Müller, A. Cienki, E. Fricke, S.H. Ladewig, D. McNeill, and J. Bressem, vol. 2, 1154–1161. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter Mouton. Caprile, J.-P. 1995. Morphogenèse numérale et techniques du corps: des gestes et des nombres en Afrique Centrale. Intellectica 1 (20): 83–109. Claessen, A. 1985. Investigation into the Patterns of Non-Verbal Communication Behavior Related to Conversational Interaction Between Mother Tongue Speakers of Swahili. In Swahili Language and Society, ed. J. Maw and D. Parkin, 159–193. Vienna: Afro-Pub. Downs, A.C., and S.K. Harrison. 1985. Embarrassing Age Spots or Just Plain Ugly? Physical Attractiveness Stereotyping as an Instrument of Sexism on American Television Commercials. Sex Roles 13 (1/2): 1–19. Eastman, C.M., and Y.A. Omar. 1985. Swahili Gestures: Comments [vielezi] and exclamations [viingizi]. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies. 48 (2): 321–332. Efron, D. 1972. Gesture, Race and Culture. The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter. Ekman, P., and W.V. Friesen. 1969. The Repertoire of Nonverbal Behavior: Categories, Origins, Usage, and Coding. Semiotica 1: 49–98. Ekman, P., and W.V. Friesen. 1977. Nonverbal Behavior. In Communication and Social Interactions, ed. P.F. Ostwald, 37–45. New York: Winston & Sons. Ekman, P., W. Friesen, and J. Hager. 2002. Facial action coding system. Salt Lake City: Research Nexus eBook. Elfenbein, H.A., and N. Ambady. 2002. On the Universality and Cultural Specificity of Emotion Recognition: A Meta-Analysis. Psychological Bulletin 128: 203–235. Hall, E.T. 1966. The Hidden Dimension. New York: Doubleday. Hall, J.A. 1984. Nonverbal Sex Differences: Communication Accuracy and Expressive Style. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Harrigan, J.A., and D. O’Connell. 1996. How Do You Look When Feeling Anxious? Facial Displays of Anxiety. Personality and Individual Differences 32: 851–864. Heslin, R. 1974. Steps Towards a Taxonomy of Touching. Paper presented at the annual meeting of Midwestern Psychological Association, Chicago. Keeley, M.P., and A.J. Hart. 1994. Nonverbal Behavior in Dyadic Interaction. In Dynamics of Relationship, ed. S.W. Duck, 135–162. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Kendon, A. 1967. Some Function of Gaze-Direction in Social Interaction. Acta Psychologica 26: 22–63. Kendon, A. 1992. Some Recent Work from Italy on Quotable Gestures (‘Emblems’). Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 2, 77–93. Kita, S., and J. Essegbey. 2001. Pointing Left in Ghana: How a Taboo on the Use of the Left Hand Influences Gestural Practice. Gesture 1 (1): 73–95. Moges, Y. 2015. Nonverbal Communication Codes Among the Hamar: Structures and Functions. In Body Talk and Cultural Identity in the African World, ed. A. Agwuele, 133–146. Bristol: Equinox. Noller, P. 2005. Behavioral Coding of Visual Affect Behavior. In The Sourcebook of Nonverbal Measures, ed. V. Manusov, 141–150. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Olofson, H. 1974. Hausa Language About Gesture. Anthropological Linguistics 18 (1): 25–39. Orie, O.O. 2009. Pointing the Yoruba Way. Gesture 9 (2): 237–261. Sanders, K.W. 2015. The Convergence of Language and Culture in Malawian Gestures: Handedness in Everyday Rituals. In Body Talk and Cultural Identity in the African World, ed. A. Agwuele, 111–132. Bristol: Equinox. Silverstein, B.L., B. Peterson Purdue, and E. Kelly. 1986. The Role of Mass Media in Promoting a Thin Standard of Bodily Attractiveness for Women. Sex Roles 14 (9/10): 519–532. Sommer, R. 1959. Studies in Personal Space. Sociometry (22): 247–260. Spivak, G.C. 1988. Can the Subaltern Speak? In Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, ed. C. Nelson and L. Grossberg, 271–313. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Tannen, D. 1994. Gender and Discourse. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wasike, J.C. 2013. Gender Relations in Manguliechi’s Babukusu After-Burial Oratory Performance (Khuswala Kumuse). Unpublished PhD dissertation. Witwatersrand University, Johannesburg.

Chapter 20

Oral Tradition and Identity Mustafa Kemal Mirzeler

Introduction African oral tradition has long provided historians with an enticing source in reconstructing Africa’s past and has also been the subject of continuing debate over the last several decades.1 The historicity of African oral tradition is exhaustively debated by generations of scholars, but its folkloric significance has been either dismissed or understudied. The social features of African oral tradition are not merely a background for Africa’s history, but they are an integral component of its communities’ folkloric communication with vital symbolic inflections. The emphasis of this chapter, therefore, is the actions of storytelling; the concepts of history and historicity and the modalities of performances of oral tradition, in the construction of the past and identities across Africa. The first part of the chapter reviews the literature on the uses of oral tradition in historical reconstruction and the second part illustrates how oral tradition is enmeshed with multiple folkloric practices such as rites of passages, autobiographies, and historical experiences of people. As the comparative cases across Africa provided in this section indicate, the ubiquity of oral tradition stems from multiple forms of folkloric expressions about how people remember their pasts. This remembering constitutes the production of folkloric knowledge about the past, which poetically reveals highly entangled emotionally evocative collective experiences, strategies, and ideologies of the actors in the performance contexts. This lends critical insight into the art of oral tradition as a poetic discourse of identity and self in the African societies’ folklore.

M. K. Mirzeler (B) Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, MI, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_20

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Part I In 1972, Richard M. Dorson published African Folklore. Not only was I enthusiastic about African Folklore, but I was also in agreement with Dorson’s criticisms of J. B. Webster, a pioneering Africanist historian, the head of the history department at Makerere University. Although Dorson’s criticism was directed to Webster, the critic was meant for Africanist historians’ use of oral tradition in reconstructing Africa’s history without paying attention to its folkloric value. For Dorson, Africanist historians concerned themselves exclusively with establishing the validity of oral tradition but they failed to recognize that oral tradition is folklore material and that “folklore materials can shed light on the historical past.”2 Dorson’s African Folklore is a seminal work. Although I was skeptical at first of its classification as “African Folklore,” the correctness of the title became apparent. Dorson’s book is about folklore, but it is also about his criticism of Africanist historians’ misuse of oral tradition in the 1960s and 1970s, among other things related to folklore in Africa. The narrative into which Dorson’s critic of Africanist historians surface most forcefully is in his encounter experience with Webster, the “energetic Canadian”, who explained to Dorson in March 1970, about “the new ‘History of Uganda’ project he had organized and directed as an oral-history enterprise.” It was “refreshing” for Dorson to hear “this lively account of a historian boning up with his students on oral traditions, driving off into the bush, making contact with the local authorities, meeting the elders and other villagers in group interviews in open assembly, flanked by an interpreter an assistant, shooting the questions at the elders and other knowledgeable persons, some critical of the elders, until the beer break in early afternoon, when the formal interviewing melted into friendly socializing.”3 Enunciating the incident of encountering Webster was crucial for Dorson, in the writing of his introduction to his African Folklore, but the imagery of that experience which worked as a catalyst for his anxiety over the misuse of African oral tradition by “Africanist historians” did not go unmarked—by him, by the contributors to the volume, and by the subsequent eminent Africanist historians. All of them were interested in what had ignited Dorson’s strong apprehension of historians like Webster boning up with his students, shooting questions to elders, and collecting oral history materials to reconstruct Africa’s past, without regards to their folkloric aspects. The point that Webster made had a familiar ring to the folklorists of his time: “how old men ‘blossom into excellent informants’ as they strain to open the floodgates of their memories to precolonial times…; and the rumors among the Teso people,” whom Webster had studied, who thought that “Webster and his group were missionaries of a new religious sect or propagandists for a new political party.” When Dorson asked Professor Webster “if he collected any folklore during his interviewing,” Webster had responded candidly saying that “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”4 What Dorson references in recounting this memory is a sardonic remark at the general excitement among Africanist historians for having “discovered” African oral tradition as a source in constructing Africa’s past. The “New Uganda” project

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here refers to the now highly critiqued sense of Africanist historians carrying out oral history projects and collecting oral tradition without considering its folkloric value. Webster was not alone. Many historians who did not know what to do with folklore ignored this aspect of oral data, as they continued collecting oral tradition and questioning people, “turning themselves into anthropologist-like fieldworkers,”5 conducting fieldwork, and believing that precolonial African history could be unearthed from oral tradition. Emulating functionalist anthropologists of that time, Africanist historians felt confident that they could put together what they found in the field and by functional definition they could fit them all together magically. The whole story began during the wake of the decolonization in 1950s and1960s in Africa, which created new opportunities for Western historians to study Africa’s precolonial past and write the history of the African people. Many doctoral students rushed to the field with their tape recorders, with little or no knowledge of the language,6 to gather oral tradition which could be written down and published. For Henige, the problem was not in the use of oral tradition in historical reconstruction, but in collecting and handling of the oral materials, without regard to their folkloric value.7 While the theory of structural functionalism, which the historians adopted from the field of anthropology, provided the Africanist historians with a theoretical model on social institutions, oral tradition provided them with data to illuminate historical relationships between them. These influences lasted long enough that students of African history went about doing their fieldwork, which was more or less predicated by the assumptions that they will find the local structures and explain the functions. That was how the Africanist historians continued to “flounder” in their attempts to apply a functionalist theory, “pigeonholing” oral tradition, producing descriptions of the past but they did not go very far.8 Soon it was realized that while the historical studies which the Africanist historians produced were intriguing, they did not lead to anything, mainly because these studies “presupposed” historical contexts that were not there. They looked at African societies from the angle of institutions, but the kind of institutional histories they produced were generally not stimulating. Thus, from the beginning, Africanist historians collected oral traditions and wrote articles and books, without acknowledging the folkloric complexity of oral tradition. What we see in these works is distortion of Africa’s precolonial past based on oral tradition, looking at Africa’s past from the point of view of European centers, rendering its diversity to uniformity, complexity of its history to simplicity, fitting them all neatly into European theories highlighting the differences between the “hot” and “cold” societies. While the so-called hot societies such as the ones in Europe and Asia were vibrant and changing, the so-called cold societies such as the societies in Africa were static and remained unchanged. However, as time has shown, both functionalism and structuralism did not work. While Africanist historians were reconstructing Africa’s history based on oral tradition this way, those students of African folklore went in the field about the same time period and collected oral traditions, using folklore methodologies, writing articles and books about the complexities of African oral tradition as history and as oral art form, but the historians paid no attention to them. Almost no historian, for example, has read Harold Scheub’s collection which numbers over 10,000 stories.

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Scheub, like Dorson, Bascom, Abrahams, Ben-Amos, Lindfors, and Finnegan, debated folkloristic values of African oral tradition at length, but few historians bothered with their writings. The impact of Scheub, like that of other folklorists, was fairly minimal or nonexistent because historians who interpreted oral tradition for historicity did not listen to what folklorist say. Historians did what they wanted to do. Thus, Dorson’s or Scheub’s books might have suffered a similar fate among the Africanist historians. Africanist historians’ methodological convention was based on widely shared theories of oral tradition as history as formulated by Jan Vansina. When Vansina published his book De la tradition orale, which was translated into English and entitled Oral Tradition: A Study in Historical Methodology (1965), it became the most promising methodological book about doing oral history in Africa. The Africanist historians enthusiastically seized on Vansina’s work, not only because the ideas in the book were helpful in writing Africa’s history, since people did not have written documents, but also the “timing was ripe.”9 The central points of Vansina in Oral Tradition as History were simply to learn the rules of evidence, for all aspects of oral tradition as history craft. What made Vansina’s work so immediately appealing to Africanist historians was the veracity of its historical reasoning which was based on standard academic historical method, which was based on logic, closely related to the logical method used in the natural sciences, etc. So it was potentially universal. It is that universality in logic that made Vansina’s historical method valid and attractive to Africanist historians. The first problem that emerged had to be dealt with was the means of assessing oral tradition’s chronological values and classifying oral tradition in order to turn it into viable historical document. The second problem was how to discern the historical messages embedded within oral tradition. In tackling this issue, most historians did not bother with performance processes, but with the oral text, the so-called historical evidence. Because of Africanist historians’ extensive reliance on British social anthropology, they have inherited the fundamental problems of structural-functionalism’s limitations, rendering oral tradition timeless and unchanging with fixed messages. Since functionalism focuses on the structure of relationship, scholars who were influenced by this theoretical consideration concentrated on institutions, and ignore the role of the individual in society and history. Historians’ confidence in such theoretical model thus hindered them from exploring the role played by the oral artist in the creation of oral tradition as an art form.10 For Henige, this is how the discipline of precolonial African history began by several European historians, who themselves collected some oral tradition in the field, drawing historical maps and then training others to fill in the voids.11 The Africanist historians’ uncritical use of oral material in the 1960s and 1970s, where chronologies became the guiding principles in uncovering layers of the past to establish the basic historical sequence of the communities, resulted in “presentist” history. But as experiences mounted, it was realized that collections of oral tradition needed to be addressed. In fact, the central issue in the 1980s, among the Africanist historians, was whether academic interpretation can have any kind of edge on African oral

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history. Joseph Miller’s (1980) famous edited volume entitled Africa’s Past Speaks reflected on this issue by asking the kinds of questions which academics of that time period had asked and had engaged in discussions relating to the issues of etic versus emic interpretation of culture and history. Although academics in almost all fields recognized the importance of emic, which means the native or the insider’s perspective, advocating the importance of local points of views, but when the history was written down, it was written from the point of view of the European interpreters. African history was thus written from etic perspective and it was positivist. While Miller’s volume provided the Africanist historians with hope for future research, the challenges coming from postmodern critiques launched by H. White, V. Mudimbe, and J. Fabian, the three towering postmodern scholars among many others, led to new developments among Africanist historians that were coherent with the academic discourse of its time across the fields. Consistent with postmodern critique, the ideas of White, Mudimbe, and Fabian, encouraged students to interrogate culture and truth, calling for introspection and self-reflection, which was set everywhere in academia, including in the field of African history (See Neil Whitehead’s interview with Jan Vansina [1995]). That sort of discussion, which went on for a long time, forced Africanist historians to renew their academic practices in light of these criticisms, raising the standards for accepting historical evidence and evaluating its interpretation. The necessity for renewal had been addressed by various publications beginning with Joseph Miller’s (1980) edited volume, The African Past Speaks, Jan Vansina’s revision of his earlier text, Oral Tradition as History, Elizabeth Tonkin’s Narrating Our Past, D. W. Cohen’s (2001) edited volume, African Words, African Voices: Critical Practices in Oral History, and Falola and C. Jennings’ edited volume, Sources and Methods in African History: Spoken, Written, Unearthed. What the debates in these works did was to generate awareness among Africanist historians that past events cannot be reduced to verbal text alone and assume that the past is encapsulated in the truncated and transcribed version of the oral text, without considering its performance context, and the role played by storytellers and their audiences. Recently, however, with Philips’s edited volume, Writing African History, the debate has shifted to a set of wider anthropological and folkloric and historical arguments. What the contributors of this volume did was to demonstrate that the problem of dealing with oral tradition is not just Africanist historians’ problem but rather all other historians face comparable problems drawing on the lessons of the past using oral materials. Given the dialectical relation between the past and the present, the current interpretation of past events guide storytellers and their audiences as they make past memories during performances, while past memories make them. Through performances, the storytellers and the members of their audiences continue to renew themselves in an ongoing process of production.12 Performances of oral tradition have their structures and processes. What is involved here is whether all history is enshrined in the multiple meanings of the word itself or in the multitude of other connections, including performance context.

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What has also become apparent in this volume, however, is that given the plethora of African oral sources and the difficulties of correlating the various kinds of evidences, the quality of their interpretations of oral tradition in light of folklore is critical.13 Historical basis underlies oral tradition, but its historicity is entangled with all sorts of verbal and nonverbal art forms such as magic, medicine, communal rituals and performances, as well as with autobiographical memories and experiences of the storytellers and their audiences, precisely because oral tradition is complicated in these ways. Unfolding these complicated interconnections between these fragments, the hitherto inadequately studied parts of oral tradition, would lead historians to develop new methods to meet with folklorists at some point in collecting and interpreting oral materials for their historical studies. The past dismissive attitudes of the historians toward folkloric and artistic aspects of oral tradition were perhaps due to the artificial disciplinary division of labor that marks off folklore from oral history. Traditionally, folklore studies in Africa tend to focus on questions of performance, the art of storytelling and textual analysis. Studies of oral history, however, focus on establishing chronology and historical validity of oral tradition text. In general, historians consider verbal features of oral tradition, ignoring the nonverbal aspects and the broader performance contexts, which are more complicated to locate and they are yet to be studied in much detail by the historians, particularly the role the oral artists play. Both historians and folklorists may work from notes, oral instruction, and transcription of the text in their hands in interpreting oral tradition for its historicity. Even if they use a carefully and faithfully produced transcription of performances, they are a shadow of the overall performance of oral tradition.14 Oral text is only the verbal aspect of a historical document jointly created by storytellers and their audiences in performances, but neither the storytellers nor the audiences can give us a manual for reading the art forms in the recorded portion of the oral text or the performance processes. The center of gravity in oral tradition for historians might be in the recorded text, but for folklorists, it is the recording process of oral tradition in performance that is important, in addition to having the recorded text. Therefore, priorities of historians and folklorists differ. Historians might be comfortable with text alone, written or oral transcriptions, whereas folklorists are more at home with performance processes. However, the two fields can reinforce each other. Part of the complication here has to do with the fact that the method of oral tradition compositions—especially in the performance settings—is often unknown or ignored by historians. Yet, if the oral tradition that historians collect is actually presented by a storyteller to a local audience, it would be public and occasional, that is words coming from the mouth of the speaker going to the ears of the listeners if delivered publicly. It is well known that the power and meaning of oral tradition is not a matter of words alone. Words on the page are powerful but powerful as they may be, they give us only a part of what any full performance would present. Even though the quantity of fieldwork relying on oral evidence, among Africanist historians, has declined markedly over the past decades, as new archaeological sites are being excavated in large numbers along with development of various other scientific methodologies, the potential contribution of folklore methodologies in the field

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of African history remains to be enormous.15 Africanist historians must, therefore, seek to collaborate with folklorists and exploit oral tradition in more sophisticated ways and to develop increasingly refined models to interpret folklore materials. New areas of inquiry, such as performer and audience relations, promise to expand our understanding of the past using oral tradition as evidence. It therefore remains critically important for historians to understand that the historical processes are in dialogical tension with multifaceted folklore materials and storyteller and audience relationships in performances, while simultaneously projecting present interests in terms of history, which may not be based on successive representation of the past or by the chronologically ordered way as expected in Western understanding of history. Oral tradition consists of fluid processes deeply embedded in the collective consciousness as discourses of language, identity, history, and myth. Although oral tradition may appear as fixed and immutable, it is in dialogical relation with the present situation, and it is assimilated into the present in endless ways, through countless performances in the present. Thus, African cultures emphasize both continuity and change.

Part II African oral tradition is a part of the venerable folklore, and of aesthetic excellence which has been developed jointly by storytellers and their audiences over the centuries. Oral tradition has been known variously as folklore, folktales, traditional tales, oral literature, and the like. In all these cases, the actual performance is a significant aspect of oral tradition. The delivery of oral performance involves more than just words. There are nonverbal sonic components, including music, the role of the audience—the co-creators of performance, and the shared experiences which are not verbalized. Folklore studies derive their techniques and stylistic characteristic from a wider storytelling tradition—that of literature delivered by word of mouth. Performance of oral tradition varies from society to society. In some societies, oral performance involves the use of musical instruments and dancing. In others it involves informal gathering, game playing, telling proverbs and riddles in homes in order to relax before going to bed. Yet in other societies, performance of oral tradition involves a formal gathering and singing heroic songs, heroic poetry, and reciting dynastic chants, by royal poets. The complex dialogic component of oral tradition and performances across Africa is brought together in a number of powerful folklore studies.16 These studies demonstrate the fluidity and diversity of oral tradition’ images, and storytellers’ ability to bring them together into splendid conjunction jointly with the members of their audiences, from an existing body of folkloric knowledge. Similarly, they also demonstrate the dialogical relations between oral artists and their audiences, shaping the overall content and form as they struggle over versions of the past.

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Oral tradition has its own history based on its past availability as raw material. Meanings of oral tradition emerge out of the transformations and rearrangements during countless performances. Ideas about the past in oral tradition resonate with storytellers, their audiences, and with the promoters of those ideas. For Tonkin, historians who place their faith on the text alone lose sight of the struggles between existing, often opposed bodies of knowledge and the ways in which such struggles are related to the past and the present social conditions.17 Ignoring the performance context denies the effects performance contexts have, on versions of the past promoted by those powerful figures. Many Africanist historians of J. B. Webster’s time, whom Dorson was critical of, often envisaged oral tradition as a product of some uniform oral culture where all members share the same culture and experience, but now oral tradition is attributed not to some generalized heritage but to specific individuals and oral artists.18 This necessitates an examination of how oral tradition takes form according to the performer’s specific situation and his or her life experiences. As Furnis and Gunners have shown, storytellers integrate their verbal art forms with their personal life histories and experiences.19 In doing so, they entangle their life histories with the histories of their societies. African storytellers, like the storytellers in other parts of the world, discourse broadly during their performances on such topics as collectively remembered past events and memories, as they indulge vigorously in their folkloric art forms. Gestures and facial expressions are fully involved during performances which enable the storytellers to link verbal associations with the members of the audiences poetically. With their artistic expressions, the storytellers transform past events into the masterwork of history, dramatically presented and laced with fragments of fiction and autobiographies. It is during these performances that storytellers artfully channel and infuse fictional and autobiographical forms into folklore images as they discover their history in front of the members of the audiences. It is the infusion of these autobiographical images into oral tradition by storytellers that gives life to African oral tradition. The performance of an oral tradition includes the artist who delivers it through the mouth, the audiences which demand it, and the cultures which shape it. And here it seems significant that previous historical studies did not consider the socialfamilial contexts, within which the private memories of the oral artists refer to— particularly instances of performance context sensitivity, where the use of particular autobiographical or biographical memory by the artist may be used for a particular effect. Studies of oral tradition as discourse have long shown their autobiographical and biographical significances.20 Consideration of autobiographical variation in oral tradition shows that personal memories of storytellers and their audiences do get to be incorporated into oral tradition and that the experiences of storytellers play vital roles in the production of the historical discourse.21 The notion of discourse has become prominent in the past thirty years. This notion specifies ways in which language, culture, emotion, and social actions are united and how this unity enables the members of the society to express themselves through their cultural themes. My

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usage of the notion of discourse resonates with L. Abu-Lughod’s articulation of the term discourse, which she sometimes refers to as sentiments or ideology, that people can use to express themselves and feel those experiences at the same time.22 In this respect, oral tradition represents a set of values and ideals of personhood that inform deeply felt individual experiences and autobiographical memories. The autobiographical memory images in oral tradition stem, in part, from storytellers’ poetic representations of their life experiences and valorization of political ideology in multiple contexts and performance situations. These performances constitute the dialogical creation of the past, those highly entangled fragments of remembered memory images that capture whatever may be worth remembering.23 Consideration of autobiographical memory elements in oral tradition further complicates the chronological aspects of the Africanist historians’ arguments.24 It is perhaps not surprising that we find a number of oral tradition images in the autobiography of oral artists in Africa and beyond.25 There are considerable numbers of traditional forms alongside some other personal, idiosyncratic experiences of the oral artists in their life histories. The highest proportions are found in vital rite of passage experiences such as births, marriages, and deaths. In statues, these transitional periods are used as reference markers and they help to ensure that the teller of a story belongs to his or her tradition; however, they also seem to have been part of a rote method of composition that skillful artists carry over into a collectively familiar world. Storytellers, therefore, add autobiographical memories and experiences in their stories. In arguing for a view of representing “pastness,” Tonkin states that “…there is a key mediating term between individual and society, and it is memory.”26 Memory, therefore, becomes the testing ground for exploring the relationship between individual and society. Tonkin’s notion of memory stresses social interactions, like the interaction between storytellers and their audiences. For her, “…one cannot detach the oral representation of pastness from the relationship of teller and audience in which it was occasioned.”27 When storytellers tell about the past, they incorporate experiences of a multitude of others along with their own and express a past that is intelligible emotionally. The narrators’ representation of pastness thus is congruent with the representation of their own identities and that of the members of their audiences.28 During performances of oral tradition, the processes of identification and of remembering the past are intertwined with a fresh cluster of social connotations and verbal icons of events and “abstracted sign images,” evolving together dialogically with contemporary contexts that lead to what Fernandez calls the differentiation of “Self” from “Other.”29 Therefore, recalling the past memories during performances becomes a symbolic process that reenacts and modifies the images of oral tradition, constructing new personal and social identities and defining the boundaries between the communities and the people. At each performance, oral tradition takes on new shape and new meaning depending on its “abstracted sign images,”30 focusing on key symbols richly layered with powerful associations. Fernandez’s abstracted signs are not distinct types of symbols, but rather they are endowed with different emphases and combinations of signs. They are critical to his understanding of the categories of Self and Other, which are subject to elaboration in performances. Episodes within oral

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tradition are molded and rearranged, new clusters of memory images are replaced, shifted, formed and reformed under the influences of many storytellers in different areas, times, with their attendant aesthetic tastes and interests, each influencing other performers and each, in turn, being influenced. Tonkin and Scheub point to existing forms of self-reference that have important connections to earlier forms, which are extremely important to the autobiographical accounts of people. In an oral culture, storytellers typically cast their personal experiences into the forms of stories. In other words, the storyteller may tell a story about past events, as a way of conveying an experience of their own, even though the story may not be about them—it could be about someone else or multitude of other people but it nonetheless speaks for them. In addition, as various studies have shown, performance of oral tradition itself creates social context in which narrators may not feel comfortable speaking, or may not feel that they lack authority over the subject at hand.31 According to Giblin, in these circumstances, autobiographical elements allow the storytellers to ground their stories in many unspoken conventions and expectations about family life, which they may share with their audiences.32 Bringing their own experiences of growing up, getting married and leading adult lives, may, for example, provide context for talking about the nature of relations between generations and gender. For Monson, such intertwining of personal memories and experiences with the memories of society is narrated within genres, which connect the teller of the story and the audience through a set of mutually understood codes and expectations.33 Considering the individuality of storytellers and the expectations of their audiences, it is easy to see that style and memory images too will be different. Consequently, the visions and messages of the past depicted in oral tradition are multiple and manifold with subtle varying forms that they take. In all these cases, the storytellers are their cast of characters. With their work of art, storytellers assimilate their personal experiences into oral tradition for the members of the audiences, producing historical consciousness and shaping the discourses of communal identity. The storytellers create the images of oral tradition based on their experiences, but in so doing, they also bring their personal experiences into the recreation and reshaping, thus remolding and reforming the ancient materials in contemporary settings. The performers thus blend the inherited traditional images of history with their life histories, in creating vivid and fresh works of art. This apparent conjunction between real and fiction, autobiography, life history and oral tradition and history, is where the ancestral past finds a magnificent reconciliation in the contemporary performances. Therefore, autobiographical perspectives are necessary in approaching oral tradition as a highly developed art form. To address the interrelationship between oral tradition and autobiography is to explore not only how the images of life history transform into folklore, but also how the tellers of folklore genres use these images to represent themselves to themselves and their societies. This emphasis takes up Halbwachs’ observation that collective memories encompass individual memories because the elements of individual remembrances cannot exist independently of the individual’s social context.34 Expanding on Halbwachs, Vansina provides the analytical key for us to understand

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how idiosyncratic individual reminiscences may be transformed into an oral tradition.35 This would shed light on how all African oral traditions begin as personal reminiscences. For Vansina, since memory is individual property and it comes from inside, it is the inside world of the individual, which gives tradition what it is. Therefore, history and myth are the product of memory, messages from the past are transmitted through the memory of an eyewitness, and through the memories of a chain of witnesses. Subsequently, all oral traditions have their origin in personal reminisces. “All personal memory is in fact a small portion of a much larger life history. The life history is the motherlode out of which flow the data for all other genres of history. And yet ‘life history’ as a genre itself is ill-understood at best.”36 What gives oral tradition its coherence is its discursive power that lays deep in people’s historical consciousness, informing them of who they are and how they should behave. As a discourse, oral tradition is continually reinterpreted and reconstructed for its continued legitimacy, precisely because it is so embedded in local discourses and autobiographies and it is so emotionally compelling and readily evoked. Therefore, historicity of oral tradition should be examined creatively within its broader contexts of autobiographical studies. People debate contemporary issues in terms of ideas and beliefs drawn from their oral tradition, reformulating them and revising them in the context of the present, thus revising their collective and individual identities.37 To explore personal memory images in oral tradition requires a formal study of an autobiography of a storyteller. This study must include not only the stories and life history accounts of the storyteller under analysis, but also a randomly collected oral tradition from his or her society against the backdrop of the larger world view. Such a broader perspective on tradition and culture would help us not only to situate the individual within the larger cognitive map of the society but also to see the individual in the oral tradition. The use of life history in the field of anthropology began early last century which set a new trend in anthropology, attempting to humanize and theorize anthropological materials and cultural representations.38 Since then, life histories have taken up not only by anthropology but also in a range of other fields including sociology, history, and folklore. Some of the examples of autobiographical works across Africa and other parts of the world are John G. Kennedy’s Struggle For Change in a Nubian Village, Vincent Crapanzano’s Tuhami: Portrait of a Moroccan in the field of anthropology; Scheub’s “And So I Grew Up” in Patricia W. Romero’s Life Histories of African Women, Tonkin’s “Historical Discourse: The Achievement of Sieh Jeto” in History in Africa, Basgoz’s (1986) “Life History of Mudami, the Poet of Poshof” in his book Folklore Writings, and Mirzeler’s Remembering Nayehce and the Gray Bull Engiro: African Storytellers of the Karamoja Plateau and the Plains of Turkana are examples of this method in the field of folklore and Anthropology. What these autobiographical explorations did was to show how identity, including ethnicity, is formed and maintained in changing forms of traditions, including oral tradition and memories. But we do not know when or under what contingent influences changes occur. So there are individual memories of storytellers in oral tradition

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but we would not know it before analyzing the stories against the backdrop of the storytellers’ life histories. Therefore, the interconnection between oral tradition and the life experiences of storytellers is very important to history because it does not only demonstrate how people think about the past and what they consider to be history, and it is history because it includes not only a claim as to what the storytellers and their audiences believe “really happened,” but also the real-life experiences of storytellers and their audiences are transformed in the oral tradition, which would defy any effort to establish chronological sequences of what happened in the past. Precolonial Africanist historians’ error was not only to construct a faulty chronology but also to interpret too much in the historical claims while ignoring the folkloric and autobiographical dimension of oral tradition. So the Africanist historians went overboard. If they had paid closer attention to the standard historical and folklore methods, they might have concluded that oral tradition may contain data about the recent past over the last 100 years or so, corresponding to the knowledge of the oldest person in a three-generation set. Even though oral tradition, like origin tales, does contain bits of information about ancient times, we cannot be certain that we can find exactly what it is as it is blended with multitude of biographies and ideas of people. So the historians should have concluded that it was unascertainable and should have left it to other techniques to find out what the early history of Africa had been. Historical linguistics (and not just a quick lexicostatistical count) can produce more solid evidence (the meaning and form of a word is also a micro oral tradition), and that has not yet been done as far as I know. Cross-examination of lives and words in performance contexts can yield “partial connections” to the past. I use the phrase partial connection as developed by Strathern in Partial Connections in light of fieldwork, ethnographic writing and self and other issues on one of several senses. For Strathern, contradictions arise in all representation when we consider the compatibility of information across cultures and societies because information is differently valued in each culture and society.39 For Strathern, there is no standard baseline for analogy in the way information is used in representing cultures and, hence, accurate representations are not possible.40 It is in this respect that transcription of recorded text by historians presents partial connections to the past, but not without contradictions, which may arise in the forms of historical interpretation when we consider the text of oral tradition’s chronology, simply because the past is differently valued and differently understood in African societies. Oral tradition is a form of historical discourse and its partial connections with the present may elicit a sense of pastness, but to use this sense to craft a chronologically ordered past is poor historical reasoning. Africanist historians should, therefore, reconsider the compatibility of the information regarding historicity of African oral tradition with chronological sequence. Such consideration can provoke rethinking the standard baseline for analogy in the way the past is represented across cultures. Historical reasoning is universal. All people and all societies have a sense of self and all senses of self are based on memories (however changeable). What is not universal is the Western chronological reasoning of history, a perception of history that rests on concepts of processes rather than events, developments rather than

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origins followed by complete lack of change, linear plus circular notions of time rather than just circular, and a definite chronology that relates all bits of knowledge about the past in one single web.41 Not all societies rely on chronology in their understanding of history. Oral tradition may include accounts that were never intended to be factually accurate but rather had other purposes in their context. An Africanist historian, John Tosh, maintains that “Unlike primary documentary sources, oral tradition does not convey the original words and images from which the historian may be able to re-create the mental world of the past.”42 I agree. Although Vansina’s near universal historical method gave much insights into African folklore for the Africanist historians of precolonial Africa, to sum it all up, most historians ignored them like Webster did. Historians did what they wanted to do. Though, Dorson rightly criticized Vansina for not telling much about the folkloric complexities of oral tradition associated with the sense of self-identity and human emotions embedded in the oral tradition, which is not available in the transcription of the oral texts.43 It is widely accepted among folklorists and anthropologists that oral tradition, particularly origin tales, are about self and identity and that it is emotional and “artistic” not reflective cognitive. It is of little use to historians as evidence of a long past but its internal changes are an intellectual history that can sometimes be elucidated but not always. Perhaps, what future Africanist historians need is to develop more nuanced folklore models to explore the role storytellers play in the production of oral tradition, and explain the performance processes and ways that oral tradition changes through time. The interpretation of historical evidence in African oral tradition should focus not simply for acquiring historical facts from the transcription of oral text, but also for developing the folklore sensitivity necessary to interpret oral tradition and the theoretical models in which to cast their analysis. It is probable that the new advances in African history will continue to come from oral sources of evidence. Using better folklore methodologies is therefore crucial in these processes. The messages of oral tradition cannot be reduced to verbal text alone, without considering its autobiographical nature, poetry and performance context.44 Here one can collect oral tradition and transcribe it and examine its parts and vocabularies and use archaeological, linguistic, and various other evidences to corroborate the words and ideas by adding time depth, as you might say, but this would not be different than what the precolonial Africanist historians of the 1960s and 1970s have done. Given the inherent limits of oral tradition text as historical evidence, historians must seek to develop more nuanced folklore models to explain the performance processes and ways that oral tradition change through time. It is probable that the new advances in African history will continue to come from both new and untapped oral sources of evidence. Using better folklore methodologies is thus crucial in these processes. Notes 1.

Henige (1974: 2) maintains that the term “oral tradition” is a vague one and it is susceptible to a host of ambiguous interpretations. For the purposes of this

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2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

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study, I use the term “oral tradition,” which unless specifically qualified refers to that corpus of orally transmitted material which addresses itself specifically to recounting the past. “This implies in most instances some attempt at assigning some form of duration and sequence to events over a period of time exceeding three generations, that is, a length of time beyond the maximum limits of personal testimony and experience. In this sense, poetry, heroic recitations, folk-tales, and like forms of oral art are excluded since they are essentially unconcerned with duration and sequence.” Dorson (1972: 45). Ibid., 44. Ibid. Henige (2006: 170). Philip (2006) and Henige ibid. Henige (1974, 2006). Also see Philips (2006). Whitehead (1995). Henige (2006: 171). Barber (1991), Hofmeyr (1993), and Tonkin (1988). Henige ibid., 170. Cooper (2006), Badejo (2006). Also see Spear (2006), and Tonkin (1988). See Cooper’s and Badejo’s respective papers in Writing African History. Finnegan (2007); Barber (1991, 2007), Mirzeler (2014), Scheub (1996), and Dorson (1972). Philips (2006), also see Spear (2006). Barber (1991), Hofmeyr (1993), Cancel (2013) Finnegan (2007). Tonkin (1988). Finnegan (2007: 185), also see Tonkin (1986, 1988, 1992), Scheub (1988), Hofmeyr (1993), Mirzeler (2014). Furnis and Gunners (1995). See Abu-Lughod (1984), Krupat (1985), Meeker (1979), Scheub (1988), Mirzeler (2014). Barber (1991), Finnegan (2007), Cancel (2013), Dorson (1972), Scheub (1988), Hofmeyr (1993), Tonkin (1988). Abu-Lughod (1986: 255–258). Barber (1991). Mirzeler (2014). Dweyer (1982), Brumble (1988), Boyer (1990), Basso (1995), Bauman (1986), Bivins (2007), Scheub (1988), Mirzeler (1999 and 2014). Tonkin (1992: 98). Ibid., 2. Ibid., 132. Fernandez (1986: 36). Ibid., 31. Cancel (2013), Menson (2003); Tonkin (1988), Hofmeyr (1994), Barber (1991), Udo (2017). Giblin (2003).

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Monson (2003). Halbwachs (1950). Vansina (1980). Ibid., 265. Monson ibid. Langness (1965). Strathern (1991: 74, 76). Ibid., 54. Mirzeler (2014). Tosh (2006: 330). Dorson ibid., 46–47. Cooper (2006), Philips (2006).

References Abrahams, Roger. 1977. Toward an Enactment-Centered Theory of Folklore. In Frontiers of Folklore, ed. R. William, 79–120. Bascom. Boulder: Westview Press. Abu-Lughod, L. 1984. Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society. Berkley: University of California Press. Anttonen, P.J. 2005. Tradition Through Modernity: Postmodernism and the Nation-State in Folklore Scholarship. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society. Badejo, Diedre. 2006. Methodologies in Yoruba Oral Historiography. In Writing African History, ed. John Philips, 348–373. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Barber, K. 1991. I Could Speak Until Tomorrow: Oriki, Women, and the Past in a Yoruba Town. Washington DC: Smithsonian Press. Barber, K. 2007. The Anthropology of Texts, Persons and Publics: Oral and Written Culture in Africa and Beyond. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bascom, William. 1977. An Introduction. In Frontiers of Folklore, ed. R. William, 1–16. Bascom. Boulder: Westview Press. Basgoz, I. 1986. Folklor yazilari (tr. Writings in folklore). Istanbul: Anadolu Yayinlari. Basso, E.B. 1995. The Last Cannibals: A South American Oral History. Austin: University of Texas Press. Bauman, R. 1986. Story, Performance and Event: Contextual Studies of Oral Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ben-Amos, Dan. 1975. Sweet Words: Storytelling Events in Benin. Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues. Ben-Amos, Dan. 1977. Introduction: Folklore in African Society. In Forms of Folklore in Africa: Narrative, Poetic, Gnomic, Dramatic, ed. Bernth Lindfors, 1–34. Austin: University of Texas Press. Bivins, Mary W. 2007. Telling Stories, Making Histories: Women, Words, and Islam in NineteenthCentury Hausaland and the Sokoto Caliphate. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Boyer, P. 1990. Tradition as Truth and Communication: A Cognitive Description of Traditional Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Briggs, C. 1988. Competence in Performance: Creativity of Tradition in Mexicano Verbal Art. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Brumble, D. 1988. American Indian Autobiography. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cancel, Robert. 2013. Storytelling in Northern Zambia: Other Necessary Fictions. Cambridge: Open Books Publishers.

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Cashman, R. 2008. Storytelling on the Northern Irish Border: Characters and Community. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Caton, S. 1990. Peaks of Yemen I Summon: Poetry as Cultural Practice in a North Yemeni Tribe. Berkley: University of California Press. Choudhury, Saradashree. 2013. Folklore and Society in Transition: A Study of the Palm-Wine Drinkard and the Famished Road. African Journal of History and Culture 1 (6): 3–11. Cohen, D. 2001. Introduction: Voices, Words, and African History. In African Words, African Voices: Critical Practices in Oral History, eds. L. White, S. Miescher, and D. Cohen, 1–21. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Cooper, Barbara. 2006. Oral Sources and the Challenge of African History. In Writing African History, ed. John Philips, 191–215. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Crapanzano, V. 1980. Tuhami: Portrait of a Moraccan. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Cunnison, I. 1951. History of the Luapula: An Essay on the Historical Notions of a Central African Tribe. Lusaka, Zambia: Rhodes-Livingston Papers. De Maille, R. 1985. The Sixth Grandfather: Black Elk’s Teachings Given to John G. Neihardt . Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Dilley, R.M. 1989. Secrets and Skills: Apprenticeship Among Tukolor. In Apprenticeship: From Theory to Method and Back Again, ed. Michael Coy, 181–189. New York: State University of New York Press. Dorson, R.M. 1972. African Folklore and Folklorist. In African Folklore, ed. Richard Dorson, 3–67. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Dweyer, K. 1982. Moroccan Dialogues: Anthropology in Question. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Fernandez, J.W. 1986. Persuasions and Performances: The Play of Tropes in Culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Finnegan, R. 1967. Limba Stories and Story-telling. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Finnegan, R. 2007. The Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Furniss, Graham, and Liz Gunner. 1995. Power, Marginality and Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Giblin, James. 2003. Passages in a Struggle Over the Past: Stories of Maji Maji in Njombe, Tanzania. In Sources and Methods in African History: Spoken, Written, Unearthed, ed. Toyin Falola and Christian Jennings, 295–311. Rochester: Rochester University Press. Halbwachs, M. 1950. The Collective Memory. New York: Harper-Colophon Books. Henige, David. 1974. The Chronology of Oral Tradition. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Henige, David. 2006. Oral Tradition as a Means of Reconstructing the Past. In Writing African History, ed. John Philips, 169–190. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Hofmeyr, I. 1993. ‘We Spent Our Years as a Tale That Is Told’: Oral Historical Narrative in a South African Chiefdom. London: James Currey. Jackson, M. 2006. The Politics of Storytelling: Violence, Transgression, and Intersubjectivity. Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen. Kennedy, J. 1977. Struggle for Change in a Nubian Community. Palo Alto: Mayfield Publishing Company. Krupat, A. 1985. For Those Who Come After: A Study of American Indian Autobiography. Berkeley: University of California Press. Krupat, A. 1998. America’s Histories. American Literary History 10 (1): 124–146. Langness, L.L. 1965. The Life History in Anthropological Science. New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston. Lindfors, Bernth. 1977. Forms of Folklore in Africa: Narrative. Poetic, Gnomic, Dramatic, Austin: University of Texas Press. Meeker, M. 1979. Literature and Violence in North Arabia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Miller, J. 1980. African Past Speaks: Essays on Oral Tradition and History. Hamden: Folkstone.

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Mirzeler, M. 1999. Veiled Histories and the Childhood Memories of a Jie Storyteller. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Wisconsin, Madison. Mirzeler, M. 2014. Remembering Nayeche and the Gray Bull Engiro: African Storytellers of Karamoja Plateau and the Plains of Turkana. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Monson, Jamie. 2003. Maisha: Life History and the History of Livelihood Along the Tazara Railway in Tanzania. In Sources and Methods in African History: Spoken, Written, Unearthed, ed. Toyin Falola and Christian Jennings, 312–328. Rochester: Rochester University Press. Okpewho, I. 1990. The Oral Performance in Africa. Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books. Philips, J.E. 2006. What Is African History? In Writing African History, ed. E. John, 25–48. Philips. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Sackey, Edward. 1991. Oral Tradition and the African Novel. Modern Fiction Studies 37 (3): 389–407. Scheub, H. 1988. And So I Grew Up. In Life Histories of African Women, ed. P.W. Romero, 7–43. London: Ashfield Press. Scheub, H. 1996. The Tongue is Fire: South African Storytellers and Apartheid. Madison: University of Wisconsin. Schoenbrun, David. 1998. A Green Place, A Good Place: Agrarian Change, Gender, and Social Identity in the Great Lakes Region to the 15th Century. Oxford: James Currey. Spear, T. 2003. Neo-traditionalism and the Limits of Invention in British Colonial Africa. Journal of African History 44 (3): 3–27. Spear, T. 2006. Methods and Sources for African History Revisited. The Journal of African History. 47 (2): 305–319. Strathern, M. 1991. Partial Connections. New York: Rowman and Littlefield. Tonkin, E. 1986. Investigation of Oral Tradition. Journal of African History 27: 203–213. Tonkin, E. 1988. Historical Discourse: The Achievement of Sieh Jeto. History in Africa 15: 467–491. Tonkin, E. 1992. Narrating Our Past: The Social Construction of Oral History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tosh, J. 2006. The Pursuit of History: Aims, Methods and New Directions in the Study of Modern History. London: Longman. Udo, Isaac. 2017. Text and Context of African Oral Performance. In Ethnosensitive Dimensions of African Oral Literature: Igbo Perspectives, ed. Afam Ebeogu, 21–33. Lagos: African Heritage Press. Vansina, J. 1980. Memory and Oral Tradition. In African Past Speaks: Essays on Oral Tradition and History, ed. J. Miller, 262–279. Folkstone: Hamden. Vansina, J. 1985. Oral Tradition as History. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Webster, J.B., et al. 1973. The Iteso During the Asonya. Nairobi: East African Publishing House. Whitehead, Neil. 1995. An Interview with Jan Vansina. Ethnohistory 42 (2): 303–316.

Chapter 21

The Figure of the Child in Oral Literature Lere Adeyemi

Introduction Representation is presently a much-debated topic not only in postcolonial studies and academia but also in the larger cultural milieu. African children, like their forefathers, are daily represented and portrayed in diverse forms. Representation of African children in the contemporary media, films, television, photographs, paintings, and advertisements are usually saturated with stories on child abuse, child labor, child misuse, child trafficking, child soldiering, child marriage, hawking, begging, ritual killing of children, child sacrifice, kidnapping, rape, refugee scenario of hungry children, hunger/diseases-infected children, and children as victims of domestic violence and wars. The dominant mode of representation of African children is solely negative and discouraging, whereas in African literature, they perform and are positively active in real life. Negative representation of children can have devastating effects on the real lives of the children. There is, therefore, the need to give a balanced, correct, and objective representation of African children within the context of their traditional culture. A great amount of effort is also needed to dislodge the hegemonic, negative and distorted representation of African children. As a rural child, I grew up in the tradition where moon-night stories, folktales, folk songs, riddles and poems, legends, and myths are used not only to entertain and instruct the children but also to prepare them for future roles. However, after reading the few available studies on African children, I found out that there is a discrepancy between my childhood experiences and research information on the figure of the child and his/her performance in African literature. This chapter intends to discuss and analyze the figure of the child in African oral literature and their performance, drawing data from four African countries namely Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana, and South Africa within the framework of postcolonial theory, especially Nativism. Postcolonial theory, according to Young, “refuses to L. Adeyemi (B) Department of Linguistics and Nigerian Languages, University of Ilo.rin, Ilorin, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_21

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acknowledge the superiority of Western cultures. Its radical agenda is to demand equality and well-being for all human beings on this earth.”1 Postcolonial theory is the critical perspective or worldview of those who believe that it is possible to understand today’s world only by foregrounding the history of colonialism defined in very preliminary ways as the domination of certain societies and peoples by others. Nativism is one of the models of postcolonial theory. Nativism within the context of our discussion is the desire to return to useful indigenous practices and cultural forms. Nativism is not against modernity, but it rejects the superiority and domination of colonial or Western culture over African culture. Nativism resists the onslaught of global culture that threatens to negate cultural difference or consign African culture to irrelevance. The reconstruction of traditions based on nativist model is not a male or patriarchal vision; rather it is a collective vision of both sexes to redeem, retrieve, and restore the lost cultural heritage of the people. According to Obiechina, “There is a fundamental assumption that the African has had a civilization which is distinct from all other civilizations and which distinguishes her from all other human beings.”2 Nativism looks into the African past and brings out the values that are most relevant to the challenges of today. Who is a child? For the purpose of this study, we define a child as a person below the age of 18. This definition is in line with The United Nations Conventions on the rights of a child Article 1 and African Charter Article 2, (1).

Studies on Children in African Literature African literature in this study is restricted to oral literature. What we call oral literature is given different names by scholars; for example, Jirata calls it oral tradition, and Mouristen calls it folklore. As elaborated by scholars such as Rosenberg, Cohen, Sackey, Nogueira, and Thom, oral literature is an integral part of the culture and everyday life of people. Finnegan and Mhando built on this notion by asserting that oral literature has a cultural and social base and thus constitutes a duality of both oral practices and processes. Oral literature comprises oral genres that include myths, legends, folktales, jokes, proverbs, riddles, chants blessings, curses, insults, folksongs, among others. The study of children in oral literature is richer in the Americas and Europe than in Africa. Mouristen states that the study of children’s folklore as children’s culture flourished in the United States and Europe at the end of the nineteenth century, underlying the recognition of children as not only knowledge receivers but also knowledge producers. Children’s Folklore: A Handbook by Elizabeth Tucker, Children’s Folklore by Jay Mechling and the work of Sutton-Smith all discuss the meaning, history, and complexities of children. Tucker, for example, presents children’s folklore and its classification with emphasis on tales, riddles, rhymes, songs, and chants. All these studies, among others, generally show that children are active participants in the creation and transmission of their oral literature. However, the studies have not

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adequately illuminated the nature and figure of childhood and everyday life of the children. Studies on the figure of the child in African oral literature are scarce. Kituku, in his book, Collection of Folktales in East Africa, explains that his children were the reasons for his motivation to write the book. In the preface to the book, he states that: The interest my children have had in folksongs and folktales has reconnected my past with the present. For more than twenty years, folklore was not an integral part of my life. In short my daughters have been my teachers. They rekindled rich heritage in me that has been silent for a long time.3

The implication of the above truthful confession is that not all critics or writers are bothered about studies that have to do with children. The perspective of African critics on the position of the child in African culture probably affects the paucity of critical works on the figure of the child. Generally speaking, African scholars, until recently, view oral literature as an institution that keeps a society stable. Scholars such as Azeze, Chesain, Cohen, Damme, Finnegan, Is.o.la, and Namayanja observe oral literature as an institution that connects the past to the present and ensures value transmission in which adults are assumed to be the competent actors. All the cited works agree that oral literature functions as a channel through which the elderly look back to the past and hand over ancestral knowledge to the present generation. This view of oral literature is related to UNESCO’s presentation of African oral literature as “a depository of the cultural past.” Drawing on this notion, Finnegan discusses oral literature as sustainer of African history, ancestral culture, and wisdom. Patric, Sierra and Kaminski, and Afolayan assert that adults are knowledgeable in oral literature and that they are the ones who give poetic quality to its performance. In other words, children are mere receivers and not producers of oral literature. However, Jirata explores the oral play culture and everyday life of children in rural context in Ethiopia. The study confirms that children are not just receivers of oral tradition but they are involved in the creation and interpretation of oral literature. Agyekum examines various oral literary genres in Akan (Ghana) meant for children and laments the absence of moonlight games and oral literature sessions in the contemporary Akan communities. He claims that the media are the richest source and channel for dissemination and preservation of oral literature among the people in contemporary time. Wafula asserts that oral literature for children in Kenya boasts imaginative creation and the richness of indigenous knowledge contained in oral literature can change the moral life of the child. Chesaina, cited in Wafula, engages the intersection of early childhood education in Kenya, national morality, and African oral literature. She pointed out that the African child is not a passive consumer of arts. The children are active and creative beings whose creativity and eagerness to learn is most acute in their formative years. Oral literature appeals to the child’s senses and provides pleasurable experiences. In Yorùbá literary studies, there are few studies on the figure and performance of the child in oral literature. In fact, the available critical works on children are compilations of children’s poems and few discussions on them. For example, J.F.

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O.dunjo. compiled children’s oral poems, Adeboye compiled and documented children’s folktales, and O.lagoke Ojo equally presents a brief analysis on children folktales. Awoniyi and Isola present deep analysis on the role of oral literature on the socialization and developmental processes of Yorùbá children. They did not reduce the children to mere receivers of oral literature but active participants and also beneficiaries of Yorùbá oral literature. However, the issue of representation of the figure of the child and performance in African oral literature has not been fully addressed; this is the vacuum that this present chapter attempts to fill.

The Figure of the Child in the Performance of Oral Literature In the precolonial African society, the whole fabric of living was beautifully patterned with the thread and color of literature. Oral literature was not only valued because of its social focus and performance quality but for its aesthetic value and influencing power on the users. In Africa, oral literature is a living and dynamic verbal art. It is meant to be sung, chanted, or intoned in performance in the presence of an audience. Its performance is normally accompanied by drum, music, and dance. Examples of African oral literature are oral poetry, traditional festival drama, and oral narrative. Oral literature is the storehouse of cultural values and moral codes of the African communities. Oral poetry, for example, uses special imaginative construct to delight and instruct. According to Agyekum, riddles and puzzles in Akan literature (Ghana) test children on environmental studies, history and culture and develop deep philosophical thinking in listeners. Those structures of words in oral poetry especially are more than mere counters of social intercourse or mere aesthetic ornaments; they are living poems which the things of most importance to mankind are actuated, combined, and humanized. Right from infancy, when the child looks like a helpless stranger with no language, communication with it is mainly through rhythmic phrases, songs, and lullabies. In South Africa, the most renowned lullaby among the Zulu people is this: 1.

Thula, thula, thula mntanami Ukhale lani na? Ushaywa ubani? Thula mntanami, umam’ akekho Peace, peace, peace my child, Why weepest thou? Who annoys? Peace, child, mother is not home4

In Nigeria, it is the culture of Yorùbá mothers to strap the child to the back and when the child is strapped to the back of his mother, the mother performs some special dance steps with short movements and songs. When the child cries or feels

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uncomfortable on the back of her mother, lullabies are sung to make it stop or make the child sleep. There is power in the words of the lullabies. It soothes the nerves of the child. It has hypnotic effect, and the child sleeps off immediately. The child may not understand the meaning of the songs but the rhythmic effect is electric. Here are some illustrative examples: 2. Bó.lá n kó.? Ó wà nílé o Kó má s.u púpò. Kó má s.àìs.u Kó má gbóná janjan Kó má tutu rinrin, bí o.bè. àná o Ó sùn jaburata sí yara o Where is Bo..la? He is at home May he never empty the bowel excessively May he never suffer from lack of exercise May he never have high temperature May he never be too cold, like last night soup He is fast asleep inside the room [author’s personal collection and translation] When the child is hungry and he cries for food, or something irritated him/her to cry. The mother or any member of the family around the child picks him/her up and bursts into soothing lullabies such as this: 3. Ta ló bá mi ló.mo. wí o? Adedekundekun Ìyá rè. ló ba wí o Adedekundekun o Ó gbómú rodò Ó fé.rèé. dé! Who beat this child? Adedekundekun It is the mother Adedekundekun She is gone to the river and not available to breastfeed She will soon be back! [author’s personal collection and translation] In the three examples above, the mother is the one chanting the poems, the child cannot take part, but only responds when he/she keeps quiet or just sleeps off. However, the mother can begin to determine the type of attitude the child would have in the future. If the child refuses to be pacified through the lullaby and soothing songs, the mother may resort to the use of praise poetry. Praise poetry is used to lull the child to sleep, especially when the child cries and refuses to be pacified by mere lullabies. Praise poetry is an important genre of African oral literature. Barber

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defines it as a genre which is composed of attributions or appellations, collections of epithets which are addressed to a subject. It traces people’s origin and establishes the individual on the social map and gives him/her a background without which he or she would scarcely exist as a social being. Among the Yoruba of people, the elderly woman always steps in, holds the child, and chants the praise poetry (oríkì orílè.) of the child in a sonorous and melodious way. For example: 4. O . mo. Ajèjì oyè O . mo. kíké., O . mo. gígè. O mo kúkú bè . . . é. kó.rò. tán O mo o wá, O . . . . mo. e.kùn O mo alówólódù bí ìyèré . . O mo ò wó s o lójú àgbàrá . . . ... Káre o! The offspring of one who has double titles The child to care for, the child to honor The offspring of one who only forgives on pleading The child of Owá, the offspring of Leopard The offspring of money-bags The offspring of the rich man with large garments Be blessed o! [author’s personal collection and translation] Among the Zulu of South Africa, praise poetry is composed for children to instill confidence in them, a typical example is translated here: 5. You, son of a clear-eyed mother, You far-sighted one, How you will see game one day You who have strong arms and legs, You strong-limbed one How surely you will shoot, plunder the Herrera’s lizard, And bring your mother fat to eat You child of a strong-thighed father How you will subdue strong oxen between your thighs one day You who have a mighty penis, How many and what mighty children you will get5 Next in line to pure lullabies are children’s poems which they chant and sing as soon as they can speak. To make the child physically strong, he/she is encouraged to walk as a toddler. The mother sings as she encourages him to take some faltering steps. Below is an example of such songs from the Akan society in Ghana: 6. Wotwe me, twe me, twe me, twe me Wotwe me ma me ka ntini Wohye me, hye me, hymo me Wohye me ma meka nso

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WobO me t1kre ma pOw WobO me nsateaa pOw MebO me din. If you pull me, pull me. pull me, pull me If you pull me and I am left with only the veins in my body If you burn me, burn me, burn me If you burn me to ashes If you tie my tongue If you tie my forefinger I will mention her name6 Among the Yorùbá people of Nigeria, the child is central to the performance of this poem. He/she is held by an elderly person or the mother and made to walk and sing: 7. Tè.é. té. o, tè. è. té. o. Bo o bo o S.e o lè rìn? Kò yóko, kò yódò Bó bà jí a gbó.bè. kaná A jè.bà tán A s.ekùn rondo O . mo. o.ló.rò. tí n´ je.yin awó. Gently, gently. Can this child work? He/she is not going to the farm, she/he is not going to the brook Whenever he/she wakes up he/she warms the soup Eats the starchy cassava food (`e.bà) And his/her tummy becomes protruding He/she is the child of a wealthy person who eats eggs. [author’s personal collection and translation] In the examples given above, the child is not only an active participant, he/she is producing his/her own poem in the choruses. The poem is melodious, rhythmic, and repetitive. The figure of the child is also prominent in African proverbs. Proverbs are normally the special preserve of elders but because they are used so often in the presence of children, proverbs set the children thinking. When adults want to present any information as a universal truth, they do so through proverbs. Proverbs are used to inculcate humility, truthfulness, honesty, diligence, integrity, and other moral qualities in the child. We draw examples from Akan proverbs, e.g. 8. Abofra hunu ne nsa ho horo a one mpanyinfo didi When a child learns how to wash his hands, he eats with adults 9. Abofra bo nnwa na ommo akyekyedee A child breaks a snail, not a tortoise 10. Obi nnim obrempon ahyease

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Nobody knows the beginning of a great man 11. Abofra a omma ne maame nna no, bentoa mpa ne to da For the child who does not let his mother sleep, the enema will never depart from his Bottom [author’s personal recollection from a Ghanaian friend]7 In Akan oral literature, just like other African societies, proverbs are deemed into the ears of the child on humility, respect for elders, truthfulness, integrity, and obedience as reflected in proverbs. Apart from truthfulness, the child is taught to be diligent. A lazy person is not honored in African society. The following examples from Yorùbá proverbs are used to inculcate diligence and courage in the child very early in his life: 12. Is.é. lòògùn ìs.é Hard work is the medicine to cure poverty 13. Ìs.é. kò gbé.kún, ebi jàre ò.le. Weeping is not the answer to poverty. A lazy man who is hungry has no one to blame but himself. [author’s personal recollection] On the need to be courageous in life and that the world is full of challenges, the child is told the following proverbs: 14. Kò sì bó.mo.dé ti lè pe. ló.rùn tó yóò bá ìs.oro tire láyé. However long a child may be in heaven, he will meet his own share of difficulties on earth. 15. E.ni tó bá fé. joyin inú àpáta kì í we.nu àáké. He who wishes to eat the honey under the rock, should not be unduly worried about the edge of the axe. [author’s personal recollection] Apart from the use of proverbs to train, teach, and encourage the child on how to be great in life, proverbs represent the figure of the child in diverse forms. Proverbs portray the nature and features of the child. The child is fragile, and he/she must be handled with care. He/she cannot care for himself/herself. Some proverbs describe the nature, behavior, strength, wisdom, and limitation of the child. The following proverbs portray the child as limited in age, strength, wisdom, experience, knowledge, and ability. 16. Àgbà kì í wà ló.jà kórí o.mo. tuntun wó.. When the elders are in the market, the head of the child must not bend on her mother’s back. 17. Bó.mo.dé lás.o. bí àgbà kò lè lákísà bí àgbà. Even if a child has numerous garments like an elder, he cannot have rags like the elder. 18. Bí o.mo.de fé. s.e bí àgba o.jó. orí rè. kò ni jé.. [author’s personal recollection] A child may like to equate himself with an elder but his age would not allow it.

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Even though some proverbs represent the child as limited in age, strength, wisdom, and experience, they send signals to the elders, parents, and guardian to help, support, and guide the child. The elders must not oppress, abuse, misuse, or discriminate against the child. Some of the proverbs may be amusing and amazing to the child, but the inquisitive child may want to investigate the proverbs later in life. On the other hand, there are other proverbs that portray the child as wise, creative, intelligent, loving, caring, strong, helpful, and critical pillars in the progress of the family and the society at large. For example: 19. O . mo.dé gbó.n, àgbà gbó.n la fi dálè. Ifè. A combination of the wisdom of the elders and the children that led to the foundation of Ife.. 20. O . wó. o.mo.dé kò tó pe.pe. tàgbàlagbà ò wo. kèngbè The hands of the child cannot reach the ceiling; just as the hand of the elder cannot enter the gourd. [author’s personal recollection] The child, as portrayed in the above proverbs, becomes the symbol of hope, love, innocence, boldness, and helpfulness. However, African proverbs are not made through the literary eyes of the child but through those of the adult. In fact, whenever a child or younger person resorts to the use of proverbs, that child has to pay homage. He/she must declare: tótó, o s.e bí òwe (excuse me for reciting a proverb) or say: òwé àgbà so. pé (the proverb of the elders states thus…). In other words, the credit for the use of proverbs must go to the elders. However, the figure and performance of the child are portrayed clearly in riddles, quiz, and folktales than in proverbs. Folktales are essentially the preserve of the children under the guidance of adults. There is a rich legacy of folktales from the traditional African society. Folktales serve as a means of handing down traditions and customs from one generation to the other. The storytelling tradition thrived when written literature was not in existence. In addition to the folktales, there are myths, legends, riddles, chain folktales, among others, which make the child the object and subject of focus. There are two parts to folktales, riddles, and storytelling. Riddle has a structure of question and answer, which stimulates critical and analytical thinking in the child before responding. Apart from being a source of night entertainment, it introduces the child to nature study at an early age and prepares the child for future challenges. The answers to riddles and questions develop deep philosophical thinking in listeners. In Ghana just like other African countries, riddles are used to teach the characteristics and behavior of animals and also outline the succession of the events for example: 21. Questions: Dua b1n na eso akOkono? Answer: abO Question: Which tree produces the maggot? Answer: Palm tree 22. Question: Aboa bi de kraman wO twi mu, s1n na fantefo fr1 no? Answer: BOdOm Question: There is an animal called Kraman in Twi, how is it called in Fante?

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Answer: Dog [author’s personal collection from a Ghanaian friend] Example 21 introduces the children to nature study while 22 tests knowledge of the dialectical differences between certain words in Twi and other ethnic groups in Ghana, Fante. Folktale, which is a story, is generally simple in plot construct, involving characters and a simple action that proceeds from the beginning to the end without complication. The incidents in the story themselves do not have to be realistic. For instance, human beings may be living with animals, or dead people living or marrying living human beings. The characters in the folktale live in a fairy world in which fact and fiction are blurred and the supernatural is common as natural. What is expressed in folktales finds practical application in real life. Even though animate and inanimate objects constitute the characters of folktales, they are symbols of different kind of people in the physical world. Thus, the messages or themes in folktales are meant for the guidance, instruction, and entertainment of children. Folktales introduce children to the values of society. Children learn the societal virtues of patience, honesty, obedience, hard work, and generosity. They also learn about such vices as greed, disobedience, and lies and their consequences. In African folktales, the tortoise, spider, or fox may be presented as the trickster in the story. The tortoise can be wise, foolish, amusing, crafty, and intelligent or stupid, but there is always a lesson to be learned from the story. The children are the major participants of folktales. They constitute the audience and participate under the guidance of an elderly person or another child who is older than the others. The figure of the child is adequately represented in African folktales. The child is not voiceless or kept mute in the performance. The plot construct of most of the folktales is based on the child. Some of the folktales describe the nature of the child—pure, innocent, gentle, harmless, loving, caring, beautiful, wise, and helpful. In Xhosa society of South Africa, the ntsomi narrative is an objectification of songs, chants, and sayings. It is the creation or development of a dramatic presentation shaped into a plot during performance. In traditional Xhosa society like other African societies, no child may disobey his/her parents let alone disregard their parents’ instructions. Folktales in Xhosa are told to inculcate sound moral values in the children; the repercussion of disobedience is brought out in a Xhosa narrative summarized thus: A woman in encroaching old age can no longer become pregnant. She sees her condition as an affliction and sought a medicine man for a cure. The medicine man prepared the medicine and the woman sends her son to get it with express instruction not to tamper with it in any way. The boy tasted it and found it sweet; he drank part of the medicine and gave the remaining to the mother. Later, the boy started to develop breasts and became pregnant. The pain was severe and suddenly gave birth to a child in an anthill. His life is fraught with agony and social disgrace. His life moves from mischief to stark anguish. His anguish shows the unnaturalness of male pregnancy. This folktale has equivalents in Nigerian Yoruba folktales, but the tortoise is the culprit. Yannibo, his wife, is barren and sends her husband to collect the fertility medicine from the medicine man. The tortoise tastes a little portion of the medicine and became pregnant.

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I observe that most of Africa’s folktales are derived from the same source with minimum variations to transform the child to become useful citizens in their communities. For example, the folktale titled “The Leopard and the Monkey” in Nigeria is entitled “The little boy and the snake” in Ghana. In the Nigerian version, the leopard has lain in a pit for three days. The monkey lets down his tail and draws out the Leopard. At once, the leopard seizes the monkey and wants to eat him. A tortoise comes along and acts as judge. He says that the leopard must thank the monkey for his kindness by clapping his hands. When he does this, the monkey jumps to safety in a nearby tree. In Ghana, the tale goes thus: A snake carried in a bag from a burning field to the bush by a boy and freed wants to kill the boy. A passing fox hears the story, pretends not to believe it, and entices the snake back into the bag. Men kill the snake. Even though the characters assigned roles in the two tales are different, the theme of the folktales is the same. Those who provide help to the needy will never be put to shame even though people may want to return evil for good as seen in the narratives. The figure of the child in the two narratives is portrayed positively to encourage the children to always do well regardless of attendant sufferings. Both the leopard and the snake who paid evil for good were put to shame. This confirms the sayings of African elders that the kindhearted are never put to shame. In a particular Yorùbá folktale, the child is presented as an asset to the family. Even though the child chooses a profession that his father hates, yet the child brings honor to the family through hard work, obedience, and courage. The child becomes the trumpeter to King Olukoyi. Despite the father’s opposition to the child’s interest, the child still loves the father and brings glory to the community at a very tender age. In another folktale, a particular king waits for many years before having his first child. The baby girl named Kikelomo is so beautiful that suitors were competing for her at a very tender age. Kings, chiefs, and titleholders all have interest, but suddenly the child is ill and becomes deaf. All the potential suitors disappeared except a very young boy from a poor family. He too comes to marry Kikelomo with a promise to heal her inability to hear and talk. Through uncommon wisdom, he heals Kikelomo and becomes the husband of the king’s daughter. In the story, what the elderly people cannot do, the young boy does it through wisdom and knowledge unknown to the people of his town. The name of the boy is O.gbó.nkò-s.e-te.nikan, i.e., wisdom is not for one person alone. Most of the folktales that focus on the child do not only caution the parents against discrimination, underrating, abuse, and misuse of children, but they also highlight the challenges most children face in the traditional polygamous family among co-wives. Children are usually the victims of challenges in co-wives folktales. In the following Yoruba folktales—Èrò tí n re Òjéje (Travelers to Ojeeje), E.ye. Àgbìgbò Gbo.mo. mí kò mi (Agbigbo bird give me my child) Onídèrè O.mo. (The Onídèrè child), Tanimo.la àti Orogún ìyá rè. (Tanimo.la and his step-mother), the child is denied his/her rights and the co-wife either victimizes or oppresses the child for the sake of the mother or father. In Èrò tí n re Òjéje (Travelers to Ojeje), the co-wife oppresses the child, takes the child’s egg, and substitutes it with bitter yam. The child bursts into a dirge. As the child sings, he/she starts to sink into the earth until he/she is covered up before the mother comes back from her journey.

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Apart from the challenges the child faces in polygamous families in the African society as reflected in co-wives folktales, the knotty behaviors of some children are also represented in folktales. Such folktales reflect the craftiness, stubbornness, and disobedience of children. Some are liars, while some are arrogant and disrespectful to parents. Some are covetous, proud, and lazy. African folktales satirize immoral behavior most of the time using an animal as the main character or the child as the hero. Examples of such folktales are numerous among Africans. This example is taken from South Africa: Uthlakanyana, a very cunning man, finds bread which an old man had hidden and runs away with it into a snake’s hole. The old man puts in his hand and takes hold of him. Uthakanyana says ‘Ha ha! You caught hold of a root’. The man lets go of the thief and catches hold of a root. Then Uthlakanyana cries, my, my! You have killed me! The old man pulls on the root until he is tired; then he goes away. This tale has a variation among the Bantu people in Kenya as follows: Brer Rabbit eats the crocodile’s eggs. When the rabbit comes to the river to drink, the crocodile seizes him. When the rabbit laughs and says that the crocodile has grabbed hold of a tree, the crocodile lets go of the rabbit’s leg and grabs a tree. In these folktales, the children are the performers and also the audience. They sing, do the narration of stories, and ask questions that stimulate their intellectual consciousness. The language of folktales is always loaded with stylistic devices such as similes, metaphor, imagery, repetition, personification, and hyperbole, which enhance the quality of the narrative. Through the creative use of language, the child’s enjoyment of the story is made certain, and the message is easier to understand. The glorious image of the child and their inclusion in oral literature dwindled greatly during the early days of colonialism. Lamming, a leading postcolonial theorist quoted in Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, remarked that over three-quarters of the contemporary world has been directly and profoundly affected by colonialism. Magbool Aziz, cited in O.bafemi, has this to say on colonialism: Colonialism is a particular insidious virus and, when and where it strikes; it creates a profound imbalance in the human personality. You have a history, yet you do not, you have a culture of your own, yet you doubt, you have a homeland of your own, yet you do not. When one’s soul has to struggle with contradictions, over decades and generations, it is no wonder one wants to be someone else.8

Aziz sees colonialism as a virus which usually creates “profound imbalance in the human personality.”9 The views of Aziz may be exaggerated but the point is that colonialism had numerous negative influences on the culture of the people. Even though it has also bought some positive changes into the socio-economic and political life of Africans, for instance, it introduced Western and formal education, which has helped in reducing many African languages to writing and introducing new religion and new political system to Africans, yet the most devastating disaster suffered by African culture under colonialism was the relegation of African languages to “mere ethnological footnotes and communication superstitions.”10 At school, the child’s mother tongue was virtually uprooted and the supremacy of English over indigenous language was promoted. English poems that have no relevance to the child were imposed on the African child for memorization and whosoever speaks or chants

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poems was punished. In most schools, the slogan was: “No vernacular speaking here.” Instead, students are made to recite poems such as: Bah, bah, black sheep Have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, Three bags full [author’s personal recollection from his elementary school days] One may ask: What is the relevance of this poem in a society where the sheep barely have enough hair to cover their back? Colonial teachers often beat and ill-treat the African child whenever he/she is unable to reproduce the memory verse such as: Pussy cat, Pussy cat Where have you been? I have been to London To see the Queen [author’s personal recollection from his elementary school days] This is African society where kings instead of queens predominate! During the colonial period, the figure of the child was distorted and misrepresented and the colonial literature imposed on the African child. Colonial literature definitely had a distorting effect on the psyche of the African child and his world. Alembi refers to this period “as a period of constricting and suffocating African oral literature.”11

Conclusion The figure of the child and his active performance in oral traditions, particularly oral literature, has undergone different phases in Africa. In the precolonial African society, the child and the process of growing up were a common metaphor in oral literature for the regeneration and renewal of the society. The child was a symbol of hope and childhood as an equivalent for humanity in its infancy. The child symbolized the greatest gift man can have, love, and cared for. Thus, much attention was paid to the representation of the child’s voice and the child’s performance in folktales, riddles, songs, and lullabies, among others. Efficient communication in African oral literature depends on the performer’s imagination as well as on the audience’s receptiveness. The imagination of the performer is what gives him/her his/her expertise in the oral tradition. It involves the manner of delivery and audience response. However, because of the fatal effects of slavery, colonialism, and lately globalization, in contemporary written literature, the figure of the child and the child’s inclusion and/or performance is presented largely in negative manners.

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Young (2003: 7). Obiechina (1968: 26). Kituki (1977: 4). Norman (1980: 140). Trask (1966: 77). Agyekum (2000: 18). www.adinkrasymbols.org/pages/the50-most-important-akan-proverbs. Obafemi (1997: 10). Ibid., 47. Is.o.la (2010: 31). Alembi (2007: 15).

References Adorno, Theodor W. 1973. Negative Dialectics, trans. E.B. Ashton. New York: Continuum. Agboo.la, A.F. 1989. Ojúlówó Oríkì Ífá Apa Kìíní. Lagos: Project Publications Limited. Agyekum, Kong. 2000. Aspects of Akan Oral Literature in the Media. Research Review. New Series 16 (2): 1–18. Akinye.mi, Akintunde. 2003. Yorùbá Oral Literature: A Source of Indigenous Education for Children. Journal of African Cultural Studies 16 (2): 161–179. Alembi, Ezekiel. 2007. Phases and Dynamics in Children’s Literature in Kenya. The 10th Nairobi International Book Fair Booklet, 6–9. Nairobi: Kenya Publishers Association. Americana Corporation. 1976. Encyclopedia Americana, vol. 7. New York: Americana Corporation. Arendt, Hannah. 1958. The Origin of Totalitarianism. Cleveland: The World Publishing Company. Ashcroft, A., G. Griffiths, and H. Tiffin (eds.). 1995. The Postcolonial Studies Reader. London and New York: Rutledge. Awoniyi, T.A. 1978. Yorùbá Language in Education. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Azeze, F. 2001. The State of Oral Literature Research in Ethiopia: Retrospect and Prospect. Journal of Ethiopian Studies 34 (1): 43–85. Babalola, Adeboye. 1979. Àkój˛opò Àló˛Ìjàpá :Apá kejì. Ibadan: University Press. Barber, K. 1984. Yorùbá Oríkì and Deconstructive Criticism. Research in African Literatures 15 (4): 497–518. Barber, K. 1991. I Could Speak Until Tomorrow. Oriki, Women and the Past in a Yorùbá Town. Edinburgh: University Press. Chesian, C. 1997. Oral Literature of the Enubu and Mbeere. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Cohen, D.W. 1989. The Undefining of Oral Tradition. Ethno History and Africa. 36 (1): 9–18. Damme, W. 2000. African Verbal Arts and the Study of African Visual Aesthetics. Research in African Literature 31 (4): 8–20. Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 2007. The Oral and Beyond: During Things with Words in Africa. Oxford: James Curry.

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Hughes, L. 1995. Children’s Games and Gaming. In Children’s Folklore: A Source Book , ed. B. Sutton South, Jay Mechling, T. Johnson, and F. Mcmahon, 93–120. Utah: Utah State University Press. Is.o.la, Akinwumi. 1995. The Role of Literature in the Intellectual and Social Development of the African Child. In Language in Nigeria: Essays in Honour of Ayo Bamgbose, ed. Kola Owolabi, 311–322. Ibadan: Group Publishers. Is.o.la, Akinwumi. 2010. Making culture memorable: Essays on Language, Culture and Development. Ibadan: Hope Publishers Ltd. Jirata, Tadesse Jaleta. 2013. Children and Oral Tradition among the Guji-Oromo in SouthernEthiopia. Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, Norwegian University of Science and Technology Management. Kalu, A. 1992. African Literature and the Traditional Arts: Speaking Art. Molding Theory. Research in African Literature 31 (4): 48–68. Kituki, V.M. 1977. East African Folktales. Arkanasas: August Home Inc. Mechling, Jay.1986. Children’s Folklore. In Folk Groups and Folklore Genres: An Introduction, ed. E. Oring, 91–120. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press. Mhando.J. 2008. Safeguarding Endangered Oral Traditions in Africa: A Report for UNESCO. Accessed from www.unesco.org/culture/ich/doc/../003473-ENP. Mouristen, F. 2002. Child Culture Play Culture. In Childhood and Children Culture, ed. F. Mouristen and J. Qvortrup, 14–42. University of Southern Denmark. Mtonga, M. 2012. Children’s Games and Play in Zambia . Lusaka: University of Zambia Press. Namayanja, S. 2008. Oral Folklore Performance in the Buganda. In Performing Community: Essays on Uganda Oral Culture, ed. D. Dipio, L. Johannessen, and S. Sillars, 113–127. Oslo: Novus Press. Nogueira, C. 2003. Oral Tradition: A Definition. Oral. Tradition 18 (2): 164–165. Norman, Peter Thynsna. 1980. The Oral Tradition in South African Literature. A Ph.D. thesis submitted to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, University of Denver. O. A. U. 1999. African Chapter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child, Article 2. http://www.afr icanunion.org/offical.documents/treaties%20conventions%20protocols/a%20C. Obafemi, Olu. 1997. Literature and Society on the Border of Discourse. Inaugural Lecture. University of Ilorin, Ilorin. Obiechina, Emmanuel. 1968. Cultural Nationalism in Modern African Creative Literature. African Literature Today 1 (2): 24–35. O.dunjo. J. F. 1961. Akojopo Ewi Aládùn 1. Lagos: Longman (Nig). Ltd. Ogunpolu, Balogun.1995. Yorùbá Folklore as Source Material in Fagunwa Novels. In Language in Nigeria: Essays in Honour of Ayo. Bamgbose, ed. Kola Owolabí, 238–249. Ibadan: Group Publishers. Oguns.ina, Bisi. 1992. The Development of the Yorùbá Novel (1930–1975) . Ibadan: Gospel Faith Mission. Ojo, Olagoke. 1973. Ijapa Tiroko. Harlow, UK: Longman. Okewho, Isidore. 1992. Africa Oral Literature: Background Character, and Continuity. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Omelewa, M. 2007. Traditional African Modes of Education: Their Relevance in the Modern World. International Review of Education 53: 593–612. Pamela, Y.Ngugi. 2012. Children’s Literature Research in Kenya Universities: Where Are We Now? International Journal of Arts and Commerce 2: 1–18. Patic, M. 1992. Listening to Old Voices: Folklore, Life Studies and the Elderly. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Rosenberg, B.A. 1987. The Complexity of Oral Tradition. Oral Tradition 2 (1): 73–90. Sackey, E. 1991. Oral Tradition and the African Novel. Modern African Studies 37 (3): 389–407. Sankaran, Krishna. 2009. Globalization and Postcolonialism: Hegemony and Resistance in the Twenty First Century. New York: Rowman and Littlefields Publishers Inc.

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Sierra, J., and R. Kasinski. 1991. Multicultural Folktales: Stories to Tell Young Children. Ontario (Canada): Oryx Press. Simiyu, V. 1994. Oral Literature as Past of Oral Traditions. In Understanding Oral Literature, ed. A. Bukenya, W. Kabira, and O. Okombo, 67–89. Nairobi: Nairobi University Press. Sutton-Smith, B. 1995. Introduction: What Is Children’s Folklore. In Children’s Folklore: A Source Book, ed. B. Sutton-Smith, J. Mechiling, T.W. Johnson, and F.R. Mc, 3–10. Mahon. Utah: Utah State University Press. Sutton-Smith, Brian, Jay Mechling, Thomas W. Johnson, and Felicia R. McMahon. 1999. Children’s Folklore. All USU Press Publications. 71. https://digitalcommons.usu.edu/usupress_pubs/71. The 50 most important Akan Proverbs. 2019. www.adinkrasymbols.org/pages/the50-most-import ant-akan-proverbs. Retrieved 25 Feb. Thom, B. 2008. The Anthropology of Northwest coast and Traditions. Artic Anthropology 4 (1): 1–28. Trask, W.R. 1966. The Unwritten song: Poetry of the Primitive and Traditional Peoples of the World, vol. 1. New York: Macmillan. Tucker, Elizabeth. 2008. Children’s Folklore: A Handbook . London, UK: Greenwood Publishing Group. UNESCO. 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. U.N.O. 1989. United Nations Conventions on the Rights of a Child, Article 1. http://www.2.chr. org/english/law/pdf/crc.pdf. Young, R.J.C. 2003. Postcolonialism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 22

War Songs: Slavery, Oral Tradition, and Identity Construction Emmanuel Saboro

Introduction This chapter examines how war songs, dance performance not only encode African experiences of the past but more crucially, highlight the ways in which these “discursive practices” and “performative acts” enacted in both public and private spaces can enhance our collective understanding of African cultural identity construction. The motifs and images of violent confrontation, bloodshed and bravery contained in these war songs, I argue, challenge dominant European narratives of African passivity and docility in the wake of the slave experience in Africa. The chapter is structured in four sections. In the first section, I provide a synthesis of the literature on the centrality of African music within the African collective imagination. In the second section, I provide a general overview of the oral tradition and its relationship with the discourse of slavery in Africa. In the third section, I examine identity construction, and finally, I attempt to situate identity construction within the framework of African war songs and performance. A great deal of recent criticism has focused on valid modes of reflecting the slave experience more generally. The use of music in particular, has been a significant innovative approach in shaping our collective understanding of slavery and its legacies. The African-American slave experience, for example, has provided a context upon which we have come to appreciate the centrality of music as an important expressive form through which the “ineffable terrors of slavery was kept alive.”1 Indeed, the significance and power of music within the Black Atlantic is now well documented.2 While there exists a rich body of documentation on the notion of an African American collective identity constructed largely through written sources, including songs emphasizing resilience, triumph of the human spirit and survival in the midst of the tragedy of slavery and enslavement within the broader literature, the E. Saboro (B) University of Cape Coast, Cape Coast, Ghana e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_22

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oral tradition, and how it helps us reflect on indigenous African identity construction within the context of slavery and enslavement in Africa is yet to receive adequate representation. African folklore contain a rich repertoire of the oral tradition, including songs reflecting varied themes, some of which are often centred on war. Providing an overview on songs in Africa, Anangwe and Patterson have reminded us, that “while for those displaced due to the Atlantic slave trade, labor songs became a major defining feature in the construction of new diasporic African identities, especially as the enslavement of Africans was specifically geared towards forced work,”3 I argue that, on the continent of Africa, war songs were a major vehicle and tool for galvanizing social and cultural protest against the forces of oppression including the threats of captivity and enslavement. War songs, ritual dances and performances in Africa as I attempt to show were ways through which indigenous African communities remember how their ancestors fought oppression, particularly the threats of violence and enslavement.

The Oral Tradition and the Discourse of Slavery in Africa The notion of Africa as a predominantly oral culture and its modes of cultural production and transmission as essentially oral is no longer in contention. Scholars have long reflected on orality as the means by which Africa made its existence and history long before colonial incursion, and indeed, African historical sources as primarily “oral traditions have been reported through time as part of the knowledge, literature, and cultural resources of communities.”4 Reflecting on the centrality of orality in Africa, Liz Gunner, for example, has suggested that “orality needs to be seen in the African context as the means by which societies of varying complexity regulated themselves, organized their present and their pasts, made formal, spaces for philosophical reflections, pronounced on power, questioned and in some cases contested power, and generally paid homage ‘to the word.’”5 The use of oral tradition as a mode of historical reconstruction is not entirely new. Scholars have shown, for example, how the oral tradition has been a universal form of historical consciousness, which has operated alongside writing. This is particularly known to have been the case of ancient Greece and Egypt. The Greek historian Herodotus, for example, is known to have collected oral traditions from the priests who were custodians of the archives when he visited Egypt between c.454 BCE. The Egyptian priest Manetho who lived during the Ptolemaic era in the early 3rd is reported to have written the first account of ancient Egypt from oral hieroglyphic records. Much of what has, therefore, come to constitute the primary basis of Egyptology is due to his use of the oral tradition. Indeed, the influence of oral tradition is also seen in early Islamic and Arabic writing. The Arabic system of the hadith and tarikh (traditions and history) for example derives largely from the oral tradition.6 The oral historian, Jan Vansina has drawn attention to the significance of the oral tradition in historical reconstruction with his theoretical reflections published in

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the 1960s. His Oral Traditions: A Study in Historical Methodology and later Oral Tradition as History have been hailed by many as groundbreaking in the field of ethno-history. His influence and reflections have thus become a basis upon which scholars from different orientations have built upon. Reflecting on this pioneering influence, E.J. Alagao has commented on how Vansina has “integrated the general advocacy and practice of oral tradition in Africa into a systematic theory of its use in the construction of professional academic history according to the rules of mainstream western historiography.”7 Attention to the oral tradition, especially as reflected in war songs, therefore promises to add to our store of knowledge on how African indigenous communities continue to construct their identities. The slave experience in Africa is often considered by scholars as one of Africa’s tragic events and a “monumental catastrophe.”8 “The destruction brought by the Atlantic slave trade,” Sylviane Diouf has argued, “was unprecedented, its impact on three continents have been enormous and its consequences on African people have been devastating.”9 Scholars have been unanimous that Slavery is an age-old institution common to all cultures of the world. For example, It has long been practiced in societies ranging from ancient Greece to medieval and early modern kingdoms and quite a large number of people in the world at one time or the other in their history have been part of this experience, either directly or indirectly.10 As historian Paul Lovejoy has argued, “Africa has been intimately connected with this history, both as a major source of slaves for ancient civilization, the Islamic world, India and the Americas.”11 In whichever society or culture slavery has existed, the institution most invariably has defined the relationship between people. Relations of power over powerlessness and notions of superior over perceived inferior status have ultimately defined societies that practiced slavery. These notions have tended to blur the humanity of persons, thereby reducing human beings to commodities to be traded and used by others. Slavery has often been conceptualized as a form of human exploitation in whatever form it existed. It is an established historical fact that slavery was already a known and growing institution in Africa and, as Ugo Nwokeji has argued, “Indigenous slavery co-existed with two external slave markets-trans-Saharan and transatlantic” and “the interaction of these overlapping markets had implications for slavery in Atlantic Africa.”12 For instance, in some forest states in West Africa, like Benin and the Congo in central Africa, slavery was already an important institution prior to European incursion. The oral traditions of most African communities recognize the existence of slavery as a long and complex institution. The term slavery within African cultures is not a straightforward one and although its practice is believed to have existed in most parts of Africa, its history and practice differ from one ethnic group to the other. The examples of the war songs I cite in this chapter are drawn from post-abolition slave raiding experience in northern Ghanaian communities. After the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade in the nineteenth century, slave raiding, and the slave trade, along with the extensive use of slave labor in some African societies continued into the twentieth century. The legacies of this internal slaveholding and slave dealing still linger on in most communities but more importantly the ways in which African

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communities still remember and contest images of themselves as passive people who acquiesced with their marginal status. These contestations can be found within the war song repertoire of some African indigenous communities. And as the literary critic and poet, Kofi Anyidoho has reminded us, “some of the most compelling records and reminders of the experience of slavery and the slave trade are not to be located in the printed word alone.”13 In other words, African oral forms offer promising and alternative approaches to our understanding of the historical and cultural dynamics of the slave experience within Africa. As part of efforts at shifting focus from the use of conventional historical methodology seen in the use of European and only written sources such as traveler and missionary accounts, archival material and colonial records in reconstructing the history of slavery, and the slave trade in Africa, recent discussions are beginning to center on the use of the oral tradition as alternative sources of historical reconstruction. In their groundbreaking and influential collection of essays, Alice Bellangamba, Sandra Greene, and Martin Klein have, for example, provided very useful leads into the ways in which the oral tradition is beginning to shed light on the often complex and nuanced details of African experiences of slavery and enslavement especially from the perspectives of descendants of those who remained on the continent of Africa. These scholars have drawn attention to oral sources’ potential to humanize and give voice to the marginalized and those who have always remained on the fringes of history. This chapter builds on this existing framework on slavery and the oral tradition but pays attention to war songs and how they promise to enhance our collective understanding of African identity construction. The existing literature on song, music performance, and dance within African societies is extant.14 Scholars across different disciplinary persuasions—ethnomusicologists, literary scholars, linguists, cultural historians have spent some considerable amount of time reflecting on the centrality of music in African cultures. And as Falola and Fleming have recently pointed out, “music has long been a key facet in African societies and cultures” and indeed, “music, dance and performance can possess multiple meanings and purposes throughout the continent of Africa.”15 African song and musical traditions have been very rich sources of a people’s values and communal history. And as Falola and Fleming have gone further to suggest, music has “facilitated interaction between neighboring communities, elites and the masses, and those in power and those not and also represented an arena where the populace could voice their support or disapproval for leaders, air grievances, enjoy the company of their peers, share the successes of the collective group, and join in a communal activity.”16 Through their interdisciplinary edited collection of essays, Falola and Fleming have presented a rich body of research from across the different regions in Africa each focusing on significant thematic issues on music performance and their impact on African identities. Specific thematic issues in this volume have centered on contemporary music and its wider social impact, transnational projections and performances, historical reflections on music, and the cultural and political meaning of African music. In his Representing African Music, KofiAgawu has drawn attention to a comprehensive discourse on African music and offers a critique on who writes about it, how,

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and why, while also interrogating the assumptions and prejudices that influence the presentation of ethnographic data. Agawu’s study does not only explore the colonial influence on African music but provides some perspectives on African rhythm and analytical tools that can be used to analyze music.17 A lot is also known on war songs from across different regions of Africa often dealing with various forms of political protest such as Zimbabwean war songs, South African songs against apartheid, and Biafran war songs.18 Although these studies have been informative, hardly has there been any systematic study that has explored the relationship between slavery, music, and identity construction in Africa and yet slavery and the slave trade was central to the lives of African people. African societies continue to endure the living wound of enslavement, and these memories can be found in the oral traditions across Africa. The subject of identity and how identities are constructed is rather very murky. Some considerable attention has been paid to identity and its construction across time and space. Scholars have suggested, for example, that identities are constructed within specific historical and institutional contexts.19 What is particularly important to this chapter is the relationship between identity construction and representation. I use the term representation here to denote “the process by which meaning is produced and exchanged not only between members of a culture, but more crucially, the use of language, cultural symbols, and images to represent experiences.” This then begs the question? In what ways have African communities that were devastated by the experience of slavery been represented by conventional narratives? In what ways do African communities want to represent themselves? In other words, what specific cultural symbols and images recur in their war songs and how do these help in carving new identities. Identity construction is often used to delineate the difference which distinguishes people from one another based on their association to a group and the sense of consciousness where people are defined by their mindset as well as a narrative which is constructed through the stories about them and their experiences. Identities, as Hall has reminded us, are “about questions of using the resources of history, language and culture in the process of becoming rather than being: According to Hall, it is not really often about ‘who we are’ or ‘where we came from’, so much about what we might become.” In the section that follows, I provide an overview of war songs in general and then draw some specific empirical examples from communities in Ghana whose song repertoire contains evidence of songs that can be categorized as war songs against the Zabarima and Asante slave raiding hegemony during the latter part of the nineteenth century.

An Overview of African War Songs Attempting to establish an unequivocal nexus between war songs and slavery is complicated. While there is a general consensus among scholars that war songs were, and are still an important feature of African societies, what is not particularly clear is the existence of a category of songs that can clearly be delineated as wars songs on, and about slavery. There is, however, a growing body of literature on

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songs as containing evidence of how African societies continue to remember slavery and the threats of enslavement within their collective history. What is clear is the existence of a category of traditional war songs in various African societies that call out able-bodied men to the battlefield in the event of impending danger and also songs on the battlefield that motivate warriors to fight on and not give up. Africans compose songs to reflect the exigency of the time and as Agu has suggested, songs are resilient and are not necessarily trapped in a particular period but often tend to reappear and constantly update themselves. “They are often filled with contemporary relevance and provide commentaries on the temper of a particular time”.20 War songs can be found in the cultures of many ethnic groups across Africa. In spite of the role they play and how widespread they are, war songs are not well documented as compared to the other forms of indigenous African music. War songs are not necessarily strictly confined to the battlefield. They are sung sometimes with the aim to motivate warriors and stir up the warrior spirit in them, and as I earlier on pointed out, they also serve as a call to duty for the abled men in a kingdom to rise and defend their people. Providing insights into war songs, Ruth Finnegan has drawn attention to the war song tradition among the Nguni of Malawi. The Nguni, Finnegan has observed, have two forms of war songs: the Omigubo and the Omihubo. The Omigubo are usually sung in preparation to go to battle while the Omihubo are sang after the actual battle. She adds that the Omigubo war songs are sung with the warriors dressed in full war regalia amid brandishing of spears and clanging of their shields. War songs are not only sung to prepare warriors for battle but they are sometimes sung even on the battlefield. It is obvious that much singing cannot be done on the battlefield as compared to the time of preparation and after the war. Chadwick was one of the earliest scholars to have pointed out how the warriors of Galla gheraera of Ethiopia sang war songs to taunt their enemies and also boast about themselves in battle. The victorious group usually returned amid singing and dancing. These songs tell stories about the bravery of the warriors on the field of battle. The Kamba of Kenya for instance return from battle with songs which are composed with the names of warriors who were able to kill enemy warriors. These songs also often acknowledge the support that the other fighters gave to their colleagues. Women and children usually join in the celebrations amid singing and shouting to honor these brave warriors. Finnegan cites an example from Lindbolm: You wonder: he who sings the song of victory, who is he? He is mutiaetumo X(here follows his real name), who has fought with the men of cattle (Masai), but if we had not helped each other, he should not have come out of it successfully, aaaaah!21

As mentioned earlier, war songs are not confined to the field of battle. There are other occasions during which war songs can be sang. Some ethnic groups in Africa sing war songs during some festivals, others sing them when a great warrior dies and others sing them during ceremonial military activities. For example, during the Fiok festival among the Bulsa of Ghana, warrior groups usually reenact war and victory dances performed to remember how their ancestors fought and defeated the notorious slave raider Babatu who terrorized them during the latter part of the nineteenth century.22

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Krige has also shown how the Zulu’s of South Africa who put up several military dances and displays during the annual first fruit ceremony. The warriors would put on their regimental dress and enact various military moves. These displays were almost like a display of the military power of the people. Many war songs have been adapted into recreational dances in contemporary times due to the significant reduction in the incidents of ethnic wars in Africa. The few war songs that have maintained their originality are barely heard these days. The relationship between war songs about slavery is not a clear one, although there exist many warrior groups across Africa who compose war songs. Asafo is particularly one example of a warrior group among the Fante of Ghana. In a study of Asafo songs among the Fantes of Ghana, Acquah has, for example, shown how the Asafo, an indigenous quasi-military group of the Fante-speaking people were in the past, entrusted with the defense and protection of the entire community and also with the task of prosecuting wars of conquest and expansion on behalf of the chief. Among the Fante, Acquah has suggested, it was the responsibility of a father to ensure that his able-bodied sons were initiated into the Asafo and that in every Fante community there is at least one Asafo group or company. Acquah has revealed how most of the Asafo songs he recorded were about war and death. He writes: Asafo is basically a warrior organization. It is therefore not surprising that the majority of the songs should be on war or about war. Practically, each of the songs in this category is either directly concerned with preparations for war, with war itself or with the celebration of victory in war involving great feats, heroic deeds and the routing and humiliation of the enemy.23

Apart from the Fante, the Ewes of Ghana are also known to have war songs and dances. David Locke, as cited in Gbolonyo, has shown how the Atsiagbeko dance among the Ewes of Ghana, in its original form, was a war dance. Aspects of this war dance, known as Atamuga, mean the “great oath.” The warriors would gather with their war leaders in front of the stool house and swear an oath to be loyal, brave, and obedient to the leaders and fight for the community before going into battle. Below is an example of such a war song: The great oath we have sworn (in vain) We have just clashed on the battlefield We cannot stand and stare The great oath we have sworn that So long as the enemy persist We shall not stand aloof (we would fight) Stephen Gbolonyo in reflecting on the indigenous musical traditions and values of the Ewe of Ghana, has recently suggested that most of the war musicians of the Ewes, especially the drummers, undergo special musico-military training. These drummers, he has pointed out, are usually fortified spiritually like all the other warriors. The duty of these drummers was to transmit important messages and signals to the warriors on the battle. They also drum the various war tunes to urge their soldiers on. Gbolonyo maintains that some traditional dances of the Ewe of Ghana like Atamga, Adatabram,

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Zagada, Gadzo among others were meant to be performed either before, during, or after a battle. However, most of these songs have been adapted for recreational purposes although traces of some war themes can be found in some of them. It must be added that some ethnic groups have war songs which are in the form of narratives. These songs are meant to chronicle the courageous deeds of current and past warriors of the people. Although Mawuli Adjei has recently drawn attention to Anlo Ewe Slave Songs, he situates these within the Anlo Ewe dirge tradition and does not show evidence that these songs are war songs. Nonetheless, these songs are a rich source of oral history. They lament the devastating consequences of slavery within the collective imagination of the Anlo people.

War Songs and Performance: Some Theoretical Reflections The relationship between music, dance, and performance in Africa is a very important one. The centrality of performance and its significance to oral genres have occupied the attention of scholars across time and space. And as Richard Bauman has clearly articulated, the “concept performance has assumed central importance in the orientation of increasing numbers of folklorists and others interested in verbal art.”24 The term, performance, Bauman has suggested, has been used to “convey a dual sense of artistic action-the doing of folklore- and the artistic event-the performance situation, involving performer, art form, audience, and setting-both of which are basic to the developing performance approach.”25 The African-American folklorist Zora Neale Hurston (1903–1960) is one of the earliest folklorists to have drawn attention to the link between performance and folklore. In the 1920s, Hurston is said to have pointed out how “every phase of Negro life is highly dramatized.” Drewal has suggested that Hurston’s “understanding of the characteristics of negro expression as constituting the drama of everyday life directed her interests to performer and audience interactions, to the audience assessment of the performance, and to her own role as self-reflective participant observer.”26 Hurston’s reflections were to serve as a basis upon which other folklorists were to build upon. Drewal has suggested how from the mid-1940s, scholars from different disciplines “have theorized human action using dramaturgical paradigms and metaphors.” Some of the scholars who emerged in the 1940 and have influenced and shaped the overall theoretical reflections on performance and its relation to folklore are Kenneth Burke, and his reflections on the effect of performance on audiences, Victor Turner’s formulations on social drama and ritual process which employ his notions of liminality and communitas, Gregory Bateson’s perspectives on metacommunication on performance and play and Erving Goffman’s dramaturgical model of the presentation of self in everyday life. Later folklorists such as Dan Ben-Amos, Americo Paredes, Richard Bauman, and Kenneth S. Goldstein initiated the call for performance-centered approaches to verbal arts.27 Drewal has drawn our attention to how “in Africa, performance is a primary arena for the production of knowledge.” It is where philosophy is enacted and where

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multiple and often simultaneous discourses are employed. In addition, Drewal has suggested, “performance is a means by which people reflect on their current condition, define or reinvent themselves and their social world, and either re-enforce, resist, or subvert the prevailing social order.”28 The attempt of a people to resist, reinvent themselves and their social world, as noted by Drewal, particularly, their attempt to subvert the prevailing social order is what is of relevance to this discussion. The war songs sung and performed by communities who have suffered decades of systematic pillage and predation have attempted to use these songs as counter-narratives to subvert narratives of victimhood and passivity. The nature of the performance itself in oral art often makes a significant contribution to the impact of the particular literary form being exhibited. Finnegan has pointed out how the paralinguistic modes of communication in oral performance such as tone, facial expression, verbal expressiveness movement, and dramatic pause are not “mere embellishments” but are “an integral part of its full realization as a work of art.”29 Most war songs in Africa are usually accompanied by drums or drumming and often related to dance. Nketia has, for example, reminded us, that “although purely contemplative, music, which is not designed for dance or drama, is practiced in African societies in restricted contexts, the cultivation of music that is integrated with dance, or music that stimulates affective motor response, is much more prevalent.” “For the African,” Nketia has observed, the musical experience is by and large an emotional one: Sounds however beautiful, Nketia has suggested, “are meaningless if they do not offer this experience or contribute of the expressive quality of a performance.”30 Dance in Africa is a social activity and its importance does not only lie in the scope it provides for the release of emotions but dance is often used as a social and artistic medium of communication. Most war songs that are often enacted in both private and public spaces are often coded in metaphor. Nketia has, for example, shown how among the Akans of Ghana, a dancer’s moves and gestures often send a distinct message to the audience. During the performance of the war dance among the Bulsa and the Kasena of Ghana during their annual fiok and Fao festivals for example, one would usually notice intricate dance moves, with gestures that suggest a warrior is aiming to shoot a target or moves that suggest an attack on an enemy.

The Poetics of Contestations: War Songs and Identity Construction In this section, I draw on some empirical data on war songs from among the Bulsa and Kasena of Ghana and specifically discuss some of their songs that express strong images of war to help problematize the poetics of contestations and counterrepresentations. The choice of these communities in Ghana is based on their peculiar history. The Bulsa and Kasena in Ghana are close neighbors and became targets of systematic slave raiding during the latter part of the nineteenth century by Zabarima

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and Asante slave raiders. The Bulsa and Kasena generally have two categories of songs that reflect the slave experience within their collective history: songs that can be categorized as laments and those that can be seen as war or victory songs. The songs of lamentations are often sung as dirges: Their tone and mood are often solemn. They often convey themes of devastation brought about by the slave raider and his cohorts while the songs on war are often centered on bloodshed and violent confrontation. The category on war songs also has victory songs that reflect on celebrations of victory and collective triumph. Singing as an oral art among the Bulsa and Kasena whose examples I have drawn extensively from, is not a formal activity. There are no professional cantors within these cultures, although there are people who are said to be gifted with the art of singing. Children learn the songs rather informally during communal performances. The war songs are however not in the public, and their performances are restricted to only special occasions such as festivals and the death of an elderly statesman where they are reenacted to reinforce the communal ideals of bravery, self-sacrifice, and resilience.31 In memorializing war as a resistance strategy among these groups, Saboro has argued that although war songs are not entirely exclusive to these cultures, and not all the songs about war relate to slavery and enslavement, there are songs with very specific references to the slave raiders and their activities within these cultures. The songs which deal with resistance to enslavement within these communities, he has pointed out, “reveal in very subtle ways, attempts by these cultures to rewrite their collective history and to carve out a new identity for themselves.”32 The songs certainly do not tell us about numbers, but tell us about how people responded to oppression. There are, for example, war songs that convey very strong images of bloodshed and battle. Part of this identity construction is seen in songs that reflect bravery and collective heroism. These songs emphasize fighting and winning battles. In their annual festivals, we often see singing groups singing and reenacting songs such as “Warrior, warriors, let us meet each other on the battle field,” “let us chop each other into pieces,” “we have eaten the medicine for death,” “we are able to defeat them,” “our people are fiercer than the slave raider.”33 The central animating metaphor in these war songs is war and fighting. These war songs are a compelling testimony to the ways in which African communities often sought to contest images of themselves as victims and a people who were passive to their plight of enslavement. Most of these songs are usually performed by men and accompanied by drums producing a rhythmic pattern. The expression of emotion, for example, in calling forth “Warriors to the battle field” is an expression and reinforcement of the militant strength and disposition of these communities. In one of my field trips in Navrongo in the Upper East region of Ghana, a group of men numbering about eight performed the song below for me. I was told that this song forms part of the collective repertoire of songs performed during their annual fao festival. During this festival which is normally celebrated in January, singing groups from in and around the various communities perform songs memorializing the resistance efforts of their ancestors against slave raiders during the latter part of the nineteenth century. This particular war song goes like this:

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Miatu, Miatu Nam yeini se dé jeeri chena bwolo ne, Miatu, miatu Nam yeini se dé jeeri chena bwolo ne, Kanbwaïa l ge peo Dabam ba pwεεro kwori jega c

Nasara l ge peo da c

Dabam ba pwεεro kwori jega Miatu miatu Nam yeini se dé jeeri chena bwolo ne se ba na. Warrior, Warrior Warrior, Warrior Come out and let’s meet on the battlefield Warrior, Warrior Come out and let’s meet on the battlefield The Asante man has fired a gun We don’t fear gunshots The Whiteman has fired a gun We don’t fear gunshots Warrior, Warrior Come out and let’s meet on the battlefield for them to witness. In this war song, warriors are called out to battle. The centrality of war is significant in that war was a major means through which communities fought against their enslavement. This particular song begins with by introducing to the audience/reader a traditional instrument of war: the bow and arrow. Mia in Kasem language is the name of a shrub used in making the bow—a traditional weapon used in war. Miatu then refers to the owner or the maker of the bow. In Kasena culture, a male child at adulthood is given a bow and arrow by his father. In the event of war, he is then supposed to come out with this bow and arrow and fight. In the song above, we see an invitation to a warrior to come out to battle. Not only does the song suggest an open confrontation, but makes reference to two principal parties: the Asante and the Whiteman. The lines, Kanbonïa l ge peo (the Asante man has fired a gun) c

and Nasara l ge peo (the Whiteman has fired a gun) c

are informative. Oral accounts among these cultures present images of Asante slave dealers sometimes known within their oral traditions as the Kanbong. Asante slave dealers within the collective consciousness of these cultures are often associated with tyranny and oppression given their role in the enslavement process of Northern communities during the latter part of the nineteenth century. Reference to the Whiteman in this song, however, is problematic and raises a number of questions. At what time was the Whiteman involved in the slaving process within the interior

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especially given that within this period, the slave trade had been officially outlawed? Nonetheless, the song seems to suggest that indigenous communities were often aware of the very subtle influences of the Whiteman in the whole slaving enterprise since memories of the European-led transatlantic slave trade still resonated within African communities. What is also informative in this song is the people’s insistence that they do not fear gunshots fired by both the Asante and Whiteman. Although the Asante are known to have been exposed to the use of guns and gun powder and often used these weapons to terrorize communities in their attempt to capture slaves in the past, the song suggests that communities often challenged the slave raiding hegemony and fought back. These contestations expressed in their oral traditions and songs as seen above suggest a people who have tried to carve identities predicated on bravery, heroism, and resilience. Indeed, the Bulsa, who are very close neighbors of the Kasena whose war song we have just discussed, also have war songs that contest images of a passive people. The song below presents images of a people who not only fought organized and systematic predation, but also won. Ba tonŋ ba de, pelim tonŋ ba de Ba yaa kala ayen ba tonŋ nab pein Ba be le de Ba tonŋ ba de, pelim tonŋ ba de Ba yaa kala ayen ba tonŋ nab pein Ba be le de They fought and won They fought and won again They are now going to shoot a cow’s arrow And they will surely win too34 This song is an example of a song that celebrates collective achievement of a people that hitherto has been represented as victims because of their history of collective enslavement. This particular song was performed by women. In its performance, the lead singer repeats the first two lines several times while the rest of the women respond to successive lines which normally serve as the chorus. The song memorializes the collective bravery of their ancestors who although were subjected to systematic predation and capture by slave raiders also fought and won. Fighting became a legitimate response to the preservation of their sense of community. Fighting and winning is certainly not a feature of passive people, neither does it suggest victimhood. Specific lines of these songs challenge the victim mentality.

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Conclusion The overriding aim of this chapter was to contribute to ongoing debates within the literature on the centrality of African war songs in African identity construction. A careful study of these war songs within the African collective imagination suggests that the experience of slavery may have succeeded in reducing African people into disposal commodities to be traded and used as property, but evidence exists to suggest communities have sought to contest and subvert this narrative. The central organizing principle in these war songs is the way they convey images of people who have fought and ultimately won. Notes 1. 2.

3.

4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

See Gilroy, Paul, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso Press, 1993. Lawrence Lavine was one of the earliest scholars to have drawn attention to the power and significance of music in the world of slaves within the context of African American plantation slavery. See, for example, Levine, Lawrence W., Black Culture and Black Consciousness: Afro-American Folk Thought from Slavery to Freedom. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Paul Gilroy and Samuel A. Floyd were later to explore the power of black music within the Black Atlantic. See Gilroy, Paul, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso Press, 1993, also see Floyd, Samuel, The Power of Black Music: Interpreting Its History from Africa to the United States. New York: University of Oxford Press, 1995. See Anangwe, Alfred, and Wade Patterson, “Work Songs”. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. Ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah. New York: Routledge Press, 2004, pp. 519–521. See Alagoa, E.J. “Oral Traditions”. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. Ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah. New York: Routledge Press, 2004, p. 317. See, Gunner, Liz, “Africa and Orality”. In African Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory. Ed. Tejumola Olaniyan and Ato Quayso. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007, pp. 67–71. Alagoa, E.J., “Oral Traditions”. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. Ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah. New York: Routledge Press, 2004, pp. 319. Ibid., 318. See Manning, Patrick, Slavery and African Life: Occidental, Oriental, and African Slave Trades. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990, p. 1. See Diouf, Sylviane, “Introduction”. In Fighting the Slave Trade: West African Strategies. Athens, OH: James Currey, 2003, pp. xv. Orlando Patterson makes this argument in his comparative work on slavery. See Patterson, Orlando, Slavery and Social Death: A comparative Study. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982, pp. vii–xiii.

450

11. 12.

13.

14.

15. 16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22.

23.

24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30.

E. Saboro

See Lovejoy, Paul E., Transformations in Slavery: A History of Slavery in Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983, p. 1. See Nwokeji, Ugo, makes this point in his article “Slavery in Non-Islamic West Africa, 1420–1820”. In The Cambridge World History of Slavery: Vol. 3 AD 1420–AD 1804 . Ed. David Eltis and Stanley L. Engerman Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 1. Anyidoho, Kofi, “Beyond the Printed Word”. In African Voices on Slavery and the Slave Trade. Ed. Alice Bellangamba, Sandra Greene and Martin Klein. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. 1. See, Merriam, Allan P., The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1964, p. 201. See, Bohlman, Philip, The Study of Folk Music in the Modern World. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1988, p. 14. Also see Nketia Kwabena, J.H., The Music of Africa. New York: W. W. Norton, 1974. Falola, Toyin, and Tyler Fleming, Music, Performance and African Identities. New York: Routledge Press, 2012, pp. 1–2. Ibid., 1. See Agawu, Kofi, Representing African Music: Postcolonial Notes, Queries, Positions. New York: Routledge, Taylor and Francis, 2003. See Nwachukwu-Agbada, “Lore from Friction and Protest in Biafran War Songs”. Antropos, Bd. H.4/6 (1996), pp. 525–534. Also see, Agu, Ogonna, “Songs and War: The Mixed Messages of Biafran War Songs”. African Languages and Cultures 4, 1 (1991), pp. 5–19. See Hall, Stuart, Representation: Cultural Representation and Signifying Practices. London: Sage, 1997, p. 1. Ogonna, “Songs and War”, pp. 5–19. Lindblom (1920: 199). See Saboro, E., “Songs of Sorrow, Songs of Triumph: Memories of the Slave Trade Among the Bulsa of Ghana”. In Bitter Legacy: African Slavery Past and Present. Ed. A. Bellangamba, S. Greene, and M. Klein. Princeton, NJ: Marcus Weiner, 2013, pp. 133–147. See Acquah, L., “A Repertoire of Tropes: A Study of Fante-Akan Asafo Song Texts from the Cape Coast Area of the Central Region”. Unpublished MPhil Dissertation, University of Cape Coast, 2002, pp. 1–6. See Bauman, Richard, Verbal Art as Performance. Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press, 1977, p. 4. Bauman, p. 4. Drewal, p. 334. Drewal, p. 334. See Drewal, M. Thompson, “Performance Studies and African Folklore Research”. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. Ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah. New York: Routledge Press, 2004, pp. 332–339. See Finnegan, Ruth, Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge University Publishers, 1970, p. 3. Nketia, p. 206.

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31. 32. 33.

34.

451

Ibid. Saboro, p. 46. Within the last couple of years, my research has focused primarily on documenting memories of the slave experience in northern Ghanaian folklore in which I have collected about 100 songs. Part of this research formed the basis of my Ph.D. See Saboro, E. “Slavery, Memory and Orality: Analysis of Song Texts from Northern Ghana”. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Hull, England, 2014. Ibid.

References Acquah, L. 2002. A Repertoire of Tropes: A Study of Fante-Akan Asafo Song Texts from the Cape Coast Area of the Central Region. Unpublished MPhil dissertation, University of Cape Coast. Agawu, Kofi. 2003. Representing African Music: Postcolonial Notes, Queries, Positions. New York: Routledge, Taylor and Francis. Agu, Ogonna. 1991. Songs and War: The Mixed Messages of Biafran War Songs. African Languages and Cultures 4 (1): 5–19. Anangwe, A., and W. Patterson. 2004. Work Songs. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia, ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah, 519–522. New York: Routledge Press. Anyidoho, Kofi. 2013. Beyond the Printed Word. In African Voices on Slavery and the Slave Trade, ed. Alice Bellangamba, Sandra Greene, and Martin Klein, 17–22. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bauman, Richard. 1977. Verbal Art as Performance. Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press. Bellangamba, Alice, Sandra Greene, and Martin Klein (eds.). 2013. African Voices on Slavery and the Slave Trade. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bohlman, Philip. 1988. The Study of Folk Music in the Modern World. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Diouf, Sylviane. 2003. Introduction. In Fighting the Slave Trade: West African Strategies. Athens, OH: James Currey. Drewal, M. Thompson. 2004. Performance Studies and African Folklore Research. In African Folklore: An Encyclopedia, ed. Philip M. Peek and Kwesi Yankah, 332–339. New York: Routledge. Falola, Toyin, and Tyler Fleming. 2012. Music, Performance and African Identities. New York: Routledge Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge: Open Book Publishers. Gbolonyo, J.S.K. 2009. Indigenous Knowledge and Cultural Values in Ewe Musical Practice: Their Traditional Roles and Place in Modern Society. Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, University of Pittsburgh, USA. Gilroy, Paul. 1993. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso Press. Hall, Stuart (ed.). 1997. Representation: Cultural Representation and Signifying Practices. London: Sage. Lindblom, Garon. 1920. The Akamba in British East Africa. Uppsala. Liz, Gunner. 2007. Africa and Orality. In African Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory, ed. Tejumola Olaniyan and Ato Quayson, 1–18. Oxford: Blackwell. Lovejoy, Paul E. 1983. Transformations in Slavery: A History of Slavery in Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Manning, Patrick. 1990. Slavery and African Life: Occidental, Oriental, and African Slave Trades. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Merriam, Allan P. 1964. The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Nketia Kwabena, J.H. 1974. The Music of Africa. New York: W. W. Norton. Nwachukwu-Agbada, J.O.J. 1996. Lore from Friction and Protest in Biafran War Songs. Antropos 4/6: 525–534. Nwokeji, G.U. 2011. Slavery in Non-Islamic West Africa 1420–1820. In The Cambridge World History of Slavery: Vol. 3 AD 1420–AD 1804 , ed. Eltis David and L.E. Stanley, 81–110. New York: Cambridge University Press. Patterson, Orlando. 1982. Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Saboro, E. 2013. Songs of Sorrow, Songs of Triumph: Memories of the Slave Trade Among the Bulsa of Ghana. In Bitter Legacy: African Slavery Past and Present, ed. Alice Bellangamba, Sandra Greene, and Martin Klein, 133–147. Princeton, NJ: Marcus Wiener. Vansina, Jan. 1965. Oral Tradition: A Study in Historical Methodology. London: Routledge. Vansina, Jan. 1985. Oral Tradition as History. New York: James Currey. Wang, Betty. 1965. Folksongs as Regulators of Politics. In The Study of Folklore, ed. Alan Dundes, 308–313. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

Chapter 23

Tracing the Voice of Protest in Selected Oral Literature Russell H. Kaschula

Introduction At the core of African oral literature is the notion of protest: it is a sociopolitical commentary by its very nature, whether one is considering oral poetry, song, the folktale or wisdom lore such as proverbs and idioms. It is through this voice of protest contained in this literature that we can engage with African histories, societies and the politics and power that underpin life on the African continent. Oral literary forms where protest presents itself, for example, sociopolitical poetry, and the folktale, which guards against gender-based violence are explored. The nature of the role and function of oral literature in Africa, the style of presentation by performers and the contexts of specific performances are addressed in this chapter in relation to the voice of protest. The way in which African orality has also been broadened to accommodate and to critique contemporary African contexts is discussed. Oral literature is therefore dynamic and able to adapt, responding to factors such as continued urbanization in Africa, changes in chieftaincy and traditional governance, the emergence of political elites and centralized power, technological changes (Technauriture) and the recent emergence of more democratic forces on the continent. There is a historical relationship between African oral literature and power. Oral literature has often been the only way to speak back to power on behalf of the populace. The Oxford Dictionary defines protest as “…Formal statement of dissent or disapproval, remonstrance…with denial of consent or obligation….”1 This dissent is often presented through orality on the African continent, whether it be through the voice of the southern African imbongi or oral poet, the West African griot or the storyteller. R. H. Kaschula (B) Department of African Language Studies, University of the Western Cape, Bellville, Cape Town, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_23

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Protest and Poetry Political power is constantly shifting in Africa. If this be the case and one accepts that oral poets are attracted to power, then it stands to reason that the power base of the poet is also constantly shifting as part of this contested terrain, and as part of a dynamic and ever-changing tradition. In Africa the nexus of power has largely shifted from the traditional leadership in the form of chieftaincies, to politicians and other power bases such as trade unions. Hence poets now perform within the latter contexts of contemporary politics. This is clearly illustrated by Mokitimi and Phafoli in their work on orality in worker movements, particularly in Lesotho.2 Among the Basotho workers, oral poetry is used to address themes of poverty, dehumanization, exploitation of migrant miners, and disruption of family life and so on. A poem which protests against poverty is recorded as follows: Ke ea le lithoba, koete Ke be ke feta ha Phohleli motseng, Banana ba teng b aka nts’eha kobo lesoba, Ke re ‘Ha hon a taba ke kobo ke apere . I was going across the mound, a man I then passed at Phohlele’s village Girls, they laughed at a hole in my blanket I say, ‘It does not matter, it is a blanket, I am clothed.3 The nature of oral poetry in Africa is ever-changing, but there is no doubt that it remains one of the strongest and most prominent genres of African orality. Jones, Palmer and Jones (1988: 1) provide a definition of the West African griot, which very much resembles the nature of oral poets across the continent, including the southern African imbongi: they refer to a performer who “…was, and still is, observer, commentator or councillor on the past and passing scenes. He happily still survives in some part of Africa, not only rehandling traditional material … keeping the heroic feats of historical figures alive, but also commenting in traditional style on contemporary matters.” Poets were then traditionally associated with Kings and Chiefs, but today praises are produced at various functions such as graduation ceremonies, retirement parties, the opening of new buildings, and the swearing-in of Presidents and so on. Political organizations and political leaders have now taken the place of Chiefs in many instances and it is in this context that the voice of protest can be heard. Contemporary political organizations, for example, the African National Congress (ANC) in southern Africa or trade union movements now attract poets and their performances.4 The nature and voice of protest among spoken word artists such as Zimbabwean Comrade Fatso and South African Lebo Mashile also strongly resemble oral poetry and it can be argued that it has its roots in African orality, even though most performances are in English or code-mixed language. Unlike in the definition provided above, women now play a growing and important role in the production of oral poetry and spoken word in the form of sociopolitical protest poetry.

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Contemporary African oral poets continue then to act as effective sociopolitical and social commentators, protesting when necessary and offering praises where they may be due. The emergence of leaders such as Senghor in West Africa, Kenyatta in East Africa and Mandela in southern Africa and the way in which their lives and work are depicted through oral poetry is evidence of this. There are many examples of this voice of protest in South Africa, especially under the apartheid regime. Homelands or separate areas were created to divide-and-rule black people under apartheid, and some were given so-called independence from the white minority South African state. One of these was the Republic of Transkei, where Xhosa-speaking people were located. The regime chose leaders such as Kaizer Matanzima to carry out this plan. He was pro-independence against the wishes of the ANC at that time. In December 1962 the Bantustan policy was accepted, and Matanzima began debating a future “independent” Transkei under apartheid, which eventually came to fruition in 1976. According to Mafeje, Melikhaya Mbutuma, an oral poet at that time produced a protest poem and refers to Matanzima as follows: Phezu komthombo wendlunkulu sisimanga. Ndifike kuncokola iqaqa noxam. Uthi uxam, ‘kuyolile emanzini phantsi kwelitye.’ Ath’ uqaqa, ‘kuyolile phezu komhlaba elangeni.’ Acelana amadodana ngokuvavanya indawo, Waphum’ uxam wagcakamela ilanga wonela, Laziphosa iqaqa esizibeni kwabandayo amanzi. Kumhla laphuma libolile umva walo. At the top of the Ndlunkulu River is a miracle; There I found a pole-cat and a leguan having a conversation. The leguan says, ‘it is nice and warm in the sun above.’ The pole-cat replies, ‘it is nice and cool in the water below.’ They continued, challenging and daring each other. The leguan came out and basked in the sun to its satisfaction. Behold! The pole-cat jumped into the depth of the lake. That was the end of it, for it came out rotten and stinking.5 The voice of protest in this poem is linked to the two animal metaphors, which are used to depict Matanzima, namely a leguan (which lives both in water and on the land) and a pole-cat (which is both black and white). In the end, the poet makes it clear that one cannot have the best of both worlds, i.e. the black and the white world—a choice has to be made. The pole-cat then comes out rotten and stinking, which is in fact what happened to Matanzima. The apartheid regime was ultimately overthrown in 1994 when South Africa gained independence under Nelson Mandela and the ANC and Transkeian independence was ended. In this sense, the poem is also prophetic in relation to its voice of protest. Many years later, when it was clear that apartheid was beginning to fall and after Matanzima was removed from power in a military coup by Major General

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Bantubonke Holomisa in 1989, the poets continued to criticize Matanzima. Bongani Sitole, at a gathering of the ANC, the Communist Party and other liberation movements commented as follows as ANC stalwart (AS Xobololo who was previously continually harassed by Matanzima) was about to begin his speech: UXobololo unesifo sombefu, Uxweb’ impundu ngokuhlal’ estoksini ngenxa kaDaliwonga Uxweb’ impundu wade wanesifo sombefu, Ngenxa kaKaiser Matanzima, Yimpimpi uMatanzima… Namhlanje uMatanzima unyela etshembeni… Xobololo is suffering from asthma, His buttocks are chapped due to staying in jail because of Daliwonga, His buttocks were chaffed until he suffered from asthma, Because of Kaiser Matanzima, Matanzima is an informer… Today Matanzima defecates in a chamber pot…6 Here we see how the poet’s voice of protest goes to the heart of the matter: Matanzima being an informer for the white minority apartheid regime. Furthermore, after his removal from office, he was jailed for corruption and hence it is Matanzima who today defecates in a chamber pot in jail. Matanzima’s demise is also juxtaposed against the heroic nature of Xobololo whom he continually harassed and jailed when the former was in power. The nature of the voice of protest can then be ribald and explicit in the performances of certain of the poets, yet more subtle in others. In a later poem, Bongani Sitole, noting the pre-democracy violence in the 1990s between Zulus and Xhosas that had beset South Africa, protests to Nelson Mandela as follows: Asinaku jika ndawo, iTshangaan, uMsuthu, iNyasa, umXhosa umTswana, Hayi madoda nomZulu nkokunjalo, Singamantu abamnyama… Nceda MntakaMandela, Ncedani niyokuthatha uGatsha Buthelezi nimfak’ estoksini, Ingxak’ ilapho. We will never change, Shangaans, Sothos, Malawians, Xhosas, Tswanas, No men, even Zulus, We are all black people… Please, son of Mandela, Please go and fetch Gatsha Buthelezi and arrest him, The problem is there.

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In this poem, the poet protests against the fact the Buthelezi has not been admonished for the killings that were taking place (largely seen as perpetrated by Zulu people against Xhosa people) in the country at that time. It later emerged that a “third force” of apartheid operatives were involved, but the poet feels that Mandela should be doing more. The poet cleverly calls for unity among black South Africans, and he legitimizes the power of Zulu people as a nation. However, he subverts the power of the leader of the Zulu people and the Inkatha Freedom Party, which Buthelezi led at that time by separating him from his people as part of the poet’s voice of protest against his actions. African oral poetry, therefore, lends itself towards expressing ideological points of view, juxtaposing different political ideologies and in the process, creating a voice of protest. Elizabeth Gunner sums this up as follows in relation to southern Africa: Zulu and Xhosa praise poetry…because they exploit powerful cultural symbols with such ease, appeal in a very direct way to their listener’s emotions and attitudes. They intrinsically combine political and aesthetic appeal and perhaps for this reason represent valuable ‘property’ in any ideological struggle.7

These performances, for example by griots and imbongi, can be employed as acts of communication and even defiance between individuals and groups in Africa, thereby encouraging the voice of protest. This form of communication can happen in situations which are politically delicate. The performer can convey to the audience and to the powers that be a subtle (or not so subtle) message of defiance or protest. Naine sums this up as follows in relation to the Mandingo griot in Guinea: “the art of speech has no secret.”8 The contexts of the performances in relation to those who hold power are constantly changing on the continent. Edris Makward (1990: 29) when referring to two Wolof griots from Senegal, Anchou Thiam and Haja M’Bana Diop notes that although M’Bana’s art still stems from tradition, the “material deals more specifically with the actions and events of her time, rather than with those of the past—the latter remaining the forte of a truly traditional performing griot, such as Anchou Thiam.”9 Makward concludes that while M’Bana can easily incorporate “elements of contemporary Senegalese social and political history, Anchou remains an oral historian of pre-colonial Senegal and a reciter of ancient poetic and heroic texts.”10 Nevertheless, the important issues of the day, be they social, political or religious, are therefore critically reflected in contemporary African oral poetry, to varying degrees. Furniss (1996) for example shows how Hausa oral poetry in Nigeria has been absorbed into popular culture, thereby entrenching the role of the poet as contemporary sociopolitical commentators and allowing for the voice of protest to continue through popular culture in that country. This is largely true of most of the continent. This can be traced all the way back to what is termed Tiv oral poetry. Adeiyongo states that Tiv poetry can be “…seen in protest and political songs, songs of rivalry and social commentary….”11 Frictions and conflicts, therefore, contribute to Tiv poetry in the same way that the Xhosa imbongi highlights political contestations and societal imbalances as outlined above.

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Similarly, in Uganda, the tussle for power between leaders such as Milton Obote and Idi Amin in the 1960s through to the 1980s can be traced through oral poetry and song. The voice of protest is ever-present. Okumu concludes that “…the place of oral poetry is central as we see in the case of the freedom songs. It is the ease with which these songs are transmitted that make them ideal.”12 Likewise, Gelaye traces the voice of protest in Amharic poems and songs among the peasants of East Gojjam in Ethiopia.13 He classifies this orality into different contexts, including the political context (polatikawi). Within this context the poetry also provides a clear voice of protest against local administrators from the Ethiopian Peoples’ Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF): Neither did the Italians come nor did shooting break out, Neither did an invader come nor did we face hardship, Since the core (members) came the country is destroyed. The poems reflect that the peasants’ country has been destroyed, not by foreigners as was previously the case under colonial rule, but due to cadre deployments and unskilled personnel from the EPRDF. These poets protest against land taxes, land reform programs and the loss of land.14 Commenting further on this voice of protest in Xhosa poetry, and differently put, in relation to contemporary African capitalism, McGiffin (2017: 202) states that “Thus, even where iimbongi do not directly dispute Western hegemonies and imperialist practices, they destabilise capitalist ideologies and help shift the discursive space by giving voice to alternative views and by embodying alternative beliefs.”15

Historical Protest, Gender and Song The lines between poetry and song are often blurred—there is, in a sense, a mixing or merging of genres of orality. One can easily trace the use of song as protest in Africa. Once can begin, for example, with the pioneering work of Tracey16 as outlined in Finnegan where he refers to the Chopi speaking people of East Africa.17 He speaks of the “democratic purpose” and “poetic justice” of their poetry. Chiefs can be criticized through song: You, Chugela, you are proud of your position, yet you Are only a chief made by the white man…18 In Malawi, for example, it is noted that in the late 1950s, the wives of husbands who had been imprisoned for political opposition used to sing as they were pounding their maize: My husband is a man: He’s away in Kanjedza. The men who are here Are women like us.19

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In later song performances by the Timbuktu women from Northern Malawi, regarding labour migrants who worked in South African mines, Soko notes that there is contestation and protest by women in Vimbuza songs: Anyirongo leronaliwona ine Fumbani mwana winu Mwana winu wachona lero Ine lero namtengwa (x2) Chehengo nchakwadada… Kalikose ka mnyumba yane Ine lero namtengwa. Mr. Nyirongo, I am suffering Appeal to your son Your son is taking too long to return Otherwise, I am going to remarry (x2) It is my father who bought me the basket… Everything that is in my house was bought by my father I am going to remarry.20 In this song, the wife protests against the absence of her husband and threatens to remarry if he does not return soon. In South Africa, the initial opposition to apartheid can also be traced through song. The movement to urban areas by black people to work on the mines and the way they were treated through the pass system when they had to carry appropriate identification continually is recorded through song by Heugh Tracey. African males had to be registered, and this could even involve waiting for days to be interviewed. One of the songs expresses this frustration and the degrading nature of this process conducted by white overseers: Take off your hat. What is your home name? Who is your father? Who is your chief? Where do you pay your tax? What river do you drink? We mourn for our country21 As indicated above, there can be an overlap between protest poetry and song. Yoruba oriki (praise poems) are performed in such a form of spoken song. Even the griot can be seen as both musician, poet and storyteller, for example, Salif Keita. Such genres have also been taken up within popular forms of songs sung by Youssou N’Dour, Angelique Kidjo, Fela Kuti and others from West Africa as well as Ringo and Zolani Mkiva from southern Africa. The Sunjata epic, where Sunjata frees the Mande from the oppressive powers of King Kante, is a good example. These are often powerful songs of sociopolitical protest. In relation to East Africa and Tanzania in particular, Hilhorst argues that the work of Remmy Ongala, for example, in the

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1980s and 1990s is very much part of “social commentary” “pervasive in Tanzanian popular culture” where social issues such as “poverty, HIV/Aids, family life and urbanization” are critiqued as part of reconstructing a “socialist past as a model for social responsibility.”22 Parallels are also drawn with Zimbabwean artist, Thomas Mapfumo and Nigeria’s Fela Kuti.23 Duran notes the role of woman in her pioneering West African research when referring to the singing of epic songs.24 This is taken further by Johnson, Hale and Belcher when they state that: Duran argues that woman will sing an entire epic if no man is available for the task…some songs by woman extend over long periods of time… Future research…will provide, we hope, evidence to explain more clearly the role of female bards in relation to the epic.25

This is true too of woman oral performers in southern Africa, for example, within the trade union movements and elsewhere.26 Duran notes the phenomenal rise of woman Manding music performers and the rise in popularity of female jeliw, the jelimusow. This shows the adaptability of tradition in allowing the voice of protest and critique to be taken from the mouths of men, to be placed into the mouths of women. Nevertheless, this remains a beginning in relation to the changing role of women and their role in presenting protest and sociopolitical critique. Jama makes this point in relation to Somali women’s poetry, arguing that the Somali woman poet represents a lone voice of protest in their fight to gain recognition.27 This is true too of the work of Nontsizi Mgqwetho in her efforts to gain poetic recognition through her critical poetic voice of protest in southern Africa as early as the 1800s.28 Song and protest have, therefore, been forever linked. In all the liberation wars in Africa, one can trace the voice of protest through song and poetry. The Kenyan Mau Mau, the Zimbabwean Chimurenga and South Africa’s liberation war are all underpinned by the power of song as a voice of protest. With regard to the latter, Alec Pongweni (1982) has written about songs that won the liberation war in Zimbabwe. The voice of protest in certain instances has become the voice of legitimation, for example as reflected in Andrew Manyawu’s work on the construction of Uhuru party group identity in Zimbabwe through revolutionary Shona songs, thereby entrenching the power of the ruling party ZANU-PF under the previous Mugabe regime.29 At the same time, there were musicians who presented a different voice of protest against the Mugabe regime and who continued to be critical of the liberation movement which had taken on dictatorial powers under Mugabe. This is reflected in the work of Chitofiri, Mutasa and Gwekwerere.30 This duality of power to protest if you like is summed up as follows with regard to popular songs in Zimbabwe by Musiyiwa and Visser: “One motif in the resultant scholarship has been a tendency towards studying politically motivated songs, how especially songs are manipulated by the state to serve its hegemonic interests or how they are employed by the ordinary people to undermine state power.”31 The hymns that were sung by the Mau Mau in Kenya in the 1950s as a form of secret propaganda are also a good example. It was among the masses in Kenya that

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these songs gained traction and were used as propaganda even though the movement was banned by the then colonial government. According to Leakey: There is no doubt at all that these hymns, which were being sung at K.A.U. (Kenya Africa Union) meetings, at Independent Schools and Churches, in the homes of thousands in the Kikuyu Reserve, in squatter villages on European farms, and even in the staff quarters and kitchens of European homes, were one of the most powerful propaganda weapons of the whole Mau Mau movement.32

Some of these hymns were used to praise then leader Jomo Kenyatta, while others were sung in order to vilify the Europeans for what they were doing in Kenya: You Europeans are nothing but robbers, though you pretended you came to lead us.Go away, go away you Europeans, the years that are past have been more than enough for us…

Waita also provides a trajectory for the use of songs in oral protest in Kenya. Initially, these …played a central role in articulating and communicating about the Mau Mau war for independence in Kenya.33 The creation of a Mau Mau consciousness, the quest for transformation of power relations, the symbolic value of Kimathi’s leadership and the experiences in detention centres are the key issues that emerge in Mau Mau songs.34 Dedan Kimathi Wa Wachiuri was one of the main figures in the armed struggle and the struggle for political liberation in Kenya. Waita quotes from a song (When Kimathi Ascended the Mountain) where Kimathi resembles Kenya’s Moses in the same way that southern Africa’s Nelson Mandela is often depicted in oral poetry to represent a Christ-like figure accompanied by his grey-headed political disciples. When our dear Kimathi ascended Up on the mountain alone He was bestowed with strength and courage To defeat the Europeans He ascends Mount Kenya as Moses ascended Mount Sinai in order to be given courage to defeat and defy the Europeans.35 According to Schachteras explicated in Finnegan, another example where songs played an overt and important part of historical political liberation and protest was in Guinea in 1954–1955. Sekou Toure was the candidate for the Rassemblement Democratique African (R.D.A.) which was anti-French colonial interference and supported by urban workers and farmers. Barry Diawadou was however declared elected and the belief was that the results had been manipulated in favour of Diawadou by the French administration. The totem of the R.D.A was the elephant (Sily): Sily is too strong. He does not retreat When he is provoked.36 Diawadou and his political contestation with Toure is further juxtaposed against the powerful elephant as follows:

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Diawadou you are a thief… You stole from the people… You, Diawadou! You stole from the elephant. You stole a voice…37 Toure, on the other hand, continued to be praised through popular song as the true Chief and leader of Guinea: A chief commands. He speaks his will. Lift up your head! Look at the sea of faces. It’s your world. It is your people: Which sits When you say sit; Which rises When you say rise. You are a new chief. You are chosen as chief. The people are with you. The barriers are cut. We must follow, For all will follow. You are a new chief.38 Through these protest songs and the support of the people, the French administration was forced to hold another election in 1956 and Sekou Toure duly won his seat to the French National Assembly. Beyond the tradition of griots and poets, the medium of song is used to communicate messages in Africa. The Malian singer, Oumou Sangare, is an example of a well-known West African singer who speaks out against injustices to women. Many singers such as Fela Kuti also speak out against dictatorial and corrupt political regimes and social injustices in West Africa, making him “West Africa’s most effective protest singer, and reggae and rap artist to continue the tradition.”39 Finnegan aptly concludes that African political parties have now accepted songs as a way of communication, propaganda, political pressure and political education.40 One needs to only consider the songs recently sung by the opposition party Economic Freedom Fighters in South Africa against the leadership of President Jacob Zuma. The purpose of these songs is often to protest, to contest, and the medium is always oral.

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Protest, Religion and Orality Religion has been used as a voice of protest since the beginning of time. Furthermore, orality within African religion has been used to protest colonialism as well as other social and political ills. Diop speaks of the relationship between the politician and Marabout or Islamic leader and the griot.41 The griot acts as a type of intermediary between the Muslim clergy and the politician. The Marabout’s approval of the politician would be reflected through poetry. Wolof indigenous knowledge and Islamic knowledge, therefore, become enmeshed. Furniss confirms this in relation to Hausa poetry when he states that “for the cleric class, poetry…was a medium for the communication of Islamic ideas…it formed a key weapon in the battle for the hearts and minds of the ordinary people.”42 In southern Africa, oral poets such as Ntsikana (Xhosa) and Shembe (Zulu) began writing Christian hymns in the oral style as early as the 1800s. Many of the oral poets kept the voice of anticolonial protest alive through religious poetry, similarly to Furniss’s argument that Jihad poetry among the Hausa was “a significant part of the motivating factors that kept the spirit of the Jihad alive.”43 Brown in relation to Zulu evangelist Shembe states that “…by syncretizing the belief systems of Zulu tradition (which are directed primarily towards social concerns) with those of Christianity (which are more abstractly theological and future-directed), and by hybridizing the Christian hymn with Zulu poetry and song, he created forms which expressed religious and political resistance to colonial oppression.”44 Brown then proceeds to quote an example taken from Oosthuizen: I shouted day and night why did you not hear me? Nations go to sleep so that Zulu may be audible before the Msindisi [Deity]. I was stopped by all the nations which are under heaven. Nations go to sleep that Zulu may be audible before the uMsindisi.45 Brown concludes by pointing out that “Shembe’s hymns comprise texts and rituals of empowerment and resistance which draw both upon forms of colonial discourse and the cultural resources of traditional Zulu society” in an attempt to draw “an African past into a new context of dispossession and colonisation….”46 In relation to Zimbabwean Shona spirituality, Chinyodwa argues in a similar way that the inclusion of Shona orality into religious worship was in essence to add a voice of protest and to indigenize the Christian word. Chinyodwa states that “…Christian converts would always revert to performing ancestral rituals in total disregard of missionary sanctions.”47 These performances include the use of song, music and dance as a function of orality, resistance and ritual with the use of the mbira (hand xylophone) and so on. Chinyodwa continues to point out that: “In addition to the

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Shona people’s profound sense of spiritual resistance as a site of resistance to cultural imperialist hegemony, orality and ritual have also employed ambivalence, deceit, or disguise as survival strategies” within the religious context.48 This resistance and protest can also be found in the African folktale genre as will be seen below.

Protest, Gender And The Folktale This chapter now turns to a specific folktale collected in southern Africa in order to highlight the voice of gender protest and how it is depicted in this folktale as analysed by Neethling.49 This folktale can be extrapolated to many parts of Africa where the tale is used as a form of protest, or where the tale possesses educational or didactic value, for example, the research done in Zambia on the didactic value of the folktale in relation to HIV-AIDS education. The folktale “Eating Forbidden Fruit” proceeds as follows: A girl visits her aunt She loses her way and is overcome by darkness She seeks shelter at the nearest homestead It is a dog’s homestead A cat which lives with the dog is preparing food The girl is ordered to take the cat’s place She objects, but she is forced to prepare the food She is ordered to eat with the dog She objects, but is forced to do so She is ordered to sleep with the dog She objects, but is forced to do so The next morning the dog goes to see its cattle The girl hides and slips away She meets with a crab and asks to be swallowed The crab objects to her size She meets with a leguan and asks to be swallowed The leguan objects to her size She meets with a frog and asks to be swallowed The frog obliges and takes her home The people of the village want to kill the frog He sings a song in which he tells them about the girl He regurgitates and produces the girl The frog is rewarded with a male goat The crab and the leguan want a share of the meat The frog declines He has the meat all to himself50

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According to Neethling, there are two types of protest in this folktale. “Firstly, there is a strong feminist protest against subordination and sexual abuse of women by the males in society. Secondly, there is also protest against the lack of power and status of individuals (again female?) in society.”51 The protests involve the dog which symbolizes “…male chauvinism, male dominance, and the sexual abuse of women by men.” The dog is a low-status animal which has been given power and elevated to a homeowner. The girl is intimidated by the dog and submits to his power. One can also assume that the cat, a symbol of women, has been subdued by the dog as it prepares food (ukutya) for it. This term is also used to refer to sexual intercourse with a woman. One also assumes that the cat is subdued sexually and is “eaten” in that way. The dog forces the girl to sleep with him, thereby disempowering and consuming her as well. The frog restores the imbalance in society, but remains an outsider to the community, and is rewarded with the ritual slaughtering of a male goat as part of the cleansing process. Only the frog consumes the meat. Neethling argues then that the folktale in Africa can be used not only for political protest but also for “…protesting against the injustices in society, and more specifically against women…” and the injustices perpetrated against them.52 According to Dinslage, in agreement with the above discussion, in relation to West African— the Lyela in Burkina Faso, the Bulsa in northern Ghana and the Jukun in northern Nigeria, “…folktales containing patterns of sexual behavior and moral codes are still used as a sort of sex enlightenment. In addition, folktales can tell much about the social roles and ethic norms of the respective societies.”53

Power, Politics, Poetry, Song and Protest in Africa: An Overview The African elite and leadership have not always welcomed the voice of protest in African oral literature. Take, for example, the poet mentioned above, Melikhaya Mbutuma, who produced praises opposing the South African apartheid homeland system. He was harassed by authorities under the leadership of Matanzima. Other poets such as Qangule were forced into exile and lived in neighbouring Zambia.54 In contemporary African oral tradition, for example, poetry, the right to both praise and criticize and protest has been retained. Karin Barber in her work on power and subversion in Nigerian Yoruba praise poetry (oriki) states that “poetry in particular has recently been analysed in terms of its power both to criticize and to legitimize power: articulating the concerns of entrenched elites and also providing the otherwise voiceless with a voice.”55 Nevertheless, this voice of protest is not always welcomed and there are continued attempts on the continent to control this poetic voice. With regard to oral performance in Tanzania, Mlama states that: “Another problem which needs more attention than it has been given to date is the manipulation of oral art for the benefit of the ruling classes, leading to its domestication and disempowerment.”56 Political and capitalist

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influences can be brought to bear on the tradition. More recently and in relation to southern Africa, D’Abdon points out how the Xhosa imbongi has sold out to capitalism and political elitism when he refers to the performances of well-known poet, Zolani Mkiva. Regarding Mkiva, Raphael d’Abdon refers to him as the “Poet of Corporations” and “Poet of the ruling party.”57 The tone of the article rightfully calls into question Zolani Mkiva’s objectivity when it comes to any form of poetic sociopolitical commentary. One has to question why this art form is seen as being valuable property and powerful in the hands of political elites. With regard to the source of power, protest and poetic function, Vail and White are of the opinion that “it is not the poet that is licenced by literary convention, it is the poem.”58 Diop presents a different view when he states that “the person of the griot has more importance than the performance itself.”59 However, I argue that it is important to see not only the poet and the performance as important but also the context of the performance, the performance in a holistic sense. It is within the holistic interpretation of the tradition itself that the power of performance and protest lies, hence the manipulation of the tradition by those who wish to control the function of the tradition for their own benefit. The power of performance and protest exists in relation to the performer, the performance, the text and context as a whole, and it also exists in relation to those that are in control and how they respond to the performance. A very good example of such performances is evidenced after the attaining of independence by Senegal in 1960 where the first post-independence leader, Senghor is praised in a similar way to South Africa’s 1994 post-independence leader Nelson Mandela. These poems appeal for unity and reconciliation, and they afford these leaders credibility in the eyes of the world. The voice of protest is aimed at the previous colonial regimes and not to these emerging leaders. These poems bear similarities even though they were performed thirty years apart. In Kenya however, as well as in South Africa, post-independence leaders have come under criticism with the emergence of a middle class and political elitism: criticism has been levelled through orality at South Africa’s President Zuma and others who have been faced with alleged corruption charges and so on. Kenya’s first post-independence leader, like Mandela, Jomo Kenyatta, is largely praised as in the following song: Jomo grew up and as he matured He began to think How this country, Kenya, will be In days to come60 When people’s expectations (materially and spiritually) were not met in the postindependence era, this is reflected in song, for example, the song Ng’aragu ya Ngoro “The Famine of the Heart”: Now that this famine has become all pervading And it has been baptized by names So that people may not know

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There is the bread of Jesus Just observe and see what is happening To the rich and even the poor and children They are staggering all over Because of the famine of the heart61 The acquiring of corrupt wealth and the grabbing of land and general self-interest are attacked and criticized in this song. Even more recent events in Kenya and the disputes between President Uhuru Kenyatta and opposition leader, Raila Odinga, as well as previous leaders are depicted as part of a neo-colonial legacy as follows: This clan of grabbers They are visitors From leadership, they will vacate I wonder where they will go When a new constitution is put in place62 Politics, poetry and song have often become interwoven in the contemporary African literary space. This has possibly dulled the element of criticism and protest, possibly reinforcing Mlama’s views presented above. A good example is Senegal in the 1980s during the tenure of President Abdou Diouf when a griot, El Hadji Mansour Mbaye was sent to do government business and to represent the President when meeting other heads of State (Diop 1995b).63 Like Mkiva in southern Africa, he became known as le griot de la presidence. Panzzachi states that the griots are manipulated by politicians who “rely largely on griots and on bands who play before and after their speeches, to win favour by laying on free concerts.”64 Thus, those who hold power and the ability of the performer to remain an objective voice of protest and sociopolitical commentary will remain a delicate dance of proximity into the future. Gunner concludes in relation to the role of orality in a contemporary and liberated Africa as follows: Depending on the coverage such a voice may find…the enormous subversive power of oral genres in a modern situation has been noted in other African states, such as Ghana under Nkrumah. The warrior image may surface again in search of a different agenda and a different home for that slippery and resilient genre, full of intellectual gristle…65

Today it is issues such as poverty, social degradation, corruption and political elitism that captures the minds of those using oral genres as a voice of protest in Africa.

Conclusion The voice of protest is ever-present in African oral literature. It allows for the manifestation of contestation, even though social network sites and contemporary technology where orality now proliferates through Technauriture, the marriage of modern technology, auriture and traditional oral and written literature.66 It remains prevalent for a

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specific reason: to highlight the disparities, including the transgressions of those who hold power (social, religious or political power) in relation to those who are subsumed under that power or leadership model. Canonici states that: “It follows that protest in African oral literature is mostly expressed in indirect ways, as it is based on the presentation of the superior ethical values of the oppressed, when compared to the unethical behaviour of the oppressor who is often shown up as a person blinded by greed for power and property.”67 This sentiment is clearly expressed in relation to the poetry, the songs as well as the folktale discussed in this chapter. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

The Oxford Dictionary (1976: 654). Mokitimi and Phafoli (2001: 221–227). Ibid., 224. Brown (1998: 213–256). Mafeje (1967: 193). Ibid. Gunner (1986: 33). Naine (1960: 9). Makward (1990: 29). Makward (1990: 29). Adeiyongo (1991: 123). Okumu (1991: 15). Gelaye (2001). Ibid., 206, 215. McGiffin (2017: 202). Tracey (1945; 1948). Finnegan (2012). Tracey (1948: 68). Sanger (1960: 320) Soko (1990: 160). Tracey (1963: 53). Hilhorst (2009: 105). Ibid. Duran (1995). Johnson, Hale and Belcher (1997: xviii). Kaschula (2002). Jama (1991: 43–54). Mkhize (2017). Manyawu (2014). Chitofiri, Mutasa and Gwekwerere (2017). Musiyiwa and Visser (2015: 249). Leakey (1954: 53–54; 75). Waita (2013).

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34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67.

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Ibid., 190. Kaschula (1999). Finnegan, ibid. Schachter (1958: 673). Ibid. Fargion (2015). Finnegan, ibid. Diop (1995b: 7–8). Furniss (1996: 197). Ibid., 201. Brown (1999: 195). Oosthuizen (1967: 162–163). Brown ibid., 215–216. Chinyodwa (2001: 132). Ibid., 132. Neethling (1991). Dauphin-Tinturier in Kaschula (2001). Neethling ibid., 84. Ibid., 86. Dienslage (2001: 46). Kaschula ibid. Barber (1991: 18). Mlama (1995: 24). D’Abdon (2015:7). Vail and White (1991: 56). Diop (1995a: 246). Waita ibid., 191. Ibid. Ibid., 196. Diop (1995b). Panzacchi (1994: 196). Gunner (1999: 58). Kaschula and Mostert (2011); Kaschula (2012). Canonici (1998: 57).

References Adeiyongo, A. 1991. Aspects of Tiv oral Poetry. Journal of Black Studies 22 (1): 123–134. Barber, K. 1991. Power and Subversion in Yoruba Praise Poetry. Paper presented at a conference on Power, Marginality and Oral Literature, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, January 17–19 in London. Brown, Duncan. 1998. Voicing the Text: South African Oral Poetry and Performance. Cape Town, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Brown, Duncan (ed.). 1999. Oral Literature and Performance in Southern Africa. Oxford, Cape Town and Athens: James Currey, David Philip and Ohio University Press. Canonici, N.N. 1998. Elements of Conflict and Protest in Zulu Literature. South African Journal of African Languages 18 (3): 57–64. Chinyodwa, Kennedy C. 2001. The Undying Presence: Orality in Contemporary Shona Religious Ritual. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. Russell H. Kaschula, 127–140. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Dauphin-Tinturier, Anne-Marie. 2001. AODS and Girls’ Initiation in Zambia. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. Russell H. Kaschula, 54–71. Cape Town: New Africa Books. D’Abdon, R. 2015. The Commercialization of Celebratory Poetry: A Critical Examination of Zolani Mkiva’s Post-Apartheid Praise Poetry (Izibongo). African Identities 1 (12): 22–35. Dienslage, Sabine. 2001. Traditional Education and Oral Literature: A Comparative Study of the Transmission of Moral Codes of Sexual Behaviour in Folktales. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. Russell H. Kaschula, 46–53. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Diop, Samba. 1995a. The Oral History and Literature of the Wolof People of Waalo, Northern Senegal. New York, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press. Diop, Samba. 1995b. The Role of the Senegalese Griot in Political Processes and Participation in the Modern State. Unpublished Paper delivered at the 2nd International Oral Literature in Africa Conference, University of Ghana, Legon. Duran, Lucy. 1995. Jelimusow: The Superwoman of Malian Music. In Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature, ed. Graham Furniss and Elizabeth Gunner, 197–210. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fargion, Janet. 2015. Song as Oral Tradition in West Africa. Courtesy of the Singing Storytellers Public Outreach program, Funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, ed. Marcia Ostashewski. Downloaded Jan 2018 from https://www.bl.uk/west-africa/art icles/song-as-oral-tradition-in-west-africa. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa, New Edition. [online]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Downloaded Jan 2018 from, http://books.openedition.org/opb/1154. Fowler, F.G., and H.W. Fowler. 1976. Oxford Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Furniss, Graham. 1996. Poetry, Prose and Popular Culture in Hausa. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Gelaye, Gettie. 2001. Social Change and Local Politics: The Peasants of Gojjam and their Reflections on Contemporary issues in Amharic Oral Poetry. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. Russell H. Kaschula, 206–220. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Gunner, Elizabeth. 1986. A Dying Tradition? African Oral Literature in a Contemporary Context. Social Dynamics 12 (2): 31–38. Gunner, Elizabeth. 1999. The Role of Orality in South Africa. In Oral Literature &Performance in Southern Africa, ed. Duncan Brown, 50–60. Oxford, Cape Town and Athens: James Currey, David Philip and Ohio University Press. Hilhorst, S. 2009. Remmy Ongala: Capitalist Transition and Popular Music in Tanzania 1979–2002. Journal of African Cultural Studies 21 (1): 105–126. Jama, Z.M. 1991. Fighting to be Heard: Somali Women’s Poetry. African Languages and Cultures 4 (1): 43–54. Johnson, John, Hale Thomas, and Stephen Belcher (eds.). Oral Epics from Africa: Vibrant Voices from a Vast Continent. Bloomington, IN and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. Jones, E.D., E. Palmer, and M. Jones. 1998. Oral and Written Poetry in African Literature Today. London and Trenton, NJ: James Curry and Africa World Press. Kaschula, R.H. 1999. Imbongi and Griot: Toward a Comparative Analysis of Oral Poetics in Southern and West Africa. Journal of African Cultural Studies 12 (1): 55–76. Kaschula, Russell (ed.). 2001. African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts. Cape Town: New Africa Books.

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Kaschula, Russell H. 2002. The Bones of the Ancestors are Shaking: Xhosa Oral poetry in Context. Cape Town: Juta Press. Kaschula, Russell H. 2012. Technauriture: Southern African Poetry in the Digital Age. In Conventions & Conversions: Generic Innovations in African Literatures, ed. Susanne Gehrmann and Flora Veit-Wild, 25–39. Trier: WVT Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Kaschula, Russell H, and A. Mostert. 2011. From Oral Literature to Technauriture: What’s in a Name? Occasional Paper 4, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Kudakwashe, C., D. Mutasa, and T. Gwekwerere. 2017. Fighting for Justice and Freedom Through Music: The Case of Thomas Mapfumo, Hosiah Chipanga and Leonard Zhakata, ca. 1988–2015. South African Journal of African Languages 37 (1): 59–74. Leakey S.B., Louis. 1954. Defeating the Mau Mau. London: Methuen & Co. Mafeje, A. 1967. The Role of the Bard in a Contemporary South African Community. Journal of African Languages 6 (3): 193–222. Makward, Edris. 1990. Two Griots in Contemporary Senegambia. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 23–41. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Manyawu, A.T. 2014. The Construction of Uhuru Party Group Identity in Zimbabwe: A Textual Analysis of revolutionary Songs in Shona. South African Journal of African Languages 34 (1): 49–63. McGiffin, E. 2017. Oral Poetry and Development Ideology in South Africa’s Eastern Cape. Third World Thematics 2 (2–3): 279–295. Mkhize, Thulani. 2017. Nontsizi Mgqwetho’s The Nation’s Bounty: A Prophetic Voice towards an African Literary Theory. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, Rhodes University, Grahamstown, South Africa. Mlama, P. 1995. Oral Art and Contemporary Cultural Nationalism. In Power, Marginality and African Oral Literature, ed. Graham Furniss and Elizabeth Gunner, 23–34. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mokitimi, M.I., and L. Phafoli. 2001. Orality in Worker Movements. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. H. Russell, 221–234. Kaschula. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Musiyiwa, M., and M. Visser. 2015. The Communicative Functions of Post-2000 Shona Popular Songs: A Typological Analysis. South African Journal of African Languages 35 (2): 249–259. Neethling, J.J. 1991. Eating Forbidden Fruit in a Xhosa Oral Narrative. South African Journal of African Languages 11 (1): 83–87. Niane, D.T. 1960. Soundjata, ou l’Epopee Mandingue . Paris: Presence Africaine. Okumu, Charles. 1991. The Place of Oral Poetry in Contemporary Ugandan Society. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. Russell H. Kaschula, 1–17. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Panzacchi, C. 1994. The Livelihoods of Traditional Griots in Modern Senegal. Africa 64 (2): 190– 210. Pongweni, Alec. 1982. Songs that Won the Liberation War. Harare: College Press. Sanger, Christopher. 1960. Central African Emergency. London: Heinemann. Schachter, R. 1958. French Guinea’s R.D.A. Folk Songs. West African Review 29: 673. Soko, Boston. 1990. Labour Migration in Vimbuza. In Oral Studies in Southern Africa, ed. H.C. Groenewald, 154–170. Human Sciences Research Council: Pretoria. Tracey, H. 1945. Poetic Justice. Nada 22: 15–26. Tracey, H. 1948. Chopi Musicians: Their Music, Poetry, and Instruments. London: Oxford University Press. Tracey, H. 1963. Behind the Lyrics. African Music 3 (2): 63–75. Waita, N. 2013. Representations of Kenyan History in Oral Literature: 1948–2002. International Journal of English and Literature 4 (5): 187–202.

Chapter 24

Oral Literature, Liberty and Political Change Enongene Mirabeau Sone

Introduction Since the middle of the twentieth century, when most African states gained independence from colonial rule, the practice of democracy has been an issue. Africa is a plural society with different political systems, making the practice of democracy, in its liberal definition, a challenging one. While elements of democracy existed among the various polities in the pre-colonial period, the introduction of the Western political system, through colonialism, brought about significant political changes with which Africans had to grapple. Changing from the old political order of monarchy to the parliamentary system, African leaders and peoples have faced the challenges of implementing the Western form of democracy. While colonialism helped to introduce a new political framework in Africa, it was not necessarily in the context of democracy. As the euphoria of independence died down, and the reality of governance dawned on the emerging political leaders, it became important to fashion politics on the Western model, align with the democratic states of the world, and adopt democratic principles. It did not take long for many independent African states to be engulfed in ethnic conflicts, economic problems and political instability; all spurred on by bad governance and corruption. These and other issues delayed or completely halted attempts to integrate democratic practices into African political culture. These issues are being captured by and manifested in the oral literature of the African oral artists, who have been, and are still being profoundly influenced by their immediate environments. Recourse to oral literature as a medium for self-expression and tool of resistance has made gigantic strides in its evolution in Africa over the years. Oral literature in traditional Africa, therefore, served and continues to serve as an instrument for the examination of individual experience in relation to society’s normative order. Thus, oral literature was used and is still being used in several parts E. M. Sone (B) Walter Sisulu University, Mthatha, South Africa © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_24

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of rural Africa, to comment on how the individual adheres to or deviates from the community’s behavioral norms. Seen in this light, oral literature, although a creation of the imagination, ultimately derives its material from the realities of the society while simultaneously shaping people’s views and constituting and constructing society. As a result, it can be said to be a good mirror of the society. It is also used by the community to teach, entertain and explore life’s ambiguities. The substance of human experience out of which oral literature is created is that which has made sufficient impact on the community to excite people’s imagination to literary creativity. As Adebisi Afolayan remarked: The individual expresses through language his joys and sorrows, his expectations and disappointments, his plans and achievements, his judgements and his reflections on things physical or philosophical, temporal or eternal. His expressions are ordinary or heightened; simple or difficult, pithy and aphoristic or diffused and discursive; poetic or dramatic or exaggerated, and easily forgotten or memorable. Whenever man has something significant to say about any of his preoccupations and he says it effectively, literature is in the making. Ideas and concepts together with the sayings that accompany them become the corporate property of the community. Such ideas may be social, cultural, political, religious, moral artistic or scientific. They in turn constitute the contents of oral traditions, stories and folklore, the components of oral literature.1

Therefore, oral literature is a work of art, a mirror to life and an intellectual exercise. One of the skills and experiences that oral literature imbibes in us is civic responsibility and leadership training, which is lost in the modern or postcolonial African environment. Quite often, in African oral literature, characters are classified into three categories: heroes, antiheroes and villains. Leadership is usually entrusted in the hands of a heroic character. That is, one who finds personal satisfaction in the service of his community or one who has performed invaluable services to the community. Of course, traditional Africa had its kingdoms, monarchies and dynasties with their autocrats, dictators and despots, but these were exceptions rather than the rule. Generally, the leader, where there was one, was somebody who had submerged his private interests in the pursuit of national ideals which were also in harmony with universal morality. This chapter examines a few protest songs and folktales selected at random from various regions of Cameroon which reflect the traditional African concepts of leadership, change, freedom and democracy.2 In addition, the chapter demonstrates how African oral literature can open a window of understanding into the current political process in Africa with the view of drawing implications for positive change. The choice of popular songs and folktales is based on the fact that these genres are the most popular and widely used forms of oral literature in Africa. Although the term “Africa” has been used in the title of this chapter, I do not claim to have researched all African societies. Rather, I have tried to see the entire continent as a community because the elements identified in Cameroon folktales and protest songs I have used for illustration can be found in songs and folktales all over Africa. In other words, what is true of the protest songs and folktales of Cameroonians is also true, to a large extent, of the songs and folktales of other communities in Africa. The point I intend to make is that the concepts of good leadership, freedom and democracy

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are fundamental to the concerns of African oral literature. This explains why the oral artists (storytellers and protest musicians), though disenchanted, disillusioned and seething with anger at what Cameroonians in particular and Africans, in general, are making of their political inheritance; they do not despair. They believe that their country and continent have great potential for the future. That is why they are using the songs and stories to castigate the institutions in their country and continent in the hope of bringing about desirable political changes. Their songs and stories cover the past and the present and predict the future of their country and continent because they hold the view that the past informs the present and determines the future. In other words, the problems of leadership, violence, democracy, governance and conflict in contemporary Africa cannot be solved without recourse to our oral literature. This explains why orality is the tool that oral artists wield skillfully in “an unrelenting war against governmental disfunction, human rights violations, endemic corruption, bad governance, abuse of power, influence peddling, impunity, misappropriation of public funds and other forms of dereliction of duty that plaque postcolonial Africa.”3

Theoretical Underpinning This chapter is written against the background of the social contract theory (SCT), particularly from the perspective of John Locke. Although with different variations, the main proponents of this theory include Peter McCormick, Thomas Hobbes, Frederick Rauscher, John Locke, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant and John Rawls. The above-mentioned scholars agree that “social contract is the basis of governments throughout history where individuals have consented to give up their liberties and be governed. That is why there exist various forms of governments across the world.”4 According to Locke’s SCT, “democracy is an appropriate form of government for individuals to consent. For that matter, citizens pay their taxes, surrender their use of force, and relinquish all their rights.”5 And in turn, as per Locke’s SCT, “the government has the responsibility to perform its duties as part of the contract. That includes providing the people with quality leadership.”6 The SCT also serves as the basis for ensuring good governance: “The concept of good governance addresses the quality of governance, in that the primary objective of good governance is to ensure state-society relations and improve the lives of people in the state.”7 Good governance is associated with principles such as participation and inclusiveness, transparency, responsiveness, accountability, periodic free and fair elections, adherence to the rule of law and respect for human rights. With regard to the SCT, since the people in a state decide to surrender their individual liberties and rights to use force at their discretion in exchange for a collective government (whose decision making affects the people’s lives), the government in turn should guarantee the people’s effective participation in state affairs, social justice, government credibility in state policies and a better standard of living. This is why democracy has evolved to entail good governance and protection of fundamental human rights.8

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The importance of this theory to this study is that many African countries, including Cameroon, have adopted a democratic form of governance where the citizens pay their taxes, relinquish their rights for sovereign control of natural resources in their lands and abide by national statutes formed by the state. Therefore, the concern for many Cameroonians is that government is not fulfilling its responsibilities of providing good governance and accountable leadership. The theory is further relevant as it gives justifications for political obligation, in that it provides philosophical grounds for evaluating political actions and decisions between the people and their government.

The Concept of Change The changes which have taken place in the African political landscape over the last decade and a half have been multidimensional. They have occurred as much at the level of formal politics as in the arena of the informal processes that underpin the political system. They have also been generated by factors internal to the political system and those external to it, necessitating close attention to the contexts within which the changes are occurring. It should be noted that, in Africa, the ruling elite, the marginalized people and the oral artists all agree that the state of affairs in many African countries is so deplorable that it calls for immediate radical change. The problem, however, is that change means different things to different groups of Africans. Generally speaking, change means the way one thing can become another. If the thing is transformed by a gradual process, it is called growth or evolution. If, on the other hand, the change is violent or disruptive, it is called a revolution. Change can also be from within or from without. Some people welcome change. Others are suspicious of change. Yet others prefer to maintain the status quo. As Robert Greene points out, Human psychology contains many dualities one of them being that even while people understand the need for change, knowing how important it is for institutions and individuals to be occasionally renewed, they are also irritated and upset by changes that affect them personally. They know that change is necessary, and that novelty provides relief from boredom, but deep inside, they cling to the past. Change in the abstract, or superficial change, they desire, but a change that upset core habits and routines is deeply disturbing to them.9

Those who find themselves in positions of power see those positions as their birthright. Consequently, they see change as something that can help them remain in power permanently. Those who find themselves in the opposition parties, and who are seeking to take over power see change as a means of substituting the “ruling bellies” rather than as a means of seeking the well-being of everyone. To the bypassed people, change means recognition of their human worth and value. Thus, it is intended to generate greater freedom and to improve their welfare. Seen in this light, change is expected to expand and to empower.

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With the need for change established, the next question is: What kind of change can the masses accommodate? Nyamnjoh and Fokwang attempt an answer by taking an example from Cameroon: Cameroonians are, as a result, a very patient people. And whoever calls for a change of system before everyone or every group has had their own turn or ‘faire’ share at the high table (la mangeoire) is unlikely to command much support. Especially as thanks to the system, Cameroonians judge one another not so much by the merits of what they say or do, but rather by the stereotypes and prejudices for which their ethnic group or region are known. Anyone who speaks up in favour of democratic change quickly gets labelled as a self-seeking ‘utopist’ or ‘marchand d’illusions’ and accused accordingly of trying to use ‘innocent Cameroonians’ as a stepping stone for selfish and ethnic ambitions.10

In Nyamnjoh and Fokwang’s opinion, Cameroonians are allergic to too much innovation. As a result, whatever change is envisaged must be slow and administered in small doses. Here then lies the reason for the failure of the revolutionary approach adopted by the Cameroonian opposition parties to the democratization process. It is common knowledge that whenever irregularities are alleged in the country, the opposition parties are quick to incite the innocent masses to take to the streets in protest. In most cases, these protests and demonstrations degenerate with heavy loss of lives. Ironically, these political upheavals always have the incumbent leader firmly in control. That explains why both the storytellers and protest musicians avoid the bellicose approach to change and instead espouse peaceful protest and the gradualist approach. The sinister and intimidating moves by the ruling elites to retain their hold on power in Cameroon have made nonsense of the whole concept of change. This is the gist of the following satirical song by Longue Longue collected and translated by Kashim Tala11 : Vous nous avez promis le changement On attend donc ce changement Vous allez meme changer quoi? L’argent des impot que vous ne faites que detourner Avec la vie que vous ne faites que nous compliquer Changement, on attend le changement J. Remy Ngonoveut le changement Aujoud’hui meme a Nkoulouloun les sauveteurs ne font que pleurer Que c’est dur I say if you go for Bamenda oh, bayam sellam dem di cry cry eh Dem say I di strong eh Ou est donc le changement? On attend, on attend, on attend le changement Vous allez meme changer quoi? La constitution ou les eternal ministers? Vous nous avez promis le changement On attend donc ce changement oh!

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Vous allez meme changer quoi? Avec les impot que vous ne faites que augmenter Avec la vie que vous ne faites compliquer Changement, on attend le changement Il faut changer oh! Longue Longue, le sacrifie du people. You promised us change we are therefore waiting for it. What are you even going to change? You only embezzle our tax money While complicating our lives. Change, we are waiting for the change J. Remy Ngono wants change If you go to Nkoulouloun today, hawkers are only crying for hardship… I repeat if you go to Bamenda oh, petty traders are only crying That things are difficult. Where then is the change? We are waiting, we are waiting, we are waiting for the change What are you going to change? The constitution or your ‘sit tight’ ministers? You promised us change, We are waiting for the change What are you even going to change? With the taxes that you keep increasing, With life which you keep complicating Change, we are waiting for the change! Longue Longue, the sacrificed of the people.12 The word “change” has been used in this passage ten times to draw attention to the fact that that is what the people really need but that is not what the politicians are giving them. Thus, sustainable change, if it is to come at all, must come from the people themselves. But change in Cameroon will come to nothing unless governance is improved and governance cannot be improved unless the oppressed people themselves undertake to improve it. This is where the crucial role of the protest songs becomes apparent. There is no doubt that if the songs are properly appreciated and understood, they can help to raise the level of consciousness of the marginalized masses and, in so doing, catalyze positive change in the country.

Democracy and Leadership Democracy. as it is commonly known, is founded on the principles of liberty, freedom and equality. Usifor rightly highlights one of its attractions when he argues that “democracy may not be a perfect form of government but that is the only system that

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approximates to the idea of justice.”13 In their attempts to bring genuine democracy to all, African leaders may learn some basic but particular lessons from their past through the medium of their oral literature. It is true that traditional African societies were often small, close-knit and homogeneous. Consequently, it was easy to practice democracy and good governance on a small scale. This is in direct contrast with the situation today where most modern African countries are a veritable mosaic of peoples and cultures and where the people have been so exposed to ethnocentrism that they have come to place ethnic interests over national interests. Yet we still believe that modern African leaders can learn at least the rudiments of good governance and democracy from their oral literature. Before examining the folktales, it may be necessary to comment briefly on the present state of leadership and democracy in Africa. Undoubtedly, democracy is a vague and confusing concept misused and abused in relation to Africa. What is often considered in the West as the democratization of Africa may well be a “redemocratization” process in which Africans should evoke and draw from their oral literature replete with democratic and leadership ideals. A well-known African maxim states, “Three heads are better than one.” Implicit in this maxim are the notions of democratic values and tradition predicated on people’s participation. At all levels, the common denominators for democracy were consultation, participation and consensus as evidenced in Chinua Achebe’s novel Things Fall Apart. In the Igbo village of Umuofia depicted in this novel, Achebe shows the consultative and consensual nature of village politics and decision-making process. A neighboring village, Mbaino, murdered a daughter of Umuofia, and a village assembly urgently convened to decide on an appropriate line of action. After some deliberation, they decided to give Mbaino an ultimatum, “to choose between war on one hand, and on the other the offer of a young man and virgin as compensation.”14 In another scenario in Things Fall Apart, the Umuofia assembly decided to collect the sum of fifty bags of cowries to appease “the white man” who arrested six of their elders as part of European imperialist agenda to complete the colonial enclosure.15 From the above perspective, it is clear that the African system of democracy that evolved independently and indigenously is an indication that “democratic principles, whether alien or modern are not alien to Africans; they are rooted in the people’s indigenous tradition and values.”16 Therefore, democracy is recognized and institutionalized as a norm by most countries as a form of government which can best protect the social contract between the governing and the governed. This is because democracy places man at the center of the exercise of power. It is also concerned with peace. It ensures the integrity of state institutions. It guarantees fundamental freedoms and good governance and is more responsive to the popular concerns of the people. It also has a symbiotic relationship with economic development. But, democracy in itself is a vague concept. It has several models and its implementation in a country is fraught with problems. Thus, there is no universal form of democracy that can be applicable everywhere in the same manner. For example, the Cameroonian Head of State, Paul Biya, shares this view.17 That is why he designed what has come to be known as advanced democracy. That is, democracy tailored to the Cameroonian reality but based on recognized democratic paradigms. He also contends that the implementation

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of democracy requires a reasonable time frame because of the peculiar circumstances of the country. Biya is right to say that we do not need to reinvent democracy because there is a common bedrock on which a country can build a standard democracy. But the population must be sufficiently educated on the subject. Cameroonian oral artists also acknowledge the need for genuine democracy in Cameroon. But, they contend that what is being practiced in Cameroon today is nothing short of perverted democracy which does not guarantee power alternation and which has failed to respond to the needs of the people. In fact, the committed oral artists see “counterfeit democracy” implanted in Cameroon as the principal source of political upheavals in the country as can be seen in the following extracted lines by Lapiro De Mbanga’s song titled “Na who Go Pay?”18 : Sans le respect de l’opinion d’autrui, Le dialogue, la tolerance, le pardon, la democratie a-t-elle sa raison d’etre? Pourtant nous avon besoin de la democratie: vrai! Celle qui nous permettra de cambler le fosse des inegalites sociale! Non celle qui, mal geree, fail plus ravages qu’une epidemie de dysentrie Aigue! Oui a la democratie? Non au sacrifices des vies humaines Without respect for the opinion of others, Dialogue, tolerance, forgiveness, has democracy any raison d’etre? Whereas we actually need democracy: the real one! That which will enable us to fill the gaps of social inequalities. Not that which has been wrongly managed and can cause more harm Than an epidemic of acute dysentery. Yes to democracy! No to sacrifice of human life! Lapiro is saying that the perverted democracy inherited from the West was again doctored by the Cameroonian political leadership to suit their selfish interests. Consequently, it cannot possibly meet the aspirations of the people, hence the need for true democracy. But the question remains, what kind of democracy can thrive in the face of such pervasive corruption? Although many African leaders preach multi-party democracies in their various countries, scholars have now identified a worrying trend of one-party dominance on the continent.19 Most of these leaders set up one-party dominant systems and structures that do not follow the normal or expected pattern of party competition in a democracy. There is, therefore, a consensus of opinion among many thoughtful persons that “the single-party structures, practically, still exist in Africa”20 and the dictatorial and autocratic regimes in several African countries have ceased to promote the cause of human liberty and have degenerated into monoethnic power monopolies which are tyrannizing the masses. Hence, the majority of Africans are experiencing profound dissatisfactions engendered by what they perceive as the growing gap between expectation and reality. These dissatisfactions, in turn, lead to demands

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for greater adaptation, innovation and, therefore, change. As the former US Assistant Secretary of State Herman Cohen once remarked, Like people everywhere, Africans want and need freedom. And they want what the oneparty model has so singularly failed to provide … government based on the equality of all groups rather than dominance by or favouritism toward one; leaders interested in national development rather than the limited perspectives of patronage politics, economic policies that promote rather than preclude individual enterprise.21

The general tendency in Africa today is for political changes which, hopefully, would replace the existing one-party structures with truly pluralistic structures. This preference for a truly multi-party democracy has, to a large extent, assumed that pluralistic political structures by their very nature favor “ethnic balance, coalition and compromise.”22 The implication here is that democracy is a system of great adaptability. Seen from this standpoint, it becomes not only necessary but also imperative to welcome and encourage the wave of democratic reform that has swept through the African continent. Human nature being what it is, however, opinions are bound to differ as to the nature, scope and pace of political change. For instance, some people are allergic to change because they want to maintain the status quo. Others prefer the legitimate types of change, which are usually narrower in scope and affect lesser processes and outcomes. Others call for a revolution. Let us now consider these three broad attitudes of Africans toward political change as reflected in the three tales we have selected for study. Tale number one, titled “Tortoise the Wise One,” is taken from the Northwest Region of Cameroon.23 Tortoise, the rogue and double-dealer wisely accepts the authority of the lion. According to the story, one day, Lion, Goat and Tortoise go on a hunting expedition at the end of which they kill a deer. The meat is brought to the home of the lion for sharing. Lion calls on the goat to share the meat. Goat, on his part, decides to share the meat into three equal parts. Lion is angry that Goat has treated him as an ordinary citizen rather than a king and therefore strikes goat with such force that he dies. Lion then turns to Tortoise and asks him to proceed with the sharing of the meat. Tortoise divides the meat into two parts—one very large and the other very small. He gives the large part to the lion and keeps the small one for himself. Lion is happy with the “wisdom” of Tortoise and asks him where he learned how to share meat so well. Tortoise points at the dead goat and replies, “by looking at my dead companion.” Thus, Lion, in the above tale, represents the benevolent despot who will do everything to ensure that his personal interest is served first and his authority is enforced very strongly. However, Jomo Kenyatta asserts that “the submission to a despotic rule of any particular man or group … is the greatest humiliation of mankind.”24 Although Kenyatta’s assertion appears to coincide with his nationalist spirit and the slogan of his time, many Africans now loathe the notion of one-man dictatorship. It is therefore obvious that the lion will want to see the status quo maintained and entrenched so that he can continue to exploit and oppress the masses unchallenged. While the lion’s aversion to change is motivated by greed, the tortoise’s conservatism

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is caused by fear. Tortoise here represents the majority of Africans who are disgusted with their self-seeking leaders but at the same time will do nothing concrete to remove them from power for fear of the attendant consequences. It is common for this group of socio-passive Africans to point at social stability by focusing upon peace, order, continuity and regularity as the basis for their being conformist. They also argue that since the outcome of political innovation cannot be predicted with absolute certainty, it follows logically that the known ways should be preferred to the unknown. Put differently, “Whatever is, good, however imperfect it may be.”25 Nevertheless, such resistance to political change based on the refusal to share contradicts the fundamental principle of collective responsibility in traditional African society. Tale number two titled “How Vulture Became a Scavenger,” from Garoua in the Northern Region of Cameroon, is essentially about the use of force to overthrow tyranny thus26 : Once upon a time, all birds of the sky assembled to discuss how to depose Vulture, their despotic leader. Parrot, their spokesman, stepped forward to address them. He began by thanking them for answering his call. He then went into the heart of the matter. He said: “It is now seven years since we gathered here and unanimously elected Vulture as our chief. At that time, we all thought that Vulture could protect us and take care of our interests better than Hawk. That was why we voted for him. But, since then, Vulture has proved to us that the reverse is true. He does not dialogue with us anymore. Rather he prefers to maintain an imperial distance from us. He taxes us arbitrarily and seizes our properties with impunity. Whenever any of us raises his voice in protest, he is visited that very night by the owls, his dreaded secret police. I say enough is enough. Vulture must go.” Sparrow took the floor and said, “Parrot has spoken very well. We all agree that Vulture must go. The question is, how?” Crow cuts in and said, “Where there is a will, there is a way. Vulture may be powerful; he may have Bat as his spy and the owls as his secret police. But they cannot fight all of us if we stand as a group. Therefore, let us all march to the palace and drive Vulture away.” So, all the birds marched to the palace and with no Bat to warn him of the approaching danger, Vulture was taken completely by surprise and had to run away to the desert where he now lives on carrion away from the other birds. Although this is an etiological tale meant to explain why Vulture is a scavenger, it can be used to illustrate the use of violence to overthrow tyranny. It is to be noted here that the birds did not use violence for its own sake. Rather they resorted to it when all other peaceful means had proved ineffective. In their reaction, the birds represent the group of political activists who reject the status quo because it has thwarted their expectations. The popularity of violence as a means of expressing and achieving political preferences cannot be overemphasized in struggles for liberty throughout the world. In fact, most of the great political changes the world has known have taken place under violent conditions. However, while acknowledging that violence has paid off where other means have failed, we are constrained to reject it because it involves coercive,

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costly and disruptive actions whose results are uncertain. Therefore, it is to be recommended that Africans should seek to achieve their political objectives by peaceful means and treat violence as a dangerous weapon to be used only as a last resort. Between the two extremes of the political spectrum discussed above is an intermediary group of Africans who encourage political change provided it is brought about peacefully. This is reflected in tale number three titled “The Tortoise Rides the Elephant” and collected from the Bakossi of the Kupe Muanenguba Division in the Southwest Region of Cameroon.27 One day, Elephant boasted of being the biggest animal and, therefore, the king of the forest. Tortoise, on his part, countered by saying that kingship depended not on size but on wisdom and since he was reputed to be the wisest animal, it followed naturally that he should be the king of all animals. Elephant could not understand why his authority should be challenged by such a nonentity as Tortoise so he put the case before the other animals. A date was fixed for the hearing and Elephant waited anxiously for the day so that the question of his authority would be resolved once and for all. On the day of the hearing, all the animals assembled at the market place. Elephant was parading majestically, waiting for the decision to be taken. But the hearing could not begin because Tortoise was absent. Inquiries were made about his whereabouts but no animal seemed to know anything. At last, Lizard ventured to say that on his way to the market place that morning, he passed through Tortoise’s house and found him to be in bed, writhing with pain. When he was asked what was happening, Tortoise told him that he had fallen down a palm tree that morning and had broken a leg. As a result, he was unable to attend the hearing. When Elephant heard that, he was sorry and offered to go personally to fetch Tortoise. When Tortoise saw Elephant coming toward his hut, he knew immediately that his trick had worked, that Elephant had fallen into his trap. Elephant told Tortoise that he had heard of the accident and offered to come and carry him to the market place. Tortoise thanked him and advised him to be gentle as he was in great pain. Elephant agreed. He carried Tortoise and moved gently. But, as soon as they got near the market place, Tortoise started behaving like royalty and made as if he was giving orders to Elephant. When Elephant reached the market place, he knelt down and Tortoise descended majestically. He was hailed by all as king. Elephant realized what had happened and became furious, but it was too late. Tortoise and the other animals had sought cover from the fury of the elephant. That is how Tortoise became king of the animal kingdom. By allowing a small and seemingly insignificant animal like the tortoise to climb on its back, the elephant had unwittingly subjugated itself to the tortoise. It is to be noted here that the tortoise used his intelligence and not brute force to carry out the most successful bloodless coup d’état reflected in African oral literature. The emphasis here is on the universality of intelligence, which is the basis of equality among men and the justification for democracy as a political system.

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Conclusion In this chapter, I have primarily attempted to address the complex concepts of good leadership, freedom and democracy, particularly as they affect good governance in Cameroon in particular and Africa as a whole and as they are reflected in some genres of oral literature with particular emphasis on protest songs and folktales. We can see from the above analysis that the possibilities for political action in Africa stretch from obedience through conventional protest to revolution. These three attitudes to political change are, however, likely to be more complementary than conflicting, perhaps because political change is basically multifaceted. Nevertheless, the fact remains that in several African countries, the people would like to see more radical changes simply because the autocratic regimes are making their lives miserable and unrewarding. Unfortunately, the very people who suffer most from oppression and exploitation are also the very ones with the least opportunities and resources to carry out meaningful political change or create political convulsions. Therefore, in their attempts to reinstate the institutions and values on which democracy is founded and rekindle the lights of individual freedom, African political activists must, of necessity, take full advantage of the wind of democratic reforms currently sweeping through the continent as seen in Egypt, Tunisia, Burkina Faso and more recently Zimbabwe. But they can also learn about democracy and good governance from their oral literature. This chapter, therefore, is a plea for a recentering of Cameroonian/African realities. Thus, if the issues of governance, leadership, democracy, freedom and political change are to be addressed more successfully than heretofore, and if the politically fraught conditions of Cameroon and other African countries are to be ameliorated, we must be prepared to undergo a radical change of mentality. We must be ready to rehabilitate our oral literature and press it into service to raise the level of consciousness in the society in order to provoke positive change. Finally, we must be able to recognize our storytellers and musicians especially in their role as social critics. Notes 1. 2.

Afolayan (1984: 10). The nation which we call Cameroon today had its origin in the territorial demarcation drawn by the German, French and British colonial powers following undefined geostrategic considerations. In order to justify their imperial expansion, the colonial authorities deliberately denigrated indigenous Cameroonian cultures. Furthermore, the colonial authorities super-imposed their economic, political and educational institution on Cameroon as part of the colonial process. But these institutions never took root in the country because they were shallow, weak and undeveloped. The main reason was that the colonial administration did not have the good will and, therefore, did very little to help Cameroon to strengthen its institutions, especially those that promote democracy and accountability. That was ironical because it was the very administration which emphasized democracy and accountability as the way forward for Cameroon.

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17.

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Vakunta (2014: 41). McCormick (1976: 130). Locke (2003: 127). Ibid., 129. McCormick ibid., 134. Oluwole (2003: 419). Greene (2000: 396). Nyamnjoh and Fokwang (2005: 118). According to Tangem (2016: 163), Longue, nicknamed Le Liberateur (The Liberator), is one of the Cameroonian pop stars whose products appeal to the masses owing to the thematic engagements with a demonstrable ideological Marxist slant. Born Simon Longkana Agno, Longue hails from Yabassi in the Nkam Division of the Republic of Cameroon. Following the death of his mother shortly after he was born, Longue Longue grew up with an aunt who did not particularly carter to his educational desires. As fate would have it, the young man discovered that he had great musical talents and thus groomed himself in cabarets where he performed regularly until he was discovered by Prince Ndedi Eyango, another popular Cameroonian musician. Fascinated by the talents of the rising star, Eyango assisted Longue Longue in the production of his first album titled “Ayo Africa” in 2002 which won him Disque D’or, (a prize for best musical release for that year). His music “Ayo Africa” is a lamentation and a cry of despair—misery for a continent that is ravaged by war, disease and hunger. What makes Longue Longue stand out as a historical realist is his reference to people, events and places every Cameroonian could readily understand. Tala (2013: 168). Usifor (1999: 128). Achebe (1958: 10) recorded that “there must have been about ten thousand” Umuofia men who gathered to decide on the appropriate line of action against Mbaino. Achebe (1958: 192–197). Appolos (2005: 8). Paul Biya (born Paul Barthélemy Biya’a bi Mvondo, February 13, 1933) is a Cameroonian politician who has been the President of Cameroon since November 6, 1982. A native of Cameroon’s south, Biya rose rapidly as a bureaucrat under President Ahmadou Ahidjo in the 1960s, serving as Secretary-General of the Presidency from 1968 to 1975 and then as Prime Minister of Cameroon from 1975 to 1982. He succeeded Ahidjo as President upon the latter’s surprise resignation in 1982 and consolidated power in a 1983–1984 failed coup. Biya introduced political reforms within the context of a one-party system in the 1980s. Under serious pressure, he accepted the

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19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

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introduction of multi-party politics in the early 1990s. He supposedly won the 1992 presidential election with 40% of the plural, single-ballot vote and was re-elected by large margins in 1997, 2004, 2011 and 2018. Opposition politicians and Western governments have alleged voting irregularities and fraud on each of these occasions. Many independent sources have proved that he did not win the elections in 1992, and the subsequent elections were a rampant fraud. Biya is currently the longest-ruling leader (Prime Minister and President) in Africa and the oldest ruler in sub-Saharan Africa after Robert Mugabe stepped down during the 2017 Zimbabwean coup d’état. Lapiro de Mbanga was born Lambo Sandjo Pierre Roger on April 7, 1957 in Mbanga, Cameroon. According to Sone (2009: 19) “the acronym Lapiro is an abbreviation of his names: La (Lambo) Pi (Pierre) and Ro (Roger) which he caps off with Mbanga (a town in the Littoral Region of Cameroon) in order to identify with his place of birth.” Sone goes further to say that Lapiro de Mbanga “is not only a highly acerbic critic and articulate commentator but also one of the most eloquent, the most prolific and, therefore the most representative of popular musicians in contemporary Cameroon” (2009: 19). For close to three decades in Cameroon, he has dominated the musical arena and distinguished himself as a resistance singer who remains unfazed by threats of arrest and incarceration. For daring to compose an acerbic song titled “Constitution Constipée” (Constipated constitution) in which he lampooned the Cameroonian Head of State Paul Biya for tinkering with the national constitution, the singer was arrested on September 9, 2009 and incarcerated at the New Bell Prison in Douala for three years. Released from prison on April 8, 2012, he was later given political asylum by the US authorities. On September 2, 2012, Lapiro relocated with some members of his family to Buffalo in New York where he died on March 16, 2014 after an illness (Vakunta 2014). Bogaards (2004); Van de Walle and Butler (1999); Doorenspleet and Nijzink (2013). Muyiwa (1999: 20). The American Cultural Center (1995: 15). Ibid., 17. Collected by Kashim Tala. See Tala (1984: 64). Kenyatta (1959: 62). Sone and Djockoua (2007: 98). See Audu Bature et al. (1989). Sone (2004).

References Achebe, Chinua. 1958. Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann. Afolayan, Adebisi. 1984. Yoruba Language and Literature. Ibadan: Open University Press.

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American Cultural Center. 1995. Afrique-Etats Unis. A Publication of the American Cultural Center in Yaounde, Cameroon. August 10. Appolos, O.N. 2005. Concepts of Democracy and Democratization in Africa Revisited. A Paper Presented at the Fourth Annual Kent State University Symposium on Democracy. www.upress. kent.edu/Nieman/Concepts_of_Democracy.htm. Bature, Audu, et al. 1989. A Collection of Unpublished Hausa Tales. Garoua: Sopecam. Bogaards, Matthijs. 2004. Counting Parties and Identifying (Dominant) Party Systems in Africa. European Journal of Political Science Research 43 (2): 173–197. Doorenspleet, Renske, and Lia Nijzink (eds.). 2013. One Party Dominance in African Democracies. New York, NY: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Greene, Robert. 2000. The 48 Laws of Power. London: Penguin Books. Kenyatta, Jomo. 1959. Facing Mount Kenya: The Tribal Life of Gikuyu. London: Hollen Street Press. Locke, John. 2003. Two Treatises of Government and A Letter Concerning Toleration. New York, NY: Yale University Press. McCormick, Peter. 1976. Social Contract: Interpretation and Misinterpretation. Canadian Journal of Political Science 9 (1): 63–76. Muyiwa, Falaiye (ed.) 1999. Africa‘s Political Instability: Ideas, Values and Questions . Lagos: Panaf Publishing Inc. Nyamnjoh, Francis, and Jude Fokwang. 2005. Entertaining Repression: Music and Politics in Postcolonial Cameroon. African Affairs (98): 101–118. Oluwole, Sophie B. 2003. Democracy and Indigenous Governance: The Nigerian Experience. In Philosophy, Democracy and Responsible Governance in Africa, ed. Obi J. Oguejiofor, 419–444. New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publisher. Sone, Enongene M. 2004. What Our Forefathers Told Us: A Collection of Bakossi Myths and Tales. Unpublished, Dschang. Sone, Enongene M. 2009. Lapiro de Mbanga and Political Vision and Contemporary Cameroon. International Journal of Language Society and Culture (27): 18–26. Sone, Enongene M., and Manyaka T. Djockoua. 2007. Orature and Oratorical Teaching Strategies in African Literature: The Examples of Laye Camera and Chin Ce. Journal of African Literature and Culture (4): 83–100. Tala, Kashim I. 1984. The Oral Tale in Africa. Yaoundé: Bet & Co. Tala, Kashim I. 2013. Power and Marginality in Contemporary Cameroonian Orature. Kansas City: Miraclaire Academic Publishers. Tangem, Fai D. 2016. Oral History, Collective Memory and Socio-Political Criticism: A Study of Popular Culture in Cameroon. Tydskrif vir Letterkunde 53 (1): 160–178. Usifor, E. 1999. Representative Democracy: Why not Benevolent Dictatorship. In Africa‘s Political Instability: Ideas, Values and Questions, ed. Muyiwa Falaiye. Lagos: Panaf Publishing Inc. Van de Walle, N., and K.S. Butler. 1999. Political Parties and Party Systems in Africa’s Illiberal Democracies. Cambridge Review of International Affairs 13 (13): 14–28. Vakunta, Wuteh P. 2014. The Life and Times of a Cameroonian Icon: Tribute to Lapiro de Mbanga Ngata Man. Bamenda: Langaa Publishing.

Chapter 25

Multiculturalism, Orality, and Folklore in South Africa Anastacia Sara Motsei and Pule Alexis Phindane

Introduction Multiculturalism struggle facing South Africans in their developing country, especially where sometimes we hurt others and ourselves unwittingly because of our assumptions about acceptable behavior. Multiculturalism is the phenomenon of multiple groups of cultures existing within one society, largely due to the arrival of immigrants’ communities, or the acceptance and advocacy of this phenomenon.1 We often experience a confrontation between our values and the values of people from other cultures. In South Africa, most of the parents of today hardly spend time with their children by passing on oral literature and folklore from one generation to another; because of either their busy schedule at work or because of the social media preoccupied their children’s lives. South Africa is a country that has accepted that different cultures and traditions can enrich the society; however, multiculturalism occurs naturally when the society is willing to accept the culture of the immigrants.2 Orality in multicultural country is part of folklore in African culture and identity, thus permeates all aspects of South African social life. This chapter aims at using storytelling as a tool to facilitate and improve multiculturalism in a diverse society. Folktales are selected in Sesotho and isiXhosa. In which way can sharing of folktales help to create multiculturalism in South Africa, in Free State in particular? Quan-Bafour explains “folklore” as a theoretical act of instituting people. He further says its power lies in recalling the reasons we develop common sense, namely to learn how to identify with constitutions or our folk and with it, constitutions of those who are not our folk. Most of orality tends to be delivered as spoken prose.3 During celebrations, different occasions such as death, A. S. Motsei (B) University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] P. A. Phindane Central University of Technology, Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_25

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the birth of a child, heritage day, parliament opening, inaugurating of a particular person, South Africans perform totem through orality. Totem is a spirit of being, sacred object, or symbol that serves as an emblem of a group of people such as a family, clan, lineage, or tribe (www.pulsardestop.eu). According to McLenna in the nineteenth century addresses totemism a belief associated with animistic religions. The totem is usually an animal or other natural figure that spiritually represents a group of related people such as a clan. Animals, which African people took totemism through nature myths of animals and natural objects, perform most folktales in South African culture. When organizing a performance or event of local, state, or national significance, it is respectful to invite a representative of the traditional owners to attend and present a welcome to country’s address.4 This chapter addresses the storytelling in a multilingual and multicultural society. The story, in the form of the oral narrative, has always been a communalizing genre in the traditional African setting. It then functioned as a tool that brings together not only the artist and the particular audience but also the entire community within which the performances are derived and performed. According to Opondo, storytelling then helps the narrative community to concretize perceptions that would, otherwise, hinder the comprehensive awareness and appreciation of oneself and society.5 Why did South Africans not tell their folktales in a multicultural environment? The aim of storytelling in a diverse society is to bring the learners together in one language. This will facilitate cultural understanding of diverse society. In the province of the Free State in South Africa, people have different backgrounds and experiences in culture and they interpret life in different ways. Storytelling can bring learners together as argued by Peik Nyman, who defines storytelling as nation-building in emotional connections, understanding of the others, and growing intimacy.6 In this chapter, we have selected in Sesotho and isiXhosa tales to show that similar emotions and understanding of others can be discovered through folktales depicted.

Review-Related Literature Oral Literature In the olden days, people have been telling stories using performing an art form. The pre-historic man’s elementary drawings scratched on the walls of caves might have been made to illustrate stories and help the storyteller with the narration. Caves would have been children’s first illustrated storybooks. Ngapo defines orality as “traditional customs and beliefs of a people preserved by oral tradition.”7 According to Finnegan, “OraI tradition (including what we should now call oral literature) is passed down word for word from generation to generation and thus reproduced verbatim from memory throughout the centuries.” She further says oral literature is something that arises communally, from the people of the “folk” as a whole, so that there can be no “question of individual authorship or originality.”8 Bascom perceives folktales as

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prose narratives which are regarded as fiction.9 They are not considered as dogma or history, they may or may not have happened, and they are not to be taken seriously. According to Alkhammash, the study of folktale usually requires an in-depth analysis of the conditions surrounding them.10 Apart from being a means of entertainment and source of education, folktales are instrumental in strengthening communal bonds and ensuring the survival of community oral traditions; stories—and the actual process of storytelling—help define a community.11 According to Ngapo, folktales locate themselves in supposed pre-historic times when giants walked the earth; when animals, birds, and men were great friends.12 On this aspect regarding this issue, Canonici observed that human beings interacting with animals or monsters often remain flat and negative characters because they are unable to make use of their imaginative powers to resolve an unpleasant situation, or to outwit the tricksters, or to respond boldly to an unusual predicament.13 Dundes discusses the four main functions of a folktale as follows: • The first function is to serve the purpose of entertainment. • The second function is to serve the role of authenticating culture to the young generation. • Thirdly, it is to educate the community; while • the fourth function is to maintain the stability of a culture.14 The first function of the folktale, which is to amuse and entertain both people who narrate it and those who listen to it, is very crucial. Being told during a period of relaxation, when the hard chores of the day have been done. These are done to relieve the routine monotony of our everyday life. This view is shared by Curtis when he observed that both the audience and the narrator create “their own world of fantasy, which in many ways pictures their experiences and hopes …”15 This is the case, for example, with folktales in Basotho context. These are narrated only in the evening and it is a belief well-known among Basotho that whoever narrates a folktale during daytime (without inserting a small stem of grass in his/her hair) will grow horns on his/her head. It was just a simple way of telling people that during the day we are working and there is no time for narrating and listening to folktales. Jordan also observed that audience, as well as teller, is involved.16 The assembly of listeners is not passive observers but is drawn into the tale and becomes totally involved in its both creation and consumption. The audience’s response depends largely on the narrator. A lively narrator will have a lively audience, while a less interesting narrator will have an irresponsive and dull audience. Concerning actions expressed by animals as characters, Finnegan observes that what is often involved in the animal stories is a comment, even a satire, on human society and behavior.17 In a sense, when the narrators speak of the actions and characters of animals they are also representing human faults and virtues, somewhat removed and detached from reality through being presented in the guise of animals, but nevertheless with an indirect relation to observing human action. Tone plays a very important aspect during performances of oral literature. By authenticating culture, which is the second function, Dundes says this is fulfilled by “justifying its rituals and institutions” to those who perform and observe

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them.18 The third function is important in the sense that most folktales are intended to young the generation for transfer of knowledge, to instill manners to them, customs, beliefs, practices, etc.19 For instance, Dundes states that ogre tales serve the purpose of disciplining young children.20 According to Miruka, the overt prohibition of socially disruptive behavior in public may account for the depiction of ogres and animals as embodying anti-social fantasies.21 According to Creany, animal tales assume a variety of “literary forms, including fables, pourquoi, tales, beast tales and transformational tales, such as animal bridal stories.”22 Guma mentions that animal stories show a remarkable knowledge and familiarity with the habits of the various animals that appear in them.23 At the same time, however, they seem to be a further commentary on the diverse forms of complicated human nature. Fables and folktales are used to teach general attitudes and principles and to ridicule immoralities and misbehavior.24 Lukens avers that the objectives of the fable are to teach a lesson and by their nature, they are didactics.25 In this case, the characters personified animals who display traits of human behavior. There is also no development of characters as they are merely highlighting how certain behaviors can lead to consequences. Folktales satisfy the function of maintaining the stability of culture in the sense that it operates within a given society to ensure conformity to the accepted cultural norms and continuity from older generations to the younger ones through the education role it plays. It also fulfills function by expressing social approval of individuals who conform to the social principles.26 According to Bascom (1965: 5), folktales can be used as an “internalized check on behavior” to encourage conformity to group values. Although Bascom (ibid.) sees folklore performances as maintaining the status quo, traditions also can be altered to allow the society members to recognize themselves and assert separate identities in spite of new attitudes or circumstances. Hence, folklore has a function of applying social norms and social control. Families can use traditions to teach appropriate behavior and gently or openly reprimand members for making unacceptable behavior and decisions.27

Folktale in a Multicultural Society According to Takanori, “multicultural implies an attitude and a way of thinking” that accepts diversity as the way of life and cultural differences.28 Typically, society displays many different ways of doing things. This may include issues like language, customs, and ethnic, etc. Multicultural folklore studies explore issues of differences and diversity by paying more attention to cultural politics. The findings of the European Union support the project that highlighted the importance of folktales in improving intercultural and multicultural co-operation and communication.29 Pandey and Pandey regard multiculturalism as a “literary and social ideology that presupposes that all cultural value systems are equally worthy of study.”30 Multiculturalism has become an integral part of political rhetoric and an inclusive approach to all cultural groups that are found in a society, a form of literature that portrays racial or ethnic groups that currently reside in a country.31

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People who live in a multicultural setting have a habit of choosing global values as a guide to social action. Therefore, folktale has to be used as part of global resources. When folktale is still told orally and has not been written, translated, and distributed to various regions, it functions as a shared identity limited to a given community. In addition, Stern states that folktale has unified elements producing experience, behaviors, tendencies, ideas, and common goals.32 Therefore, folktale is the collective creation of specific cultural patterns. The purpose of this chapter is to explore the role of folktale in establishing its ability to communicate tradition, knowledge, and traditional customs of ethnic-specific, or describing human experiences in both the individual and social dimensions, and other ethnic groups.33

Methodology South Africa has more than thousands of folktales spread throughout the nations. This is so because of the eleven official languages that are spoken in South Africa. The research is going to focus on the main three language families that are spoken in Free State province. Considering a large number of folktales, only 3 folktales were chosen. The choice is based on the major spoken language families in Mangaung, Motheo District, Free State. These language families were considered as the representatives of the region in Free State. The titles of the chosen folktales are Hen and Hawk’s lost Friendship (Sesotho), Jackal and the trusting lion (isiXhosa), and Rooikapie (Afrikaans). The data were analyzed by using the structural (morphological) approach proposed by Vladimir Propp for Russian folktales in his study, “The Morphology of the Folktale.” Instead of looking at the origin and spreading of folktales, or at their function in a given society, the structuralist approach studies the manifestation of the tale as a form of art, in the same way, that one would examine a written novel or a drama. Since this is an oral literary form that is created and lives only during the brief moments of its performance, there are also other related elements of analysis, such as time, place, performer, and audience, as well as how well it is performed. In structural approach, researchers consider a literary work is an autonomy. It means that a literary work is free from any extrinsic elements. According to Berten, the study can be conducted merely by analyzing the intrinsic elements that built the literary work.34

Analysis and Discussion Joseph Bruchac is a Native American Storyteller, but his words are applicable to other indigenous cultures. A story is not just a story. It is alive, and it carries great responsibility…. the oral reenactment of powerful happenings, which often relate very specifically to a particular Native nation and a specific physical place. Stories

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make things happen.35 Performance of any story necessarily involves some level of interpretation and adaptation to suit the individual. Storyteller and their intended audience, and will, in part, be according to their cultural perspective, whether the storyteller in a published book or at mother’s knee first encounters the story. But interpretation of what is not fully understood will almost certainly result in misrepresentation, to an unforeseeable level of offense, and, there is nothing in the nature of simply being a teller of stories to privilege the storyteller’s interpretation, to authorize him or her as a bridge between the cultural origins of the story and a new audience. The real authority can only come from the culture holders and how much they have invested cultural wisdom in the teller.

Summary of Sesotho Folktale The tale is about the two friends, Hawk and Hen, who lost their friendship because of the foolishness of not taking care of a valuable possession, a needle. One friend is clever than the other. Before Hawk lent his friend his valuable possession, both of them made an agreement on the care of the entity. Hen, who borrowed this valuable possession, made a foolish agreement to repay her friend with her children if she loses the valuable possession. Hen lost the needle and they never found it. No, never. It was lost forever. Hawk was so disappointed and angry that he never visited Hen again. Their friendship had been lost and was replaced by fear and distrust. Hen and Hawk’s lost friendship by Dianne Stewart and Jay Heale Long ago in the mountain kingdom of Lesotho, a special friendship developed between Hawk, a bird of the air, and hen, a bird of the earth. Hawk loved to visit Hen. Whenever he came down to earth to talk to Hen, she would stop whatever she was doing. Flap her little rust-red wings and cake and cackle as she listened to Hawk. They were very good friends. Now, Hawk had a treasured possession that no other bird in the kingdom owned. It was a shiny, silver needle and he kept it carefully hidden in his home high up on the mountain ridge. Hen knew about this needle and one day when Hawk was visiting her, she asked: “Dear Hawk, please may I borrow your needle?” “Whatever do you want to do with my needle”, asked Hawk in astonishment. I’d like to sew a new blanket for myself. The summer is nearly over and so cold when snow covers the mountains. Dear Hen said Hawk you know it is the only needle amongst all the birds, what will happen if you lose it? I promise, I won’t Hawk, pleaded Hen. I’ll only use it myself and take very special care of it. “If I lose your precious needle, you can have something precious of mine.” And what is that? Hawk asked. Hen paused for a moment and thought about what was dearest to her in all the kingdom. And, knowing that she would certainly guard Hawk’s needle with her life, offered him one of the most treasured possessions. A chick, Hen answered confidently.

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“One of my most precious, little children.” Fine, agreed Hawk. That is fair exchange. Your young chicks must surely be as special to you as my needle is to me, so I know you will look after it well. Hawk took off into the clear blue sky with his strong wings and Hen watched until he was but a little black dot in the distance. Then she gathered her little skins and laid them out-ready to start patching them together to make her blanket. She was so happy to think that she would soon have a Hlosi, a magnificent skin blanket fit for a chief or one of his wives. When she looked up into the sky again, Hen saw Hawk already making his way back to her from his mountain-top home. In his strong, hooked beak, he carried his gleaming needle. With a promise to take good care of it, Hen took the needle and Hawk flew off in search of breakfast. Hen threaded the needle with a long thread and using fine stitches, she carefully sewed her skin blanket. When it was finally finished, she wrapped it around her and showed it to her family. You look more beautiful than any other hen on earth, said her family. This pleased Hen and made her feel very proud. She walked up and down, showing off her new blanket. She felt like a very special person, as grand as the wife of a chief in her new Hlosi and was so flattered when fowls that she didn’t even know came up to her and said: Hen, you look very beautiful. Just like the chief’s wife. When all the hens in the village had seen her blanket, Hen quickly called together all her chicks and said: I do not want my new blanket to get dirt. Please clean the house for me. Gather the dirt together and put it all on the fire heap so that it is ready to be burnt. Then Hen went strutting off to show her new blanket to the hens who were working in the fields. So proud was she. She even forgot all about Hawks needle. Hen’s little chickens cleaned her straw house from top to bottom, swept the floor and threw all the dust onto the fire heap as they had been told to do. Mother will be pleased with us, they chirped. There is not a speck of dust anywhere. But Hawks precious needle was hidden amongst the dirt… The hens weeding the fields admired Hen in her new blanket. You look so radiant, Hen as beautiful as one of the chiefs’ wives they remarked. All the compliments had gone to Hen’s head and she strutted home proudly, forgetting the words of her forefathers who said; pride comes before a fall. Suddenly as Hen was following the little path through the grass that led to her home, she saw a large dark shadow on the ground in front of her. She recognised her dear friend, Hawk, but she had forgotten all about his needle and the promise she had made to him. Swooping down to the ground, Hawk said; Hen do you realize how proud you have become in that smart blanket of yours? She giggled and taking no notice of him, kept on walking along the path. Then Hawk said to his friend “I have come for my needle, so I can put it back in its very special place” Hen jumped. She got such a fright. She suddenly remembered the promise she had made to Hawk and the price she would have to pay if she lost his precious needle. She didn’t say a word, but hurried back to her little house. When she arrived home, she saw that the floor was spotlessly clean. There was not even a speck of dirt on the floor. There was no needle either. She looked everywhere for it. It must be on the fire heap, she said running outside. She ran as fast as she could to the edge of the village, where the fire heap was still smouldering Hawk hovered above Hen, watching her as she searched through the fire heap, desperate to find the missing needle.

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Hen could see the worry in Haw’s penetrating eyes and she scratched and scratched, frantically looking for the lost treasure. She didn’t even notice that her blanket had fallen off her back and it lay in the ashes on the fire heap. Hawk flew off to go five her little time, but when he swooped down again from the sky. Hen knew he had come to take her chick. She moaned and groaned in anguish. She ran to protect her children, rucking, themselves safely under her wings. But Hawk was not an unreasonable friend, and he flew off again so that Hen could scratch around in the dirt a little longer, when he had disappeared the chicks went back to scratching for food. Hen clucked and crackled and was a little relieved, but she was still worried. Not long ago she had felt like the wife of a chief, but now she was nothing. She didn’t even know where her new Hlosi was, she felt like a mother who could not even protect her own young. “I have to find Hawk’s needle, I must find it.” She cried out aloud. The hens in the village were worried about her. She looked so distressed. Hen told them what had happened, and they felt very, very sorry for her. They were mothers too and understood how she felt. So, they helped her look for Hawk’s needle. They looked in the long grass; they looked along the dirt paths. They even looked through the fire heap again. No-one could find the needle. Then, as Hawk flew over them, he cast his sprawling dark shadow across the paths of the hens and they shrieked in terror. They were very frightened. [The story is taken from African Myths and Legends by Dainne Stewart and Jay Heale 2016: 28–31].

Propp’s functions in the “Hen and the Hawk’s lost friendship.” • • • • • •

Lack (Absence); Lack liquidated; Interdict; Violation; Attempted escape; Punishment (consequences).

The Hen did not have the needle to sew a blanket (lack). Hawk decided to borrow her his needle (Lack liquidated). But there was a strong instruction from the Hawk to the Hen (Interdict) to look after the needle. After the Hen has finished with her project, an instruction was broken (Violation). An attempt was devised to recover the lost needle (Attempted escape). But it was too late because the Hawk was about to fulfill his promise of taking a little chick as exchange for the lost needle (Punishment).

The Educational Value of the Sesotho Story in a Diverse Society The story does not support unity, love, and co-operation within a diverse society; instead, it warns about hypocrisy. The attitude and behavior of the animals featured in this story represent people. The hawk represents the hypocritical person who befriends his friend because he wants to benefit something from that person. The

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Hen represents a person who was in trouble, submissive, humble, vulnerable, and co-operative, but after the “test”, when she finds herself in danger, she had to protect and cover her children from her dangerous friend. On the other hand, the story teaches the multicultural society that people are ungrateful, as a friend offers assistance, but could not take care of the valuable things she was borrowed. According to Msimang, the folktale employs the use of the animate object as human beings. Folktales help to sharpen the children’s powers of perception and wittiness.36 They familiarize them with their environment and the universe so that they may be able to interpret the wonders of nature, apply, and relate to their everyday lives. Folktales are only means by which the whole culture is handed down from generation to generation. The myths and folktales are more informative than amusing. For instance, if one looks at the folktale of the Hen and Hawk, the following educative messages • • • • •

Do not do promises that you cannot keep; Be a trustworthy person; Take care of someone’s possession when borrowing it; Do not repay a person with something valuable to you; Their friendship had been lost and was replaced by fear and distrust.37

Summary of IsiXhosa Folktale The tale is about the king of the jungle who was trickster by his constituency twice without realizing that the person is the untrustworthy person. Stewart and Heal opine that the tricker appears frequently in African folktales.38 He maneuvers situations to his own advantage and is to trick not only a buck, but the mighty king of the beast, the lion too. And yet with all his cunning, he is never able to trick the humble tortoise, who always shows great wisdom and understanding, and, this folktale teaches the children the jackal often plays the deceitful and greedy, and he is traditionally treated with suspicion and distrust.

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A. S. Motsei and P. A. Phindane Jackal and the trusting lion [by Dianne Stewart and Jay Heal] 'Ah,ha!'saidJackal,leavinghisdenonthetopofarockyoutcrop.'There'sLion.Itlooksasthoughhe’south unting.Agoodtimeforsomefunand games...'Jackal,thought asheclambered downtherockface.Quietly,the JackalslinkedbehindLion,imitatingthebushy-manedLion'scatlikewalkashe ambledthroughthelonggrass.

SuddenlyLionroaredandcaughtblackbackedJackal,sobysurprisethathestoppeddeadinhistracks.Lion swungaroundquicklyandsaid:'Oh!It'sYOUagain,Jackal!' The Jackaltooka fewtimidstepsbackwards.'Foodisscarce,Lion,andIhavefouryoungpupsathomewhoares-t-a-r-v-i-n-g!'

LionfeltsorryforJackalandsaid:'Comeandhuntwithme,JackaI.Ifwecatchasmallbuck ,youcanhaveit.Butifwetakealargeantelope,it’smine.' 'Agreed,'yappedJackal. So,LionandJackalwenthuntingtogether,JackaltrottingafewstepsbehindLion. What ‘s that? asked Jackal, spotting movement in the trees ahead. Eland whispered Lion, stopping to observe the buck. The could see Eland’s spiral tore leaves from branches.

Lionstalkedhisprey,crouchinglowintheundergrowth,andthenleaptintoaction.Hetoo ktheelandwithsomeease,andthen,standingproudlyoverhisvictim,turnedtoJackalan

25 Multiculturalism, Orality, and Folklore in South Africa dsaid:'Gohomeandtell

mycubstocomeandeat,Jackal.I'llcontinue

499 huntinginthe

meantime.' AIright,'grumbledJackal,slinkingratherreluctantlyoffintothebush.Hekeptglancingo verhisshoulderandwhenhesawLiondisappearoverthehill,hechangeddirectionandcrepto fftohisownden. 'Myfamilyisstarving,'wailedJackalasheclimbed

therocks.'I'dbeafoolnottotellmy

ownhungrypupsaboutit.' 'Children,'criedJackal,'Ihavemadeawonderfulkill.ComeandgetallthespoilsIhaveleftf oryou.'

Backinthebush,Jackalkeptguardwhilehislittlepupstookthemeathome.Carefullytheyclim bedbackuptotheirhomeamongtherocks.AlthoughLioncontinuedtohuntthatday,Jackaldid n'tseehimagain.WhenJackalgrewtiredofwaitingforhim,hewenthometofindhis pupsfullandsatisfied. Laterthatday,Lionreturnedhomeand foundthathiscubshadbeenlulledtosleepbythewarmafternoonsun.Assoonashelaydowninthes hadebesidethem,they wokeup. 'Children,didJackalcomeandtellyoutogoandgettheelandmeat?' 'No,'saidthechildren,‘Andweares-t-a-r-v-i-n-g!' Lionwasfurious.Hestoodup,lefthisfamilyand rantowardsJackal'sden.WhenhecrossedthelittlestreamnearJackal'shouse,hecouldheartheyou ngjackalcubsyellingandfrolickingintheirhomeonthetopoftherocks. Hetriedtoclimbtherockuptotheden,butthejackalpupsthrewrocksdownathim.Hispawscouldn'

500

A. S. Motsei and P. A. Phindane tgripthesmoothrockandhekeptslipping.‘I’llwaitinthebushesbesidethestream,'thoughtLion.'S oonerorlaterJackalwillwantadrink.' Butthesunwashot,andLionbegantodoze.HedidnotseeJackalashe approachedthestream.But JackalsawLionpartlyhiddenamongthereedsandimmediatelyturnedtailandran.Theswishof hisfeetinthelong,drygrasswokeLionandhequicklyleaptupandgavechase. 'Rascal!'criedLion.'Why didn'tyoutellmycubs...' ButJackalheardnomore.Seeingasmallholeunderatree,Jackalcroucheddownlow,divedintoit headfirstandwasalmostclearwhenLioncaughtup withhim.HegrabbedtheendofJackal'sstrongblacktailandpulleditashardashecould. 'Don'tthinkyou'reholdingmytail,'wailedJackal.'It'sarootfromthistree!'Lionwasholdinghist ailso tightandthepainwasso greatthatJackalhadtotryveryhardnottoyell. 'Nonsense,'saidLion. 'Youcan'tfoolme.' 'Thentakeasharpstoneandbeatmytailwithit,'urgedJackal.'Ifyoudrawblood,it'smytail.Ifyoudon't,it'saroot.' 'Howclever,'thoughtLion,wonderingwherehecouldfindasharpstone.'I'llprovehimwrong'.ButwhenLionletgo ofJackal'stail,JackalslitheredfurtherandfurtherintotheholejustashedidwhenhewasusingAardvark'sabandone dburrow. WhenLionreturnedwithhisstoneandfoundJackalgone,heflungitdownontheground.'I'mnotbeingfooledthatea sily,'heroaredangrily.'I'llwaitforJackaltocomeoutofthehole.' Aftermanyhours,Jackalgrewboredlyingalonein thecold,damphole.Besides,itwasalmostdark,andhewantedtoreturntohisfamily.Hecrepttotheentranceandpee pedoutwithhislongearsalert. 'NosignofLion,'hethought.'I'msafe.'Hewriggledtothesurfaceandwhenhesteppedoutintotheduskandthesound ofcicadaschirpingaroundhim,Jackalyelledloudly:'Icanseeyou,Lion.Iknowyouarehidingrighthere.'

Lionlaystill,notmovinguntilJackalhadmovedjustalittleclosertohim.ThenLionleaptupandg

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avechasewithgreatpowerfulstridesandhewasjustabout tocatchhim,whenJackalsprungupontotherockthatleduptohisden. 'I'llgethim,' Lionsaidtohimself.'I'llwaituntilhegoesouthuntingagain.'AndsoLionwaited,andwaited,andwaited.Anditwas n'tlongbeforeJackalwasdrivenouttohuntbyhishungrypups.LionwatchedasJackal sneakedoutofhisdenandclimbeddowntherocks.Quietly,LionpaddedupbehindJackalwithouthimknowing, andletoutaloudroar.Jackalcouldnotescape andcringedinfearbeforethepowerfulbeast. Thegolden-manedLionwasjustabouttospring onJackal,whenJackalsaid: 'WaitLion,lookatwhatIseeoverthereintheshadowylight.A pairofbushbuck ...' ThethoughtofabuckimmediatelydivertedLion'sattention,andhelookedoveratthebushbuck.'Youc anhelpmehunt them.Justwaithere,Lion,andI'llgoroundtotheothersideandchasethemsothattheyruntowardsyou.' 'Goodidea,'saidLion,crouching downonhishaunches,hiddenbythelonggrass.'I'mready.'Andfromhisdenatthetopoftherockycrevic e,JackalwatchedasLionlayinwaitforthebushbuck. Anotherdayoffunandgames,'saidJackalsmugly [African myths and Legends Stewart D & J Heal 2016:49-51]

Propp’s functions in the Jackal and the trusting lion • • • • • •

Lack (Absence); Lack liquidated; Agreement; Violation; Attempted escape; Trickery.

There is a scarcity of food for both the lion and the jackal’s families (Lack). They decided to hunt together, but they agreed on the type of hunt that should be shared. The lion caught eland which was supposed to be lion’s according to the agreement (Lack liquidated). The agreement was that the lion got eland and the jackal should have the buck. The jackal tricked the lion when he was supposed to give the kill to the lion’s cubs (Trickery). The jackal violated the agreement. For a number of occasions, the jackal played the lion for a fool.

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The Educational Value of IsiXhosa Tale Today in a Multicultural Environment The isiXhosa tale warns children, especially youth, about the deception of physical appearance. The lion is the beast of the jungle, but it is deceived by the jackal. Everyday, young people deceive their parents and their teachers by telling them lies. This story teaches that the physical appearance of a person can be sometimes deceptive, just like the story of David and Goliath from the Bible. It is not always true that a physical appearance symbolizes wisdom or intelligence in a person.

Summary of Afrikaans Tale The tale is about a young girl named Rooikappie who was sent to her grandmother to give her food because she was sick and weak. Her granny stays far away from the young girl’s family. Her mother gave her instructions not to cross the forest. On her way to her granny, she decided to take a short cut that passes through the forest. In the forest, she met the wolf. The wolf pretended to be her friend by asking her questions about her grandmother. Unfortunately, the wolf was a trickster and he quickly ran before she could arrive and ate her grandmother. When she arrived at her grandmother’s place, things were not the way she knew, but the wolf was in her grandmother’s bed and pretended to be her grandmother. When she entered her grandmother’s bedroom, she was shocked to see her grandmother’s big ears, eyes, and mouth. Unfortunately, the wolf ate her too. The wolf was tired, and he sat under the shadow of the tree to rest. He fell asleep. The hunter could hear his snoring and he decided to go and check. The hunter killed the wolf by piercing his stomach with his knife and saved the young girl and her grandmother. Rooikappie [by Waher H. 2000] Op ’n klein dorpie aan die rand van ’n woud het daar eenmaal ’n meisietjie tewoon. Elkeen wat haar gesien het, het van haar gehou. Maar van almal het haar ouma haar die liefde gehad. Op ’n dag bring die ouma weer haar ’n present saam. Toe die meisietjie dit versigtig oopmaak, sien sy ’n pragtige kapmanteltjie van rooi fluweel. Dit pas haar so mooi dat sy van dié dag niks anders wil dra nie. Almal op die dorp noem haar van toe af Rooikappie. Een môre sê haar ma: kom, Rooikappie, hier is ’nmandjie met lekkernye. Neemdit vir Ouma. Sy is siek en swak, en die eetgoed sal haar opbeur. Maar moenie drentel of afdraai van paadjie nie, want dan sal jy verdwaal. En onthou tog om Ouma te groet as jy by haar kom” “Ek sal dit doen”, belowe Rooikappie en val in die pad. Ek sal die paadjie deur die woud neem, dink Rooikappie. Dit is die korste end aan is ek die gouste by Ouma. Sing-sing loop sy deur die woud. Dit is lekker koel in die woud

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en die sonstrale blink deur die blare van die ou akkerbome. Skielik loer daar ’n kop agter ’n boomstam uit! Dit is ’n wolf en hy sê baie vriendelik: “Goeiedag, Rooikappie! Waarheen gaan jy so vroeg in die more?” Rooikappie wat nog nooit ’n wolf teëgekom het nie, antwoord net so vriendelik: “Na Ouma toe. Ek neem vir haar lekkernye, want sy is siek en swak.” “En sê my, waar woon jou ouma?” wil die wolf weet. “Sy woon heeltemal alleenin die klein huise aan die rand van die woud,” antwoord Rooikappie. Die wolf stap nog ’n entjie saam met haar, en dandraai weg. “Tot siens,” roep hy vir Rooikappie, “ek is haastig, maar dalk sien ons mekaar gou weer!” Toe vat hy die kortpad na die ouma se huis en dink by homself. So ’n jong meisie is ’n lekker happie - sy sal nog beter smaak as die ouma. Toe hy by die ouma se huis kom, sien die wolf dat sy slap. Saggies sluip hy by die venster verby na die deur en klop. “Wie is daar?” vra iemand binne af. “Rooikappie” antwoord die wolf met ’n klein stemmetjie. “Ek bring vir Ouma ’n mandjie lekkernye.” “Trek maar net die knip,” roep ouma. Ek is tog te swak om op te staan.” Sy is daarvan oortuig dat haar kleindogter voor die deur staan. Die wolf trek aan die knip en die deur swaai oop. Toe die ouma die wolf gewaar, skrik sy vreeslik en skree om hulp. Maar dit help alles niks. Die wolf spring op haar en sluk haar in. “En nou is die kleintjie aan die beurt,” sê die wolf vir homself. Hy is baie tevrede omdat sy plan sover goed gewerk het. Die wolf begin om in die kamer rond te snuffel. In die klerekas kry hy wat hy soek: ’n nagrok, wat hy aantrek, en ’n slaapmussie, wat hy opsit. Toe hoor hy voetstappe buite. Een kyk deur die venster vertel hom dat Rooikappie aangekom het. Vinnig lê hy in die ouma se bed en wag. Rooikappie klop aan die deur. “Wie is daar?’ vra die wolf met ’nnagemaakte stem. “Dis ek, Ouma, Rooikappie! Ek bring vir Ouma lekkernye.” “Trek net die knip, my kind, die deur is oop,” hoor van binne af. Rooikappie maak die deur oop, stap in en groet vriendelik. Die wolf kruip so die ponder die beddegoed in as wat hy kan. “Sit die mandjie op die tafel neer en kom gee ouma ’n soen,” sê hy vir Rooikappie. Vir die meeste luk hy alles nie pluis nie, maar sy sit die mandjie neer en gaan na die ouma se bed – waar sy baie groot skrik! Toe skraap sy al haar moed bymekaar en vra: “Haai, Ouma, hoekom is Ouma se ore so groot?’ “Om jou beter te kan hoor, my kind,” antwoord die wolf. “Haai, Ouma, hoekom se Ouma oë dan so groot?’ “Om jou beter te kan sien, my kind” “Maar Ouma, hoekom is Ouma se hande so groot?” “Om jou beter te kan vat, my kind.” ‘En Ouma, hoekom is Ouma se mond dan so verskriklik groot?” “Om jou beter te kan opeet!” skree die wolf. En met een sprong is hy uit die bed en sluk die arme Rooikappie in. Noudat die wolf hom volgeëet het, gaan lê hy in die skaduwee van ’n groot ou boom. Sy maag is koeëlrond en swaar. Gou raak hy aan die slap. Hy snork so hard dat ’n jagter wat juis by die ouma sy huis verbykom, hom hoor. Op sy tone sluip die jagter nader, en raai dadelik wat gebeur het: Die wolf het ouma opgeëet! Maar miskien, wie weet, kan sy nog gered word…dink hy by homself. Hy weet natuurlik nie dat die gedigte ook die arme Rooikappie ingesluk het nie. Die jagter neem sy groot mes en sny die wolf se maag oop. Toe sien hy skielik goue hare blink, en net daarna spring Rooikappie uit. Die ouma kom ook nog lewend te voorskyn – ’nbietjieuitasem, maar verder maker sy niks nie. Rooikappie en haar ouma omhels mekaar van blyskap, en bedank die jagter wat hul ewe gered het.

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Die wolf was dood, en niemand het oor hom getreur nie! Toe hulle almal ’n bietjie met haar saam stap. Maar eers moet Rooikappie haar ouma belowe dat sy nooit weer alleen deur woud sal loop nie. [Afrikaans ‘n Reis deur Sprokiesland Waher H.2000]

Analysis of Afrikaans tale Propp’s functions in the Rooikappie • • • • • • • • • •

Lack (absence); Lack liquidated; Interdict; Violation; Trickery; Claims of false hero; The heroin struggle with the villain; Punishment; Rescue of the Heroine; Victory over the villain.

There was no food for the grandmother (Lack). Rooikappie was sent to deliver food to her grandmother (Lack liquidated). She was instructed not to cross the forest (Interdict). She took the short cut that cut across the forest (Violation). The wolf tricked her into believing he is her friend (Trickery). The wolf pretended to be her grandmother (Claim of false heroine). The wolf ate both her and her grandmother (Punishment & the heroine’s struggle with the villain). The hunter cut open the wolf’s belly (Rescue of the heroine). Ultimately, the wolf got killed (Victory over the villain).

The Educational Value of Afrikaans Tale in a Diverse Society The educational value of storytelling for today in a diverse society is that it relates to everyday life experiences and activities of the children in the school environment. The Afrikaans tale warns children about the consequences of not listening to your parents if she or he is sent somewhere else. That bad behavior not taking instruction to your parents. The story also warns children not to trust any stranger by revealing what you sent for by your parents, and this is pointing out their educational value for today because children are abducted every day in South Africa and globally.

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Conclusion This chapter discussed the important role of folktale in communicating tradition, knowledge, and traditional customs in diverse society using three different language families in South Africa. Storytelling demonstrates the importance of folktale as part of different culture and means of educating people through wise performance and relating it. It became apparent that understanding ones’ folklore will increase people’s awareness and knowledge of one’s culture (www.pala.ac.uk). Living in a multicultural society creates a conducive environment to accommodate other cultures an opportunity to comprehend others’ way of living better. There are also similarities that can be found among all the discussed folktales. All of them present the eternal struggle between evil and goodness. This can be extended further to universal ethics. The ethical value is appropriate in every culture and society in the world society (ibid.). Propp’s functions were also discussed and used to analyze three folktales. It is indeed showed that it is possible to analyze any folktale using his 31 functions. In the three analyzed folktales, there is an educational value behind each folktale such as trustworthiness in friendship, never judge a book by its cover, lies and lastly always respect your parent’s instructions. Average of five to seven functions appeared consistently throughout these folktales. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

https://rationalwiki.org/Multiculturalism. Accessed on March 6, 2018. Ibid. Quan-Baffour (2011: 31) quoting Olbrys G.S. (2009). (www.austlit.com). Opondo (2014) in (www.ajol.info). Peik Nyman (2017) quoting Sean Bavala (2012). Ngapo (1995: 1). Finnegan (1970: 14). Bascom (1965: 4). Alkhammash (2014: 26). Ibid., 18. Ngapo ibid., 2. Canonici (1985: 17). Dundes (1965: 279–298). Curtis (1975: xvii). Jordan (1978: xvii). Finnegan ibid., 351. Dundes ibid., 292. www.wiredspace.wits.ac.za. Dundes ibid., 293. Miruka (1994: 170–174).

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22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

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Creany (2013: 29). Guma (1967: 12). www.wiredspace.wits.ac.za. Lukens et al. (2013). www.wiredspace.wits.ac.za. shodhganga.inflibnet.ac.in. Takanori (2003: 17). CRAFT (2009: 3). Pandey and Pandey (2014: 29). www.arcjournals.org. Stern (1977: 9). www.pala.ac.uk. Berten (2005: 64). Bruchac (1996: 97). Msimang (1986). Stewart, D., and J. Heal (2016: 51). Ibid.

References Alkhammash, F.A. 2014. The Folktale as a Site of Framing Palestinian Memory and Identity in Speak, Bird, Speak Again and Qui Ya Tayer. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis. University of Manchester. Bascom, W. 1965. The Forms of Folklore: Prose Narratives. Journal of American Folklore 78 (307): 3–20. Bavala, S. 2012. The Benefits of Storytelleling. www.storyteller.net/articles/312. Retrived 26 October 2017. Bertens, H. 2005. Literary Theory: The Basics. New York: Routledge. Bruchac, J. 1996. The Continuing Circle: Native American Storytelling Past and Present. In Who Says?: Essays on Pivotal Issues in Contemporary Storytelling, eds. C. Birch and M.A. Heckler, 91–105. Atlanta, GA: August House. Canonici, N.N. 1985. Educational Value of Folktales. Educamus XXX 1 (3): 13–23. CRAFT. 2009. A Comparative Analysis of Folktales: A Multicultural Perspective: Final Report. Lifelong Learning Programme: Gazu University. Creany, A. 2013. Who Is the beast? The Portrayal of Animals in Multicultural Folklore. Journal of the European Teacher Education Network 8: 25–34. Curtis, S. 1975. Mainane Tswana Tales. Botswana: Botswana Book Centre. Dundes, A. (ed.). 1965. The Study of Folklore. Prentice Hall Inc: New Jersey. Finnegan, R. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa (1st ed.). Nairobi: Oxford University Press. Guma, S.M. 1967. The Form, Content and Technique of Traditional Literature in Southern Sotho. Pretoria: J.L. van Schaik. Jordan, A.C. 1978. Tales from Southern Africa. London: University of California Press. Lukens, R., J. Smith, and C. Coffel. 2013. A Critical Handbook of Children’s Literature (9th ed.). Boston, MA: Ally & Bacon. McLenna, J.F. 1968. Totem. Supplement, Pages 753–754 in Chamber’s Encyclopedia. London: Chambers. www.encyclopedia.com/social-sciences/applied-and-social-sciences-magazines/mcl enna-john-ferguson. Accessed 12 May 2018. Miruka, O. 1994. Encounter with Oral Literature. Nairobi: East African Educational.

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Msimang, C.T. 1986. Folktale Influence on the Zulu Novel . Pretoria: Acacia Book. Ngapo, M.P. 1995. The Social Function of Setswana. Unpublished Master’s thesis. University of Johannesburg. Nyman, P. 2017. Storytelling—A Way of Bringing People Together: Qualitative Research on the Potential of Storytelling to Facilitate Cultural Understanding in Diverse Societies. Degree tsis. Yrkeshogskolan Arcada. Olbrys, G.S. 2009. Constituting Folklore: A Case for Folklore Studies. Journal of American Folklore 122 (484): 172–196. Opondo, R. 2014. Oral Storytelling and National Kinship: Reflections on the Oral Narrative Performance in the Kenya Schools and Colleges Drama Festivals. Tydskr.letterkd [online] 51 (1): 102–117. Pandey, A., and A. Pandey. 2014. Multiculturalism in Mauritian Folktales and Short Stories. International Journal on Studies in English Language and Literature (IJSELL) 2 (2): 29–33. Quan-Baffour, A. 2011. The Wisdom of Our Fathers: Akan Proverbs and Their Contemporary Educational Value. Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies 21 (1): 30–38. Stern, S. 1977. Ethnic Folklore and the Folklore of Ethnicity. Western Folklore 36 (1): 7–32. Stewart, D., and J. Heal. 2016. African Myths & Legends (4th ed.). Pretoria: Struik Publishers Penguin Random House South Africa(Pty) Ltd. Takanori, S. 2003. Cultural Diversity and Folklore Studies in Japan: A Multiculturalist Approach. Asian Folklore Studies. 62: 195–225. Waher, H. 2000. In Reis duer Sprokiesland, Alinea Studio, Kaapstad 2nd ed.: 43–59.

Website Used www.ajol.info. www.pala.ac.uk. wirespace.wits.ac.za. shodhganga.inflibent.ac.in. www.openbookpublishers.com. en.wikipedia.org. rationalwiki.org. uir.unisa.ac.za. www.enotes.com. www.arcjournals.org.

Chapter 26

Fichee-Cambalaalla Sidaama People

of the

Augustine Agwuele and Tafesse Matewos Karo

Background and Overview Strong institutions and the facilitating interrelatedness between them are invaluable in assuring the realization of the ideals of a society and in organizing the life of members within the society. The effectiveness of societal institutions in organizing the values of a community, especially those involved in the subsistence and legal systems point to the beliefs, languages, and mode of life that have informed the existence of the people from the time past until their present. The political virtue of the people of Sidaama, which revitalizes their essence, reinvigorates their commitment to one another as a people and serves to instill civility and peaceful coexistence, rests on various ceremonies and integrated institutions. The multiple varieties of institutions and ceremonies attested across the continent of Africa have been attracting the attention of scholars in Anthropology, Linguistics, and African Studies, among others. One of the major impetuses for the documentation of the various practices is to uncover aspects of the indigenous knowledge that have guided the people across their different histories. One of these institutions and ceremonies revolves around newness of the year and consequently, of life in the Sidaama society. Generally speaking, the climatic and weather condition of the continent of Africa, especially its near neat switch between dry and wet seasons, is influenced by the inter-tropical convergence zone. These seasonal changes implicate the livelihood, specifically the agricultural practices, of the majority of the peoples, as such, their feasts and major ceremonies, including those that mark the end and begin of a new year, are closely tied to the harvest periods. As a communal affair, the ceremonies are all-encompassing, they include the living and the living dead; they mark the A. Agwuele (B) Texas State University, San Marcos, TX, USA e-mail: [email protected] T. M. Karo Hawassa University, Hawassa, Ethiopia © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_26

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bond between humans and the gods, and they unfold in such a manner as to reignite the bonds that connect the living, the ancestors, the ones unborn, and the various gods and deities that are involved in the, often, theocratic regulation of the society. New Year festivities, through their cleansing and propitiation rituals, bring to close the conditions and realities of the previous year, and usher in newness of life and blessings for the people. After which the population freely partake of the newly harvested produce. This fundamental premise is attested across various nations in the continent. For the matrilineal people of Akuapem, in the Kingdom of Akuapem of the current state of Ghana in West Africa, the New Year starts with the cleansing ceremonies known as odwira, which takes place in September. Odwira, that is purification,1 is “considered as timeless and unalterable as the royal ancestors, their blackened stills, and the king himself” the week-long festival and observances purify not only the town and its people but also the ancestral stool of the chiefs.2 During this newness of life, the King who embodies the Kingdom, subsuming the complete cycle of the living, the yet to be born and the ancestors is made to symbolically die, and resurrect to new life. On each of the six days that make up the major odwira festivities, are designated signifying rituals of great importance to the community. The final events begin on Monday with ammamprobi; this is the clearing of the path to the cemetery of the royal ancestors to indicate that the ancestors are invited to the festival as well as make clean their path to the city. On Tuesday, official permission is sought and obtained from the ancestors for the festivities to proceed. Earth is retrieved from the graves and brought back to the town. The community celebrates this retrieval with fanfare, gunshots, and chanting. On this same day, the king’s stool, as well as those of his advisors, is cleansed. The earth brought back from the graves are rubbed on the King, who now wears mourning attire. Mourning for all the departed ones and abstinence from meals follow on Wednesday. However, while the people wail and mourn, they are allowed to drink and engage in lurid behaviors ranging from singing lewd songs and taking some sexual liberties. This Wednesday marks the official begin of the New Year. Thursday is the first official day of the New Year. On this day, sheep, considered the symbol of peace among the people, are slaughtered. These agriculturalists become very merry, they exchange gifts and they feast on the newly harvested yams for the first time. The night of Thursday is filled with rituals to appease the gods and to assure peaceful coexistence between the living and the spirits. More importantly, this night is the height of the ceremonies, it is where the name, odwira, which means, cleansing, was derived. Through a solemn procession that involves chosen people of heritable offices, the ancestral stool is brought out and taken to the river, where it is washed and returned to the nation’s revered ancestral home.3 All-clear is given to lift the night curfew and mark the official end and opening. Friday marks the climax of the celebration. To some, this is the official day of celebration. The king and queen mother present themselves in the court in full royal regalia. They receive dignitaries and subordinate chiefs who swear their allegiance. Solidarity is once more refashioned through collective feasting and ritual celebration. Saturday and Sunday are concluding days to the events. The people are at liberty to celebrate as they see fit with few officially designated activities taking

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place. Throughout the festive period, they perform different atonements and rituals which allow for renewal of fertility and reinvigoration of the land’s fecundity. Another example of the newness of life is found in Ghana, this time among the Ga people, where they ‘poke fun or hoot at hunger’, homowo, as they celebrate their victory over the hunger and famine that they experienced during their migratory period. Capturing this period of their ordeal, the word, homowo, is made up of the two morphemes: homo, to jeer at and wo, hunger. Together, the phrase is a thanksgiving festival for the rainfall that brought good yield to the farming community, putting an end to the famine that they experienced, as well as the celebration of the newness of year that accompanies the seasonal change. Like most agricultural people, the Ga year is tied to seasonal changes with the end of harvest virtually synonymous with the end and beginning of the previous planting season and year, indicating the beginning of a new one. This falls to August and September annually. According to Quartey Papafio,4 there are 12 moons of 28 days and three weeks. The Dantu priest, also the Ga Mantse, who is the high priest of the traditional religion, determines the first day of the Ga year, which varies per reckoning. The communal and all involving celebrations pertaining to the turn of the year are spread over 14 consecutive days, orchestrated to reinforce the history of the people, reenact its’ values and ensure unity and solidarity. These indefatigable crucial authentications of the worldview of a people refurbish the people. Starting on Monday, on which the first day of the year always fall, the people engage in feast and ritual performances. They skip Wednesday which they consider unpropitious, and observe reverential quietness on Thursday, and getting ready on Friday for the harvest, the gong is sound on 8th day, the second Monday, to declare peace and cessation of governmental activities, including interpersonal administration of justice or retribution. Also expected to cease in honor of the festival are all economizing behaviors. This carries through the 11th day when gifts are exchanged, new garments are provided to family members and extended family members receive deferential gestures of kindness. On the 12th day, the priest lifts injunctions against fishing through special religious rituals to appease the gods of the sea. The 13th day, a Saturday, is the great festival day. The people dine sumptuously and visit friends and relatives. On the final day, people wish one another happy New Year. On this day, all outstanding disputes are laid to rest and peace is ushered in along with the newly begun year. The Igbo people, in southeastern Nigeria, also celebrate the New Yam Festival. These globally famous festivities also mark the end and beginning of their annual calendar too. The New Yam Festivals are celebrated in Nigeria, Benin Republic, Ghana, and quite widely popular among all agricultural societies of West Africa whose staple food crop is yam. Accounts of these celebrations have been documented by many scholars including Bowdich’s (1819) description of Ashanti celebrations, Roth (1968), Kingsley (1899) gave initial accounts of the events among Benin people, Arua (1981) provides a description of it for Ohafia people, while Coursey and Coursey (1971) provided an overview of the festivities in West Africa. Chinua Achebe in his much-celebrated novel, Things Fall Apart, placed this popular celebration in popular imagination. With memorable anecdotes such as the one he told of a rich man who

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presented to his guests a mountain of Yam foo-foo so high that those on one side were not able to see those on the other side. The Feast of the New Yam was held every year before the harvest began, to honor the earth goddess and the ancestral spirits of the clan. New yams could not be eaten until some had first been offered to these powers. Men and women, young and old, looked forward to the New Yam Festival because it began the season of plenty – the new year. On the last night before the festival, yams of the old year were all disposed of by those who still had them. The new year must begin with tasty, fresh yams and not the shriveled and fibrous crop of the previous year. All cooking pots, calabashes and wooden bowls were thoroughly washed, especially the wooden mortar in which yam was pounded. Yam foo-foo and vegetable soup was the chief food in the celebration. So much was cooked that, no matter how heavily the family ate or how many friends and relatives they invited from neighboring villages, there was always a large quantity of food left over at the end of the day.5

While there are certain deviations (C/f Parrinder 1949, 1976; Herskovits 1938), in general, the calendrical year surrounds the planting and harvesting of yams. It subsumes various rituals to appease the god of fertility, period of abstaining from economizing behaviors (simulated farming), ritualized festivities accompanied by various public performances to ensure solidarity, unity, peace, and dissemination of the history of the people through differing performances. For the Ibo people as well as most west Africans, masquerades (ekpe) are involved; there are those performed to honor the ancestors, invoke spirits, harness the power of various gods, and make supplication and atonement for the past. In concluding the existing year, that is, the night preceding the first harvest, the chief yam priest (Ezeji) goes before the yam shrine with kola nuts and alligator pepper, interceding for the yams to be harvested, he communes with the yam god as he chews the kola nuts and alligator peppers. Not until he returns the following day with the yams, officially ending the previous year, are the people allowed to harvest the matured yams. The ceremonies and festivities that usher in the New year are performed in August, 16 days (i.e., 4 Igbo/Ibo weeks) after the chief yam priest has completed his rituals through which the yam deities first partake of the yams before mortals are given clearance to do so. These observances are not limited to West Africa; they are also instantiated in East and South Africa. The Berbers or Amazigh of Algeria celebrate on February 12, 2017, their new year called Yennayer, that is, the first month of the year. For these indigenous, agrarian people, the ritual festivities are not only intended to herald newness but also indicative of longevity. As part of their strong belief in the newness content of Yennar, young boys, depending on the region, receive their first haircut on this day. In other Amazigh communities, they are circumcised and thus transit into the next phase of their life cycle. It is also the choice day for nuptials. Marriages contracted on this day are presumed to receive extraordinary blessings that assure their success and prosperity in terms of resulting healthy children and yield in material resources for their sustenance. The people wear their special traditionally ornamented attires with colorful body paintings. The children of the Tlemcen Amazigh await on this day, the Yennayer woman, analogous to Santa Claus, who brings them gifts. This indigenous celebration is under siege and seriously threatened by the Algerian state’s policy to forcefully Arabicize and Islamize the people. Thus, Yennayer was

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officially excluded in Algeria until 2017, and despite its recent recognition, these ‘free or noble men’ as their name, Amazigh, translates, along with their language and culture remain persecuted and marginalized across the region.6 Also following the Julian calendar and a different trajectory is Enkutatash, the Ethiopian New Year observed nationally and by all Orthodox Ethiopian Christians across the country. For them, the New Year begins in September. Due to the country’s usage of the Julian calendar, Enkutatash is both a secular and religious festival. It is similar to January 1 for countries that observe the Gregorian calendar. Independent of this Ethiopian national festival are other indigenous New Year reckonings that stem from the way of life of different nations within the federation of Ethiopia. There is, for instance, the annual male ‘fat,’ Ka’el, a contest among Bodi people in the Oromo Valley in the southern part of Ethiopia neighboring to Sudan and Kenya, that is performed in observance of the New Year. As noted by Frazer, the New Year observances are also performed by the Sudanese Wadai. It is the most important festival among the Swahili people of East Africa (Kenya, Tanzania) and it occurs in the month of August.7 For the Wadai and the Swahili speaking people, the newness of the year is accomplished by removing the ashes of the fires of the old year; these are deposited at the crossroads. All fires are extinguished with water. The extinction of old fires, removal, and ritual disposal of their ash and kindling of new fire, therefore, mark an end to the preceding year and indicate newness which accompanies a new beginning. In a manner of saying, old things are washed away, a new life begins. The Swahili (of Mombasa, Kenya) also celebrate their new year, which they term mwaka. This festival, according to Frankl and Omar, has been and remains of great importance to these people who are mostly farmers, sailors, and fishers.8 This practice of expelling evil through sweeping clean the environment and removing of ashes is also found among the Ewe of Ghana on the first Sunday following akwasidae. These celebrations, analogous to those performed by the agriculturalists of West Africa, are due to the peoples’ mode of subsistence, they, therefore, implicate the agricultural and nautical base of their economizing behaviors. Additionally, they are religiously motivated as well as culturally informed. During these occasions, they make supplications to the gods to commute their past errors and to bless a new onset for them. The New Year day in Mombasa is known as siku ya mwaka, it features lots of dances, feasting, and exchange of gifts along with ritual activities. “On the morning of New Year’s Day, before sunrise absolutely everyone goes to bathe; at home, inside, ash is smeared on the walls… If someone does not bathe [before sunrise] on New Year’s Day, [folk say that] the Old Year will fart on that person.”9 While some of these observances that have attracted the attention of commentators, as shown by the dates of some of the citations above, are dwindling in significance, either due to growth in the influence of external religions (Christianity and Islam) or changes to mode of subsistence as well as culture contacts—digital and real life, some others are waxing stronger and attracting increased scholarly attention. They are garnering the interests of international bodies due to the depth and scope of their impact in the sociocultural life of the people who own them. One such of the Sidaama people of Ethiopia, the focus is the Fichee-Cambalaalla of this chapter.

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This festival, Fichee-Cambalaalla , which has been by the practiced since antiquity by Sidaama people became inscribed in 2015 by the UNESCO10 as a global intangible cultural heritage of humanity. This recognition owes to its irreplaceable values and place within the body polity of the Sidaama people. Our goal is to provide a clear description of this deeply embedded New Year Festival that has defined and sustained the people over the ages, especially in relation the socioeconomic and political development of the Sidaama nation and the country of Ethiopia. Before providing an ethnographic description of the Fichee-Cambalaalla it is vital to make some notes on the importance of documenting this cultural heritage that subsumes the indigenous knowledge of the people.

Indigenous Knowledge Per the United Nations, “Indigenous peoples have the rights to revitalize, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures….”11 With this proclamation, international support and attention are given to indigenous peoples’ continuous quest for the rights to own culture. For all peoples, it goes without saying that it is their natural and inalienable rights to be free from forced cultural impositions and none should have to obtain the permission of others before furthering own heritage in the form of own cultural system of knowing, information transfer, and mode of societal organization. The people of Sidaama have endured genocidal level of oppression in order to retain their rights to cultivate their indigenous knowledge, which has not only defined them as a people but could be described as the essence of their nationhood. In transitioning to a democratic and pluralistic society which was purported to assure regional independence and rights to self-determination, the current government of Ethiopia, despite its many failings, provides constitutionally for each nation within the state the rights to use own language. This right recognizes that a multinational state like Ethiopia cannot afford the domination of the majority by the minority. Such domination, akin to the British colonial divide and conquer policy, eschews the equality of the constituting member nations and provides the breeding ground for strife and social upheavals. Thus, to retain their own cultural identity, nationhood, and assert their equality with other nations within the multi-nation, Sidaama people have been very active in recovering and cultivating their indigenous knowledge, including making sure that they are transferred to posterity. These inalienable rights remain indispensable to the dignity of peoples and for the free development of individual personality.12 The processes of assuring the vitality of their cultural heritage include active documentation and explication. As such, seminars, symposia, and public lectures are being held within the Sidaama nation, such at the Hawassa as the various activities surrounding Fichee-Cambalaalla University in 2017. Thus, our aim in this chapter is to describe the Fichee-Cambalaalla and make accessible its cultural contents and signification (Geertz 1973). We offer this ethnographic description of Sidaama peoples’ way of doing things (Fisher 1988)

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based on our view that it affords insight into the power of indigenous knowledge to influence lives. The practice, Fichee-Cambalaalla, the description of which follows, is active, living, and dynamic. The various component of the Fichee-Cambalaalla subsumes the history, worldview, morals, and principle of social organization of the Sidaama people. That is, they form all that is known by the people through their experiences in observing and making sense of their life in the context of their interactions with their environment. These knowledge are codified and still handed down from generation to generation. A short overview of the Sidaama nation helps situate the Fichee-Cambalaalla.

The Sidaama Nation With over 85 ethnic nations, the country of Ethiopia is a multi-nation-state. The Sidaama people are one of the member nations in Ethiopia. The Sidaama Administrative Zone is one of the 14 administrative units (zones) in the Southern Nations, Nationalities and Peoples’ Regional State (SNNPR) that comprise the Southern parts of Ethiopia. The SNNPR is a mosaic of varied languages, cultures, and nations. The Sidaama Administrative Zone is located in the northeastern part of the SNNPRS and bounded by Oromiya in the North, East, and Southeast, with Gedeo Zone in the South, and Wolayita Zone in the west. Hawassa city is the capital of the Sidaama Administrative Zone (Fig. 26.1).

Fig. 26.1 The geographic location of Sidaama Administrative Zone

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Awashed with the rift valley lakes, such as Chamo, Abaya, and Hawassa, among others, the Sidaama Administrative zone is administered from Hawassa, it major city. The SNNPRS region boasts of expansive arable land, rich natural, and human resources. Consequently, this region, through its drought resisting agricultural practices is one of the food basket regions of Ethiopia and unlike other regions, it has relatively food security. The Sidaama people is one of the indigenous Cushitic groups in the country who lived in the northern part of Ethiopia along with other nations such as Oromo, Agew, Beja, and Saho. Between the fifth and tenth centuries, the Sidaama moved toward the South in search of suitable agricultural land. They arrived and settled into their current location, which they have inhabited continuously ever since. They operate their indigenous governance system called Luwa until they were conquered by force in 1893 by Emperor Menelik II. Like all other Ethiopian peoples, they have not been spared from the different civil wars, ethnic conflicts, and disasters that have plagued Ethiopia. For instance, between the period of 1896 and 1991, they suffered through the dismantling of their indigenous administrative system, the imposition of Amharic as the language of choice for educational and governmental purposes, and the Orthodox religion as the state religion by successive imperial regimes, following the conquest of Menelik’ II.13 The 1974 overthrow of the monarchy ushered in a military dictatorship (Dergue), which enforced socialism under the leader the leadership of Mengistu Haile Mariam who violently suppressed every dissension or resistance to the communist ideals of the Dergue. The people paid with their lives as they bitterly fought the feudal system and the Dergue. Quite notable was the 1977–1983 massacres in the districts of Arbagoona and Aroreessa in which over 30,000 Sidaama people lost their lives. Even the overthrow of the Dergue in 1991 did not completely end the pacification of the people. For instance, the peaceful anti-government demonstration of May of 2002 in Hawassa and Looqe brought forth the incumbent government machinery that brutally massacred 70 Sidaama people, maiming and wounding several hundred others, as well as forced and illegal incarceration of many more. Nevertheless, following the overthrow of the Dergue regime in 1991, the adoption of a new constitution, and the formation of the SNNPR, the region is enjoying relative peace, rapid economic and social growth, and a resurgence of their indigenous customs such as the FicheeCambalaalla. Article 39 Section 2 of the Ethiopian constitution provides that “Every nation, nationality and people in Ethiopia has the right to speak, to write and to develop its own language, to express, to develop and to promote its culture, and to preserve its history.” The Sidaama people have intensified their efforts to cultivate their customs for self-administration, invested in revitalizing their language, safeguarding their history and cultural heritage. This resurgence in own cultural institutions also implicate the resurgence of Fichee-Cambalaalla festivals, which under successive external pressures from the Feudal system and the Dergue regime was tagged evil, anti-Christianity, and anti-modernism, has rekindled cohesion among the people and taken the center of the people’s cultural identity, serving as a platform for conflict resolution and fulcrum of peace and harmony. As will be shown, the FicheeCambalaalla is integral to the Sidaama’s egalitarianism, their cultural identity, their

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democratic political system of government (Moote) as well as their subsistence and social systems.

Fichee-Cambalaalla: New Year of the Sidaama While there are competing oral narratives for the origin of Fichee-Cambalaalla, the , who after dominant narrative suggests Fiche to be the name of a woman, Ficho , her marriage, visited her family annually with the traditional food, Buurisame (produced from enset, false banana), butter and milk. which was made of wasa The relatives shared this meal with neighbors. Her annual visitation continued until her demise. Following her death, the community decided to commemorate her death by naming the date as their New Year. Eventually, the mechanism for the identification and celebration of the New Year led to the studying of the location and pattern of the stars in relation to the moon. Ultimately, the lunar calendar was devised. Thus, the identification of the Fichee-Cambalaalla, New Year Festival day, is not based on the modern Gregorian calendar system but on the lunar calendar as identified and . While generally falling to determined by the Sidaama elders called Ayyaanto the modern-day Gregorian month of July, the exact day varies and is worked out by the Ayyaanto after carefully studying the alignment of the stars and the trajectory of the moon. The activities culminating to the New Year, in general, are performed at different levels and segments of the society; these could be summarized as follows: a. b. c. d. e. f. g.

Collective determination and proclamations of the Fichee-Cambalaalla festive day by the elders and Ayyaanto Convocation of the elders’ forum (songo) Predictions for the New Year, followed by prayers and cleansing, Unsura Transition from the old to the new year, Hulluuqa The day of Cambalaalla Day of festivals (Cultural dance) . Ending the ceremony (gumulote qeexaala)

One month prior to celebrating the anniversary of Fichee community elders, leaders, and cultural leaders will start a month-long fasting called Unsura. During this fasting period, the elders mainly eat very little food and only at nights. They spend most of their daytime in prayers and in praising the Lord (Magano). To set off the process leading to the New Year, the Ayyaanto and the leaders of the community would get together to engage in astronomy in order to determine the exact date of the New Year. Based on observational data obtained from the constellation of the moon, the formation of the stars and their alignment, these elders set a date. or They communicate their decision to a group of clan leaders called Moote . These leaders acting on the directive of the astrologers would convene the Garo Songo. This is held with the heads, or representative elders, of the different clans that (Fig. 26.2). constitute the Sidaama nation. These heads are known as Chimeesa

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Fig. 26.2 The Songo (Elders’ Forum) to decide on the Fichee-Cambalaalla festive day. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

This deliberative body would study the proclamation of the astrologers, and been persuaded of them, come to an agreement with their decisions. The consensus that they reach is then disseminated to their different communities. They proclaim the agreed upon dates of the New Year ceremonies to the community on a market day by hanging the skin of sheep on a long spear. Both the pattern of deliberation among the astrologers and among the Songo (have you heard). According to this follows the Sidaama principle of Affini principle which has assured the unity of the people, every matter that is of public concern must be subjected to collective discussions until a consensus is reached. Thus, among the local astrologers, for example, each makes individual observation of the celestial bodies. Then each makes an evidential submission of their findings to the group which operates under the leadership of a chosen leader, who also officiate the proceedings. Each evidence, opinion, counter opinions, and arguments are heard and through open re-evaluation and exhaustive entertainment of ideas, a common position is achieved with any dissenting members persuaded based on facts. The discussion is civil, incendiary speeches are disavowed, and hostilities of any kind are not tolerated. Thus, impartial conclusions are achieved based on collectively verified evidence. Aiding the Affini process is the Sidaama worldview that is based on their belief in Magano (God). Magano is all knowing, theocratic ruler of the universe, he is the creator of all things and without him, nothing exists. He is acknowledged as the truth, , as such, his creatures are imposed on to deal in truth and truthfully with Halaale one another. Sidaama earthly journey thus involves searching for, and maintaining, the truth in all affairs. To achieve the ideal set forth by their worldview, they practice Affini in all cases of public, intercommunal, and interpersonal concerns. While

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Fig. 26.3 Public proclamation of the Fichee-Cambalaalla Day. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

conducting Affini, time is relegated to the background. Using carefully obtained observation from each participating astrologer on the movement and positioning of the celestial bodies, the collective would declare the Day of the Fichee. The New Year is closely aligned with the agricultural system of the people (Fig. 26.3). There are four days in the Sidaama week based on their lunar calendar. These are: • Qawaado, , which is also the first day of the week on which FicheeCambalaalla is celebrated • Qawaalanka, • Dikko, • Deela, . The Sidaama month is made up of 28 days, i.e., 7 weeks. There are 13 months in their year, the 13th month, unlike the other 12 has 29 days. Preparations to welcome the New Year starts even before the proclamation of the Fichee-Cambalaalla day. The people, in the hope of the newness and rejuvenation of the New Year, engage in renovating their homes, and in storing up the ingredients required for the making of cultural food that is consumed during the festivities. Since cooking is prohibited during the festivals, enough food is procured and prepared to last through the festive period and not just for the Fichee day. Also, there is a prohibition on cutting wood during this period. They also prepare pasture and special food Boole, , for their herd cattle. They procure/collect firewood to fuel the fire . They also buy cultural clothes and for cooking the Fichee meal Buurisame appropriate ornaments of beautification for the cultural dances/qeexaala and faaro, , that accompany the festivities of Fichee. The clothes are gender-based and that preempts differ by age group. A kick-off dance called safote qeexaala the main event occurs nine days before the Fichee-Cambalaalla New Year Festival.

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Fig. 26.4 The community leader conducting divination through the reading of animal entrails. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

During this preparatory phase for the advent of Fichee, and in line with their quest for truthful existence in pursuant of the injunction of Magano, they actively pursue peace through the resolution of any existing disputes between individuals of a family, neighbors, or conflicts between communities within the nation. The New Year then portends well for all to the extent that the hearts are free of malice and every ill either between people or between people and the Gods are remitted. Following the public proclamation of the identified date for Fichee, toward the end of the fasting period, the first celebratory event led by the Cimeessa will be carried out in Sidaama ritual sites. The community leaders pray to God and do penance for all individual and communal wrongdoings. The leaders of the clan congregate at the , there they offer rams or cows for sacrifice, the Aruspex ritual sites, Gudumaale divines the year through the reading of the entrails and makes prophecy in relation to the year for the entire community. With a positive extispicy return, the collective jubilates in praise of Magano for having cleansed their wrongdoings (Fig. 26.4).

Transition to the New Year-Hulluuqa The transition from the old to the New Year is called the Hulluuqa ceremony. , occurs an event On the eve of the afternoon of the New Year day, called Fiixaari called hulluuqa. This is a ceremony whereby each household constructs an arc-shaped gate in front of their residence. This arc-shaped door is made from fresh bamboo and . Every member decorated with special leaves of a tree called garambiichcho of the household, in order of their age, followed by their livestock, passes through

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Fig. 26.5 Passage into the New Year-Hulluuqa. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

this gate. The passage through this gate symbolizes the transition from the old to the New Year; it also symbolizes the renunciation of all ills and unsavory memories of the old year, and in walking through, they walk into prosperity, blessings, and good fortunes of the New Year. Every member of a household is expected to participate in the celebration of the eve of Fichee with the understanding that all quarrels and disputes within the household, as well as between them and anyone in the community, have been resolved amicably (Fig. 26.5). At the evening of the Fiixaari, the people prepare and consume a cultural dish known as Buurisame. The meal is prepared from waasa and buoro and it is served, in the house of the community’s elder with the highest social status, accompanied with words of blessing (Fichee Dirunni diro iillishinke!). Happy New Year! Long live Fichee! With their hands stretched over the Buurisame dish, the people repeat the . words uttered by the elders/cimeessa: “Fichee Dirunni diro iillishinke!” The feast continues into the evening. The people go from one house to the others in their neighborhood to commemorate and celebrate with their neighbors, sharing their meal of Buurisame. The Buurisame dish that is consumed at the eve of Fichee should not include meat or dairy. Any meat or dairy-related produce in the house are stored outside of the home during this period. The Sidaama believe that inclusion of meat in the meal and storage of meat or dairy-related products within the residence would affect the well-being of the cattle in the New Year (Fig. 26.6).

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Fig. 26.6 Elders consuming Buurisame during Fiixaari night. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

The Cambalaalla Day The Cambalaalla is the first day in the New Year. Children in groups visit their relatives and neighbors. Wherever they get, they wish the people happy New Year ‘Ayidde Cambalaalla’, in response, they receive, ‘the same to you’ iille iille. For the whole day, the children are free from any chores within the household, including the care of herd animals and other household routines. The Fichee-Cambalaalla New Year festivities last for two weeks. During this period, the people, that is different age groups, engage in different cultural displays, processions, dances, and songs accompanied by dances and songs in designated festival fields called gudumaale. , qeexaala , and faro . Some of the dances include hore , domboriyo The dances and dancers are segregated by age and gender (Fig. 26.7). During the two weeks of Fichee-Cambalaalla celebration, several significant societal events are performed. For instance, it is during these two weeks of festivities that new brides are unveiled. That is, all wedding that occurred during the last year period. This is also the period for which courtship is expected to ensue. The youth express their love for potential partners and marriage partners are selected during the different dance sessions. Also, should there have been bereavement in the period preceding the New Year, mourning for such would now occur (Fig. 26.8). The elders do not participate in the dance/faaro/on Cambalaalla day as this is the domain of the youth. Nonetheless, they participate in the dances such as Qeexaala. For their performance, the cultural festive fields are decorated by the horsemen who wield shields and spears showing with threatening moves. These vigorous dances are symbolic and serve to rekindle their traditional practice of avoidance of war and conflicts. The elders join in also wielding different weapons, including shields, sword, and clubs (Fig. 26.9).

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Fig. 26.7 Cultural ladies dance. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

Fig. 26.8 The Faaro dance by the youth. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

, is the final celebratory dance to end the activFichii-Fulote Qeexala, ities associated with the Fichee-Cambalaalla festivities. This dance is imbued with immense sociocultural meaning. For instance, besides marking the official closing of the festival, it is the day when the brides that got married in the past year are officially unveiled to the community. For this, these new-weds are specially dressed. On this same day, those young men who were circumcised in the previous year would be officially welcomed into the community of elders, achieving new status in the view of all. Also, on this very day, those people who suffered bereavement in the

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Fig. 26.9 Sidaama Elderlies with their shields, clubs, and spear doing the Qeexaala dance during Fichee. ©The Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), Ethiopia, 2013, with the permission of UNESCO

period preceding the New Year would officially end their mourning. To mark this, butter is rubbed on their foreheads. Politically, as already mentioned, the Moote is Sidaama political system; it is a practice where a Mootichcha, who is analogous to a King, is nominated by to this position by his community. The candidate for this office is presented to the nation on the New Year day, Fichee-Cambalaalla. Through Qeexala (popular approval based on concession), his approval is communicated to the community; without this popular approval, he cannot resume office nor carry out duties associated with the Moote. The Mootichcha is the political leader of the nation and is charged with its administration. He discharges his administrathese are analogous to ministers who tive duties in conjunction with the Garo provide professional assistance to the political in overseeing the different affairs of the nation. Thus, without the Fichee, the underlying presence of Manago, on whose ideals the Affini system rests, there would be no political structure or governance for the Sidaama people. The Mootichcha and his assistants work in concert with the , who acting like a deliberative body, provide checks and balances to Songo assure truthfulness in governance, especially the administration of justice, prosecution of war and protection of the people. The briefly circumscribed political system functions within the indigenous system of governance known as Luwa system that subsumes the political and cultural components of administration. The Fichee-Camabalaalla is not merely a day to mark transition into a new year for the people; it is a cultural rite on which the political, religious, social, and cultural institution of the Sidaamaare based. These rites assure their existence as a people, define their identity, and aid the organization of their society. Culturally, Fichee assures peace for disavowing conflicts and creating an atmosphere for peaceful reconciliation of conflict. Children rights to freedom are also guaranteed on this day in

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recognition of their place within the society. The festival is an emblem of peace. The communal festival is communally celebrated. Every clan of the Sidaama nation is to sing and dance together without conflict. Concern for the environment and the need for its conservation are also symbolized. For instance, the injunction against the cutting of trees and against any activity that harms the environment, as well as the slaughtering of any herd animals, capture these expectations. Through Fichee, the people devised and maintained their own calendar. The Fichee activities ensure equity within their world view. For instance, through the different inclusive spaces provided for the different segments of the community (children, youth, girls, women, and elders) each is afforded the opportunity for participation and self- and group-expression. The Fichee boosts social cohesion and integration of diverse group into the nation. Fichee affords the time for people to visit kin, neighbors, and friends. Those who are outside of the nation return home for the festivities. No Sidaama indigene is expected to be outside of the Sidaama nation during this period. It is also a period to show solidarity in participating in the political process, the betrothals, unveiling of brides, and mourning. Thus, collectively, the festival affords the overcoming of sorrow with joy celebrations. Finally, the Fichee provides a cultural space for the intergenerational transfer of indigenous knowledge. Oral history of the people is recounted. Through songs and re-enactments, cultural norms and values are recounted and reinforced. Skills are also on display and taught to different segments, for instance, young girls are more than ever exposed to different hairstyles and are taught how to weave and plait hair. The skills involved in the preparation of Buurisame are taught to daughters who are expected to continue the practice. Young people also learn to make and use the appropriate culture attires normatively. Nevertheless, the festivity is not without its challenges. The Sidaama people have endured oppression, marginalization, and massacre to achieve the rights to their way of life. However, that way of life remains threatened. The people are under pressure from rapid growth, and the influx of foreigners to the economically viable city of Hawassa, which has the largest industrial project in Ethiopia. This complex is estimated to bring in over 50,000 expatriates, not counting their families. Some other challenges include: lack of sufficient knowledge on Fichee-Cambalaalla and failure and decline in the extent of celebration among clans of Sidaama at local levels. There is also the growing attempt to turn it into an instrument of politics whereby ruling parties are promoted and presumed oppositions denounced. This is against the aims of the festivity, which is traditionally apolitical. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

Rattray (1927: 127). Christoph et al. (2000: 22). Roy (2005), Opoku (1970). Quartey Papafio (1920). Our appeal to some of the earliest recordings of these practices is not to suggest their rigidity or unchanging nature, it is

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7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13.

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mainly to show how long they have been attracting scholarly interests. People and their cultural practices are dynamic and the various modes of marking New Year across the continent are always evolving. Some have adapted to the needs of city life deviating somewhat from the observance of the same in the rural areas as is found between such cities as Kumasi and Ashanti relative to little towns far from the city in Ghana. For a recent account of the Homono see: “The Ga People and Homono Festival” by Daniel T. Osabu-Kle. https://carleton.ca/africanstudies/wp-content/uploads/Ga-Peopleand-Homowo-Festival.pdf. The New Yam festival, which also marks the New Year festival called Argue Ceremony has, for instance, ceased among the Benin people of Nigeria following the death of Oba Eweka II around 1933 (see Curnow 1997). Chinua Achebe (1991: 37–38). Congrès Mondial Amazigh–Organisation Internationale Non Gouvernementale JO Rép. Fr. du 18/10/96 –Siret 402 775 720 00012. Accessed January 20, 2018, from http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/cerd/docs/ngos/ CongresMondialAmazigh_Algeria82_en.pdf. See also Human Rights Watch report. https://www.temehu.com/imazighen/berberdownloads/human-rightswatch-libya-berber-2011-report.pdf. Frazer (1913: 134–135). Frankl and Omar (2000). Ibid., 15. https://ich.unesco.org/en/decisions/10.COM/10.B.16 (accessed February 27, 2018). Article 13. UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples related to Education and Intergenerational Transmission. http://www.unesco.org/new/ en/indigenous-peoples/education-and-intergenerational-transmission/undriped/#topPage. Accessed September 20, 2017. Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UN, 1948: art. 22). Kumo (2016).

References Achebe, C. 1991. Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann. Arua, O. Emea. 1981. Yam Ceremonies and the Values of Ohafia Culture. Journal of the International African Institute 51 (2): 694–705. Bowdich, T.E. 1819. Mission from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantée. London: J. Murray. Christoph, H., K.E. Mueller, and U. Ritz-Mueller. 2000. Souls of Africa: Magical Rites and Traditions. Könemann: Cologne. Coursey, D.G., and C.K. Coursey. 1971. The New Yam Festivals of West Africa. Anthropos 66 (3/4): 444–484. Curnow, Kathy. 1977. The Art of Fasting: Benin’s Ague Ceremony. African Arts 30: 46–53. Fisher, G. 1988. Mindsets: The Role of Culture and Perception in International Relations. Yarmouth: Intercultural Press.

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Frankl, P.J.l., and Y.A. Omar. 2000. Siku Ya Mwaka: New Year’s Day in Swahili-Land (With Special Reference to Mombasa). Swahili Forum 64 (VII): 5–31. Frazer, James George 1913. The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion, vol. 10, 3rd ed. London: Macmillan and Co. Ltd. Geertz, C. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays by Clifford Geertz. New York. Basic Books, Inc., Publishers. Herskovits, M.J. 1938. Dahomey: An Ancient African Kingdom, 2 vols. New York: J. J. Augustin. Kingsley, Mary H. 1899. West African Studies. Macmillan, 3rd ed., 1964. London: Frank Cass. Kumo, W.L. 2016. The Sidama Nation: History, Culture and Political Economy. Create Space, North Charleston, South Carolina: Independent Publishing Platform. Opoku, A.A. 1970. Festivals of Ghana. Accra, Ghana: Ghana Publishing Corporation. Parrinder, G. 1949. West African Religion. London: Epworth Press. Parrinder, G. 1976. African Traditional Religion. New York: Harper and Row. Quartey-Papafio, A.B. 1920. The Ga Homowo Festival. Journal of the African Society 19 (75): 227–232. Rattray, R.S. 1927. Religion and Art in Ashanti. London: Oxford University Press. Roth, Henry Ling. 1968. Great Benin: Its Customs, Art and Horrors. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. 1st pub. 1903. Roy, Christian. 2005. Traditional Festivals: A Multicultural Encyclopedia. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio.

Chapter 27

Orality Indexing: Cultural Benefits of Male Circumcision Lesibana J. Rafapa

Introduction I intend in this chapter to describe circumcision-based cultural initiation among Africans across the continent in a manner that asserts its nuances as an intelligible coalescence comprehensively strengthening the clarity of its notion. According to Greely, there is widespread support for traditional male circumcision because it is viewed as a key part of the initiation process.1 A representative sample of black African cultural groups outside South Africa does practice initiation anchored in circumcision. Writers have been able to give accounts of the existence of circumcision-anchored cultural initiation in African states spanning central Africa, east Africa, north Africa, southern Africa, and west Africa.2 As these writers discuss the existence of circumcision-based cultural initiation in states like Botswana, Kenya, Lesotho, Malawi, Senegal, South Africa, Zambia, and Zimbabwe, they attest to the continent-wide spread of this cultural practice by means of discussing the phenomenon as central African, east African, north African, southern African, subSaharan, west African, etc. One can rightly state that as far as the cultural aspect of circumcision-subsuming initiation is concerned, black African cultural groups across the continent are testimony to what Abraham describes as subscription to “the central feature” determining that “there is a certain world-view to which can be related all other central concepts” of the various individual cultural groups.3 Subsumed under the “central concepts,” “including those of religion and theology, morality and social organization” is the common practice of initiation that straddles circumcision and oral codes associated with it.4 It is for the same reasons of commonality across black African cultural groups living in African states that Morton expands to include cultural groups inhabiting east African states while discussing the bogwera and mephato initiation stages among L. J. Rafapa (B) University of Limpopo, Mankweng, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_27

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the Batswana.5 In his attempt at distilling the common set of pillar characteristics of circumcision-anchored initiation among the Batswana, not only does Morton stress that such an ontology of the practice pervades all the Batswana tribes. He explicates that both the bogwera and mephato stages of the practice assume a similar essence at least in east Africa. He sums up the two stages of initiation as characterized by initiates grouping themselves “in camp according to ward” as they sleep in the open and perform daily chores; learning to recite verbatim laws and rules of conduct, often through song; going on hunts, usually for small game (hares, rock rabbits, etc.); composing “a personal leboko or self-praise poem”; and entering age-sets (mephato) “formed of all those males who are initiated at one time” where he remains a member “of the same age-set for the remainder of his life.”6 Such a phased nature of initiation was also observed among the BaLobedu praxis in the Limpopo Province of South Africa by Krige and Krige, shown in their remark that “a single ceremony is not considered sufficient to effect this great transformation to responsibility”—that is, holistic maturity from being a lešoboro to graduating in manhood.7 The Northern Sotho or Khelobedu word lešoboro is used in referring to a boy or man who has not been to traditional initiation. In the words of Krige and Krige, a lešoboro is regarded by the community as “irresponsible, without proper knowledge of how to behave, lacking judgment and that wisdom in personal relationships associated with adults.” Within the Africanist worldview of the BaLobedu and other black African cultural groups practicing male circumcision, being a lešoboro is equated to being illiterate. According to Johnson, “literacy is power and has the ability to order social processes consciously and unconsciously.”8 The normative (Eurocentric) meaning of literacy needs to be transformed to accommodate indigenized primary literacies of residual orality and its attendant “cultural and traditional models and views.” Significantly, the blanket nature of the African institute of initiation does not hold only as far as the continent is concerned. Apart from its bursting through the continental borders to engulf cultural groups such as the Muslim Middle East, the Jewish diaspora, Australian Aborigines, groups in the Pacific Islands, Southeast Asia, and elsewhere, this is the case also inside individual African states, both inter- and intra-provincially.9 It is the latter feature I shall concern myself with, due to my concern primarily with the Africanness of the practice of male initiation. This is not to say that cultural groups outside Africa do not practice ritual circumcision in their ways, or that the African cultural groups I refer to do not also practice female initiation. This is merely a matter having to do with my deliberate demarcation of research scope. Apart from the Venda, Zulu, Sotho, Tswana, Pedi, and other ethnic groups within the confines of the Republic of South Africa, the black ethnic group of the amaXhosa do practice initiation in much the same way as the Northern Ndebele do, leading Vincent to remark that “The South African amaXhosa, the majority of whom live in the country’s Eastern Cape province, are one of several ethnic groups in southern African that practice the ritual of circumcision as part of a rite admitting boys to manhood.”10 In extolling the positive aspects of the development of a positive ethnic identity/cultural affiliation “regardless of one’s ethnicity” as an essential human need

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“because it provides the individual with a sense of belonging and historical continuity based on a common cultural heritage” concurs on the cultural practice of male initiation among the Xhosa ethnic group of South Africa, in his observation that among them, too, “male initiation and circumcision is a critical rite of passage from boyhood to manhood that contributes to the reinforcement of [their] ethnic identity.”11 In the same breath, male circumcision is exemplified in initiation schools of the BaLobedu and Northern Ndebele. In this chapter, I focus on one initiation center among many like it continuing the institution of male circumcision among the Northern Ndebele people of the Kekana (Ghegana) tribe in the Limpopo Province of South Africa. Similarity of content and modes of teaching among performances of initiation across geographical and ethnic identity are demonstrable. Hofmeyr asserts that among the Northern Ndebele orality starts socially in the gendered role assignment of men and women prior to circumcision and then pervades the period young men and women go through the circumcision class.12 Morton’s comment about the inclusion of oral self-praise poetry in the initiation school teaching of the Batswana clearly corroborates Hofmeyr’s description of the teachings initiates receive during initiation.13 Affirming such an overarching cultural vantage point, Krige and Krige make an attempt to decode the indigenous orality genres present to this day in the BaLobedu kingdom of a black South African cultural group. The writers Krige and Krige14 accurately observe the function of initiation teachings to not teach “any single virtue,” but to impress “upon the boy all the values of the society and the necessity of a new outlook” through the use of songs “which is the life-blood of the institution.” It is the writers’ regrettable failure to decode the meaning of initiation teachings compacted into various genres of oral codes leading them to conclude that after the surgical procedure of circumcision the boys “learn strange songs and unintelligible formulae” amid “obscure symbolism … [seeming] unrelated to any cultural realities.”15 However, such an observation helps give us the insight that the mode of initiation lessons is oral and content culturally symbolical among the BaLobedu as it is among the amaXhosa, Batswana, Northern Ndebele, and other initiation gatherings within and beyond South Africa and southern Africa. For the reason that the core of the black African cultural practice of initiation defies state, ethnic, tribal, chieftaincy, and kingdom boundaries, a case study of such a practice within a black South African cultural group does offer a mere variable of a constant that is cultural practice lived similarly among other African cultural groups of the continent. Hence, my empirical study of the practice among the Northern Ndebele found in the Limpopo Province of South Africa, as a further refinement of the definition of the generic African cultural practice beyond the specific cultural group or locale. I use the Northern Ndebele example to demonstrate how awareness of the ways in which the cultural practice of initiation is realized similarly and differently among various black cultural groups can crystallize the definition of the practice in a nuanced, affirming manner. My research design included the qualitative and oral history methods. I analyzed texts qualitatively on the subject in order to learn the required theoretical and conceptual perspectives represented in this section of my chapter. My approach in the selection of respondents falls within the research methodology defined by Burden as

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oral history, whose “technique of gathering material” recognizes the addition of oral evidence to the evidence of traditional sources.16 In this sense, the literature I scrutinized qualitatively served as what Burden describes as traditional sources. This is because the normative paradigm within which a qualitative analysis of written sources falls would not necessarily accommodate the oral historical techniques I employ. Congruous to the epistemically transformative accommodation of the oral sources in the oral history approach, the semi-literate and intuitive respondents I used in the fieldwork of this research conform to a notion of literacy that my qualitative analysis of theoretical sources would not necessarily satisfy. Even with my oral history approach, however, the design of my interview questions and how I conducted the interviews were qualitative, and not quantitative. I explain this in detail in the next section.

Common Male Initiation Threads Between the Northern Ndebele Cultural Group and the Others: Orality During Initiation Helpful data were collected during the interviews I held with the owner-diviner of a traditional circumcision school on 26 May 2018 at the village of Vaaltyn-Moshate near the town of Mokopane in the Limpopo Province of South Africa. I had requested the owner-diviner, Mrs. Mokgaetši Margaret Rafapa,17 to organize several of recent initiates who graduated from her circumcision school in recent years, and several more from two neighboring circumcision schools in the neighboring villages of Maroteng and Sekgakgapeng. The objective was to receive responses to my oral questions from graduates of more than one initiation station in order to determine if major differences could be determined in as far as the orality aspect of initiation is concerned even though initiates belonged to schools of the same area and cultural nucleus. The three villages of Maroteng, Sekgakgapeng, and Vaaltyn-Moshate are inhabited predominantly by Northern Ndebele-speaking black Africans, although the Northern Sotho language dominating the province within which the villages are located continues to dominate in formal settings. All three villages fall within a radius of 11 kilometers. In this way, I hoped to find evidence that could lead to the answer whether geographical position contributed to the variables in the generic constant of traditional initiation practiced by black cultural groups on the continent. Documentation of some aspects of the BaLobedu and Batswana male initiation orature practices was then used, to try and determine whether the impact of localization increased proportionally with distance or not. The ultimate goal was to pinpoint constant features that defy geographical location in the continental practice of traditional male circumcision and well as other nuances that could add to a fuller knowledge of the African cultural practice. My way of conducting interviews sought qualitatively to find out more about initiation from the nature of the responses I got. I explained at the start of

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my meeting with the diviner-owner and initiates who graduated from the three neighboring circumcision schools that I wanted to know the forms, content, and benefits of the oral formulae they learned at their initiation schools. I reminded them that they had each learned to compose and recite their individual self-praise poems, which they were to share with everyone during celebrations for their return, as an extension of the other secret oral genres they learned before descending the mountain, and that I wanted each one of them to recite his for me.18 I sought to exploit whatever similarities and differences the individual schools might have in what is taught and how. Any questions I might have asked during the respondents’ uninterrupted narrations and recitals were mere follow-ups intended to tease out information where I sensed gaps. My initiate respondents were 13, chosen randomly depending on availability and willingness, irrespective of the period of their initiation. All I sought in addition to knowledge about the encoding of cultural teachings in the orature genres of the traditional initiation school was to receive responses on the same questions over as broad a time frame as possible, in order to separate enduring features of the cultural practice from time-bound adaptations. Writers like Krige and Krige have indicated the responsiveness of custodians of this tradition to epoch-related circumstances, as when in the early 1900s the circumcision school they were observing in the Matlala area (about 50 kilometers from the site of my present investigation) compressed the traditional 4 months of initiation into one month between June and July when schools were closed.19 The owner-diviner herself responded to my question on the duration of the initiation school by indicating that in olden days when she went to attend female initiation herself, both male and female initiates had to spend 4 months before completing it. Significantly, she indicated that since owning an initiation center herself, she had had to complete the initiation within the 3 or 4 weeks when schools closed for winter vacation between June and July. In both cases, the demands of modern formal education dictate where initiation must fit in the calendar. Mokgaetši, in the absence of the male seniors of the council of initiation who climb the mountain with the novices, runs the circumcision rites and return to the village at the end of the term with graduating initiates, could not give details of parts of the months-long program that would have to be compromised when everything had to fit within a month or even less. However, out of the several phases of initiation, the initial one immediately following on surgical circumcision is never excluded, although its period may be cut short. She confirmed that in her days of youth full three to four months were devoted to the initiation season, and that after go rupa (circumcision), bogwera (regimentation) followed, sometimes months or a year after the former phase, and that the bogwera lasted for a shorter period, usually one month. Morton’s20 remark about the practice in the neighboring state of Botswana circa 1835 that initiation was “meant to inure young men to physical hardship and abuse over several months in autumn and/or winter, and hunts were carried out that introduced initiates to group maneuvers and gave them practice with a spear, knobkerrie, or cudgel … [including] flushing out, cornering and dispatching wildlife” coincides with the full course of the first initiation leg that still obtained in the early twentieth century

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when Mokgaetši and her male age-mates conduct circumcision for months. The afterphase of bogwera was by then already obsolete among the Northern Ndebele. Morton also makes the point that although the Batswana tend to generalize both phases of initiation as bogwera, there is indeed a distinction between bogwera bo bontsho tied to actual circumcision rites lasting for months and the other “brief formality that completed initiation,” still bearing the name bogwera, in the following year.21 It can thus be seen that although the Batswana loosely use the word bogwera to describe the combined stretches of circumcision rites and regimentation, the Northern Sotho (of GaMatlala), BaLobedu (studied by Krige and Krige), and Northern Ndebele of Vaaltyn-Moshate use two different words that distinguish the two phases into koma/go rupa/vudiga and the latter complement of bogwera (regimentation). While indeed animal hunts form part of the daily koma/go rupa program of the novices in the wake of physical circumcision, this is done more fully and extensively during the later stage of bogwera where, according to the sources above, basic military tactics may be introduced for future defense of the chieftaincy/kingdom. In his account of the Bapedi initiation practice, Nkadimeng also relates the bogwera phase of initiation as belonging in the past, with only the koma/go rupa phase retained to this day.22 Reasons given for such a severing are common across the three written sources of Krige and Krige, Nkadimeng and Morton, as well as Mokgaetši’s oral accounts in describing the current form of initiation for the BaLobedu of South Africa, Batswana of the southern African state of Botswana, and Northern Ndebele of South Africa. In all cases, it is the demands of modern life that imposed such tampering of the full season of initiation running into months. These are novices having to return to school after formal schooling recess, the various layers of the men leading in the initiation teachings having to return to paid employment over which they have no control, unlike in the agrarian economy of the past, the high monetary cost of sustaining novices’ stay on the mountain as opposed to more user-friendly African economic cultures of the past, etc. In response to my question of age restriction as far as admitting young men to initiation is concerned, the owner-diviner was quick to point out that men of all ages were welcome. She gave the example of a married man who arrived from the metropolitan area of Pretoria chauffeur-driven at the start of 1997 initiation, to be admitted. The ages of the 13 young men*23 I interviewed ranged from 15 to the early 30s. They had attended initiation for the period 1995–2017. Such a response by the owner-diviner corresponded with the remark about BaLobedu initiation practice in the year 1919, that the age of admission had “nothing to do with biological puberty” because pre-pubescent boys and “married men of thirty or forty [went] to be circumcised.”24 The pictures below are those of some of the respondents who attended Mokgaetši’s, Makgolo’s, and Mashishi’s initiation schools for the period 1995–2017. The three names are those the owners of the select initiation schools are famously known by. In the past, traditional rulers or their second-in-command owned initiation schools on behalf of the populace under their jurisdiction.25 Today, volunteering entrepreneurs take the lead and only obtain permission from their traditional leaders. This is why the glorious celebrations when initiates return from the mountain are

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now held in the non-royal homesteads of the school owners, as the pictures below of Mokgaetši’s graduates demonstrate. Mokgaetši explained that, in her case, initiation school was an extension of her calling as a traditional healer. She made me aware that she is not just a traditional healer but a diviner, too, in that she does predict the future through the spirit and without the use of diviner’s bones at times. That is why I refer to her as the owner-diviner. Today, praise poems of epic proportions reserved for royalty, which would be chanted in royal compounds during celebrations of initiations returnees, have been replaced by praise poems of the owners of the circumcision schools. One of the respondents representing the owner-diviner’s family, her daughter Joline Raesibe Rafapa, and other nuclear family members, habitually chant the Rafapa clan praises at the start of returnee celebrations as the initiates enter the owner-diviner’s yard. Only after such praises of Mokgaetši’s ancestors and present-day legendary achievers can the various groups of initiates sing their own taught self-praises in front of their anxious family members identifying and joining them in the celebration ceremonies. Initiates’ parents and other relatives are keen to meet their progeny on such a great day, for they do not know if during their long absence their health was good as novices, or whether their wounds have healed successfully or developed complications. Rulers who presided over initiation schools in the past had to enlist the services of a traditional healer who would see to the fortification and health servicing of the school, apart from having to solicit the help of a special group of senior citizens respected as surgeons for performing the cutting of novices’ foreskins. Today, the private initiation owners who do not happen to double up as healers have to join hands with a traditional healer (Figs. 27.1, 27.2, 27.3, 27.4, 27.5, and 27.6). The picture below shows a segment of Mokgaetši’s initiates on the day of their return from the mountain school in 2014 (Fig. 27.7).

Fig. 27.1 Malesela Paballo Quinton Rafapa (attended Mokgaetši’s initiation school in 2009 in Vaaltyn-Moshate)

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Fig. 27.2 Thabang Kutumela (attended Mokgaetši’s initiation school in 2009 in Vaaltyn-Moshate)

Fig. 27.3 Shimane Mokhonoana (attended Mashishi’s initiation school in 2004 in Maroteng village)

The picture below is that of the owner-diviner Mokgaetši in her homestead with some of her 2017 initiates on the day they arrived home from the mountain school upon completion (Figs. 27.8 and 27.9). The central pursuit of my study was knowledge about the kinds of oral literary devices used in initiation schools to educate the initiates. Both Johnson and Krige and Krige highlight such modes of teaching as the core of what the initiates learn during all their stay for the one to four months of their ventures in the bush after

27 Orality Indexing: Cultural Benefits of Male Circumcision Fig. 27.4 Duncan Boshomane (middle) (attended Mashishi’s initiation school in 2004 in Maroteng village)

Fig. 27.5 Bongani Malose Makhafola (attended Makgolo’s initiation school in 1995 in Sekgakgapeng village)

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Fig. 27.6 Samuel Manyama (attended Makgolo’s initiation school in 1999 in Sekgakgapeng village)

Fig. 27.7 Mokgaetši’s initiates on the day of their return from the mountain school in 2014

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Fig. 27.8 The owner-diviner Mokgaetši in her homestead with some of her 2017 initiates on the day they arrived home from the mountain school upon completion Fig. 27.9 The owner-diviner’s daughter (Joline Raesibe Rafapa Nchabeleng) chanting the praise poem of her mother’s clan at one of the circumcision returnee celebrations

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physical circumcision. All respondents during the interviews confirmed the existence and consistent impartation of such oral formulae. Short of breaking the taboo of divulging sensitive information that is supposed to be kept secret, in the presence of one another, the research participants would not broach the content of the orality. I had to respect this. Beyond the group exchanges, I managed in privacy to beseech more details regarding the content of the oral educational forms from two of the initiates who were very close and trusted each other unreservedly. They agreed to discuss this aspect with me on condition of anonymity at the point of reporting publicly. I read to them notes I took from Johnson and Krige and Krige, starting by enquiring of them whether or not there was veracity in what the writers documented. At the point, I divulged to them that I had myself attended initiation as a nine-year-old at the Lesaneng Mountain between their villages of Sekgakgapeng, Maroteng and Vaaltyn-Moshate, and GaMatlala where Krige and Krige had conducted some of their research, the two close friends warmed up to me when I started leading them in mentioning some of the melao I remembered from my initiation days. The plural word melao among the Northern Sotho speaking cultural groups of South Africa refers collectively to the various formats of oral teachings at the initiation school and their content. We competed in interpreting the moral lessons from each such piece of orally formatted wise sayings clad in poetic language. Coming from differing upbringings and with varying insights gleaned from the experiences of our lives over the years, the youthful initiates and I invariably covered divergent anecdotal examples and spheres of reference. What proved constant was the crux of ethical precepts contained in the oral literary compositions that one always learned, akin to those of some of the Northern Sotho proverbs and riddles all three of us could share as part of our attempt at relating the circumcision school teachings to everyday societal life. I give interpretations of a few melao orality pieces below that I shared with the two friends. These are usually recited by older boys who attend the mountain school to look after their younger brothers, cousins, friends, or acquaintances, often with the instruction or consent of the novices’ parents, called batapi. We started with the shorter call-and-response pieces that assume the form of song. After the batapi have called out the first foot of the terse statement, the charges have to respond verbatim with exact complementary phrases, usually containing the moral of the first half of the statement called out by the batapi.26 Once this happens with success, it is known that the novices do follow the teachings. Thaba yela le yela/ bošego di a etelana Hlong phutha khudu/ khudu a phuthe hlong – dilo tša šoka di a kgobokana Bošwaanyana bja tsela/ tšona dimeku (This is my personal collection)27 Those hills now far apart/Gravitate one to the other at night Hedgehog spare tortoise/And tortoise spare hedgehog – things of wilderness confer The light shimmering hue of the road/Points to littering with sweet-reed rinds

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Successful recitals by rote of these eponymous lines were followed by our participatory exchanges in trying to find relevance between content and lived life beyond initiation. After overcoming shy hesitancies, we ended up concurring about the sex education ingrained deep inside the first epigram. With the English translation something like “This and that mountain/commune in the dead of the night,” consensus was reached that the lessons for the novices were that it is morally right for circumcised men to have sex with their partners. That “mountain” was a metaphor for buttocks was agreed upon, and that the word was used erotically as with most in its category used in other titles of similar oral formulae. Our discussion expanded to enable us to mention more titles with related teachings on sexuality, including those exhorting initiates to abstain from sex when required by cultural taboo, refrain from sex with a woman during her menstrual period, steering clear of confrontations with jealous husbands by entering adulterous liaisons, etc. The second artifact, whose title can be translated as “Hedgehog should mind tortoise/tortoise should mind hedgehog – for things of the wild converge,” came across to us as teaching respect for nature and subjection to the harmony of the universe, constituting an Africanist cosmology. After wrecking our heads for a while, we were relieved to find some meaning for the third, “Glaring mirage in your path/ it is sweet-reed bark.” It seemed to us to forewarn the future husbands and tribal warriors of the hazards they are going to be exposed to as their social roles will force them to work even at night when it is safe and what one apparently faces could turn out to be anything else in reality. By analogy, we could remind each other of other formulations taught during initiation, bearing the same manhood lessons, like Tsirintsipa. In Tsirintsipa, the novices respond with a foot invoking and extolling a deity named Mantobeng, obviously responsible for clutching a man who is in mortal danger out the clutches of death. Danger is depicted by the brittle line Phala ka tshela ka robega (I’m a buck I spring and break) and brought to a climax by the image of a double-edged spear (Tšhipi ya manhla ka gohle) elicited by the next line. We then moved to lighthearted, repetitive songs led by the batapi in a certain beat, after which the novices echoed the lyrics and beat, sometimes with the same lyrics repeated over and over. The test to know whether the novices do indeed develop in their learning lies in the accuracy of the repeated lines. Mamaša o rile tlou šala šakwe Lori ya nkayi Tlou etse Mma nkekana kekana (This is my personal collection) Many-eyed-moon decrees elephant stays behind in wilderness Chariot of supreme deity Elephant please lull to sleep Deity sidling and flaring up like runaway fires In conferring with the initiates, all three of us found it extremely difficult to make sense of the first title in this paragraph. It took me to refer to the writers Krige and Krige before we could perceive at least the Lobedu derivation of the title and song.

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In their discussion of the orality of BaLobedu male circumcision, Krige and Krige explain that at the stage of koma close to termination and return to the village the body of novices is made to sing the line Mamato u ile dou sala shagoni, meaning “Motherof-eyes said ‘elephant, remain in the country’ – because the boys are going home.”28 We then could awaken to the archaic Northern Sotho that in the past was closer in diction and syntax to the proto-language from which evolved present-day Venda and Lobedu languages, and to the profundity of African mythological references to the moon as “mother of eyes” and allusions to the comparison of the weight of circumcision rites to that of an elephant. I shared with the informant participants that before this song, nocturnal singing by the body of novices who would sing “tlou etse (heavy elephant please go to sleep)” miming the position of a toiler carrying something between two bent, lifted and crossed legs making the burden unbearable had a meaningful relation with this one extolling the moon for taunting the symbolical elephant and reminding it to stay in the bush as the boys return home. Krige and Krige beneficially relate the prescribed body positioning of the novices as they sing the symbolically lulling of a huge elephant sitting on their laps, to the secret phrase used by the BaLobedu during circumcision hu fefa dou.29 Translated into the local Northern Sotho language familiar to the two informants, the phrase is go pepa tlou (to carry an elephant on one’s back or lap). They, together with me immediately managed to link this phrase to the contracted expression fefi , always screamed by the batapi as an instruction to the novices to take positions at the start of singing tlou etse (heavy elephant please go to sleep) in the evenings at the appropriate stage of initiation. All of a sudden, the initiation sacred word fefi is clipped from the original phrase hu fefa dou (go pepa tlou/to carry an elephant on one’s back or lap) which is archaic among the Northern Sotho people, and the songs related to it tlou etse and Mmamaša o rile tlou šakwe (the archaic Northern Sotho version of Mamato u ile dou sala shagoni (Mother-of-eyes/Moon said ‘elephant remain in the country)). While the former song conjuring up the symbol of an elephant rubs in the travails of circumcision, surely the latter song illumined by the symbol of a god, Moon, mortifies the ‘elephant’ and what it represents as it brings forward the days to go and rejoice in victory at home with its rising and setting and rising again. It is unfortunate that Krige and Krige themselves fell short of comprehending the magnificent, metonymic meaning of “the boys when they sit by the side of the fire ‘stabbing the elephant’,” away from their laps and deeper into the bush where it must symbolically remain behind as they return home.30 They describe the rich practice as “inscrutably obscure” “merely one of the special phrases of the lodge” along with hu fefa dou, and with even the old men in charge of initiation unable to “suggest the derivation of the one from the other.” The initiation song Lori ya nkayi (Sleigh of nkayi), sung as the batapi bring heaps of porridge to feed the novices, gives thanks to the Supreme Being for the food. Once more, I had to make the two initiates aware that in the Kikuyu language spoken in countries like Kenya outside the borders of South Africa, the word ngayi means God from the vantage point of African cosmology.31 The word ngayi adulterated into Northern Sotho as nkayi was difficult for me to link to the meaning of God or Vital Force because it is the sacred language used only during initiation and never used in

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everyday speech after the initiation school has closed. After inputs from all three of us, it was agreed that the song’s moral lesson for the novices is that they must at all times acknowledge the role of the spirit world of ancestors and the Supreme Being in their quotidian well-being. As for Mma nkekana kekana, we analyzed the rest of the lines in the song portraying a hostile territory bustling with predators through which the persona traverses. Upon noticing the supplicative tone of the song in the voice of the persona, we deduced that this difficult name could only refer to an unknown deity famous for warding off danger from a pious traveler who acknowledges the guardian role of propitiated ancestors and other benevolent spirit beings. Again, we could recall a few more titles falling into this cohort of initiation songs, like Kgaka di a sela (Partridges are feeding). After this category, we moved on to several longer pieces really testing to the batapi, as they entail accuracy and a sharp memory not to mangle any part of the lines and stanzas. During such singing, the body of novices hum specific lines in affirmation. Using the first lines of the coded musical pieces as titles, I list a few such creations laden with hidden instruction needing one to plumb beneath the surface to reach and decode morals from. Sebonela-sebonela sa bo-lehlware Tangtang tangtang namana-diatlana Pshanhlakga pshanhlakga bjalo ka tladi ya marega (This is my personal collection) Wily-creeper poised to spy on food-barrow Tiniest bird to pluck that is peels off healing penis Lashing swishes like thunderclap in winter We concurred that the long poem with the topmost title referred onomatopoetically to the role of the male organ during procreation. The phallus is personified as if it has eyes to see, by means of the word stem bona meaning “see” in Northern Sotho, with the suffix— ela in this context suggesting mischief somewhat associated with thieving for sexual intercourse. Quite a number of allusions to both good and censured cultural practices of bearing children secretly with wives of male relatives who are impotent, procreating patrilinearly with widows of one’s deceased male relatives, philandering, or even in maverick sex with a same-sex partner, do occur in this composition of about three stanzas. Similarly, the poem with the second title is a play on the name of the tiny bird called tangtang in Northern Sotho known in folktales for its cunning, outwitting huge birds like the owl. It is intriguing that here the bird is used as a metaphor for the novices’ healing penises, invoking especially the act of removing dead tissue from the organ. Here, this painful act the novices are subjected to many times as a routine is compared to onerously having to remove feathers from the tiniest bird in the bush, whose carcass does not really reward by filling the pot at dinner time. The lesson here appears to be that minutiae in one’s life can be as crucial in one’s life as gargantuan things, if not more important. Sexual education is included, too, seeming to be the need to take good care of one’s sex organs, body, sexual health,

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and health in general. The poem of the third title above opens by miming the sound of two private parts colliding during coitus, likened to lightning that is so fierce it even sets cold materials on fire. The lesson here is for the young men to be robust and fulfilling in satisfying their partners sexually—in order to curb social problems that arise in families where this role is not played satisfactorily.

Conclusion My objective was to increase knowledge of how varied the African cultural practice of circumcision is at the concrete level, in spite of a common worldview informing its execution in various African cultural groups. In this way, I hoped to contribute to the refinement of knowledge about the form and content of traditional African initiation through a more nuanced explanation that takes account of its texture including as many variables as possible at this point. I focused qualitatively on initiation practices of the BaLobedu, Batswana, and Northern Ndebele using written and oral history sources. I used the orality of initiation as a common thread joining the traditional custom across the three southern African cultural groups. I also analyzed written sources for evidence of similar initiation practices in all regions of Africa. My findings confirmed that indeed circumcision rites are common in all of Africa, except for marginal place-bound variants in places. I opted, for comparative reasons, to look closely at how orality in initiation manifests itself in three southern African examples of the BaLobedu, Batswana, and Northern Ndebele. I start first with my findings regarding the Northern Ndebele example of circumcision. The poetic devices used in the teachings of the three initiation centers of the Northern Ndebele cover as huge a scope as one can conceive. In their different subdivisions, the cultural orientations informing the orality of the circumcision rites give direction to the novices shrewdly to make sound meanings of reality, harnessing the spirituality and broader outlook of their forebears, including responsible enjoyment and use of erotic love. They teach novices about virtue and ways to anchor their behavior in the resourceful mythology of their people. The longest poems discussed above reveal the intricacies of adult married life and the cultural perspectives they have to adopt in order to survive. The cultural benefits I highlight are similar to those achieved by orality in the traditional circumcision of the Batswana.32 To attest to the ubiquity of such orality gains in the various ethnic groups, my findings affirm remarks cited in Nyembezi et al.’s research report, on benefits of traditional circumcision from the point of view of the South African amaXhosa cultural group.33 The quoted findings by Le Roux et al. and Mbito and Malia are paraphrased by Nyembeze et al. as confirming that, “Traditionally circumcised men are prepared for new roles as adults and are taught about sexual behaviors, essential duties to their families and community members through a traditional and culturally embedded process called male initiation.”34 Moreover, despite occasional failure on the part of Krige and Krige to decode the orality of BaLobedu circumcision for the

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cultural benefits to be laid bare, the writers overall extol the molding lessons the novices and society benefit from the traditional initiation practice.35 In the same way, Nyembezi stresses the culturally empowering role of ethnic lore contained in the orality of amaXhosa initiation, Krige and Krige also focus on the lessons the novices derive from the orality facet of initiation. In this way, it is clear that wherever traditional initiation is practiced in all parts of Africa, oral teaching devices are imbued with cultural benefits for both the novices being nurtured and societies they return to after the duration of the circumcision school. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

Greely et al. (2013). Bailey et al. (2017), Chinkhumbe et al. (2014), Maffioli (2017), McAllister et al. (2008), Morton (2011), Sgaier et al. (2017), and Vincent (2008). Abraham (2015: 39). Ibid. Morton (2011: 40). Ibid., 40. Krige and Krige (1943). Johnson (2016: 2). Vincent (2008: 79). Vincent ibid., 79. Nyembezi et al. (2014: 1098). Hofmeyr (1993: 30). Morton’s (2011: 40). Krige and Krige ibid., 115. Ibid. Burden (2000: 291–292). No blood relation with the author. Mokgaetši’s daughter, Joline Raesibe Rafapa Nchabeleng, graciously helped to assist her elderly mother by filling gaps in some of the answers she gave. See Morton (2011) about this practice in Botswana circumcision schools. Krige and Krige ibid., 115. Morton ibid., 40. Ibid., 41. Nkadimeng (1973). Surname first, the boys’ names are Boshomane Duncan; Kgosana lesiba Thapelo; Kutumela Abduraheem Shimane; Kutumela Thabang Lesiba; Legong Solly Zoro; Makhafola Malose Bongani; Manyama Samuel; Mokhonoana Shimane; Mushi Desmond; Rafapa Egnecious Khutšo; Rafapa Malesela Paballo Quinton; Sebopela Tebogo; and Tolo Mahlatse. After I had explained the purpose of the interviews, all respondents including the 15 young men gave permission for their names to be made known, yet forbade ascription of their

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names to any specific information that might be interpreted as breaking their oath of secrecy regarding information that may not be shared with non-initiates. Krige and Krige ibid., 115. See ibid.; and Morton (2011). For ethical reasons of respecting the dignity and wishes of respondents, I shall only give titles of the melao in the same way they are known in the sacred language of the initiation school, without giving the rest of the lines and paragraphs of the oral devices. I had to substitute a secret language word with this one, although as graduate initiates we used the forbidden word during our discussion. Krige and Krige ibid., 117. Ibid., 17. Ibid., 117. Kenyatta (1979). Morton (2011). Nyembezi et al. ibid. Le Roux et al. (2007) and Mbito and Malia (2008) paraphrased in Nyembezi et al. (2014: 1098). Krige and Krige ibid., 115, 121.

References Abraham, W.E. 2015. The Mind of Africa. Legon-Accra: Sub-Saharan Publishers. Bailey, Robert C., Irene Nyaboke, and Frederick O. Otieno. 2017. What Device Would Bebest for Early Infant Male Circumcision in East and Southern Africa? Provider Experiences and Opinions with Three Different Devices in Kenya. PLoS One. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0171445. Burden, M. 2000. Remnants of the Apartheid Era in Afrikaans Popular Language: An Exploratory Investigation to Illustrate the Importance of Oral History. In Potent Words: Studies in Southern African Folklore, ed. P.M. Makgamatha, 291–307. Mankweng: University of the North Press. Chinkhumbe, Jobiba, Suzan Godlonton, and Rebecca Thornton. 2014. The Demand for Medical Male Circumcision. American Economic Journal: Applied Economics 6 (2): 152–177. Greely, P., P. Maharaj, T. Letsoalo, and A. Miti. 2013. Traditional Male Circumcision for Reducing the Risk of HIV Infection: Perspectives of Young People in South Africa. Culture, Health & Sexuality 15 (2): 148–559. Hofmeyr, Isabel. 1993. We Spend Our Years as a Tale That Is Told: Oral Historical Narrative in a South African Chiefdom. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Johnson, Lineo R. 2016. Cultural and Social Uses of Orality and Functional Literacy: A Narrative Approach. Reading and Writing 7 (1): 2079–8245. Kenyatta, J. 1979. Facing Mount Kenya. London: Heinemann. Krige, E. Jensen, and J.D. Krige 1943. The Realm of a Rain-Queen: A Study of the Patterns of Lovedu Society. London, etc.: Oxford University Press. Maffioli, Elisa M. 2017. Is Traditional Male Circumcision Effective as an HIV Prevention Strategy? Evidence from Lesotho. PLoS One. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0177076. McAllister, Ryan G., et al. 2008. The Cost to Circumcise Africa. International Journal of Men’s Health 7 (3): 307–316. Morton, Fred. 2011. Bogwera and Mephato. Botswana Notes & Records 43: 38–52.

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Nkadimeng, H.M. 1973. Kgoši Sekwati Mampuru. Pretoria: J.L. Van Schaik. Nyembezi, A., et al. 2014. The Association Between Ethnic Identity and Condom Use Among Young Men in the Eastern Cape Province, South Africa. Arch Sex Behavior 43: 1097–1103. Sgaier, S.K., et al. 2017. Attitudes and Decision-Making About Early Infant Versus EarlyAdolescent Male Circumcision: Demand-Side Insights for Sustainable HIV Prevention Strategies in Zambia and Zimbabwe. PLoS One (July 27). https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0181411. Vincent, Louise. 2008. Cutting Tradition: The Political Regulation of Traditional Circumcision Rites in South Africa’s Liberal Democratic Order. Journal of Southern African Studies 34 (1): 77–91.

Part III

Transformation and Transposition

Chapter 28

To Tongue the Body | To Body the Tongue: Problematizing the Translation of Oral Traditions Luan Staphorst

To dream of translation is to dream of violence. Nowhere is this perhaps more evident than the dream of translating “Africa.” That majestic of giants which Europe fashioned out of spilled dreams and an imagined memory. So the question as to why translation of African oral traditions needs to be problematized can only be addressed by discussing translation as a historic tradition paramount to the colonial project. For “[t]ranslation as a practice shapes, and takes shape within, the asymmetrical relations of power that operate under colonialism.”1 While these asymmetrical relations cannot be discussed at length here, it is important to highlight the position of the native informant. The native informant who is always and already enmeshed with-in (with-and-in) the “missionary enterprise.”2 The native informant can be traced to a figure conceptualized under the ethnographic gaze as a “blank, though generative of a text of cultural identity that only the West (or a Western-model discipline) could inscribe … [to] the self-marginalizing or self-consolidating migrant or postcolonial masquerading as a ‘native informant’.”3 If the native informant represents the spoken, the West is needed to re-present the spoken in writing. This process of in-writing forms a vital part of the missionary enterprise. The “missionary” (read Western intellectual/read colonist/read translator) determines the African-as-Other. Perhaps more violently: the African-as-unspokenfor-Other. This missionary inscribes and rescribes this African-as-Other, but does not do so faithfully. Not necessarily out of unfaithfulness to their imagined Other, but more so out of their definition of what truth is. The missionary produces a simulacrum of truth. This pseudo-truth, effectively defended by their native informant, becomes shared-truth, which in a circular motion re-affirms the African-as-Other. Where a philosopher might beg the question, the colonialist begs the translation. And through this, bags it as well.

L. Staphorst (B) Chair: Critical Studies in Higher Education Transformation, Nelson Mandela University, Port Elizabeth, South Africa © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_28

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Underpinning this bagging (read capturing/read silencing/read abandoning) of the translation and there-through the native informant are two beliefs. The first is conceptualizing the African into one homogeneous whole. An individual is treated as “an authentic ethnic fully representative of his or her tradition.”4 The African-asunspoken-for-Other can be voiced through the native informant but must be written for by the missionary. The second belief is in the “Third World as [consisting of] distant cultures exploited but with rich intact literary heritages waiting to be recovered, interpreted and curricularized in English/French/German/Dutch translation; delivering the emergence of a ‘South’ that provides proof of transnational exchange.”5 Together, these two beliefs conceal verwêrelding (Spivakian “worlding”). Non-Western traditions, as well as those who practice it, are entangled with-in a global discourse and economy. This, however, happens without problematizing the genesis and process through which it transpires—namely colonialism. Nor does it ask those being roped into this new order whether they want to, or on what terms they would be willing to be part of it. Colonialism is naturalized and births neo-colonial relations. Translation is intimately wound (and read its double script of wound) up in this event. It is ever-present, and while verwêrelding takes root, this globality bears wêrelddinge (world things) as its fruit. It is this, I believe, which is the greatest challenge in the translation of African oral traditions. How not to translate towords mere wêrelddinge. Because these wêrelddinge, as is the case with most socalled African “artefacts,” are able to circulate with-in an economy as capital. The missionary-become-merchant elevates the use-value of translations in the following manner: the merchant in art (… [translator,] publisher, etc.) is inseparably both the one who exploits the work of the artist by making commerce of his products and the one who, in putting it on the market of symbolic goods through … publication … ensures that the product of artist fabrication will receive a consecration.6

The consecration of art is not limited to this process of decontextualizing through commercialization, but rather through capital’s ability to reinvent itself. It is for this reason that African artworks are—if not originally, then eventually—stored, studied and displayed under the guise of “artefacts.” However, as a result of the emphasis on the conscience with-in African art, it should not be reduced to an object which is “museum-oriented.”7 Artwork with-in African society is rather at all times part of a greater event. Such an event “represents one of the highest forms of art, as diverse and at times conflicting and incommensurable elements of art are proactively given an organic unity by the artist.”8 This project of arte-fact-ing African art continues to this day but is perhaps more concealed and sophisticated in a discourse of “protecting” and “salvaging” oral traditions. Against the backdrop of projects purporting to promote the heritage of common humanity, internationally respected institutions such as Oxford University and UNESCO re-affirm problematic power-relations of the past.9 This results in neo-colonial archives sanctioned by, directed by and housed with-in Western epistemes.

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Verwêrelding and the subsequent wêrelddinge which it leaves in its wake become even greater acts and products of violence. Criticizing the archives which are presented in the name of Africa, Toyin Falola argues that with-in African communities, there exist ritual archives “unbounded in scale and scope.”10 The content of these archives is not simply chips and shards speaking of some lost time and place, but rather dynamic sites of knowledge. As ritual archives are not disembowelments like Western archives (gutted into disciplines and shred to fields of inquiry), it represents a complex weave. It is against the backdrop of the above that I argue that it is the task of the translator of the spoken to re-claim the colonial archive, and re-institute the ritual: I do not [however] argue for a scorched-earth approach to the landscape of the argief (archive). I rather believe that the archive-ed as text-ed must be removed from the archive as institution, in order to remove the agency from the institution and giving it to the texts and those who create, co-create and re-create it. We need an arg(e.g.)ief. So we need to go about arg(l)iefing: cutting open the lips of the lock and cleave into the bone of the book to retrieve that which has been deemed relic and debris. By this, I do not mean to negate the archive or to write it out of history (that would constitute violence unto itself). However, to write-out the archived from with-out the archive, we can change the relationship of the material with-in from de-stroyed history to re-storied presence.11

To-Word Translation Perhaps you may think that up to this point, I myself am dreaming of violence. A dream of violent translation. Rather, I would argue we need to dream of difference, for one of the most fundamental principles of our being, is difference. Without difference, the very notion of being would not have been possible. If there was no state of unbeing; if we could not become more than our being, being would be a non-state. So ontology as we know it is phenomenal difference. The act of translation, therefore, is difference-overcoming. And if difference is the principle of being, translation is absolute knowledge. To translate purely—to be pure translation—would be the state of ever-being (and where ever and never is not differed by a consonant). If we accept this, it is difficult to translate the state of being which does not view it as being fundamental to the human condition. And yet this has been the dominant state of mind. For translation, despite its pragmatic and philosophic qualities, has not been a formal discipline of study for long. If we can speak about the scandal of philosophy, we should even more so speak of the shame of translation. One of the founding theories identifies three different kinds of translation: 1. 2. 3.

Intralingual translation or rewording is an interpretation of verbal signs by means of other signs of the same language. Interlingual translation or translation proper is an interpretation of verbal signs by means of some other language. Intersemiotic translation or transmutation is an interpretation of verbal signs by means of signs of nonverbal sign systems.12

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Translation of oral traditions is doubly difficult: not only should the translator transpose the language of the tradition to one foreign to it, but it should also transmutate the non-linguistic signs into language. It is both interlingual and intersemiotic. The translator does not, however, necessarily do both. The translator who works from an already transcribed text will subsequently only work with-in the medium of print. For those who are fortunate enough to be privy to an oral performance have the task of not only translating the tongue, but the tongued body. It is for this that I prefer the translation of “translation” in my mother tongue: ver-taal. For to ver-taal (translate) is not merely to trans-late and re-late, to move to-word in-language. It is the process of language-becoming. And here, while becoming-language, we can speak of a body-become-tongue. For while “language may be one of many elements that allow us to make sense of things, of ourselves … I am [further] thinking, of course, of gestures, of pauses, but also of chance, of the subindividual force-fields of being which click into place in different situations, swerve from the straight or true line of language-in-thought.”13 A seminal approach to translating in general, and which have greatly influenced the translation of African oral traditions in particular, is Kwame Appiah’s “thick translation”: a translation that seeks with its annotations and its accompanying glosses to locate the text in a rich cultural and linguistic context…. A thick description of the context of literary production, a translation that draws on and creates that sort of understanding, meets the need to challenge ourselves … to go further, to undertake the harder project of a genuinely informed respect for others.14

The efficacy of this approach has led it to being canonized with-in translation studies. To the extent of it being the only text by an African intellectual, as well as the only text addressing translation with-in an African context, to be taken up in Lawrence Venuti’s influential The Translation Studies Reader. And here lies the problem. Appiah’s theory, which addresses the translation of African oral traditions, is dependent upon the untranslatability of the oral tradition itself. As is the case with so many African artworks which are, and have been, museum-ed and arte-fact-ed (read “cultured”), African oral traditions are treated as curiosum. Objects which the ethnographer can de-cipher and in-scribe. The oral text is not able to be represented without some co-text of mark and gloss. For “to add a gloss, of the translator’s note sort … always, even in the best of cases, the case of the greatest relevance, confesses the impotence or failure of the translation.”15 Should we believe that oral traditions are therefore inherently untranslatable? That the best approximation is the annotation? Despite these pressing questions, Appiah’s theory has been invaluable in promoting a more conscientious approach to the translation of African oral traditions in particular, but orality as a phenomenon in general. The theory has led to more nuanced readings of the problematic of translation. A close interpretation is that of Niyi Osundare, who argues that “[c]opious explanatory notes and elaborations … [should be] employed to cushion the strange item in its target location.”16 This “cushioning,” according to Akíntúndé Akínye.mí, is not only limited to the use of glosses or notations, but rather both intra- and extra-textual strategies.17 I would

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argue that more than cushioning, the translation of orality requires a more radical bedding. Without focussing on the use of glosses and notes, bedding wraps the text in-textually. Bedding is a principle of my approach to translation, omdigting. Omdigting, which cannot be translated itself, but can roughly be broken down as follows: om which has a plethora of meaning, including around; about; with the aim of; because; to start; different; enclosing; past. Dig denotes poetry; the creation of poetry; closed; impenetrable; thick; full; satiated. Omdigting is subsequently an approach to translation that works around the text, around the page, around the word. Influenced by Jacques Derrida’s concept of deconstruction, an omdigter embraces the impossibility-possibility of translation. The omdigter is aware of the fluidity of textscapes, but does not conform to the demands of a single limiting textile. The thick translation aims to conform oral traditions to the written medium, as orality has been described of potentially “smother[ing] everything on the page.”18 Omdigting, in contrast, argues the written medium needs to be con-form-ed to the echo of the oral. Where traditional translation strategies, including thick translation, aims at smothering the oral to breathe paper, omdigting “wish[es] to smother the written page, to allow the spoken word to breathe.”19 While omdig is the techne of my translation strategy, nadig could be regarded as its telos. Nadig, which means naby-dig (near-writing), nader-dig (nearer-writing), agterna-dig (after-word-writing) and tena-dig (offensive-writing). The ultimate vertaling (the process of both omdig and nadig) is subsequently always a supplement (in the Derridean sense) to the textscape of the oral. This supplement, this extra, is always already-present in the ver-taalbaarheid (literally the ability to bear translation) of a text, but is only realized through the echo. Like the ontology of being is difference, and the ontology of difference is being, so the translation can only be in relation to translated. The texts need more co-text. “[T]he supplement is neither a plus nor a minus, neither an outside nor the complement of an inside, neither accident nor essence.”20 Where I challenge Derrida, however, is his assessment that the supplement does not constitute a third term. The placing of the in-written spoken constitutes Homi Bhabha’s third space.21 An oral translation is subsequently the third text. It is always violent. It violates the embodied text by capturing it with-in a non-body of print. The (te)nadig is conscious of this and therefore tries to limit it. Yet we cannot escape the violence of translation. Even the most conscientious space-placing of the text is violating its context and therefore its co-text. As a result of this violence-avoidance, omdigting favors foreignization in the foreignization-versus-domestication debate.22 The translation can be read as an attempt at restitution, and as such echoes Chantal Zabus’s argument for “indigenization.” Omdigting attempts at eliciting ostranenie (estranging) among its readers by centering the indigene-episteme. This vervreemding (strange-making) should, however, not be done in it-self for it-self. Vervreemding, executed without conscience, could meet the same end as verwêrelding, namely thinging the text. Vervreemding easily becomes vreemdding (strange-thing), and the vreemdding, just like the wêreldding, is pushed in-to and with-in the space of capital. The spoken is un-to-wordly

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Capitalized. The text-become-object can now circulate as curiosum. Ready for disciplining, arte-fact-ing and archiving. Returning to question of foreignization, omdigting leaves the translator’s visibility in a double-bind. In order to omdig the source, the translator has to supplement the textual through om-skrywings (circum-scriptions) as part of in-textual bedding. The omdigter is therefore always already visible in relation to the source, yet should attempt at limiting their voice-d presence. The native informant is, as discussed, a historically exploited “text,” and subsequently an act of indigenization should position them inclusively and respectfully. The native informant should therefore furthermore not be reflected as some mythical-Other with in-sight in-to an undifferentiated textscape. The native informant can only re-present an oral performance, but not an absolute text. The text emanating from an oral tradition, in a circular motion, is almost always a supplement. The translation is thereby supplementary-supplement: the oorlewing (afterlife/oberleben).23

To-Word an African Aesthetic Steering clear of the Western gaze, the interpretation of African oral traditions should be attempted against the background of a theory of African aesthetics. While the search for, and appreciation of, aesthetics is a universal phenomenon, this “does not mean that all aestheticians should employ similar standards of value.”24 An African aesthetic can, therefore, be the conceptualization of such (African) values in relation to art, and Innocent Onyewuenyi argues these values to be functionality, community-orientation, de-personalization, contextualization and embeddedness. This is a “many-layered aesthetic.”25 Where the dominant Western conception of art includes the form, content and function of an artwork, an African aesthetic furthermore highlights a social dimension.26 “[W]hat makes a piece of work an artwork is not merely who made it, where it was made, and what it is was made of, but, more importantly, whether it can invite people together … [for] art is a social affair.”27 This “artistico-socio consciousness” is further complemented by the artwork’s symbolism.28 Drawing on these theories, I propose the following rhizomic model for African aesthetics consisting of: (1) Conscience (beyond mere functionality, an artwork is shaped and to a large extent determined by social context). (2) Symbolism (beyond mere content, the artwork’s symbolic nature depends on the semiotic sign system with-in which it is created and re-presented). (3) Textuality (beyond mere form, the artwork is a creation with properties arising out of an embedded textscape) (Fig. 28.1). While this chapter does not focus on the aesthetics of African art, these values are reflected with-in many African oral traditions. By this, I do not mean to essentialize African art or orality into a homogeneous whole. “Africa’s creative traditions are both various and particular … Africa’s forms of life are too diverse to capture in a single ideal type.”29 The translator of these traditions should, however, be aware of

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Fig. 28.1 Borders of performance, theater, drama and literature

these loosely identified values. Where this is not done, the translation is more often than not irrelevant at best and epistemically violent at worst.

To-Word Conscience An influential theory which has sparked discussion and dissent in both prescriptive and descriptive translation studies is skopos. In the source text/target text dichotomy, Hans Vermeer, who defined skopos theory, points out that a “source text is usually composed originally for a situation in the source culture … [whilst] the target text, the translatum, is oriented towards the target culture.”30 From this difference arises a seeming conflict between functionary qualities of the two texts. Is difference, however, a given? I would argue that functionary differences mostly arise out of predetermined ideas when approaching the act of translating, rather than an inherent shift as a result of translation as a practice. The translator of African oral traditions must be specifically knowledgeable of the functionary role of the specific text they are translating. In his transcription and translation of Kinyarwandan poetry, Alexis Kagame has been criticized for his apparent failure to render the traditions he was working with-in faithfully. Motivated by a “nationalistic project,” Kagame’s transcriptions are ideologically loaded toward a consolidation of “politicohistorical, ethnocultural, religious, linguistic and literary” ideals.31 The use of indigenous knowledge (of whatever form) in one’s own creative work is definitely not a new or unacceptable phenomenon. The ethical question, however, is whether this should be represented as being an act of translation, versus an act of adaptation.

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It is here—the periphery of translation and adaptation—that the “poet’s version” can be found.32 A small river runs between translation and adaption. While all translation is an act of interpretation, it should not be an act for the sake of interpretation. Here lies an important difference—a difference of conscience. Where a textrepresented-as-translation presupposes an intimate relationship and affinity with the text-represented-as-source, the text-represented-as-adaptation does not necessarily imply or reflect such a connection. An adaption frees itself from the obligation of faithfulness. When a translation assumes and reflects this freedom, it becomes nothing more than an illusion. It is a “pseudo-event that locates not a void in the situation but a ‘plenitude’ or ‘substance’ and thus results in a ‘simulacrum of truth’.”33 This dangerous simulacrum has the potential to admit and exclude individuals into and from a community, and is in contrast with true truth. The non-simulacrum of truth. For “truth … stops short of asserting a totalizing power that is exclusionary or repressive.”34 Truth, grounded on an “unnameable,” lies outside of that which can be grasped and therefore manipulated. But the simulacrum tries to grasp it. It manipulates it and hollows it out by covering it with a name. And there is violence: The unnameable has been named. This notion of the simulacrum, of course, assumes that there is a truth. And the possibility of the truth untruthed through a simulacrum. Here we can read truth as intention; truth as determination. As discussed, African art is many-layered. The assumption of a truth, an intention or a determination is to violate the text of its many-layeredness. It strips the bedding to a single fiber. Without the bedding, the textscape becomes mere textile. In terms of African art, Jeylan Wolyie Hussein identifies six interlocking functions35 : 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

The representation of a community’s myths of origin. The shaping and formation of the sociocultural history of a community. The depiction of a community’s religious beliefs and culture. The communication of identity—both of the group and individuals with-in it. The illumination of the ethno-philosophy of a community. The expression of a community’s norms and values.

The reduction of an oral tradition through translation is subsequently violence of assumption of functionality. Without carefully reading the oral text as an interplay of functions and purpose, the translator will more often than not re-duce meaning and re-peat the colonial project of a scorching of epistemic nuance and identity. African oral traditions further seldom fit in with Western conceptions of genre and discipline. The oral tradition of the |xam of Southern Africa, called kukummi, can be translated as “stories, news, talk, information, history and … myths and folklore.”36 “Western dichotomist notions of fact/fiction, account/poem or nature/art are therefore not eclipsed by kukummi. The narratives rather reflect a delicately tuned string through which all texts are connected.”37 A similar oral tradition can be found among the Mpiemu of Central Africa in the “category [doli]… through which they express, debate and make claims of truth about the past and present. Glossing doli as ‘history’ does little justice to the richly complex dimensions of this category, for doli encompasses a multitude of relationships to the past.”38 The last example is the owe in Yorùbá, which is translated as proverbs in English. This, despite that

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there are “significant differences … [and] that the equivalences can be misleading … ‘[For] ferreting out Yorùbá correspondence to the English subgenres, although a useful comparative exercise, has little relevance to understanding the Yorùbá concept and usage of owe’.”39 Stripping, classifying and disciplining such traditions out of context and inscribing meaning links with the literary theory of the fallacy of intent. The New Critic School of literary study emphasizes the impossibility of the reader knowing the intent of the author in relation to a text. This does not imply there is no intention, but rather that the reader is always that: a reader. Not the Writer. When interpreting texts (read translating), the reader by virtue of inscribing meaning with-in the text is a writer, however the reader is not the Writer. Being wary of this process of in-writing should limit this reading-as-transgressionary-writing. Conscious-reading is writingconscience. The translator-as-reader should subsequently be wary of their gaze upon the intended text. Isidore Okpewho laments that “the texts we get from the artists may be not so much the texts that come out of them as the texts we dictate by the demands we make of them.”40 Returning to Alexis Kagame, his manipulation of the truth/intention provides a text in point of what should be avoided. As president of the Rwandan Academy of Culture, Kagame’s influence was not only intellectual but systemic. Kagame, a prolific intellectual who contributed to thinking as diverse as philosophy, philology and poetry, had a “political project,” and this influenced his translations which are now branded as overtly ideological. His vision for what the Academy, and by extension his own work, ought to do, is reflected in a 1971 speech by then president of the Republic of Rwanda, Grégoire Kayibanda: [This new institution, the Rwandan Academy of Culture, should] bring together the legitimate heritage of the past, analyze, put it in tune with the current soul of our people, collect and analyze the new elements originating in foreign cultures, legitimize the synthesis of culture that is currently valid for a modern development of Rwanda and Africa, and direct in a rational manner the evolution of this sector of national life (my emphases).41

The need to “put [heritage] in tune” and “direct [culture] in a rational manner” clearly speak of an ideological strategy of adaptation. The aim is not necessarily the “collecting” and “preservation” of a tradition that is so emblematic and problematic of projects pursued by UNESCO and Oxford University among others. However, this approach does not aim to re-present a tradition faithfully either and is subsequently as violent as that of the colonial and neo-colonial powers.

To-Word Textuality Possibly, the most visceral challenge in translating any oral tradition lies with-in overcoming the difference of textuality. To write or not to write is not the question, but rather how. And here we find that the greatest violence committed against oral traditions is supposing its antithesis is the written word. A word is a word, whether

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it be spoken or written. There exists no tension between these apparent opposites. For the opposite of the word, is the non-word. Or rather, the non-tongued word. For when I speak of language, I do not imply that the masks of the Igbo, the Djembe of the Bambara or the Mbende of the Shona do not constitute languages with grammars and lexicons. In fact, in ver-taling it is the task of the translator to re-present this language together with those spoken. This is the in-(tongued)-languaging that is the aim of ver-taling. The translator of oral traditions cannot cleave open the tradition to merely the spoken word. The translation must reflect the performativity of the tradition with-in the text. In describing a SiSwati oral tradition, Zodwa Sithebe presents a transcription strategy that echoes this act of ver-taling, albeit only to a certain extent42 : 1. Lwandle luyadzi—kita lapho kunendlovu! Indlovu ngeye—tfu MaSwati Ngem—andla! (poet jumps out to the audience, pointing her hand upward) NguMakhoset–ive, yinkosi lebuse tive kuc—ala Ibe bukhosi bakhe abushiyele baka—khe Bona batiko kutsi Mafika muva udl’umlente Inkunzi isemfatfol—eni! The sea rumbles where lodges an elephant! The elephant is ours, MaSwati By Power! (poet jumps out to the audience, pointing her hand upward) He is Makhosetive, the king who first ruled other nations While keeping the best of his kingship for his own As they know better that he who comes last gets a mere bone The bull is among the calves! 2. Lihlawuhhawu lebuhle beMaSwati! Ingani kwakungukutsani kwakutsani lapho sasitsi, Langa libovu ngelakatsi ngelase Mbekelweni! Kepha kungulamuhla nje sesiyaphindza sitsi, Phu—ma langa siko—tse! (poet dances about, modulates her voice with her hand pointing up whilst the audience ululates and applauds) Kwatsi cosololo, kwatsi coposha! It is the unspoken beauty of the MaSwati! It was yester year when we said, The red sun is ours, it is of Mbekelweni! And today we repeat we say, Rise ferocious sun, we want to bask in your warmth!

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(poet dances about, modulates her voice with her hand pointing up whilst the audience ululates and applauds) It feels good, indeed it feels good! Witnessing a performance of the above praise poem, Sithebe transcribes the SiSwati text and provides a translation. Speaking of the oral text with-in its performative mode, Sithebe argues it “is a testimony to the performer’s liberty to manipulate the oral text to suit the mood of the performance. Such liberty is seen in the modulation of voice, the pulling of the penultimate syllable in each line … and the repetition of certain words.”43 Here a poetics unfolds before us, a code which is available to the SiSwati oral poet, and through which each performer has their own unique signature which is inscribed in the performance. In order to present this liberty, this signature on the otherwise shared oral text, Sithebe breaks the word linguistically through a punctuation mark, the dash (-). In this way, “NguMakhosetive” becomes “NguMakhoset–ive,” “luyadzikita” becomes “luyadzi—kita,” and “sikotse” becomes “siko—tse.” The insertion of the punctuation mark is a strategy to re-present this “pulling” of syllables, with the number of marks denoting the length of the “pull.” Returning to the three examples I cite above, “NgyMakhosetive” is broken through two dashes, or two pulls, “luyadzikita” by three dashes, and “sikotse” by three dashes. Sithebe hereby successfully conveys this unique verbal temporality, and the text subsequently mirrors what would otherwise have been absent in the transcription. This punctuationality is further accompanied by interjections between lines of poetry reflecting the non-verbal aspects of the performance. Sithebe includes two such interjections. The first appears after the poet exclaims “Ngem—andla!”. Here, in brackets, Sithebe illustrates the potency of this line, which translates as “By Power!”, through sketching the poet’s actions which accompany the exclamation: “(poet jumps out to the audience, pointing her hand upward).” The second interjection appears after the line “Phu—ma langa siko—tse!”, which is an invocation of the sun and the sun’s warmth: “(poet dances about, modulates her voice with her hand pointing up whilst the audience ululates and applauds).” Of importance in this interjection, is the description not only of the performer who “dances about,” and “modulates her voice,” but of the interaction of the audience who “ululates and applauds.” What Sithebe is relaying reaches deeper than the text’s verbal surface, for it points to its fundamental embodiedness with-in the space of performance. When reading any transcription of an originally oral text—whether it be a story, a praise poem or even a conversation between friends—the accompanying nonverbal dimensions of the text is often absent in either description or acknowledgment, which points to it being glossed over and simply ignored. Sithebe offers an alternative approach, one which I would deem essential for a transcriptional and translational action when approaching the oral text. However, while these are effective strategies for transcription, it is unfortunate that this is not reflected with-in the translation. Sithebe does not, for a reason which is unclear, incorporate punctuationality with-in the English translation. A translational ver-omdiging of this transcription could read in the following manner:

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1. The elephant is ooouuurs [ou—rs], MaSwati By Pooower [Po—wer]! (poet jumps out to the audience, pointing her hand upward) He is Makhosetiive [Makhoset–ive], the king who first ruled other naaations [na—tions] While keeping the best of his kingship for his oooown [o—wn] As they know better that he who comes last gets a mere bone The bull is among the caaaalves [ca—lves]! 2. It is the unspoken beauty of the MaSwati! It was yester year when we said, The red sun is ours, it is of Mbekelweni! And today we repeat we say, Riiise [Ri—se] ferocious sun, we want to baaaask [ba—sk] in your warmth! (poet dances about, modulates her voice with her hand pointing up whilst the audience ululates and applauds) It feels good, indeed it feels good! José Manuel de Prada-Samper presents a similar strategy when translating the oral tradition of inhabitants of the Karoo in South Africa (particularly the Afrikaans descendants of the Khoi and Bushman peoples of Southern Africa). This extract is from a tale titled Jackal, Hyena, the bees and the baboons, told by Serena Renier44 : Ja! Is nou soos Wolf vir Jakkals gesê het: “Jong, ons twee stap hier, maar weet jy wat?” (Wolf en Jakkals, ja!) “Ons sal moet ‘n bietjie opstaan en kerk toe gaan. Ja, ons gaan nou kerk toe.” Hulle twee is ook blink aangetrek en hulle gaan nou weg [wys hoe deftig hulle aangetrek is]. “Ons gaan nou kerk toe.” En toe hulle so stap, toe hoor Jakkals, maar hier sing iewers nou bitterlik hard mense. Hy sê vir Wolf: “Broer Wolf, Broer Wolf het jy gehoor? Ek hoor die koor sing al bitterlik hard en ons is laat. Maar gaat sy solank. Hier’s die gat.” [Wys met uitgestrekte hand die gat voor haar aan.].” Dis ‘n bynes, hoor. “Hier’s die kerk, jong. Gaan jy solank in”, sê Jakkals vir Wolf. “Gaan jy solank in, ek gaan nou kom. Ek gaan net gou so ‘n draai spring Arme ou Wolf is in die gat [wys weer na die gat]. Jakkals is die kant toe [wys met uitgestrekte arm na links]. Jakkals het teruggekom. Arme Wolf was so aangepak van die bye, foeitog. Ja, net so het Jakkals met Wolf gemaak. Toe sê hy vir Wolf: “Jong, die bobbejane speel nou net so op die kranse. Jy ken mos maar daai kranse, [hulle] gaan afval.” …

Yes! It’s exactly as Hyena said to Jackal: “Look, the two of us are now walking here, but do you know what?” (Hyena and Jackal, hey!) “We should get up and go to church. Yes, we’re now going to church.” The two of them are dressed in their best too, and they’re now going away. [Gesture to show how smartly dressed they are.] We’re now going to church’. And as they are walking, Jackal hears people are now singing very loudly somewhere. He says to Hyena: “Brother Hyena, Brother Hyena did you hear that? I hear the choir already singing very loudly and we’re late. But you go ahead. Here’s the hole.” [Points with outstretched hand to the hole in front of her.] It’s a beehive, okay. “Here’s the church, now. You go ahead,” says Jackal to Hyena. “Go in so long, I’ll come now. I’m just quickly going somewhere first.” Poor old Hyena is in the hole [points to hole again]. Jackal went that way [points with extended arm to her left]. Jackal came back. Poor Hyena was so full of bees, poor thing. Yes, that’s exactly how Jackal treated Hyena. Next he says to Hyena: “Hey, the baboons are playing on the cliffs. You know those cliffs, they are going to fall over.” (continued)

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(continued) Hoe meer die Wolf vir hulle sê, “Maar julle kan nie hier speel nie, Broer Jakkals het gou ‘n stok loop soek,” [arms hou kranse regop, kyk terug terwyl met bobbejane praat] het bobbejaan net so gekyk [arms steeds omhoog, gesigsuitdrukking toon aan dat bobbejane wat ondertoe kyk verbaas is oor wat Wolf sê]. En toe sê die een [in ‘n vriendelike stem, asof met ‘n kind praat]: “Ons speel elke dag [hier], is onse speelplek dié.” Toe sê hulle vir hom: “Los.” [Knikkend] “Hu -hu.” “Los!” En daar los hy. Daar staan die klip [beklemtoon dit deur haar vingers te klap]. Ek dink daai klip staan seker vandag nog daar. Ja! [Lag] O, Jakkals het gehou daarvan om vir arme Wolf so te verneuk. Foeitog, moeder! Haai, hm-mm. Nee, oe … Ja, hy was baie lief om vir arme, daai man so ‘n streep te trek.

The more Hyena says to them: “But you cannot play here! Brother Jackal has quickly gone to fetch a tick.” [Arms up again, holding up the cliff, looking back while talking to the baboons.] The baboons just look at him. [Arms still up, looking down now, with facial expression showing the baboons are surprised by what Hyena is saying.] And then one said [in a kind tone, like talking to a child]: “We play [here] every day, this is our play park, here.” Then they said to him: “Let’s go.” [Nodding] “Huh uh.” “Let go!” And there he let go. There the cliff stands. [Emphasises this by snapping her fingers] I think that rock is surely still standing there today, yes. [Laughs] Oh, Jackal like tricking poor Hyena like that. Poor thing … Hi, hm-hm. No. My goodness. Yes, he loved to play tricks on that poor man.

De Prada-Samper writes various gestures (“emphasises this by snapping her fingers”), facial expressions (“with facial expression showing the baboons are surprised by what Hyena is saying”), vocal dinamics (“in a kind tone, like talking to a child”) and sporadic reactions (“laughs”) in-to the text by placing them in square brackets. Together with these non-spoken elements, he uses these brackets to add words or phrases which were ellipsed during the oral performance, but which might leave a sentence ambiguous or unclear when not present in the written sentence. He further manages to capture an aside in the very first paragraph by using rounded brackets to indicate such a statement. Square and rounded brackets become two punctuality codes which identifies the content as inscriptions, yet which at the same points to their being different forms of inscription. The approach by both Sithebe and De Prada-Samper illustrates the divergent strategies in mediating the textual. For this reason, I argue that an area of future scholarship should be to-word an orthography for oral traditions. The differentiated strategies, which can be found to address this challenge in translating orality, speaks of the ingenuity of translators in overcoming this difference. The danger, however, is in creating possibly a confusing number of “literacies” with regard to transcripted and translated oral traditions. Having a unified code consisting of signs, symbols and diacritics to em-body the textual will go a long way in furthering printed translations of oral traditions.

To-Word Symbolism The symbolic nature of any artwork is perhaps the most challenging to ver-taal, as it demands that the translator be able to word that which has been worded. For the word is not the worded. It is the attempt to word a present non-presence. In terms of the signifier and the signified (which cannot be separated), the intimate relation between meaning and form is illustrated. When translating oral traditions one should,

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therefore, be cognizant that simply translating the signifier is fruitless. It lies with-in strategies of construing worded words. Not to do so is meaning under erasure. A unique phenomenon in African languages in relation to such a worded word is the ideophone. Described as an “idea in sound,”45 it is alternately classified as a “mimic noun[, …] intensive noun,” “descriptive or indeclinable verb particle” and as an interjection of a strong emotive or active nature.46 To translate such a grammatically and symbolically untranslatable concept challenges the dominant notions of equivalence. For this, equivalence does not merely relate to symbol, but to form. Mary Mphande provides the following translation of ideophones in a Chichewa oral poem47 : Nsanje N’matenda N’wanji bzyokolobzyokolo wosatha m’nyumba Timatupi gwa! Chifukwa cha mkamwa moto Ha! Mtendere kuchita kuwulakalaka Mpaka chikhumbokhumbo chabanjacho mphi! Kuchimina Ati palibe nsanje palibe chikondi Ena n’kumati palibe chikondo palibe mantha Mmmm! Komanso yinayi nsanje n’matenda Manthanso nawo akachita uthelatu ulemu usoweka … N’kwanji kusakhutitsidwa nacho chikondi chamzako Kodi zounikira zapakhomo pano sindikwanitsa Kukhala ndiko ndiuku tikhalira limodzi nthawi zonse Nanga icho ukhumbanso iwe tere n’chiyaniyani Zisathetu ndalama m’nyumba koma zapita kwa anachuma Ndiye chimsunamo ndu! ndu! ndu! n’kumangosemphana zichewa Ntchito nayo ikapalamula kundichulukira mwachedwa kwa ajawa Mmm! tamaugwirankoni mtima mai Kumtondo kumoto kaya nkudambo zonse ndimafitsa Komatu ayi pabwino adatayila galu sangayamike N’kati nsambe ndioneke bwino kumene Ali nkokadzitsatsa malonda uko Pochoka pakhomo phew! tipumeko tsopano Powombedwa ndikamphepo kakum’ mawa ntendere ukuzungulila Komatu kungokwana nthawi yowona msana wanjira Nkhawa bii! kaya lero n’kamvanji Amvundula madzi alipo mazanamazana inde Komanso mamveramverawa ndiwo mbozi zamphamvu Potitu banja ndi anthu awiri umu n’ dziwira ine Ukapeza pakudza wachitatu n’wosokoneza uyo

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Chikondi choposa kukhalila limodzi n’ chamtundu wanji Zaka kho! wana mbwee! anthu takulilana nanga chisowanso N’chiyani Nanga sindipo padzera ufiti paja apa tere Poti uchite kum ‘dyetsa mchira wakhwawe mzako Translation: Jealousy is Sickness Why the endless bzyokolobzyokolo in the house Tiny bodies gwa from fiery tongues Ha! why do we have to wulakalaka happiness Until the khumbokhumbo of that family mphi! They say if there is no jealousy there is no love And others say where there is no love there is no fear Mmmm! But then some love is a sickness And where fear has completely vanished respect lacks Why not be satisfied with the love from your partner? Don’t I provide all the necessities in this house? Life is the way we have been living all this time What more do you want now? If there’s no money in the house, I must have spent it on Nachuma Then it’s sulking ndu ndu ndu, total failure to listen to each other If I’m late from work, I must have been with so-and-so Mmmm! be patient lady Pounding, cooking, or drawing water, I do all that But no! Good things are thrown to the dog, nothing is appreciated If I try to dress up so that I look presentable They say I am advertising myself When leaving the house phew! what a relief In the breeze of dawn some peace prevails But when time comes to go back home It’s feeling bii, not knowing what will happen next Peace disturbers are mazanamazana, yes But these mveramvera are a great weakness Since a family is two people, as far as I know, If there is a third person that’s the disturber

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What kind of love surpasses living together Years kho!, children mbwee!, we have grown old together Now what else is missing Is this not where witchcraft comes in When you feed your partner a lizard’s tail Mphande’s strategy is one of foreignization: “bzyokolobzyokolo,” “mazanamazana” and “ndu ndu ndu” are all left untranslated in the English version—something I would argue to be a sound translational choice. What I do not agree with, however, is the lack of in-textual bedding. Mphande includes a short glossary after the translation, in which these, and other ideophones, fixed expressions and other terms which were left untranslated, are defined48 : returning to the three cite above, the definitions are particularly nuanced and insightful. “Bzyokolobzyokolo” refers to a “quarrelsome noisy ranting with-in a house or an enclosed place. The sound represented by /by/is rarely used in the general language,” “mazanamazana” refers to “being in countless number,” and “ndu ndu ndu” refers to “being strangely quiet for a long time.” I regard it as the task of the translator not only to indigenize, ergo keeping the indigesteme through foreignization, but providing a worded translation which mimics the indigesteme. For my translation below, I attempted to bed these ideophones through in-textual om-skrywings, but also vervreemdende repetition forms and alliterative phrases which emphasizes the sound-ed word: Jealousy is Sickness Why the endless bzyokolobzyokolo, this ranting noise, in the house Tiny bodies gwa, are hard and bristle, from fiery tongues Ha! So inflamed! why do we have to wulakalaka happiness Why do we have to go search in such a suspicious way Until the khumbokhumbo, that long wish, of that family mphi! Vanishing! They say if there is no jealousy there is no love And others say where there is no love there is no fear Mmmm! But then some love is a sickness And where fear has completely vanished respect lacks Why not be satisfied with the love from your partner? Don’t I provide all the necessities in this house? Life is the way we have been living all this time What more do you want now? If there’s no money in the house, I must have spent it on Nachuma Then it’s sulking ndu ndu ndu, such strange silence, Total failure to listen to each other If I’m late from work, I must have been with so-and-so Mmmm! be patient lady

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Pounding, cooking, or drawing water, I do all that But no! Good things are thrown to the dog, nothing is appreciated If I try to dress up so that I look presentable They say I am advertising myself When leaving the house phew! what a relief In the breeze of dawn some peace prevails But when time comes to go back home It’s feeling bii, of doomedgloom, not knowing what will happen next Peace disturbers are mazanamazana, so many-many, yes But these mveramvera, these gullible listen-listeners, Are a great weakness since a family is two people, as far as I know, If there is a third person that’s the disturber What kind of love surpasses living together Years kho! Gone! children mbwee! Plenty-plenty! We have grown old together Now what else is missing Is this not where witchcraft comes in When you feed your partner a lizard’s tail On the integration of various sign-ed translational phenomena, I turn to Andrew Clark’s translation of an oral historical slave narrative of the Pulaar of Senegambia, titled The Maccube of Artisans49 : Ndeen noon maccube haa heewi. Leydi ndii fof joogi maccube. Fulbe, bee joogi maccube. Waabe,bee joogi maccube. Hay maccube, bee joggi maccube. Tigi, ko gonga. Maccube Fulbe bee kodi e Fulbe e galle gooto. Maccube waabe bee kodi e waabe e galle gooto. Maccube bee kodi e waabe e galle gooto. Maccube Fulbe bee golii takko pullo mabbe. Maccube waabe bee golii takko baylo mabbe. Maccube bee golii takko maccudo mabbe. Leydi ndii fof andi o woni maccu- do pullo, o woni maccudo baylo, o woni maccudo maccudo. Maccudo baylo o golii takko baylo mako. O janngi lawol waabe moddyini hunnde fof. Maccube ne wonni golay maabe ne buri golay waabe. Kona maccudo woni maccudo, o wonna baylo. O golii nder suudu baylo e woni nder galle makko. Kona o woni maccudo ha sukaabe makko wonni maccube.

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Maccudo gorko resi maccudo deb-bo. Baylo gorko resi baylo debbo. Ha haandi, dum qo lawol meeden. Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye be resi Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye. Sukaabe mabbe jogii jetooje maabe. So Fulbe jabi, maccube Fulbe bami jetooje Fulbe. Kona maccube waabe, bee bamata jetooje Fulbe. Waabe tan joogi jetooje waabe. Translation: The Maccube of Artisans At that time, there were many slaves. Everyone had slaves. The Fulbe had slaves, smiths had slaves. Even slaves had slaves, really, it istrue. Slaves of Fulbe lived in the same compound with the Fulbe. Slaves of smiths lived in the same compound with the smiths. Slaves lived in the same compound with the slaves (who owned them). Slaves of Fulbe worked alongside their pullo. Slaves of smiths worked alongside their smith. Slaves worked alongside their slave (who owned them). Everyone knew who was a slave of a free-born person, who was a slave of a smith, who was a slave of a slave. A slave of a smith worked with that smith. He studied with the smiths and made everything (the smiths made). Some slaves worked better than the smith. But a slave was a slave, not a smith. He worked in the smith’s hut and lived in the same compound. But he always a slave and his children were slaves. A slave married a slave woman. An artisan married an artisan woman. Even today that is our way. Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye married Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye. The children had their father’s surnames. If the Fulbe agreed, slaves of Fulbe took Fulbe surnames. But slaves of smiths did not take smith surnames. Only smiths had smith surnames. As per the theory of thick translation, Clark includes numerous footnotes which situates the text with-in a larger, more encompassing context. This is done in a nuanced and sensitive manner, however, as I argued above, the danger with any type of annotation, is its ability to be lost in translation (where translation is the transition of the text to-words capital, intellectual enclaves and a wider textualizing-archiving). As illustration, it is insightful to turn to two footnotes. The very first “strange” term

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in the title, Maccube, is not presented in translation, but provided a footnote: “maccube, (sing., maccudo); second or later generation slaves, or those born in the village. Recently acquired slaves were called diambe (sing., diamdo)”50 —here Clark outlines the unique meaning of this term and its relation to a complex system of slavery. As Clark’s study is itself rooted in a larger project on slavery, the particular attention paid to concepts and expressions thereof seems prudent. However, as this is a footnote, it can be glossed over and forgotten, thereby erasing its particularity, rather becoming a vreemdding devoid of meaning. A second footnote worth discussing is the footnote to “Smiths” (itself a translation of the term waabe): “This social category includes blacksmiths, gold and silver smiths, woodworkers, and griots (or professional musicians and praise singers). Smiths or artisans belonged to specialized, hereditary, endogamous occupational groups.”51 The term waabe is clearly a particularly rich word, referring not merely a single career or object, but rather a “social category.” The result is that “smiths” is presented as equivalent to waabe in Clark’s translation, yet a single look at the footnote points to the hollowness of this translational choice. The text suffers from this empty equivalence, and this choice, I would argue, qualifies as a violation of the integrity of the Pulaar indigesteme. In my omdigting of the narrative below, I provide an attempt incorporating the footnotes where Clark elaborates on concepts in the original Pulaar.52 Centering the indigesteme moves the omdigting to incorporate om-skrywings and bedding when introducing the concept, after which the indigenous word is reflected instead of a translation. To do otherwise, would be “effacement of specificity and appropriation … [that constitutes] translation-as-violation.”53 Clark’s effacement of an ideophone is a phrase in point. As with my strategy in relation to “Jealousy is Sickness,” I both included the ideophone as well as provided an approximate translation. Such non-translation-as-translation is not only limited to nouns and verbs, but for pronouns and other functional grammatical words as well. In Pulaar, there exists no gendered pronouns, and subsequently, the translation of pronouns presents a particular challenge. Where the notion of gendered pronouns might not seem like an essential translation challenge, or at least one that could be solved through contextual information with regard to gender, simply translating into him and her is, I believe, a particularly covert form of violence. En-gendering is en-dangering. I argue for the use of Michael Spivak’s non-gendered pronouns: first-person e, second person em and third person eir to challenge the hegemonic naturalizing of gender in the translation.54 Employing the above two strategies has ended in the following: The Maccube, those slaves-of-slaves; those slaves-born-in-the-village, of Artisans At that time, the time of al-Hajj umar Tal, there were many Maccube. Everyone had Maccube. The Fulbe, the free-born, had Maccube. The Waabe, the smiths and artisans, had Maccube. Those Waabe who worked with iron, gold and silver. Those Waabe who worked with wood. Those Waabe who were griots.

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They had Maccube. Even Maccube had Maccube. Tigi, ko gonga! Really, it is true! Maccube of Fulbe lived in the same galle gooto, the same compound, with the Fulbe. Maccube of Waabe lived in the same compound with the Waabe. Maccube lived in the same galle gooto with the Maccube who owned them. Maccube of Fulbe worked alongside their Pullo, the Fulbe’s free-born children. Maccube of Waabe worked alongside their Waabe. Maccube worked alongside their Maccube who owned them. Everyone knew who was a Maccube of a Pullo, who was a Maccube of a Waabe, who was a Maccube of a Maccube. A Maccube of a Waabe worked with that Waabe. E studied with the Waabe and made everything the Waabe made. Some Maccube worked better than the Waabe. But a Maccube was a Maccube, not a Waabe. E worked in the Waabe’s hut and lived in the same galle gooto. But e was always a Maccube and eir children were Maccube. A Maccube married a Maccube woman. A Waabe married a Waabe woman. Even today that is our way. Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye married Kante, Cissoko, Thiam, N’Diaye. The children had their father’s surnames. If the Fulbe agreed, Maccube of Fulbe took Fulbe surnames. But Maccube of Waabe did not take Waabe surnames. Only Waabe had Waabe surnames.

Conclusion Whilst the translation of oral traditions will never be free of violence, one could be able, through a careful readerly writing, to limit this violence from being absolute. Being aware of the historical acts visited upon oral traditions and those who practice(d) it, will provide the translator with the knowledge and insight to work

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without thinging the textscape, nor merely providing more capital to be disciplined, archived and arte-fact-ed. Omdigting is a strategy—notes to-words a more consciencious approach—but is by no means the answer. As mentioned, the quality and character of the oral traditions found on the African continent is vast and varied, with omdigting possibly being better suited to traditions found on other continents, than some of those found on it! This ought, however, not to be a hindrance to further theorising. Rather than provide answers, this chapter has the goal of stimulating debate, scholarship, and a critical translational community in, and beyond, Africa. Much work remains to be done, so let’s ver-taal. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Niranjana (1991: 2). Zabus (2007: 41). Spivak (1999: 6). Ibid., 60. Ibid., 114. Bourdieu (1996: 167). Wingo (2006: 429). Ibid. Nunziata (2017). Falola (2017: 703). Staphorst (2017). Jakobson (2012: 127). Spivak (1993: 179). Appiah (1993: 817–818). Derrida (2012: 371). Osundare (2000: 25). Akínye.mí (2006). Krog (2004: 10). Staphorst (2017) ibid. Derrida (1981: 43). Bhabha (1994). Venuti (1995). Benjamin (2012). Onyewuenyi (1995: 422). Wingo (2006: 425). Ibid., 426. Ibid. Izibili (2017: 211–212). Appiah (1997: 46). Vermeer (2012: 192–193). Nzabatsinda (1997: 100). Venuti (2013: 178). Badiou quoted in Venuti (2013: 184).

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34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

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Ibid. Hussein (2005). Bleek (1956: 106). Staphorst (2017) ibid. Giles-Vernick (2000: 373). Owomoyela in Falola (2017: 715). Okpewho (1996: 121). Kayibanda in Nzabatsinda (1997: 100). Sithebe (1997: 38–41). Ibid., 39. De Prada-Samper (2016: 232–237). Teilanyo (2001: 215). Finnegan (1970: 61, 64). In Mphande (1992). Ibid., 121. Clark (1992). Ibid., 8. Ibid. Ibid., 8–9. Spivak (1999: 161–162). Spivak (1990).

References Akínye.mí, A. 2006. Translation across Cultures: The Challenges of Rendering an African Oral Poetry in English. Translation Review. 71 (1): 19–30. Appiah, K.A. 1993. Thick Translation. Callaloo. 16 (4): 808–819. Appiah, K.A. 1997. The Art of Africa. The New York Review of Books. Vol. 45. Benjamin, W. 2012. The Translator’s Task, trans. S. Rendall. In The Translation Studies Reader. 3rd ed. ed. L. Venuti, 75–83. London and New York: Routledge. Bhabha, H. 1994. The Location of Culture. London and New York: Routledge. Bleek, D.F. 1956. A Bushman Dictionary. New Haven: American Oriental Society. Bourdieu, P. 1996. The Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field, trans. S. Emanuel. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Clark, A.F. 1992. The Challenges of Cross-Cultural Oral History: Collecting and Presenting Pulaar Traditions on Slavery from Bundu, Senegambia (West Africa). The Oral History Review 20 (1): 1–21. De Prada-Samper, J.M. 2016. The Man Who Cursed the Wind / Die man wat die wind vervloek het. Cape Town: African Sun Press. Derrida, J. 1981. Positions, trans. A. Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Derrida, J. 2012. What Is a ‘Relevant’ Translation? trans. L. Venuti. In The Translation Studies Reader, 3rd ed. ed. L. Venuti, 365–388. London and New York: Routledge. Falola, T. 2017. Ritual Archives. In The Palgrave Handbook of African Philosophy, ed. A. Afolayan and T. Falola, 703–728. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Finnegan, R. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Nairobi: Oxford University Press.

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Giles-Vernick, T. 2000. Doli: Translating an African Environmental History of Loss in the Sangha River Basin of Equatorial Africa. The Journal of African History 41 (3): 373–394. Hussein, J.W. 2005. The Functions of African Oral Arts: the Arsi-Oromo Oral Arts in Focus. African Study Monograph 26 (1): 15–58. Izibili, M.A. 2017. The Nature of African Aesthetics. In Themes, Issues and Problems in African Philosophy, ed. I.E. Ukpokolo, 205–216. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Jakobson, R. 2012. On Linguistic Aspects of Translation. In The Translation Studies Reader, 3rd ed. ed. L. Venuti, 126–131. London and New York: Routledge. Krog, A. 2004. The Stars Say ‘Tsau’: /Xam poetry of Diä!kwain, Kweiten-ta-//ken, /A!kúnta,/Han /= kass’o and //Kabbo selected and adapted by Antjie Krog . Cape Town: Kwela Books. Mphande, L. 1992. Ideophones and African Verse. Research in African Literatures 23 (1): 117–129. Niranjana, T. 1991. Siting Translation: History, Post-Structuralism, and the Colonial Context. Berkeley, LA and Oxford: University of California Press. Nunziata, D. 2017. The Scramble for African Orature: The Transcription, Compilation, and Marketing of African Oral Narratives in the Oxford Library of African Literature, 1964 to 1979. Journal of Postcolonial Writing 53 (4): 469–481. Nzabatsinda, A. 1997. The Aesthetics of Transcribing Orality in the Works of Alexis Kagame, Writer of Rwanda. Research in African Literatures 28 (1): 98–111. Okpewho, I. 1996. How Not to Treat African Folkore. Research in African Literatures 27 (3): 119–127. Onyewuenyi, I.C. 1995. Traditional African Aesthetics: A Philosophical Perspective. In African Philosophy: Selected Readings, ed. A.G. Mosley, 421–427. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Osundare, N. 2000. Yoruba Thoughts, English Words: A Poet’s Journey Through the Tunnel of Two Tongues. In Kiss and Quarrel: Yoruba/English Strategies of Mediation, ed. S. Brown, 15–31. Birmingham: Birmingham University. Sithebe, Z. 1997. The Dynamics of Oral and Written Transmission Processes in SiSwati Oral Poetry. Research in African Literatures 28 (1): 35–48. Spivak, G. 1993. Outside in the Teaching Machine. London and New York: Routledge. Spivak, G. 1999. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Spivak, M. 1990. The Joy of TeX: A Gourmet Guide to Typesetting with the AMS-TeX Macro Package. House and Place of Publication unknown. Staphorst, L. 2017. Translation of San Orality into African Poetry. Paper presented at the PreColonial Catalytic Conference, Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University, 15–17 March, Port Elizabeth. Teilanyo, D.I. 2001. Translating African Ideophones. Perspectives 9 (3): 215–231. Venuti, L. 1995. The Translator’s Invisibility: A History of Translation . New York: Routledge. Venuti, L. 2013. Translation Changes Everything: Theory and Practice. London and New York: Routledge. Vermeer, H.J. 2012. Skopos and Commission in Translation Theory, trans. A. Chesterman. In The Translation Studies Reader, 3rd ed. ed. L. Venuti, 191–202. London and New York: Routledge. Wingo, A.H. 2006. The Many-Layered Aesthetics of African African Art. In A Companion to African Philosophy, Paperback edition. ed. K. Wiredu, 425–432. Malden, Oxford and Victoria: Blackwell Publishing. Zabus, C. 2007. The African Palimpsest: Indigenization of Language in the West African Europhone Novel, 2nd ed. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi.

Chapter 29

Musical Transformation Samuel Elikem Kwame Nyamuame

Introduction Traditional music performance is a significant aspect of African cultures. Scholars have extensively discussed its components and their significance, including dance movements, rhythms, instruments, gestures, communication and aesthetic values embedded in the form. It is also no doubt that the spread of Christianity and longlasting influence of colonial rules continue to suppress these art forms. Over the last three to four decades, there has been a “cultural re-awakening” rooted in sankofa (go back and retrieve), a Ghanaian philosophical model that influenced the incorporation of traditional music performance in most churches in Africa. Despite its success, there arose criticisms on how churches perform this traditional dance-music. According to its critics, this style is contrary to the original objectives and values of the churches’ establishment. The purpose of this chapter is to shed light on how traditional dance-music got into some of the churches and to examine some of the criticisms encountered in performing them. This chapter will focus on ethnographic fieldwork conducted on Ewe churches in Ghana. In the case of Uganda, I am aware of general discourse on baakisimba and the attitudes of missionaries regarding baakisimba performance which I will analyze with the existing ethnographies and scholarship on this dance-drumming genre. The chapter is divided into four categories in which I argue for the significance of traditional music and the missionaries’ attitude toward it; the cultural re-awakening and the concept of transformation; the criticisms of performance; and finally suggested recommendations to ease the criticisms.

S. E. K. Nyamuame (B) Binghamton University, Binghamton, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_29

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Significance of Traditional Music Performance and the Missionaries’ Perception The continent of Africa is vast, with innumerable musical cultures performed by diverse ethnic groups. Several scholars such as David Locke, Kofi Agawu, George Worlasi Dor, Modesto Amegago, James Burns and Kariamu Welsh-Asante among others discuss varieties of traditional music performances in Africa based on their exposure and experience in a particular country and recognized the communal mode of its performance.1 Due to the overwhelming access to video technology, people who are not able to visit African countries are still able to watch videos and analyze the music performance through the lens of their prior musical knowledge. Although sometimes the outsiders’ analyses of these videos or live performances are out of context, for example, knowing the difference between soli and madjaani dance rhythms from Guinea or gahu and kinka rhythms of Ghana, there is much appreciation for the dance-music tradition in general. Early explorers, anthropologists and missionaries were among the first to expose the European and Western world to the traditional music of Africa, and in the context of their understanding, it was often labeled as “tribal” music of Africa. The tribal music to some extent was discussed in the context as music of uncivilized people, chaotic or rooted in pagan rituals. The question that still remains unanswered is: What is traditional African music? Traditional African music is a folk music developed, maintained and practiced by each ethnic group as an integral part of everyday life. As oral tradition, the music performance is spontaneous and sometimes, planned for social occasions where people meet and enjoy themselves and celebrate events such as birth, naming ceremonies, initiation rites, circumcision, birthdays, marriage and funerals.2 Traditional music performance is a vital component of community life and a necessity for the fullness of living. In African cultures and philosophy, it is often said that a village that has no organized music or neglects community drumming, singing and dancing is said to be dead. Most often when traditional African music is discussed, it is narrowed to drumming and dancing. Although drumming and dancing is at the core of the performance, it is essential to note that there are other factors that make it a holistic art, including singing, clapping, trance and other dramatic elements—a concept Ruth Stone referred to as the “constellation of the arts.”3 Traditional music does not occur in isolation. It cuts across the life cycle and it is a way of life and vital to the fundamental cultural expression passed down by ancestors from time immemorial. Reinforcing Stone, Akin Euba explains that the features of traditional Nigerian musical practice include “the use of music as an integral part of dance, of poetry, and of dramatic expression. … [In addition] music is [often] viewed in terms of its relationship to the total art complex and not as an isolated phenomenon.”4 Why traditional? When one talks about the term “traditional,” it is often taken out of context and understood as anything primitive or uncivilized. To some extent, some native African scholars in other disciplines turn to have the same negative concept and attitude toward the terminology instead of educating others what it actually

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means, and how it functions in context. Prior to all forms of modernity, tradition was in existence and maintained as a model for human beings and so it is with music. Before the emergence of popular music, traditional music was the mainstream music genre that people enjoy. In fact, it is important to emphasize that popular music was derived from traditional music. Finally, tradition as a way of life and traditional music in general was in existence with its moral education before the arrival of Christianity and colonial education. Therefore, the word traditional, to Africans, is a complex concept wrapped in the culture and a way of life. It should not be understood as ancient, primitive or uncivilized. Traditional music has much to offer an entire community and all ages. Here are a few reasons why traditional music performance in Africa and for that matter Ghana is significant: a. b. c. d.

e. f.

Traditional music and dance performance is free and open to everyone. Traditional music and dance performance brings the entire community together for people to socialize with each other and renew bonds and relationships. Participation in the traditional music and dance of Africa is generally perceived as secured life insurance for appropriate burial. The performance of traditional music and dance of Africa provides a platform for learning about: how people talk to one another, the manner at which they dress, ethical behavior, philosophies, folk tales and proverbs. Traditional African music and dance encourages modest criticism and social control. Traditional music and dance performance promotes moral and educational values through drum text/language and dance movements.

These are just a few elements that make traditional music exceptional. However, this is not to suggest that Africans do not enjoy, perform or value other musical genres besides the traditional dance-drumming genres. For centuries before the arrival of Christian missionaries on the continent of Africa, Africans had long believed in God. They communicated and worshipped this Supreme Being through other agents, deities or gods/goddesses who are intermediaries between man and God. These activities were accompanied with invigorating traditional dance and drumming, which were believed to uplift souls to the divine realm of the Omnipresent God. As Christianity began spreading sporadically to different parts of Africa, the missionaries started looking at Africans’ cultural practices and dance-drumming as paganism. Odejobi Omobola pointed out the same attitude of the missionaries among the Yoruba people in Nigeria that “the use of Yoruba traditional music was not permitted in and outside because they (the missionaries) regarded everything in the Yoruba culture as pagan and devilish, and therefore unsuitable for the church.”5 During their efforts to Christianize Ghana, the missionaries combined the use of religion with colonial education to suppress traditional dance-drumming and ritual performances. They often focused particularly on the drums. Missionary influence discouraged participation in and observation of traditional music performances, and linked social class differences to religious and musical life. Christians and those who attended mission schools are considered more

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educated and civilized than those who participated in traditional dance-drumming. Birgit Meyer discussed this attitude among the Ewe-speaking people. He states, “the Ewe experience with modernity has been structured by the Christian duality between good (Christian, modern, advanced) and evil (practicing traditional religion, being primitive and backward).”6 This for a long time has created a gap between educated citizens (Christians) and their counterparts, the uneducated ones. Even today, a negative phrase has been attached to traditional drumming and dancing events in most parts of the continent of Africa. In the case of the Ewe-speaking people which I am a part of, people often reference those who are going to perform traditional dancedrumming by saying, wo yina vodu nu wO fe. This means the people are going to vodu event or some evil ritual performance where vodu is thought of as evil and satanic. It is undeniable truth that some African scholars and sometimes governmental authorities in Africa do not relate and cannot identify their own traditional ethnic music. Instead, they are more in tune with classical music, hymnody and music that are associated with elitism. Odejobi Omobola observed: “Many missionaries considered African cultures and religions to be primitive and pagan. Consequently, these missionaries tried to pressurize African Christians to reject most of their cultural and religious beliefs and practices.”7 There is a Ghanaian Ewe adage that states: ame ŋutOe yO na efe akple kO be akple koe. This literally means “one should be proud of where he comes from and be proud of his native culture.” However, the missionaries influenced the legacy of the “traditional” by associating it with the primitive and uncivilized. Consequently, traditional dance-drumming was driven underground and lacked the prestige of imported European musical forms. It is important to note that the oral African for that matter Ghanaian traditions has so much embeded in its art forms and it becomes fresh anytime people perform any of these art form. Agawu eloquently reinforced this idea and stated that, “precolonial African cultures were predominantly oral cultures whose poetry, dance, and song reside in the memories of the performers and audience. Each occasion of performance provided an opportunity to retrieve what had been stored and to display it afresh.” Currently, cultural organizations across Africa are collaborating to raise awareness for revitalization of traditional dance-drumming in a fight to preserve the important moral and educative values embedded in them. With these policies in place, traditional music and culture can flourish for the new generation to learn their history and the social values embedded in traditional music.

Beginning of Cultural Re-awakening and Indigenization as Concept for Transformation They introduced new sets of songs—hymns and anthems—and rejected the traditional songs. These songs do not have the same excitement; they are considered dull, lifeless and void of meaning compared to what the Africans are used to singing. In response to the dull lifelessness of these imported traditions, some churches began

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incorporating drums, bells, rattles and other traditional percussive instruments to accompany hymns and other songs in the churches. This led to what Alexander Agordoh refers to as “cultural re-awakening”8 among the Ghanaian Ewe churches and what Sylvia Nannyonga-Tamusuza describes as “indigenization”9 of music in the Catholic Church in Uganda. It is important to note that these changes were not only happening in Ghana and Uganda but across Africa. Chinedum Osigwe discussed the significance of Nigerian culture and the idioms that composers should use in composition to reflect a true Nigerian identity. He called for the “indigenization of church music in Nigeria.”10 To give a better perspective of the beginning of the cultural re-awakening and the indigenization process, I will discuss the account of Ghana Ewe churches and a traditional dance called baakisimba, which eventually became one of the major dance-drumming performances currently performed in the Catholic Church in Uganda (Fig. 29.1).

The Paradigm of the Ewe Churches in Ghana Ghana is located in West Africa and shares a border with Togo, Cote D’Ivoire and Burkina Faso. There are ten regions in Ghana, with the Ewes located in the southeastern corner of the Volta Region. The Volta Region is also divided into three sections, namely the southern belt, the middle belt and the northern belt. They all read the same Ewe language but speak different variants of Ewe. The dominant churches in the Volta Region of Ghana are Evangelical Presbyterian Church (E.P.), Roman Catholic Church (R.C.), Global Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Ghana (G.E.P.C.),11 Apostle Revelation Society (ARS), A.M.E Zion Church and Church of Pentecost. In addition to these mainstream churches, there are also several hundred churches established by individual prophets and religious leaders. These churches are mostly referred to by the community members as “spiritual churches.” Cultural re-awakening started with the Evangelical Presbyterian Church in Ghana around the late 1970s under the leadership of two moderators of the General Assembly, Rt. Rev. L.K. Dovlo who served from 1972 to 1980 and Rt. Rev. Professor Noah Komla Dzobo who succeeded Rev. Dovlo and served from 1981 to 1990. This was a result of several complaints of church members feeling dissatisfied, bored and frustrated with singing hymns considered to be dull and lifeless. After several years of studying in the United States and experiencing the music and worship of African-Americans and emancipation events, Professor Dzobo planned to integrate a similar tradition using Ewe musical resources to bring energy and life into the church. By 1981, during the 41st synod, the department of African Church Music was established at the Theological Seminary located at Peki, leading to the formation of the ambassador choir of the E.P. Church known as DumedefO.12 The purpose of the African Church Music committee has been to promote and develop Ewe Christian music using a medium of drum, voice and dance to give church worship a format that Ewes can identify with. As a result, the first church denomination to adopt traditional instruments and integrate them into church worship in Ghana was the Evangelical Presbyterian Church.

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Fig. 29.1 Ghana political map copyright 2012–2013)

S. E. K. Nyamuame

(Source Author’s creation based on www.mapsofword.com

The gradual development and the use of traditional instruments to accompany hymns and other local compositions attracted more people to join the church, especially the youth. Although there was a gradual incorporation of traditional instruments to accompany specific songs, the drumming was still at an experimental level. Christian Youth Builders (CYB), a youth group, was advised in some churches to own drums as a recruitment strategy to bring the youth into the church. In addition, since almost all of the Evangelical Presbyterian Churches have schools attached to the church, most of the youths in the CYB are students from the E.P. school system

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with a few others from the community whose parents are members of the church. The CYB, as popularly referred to in Ewe language as soheawo (the youths) in collaboration with the church elders, started spreading the gospel in a unique style. It was done in fefewOwO, literally meaning a play-acting. This play is popularly known by the Ewes as kantatas, a vernacularized version of the term Cantata. This kantata, however, was different from the Cantata defined in Western music as a vocal composition with an instrumental accompaniment, typically in several movements, often involving a choir. The kantata performed in the E.P. Church to this day is a play that is acted in costumes focusing on specific Biblical stories. For example, the birth and crucifixion of Jesus, the “story of the prodigal Son”13 and the “wisdom of King Solomon.”14 These stories are acted out in scenes, and after each scene, there are dancers, drummers and singers who dance to entertain the audience while the actors and actresses get ready for the next scene. It is during the performance of these kantatas that traditional drums are heard in the church. I have personally played and danced during in these kantatas. The performance of the kantatas has two objectives: (1) to spread the gospel in an entertaining manner and (2) to use the opportunity to recruit new members into the church. Both objectives are significantly fulfilled because the kantatas are the only events where the majority of the community members go to watch irrespective of their religious background. The Ewe people attend the kantata performance in the same manner that their Western counterparts would attend a movie theater. By the mid-1980s, the kantata tradition spread sporadically into sister denominations such as the Roman Catholic (R.C.) Church, Apostle Revelation Society (A.R.S) and the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Zion Churches to facilitate the propagation of the gospel and recruitment. The E.P. Church is credited for introducing the kantata tradition. Around the mid-1980s, another group emerged in the E.P. Church called the Bible Study and Prayer Group (BSPG).15 The characteristics of this group were based on the performance of charismatic churches. The group members believed to be called “born-again” believers who studied the Bible thoroughly and prayed unceasingly. Majority of them especially in the southern presbytery considered christians who joined in traditional community events as non-believers. As such, they strongly advocated for Christians to disassociate entirely from non-Christians so that they could form their own group in the church. The notion to disassociate from non-Christians and stop participating in traditional dance-drumming was due to a variety of ritual performances that they believed conflict with biblical teachings and are unholy for Christians to be a part. There are five major ritual practices among several others that Christians find unholy or evil to be a part. These are tsifodi, banyinyi, tonuhamama, ahamaheewo and voduhawo. For readers to understand the argument, I will briefly explain these rituals below.

Tsifodi One of the essential practices of African religion is prayer in a form of libation. Among the Ewe-speaking people of Ghana, libation is called tsifodi. Tsifodi is a

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means of interacting with one’s ancestors as well as God, the Supreme Being. Prior to the advent of missionaries and the acceptance of Christianity, the only ultimate means of communicating, offering and honoring the Supreme God, ancestral spirits and other divinities was through libation. Tsifodi comes from two words: tsi (water) and foedi (act of pouring [liquid] on the ground). The Ewe people conceive of tsifodi as a form of veneration, a religious practice established from time immemorial to remember and honor the Supreme God, deities and ancestors. They strongly hold to the view that the establishment of tsifodi is from God and has been practiced by their ancestors recorded in the Bible. I strongly argue that the practice of libation is a tradition that predates the Bible and Christianity but it is almost always justified in contemporary times with reference to the Bible. While people talk about libation, others sometimes refer to the same practice as drink offering. Agbotadua Kumassah traces and reaffirms the institution of libation in the Bible. He writes: “The art of libation is an order given to the Jews by God as recorded in the book of Exodus…In fact, the word libation occurs five times, the plural libations ten times, drink offering thirty times and drink offerings twenty-two times in the Bible.”16 As a result of the belief that this practice is an order from God, the Ewes hold this practice in a high esteem. It is believed that when tsifodi is performed ancestors and deities are in constant communication with human beings and will protect the community.

Banyinyi In a traditional dance-drumming performance of the Ewe-speaking people of Ghana, banyinyi is considered a vital component of the performance. Banyinyi is a type of invocation that is performed to call the presence of deities in the town and honor the founders, elders and members of that ensemble who have died and considered ancestors. It is the first dance-drumming to be performed after tsifodi. The names of some of these deities or ancestors are sometimes part of the songs that reveal history to new members and a reminder of existing members of people who have passed. It is performed to give acknowledgment and honor the community members who have done great things in the past. It is a living tradition and being maintained until now. The banyinyi section of the entire performance is done in a small circle formed within the large seating arena. The circle also represents the continuity of life where people died and new ones are born to maintain the legacy of their deeds.

Tonuhamama This is a process where a drink, specifically liquor, is poured out in a shot glass for participants in the performance or a meeting to consume. It is considered a communal drink and the same cup is used to serve everyone as a sign of unity and togetherness. This is done with the notion that much can be achieved when the community works together rather than relying on one individual. Hence the Ewe proverbs, a single broom can easily be broken but a bunch cannot be broken. Also, a single tree can

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easily be uprooted with a storm but not a forest. Tonuhamama is, therefore, done in the spirit of love to reflect the togetherness of the Ewe community and the people in general. It can also boost the nature of the performance. The only reason why Christians disassociated from this practice is because of the serving of alcohol. It is equally important to note that, it is not everyone who drink this alcohol and it is not forced on anyone.

Ahamaheewo Traditional songs are very powerful tools that inspire and act as a social check on the community by bringing out history, behavior, geography and migration. Ahama literally means allusion and songs are referred to as ha. As such ahamahee simply means songs of allusion. Ahamahee is sung during traditional dance-drumming performances to educate the community regarding the things they should not be a part of. I believe that the ultimate role of ahamahee is not to criticize or ridicule, but instead to reflect on an individual’s character so that anyone who connects to the critique might decide to change their behavior. For example, Mr. Kwadzo steals a bag of corn from the Mayor’s farm. A composer who knows of this incident will write a song about it, not necessarily mentioning Mr. Kwadzo. The moment that song is sung, the culprit knows already that it is about him even though the rest of the community might not. He will feel uncomfortable within himself due to what he has done. For the larger community, the singing of ahamahee then condemns the act of stealing and encourages good ethics and hard work. It highlights that stealing is not good and thus hard work is encouraged. Christians believe that it is inappropriate to sing ahamahee because it equates to hypocrisy and gossip. The irony here, however, is that they actually gossip and to some extend very hypocritical secretly about others but they do not want to sing it in public as songs.

Voduhawo Although Africans knew of God Omnipresent before missionaries brought Christianity to various parts of the continent, they believe that their prayers reach God through other intermediaries such as deities and forces generically referred to as Vodu. In Ghana, especially among the Ewe-speaking people, vodu can be in the form of a mounted image, a tree, a stone, a pot or any image a person believes in to communicate to God and ancestors. There is also a deity that is selected to be the main deity of the town called, Dulegba. Dulegba is believed to be the guardian of the town who protects the community from any spiritual forms of attack planning to befall the community. During dance-drumming performances, songs are sung to venerate some of these gods and deities. Since the songs are sung in praise of these gods and deities instead of praising Jesus or God, Christians disassociated themselves from communal traditional dance-drumming performances. The belief is that when they are part of this dance-drumming performance their chances of going to heaven may

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be limited and their status of being Christians will be questioned by other Christians and pastors. Besides the concerns of the above rituals discussed, the idea and the inspiration to break ties from traditional drumming and dance performance to form a Christianized version of traditional dance-drumming group in the church came as a result of watching the Azasu brothers performed at the annual CYB convention in 1985 at Anloga, in the southeastern part of the Volta Region. I am not insinuating that the Azasu brothers were the first or founders of the Christianized version of this genre. However, in the case of the southern presbytery of the E. P church, it was the first time it was witnessed. As one of the executives, i was proud to be there and i actually played with the Azasu brothers at this event. The Azasu brothers are talented musicians who converted a few traditional melodies, added Biblical texts to it and performed the tunes to traditional drumming. The congregation, including the pastors, enjoyed the composed music and the overall performance and danced to it. The Christians at the CYB convention found the performance inspiring and wanted to adopt that tradition into the church. This was a breakthrough and the beginning of cultural re-awakening in some parts of the E.P. church and it spread sporadically to the other branches and to sister denominations. These five factors briefly explained above are the ultimate reason why Christians disentangled themselves from traditional dance-drumming performance. Grounded in the teachings of the Bible Study and Prayer Group and some of their pastors, they believe that participating in the above-mentioned activities will deny them of going to heaven. The concept is that all those who participate in these traditionally valued customs are in bondage of Satan, therefore, are in darkness and have not accepted Jesus Christ.

Concept of Transformation Owing to the reasons discussed above, Christians have decided to form a community of their own and to transform traditional dance-drumming. Christian denominations across the Ewe-speaking territories have picked one, two or more Ewe dancedrumming genres as a foundation to this transformation. The concept of the transformation is rooted in four factors: (1) creating a community of Christians performing new traditional music in praise of God, (2) to begin and end every performance with prayer to God, (3) to compose new melodies/songs and rhythms using Biblical texts and (4) to create welfare to support members in times of needs or emergency. These new dance-drumming genres adopted by Christians have been given new names; some of which are agbeyeye (new life),17 nubueke (a new day has come), gameasu (God’s time has come) and mawumenyo (faith in God is great) among others. All these styles are based on typical Ewe dance forms with the technique involving torso “contraction and release,” a typical Ewe dance technique accompanied with the flex of the shoulders and the arms. Just like a church, the Christians who are interested in this dance-drumming form have established a welfare association. Anytime they

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Fig. 29.2 Agbenue Me Ka (Amegago 2011)

gather to rehearse, they pray to God instead of performing tsifodi. With regard to the song, a traditional tune is taken and the words are changed to Biblical text. Below is an example of one of the transformed songs (Figs. 29.2 and 29.3): Original Song: Agbenue meka, Nyasela meli nam o Mewo naneke o Destiny reveals through diviners that I have no friend to listen to my problems It matters not Transformed Song: Yesue mexor Agbemo ne vu nam hee Mayi Mawu gbo I am now a Christian May heaven doors open for me So that I can go to the Lord

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Fig. 29.3 Yesue Mexor song

From music analysis perspective, it is obvious that the melodies of these two songs have the same structure and the same melodies although some of the notes are tied to the other. When the two melodies are sung, the only difference is that the words will be different. However, the compositional technique, melodic contour and the note values are all the same. This is how Christians who adapted traditional tunes do by maintaining the melody and set new Biblical texts to the melodies. By singing these tunes, they believe that the praise and adoration are going to God in heaven and not in praise and veneration of local gods, deities and ancestors (Fig. 29.4).

Baakisimba—The Uganda Paradigm in Perspective Uganda is geographically located in the east-central part of Africa and shares borders with Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda, Congo and South Sudan. Before Christianity, Uganda was ruled by traditional kings—Kabaka in the Buganda Kingdom. Just as Ghana and other African countries, Uganda uses dance-drumming to celebrate the life cycle, to recognize important rituals and to serve as recreational events. There are numerous traditional dance-drummings such as bwola, lalobaloba, otiti, myel awal,

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Fig. 29.4 Political map of Uganda

apiti, aije, labongo, myel and wanga, among others. The traditional dance-drumming that is most popular within the Baganda people of Uganda is baakisimba. According to legend, the dance originated when King Kabaka got drunk, drinking a local beer made from banana plants. Since it was inappropriate according to African customs to tell a chief or king that he was drunk, it was said that the king was very happy. As the king was happy, he danced heavily and then proclaimed that abakisimba bebawoomya which translates as those who planted the banana made it very sweet. Sylvia Nannyonga-Tamusuza, who did extensive research on this musical genre, reiterated the legend that baakisimba dance-drumming was “developed at a beer party after the attendants had eaten matooke (cooked banana) and drunk mwenge bigere (local beer, made out of bananas). They contended that baakisimba was created as a symbol of appreciation to the person who planted the bananas from which food and beer were prepared.”18 Baakisimba is considered the most common dance-drumming that is performed during all events. It is a flirtatious style of dance where women have animal skin made as costumes on their waist and shake with it. Shaking and movements in

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the waist is the principal technique in baakisimba. The drumming is designed so that women can express themselves. Baakisimba suffered at the advent of the missionaries, who considered it vulgar, immoral and evil. According to Nannyonga-Tamusuza, “when Christianity was first introduced in Buganda in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, missionaries insisted that ‘traditional’ music was one of the cultural practices of the Baganda that had to be eliminated. Most importantly was the elimination of baakisimba music and dance.”19 After baakisimba was cast out by the Christian missionaries, Ugandan Christians felt dissatisfied about singing songs that were foreign to them. This was especially true within the Catholic Church where Mass was observed in Latin. Members could not connect very well with their faith and were at the same time losing touch with their most expressive traditional dance-drumming. The disconnect felt by members ultimately became apparent when some church members were training to become Catholic Fathers and Sisters. These new Fathers and Sisters conducted Mass in the local language so that members could connect with the service. This was the beginning of incorporating local elements into the Catholic Mass services. Eventually, some local songs made their way into the church. The Catholic Church became the first to adopt a new style of singing traditional songs during Mass which led to gradual convincing and incorporation of newly constructed baakisimba drums and refined styles of costumes that do not resemble the typical traditional ones that were associated with negativity. There was a revolution to fully inculcate new style of baakisimba dance-drumming into the Catholic Church after a baakisimba performance in Rome in honor of some Ugandans who were killed. Nannyongo-Tamusuza explained that “baakisimba drumming was first performed in the Catholic Church at the St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome on October 16, 1964. The Pope was canonizing twenty-two Uganda Catholic martyrs, who were persecuted by Ssekabaka Mwanga II in the late nineteenth century.”20 To commemorate those who fought to maintain indigenous cultural dance, “one of the ways to bring the church closer to the people was the indigenization of its music.”21 After several negotiations and struggles to have church members be fully satisfied physically and spiritually with worship by the process of indigenization, “especially since the late1980s and early 1990s, baakisimba dancing became part of the church repertoire.”22 However, it is important to note that other denominations still resisted the performance of traditional dancedrumming for some time. In her research, Nannyongo-Tamusuza found out that “the Catholics have fully embraced songs of baakisimba style in their worship music. Most especially, Protestants did not consider ‘traditional’ drumming and dancing appropriate for religious purposes.”23 Alexander Agordoh expressed his concerns toward missionaries’ attitude to the excessive banning of traditional dance-drumming performance on the continent of Africa. He argued that “to prevent the African from participating in his customary rites and performing his traditional music is to alienate him from his cultural background.”24 Due to the indigenization of music through the re-awakening of African cultural consciousness, more people are enrolled in churches and can fully worship God because they can connect to the music and express themselves. Attesting to

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this discourse, Odejobi Omobola confirmed that “there was a change in the mode of worship, especially African churches, were worshippers are allowed to sing their traditional song, during worship, beat drums and dance. As a result of this, people are rushing to attend services in African churches thereby having more converts than mission churches.”25 It is the undeniable truth that a person’s culture is what identifies them, and it is important to acknowledge that traditional music performance has been embraced by Christian churches all over Africa as a way of retrieving what they have been denied in the past. It is imperative that we continue to re-evaluate our traditional music and culture to understand the wisdom and the values embedded in them and inculcate them further into church worship.

Problems of the Dance-Drumming Performance among Christians When the dance-drumming became an important part of the Christian societies, there arose some criticisms of the performance, especially by non-Christians. NonChristians realized that the mode of performing some of the Christianized traditional dance-drumming was still antithetical to the core values of the church. I do not claim that some of these factors are universal to all churches but I have researched several as examples to bring awareness to these elements. As such, I have carefully selected three that are commonly observed during performances. These are: (i) use of traditional religious tunes, (ii) dance gestures and (iii) types of drum text.

Use of Traditional Religious Tunes Songs are essential components of Africans and a way of life. The songs are used to express the people’s philosophy and sentiments. Scholars such as Agordoh, Ampene and Nketia among others have discussed the significance of songs among African societies. I can add from my experience that singing motivates both dancers and drummers and enhances overall performance. Nketia points out that there are different types of traditional songs performed throughout life such as cradle songs, recreational songs, reflective songs, historical songs, war songs, dirges (funeral songs) and general songs. Traditional songs are very philosophical and powerful weapons used in transforming and educating the society at large. It is very important to emphasize that sometimes it is more powerful and effective to advise people through songs rather than any other method. This is because the language, melody and voice texture used in singing the songs are frequently thought to affect a person’s attitude. This is reaffirmed in the works of Hugh Tracy through his observation of song performances in different African societies, who explained that “you can say publicly in songs what you cannot say to a man’s face, and so this is one of the ways African society takes to

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maintain a spiritual healthy community.”26 The knowledge found in traditional songs is transmitted from one generation to the other. The lyrics reinforce societal norms and serve as a guide to leading a good life. Nketia describes traditional songs as “music transmitted orally, associated with traditional mores and customs, and practiced by the communities or in environments which preserve traditional modes of life, irrespective of considerations of antiquity or authorship.”27 Songs in Africa are a very powerful force and can affect individuals or a group of people. For example, people sing when they are happy and others sing when they are sad or grieving. The melody of the songs they sing during such moments will help to comfort them or to express thanksgiving. There are also tunes associated with traditional religious events that venerate deities. These songs can only be sung during ritual ceremonies or by initiated members of specific shrines. For example, among the Ewe-speaking people of Ghana, it is common knowledge not to sing yeVe28 cult, kOku29 and hOgbato30 songs. The uninitiated member of the above-mentioned cults who is caught or heard singing these songs in the public will go through severe punishment and may eventually be forced to become an initiate against their will. Different countries in Africa have different measures for dealing with these situations. In the case of Ghana, some Christian denominations are taking for granted some of these tunes and setting Biblical text to it as a way to condemn or make mockery of the associated shrine or cult. In 2012, I witnessed a unique situation at my father’s church at Whuti-Srogboe Evangelical Presbyterian Church where a church retreat was organized involving sister denominations. My father, Frederick Kwadzo Nyamuame was the Catechist-in-charge of the church. As always, there was Christianized traditional dance-drumming in both kinka and agbadza styles. A little over one hour into the performance, one of the lead singers known as a “born-again” Christian and known for “speaking in tongues” raised a song which I recognized clearly as a trance tune sung by hogbato initiates. I personally became worried and honestly scared knowing that anything can happen or some of ritual leaders of the shrines could attack the church leadership of which my father is the head. I walked to my father and whispered to him about that particular tune the lady was singing and the consequence it might caused. Soon after that, the lady’s bodily response to the song, started changing into unusual behaviors. While I was worried, others were excited because they were hoping to hear a prophetic message from God through her or thought that she was about to speak in tongues; a pattern of her attitude prior to speaking. While people were waiting for God to speak, they heard unusual screaming that caused her to fall on the ground. She then began to sing real hOgbato songs and began spinning and taking her clothing off and eventually took off running and ended up in the hOgbato shrine that evening. The song she was singing was one of the powerful melodies in hogbato shrine. When it is combined with the drumming, it can easily induce trance on members and summon deities. It is essential to acknowledge that tunes or melodies even without the lyrics are powerful enough to have effects on people. In recent times, Christians calling themselves born-again are inclined to speak in tongues and perform healing and miracles in the name of God. They often forget that the deities, or what Christians refer to as the devil, also know about God and have powers. It was in the Bible when the

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seven sons of Sceva, a Jewish priest, were trying to heal a demon-possessed people by imitating how Apostle Paul was healing using the name of Jesus Christ. According to the book of Acts, “one day the evil spirit answered them, “Jesus I know, and Paul I know about, but who are you?” Then the man who had the evil spirit jumped on them and overpowered them all. He gave them such a beating that they ran out of the house naked and bleeding.”31 The lady who got possessed is currently one of the head priestesses of the hOgbato shrine now in my hometown, Whuti. I have personally witnessed more than four of these types of events throughout my research in Ghana, where Christians who ridicule and intimidate traditional religious worshippers sometimes pay the ultimate price of becoming one to serve as an example to others.

Dance Movements and Gestures As one of the oldest art forms, dance is a powerful tool of communication. Dancers communicate with each other or the audience by using different gestures to interact and disseminate messages. Robert Nicholls states that “dance is a mode of communication which utilizes gestures and movements to convey information, and as such, is a major educational vehicle.”32 Among the Baganda people of Uganda, baakisimba is an exciting dance, which is also perceived as a dance that attracts, if not seduces men due to the wriggling of the female waist. Although baakisimba was formalized and even performed by the Catholic sisters after communion, other denominations such as the Protestant Church thought it was vulgar and some Priests are still not in favor of it being performed in the church. According to Nannyonga-Tamusuza, “one priest argued that because the basic movement is in the waist, wriggling it in a liturgical context was not appropriate.”33 The difference between the church or liturgical baakisimba and the original or social community baakisimba performance is that the church style, as proposed, has to be performed slowly and by young girls so that the girls will not attract men. However, it is not about the young girls but the energy and the rhythms from the drum. The drum gives the signal for the wriggling of the waist. Although the church baakisimba is performed slowly, the excitement of the drummers causes the performance to go faster, and when the signal is given, the wriggling of the waists goes faster thereby taking it to a different level and out of church context. The faster the baakisimba performance, the more wriggling of the waist, and the more criticism arises from within the church and among outsiders as well. An example of traditional dance gestures brought into the church within Ghana is typical dance movements of the Ewe-speaking people. This dance movement involves the “contraction and release” of the upper torso with arms moving in a downwardupward motion, while other gestures are added. For example, when the index figure is pointed up while dancing, it means I look up to you oh God. When a dancer is bitting his finger, it means he is in pain or even bereaved. The dance performance is normally in three sections: adasasa (warm-up or preparatory movement), Geãuãu or dzimeηeηe (the main dance) and Getsotso (the end movement/gesture). I will give one

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example at a funeral I attended where a Christianized version of this traditional dancedrumming was performed. In the summer of 2012, I was at a church funeral event of the Global Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Ghana at Kotobabi, Accra, where their traditional drumming and dance group called agbeyeye,34 meaning “new life” came to perform. I also participated in the performance. There was a very energetic woman who was dancing with a male partner. When the lead drummer announced the dance rhythm, the woman started dancing with her dance partner and started projecting some dance gestures. As the woman danced, her hands went between the back of her head and hip in alternation and she accompanied this movement with funny facial expressions of contempt. She ended the dance by placing both hands on her female private part then hugged her dance partner as she screamed, Yesu me nOnO nyo loo, meaning it is wonderful being in Christ. This woman did not even finish dancing before the audience started mocking her. Some people were ashamed of her gesture because they understand the meaning of her gesture. Lee Warren states that, “each dance has a function and motivation that is understood by all members of that society.”35 The gesture the woman performed that day at the Christian church funeral events depicts the act of copulation while the song she was dancing to was about salvation in Christ Jesus. It is not a surprise for the public to criticize the woman’s dance gestures. This is because as a Christian, people will be expecting her to set good moral examples, which is the core essence of establishing this group. Although such gestures would be acceptable in ahiaVu (romanticize) dance-drumming, it is inappropriate to perform those gestures in a setting where the dance-drumming is being used to evangelize to fellow Christians and children who are there to learn something positive about the group.

Drum Text or Language Drum text or drum language is another medium that plays a vital role in African drumming. In traditional drumming, there is always a consistent dialogue among various instruments as well as the lead drummer and dancers. The lead drummer controls the rest of the ensemble and prescribes specific rhythmic patterns that ensure an exciting performance. It is important to note that drummers, especially experienced ones, do not organize rhythmic patterns because they are bored, sad, excited or just feel to create something. They choose rhythms based on their knowledge of past events and by doing so, they educate the public about historical events that have not been documented by the colonial administrators. Drummers carefully select or play rhythms based on the nature of the performance. For example, a drummer cannot play rhythms associated with war at a wedding ceremony. There are also drum rhythms that are common in every community in Africa due to the tonal language which the drums imitate. David Locke explained this in detail stating that, “surrogate languages played on musical instruments are found in many parts of Africa… These surrogate languages may be signals, that is, special symbolic codes, or representations of speech, that is, actual imitations of spoken language. Messages, announcements, invocations, prayers, proverbs, eulogies, emergency alarms and appellations all may

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be rendered on musical instruments.”36 Nketia emphasized this notion by saying, “drummers always have a lot to say to us with their drums. They can call us one by one. They can summon all of us to the chief’s court. They can tell us when fire breaks out. They can warn us when enemies are coming to attack us. They can greet us. They can praise or blame us.”37 These are possible because the community members understand the language the drummer is communicating in and that they should respond to it. It is therefore difficult for an untrained ear or someone outside of the community to clearly understand the communicative role of the drum. Discussing this issue particularly for the Yoruba people of Nigeria, Ademola Adegbite explained and said: To the untrained ear, the complex rhythms produced by various drums in a performance may be difficult to comprehend. But, to those who understand the language of the drum, the sound produced by each drum is unique, and the resultant music of the patterns of the individual member drums is still more unique. This resultant music is usually interpreted through the medium of dancing. Drum music may not be interpreted only by way of dancing; it can also be interpreted textually. This means that the drum, especially the leading drum, is capable of playing phrases or even sentences verbalized by a reciter or a chanter. This is possible because when a Yoruba master drummer recites the oriki of an orisa on his drum, he does not merely play a set of rhythms like most other drums do within an ensemble; he verbalizes his knowledge of the oriki of the orisa on his drum. The tonal characteristics of the Yoruba language make the reproduction possible.38

Agbadza dance-drumming is one of the music of the Ewe people and is famous throughout Ghana. During the performance, participants have their favorite rhythms that they dance to. One of the rhythms that I have witnessed and played with overwhelming reaction is gbe asi nagbe agble, vote vuvu nado klayi. This translates “when one refused to trade or farm, he/she will wear torn clothing or pants.” The moment this rhythm is played, there are lots of parents who get more involved in the dancing than the youths. Why this reaction? Among the Ewes especially in the Anlo territories, women are involved in different forms of trading and men work in the farm. These are the major occupations from which they derive their income. There are also lazy folks who do not like to get themselves involved in these occupations yet, always want to acquire fancy dresses and enjoy luxury life. In this particular rhythm, if one does not trade or work in the farm, he/she can only wear the same clothing until it is torn and he/she will continue wearing the torn clothing. This rhythm is therefore encouraging hard work so that the youth can learn from the advice of the drum and their parents dance it vigorously so that they (youth) can make changes in life and be responsible. So why do I cite this example? This is to underscore the fact that drums have language that community members understand. Drummers can also be sued or face life-threatening situations if they perform drum texts/languages intended for a funeral at a wedding ceremony. Since Christians disassociate themselves from non-Christians, it is difficult for them to seek knowledge from expert drummers when it comes to their version of traditional dance-drumming in the church. In my experience drumming in various churches and at community events in Ghana, I can attest to the fact that a good number of drummers who played traditional dance-drumming (not bObObO drumming) in the

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church have limited drum vocabularies and some just create something “fun” that sometimes does not fit very well in the ensemble. The drum texts sometimes have profane themes and are intuitively known to the entire community while the song being sung talks about repentance. Other times, drummers in churches hear interesting drum rhythms from romanticized dance clubs that make reference to sexual positions and play it in the church. Unbeknownst to the drummers, the drumming contradicts the singing in praise of God. I have personally experienced this situation as I played in more than fifty churches in Ghana in almost all the denominations. In the summer of 2014, I visited Agorve-Avume Evangelical Presbyterian Church as a guest organist. After church service, we went to perform in the house of one of the women leaders because she was celebrating her birthday. This is one of the several activities churches participate in throughout Ghana. Before I got to the house, the drumming was going on in full force and I joined the dance. The song that was being sung at that moment was: Pass me not oh gentle savior, hear my humble cry; While on others Thou art calling, Do not pass me by. While members were waiting for the drum roll to start the dance, the roll that came was, aVa yi kolo me, ãevia gble ŋutO, meaning “the penis has gone into the vagina, she is a bad girl.” Traditionally, this very rhythm is played to humiliate older men who convince girls with money and have sex with them. Also for the young girls to know the humiliation that they will face if they find themselves in such situations. It was therefore confusing to find out that the song and the drumming are going in opposite directions and the church members are just enjoying the sound of the drums. I also danced to it as well. It was also not strange to me personally because it was not the first time I had heard such rhythms being played to other songs. That rhythm is know in every corner among the Anlo-Ewes and all the kids. This is just one example of the numerous rhythms I have gathered during my research and have also played myself. Some of the rhythms are bObO na le wo alime (bend down and hold your butty [buttock]), ze kpe do ãa, bObO viãe (push your butt up, and bend down just a little), dasi godia ŋuti na ãevia (do not seize the girl’s underwear because she is refusing sex). All these are rhythms known to community members during ahiaVu (romantic style) dance-drumming performances that are profane in nature but can be easily picked by creative drummers. Anytime community members who are non-Christians hear these rhythms played within the church context, they mock them because of the hypocrisy inherent in the situation.

Suggested Recommendations and Creative Approaches After a long journey performing with several of these churches, and personally contributing to the problem in the past, I have decided to make changes and educate

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the dance-drumming groups in churches by composing specific melodies, drum rhythms and creating dance gestures that may be appropriate to use in the church. There is a popular saying that, charity begins at home. Since I am from the Ewe ethnic group in Ghana, I have started working with churches in that area. It is also important to note that my recommendation is more beneficial for Ghanaian churches and may be less resourceful for other African countries or churches outside Ghana. With my indigenous knowledge combined with academic training in music, I have started working with almost fifteen churches, training them how to create new songs and rhythms. My first advice and training session for those who like to compose traditional song types is to pick their favorite traditional composers, especially in the style they sing. I then analyze their style and teach them the relevance of the compositional techniques that was used, and how they can apply it. I normally do about three to five songs with them and ask them to do some by themselves to see if they actually understand the technique we are applying. Sometimes, they pick their favorite Bible quotations and I help them arrange it into their own compositional styles. I have started in my father’s church at Whuti-Srogboe, and moved on to other sister denominations such as Pentecost, Roman Catholic Church and others. Last year, several of these churches produced albums that are being sold and others are also learning from them. Secondly, I work with drummers. With the addition of the newly composed songs mentioned above, drummers have a responsibility to study the songs very well before they start creating new drum rhythms on the song that are appropriate within the church context. When a song is composed, the recurring theme or phrase in that song is what the drummer should focus on. For example, one of the rhythms I created working with my father’s church was based on the song below: Ewe song: Ne agbe hia wotu wo, gbloe na Yesu Ne fuwo tu wo ha la, gbloe na Yesu Le dO le ba dzi, gbloe na Yesu Enyo loo, menyo o ha la, gbloe na Yesu When the woes of this life come at you, talk to Jesus Even when you are suffering, talk to Jesus Even when you are in your sick bed, talk to Jesus Whether all is good or all is bad, talk to Jesus. In this song, the drummer can hear and feel that the best rhythm to create should go with the recurring phrase which is gbloe na Yesu (talk to Jesus). It is the drummer’s creative responsibility to ensure that the phrase he is using rhymes with important phrase in the songs. This is possible by exploring the tonality of the language being used and the rhythms it may generate. I have been successful training young musicians, especially in Ghana. I have also bridged the gap between Christian drummers and traditional expert drummers where the older drummers organize workshops that help new drummers to organize drum rhythms and to compose drum rhythms to rhyme with already composed songs. Using my expertise in the dance cultures of

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Africa, I have also worked toward helping church members to interpret many dance movements and gestures. I provided the necessary tools for them as to how and which gestures will be appropriate to be used during church settings. In conclusion, it is my ultimate hope to train lots of interested members in churches and to have a global forum on how to promote our traditional dance-drumming in new ways in our churches across the continent of Africa. We have seen traditional music becoming a bedrock of popular music, for example, Hiplife of Ghana, the songs of Youssou N’Dour of Senegal, Juju music across Nigeria and many others. I appeal to composers to realize the importance of traditional dance-drumming as a vital component of our consciousness and to inculcate them in our church worship services so that this unique art form is not pushed away and replaced by some “foreign” musical tradition as happened during the colonial era with the missionaries. For those who are knowledgeable in both traditional dance-drumming and theories of composition, it is our responsibility to help advise our fellow Christians, to bridge the gap between them and non-Christian and to promote traditional dance-music in extraordinary fashion. Traditional drumming is now used in most churches during Mass, offertory, praises and worship, and to accompany choral compositions and hymns in several denominations across Africa. Let us check on our societies and churches and help them promote their traditional dance-music both in the church and in the communities. Notes 1. 2.

3. 4. 5.

6. 7.

8. 9.

David Locke (1987), Kofi Agawu (1995), James Burns (2009), and Kariamu Welse-Asante (1996). It is also important to note that it is not everywhere in African countries where music is performed during funerals. In Islamic traditions, there is no drumming during a deceased funeral. Ruth Stone, The Garland of Handbook of African Music (New York: Garland, 2000). Akin Euba, “Criteria for the Evaluation of New African Art Music.” Transition 49 (1975): 46–47. Odejobi C. Omobola, “Influence of Yoruba Culture in Christian Religious Worship.” International Journal of Social Science and Education 4, no. 3 (2014): 590. Birgit Meyer, Translating the Devil: Religion and Modernity among the Ewe in Ghana (Trenton, NJ: African World Press, Inc., 1999), 65 Odejobi Omobola, “Influence of Yoruba Culture in Christian Religious Worship.” International Journal of Social Science and Education 4, no. 3 (2014): 588. Alexander Agordoh, Evangelical Presbyterian Church, Ghana and her Musical Tradition (Madina, Accra-Ghana: Royal Gold Publishers Ltd., 2004). Nannyonga-Tamusuza, Sylvia, Baakisimba: Gender in the Music and Dance of the Baganda People of Uganda (New York and London: Routledge, 2005).

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11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

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Chinedum Osigwe, “Contemporary Nigeria Church Music: A Search for True Identity and Cultural Relevance.” International Journal of Music and Performing Arts 4, no. 2 (2016): 69. Global Evangelical Presbyterian Church came as a result of the separation from the original Evangelical Presbyterian Church, Ghana. Dumedefor literally means “the travelers” or in this context, the spreaders of the African-Ghanaian arts. Dumedefor is a unique type of choir established to sing African choral music composed by African composers to expose the rich music resources of and culture of Ghana in particular and Africa in general. As such, the songs are accompanied with traditional instruments such as bell (gakogui), rattle (axatse) and different types of drums. They became ambassador choir of the E.P. Church that toured the world showcasing indigenous Ghanaian choral compositions composed by native musicians. They used musical idioms from different parts of the Volta regions and Ewe communities including the usual Ewe pentatonic styles, call and response techniques and hunting songs in African harmonic styles. They projected Ghanaian image by dressing atypical Ghanaian attire such as kente and kaba. Luke 15: 11–23. I Kings Chapters 1–8. The Bible Study and Prayer Group (BSPG) is another strong group in the E.P. Church that is dedicated to Evangelism and prayer. They pray morning and evening and established small prayer cells in houses and pray with the rest of the community. Agbotadua, Kumassah, The Migration Saga of The Anlo-Ewes of Ghana (Keta: Photo City Press, 2009), 21. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APV52Lk8EIg. Sylvia Nannyonga-Tamusuza, Baakisimba: Gender in the Music and Dance of the Baganda People of Uganda (New York and London: Routledge, 2005), 53. Ibid., 171. Ibid., 174. Ibid. Ibid., 177. Ibid., 165. Alexander Agordoh, African Music, Traditional and Contemporary (AccraGhana: Woeli Publishing, 2004), 12. Odejobi C. Omobola, “Influence of Yoruba Culture in Christian Religious Worship.” International Journal of Social Science and Education 4, no. 3 (2014): 590. Hugh Tracey, “The Social Role of African Music.” African Affairs 53, no. 212 (1954): 237. J.H.K. Nketia, Drumming in Akan Communities of Ghana (New York: Thomas Newton and Sons Ltd., 1963). Yeve is a thunder god of the Ewe-speaking people also known as Xebieso which has a historical relation to the Yoruba Shango.

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29.

Korku cult is one of the powerful cults among the Anlo territory where the members dance with sharp knives and daggers to display their spiritual prowess without getting affected by the knives or daggers. Hogbato is a medicine shrine in the Anlo territory of the Ewes where spiritual healings take place. Acts 19: 15–16. Robert Nicholls, “African Dance: Tradition and Continuity.” In African Dances: An Artistic, Historical, and Philosophical Inquiry. Welsh Asante Kariamu (ed.). Trenton, NJ: African World Press, Inc. (1996), 47. Sylvia Nannyonga-Tamusuza, Baakisimba: Gender in the Music and Dance of the Baganda People of Uganda (New York and London: Routledge, 2005), 177 Agbeyeye is the Christianized version of Ewe community agbadza style dancedrumming. The link here will take readers to the traditional drumming and dance type of the Agbeyeye group and watch some of their performances: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=daPzM_rIUhg. Lee Warren, The Dance of Africa: An Introduction (Eaglewood Cliff, NJ: Princeton Hall, 1972), 2. David Locke, “Drum Language in Adzogbo.” The Black Perspective in Music 9, no. 1 (Spring 1989): 25 Kwabena Nketia, Our Drums and Drummers (Accra: Ghana Publishing House, 1968). Ademola Adegbite, “The Drum and Its Role in Yoruba Religion.” Journal of Religion in Africa 18, no. 1 (1988): 24.

30. 31. 32.

33.

34.

35. 36. 37. 38.

References Adegbite, Ademola. 1988. The Drum and Its Role in Yoruba Religion. Journal of Religion in Africa 18 (1): 15–26. Adinku, Ofotsu. 1994. African Dance Education in Ghana. Accra: Ghana Universities Press. Agawu, Kofi. 1995. African Rhythm: A Northern Ewe Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Agordoh, Alexander. 2004. Evangelical Presbyterian Church, Ghana and her Musical Tradition. Madina, Accra-Ghana: Royal Gold Publishers Ltd. Amegago, Modesto. 2011. An African Music and Dance Curriculum Model: Performing Arts in Education. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Birgit, Meyer. 1999. Translating the Devil: Religion and Modernity among the Ewe in Ghana. Trenton, NJ: African World Press Inc. Burns, James. 2009. Female Voices from an Ewe Dance-Drumming Community in Ghana: Our Music Has become a Divine Spirit. England: Ashgate. Dor, George Worlasi. 2014. West African Drumming and Dance in North American Universities: An Ethnomusicological Perspective. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Euba, Akin. 1975. Criteria for the Evaluation of New African Art Music. Transition 49: 46–47. Kumassah, Agbotadua. 2009. The Migration Saga of The Anlo-Ewes of Ghana. Keta: Photo City Press.

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Locke, David. 1987. Drum Gahu: A Systematic Method for an African Percussion Piece. Crown Point: White Cliffs Media Co. Nannyonga-Tamusuza, Sylvia. 2005. Baakisimba: Gender in the Music and Dance of the Baganda People of Uganda. New York and London: Routledge. Nketia, J.H.K. 1963. Drumming in Akan Communities of Ghana. New York: Thomas Newton and Sons Ltd. Nketia, J.H.K. 1968. Our Drums and Drummers. Accra: Ghana Publishing House. Omobola, Odejobi C. 2014. Influence of Yoruba Culture in Christian Religious Worship. International Journal of Social Science and Education 4 (4): 584–595. Osigwe, Chinedum. 2016. Contemporary Nigeria Church Music: A Search for True Identity and Cultural Relevance. International Journal of Music and Performing Arts 4 (2): 65–71. Primus, Pearl. 1996. African Dance. In African Dances: An Artistic, Historical, and Philosophical Inquiry, ed. Welsh Asante Kariamu, 3–12. Trenton, NJ: African World Press Inc. Stone, Ruth. 2000. The Garland of Handbook of African Music. New York: Garland. Tracey, Hugh. 1954. The Social Role of African Music. African Affairs 53 (212): 234–241. Warren, Lee. 1972. The Dance of Africa: An Introduction. Eaglewood Cliff, NJ: Princeton Hall. Welse-Asante, Kariamu (ed.). 1996. African Dance: An Artistic, Historical and Philosophical Inquiry. Trenton, NJ: African World Press Inc.

Chapter 30

African Folklore: The Case of Others and Dismas Nyangau’s Popular Music Alfred Nyagaka Nyamwange

Introduction In the early 1990s an upcoming musician in Gusiiland, Kenya, achieved the impossible. He played the Obokano, an eight-stringed traditional lyre, fusing it with the keyboard and other contemporary instruments to the tune of reggae and other modern beats. The effect was astronomic, regaling the renowned Benga and other established artists like Christopher Monyoncho, Charles Omweri and Isaac Otwori to some indistinct corner for some time. The music had the old and young people on their feet swinging to the beats and humming along, their age sets and different world outlooks blended neatly. Using examples of renowned musicians from other places of the wider African continent, this chapter I will attempt to trace the influence of folklore on the genres that have put Africa on the music world map. Employing the oral formulaic, ethnopoetics and critical discourse analysis theories this chapter will trace the factors that made this music popular and its influence on the later generations creative wise.

Background and Context Whether you are listening to Angelique Kidjo’s “Agolo”; Miriam Makeba’s “Hapo zamani”; Manu Dibango’s “Makossa”; Fela Kuti’s “Shuffering and shmiling”; or Khaled’s “Didi,” there is something in their music that remains distinctively African. It would be the drums; the zeal of lilting the songs in spite of the singers’ environment even when predominantly Western; their costuming; dance movements; even when the instruments array is European and the audience mainly Western. These performers come from different regions of Africa and are products of different influences, cultural and traditional music orientations, foreign and colonization. They also play different A. N. Nyamwange (B) Kisii University, Kisii, Kenya © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_30

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genres of music with adaptabilities that make them stand out in the music world stage. Africa is a land of diversities, a melting point of over 2000 languages and home to over 1.1 billion people.1 This array of cultures and languages, instrumentalities and genres,2 calls for a symphony that glues together their language use to produce music. As Nunez argues, music is a universal language understood by all and holds sway over us in a particular way.3 This unique influence of music is what Plato calls giving soul to the universe, wings to the mind and fright to the imagination. Music appeals to our emotions and breaks complex things to what we can relate to. I cannot discuss folklore without noting what the likes of the English antiquarian William Thomas in 1846 who coined the term meant by it: the traditions, customs and superstitions of the uncultured classes quoting Lloyd.4 Cohen further observes that folklore may be used to refer to two activities namely what a people traditionally say (songs, proverbs and tales) and what they traditionally do (weaving, dance, rituals). Additionally, Mills, in reference to music, calls it traditional music.5 He underscores the following as the characteristics of this form of art. One, folklore is transmitted through an oral tradition and acquired through memorizing. Two, it is culturally particular and from a particular region or culture and a tool for social cohesion. Three, it commemorates historical and personal events such as weddings, funerals and is performed in special costumes. Four, it has been formed over a long period of time. Five, in case of music, there is no distinct authorship of the songs hence no copyright on these songs. In other words, they are owned by the community in which they originate. And lastly, this folklore music is susceptible to changes because it is evolving due to the interaction of cultures. Due to mobility and effects of globalization over time, this music will reflect the influence of disparate cultures on instrumentation, tuning, voicing, phrasing and subject matter and production methods. Creative arts, especially music and poetry, inform contemporary music genres and have over the years performed the primordial function of reflecting and prescribing remedies to societal malaise.6 Music is viewed as the most accessible of all performing arts because in all human activities, music is played. This is because it is palatable in rendition, easy to memorize, easily recallable at any time to fit whichever situation that is emotionally overbearing and exerts a great influence on humans; serve as a source of motivation and propelling force in his endeavors. Music is part of day-to-day African life where activities from childbirth to death where even dance and song are expected to ward off evil spirits. Africa’s music showcases complexities and intricacies that are both historical and developmental. Depending on which side of Africa one hails from there is a common music, Afrobeat or drumming that singles out our music globally. This is in spite of the Asiatic, European, American, traditional and global influences that have at different periods affected the African cultures and social lives in a big way in one way or another. Mbachaga and Ukuma again see the effect of music on the population as more farreaching than any other form.7 They argue that the exhibited dress sense, hairstyles and all as seen in today’s generation are undeniably informed more from the music world than film. They are further convinced that music is a key resource for realizing personal and collective identities, which in turn are crucial for social, political

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and economic participation. I have in mind the Islamic and Arab influences in the Northern, Western and East African regions; the incursion of Christianity and Westernization before and during the colonial era; the fight for independence and the disillusionment thereafter and economic meltdowns; civil wars and the globalization of the village due to technological advancements and the instances of terrorism and nihilism and adaptabilities that involve fusion of instruments, musical styles and genres from outside the continent.8 The migration of Africans to the rest of the world either as slaves or free labor forming the African Diaspora has led to great developments of musical styles and genres in the international arena including the Caribbean and Latin-American rumba, samba, salsa and other forms of Afro-American music. Regional styles have distinctive musical styles. Before colonization, there was extensive Arabic influence on North African music. Even with different historical phases that have enveloped this area, the distinct components of music where rhythms supersede melody and harmony, repetitions and improvisations, call and response, and conversational styles exist. There is a strong Arab and Islamic influence in the melodies and rhythms of this region’s music since nearly 1500 years when Islam became a dominant religion with Coptic presence in Egyptian music; Moroccan style which is Arab-Andalusian where the rabab (a bowed two-stringed instrument); oud (Arab lute); and qanun (zither) are used. Mitchell, observing the contemporary hip-hop and rap in the North African scenario, asserts that this is “a melting pot of expressions that reflect the ethnic make-up of the communities where it is used, borrowing words from regional dialects, as well as Arab, Creole, Gipsy and Berber languages.”9 West Africa showcases music powerhouses such as Mali, Senegal, Nigeria, Ghana and Guinea, which are home to sophisticated classical court music traditions with a griot (character); professional musicians with complex drumming accompanying dance founded in Senegal. The profound wail of Malian blues to the exuberant, bouncing and drumming echoes of Senegal, Ghana, Nigeria and beyond. The manysided beats of West Africa do not only make the core of its many revitalizing musical categories but was also taken by the slaves to the Caribbean and Latin America to influence other creative genres. The array of musical drums played in this region are the tama, bougarabou and djembe, including water drums. The East African coast has musical ties to Islamic culture, namely the taarab, chakacha while the Nubian in Sudan uses the oud. Ethiopia and Eritrea have their own unique and interrelated music cultures that date back to more than one thousand years. The South African khoi and sansan music have always reflected the survival, faith and joy of choral harmonies, hip-jiggling township craze. And all along the South Africa’s many forms of music have played a crucial role in the region’s anti-colonial, anti-Apartheid and anti-autocracy struggles. Yet the present African music is a product of folklore that has undergone several developmental phases to fit its current audience. It could be the Ghanaian or Nigerian highlife with it is jazzy horns and multiple guitars; the melding palm wine Congolese style with Latin America roots and origins of rumba or soukous, etc. This music has strong underlayers to the area’s tradition. Its development journey could

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have begun several thousand years ago, pre-colonial time or with the turn of independence. When in the 1960s, most African countries gained their independence, there was a marked political and cultural vibrancy with the theme of a free and proud Africa dominating. However, the expected overnight economic and other successes didn’t materialize, hopes turned into disillusionment, African musicians voiced their concerns. A modern African blend of traditional music and foreign musical styles in their composition was taking shape. The African style that emerged during the occupation developed and gave rise to new varieties and sub-genres. Musicians reverted to the use of local instruments and sang in their local languages. For instance, Salif Keita of Guinea incorporated its electric kora, adapted and blended old traditional songs with modern instruments. Fela Kuti of Nigeria will create a fusion of Afro-American pop music, Latin-American music, some jazz underlying and his folklore to produce the Afrobeat. And over time, up to the twentyfirst century, successful musicians are those who managed to blend foreign musical styles with their traditional musical genres successfully. The good examples are the globally leaning R & B, hip-hop, reggae, etc. African music exceptionally bears close affinity to the land and the primordial beats of the people who created each arrangement. Similarly, it demonstrates the same constant cross-cultural communication, both within geographical areas on the continent and African-inspired music such as the blues, jazz and funk from the West.10 I want to look at folklore in terms of music that permeates the very pore of an African person with its call and response forms; short and simple melodies; repetitions done over and over; theme variations; and instruments, mainly drums though rich and varied as regions come. Yes, other instruments as expansive and arrayed like the idiophones, aerophones and string instruments exist, whether in the lilting Afrobeat, benga, highlife, kapuka, kwaito, kwele, genge, soukous, ndombolo, or taarab, there is something traditional, cultural, originally African, unpolluted and incorruptible, distinctly African.11 An example of where an intersection of cultures produces amazing results is the 1950 recording of Kipsigis girls’ (a community in Kenya’s Rift Valley) singing of Chemirocha III by Hugh Tracy.12 The beautiful voices harmoniously lilt to the accompaniment of kibugandet, a four-stringed lyre played by the only male cast called ketienya. Their subject of singing is an American country star called Jimmie Rodgers popularized by the colonial travelers’ radio play who they have been made to understand was a mystical half-man and half antelope. The antelope trope fits into their forest surrounding where this and other African animals gracefully roam their landscape. Music packaged anywhere in Africa has its roots in the cultural influences13 blending African languages with traditional and modern beats, making them stand out and have distinct sounds. Music styles such as Afrobeat, Makossa, Azonto, Kwaito are predominantly African. Similarly, the use of traditional music instruments has permeated the African music landscape over the years, regardless of the subject of their songs. The AbaGusii community from where Dismas Nyangau and also Mansamu y’egetonto or PhD Man hails occupies the Western part of Kenya, the present Gusii

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highlands of Kisii and Nyamira counties. The Gusii traditionally attribute their origins to a mystical Misiri or Egypt, which also affiliates them to other Bantu groups like the Baganda, Kuria, Logoli, Suba, Agikuyu and Meru. Through their migrations, foreign influences “borrowed from or imposed by contacts with Nilotic-speaking peoples, notably the Luo, and to a lesser extent the Maasai and Kipsigis informs aspects of their present culture and customs.”14 The Gusii are a predominantly agricultural and a patriarchy society living on “a rolling, hilly landscape and plains.”15 They are also largely oral people, with writing being a recent phenomenon. Thus, their folklore centers on their environment and family systems, and music plays a significant role in it. The Gusii were colonized following the 1890 Anglo-German Treaty as the Kavirondo section of East Africa Protectorate.16 By 1907 the British had established an administrative post in Getembe that they named Kisii Boma with Northcote as the man-in-charge. Subsequently, colonization ushered in a different set of life that completely overhauled the old AbaGusii lifestyle. The economic, cultural, social and religious life of the AbaGusii was totally restructured. For instance, by 1910, in order to pay taxes and purchase exotic goods from the Indian dukas or shops, crop cultivation was encouraged among the natives with the introduction of coffee, cotton, maize, groundnuts to plant in their fields. The existing barter system will eventually be replaced by a money economy involving rupees (chiropi), which was the new colonizer’s currency. This will affect the AbaGusii people’s outlook on matters economic, result in more mobility and different communities’ interactions and settlements in chasing the elusive dollar. Therefore, the AbaGusii mobility impacted their world view and led to the adaptation of new ways of life that could mean their survival in the new set up. It more obviously affected their taste in music too. They will seek to adopt new styles and relegate their old music to the periphery. Besides, the embrace of Christianity led to new worship approach and Western education taking over from the traditional, however, monolithic worship of Engoro, the creator and believe in ancestral spirits.17 The Gusii explained their catastrophes such as drought, floods, disease, epidemics, locust invasions, famine, war, curses even blessings on Engoro, the creator. While this could have provided other new avenues of mental release through musical styles, it also ushered in a more universal outlook on music and even employment of different musical instruments such as guitars, trumpets, a variety of percussions that replaced the traditional obokano, the eight-stringed lyre, ekonu, drum, egetureri, horn, ongengo, the one-stringed lyre among others. According to Nyamwaka the AbaGusii used songs and dances as a vehicle for controlling and rationalizing human behavior; as a medium of education, a tool for political mobilization, for entertainment or aesthetic purpose, for criticism and ridicule and for the reflection of the past historical experiences like the great famine that invaded Gusiiland in the 1940s.18 Songs also functioned as a vehicle for expressing deep feelings like love, sorrow and hatred. Further, Nyamwaka19 opines that a good artist is one who balances his voice and possesses mastery of the community’s history, the language, and is able to remember various phenomena. He or she exudes originality or authenticity in the performance of the various songs and dances.

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He or she understands the role of musical instruments as agents of social and political control and their dynamic pulsation in stimulating the rhythmic patterns of life. Western influences and formal education introduced by Europeans were antiAfrican ways of life, their music and dance as it sought to civilize the savage. However, as time went by, the local artists began to revisit the traditional songs and dances in the community. Old and forgotten cultural items formed the fountain of their creativity, feeding their world view and reverberated in ways that countered what they saw as corrosive and eroding Western ways. There was the need to create songs that suited the existing conditions and that resonated with the generational demands. This required versatile and adept artists in whose fold Nyangau fits. On the musical instrumentation front, man was capable of adapting natural objects that produced sounds that amplified his human voice. Horns and skins from antelopes, buffaloes and elephants supplied material for his drums, pipes and tubes. Through intercultural borrowing and interactions, the Gusii learned the use of a bowstring reinforced with a resonator from their Luo neighbors to make ongengo, engoma and enyabububu. Similarly, the use of the lyre, wind horns, jingles, including performance and dress code, has closer affinity to the Luos. It wasn’t until the Second World War when a significant evolution in the AbaGusii music occurred. The sons of the land who had gone to fight alongside the Europeans mostly through force had their eyes opened to new cultural vistas. A new form of music called emeino, poems were developed and sung after an organized communal labor and beer parties for entertainment. They will also be sung at weddings and other social celebrations and gave men the opportunity to praise their youthful escapades. The introduction of Western musical instruments and other ensembles gave the entertainers a greater latitude to exploit in develop artistically. Musicians such as Onyangore, Nyakerita, Ooga, Oirere, Arati and Mosiori would become renowned for their adept music and entertainment maestro. Their songs explored a wider range of themes that touched on patriotism and romance. The lyre, still a traditional music instrument, will face competition from the likes of Nyamota, Sitora, Monyoncho who took the Gusii Music to new levels of using modern and Western instruments such as the Guitar. Not only will they introduce a new feature into the entertainment industry but they will also adapt new styles of music such as benga. Music (2015)20 defines benga as a fast-paced rhythmic beat whose bouncy finger-picking guitar technique climaxes into dancers freely doing their own thing, flexing muscles, feet and shaking their heads. Again, that period will be earmarked with employment of solo or small instrument ensembles, piano, brass instrument culture and possible recording to augment the entertainment industry. Music would be commercialized and artists were in it for financial gain as well for reputation. The gaining of independence required patriotic songs and schools as instruments of national cohesion added to this artistic compositions and enabled variety. This way, through their art, the AbaGusii are ever keen to celebrate and preserve their unique existence and identity, peculiar aspirations and idiosyncratic values.21 Close to the sunset years of colonialism, this period was characterized by experimentations and adaptation of the new and popular way of modern music. The vinyl

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production was the fad so local musicians with influence and support in training, playing of instruments and even back up from the Luo benga artists will travel to Nairobi or Kericho Chandarana studios and record their music. The music would be produced in the vinyl disk and receive airtime in the only existing radio station, part of the Kenya Broadcasting Corporation based in Kisumu (that aired programs for music, news and death announcements). For an artist that was an accomplishment of a great journey toward celebrity. That way, the artist immortalized himself in the annals of the community’s entertainment history. This was the best shot for any upcoming musician, a true way to fame and popularity. This was when hits like Ekerombeta by Nyamota; Etayota by John Sitora and Monyoncho; Nyangweso by Andrew Anyona; Flora by Moses Oyaro Memba; Omomwamu oyo, Tengia Nyareso, Nyaruri by Isaac Otwori; Marcella, Ebisiba, Omonyene Egoree, Erena, Grace, Tindeka Oyomino, Keemba, Koromocho by Christopher Monyoncho; Gotama Amakweri, Monicah, Nathan, Timanyete Bomame, Abarundia, Yunita, OmoGusii Omongaini by Charles Omweri were sung, etc. With an active music industry spinning modern music, the people’s mind had been tuned to receive such kind of music and this was the order of things for some time. However, when Boruna and Omwenga Tariki, a famous duo of kambanane or obokano lyre artists intermittently produced their vinyl numbers too, they were welcomed as good oldies, holding fond memories that the community was yet to shed off. While Boruna and Omwenga did the old thing in the old way, where dancing style was shaking of the shoulders and movement from the back up and dancing single file, their music was synonymous with comic relief and custodian of folk wisdom. Both the older and younger generations that wanted something of the folklore, cultural and authentic roots adored this style and longed for it. The artists, some unrecorded, sung some of the popular folklore songs with historical and memorial events in the society. For ages, the lyre has been the instrument of the perennial music entertainment in the Gusii landscape. Through it, some examples of indigenous Gusii songs celebrating various events listed here were played in accompaniment of other traditional instruments or improvisations. For example, for birth some of the songs included, “Ekiomogoko (the one who is selfish),” songs to celebrate work and condemn laziness: “Mosaiga siberia onge (age mate sip and give me),” “Egetinginye ekengaini (the wise bird),” songs to celebrate marriage: “Ee wamaya (oh wellness),” “Tata nomochoberi (my father is a sneaker),” songs to celebrate victory and joy include “Mboere ee (wrap it up for me),” “Sibwori nyarimo (the daring lion)” and “Otenyo” (celebrating the first Gusii man to spear a white District commissioner). Further, songs to celebrate death and calamity: “Bwandire iga (sorrow overwhelms me),” “Chiachire ee (our cattle is gone),” songs for partying and also children play songs such as “Nyanginyanginya,” “Sombo,” “Ekio negetinge,” “Kumbata,” “Bwandire” and “Kayokayo kayamba” among others. In the 1960s, Mzee Boruna of Bobasi will become a new feature of lyre entertainment following the vinyl recording technology where his hits could be captured and received airplay in the Kenya Broadcasting Corporation Gusii vernacular radio based in Kisumu. His vinyl disks could be sold all over Gusii up to the 1980s. His

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most popular number is the one decrying Obosisa, a scabies menace, whose perennial outbreaks plagued society then due to poor hygienic standards. This disease could attack a person even in sensitive body parts and necessitated scratching, according to Boruna, before your respectful mother-in-law! Someone would end up with bleeding sores between fingers even holding an object was impossible—Obosisa nobokora buna ee. Buna tari etwoni tango bwaita… (Scabies is tricky. Were it not for a cock scabies will have killed…). This is interpreted to mean the cock was gifted to one who gave the medicine to the sick one or the fat from the chicken’s body was a sedating lotion to minimize and heal the painful sores left by scabies. Almost at the same time, the music scene was bestrode by another lyre musical stalwart known as Omwenga Tariki of Emanga Inse from the phenomenal Manga hill. In the mid-1980s, yours truly A’ level class visited the great composer in his shrine tucked somewhere at the foot of Manga, where he performed with a troupe. He took us through the skills of lyre playing and stringing long windy Gusii proverbial lines that left us awed and shaking our heads in disbelief. His rhythmic word weaving and dancing skills were unparalleled us we tried our flexible, energetic bodies to shake our shoulders to the harp and make our blazers’ tails heave up into the air at an angle in vain. His most popular songs include Wamaya and Egetiro kere Manga—the hill at Manga—always passed on from the old tunes and folklore. On the lyre front that had been the existing scenario before Dismas Nyangau added his voice and artistry, something that changed everything. What will catapult Dismas Nyangau to fame was his unique approach to music: the effortless blending of other musical instruments to his lyre mastery; the English language, Kiswahili and EkeGusii languages; the abstraction to reality and use of humor with personalized cracks on himself as exhibited in Ekiage, etc. The first accomplishment is exhibited in the song One day morning where reggae beats blend well with the lyre strum and the employment of the three languages. Such a feat marked the start of a craze, a phenomenal thing. All this time when it appeared that the guitar was the most fashionable thing with the likes of Arisi O’Sababu of Kirwanda Success, Nyabira of Nyamecheo and other more artists creating musical waves, Nyangau’s efforts surprised many. It was like a brilliant idea that crosses one’s mind, just like a spark. And all of sudden many realized blending of the lyre and modern instruments should have been done like yesterday. Until now the blending extensively informs the current music of the Gusii region, including hip-hop, rhumba, country, bongo and reggae hits. Artists such as Onyoni, Bikundo, Mombima, Ongengo and Embarambamba have employed the blending of the traditional and modern instruments in their music with outstanding success. So, when Dismas Nyangau went ahead to call himself Mansamu Ye’getonto following one of his hits and it was, we think, a jocular way of looking at his name Nyangau, which in Kiswahili means the hyena and whose EkeGusii equivalent is Mansamu. On the other hand, egetonto means some thicket or house like contraption. This formed a unique and creative way to describe himself (you also need to examine the quick quips in his music to realize this humor). He added to his titles, the PhD man, even when his level of education was only up to high school. His

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music remained ever fresh with creative quips that resonated with a knowledgeable and intelligent audience. He became a sought-after entertainer whose master of ceremony roles left people in stitches and whose jokes at least in EkeGusii were polished and refined and on demand (Bikundo, Ongengo audio records on Nyangau’s life and other online sources). Mansamu ye’Getonto Dismas Nyangau PhD Man, Nyakebako, Enyangau ye’Getonto as another artist Bikundo sings about him was born in 1968 at Kitutu Chache in Iranda village to Francis Onsoti and Banana. In 1994, he began his music career through Iranda B Kisii Kambanane (lyre) band. Some of his renowned songs include One Day Morning; Ekiage; Engombe yo’mosuto; Amariga a’Nyangongo, Egesingororo and Abachumbe. He was employed by the FM Egesa in 2007 where he presented a morning breakfast show called Obwato bw’Egesa-Egesa Boat. Besides being an adept lyre player, a dramatist with a community theater, a humorist and an amiable character he had worked as a tailor, driver and a businessman. He was a celebrated harpist in entertainment spots such as Carnivore in Nairobi during the Esasaga Nights—a cultural annual Gusii community get-together. He fell sick in 2007 August, was treated at Kenyatta National Hospital and passed away on 1 February. His burial at Iranda was a big event attended by the Who is Who in the Kisii region, other artists and radio presenters. He was survived by 5 children.22

The Goal and Scope The goal of this chapter is to identify the elements of musical blending in the songs of Dismas Nyangau that occurs at three levels. The first level is that of instrumental and style played. The second level is on the basis of language use. There will be an attempt to analyze how the use of multi blending dimensions and aspects are reflected in the cultural context. This paper will attempt to trace that Nyangau’s music is founded on the existing music structures, themes, narratives and tunes that are either improvisations or adaptations by the artist’s creativity. Through music, the contact between an artist and his listeners is almost on a daily basis from the radio, recorded sources or any other form. This chapter uses Nyangau’s one recorded audio orature to explore cultural content that portrays the image of fusion, providing information on Gusii culture and place of popular music within the sociocultural situation of the community. Also, the study will analyze language as a way to determine the interaction between languages and how it impacts on the listeners.

Approach and Methodology In order to accomplish this study, Nyangau’s song is transcribed into lines, stanzas and phrases in line with ethno poetic and oral-formulaic methods. The music is translated

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into English and assessed using Critical discourse analysis approach according to the objectives of the study meant to determine the blend effect of modern and old instrumentation and languages. According to the ethnopoetics theory, a 1960s approach connected to Jerome Rothenberg the text is better analyzed in its original language and context in order to capture individual elements of performance within that culture. Similarly, the researcher endeavors to capture the power and beauty of oral performance without merely utilizing meter and familiar Western metaphorical references that sound “sweet” to Western ears even when absent in the original music.23 The oral-formulaic theory caters for the concept of originality, which incorporates the idea that an artist also employs a technique usually observed and understood in their natural environment in terms of content.24 This is 1920s theory by Milman Parry and Albert Lord attempts to explain what could have been passed down through many generations. It accounts for the singing of stories, accompanied by instrumental music. The singer composes the songs, he is sensible to both occasion and audience. He may corrupt a good story or he may enhance and set right a story which he received from the tradition in a corrupt state. He is no mere mouthpiece who represents slavishly what he has learned. He is a creative artist.25

Equally, the artist relies on repetitions, stock epithets or recurrent phrases and even stereotyped phrases that he has to learn “by hearing them in other singers” songs. Pope quickly notes that there is no fixed pattern that an artist engages with as this will sound vestigial and common but a creative effort of each artist.26 This forms the backbone of investigating, the fusion of modern and old music styles folklore in terms of narration, themes, song and other tradition material recurrent in popular music. Foley27 is of the view that even when the language of tradition changes from poet to poet an artist can have his own “custom” poetical grammar-since as an individual, he can express his personality and an aesthetic view through his art. Therefore, each song presents its own unique characteristics of time, place, composition, occasion and register. Thus, the individual artist is not only a representative of the tradition but of himself but someone who influences the fixing of the text.28 Further, style and actions in the performance can be equally dictated by the type of audience. Botha29 is of the opinion that each narrator uses phrases and devices picked up from the others, however, each develops his or her own use of lines. This offers impetus to the objective of the selected songs personas in their popular poetry, their unique poetical grammar, characteristics that are attributes of their artistic intrusion, personality and creative forces. Finally, the CDA approach developed by scholars like Norman Fairclough, Ruth Wodak, Van Dijk, Charlton Kresss in the 1970s will account for the relationship between language, social context and ideology. This multidiscipline has evolved differently sometimes in a dialectical-relational fronted by Fairclough, Socio-cognitive discourse analysis advocated by Van Dijk, the historical approach by Wodak and the mediated approach by Scollon and Scollon. The Tenorio conclusion that CDA can be top-down where analysis starts with the understanding of

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the content or bottom-up where the starting point is linguistic detail is most appropriate.30 That way, we will seek to analyze what is encoded in the lines (signification) and its interaction with context (significance). Attention will be given the process of comprehension. The possible effect is to view the relationship in wider background knowledge, through paying attention to form with view to interpret and explain.

Data and Analyses I will now assess some selected lines of songs from various parts of Africa to prove that there is much that is borrowed from the oral tradition and folklore of a place apart from the instrumental blend. Here we showcase examples drawn from West Africa like Fela Kuti’s “Coffin for the Head of State ”; Miriam Makeba’s “Hapo Zamani” and Hugh Masekela’s “Happy Mama” from South Africa; Manu Dibango’s “90s Girl” from Central Africa and Dismas Nyangau’s “One day Morning” from East Africa. There is assessment of the language that informs the lines and the languages that are used in regard to the context and possible implication of the underlying message of each song. Fela Kuti’s “Coffin for the Head of State ” has its roots in 1979 when Fela Kuti’s mother was murdered by a military junta, and in protest, he delivered her coffin to their headquarters. The song decries the religious differences, corruption perpetuated by the government, and life under successful militarily juntas, which increases the persona’s disillusionment and frustration with the state of affairs. The word waka repeatedly used in the song is a corruption of the English word walk and this is what Fela says he has been doing across Africa to discover the moral decadence of cultural norms and traditions. The song uses Christian and Islamic prayer calls in Latin and Arabic, for example, In Spiritus Christus… and Allah Wakubar Mohammed Salamalekum… respectively. Fela employs pidgin in several lines, as in this example, Them dey cry cry cry. This multicultural blending and fusion at religious and language levels elevate the song into another level of creativity. The second song is the South African’s Miriam Makeba’s “Hapo Zamani” sung in Kiswahili and Xhosa. The songs first two lines are done in Kiswahili and address the fact that the persona’s earlier life was never this way, e.g., Hapo zamani, sikuya (sikuwa) hivi. The transformation to drunkenness has been made possible due to alcoholism. The next lines in Xhosa (Nindibona ndilinxila nje kungenxa yamabhulu) give reason for that as being the white rulers or the apartheid system that segregated one on the basis of skin color. The same cause is for his/her homeless status. The political undertones in the song withstanding an array of instruments from jazz, guitar, keyboard, trumpets, saxophones and drums that are beautifully entwined against the melodious voice of Makeba. The song is an example of how language transcends boundaries. Makeba and Kidjo’s rendition of the Kiswahili “Malaika” was originally done by the Kenyan, Fadhili Williams, despite their diverse backgrounds.

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Manu Dibango is often described as a musician and songwriter that plays the saxophone and vibraphone. His musical style includes fusing jazz, funk and traditional Cameroonian music. In this example of 90s Girl there is a mix of local dialect (Nyambé, nyambé, ina yeni) and both standard and non-standard English (Fresh dude with’e old mind ). The instrumentation is an intersection of cultures and the message spun to fit a particular hippy audience and most probably modern and specifically American. The artist’s use of street lingua resonates well with such type of audience and makes them listen religiously to its contents. Hugh Masekela’s “Happy Mama” showcases an interplay of African local languages and English, e.g. (When she saw her mama again, UMama uyajabula (uMama uyajabula)). The song easily appeals to a wider global audience going by the number of people who understand English. Its African roots are clearly underscored in the beats and mix of instrumentation. The final example is Dismas Nyangau’s “One Day Morning,” from my background. The song starts with a mixture or blending of lyre strumming, drums, keyboard and whistling to make the instrumental music. The prominent background beats are reggae style. Such a blending had never been done by any other known artist before among the AbaGusii community. The song starts on a warning pitch waa waa waa with such utterances loosely translated as “alas, alas, alas.” The music is traditional lyre infused with reggae beats. The next lines are sung in English as opposed to the EkeGusii, which is the local language of the artist: “One day morning I went to school x2: One early morning I visited a school. I went to school to see my teacher: I went to meet my teacher.” This is the first time someone is executing such a feat among the wider Gusii. First, he is blending the traditional beats done on the lyre and reggae beats played on the keyboard. His use of English symbolizes interaction with the language to a level he would put it into creative use. The feat is totally new and characterizes a paradigm shift from what is acceptable and the norm to a brand new style done in an ordinary manner. To do it in reggae, a style viewed as rebellious going by the content and beliefs that the music is anti-establishment and for protest (songs like Stand up, Buffalo soldier, I shot a Sheriff, Legalize it, etc.) by the old generation, was really courageous. Young people’s dressing fashion and dreadlock hairstyle was yet to be embraced fully by society and for Nyangau to exploit this creatively was a matter of conjecture. His mastery of the lyre strumming, seamless blending of the two worlds apart from notes and use of English, EkeGusii and Kiswahili, and personal portrayal as a victim and free cracking of jokes aimed at persons brushed everybody the wrong way: “To see my teacher, class master x2: Class master, class rasta x2: To meet my class teacher. My class teacher, my class Rasta.” Nyangau, continuing in English, gives the reason for his visit to school as going to meet his class master. One thing worth noting is when the class teacher is referred to as Rasta, a term for a believer in Rastafarian movement, which by all ways is not appropriate for one’s class teacher. Nyangau’s use of exclamations in EkeGusii Obee baba, obee baito (Alas mum, Alas my dear) signifies a nasty encounter between the pupil and his teacher. The line Urudi nyumbani orete omoibori (return home and come with your parent) shows

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use of Kiswahili and EkeGusii on the same line to capture the teacher’s instructions. The preceding line Agantebia kijana, kijana (He told me young man, young man) employs both EkeGusii and Kiswahili, respectively. What we are not sure is why he should go home. Then, using the local language only, Okwanyorwa, okwanyorwa, okwanyorwa (You’re late, you’re late, you’re late), he gives the reason for going home is because he was late to school. The repetition of the reason is possibly to express emphasis. The blend of English and EkeGusii in Ngateba, no,no,no,no; ambu, ambu (I told him No. I can’t!), makes it interesting. First is the use of No, as a way of refusing to accept the teacher’s orders possibly not to go home or that he wasn’t late. Second, the use of ambu, a terminology associated with the children when playfully refusing to carry out a task. It creates lots of humor for the listener. Probably, the fact that he chose to go away from school for good later than get a parent to explain his mistake is supposed to register Nyangau’s rebelliousness and choice of anti-establishment music genre to pass his message. Nyangau once again switches into EkeGusii in the opening line of stanza two Obee baba, obee baito, ewaa: (Alas mum, Alas my dear, alas) and English in the next lines—“One day morning I went to town / I went to town to search for job.” His second encounter after failure to get an education is in the ever-scarce job market in a town place. With little to show for education, we are eager to know what kind of employment he is likely to secure. More things unfold much later in the song: Are you happy now? / Oh yes! / This is Kamba nane reggae being played / By mansamu ye’getonto,mansamu : (The music is by the bush Hyena). At this point, Nyangau singing in English wonders whether his audience is enjoying the music. In English, he explains the kind of music he is playing as the eight-stringed lyre reggae. Then the moniker that it is being done by the bush Hyena, a personalized reference to his humble roots and one way of excusing his weaknesses either of character or judgment. Nyangau delves into a popular children’s play song: Ogutia, ogutia x2 / Nyamunasi, nyamunasi x2 (The wall, the wall / Of palm trees, of palm trees). The song is a corrupted form from the Swahili community and that is the translation it has been given, which comically vindicates the Gusii version. Ogutia is a misnomer for Swahili ukuti (the wall) while nyamunasi in Swahili is wa mnazi (palm trees). The next several lines express the kind of dancing styles and routines that Nyangau takes the audience through. The instructions are mostly done in Kiswahili and some in EkeGusii. What Nyangau asks his audience to do could be vigorous and requires an amount of physical fitness; but some of the styles like dancing the home or local style could be both totally frustrating and flabbergasting. However, being the man with the mike, we expect him to demonstrate as he sings along so that his audience follows suit. Nyangau’s uneducated escapades are not yet over until he makes a journey to Kisumu (the largest city in Western Kenya at the shores of lake Victoria) using a flashy type of mini-bus, popularly known in the 1990s as Manyanga, in the Sheng lingua franca (a mixture of Swahili, English and other indigenous languages). In his journey to Kisumu, Nyangau comes across members of the Luo community

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probably on their way to the market with the popular fish known as dagaa. One dagaa characteristic is the seemingly ever open eyes. Nyangau comically plays victim to this unprecedented stare by this species of fish by corrupting some English words such as look into ekanduku and see into egansee neatly insert besides an EkeGusii equivalent egansocha, which means constant watching or blank staring. In some lines, for example, he sings, Sorry sana bwana mansamu, you’re very sookarable (Indeed very sorry for you, Mr. Hyena, you’re indeed borne to embarrassment), and proceeds to laugh out the act of one who is embarrassed in the local manner. Then he next utters words to the effect that he needs to be pitied. And when he concludes this process by fixing the EkeGusii word sooka which means to blush or get embarrassed to the English suffix—able with an “r” in between, the humor impact leaves his audience’s ribs tickled. Nyangau’s antics of playing up with words from the three languages in the same breath with finesse elevate him into an astute entertainer and creative artist. The use of two Bantu languages Swahili and EkeGusii, and possibly tonal languages and the Non-tonal English in a clever way both strongly educates and entertains. You’ve to hand over credit to such a master of the game whose blending is so creatively seamless. In the subsequent lines, Nyangau once again takes us back to the beginning of the story where he reminds us about his dramatic school entry. He ended up being sent packing because he had been late to report there. His strongest message is finally delivered in line 61, where he gives us the reason for his attending school: “I was going to school in order to learn.” Thus, we have to view Nyangau’s misfortunes as a result of his failed quest for education. His poor judgment and rudeness result in his series of ugly and unpolished encounters with the rough job market, a factor he often decries in his other songs. Nyangau sees himself as an object of exploitation and abuse because he didn’t receive adequate education despite his popular moniker, the PhD man. Perhaps his desire to transform himself and family through education was a nibbling thought, which he later attributes to poverty caused by his humble background and none of the issues raised in the song.

Conclusion Africa’s intersection of cultures is rather a strength than a weakness when it comes to music creativity. It’s rich folklore background forms basis for creative energy into the global space, whichever way the artist chooses. The instrumentation is wide and varied and fusionable, the languages as medium of passing on cultural goods and capital play a pivotal role in encoding the message. Apart from music being the best vehicle for the preservation of language and folklore, it is also a basis through which languages like Kiswahili will gain prominence in the world map. It must equally be understood that an artist always “customizes” his poetical grammar although incorporating factors from his own observed environment. When you compare the several songs highlighted from the larger Africa, each presents unique characteristics of time, place, composition, occasion, register and what is environment specific. They

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also represent each individual artists’ attributes of artistic intrusion, personality and creative forces. Just like Nyangau, there could be other artists seeking to have a break in the world stage and with a bit of modernity and youth appeal their efforts will be rewarded. Concerted efforts need to be stepped up to trace this folklore roots and ensure as the zenith of fame and performance is reached our African origins are not entirely forgotten. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

Worldmeter 2017 Statistics’, United Nations Estimates. Mark (2012). Nunez (2015). Cohen (2002). Mills (1974). Mbachaga and Ukuma (2012). Ibid. New World Encyclopedia, 2018. Mitchell (2000: 45). Genres of music we meet in All Around This World classes at https://www.all aroundthisworld.com/learn, 2018. New World Encyclopedia, 2018; Shepherd and Horn (2012). Petrusich (2017). Kenyapoet (2014). Bosire and Machogu (2013). Finke (2003: Introduction). Ochieng (1974). Nerlove (1969). Nyamwaka (2000). Nyamwaka (2011). Music (2015). Orina (2014). Extracted online and from the recorded music by Bikundo and Ongengo. Hymes (1981). Ferioli (2013). Lord (1962: 179–214). Pope (1963). Foley (2002). Acker (2014). Botha (1991). Tenorio (2011).

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References Acker, P. 2014. Revising Oral Theory: Formulaic Composition in Old English and Old Icelandic Verse. New York: Routledge. Bosire, K.M., and G.K. Machogu. 2013. Ekegusii-English Dictionary with English Index. Nairobi: Ekegusii Encyclopedia Project. Botha, P.J. 1991. Mark’s Story as Oral Traditional Literature: Rethinking the Transmission of Some Traditions about Jesus. HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 47 (2): 304–331. Cohen, R.D. 2002. Rainbow Quest: The Folk Music Revival and American Society, 1940–1970 . Boston: University of Massachusetts Press. Ferioli, D. 2013. On the Oral-Formulaic Theory and Its Application in the Poetic Edda: The Case of Alvíssmál and Hávamál. Journal of Nordic and Mediterranean Studies 5 (1): 1–13. Finke, J. 2003. Gusii—Introduction. The Traditional Music and Cultures of Kenya. http://www.blu egecko.org/kenya/tribes/gusii/index.htm. Foley, J.M. 2002. How to Read an Oral Poem. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Hymes, D. 1981. In Vain 1 Tried to Tell You: Essays in Native American ethnopoetics, 837–846. Philadelphia. University of Pennsylvania Press. Kenyapoet. 2014. Retrieved on February 28, 2018, from www.kenyapoet.com. Lord, A. 1962. Homer and Other Epic Poetry. In A Companion to Homer, ed. A.J.B. Wallace and F.H. Stubbings, 179–214. London: Macmillan; New York: St. Martin’s Press. Mark, M. 2012. “Nigeria’s Love of Pidgin Dey Scatter My Brain yet Ginger My Swagger. The Guardian. Retrieved on December 26, 2017, from https://www.theguardian.com. Mbachaga, D., and T.S. Ukuma. 2012. Whither Nigerian Music? Ideological Conversations on Contemporary Nigerian Musical Compositions, 1–12. Makurdi: University of Calabar and Benue State University Press. Mills, I. 1974. The Heart of the Folk Song. MUSICultures 2: 29–31. Mitchell. T. 2000. Doin’ Damage in My Native Language: The Use of “Resistance Vernaculars” in Hip Hop in France, Italy, and Aotearoa/New Zealand. Popular Music and Society 24: 3, 41–54. Retrieved on November 26, 2017, from www.nzepc.auckland.ac. Music, P. (2015). 14 Ketebul Music. Preserving Popular Music Heritage: Do-it-Yourself, Do-itTogether, 175. Nerlove, S.B. 1969. Trait Dispositions and Situational Determinants of Behaviour among Gusii Children of South Western Kenya. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Nunez, C. 2015. Music That Has Changed the World. Retrieved on March 23, 2018, from www.glo balcitizen.org/en. Nyamwaka, E. O. 2000. Songs and Dances among the Abagusii of Kenya: A Historical Study. Unpublished MA thesis, Kenyatta University. Nyamwaka, E.O. 2011. Creative Arts and Cultural Dynamism: A Study of Music and Dance among the Abagusii of Kenya, 1904–2002 . Nairobi: Kenyatta University. Ochieng, W.R. 1974. A Pre-colonial History of the Gusii of Western Kenya: From CAD 1500 to 1914. Nairobi: East African Literature Bureau. Orina, A.F. 2014. Analysis of Symbolism and Transience in the Oral Literature of Abagusii of Western Kenya. Nairobi: University of Nairobi. Petrusich, A. 2017. The Magnificent Cross-Cultural Recordings of Kenya’s Kipsigis tribe. The New Yorker. Retrieved on March 16, 2018, from www.newyorker.com. Pope, M.W.M. 1963. The Parry-Lord Theory of Homeric Composition. Acta Classica 6: 1–21. Shepherd, J., and D. Horn (eds.). 2012. Continuum Encyclopedia of Popular Music of the World, vol. 8. Genres: North America. A&C Black. Tenorio, E.H. 2011. Critical Discourse Analysis, an Overview. Nordic Journal of English Studies 10 (1): 183–210. Worldmeter Statistics. 2017. United Nations Estimates. Retrieved online on March 23, 2018.

Chapter 31

When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators: Oral Autobiography, Magical Realism, and Memory Adetayo Alabi

Background and Theoretical Framework The background to this chapter is in the Western idea of autobiography as a written genre. I have argued in a number of works, including Telling Our Stories: Continuities and Divergences in Black Autobiographies; “‘I am the hunter who kills elephants and baboons’: The Autobiographical Component of the Hunters’ Chant”; “I of the Valiant Stock: Yoruba Bridal Chant and the Autobiographical Genre”; “On Seeing Africa for the First Time: Orality, Memory, and the Diaspora in Isidore Okpewho’s Call Me by My Rightful Name,” among others, that there is a set of autobiographical works that fulfill all the components of the genre except that they are not written. In other words, the Western notion of the genre as written is Eurocentric and does not account for oral African autobiographies that include epics, the panegyric, the hunter’s chant, the bridal songs, and several others. Another variety of the oral autobiographical genre that has not attracted hardly any attention in its autobiographical aspect is the witches’ and wizards’ confession or narrative. One of the reasons why the witches’ and wizards’ narratives and confessions have not attracted a lot of attention is the magical dimension to them and the fact that the confessions are often shrouded in mystery. The common implication of this is that the confessions are made often in strenuous and scary contexts that do not often allow the researcher access to the materials needed for the research. One major development that has exposed this research area contemporarily is Christianity because several of the witches and wizards confess their sins in religious contexts. In this way, the witches’ and wizards’ confessions are related to classical religious autobiographical confessions, though written, like St. Augustine’s. Incidentally, St. Augustine who wrote his Confessions, an early written autobiography, around Ad 397–400 was an African, born in Thagaste, Numidia (Souk Ahras, Algeria). A. Alabi (B) University of Mississippi, Oxford, MI, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_31

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Two major differences are, however, noticeable in the autobiographical traditions of St. Augustine and the African witches and wizards. St. Augustine’s Confessions is written while the other type I’m focusing on in this essay is oral. Also, while Augustine’s is a direct celebration and affirmation of his love for God and his desire to do good always, the witches’ and wizards’ confessions narrate evil and virtuous deeds associated with the lives of the witches and the wizards or they are about the life story of the activities of the witches and wizards. The common denominator in this kind of narrative is the “I” and the “eye” of the witch and the wizard that is directly implicated in the narrative as capable of performing magical acts that are either negative or positive. The “I” and the “eye” of the witch and wizard as narrators also thematize the autobiographical content of the confessions and narratives because they focus on the witches and the wizards themselves and those in the community that they have imparted negatively and positively. The magical realism aspect of the narratives of the witches and wizards is crucial to an understanding of the genre and the society that produced the narratives. The witches and wizards are normal members of society like others. They differ from the others because they acquire magical and occultic powers that allow them to oscillate between the level of the ordinariness of a human being who, for example, drinks water to the magical and occultic world of the witch or wizard who feasts on human flesh and blood. This magical aspect is made possible as well because of the Yoruba society’s belief in magic and the world of the supernatural. As Toyin Falola puts it in The Power of African Cultures, “So strong is the belief in witchcraft and magic in many parts of Africa that one might assume that changes to established ideas have been minimal.”1 The Yoruba and indeed, the African world, is a spiritual and spiritualized space. This is a world where so many supernaturally positive and negative as well as unimaginable things happen with ease. This is Olorun’s universe, the universe of the one who owns the skies, the world of gods and goddesses, the world of the ancestors, the world of spirits, ghomids, the spirit child, witches, and wizards, herbalists, occultists, and spiritual doctors, etc. It is also the world of ordinary human beings. All the inhabitants of this spiritual world have their own uniqueness and stories developed and propagated in the natural world. Olorun has stories of creation and stories about natural and supernatural events, and so do the different gods and goddesses like Sàngó, Ògún, Oya, Òsun, Obàtálá, Èsù, and spiritual beings like witches and wizards. Witches and wizards set out as normal human beings, but they become superordinary or supernatural because of the powers they have acquired, and they can use these supernatural powers for good or evil. When they use them for evil, they sometimes collide with bigger forces or the law of retribution that problematizes the discourse simply catches up with them. Sometimes, this is because an aspect of their traditional power failed. The Yorubas describe such an event as ewé wo.n sunko—when an ingredient of the magical power simply failed. Using their magical powers for evil also sets the witches and wizards on a collision course with more powerful spiritual entities. The result is typically that one has to bow to the other, and the witch or wizard has to confess. The Yorubas describe this as tí irin ba kan irin, ìkan máa t e`. . This means when iron collides with iron, one has to bend, and this

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leads to the confession of the weaker power. The magical context of the confessions will undoubtedly be strange to people not familiar with Yoruba and other African cultures, but this context is not unusual in many African contexts. It is appropriate to describe the context of the confession as magical realism because of the seamlessness of the transformation from the phenomenon world to that of the supernatural. For a witch’s or wizard’s confession to materialize, the witch or the wizard does not need prolonged training in the literary art like the griot or the hunter who chants ijala or the Babalawo who chants ifa verses. What the witch and the wizard need extended experience in is the power of the occult to do good or evil and to remember the good or evil done to individuals and the society so that they can narrate them at the appropriate time. Excellent memory and the remarkable ability to remember by the witch and wizard are very crucial to the success of their confessions. For any cursory observer, autobiography and memory collocate because either an autobiography is written in the typical Western sense or narrated orally as in several African contexts; one cannot produce any text of the self without recourse to a good memory. At the minimum, one has to remember the story to write or tell since it must have occurred in the past. Several events in the present will surely jog the memory to allow the narrator to reveal past autobiographical stories that are being narrated in the present. The events that serve the mnemonic device of reminding the individual of specific stories could be joyful, sorrowful, spiritual, or just simply ordinary non-consequential experiences or the encounter between different powerful magical forces. Pastor Enoch Adeboye theorizes the question of memory in one of his sermons during the Holy Ghost Congress of the Redeemed Christian Church of God held at the Redemption Camp in Nigeria on December 9, 2016. He suggests that something must trigger one’s memory to recall an autobiographical event. On a particular occasion he talked about, insomnia and joy triggered his memory to recall periods of joy in his life. As he puts it, “And I’m telling you the truth. I nearly fainted with joy. But that must be around 1950. Several years passed. Several years until maybe about seven years ago and then one night I couldn’t sleep. For one reason or the other, my mind went back to that day because I was trying to go over my life, thinking of days of joy and my mind went to that day and the question came to me. What have I done for that man? And I made up my mind what I would do.” In that episode, Pastor Adeboye recalled a particular event that took place around 1950 on a night he was unable to sleep. This was the story of how his half-brother bought him a face cap and he bought him a car several years later. This example is straightforward. Some events jostled Pastor Adeboye’s memory and he recalled some past experiences. Just as joy and insomnia triggered Pastor Adeboye’s memory to remember the autobiographical moment when his brother bought him a face cap, some things trigger the narration of the confessions of the witches and wizards. What triggers the confessions is usually the collision of powers of the occult versus bigger occultic powers or the occult versus benevolent powers. The compassionate forces involved could be traditional African or from other religions like Christianity and Islam. It could also simply mean that the witches’ or wizards’ victim is lucky. The Yorubas describe the contexts as that of the person whose destiny did not harbor misfortune

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(orí e.ni tí kò gba àb`o.dè). What then happens is that ordinary human beings with spiritual or magical powers to typically harm or liberate people are turned to narrators, telling the stories of their exploits. What is magical comes in when the ordinary person starts what appears to be an unprovoked physical narration. The provocation, unknown to the audience, has already happened in the spiritual realm. While Pastor Adeboye’s recollections concerning his face cap were voluntary and moderated by Christian spirituality, the witches’ and wizards’ confessions are propelled by the interactions of the magical powers of the witch/wizard and higher spiritual powers. Typically, while the witch or wizard has been doing harm successfully, some occasions come when he or she is unsuccessful because the power he or she is trying to hurt is higher. Or as the Yoruba Christians would say, aago r`e. kún àkúnw´o. síl`e.. His or her cup runneth over (with reference to the Psalmist in Psalm 23). The witch or wizard then miraculously starts to confess and the hitherto ordinary human being becomes supernatural and a teller of magical tales of destruction and exploits. The event could happen in public gatherings or other public spaces or could be in relatively private settings.

African Witches and Wizards Àj´e. translated from Yoruba into English as witch and Os.ó translated into English as wizard are Yoruba words and they typically connote spiritually powerful and magical human beings when a Yoruba person hears them. The traditional conception of àj´e. and os.ó in Yorubaland and various African societies, therefore, is that they are powerful forces that are capable of performing mainly negative and sometimes positive activities. There is available scholarship to support the negative and positive capabilities of witches and wizards. Teresa N. Washington in Our Mothers, Our Powers, Our Texts: Manifestations of Àjé in Africana Literature cites two major studies, among others, to support the negative representation of the àj´e.. They are Wande Abimbola’s Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa, where Abimbola claims that, “The àj´e. represent a negation of all that human beings cherish” and that “Helping the àj´e. or doing them a favour does not stop them from their path of eternal opposition to the òrìsà and the human beings.”2 The other authority that Washington cites here is J. Omosade Awolalu in Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites where Awolalu claims that “Witches [meaning Àj´e.] are seen as the personification of evil, as innately wicked people who work harm against others. They are capable of their nefarious deeds through their possession of mysterious powers unknown and unavailable to ordinary people.”3 Like Abimbola and Awolalu, Falola acknowledges the villainous roles witches play in African societies in Culture and Customs of Nigeria as they “are blamed for almost all problems or calamities, from crop failure to mysterious death. Good fortunes and destiny can be altered by witches. Successful marriages can be terminated by them.”4 Some of the experiences mentioned by Falola here are in the confessions that I will analyze later in this chapter.

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One can compare àj´e. and os.ó as Yoruba words and naming to onìs.ègùn (healer), babaláwo (father of mysteries/diviner), or ìyá awo (mother of mysteries/diviner) which are equally powerful forces, but that do not necessarily connote evil. While the typical Yoruba person associates àj´e. and os.ó with evil, he/she doesn’t necessarily do the same with onìs.ègùn, babaláwo, and ìyáawo (or iyannifa). There is a communal understanding that the powers of the onìs.ègùn, babaláwo, and ìyáawo can be used for positive and negative consequences while it is often understood that the àj´e. is negative. There are, however, instances when the power of the àj´e. and os.ó can be used for good as in one of the examples that I will discuss later in this paper. There are equivalent words for the àj´e. and os.ó, onìs.ègùn, babaláwo, and ìyáawo in various other African cultures. Washington, however, argues against the traditional notion of the àj´e. as often associated with the negative in Our Mothers, Our Powers, Our Texts: Manifestations of Àj´e. in Africana Literature. To her, “Àj´e. is the furtive force the Great Mother used to create life and ensure evolution. She shared her force with Deities and select humans so that they might ensure that the world maintains its structure and balance.”5 She also quotes Diedre Badejo who refers to àj´e. as “an embodiment of power and an expression of the matrix of potentiality from which that power emanates.”6 Badejo, however, in some places in her book identifies the competing negative and positive forces inherent in the àj´e..7 Washington asserts that to see the àj´e. as negative is a product of Eurocentric thinking and an attempt to have a one-to-one equivalence in Yoruba terms with English. She also argues that patriarchal influence is involved when critics discuss àjé as witch and negative and wizard as male and positive, citing Barry Hallen and J. Olubi Sodipe’s “A Comparison of the Western ‘Witch’ with the Yoruba Àj´e.: Spiritual Powers or Personality Types?” and their later work. Some of the other authorities she cites to buttress her arguments here are Akin Omoyajowo, Geoffrey Parrinder, and Siegfried F. Nadel who “agree that many accusations of witchcraft in Africa result from “deep-rooted sexual antagonism” harbored against women by men.” To them, “In being made the witches of the society, the women are made to carry its fault or failure.”8 Also, in her book titled The Architects of Existence: Aje in Yoruba Cosmology, Ontology, and Orature, Teresa Washington in the section subtitled “Repeat After Me: There is No Such Thing as an African Witch” claims that “Àj´e., Ìyàmi Òsòròngà, Àwo.n Ìyá Wa, and other divine manifestations of the Mother are not synonymous with, akin to, or the equivalents of any type of ‘witch’ or ‘witchcraft.’”9 She quotes Basil Davison’s arguments in The African Genius that colonialism and capitalist exploitation fueled the negative representation of àj´e. in Africa.10 Another aspect of Washington’s argument that is particularly germane to this paper is her position on the witches’ confessions. She claims in The Architects of Existence that “One gains greater insight about the origin of ‘African witches’ by comparing their confessions and deeds to those of their Caucasian counterparts. African and Caucasian ‘witch’ testimonies are often nearly identical because African ‘witch’ confessions, accusations, trials, and lynchings commenced under the tutelage of Caucasians who used mistranslation, miseducation, capitalistic exploitation, and religious indoctrination

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to foment and justify the massacres of dissidents.”11 While there are cases that fit into the above descriptions by Washington, there are also several examples that show otherwise. These are examples of confessions that show autobiographical information about both physical and spiritual activities of the witches and wizards that are often negative and I discuss those in this essay. Àj´e. can be negative and can be positive and there are several more examples of àj´e. as negative. One clear example of àj´e. as positive is the one that stopped Pastor Adeboye from eating kolanut later discussed in this essay. The focus of this chapter on confessions supports the traditional representation of àj´e. as evil because it deals with how the Yorubas interpret the phenomenon of the witches’ and wizards’ confessions as “àj´e. kà” or witches confess. It is, however, important to note that these negative qualities of the àj´e. feature in an oríkì/praise poem of the àj´e. as an appendix in Washington’s Our Mothers, Our Powers, Our Texts. Some of the relevant lines are given below: Òru o`. gànjo´. ní déédé aago me.ta N làwo.n Ìyá ye.n máa n´ n´ rin Àwon lonís.e´. e.bi Àwon lalás.o. dúdú. Èmi ò wàá gbà as.o dudu o! As.o funfun lèmí gbà…12 In the dead of the night at 3 am That’s when those mothers operate They are the evil doers They are the owners of dark clothing I didn’t come for dark clothing I came for white clothing (My translation) W o´. n á wo.lé tonít o`. hún W o´. n á je. e´. , wón á je. e´. W o´. n á jídé W o´. n á tún máa bónít o`. hún dárò “E´. yin Ìyà mi, e. má j e. mí o! E´. yin Ìyà mi, e. má j e. mí o E´. yin Ìyà mi, e. má j e. mí lápá! E´. má j e. mí l´e.s`e. E´. má j e. mí lèfun E´. má j e. mí l´e.d o`. !”13 They will enter the house with the person They will eat him or her, They will arrive They will commiserate with the person My mothers, don’t eat me! My mothers, don’t eat me My mothers don’t eat my hand Don’t eat my keg

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Don’t eat my intestine Don’t eat my liver (My translation) Èyin lè é jèèyàn láì jé kó mó Té e bá je wón tán E ó pè yìndà E ó tùn máa so pé kónítòhún ó máa pé: “Gbà mí! Gbà mí!” Èyin lé n´ se é Èyin lé é gbà á lè Ìyàmi mo júbà o! Àj´e. má je mí o!14 You are the ones who ate someone without his or her knowledge When you finish eating them You will turn back You will ask the person to be saying “Help me! Help me!” You are the ones who afflicted him or her You are the ones who will deliver him or her My mother, I pay obeisance Àj´e. don’t eat me! (My translation) Ultimately, what Teresa Washington does is to equate àj´e. with gods. In Manifestations of Masculine Magnificence: Divinity in Africana Life, Lyrics, and Literature , she claims that “As it relates to the Mother’s guardianship of existence, the Yoruba say, ‘The sack tied by the gods cannot be untied by anyone’” (Òké ti òrìs.à di, o.mo. ar’aiyé kò le tú u). The gods in question are “Àj´ .e, who are logically heralded as Àwon Ìyá Wa, Our Mothers.”15 She also claims later in the book that “as the literal and spiritual Mothers of Existence, Àj´e. created this world and everything in it.”16 Substantial scholarship and experience with Yoruba culture focus more on the negative qualities of the witches as shown in the above praise poem. The poem also acknowledges God’s supremacy as the àj´e.s pay obeisance to God who is described in His infiniteness to protect the àj´ . se as they go and come. If the àj´e.s are gods, why do they have to pay homage to God—O.l´o.run—the owner of the universe and seek protection? Lines 147–155 are those in question here. Bí wón bá ti n lo sóde Wón á fò Wón á júbà lódò Olórun Won á n´ “Alálàfunfun, Alálàfunfun, Alálàfunfun!” Àwon n´ lo sóde rèé Káon loore Káon bòore.17 When they are going out

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They will fly They will venerate God They will say He-of-the-white-garment, He-of-the-white-garment, He-of-thewhite-garment! They are on their way out Let them go well Let them return well. (My translation)

Data and Analysis The first text for my analysis deals with the conventional fear of witches, which complicates the relationship between them and community members. Many people fear witches and wizards in different Yoruba and African societies because of the belief that they have occultic powers that can harm or affect people they don’t like negatively. The story on the fear of witches is narrated by Pastor Enoch Adeboye in Stories of Pastor E.A. Adeboye: The Power of Testimony (Kindle Locations 5849– 5855) edited by Bisi Daniels. It is about someone Pastor Adeboye knew who went to a diviner to prepare some traditional medicine for him to counter the fear of witches. The story titled “Excreta Charm Backfires” is as follows: There are people who are so full of fear of witches and wizards that they keep on looking for protection against attacks from the devil. I thank God for Jesus Christ. Some of us were also afraid of witches and wizards before we knew Jesus Christ. Not anymore. There was this man who, out of the fear I am talking about, went to a Babalawo for help. The Babalawo told him, “Don’t worry yourself, I will give you a charm that will keep witches or wizards away from you. The juju man then told him to get seven leaves, spread them out on the floor and defecate on them. Then chanting some incantations, the juju man prepared a concoction with the excreta and told the man, an engineer trained in Britain, to eat it so that nobody would be able to harm him. Because of his fear of attacks, he ate the concoction and came home boasting that no witch or wizard could touch him anymore. He nearly died of cholera.” Pastor Adeboye’s narration of the story is autobiographical. There are elements of Pastor Adeboye’s life story in that example and it is biographical because it tells the story of the man who nearly died of cholera. The story will be autobiographical when the man himself tells the story of how he almost died of cholera. Another story titled “Witch in the House” also shows the pathological fear people have for witches in the society. According to Pastor Adeboye, One of my sons informed me that he was living in the same compound with a witch, who also happened to be a witch doctor. They were both tenants in that compound. According to the young man, the evil spirit hovering all over the place affected his progress at work. Moreover, people from all walks of life visited the witchdoctor to collect charms and other things. “Are you not supposed to be a prayer warrior? Are you not supposed to tell mountains to move?” I asked. “No, Daddy, just pray that the problems at work will discontinue. That’s what I need to happen,” he replied. I said,

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“Go and pray.” After that I didn’t see him for a while. Finally, he came with rashes all over his body. “What happened to you?” I asked. Apparently, the witchdoctor had complained to his clients, who consisted mostly of soldiers and police officers, that my son’s prayers were affecting his witchcraft. So, these law enforcement officers cooked up a charge of armed robbery against him. He was detained at the police station where mosquitoes ravaged his body before it was discovered he could not possibly have been a criminal because he was always singing and quoting the Bible. So, they released him. He came to see me and told me his story. “You must rid yourself of this evil witch doctor,” I said. “If you don’t, you will be finished.” So that day he prayed and within three days, the witchdoctor left him alone. Whoever is going to destroy your destiny must be destroyed first by prayer (Kindle Locations 5742– 5746). The story shows how powerful the witch/witchdoctor is to the extent that it is clear to the victim and the pastor that they can only handle the situation spiritually. The autobiographical moment in the story was when the witch/witch doctor narrated his story to the clients who were law enforcement officers that the prayer warrior was disturbing his witchcraft with his prayers and prayers in the house. There are several other examples of witches confessing and providing autobiographical narratives in Bisi Daniels book. The example of how Pastor Adeboye stopped eating kolanut is one of the examples of a witch using witchcraft for a non-calamitous purpose. The story is titled “Why I stopped Eating Kolanut” (Kindle Locations 1025–1030). According to Adeboye, “Years ago, 1959 to be precise – a time I was preparing to move over to my final year in secondary school – I had always wanted to be the best student, and so I read a lot at night. For those of us from poor homes, there was no money to buy coffee, but there was abundance of kolanuts at no cost. Eating kolanuts kept me awake for a long time, so it was good for my studies. But unfortunately, I became addicted to it. I could eat, share with, or take offers readily. But then, one day, a woman in our compound – a self-confessed witch - stopped me. Okay, let me tell you a bit about that witch. Her daughter gave birth, and there was a well-attended naming ceremony. But soon after that, the daughter started having serious stomach pain. They tried everything they could but the pain only got worse. Finally, they consulted the oracle. In those days, some of the oracles told a little bit of truths even though they added some lies. The oracle revealed that the lady’s mother was behind her ordeal and that she should go and ask her. When they did, the witch admitted it. She explained that she wanted the intestine of the chicken they had used for the naming ceremony but that her daughter had thrown it away. When they asked her what could be done, she said they should kill another chicken and give her the intestine. That was the witch who stopped me from eating kolanut; a witch who could kill her own daughter. One day, this witch called me and said I should stop eating kolanut. Those days, one of the easiest ways to kill someone was to give him a poisoned kolanut. Thank God for Jesus Christ because the Lord knew that I must stand before you all today. That was the last day I tasted kolanut” (Kindle Locations 1030–1040). The story shows two major autobiographical contents. One is that of Pastor Adeboye who narrated it and explained an aspect of his own life story on how he stopped eating kolanut. It also shows the autobio version of the life of the witch such that we can hear directly from her about her life story and her activities in relation to

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her child. Her confession in this case, as testified to by Pastor Adeboye, was that she was into witchcraft and used it to punish even her own child. The circumstance of her confession was a result of consultation with the oracle to find out what was wrong with her child. She confessed to afflicting her because of an offense the daughter committed against her. The “self-confessed” witch agreed to a solution because the spiritual power that was interacting with her at that point was a lot more potent and sophisticated than her. The good thing about her life as a witch was to identify one of the tools of wicked people to harm others through poisoned kolanut. By identifying that item and informing Pastor Adeboye of it, admonishing him to stop eating kolanut, the witch demonstrated that witchcraft could also be used for good and not just evil as I discussed earlier in this chapter. The witch was unnamed in the story, perhaps to avoid outrightly exposing her even though her story was narrated. One other issue about the story is its biographical element, which is that the reader gets to know two of the major uses of kolanut in Yoruba society. One is that it serves as a stimulant; hence, Pastor Adeboye ate it to stay awake instead of the unavailable coffee. The second biographical aspect of the story is that kolanut could be used to poison or kill in traditional Yoruba society, which was why the witch warned the pastor against eating it. Unlike the previous positive story of the witch who stopped Pastor Adeboye from eating kolanut, the story of the witch who kills her children is very negative. According to Pastor Adeboye, “I once visited a family without realizing that the woman of the house was a high-ranking witch. She and her husband had reached an agreement in the spirit realm that, out of every two children born to them, one must die. As at the time of my visit, they had a little daughter who had been marked to die on that very day. Of course, I didn’t know this as I only visited to greet the family. As I was about to leave, the child, who was strapped on her mother’s back, stretched out to me with great longing, perhaps in premonition of her impending doom. I had no option than to hold her. We were to learn later that this child never, ever allowed anyone else to carry her. So, I carried her and prayed for her, oblivious of the prevailing circumstances. ‘Father bless this child, keep sickness away from her, and keep death away from her.’ And the yoke was broken! Shortly after that incident, the mother began to confess. ‘I killed three of my children, but the day I was to kill this one, this troublesome pastor came by and took the child from me’” (Kindle Locations 5545–5554). We heard directly from the witch in this example. She claimed categorically that she killed her children and explained the circumstances under which she did. The reason why the child she was going to kill that day survived was because of the inadvertent interaction with superior spiritual power in the person of the Pastor who visited. The story titled “Dress Set Ablaze by the Holy Spirit” is another text where we hear directly from the life experiences of a witch. According to Pastor Adeboye, who narrated the story, “During one of our meetings, I saw, from the altar, a woman running with some people following her. After the service, they brought her to me and I asked, ‘What is happening?’ She said, ‘As you were preaching, my clothes caught fire, then I knew I had reached the place where I would be set free.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked her. She said, ‘Let me tell you my story.’ She was trying to

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protect her children from dying, so she went to a certain prophet for help. While she was waiting to be attended to, as the prophet was busy attending to other people, the prophet’s wife asked her what she wanted the man of God for. The woman told the prophet’s wife that she wanted to prevent her children from dying. The prophet’s wife said, ‘That is no problem, just take this kolanut and eat it, none of your children will die again.’ Innocently, she took the kolanut and ate it not knowing that through it she had been initiated into witchcraft. Within seven days, she began to fly at night, attending meetings where they shared human bodies and so on to eat. Soon, they came to her to say it was her turn to provide meat for the feast. So she killed her husband. Of course, she was very sad because that was not what she bargained for. From that moment, she started going from one Babalawo to the other, but she was only adding petrol to the fire. The killings went round again and came to her turn once more. This time, because her husband had been killed, she had to sacrifice one of the very children she was trying to protect. I think it was almost time for her to donate the second child when she came to the church. That was when the fire of God came down mightily and her dress caught fire. We prayed a simple prayer and she went home. In some villages, they still use what is called pit latrines. It is a kind of toilet where when you want to relieve yourself, you do it on some old newspaper, spread on the floor, and transfer it into the pit. This was what she did that night, but to her amazement, she excreted a dead snake. And from that day, she became free” (Kindle Location 5780). The story illustrates the fact that people can be introduced to witchcraft inadvertently and that kolanut can be an instrument of initiation into witchcraft. The woman in the story didn’t set out to be introduced to witchcraft. She was only looking for a way to protect her children and found herself in the world of the witches. The circumstances of her confession are in Christianity and under Pastor Adeboye’s ministration. Clearly, the powers of good and evil collide at the meeting and that of good overpowers the other, and the woman is set free. Some of the witches in some of the texts prefer the life of witchcraft. In “The Husband-Wrecking Wife,” according to Pastor Adeboye, “A man brought his wife to me one day and said, ‘Pastor, my wife is a witch.’ The woman replied, ‘Don’t mind the foolish man; who is a witch?’ I said, ‘I’m not minding him, I’m talking to you. How can your husband prosper if you are a witch? And what do you want to gain if your husband is wretched? Wouldn’t you like to ride in a beautiful car, be driven around by a driver? I mean, don’t you like a life where you will order your servant to drive you to the supermarket and obey your every command? Why do you want your husband to keep on suffering?’ ‘I’m not a witch,’ she insisted. But I said, ‘You see, what I’m trying to say is that if you are a witch and you are willing to surrender, we can pray now and you will be free.’ She insisted she was not a witch. At that point, I was beginning to lose my patience, so I said, ‘If you are a witch and you refuse to confess, God has given me enough power to bind that thing in you. I want you to know that if I bind the snake that is in you, it won’t be able to go out. So, it will have to eat where it is and defecate there. And that will be trouble for you.’ She said, ‘Do whatever you want, I’m not a witch.’ ‘Do you want me to pray,’ I asked. She said, ‘Do whatever you want, I’m not a witch.’ ‘Do you want me to pray,’ I asked. She said, ‘Go ahead.’ So, we prayed. Three months later, when they brought her

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back, she was as a big as a balloon because the demons had been defecating in her and eating her. So, I asked her, ‘But I thought you said you were not a witch? She could not answer’ (Kindle Locations 5812–5817). This story shows a fairly extended dialogue and interaction between the pastor and the witch. It was that long because the husband had probable cause to believe that his wife was a witch and reported that to the pastor. The wife, however, did not admit the charge. The interaction continued until the bigger power prevailed. The wife and the husband had to come back when she ballooned because of the demons in her. Ultimately, she confessed to witchcraft and got her liberation. The story titled “Grounded Witch” is that of a witch who was literally grounded as she confessed and the story was narrated by Pastor Adeboye. According to Pastor Adeboye, “Several years ago, a man and his wife came to our church at Ebute Metta. After a while, we were seeing only the husband; his wife had stopped coming. So, we asked the husband why. When we couldn’t get any favorable response from him, we decided on a follow-up visit to their home. ‘I am not coming to your church anymore,’ said the wife when we met her. ‘Ever since I started coming to your church, anytime I want to fly to our witches’ meeting place at night, I can’t get beyond the roof’” (Kindle Locations 5892–5896). The story clearly contains the witch’s confession that she was incapacitated because of attending Pastor Adeboye’s church and couldn’t fly anymore and participate in the dastardly activities she would have otherwise been involved in. The reason for her confession was because the pastor specifically asked her why she stopped coming to church. She was, therefore, under a mightier power for her to confess that she was a witch and to state why she stopped going to the church. Pastor Adeboye identifies the presence of witches in the church in the story “Witches in the Church” and reproduces their conversation in both the spiritual and the physical world. According to him, “We were having our Convention some time ago, and at around 12 mid-night, I said to my ministers, ‘Ministers of God, please come forward.’ At that point, I heard something in the spirit. I heard one witch on my right telling another witch on my left, ‘It is now time for us to intervene.’ So, I said, ‘Brethren hold it, hold it, two witches have been talking.’ I told the congregation what was going on and asked the two witches to come out to be delivered or be buried within one week. I asked the people to close their eyes, but of course many of them didn’t. The two witches eventually came forward and one of them said, ‘Please sir, it was not me talking, it was what is inside of me that spoke.’ That is the kind of movement of the Holy Spirit we need” (Kindle Locations 5902–5904). In the story, not only does the pastor know spiritually that there were witches in the church but he knows that they were planning to intervene in ongoing activities, most likely negatively, and therefore asked them to come out for deliverance. The conversation that ensued between the pastor and the witches shows the witches talking about themselves and identifying aspects of their life story. For example, one said she wasn’t the one speaking and that what was speaking was what was inside her. To the Yorubas, this was a clear admission that the witch bird or witch contact was inside the woman and that was what was responsible for her action of trying to disturb the church, possibly in preparation for committing an atrocity or the other.

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During the Redeemed Christian Church of God Holy Ghost Congress of December 6, 2017, Pastor Adeboye narrated another autobiographical encounter with a selfconfessed witch spouse of a couple he had earlier ministered to in the context of willingness to be free completely from occultic influence. According to him, he had ministered to the couple and the wife wasn’t showing up again at the services. Only the husband was showing up, so he followed up to find out what happened to the wife. The wife said she stopped coming to the Pastor because she couldn’t fly at night since she had been coming to the Pastor’s church. According to Pastor Adeboye, “But I have seen people who refused to be set free even when the power of God to set them free is available. I will give you an example. A man came to the church with his wife and things were happening. We were having wonderful time. After some time, we didn’t see the woman again. So, we did a follow up. Woman, why are you not following your husband anymore? She said Number 1, the moment I started attending your church I could no longer fly at night and I want to decree to somebody every witch in your family they won’t fly again after tonight. Amen. Ok, so you are a witch? She said yes. Heh, that’s no problem. We pray a simple prayer and you will be free. She said who told you I want to be free? She said that’s the power I use to control my husband. You want me to get rid of the power that I use to. She said I would tell him to drive me to the house of my concubine and I would tell him to sit down in the car. I would go upstairs and I will enjoy with my concubine for as many hours as I want. I would come back and he dares not say a word. I decree tonight every force holding you bound the fire of God will consume. I can tell you other stories, but time.” There is an autobiographical enunciation in Pastor Adeboye’s encounter with the woman. The woman declared affirmatively that she was a witch during the conversation and explained a crucial aspect of her power and how she used it in relation to her husband. Unlike in many other cases where the witch asked for freedom or deliverance, the witch in this case wanted to retain her witchcraft power. What happened after that meeting with Pastor Adeboye is unknown because he didn’t continue the story. During the December 2016 Redeemed Christian Church of God Holy Ghost Congress, Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor gave a sermon titled “A New Song.” In it, he narrated the story of a wizard who confessed his wicked activities against his biological brother. Pastor Oritsejafor started his story by informing the congregation that it was a non-fictional story and he introduced the protagonist as a wanderer who literally had no home address because of poverty, unlike his brother who was wealthy and possessed three cars among other things. The narration was dramatic as the pastor code-switched from English to Pidgin several times to consistently prove the authenticity of the story that took place in the Warri area, where Pidgin is very popularly spoken. The use of pidgin also further arrested the attention of the pastor’s audience. Things started changing for the wanderer because “he accepted Christ. Na den di new song dey start o,” the Pastor said. Within one year of his conversion, the wanderer embarked on a 21-day fast and that was when things started to happen. The pastor continued: “he had gone into the fast for about 11–12 days. His elder brother became sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. His body begin swell o. Make una no vex o. This Warri thing dey worry me self. I no know. The thing go just enter my mouth. Before I know, I don talk am. Una go follow me come stay Warri small! His body began to expand.

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After about three weeks, the bed could no longer occupy him. Dey hear o! Na true story I dey tell you so. One day, bed broke. Dey no fit carry am again. The young man did not stop his fast. He continued. ‘Why is my life like this? What is this? What is going on with me?’ … the body began to have boils, little boils all over his body, and then the boil will burst. Pum! Pum! And when the boil burst, a little worm will come out. A living human being. So, he began to confess. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I’m a wizard.’ He said ‘I’m the reason why my brother is the way he is.’…. He used to sleep with his mother in witchcraft. That was how he got power over his brother because they came from the same womb. Blood get power. From the same womb. So that was how he controlled his brother’s life. While he was doing well, his brother was going down. He started talking. You know, Oyinbo people when dey hear dis talk e go be like say dem dey dream. Say wetin dey talk o. Tell dem make dem move come dis side. I hear dem dey study witchcraft for university. No, no, they don’t need university. Make dem come come. Make dem come this side. I go take dem go real university. Dem go see university like this…. He was confessing. And he confessed. And confessed. And died. His mother died. And from nowhere, the boy who was a wanderer, his life began to come together o.”18 In the story narrated by Pastor Oritsejafor, he identified the story’s setting as his own part of the country, which is the Warri area. The setting is important because it adds authenticity to the story. The listeners can relate to the location and to what they knew previously about the area. The use of Pidgin as one of the languages for the narration also aids its context because the language is broadly used in the area. There are clear autobiographical statements in the Pastor’s narration of the story. Some of these are quotations from the wizard and from his Christian brother. These statements are biographical when Pastor Oritsejafor narrated them, but autobiographical when the brothers uttered them. Apart from contextualizing the story, the autobiographical statements contain the real story of the activities and experiences of the brothers focused on in the text. Pastor Oritsejafor is critical of the Western academy and the study of witchcraft there, arguing that if they really wanted to study witchcraft, they should come to his part of the world and he will educate them. This is significant for the purpose of this paper because this aspect of life stories is not typically studied in Western academies because of its oral form and it is not accounted for in the definition of the term autobiography. There was a celebrated case of an encounter between Bishop David Oyedepo of Living Faith Ministries also known as Winner’s Chapel and a witch on December 19, 2011, and there were subsequent commentaries on the story by the Bishop a few times after. The first encounter was as follows: Bishop: Witch: Bishop: Witch: Bishop:

Welcome in the name of Jesus. You have been there for how long? I’m not a witch. I’m a witch for Jesus. You are what? I am, my own witch is for Jesus. You are a foul devil. Do you know who you are talking to? Foul devil. (Then he slaps her.) Where are you from?

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Witch: Bishop: Witch: Bishop: Witch: Bishop: Bishop: Answer: Bishop: Congregation: Bishop:

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(one of the people standing with the Bishop) Open your mouth I’m from Imo state. When did you join witchcraft? I’m not a witch Who are you? But I am witch for Jesus. Jesus has no witches. You are a devil. You are not set for deliverance and you are free to go to hell. To the next person: when did you get in there? I am not a witch but I used to dream that I was with them. Everyone of you that is on this throne that speaks a lie, you are cut down. Amen Cut down…19

Sahara TV published a compilation of clips dealing with the Bishop and some of his statements on witches on January 18, 2012, as follows: Some fellow said you know em er that Bishop slapped a witch. What is it about? Do you know how many witches I have been slapping? And now what is your trouble because I slapped the witch and the witch came to apologize, what’s your problem? (Cheers from the congregation.) Amen. If I see another one, I will slap him again. It is my ministry to slap. To humiliate witches is my ministry. I must answer the call of God on my life. Amen. Glory to God. (Laughter by the Bishop and cheers by the congregation.) Glory to God. So are you going to court now or what? The witch will kill you for nothing. Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. I don’t care how many of them die. Whatever won’t let you go must die this year. Amen (from the congregation). Somebody believe that let me hear your loudest amen. If you slap a witch and there is no reaction, that means you are superior. The witch agreed that you are superior. You are a Baba witch. (Laughter from Bishop and congregation.) So, they agree. Glory to God. Alleluia and amen (from the congregation). I took a notorious witch to the forest one day. In the night. There was no internet in those days, so they have no problem. I said anything I tell you now, begin to do it. Lie down with your back and your eyes facing the sky. Aha. Stop! Now lie down with your face to the ground. Ahha Stand up. Now, walk to that water. If I go there I will die. Die now. Glory to God. It is a show of dominion men eh. Amen.

Another clip of the event states as follows: Bishop: I slapped a witch here last year. How many remember? (The congregation replied that they did.) The witch came back in February to come and apologise. To beg me to please forgive her. Came back in Jan. He went back to their witchcraft company and they said ah if the man said you are dead, you are dead. You better go back there. Our witchcraft can’t catch that area o. That area is superior to where we are. The witch came back. That’s after slapping him o. Still had to come back because that slapping can kill you forever. Can I tell you this, from today, the things harassing you, you will now start harassing them. Amen. Somebody believe that shout the loudest Alleluia. Every power of the wicked that followed anybody here. That power is shattered in the name of Jesus…20

There are autobiographical moments in the encounter between the Bishop and the witch, especially when the girl declared herself a witch for Jesus and when the other

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witch came back to apologize to the Bishop (it is not clear whether it is the same witch the Bishop slapped publicly or another one). We get glimpses of the lives of both the witch and the Bishop in the narratives. By declaring herself a witch during the service, the narrator has identified an autobiographical moment of telling the audience something about her. The dialogue that ensues shows the religious dimension of the story about whether she can legitimately claim what she claimed. The audience would have been able to learn more about her life as a witch and her activities if the narration had continued despite her surprising declaration that she was a witch for Christ and the Bishop’s response that Christ had no witches. The logical question to follow her self-declaration as a witch for Christ is whether her own involvement with witchcraft has positive elements to it. It is important to note that her confession that she is a witch did not occur in isolation. It occurred in the context of a religious ceremony in which an observer can claim that she was under the influence of a bigger power, in this case, the power of Christ. A powerful Bishop is ministering and the congregation is involved, responding to the Bishop’s questions and prayers, shouting Alleluia and Amen. The congregation is the participating audience in the events, and members are in tune with the Bishop and his claim that the relationship between him and the witches is that he is superior to them through Christ and asserts his dominion over them. This is why the witch he slapped came back to apologize because, as the Bishop reported, she is dealing with a bigger power there. The Bishop’s speeches are autobiographical because he reports his experiences with the witches. They are also biographical because they narrate aspects of the lives of the witches. Those aspects dealing with the witches’ conversations with the Bishop will be autobiographical when the witches tell their own stories. Information Nigeria, an online website, published a sensational confession of six pupils who revealed how they were initiated into witchcraft under the title “Six Pupils Reveal How They Were Initiated into Witchcraft in Ondo State,” and the confession was presented on ILE-AYE radio program on Voice 89.9 FM, Ado Ekiti.21 According to the story, “Six pupils (one male and five females) who are alleged to be witches and wizard, have revealed how they were initiated into witchcraft in Danjuma area of Akure, Ondo State capital. The oldest pupil, identified as Idayat, revealed she initiated her sister and the four others into witchcraft to journalist Omo Edema.” According to the kid, an elderly female neighbor in their previous house initiated her into witchcraft. “I can’t remember the year I was initiated into witchcraft, but can remember I joined them in the house we were living before at Odole, Akure.” “One day a little girl like me then came to me and said I should accompany her somewhere which I obliged. She took me to an elderly woman where they gave me biscuit and groundnuts. I ate them there. Immediately I finished eating those things, they commanded me to go and begin to bring people’s glories to them,” Idayat said. On how many glories she has taken to their coven, the pupil confessed that it has been that of her parents so far; “I have not collected many glories. I have only taken the glories of my mother and father to them,” Idayat said without mincing words. In her shocking revelations, the alleged witch confessed that a neighbor and member of the group identified as Eunice had collected the glories of the whole house— a one-story building said to have about twenty rooms. “I didn’t touch anybody in

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this house. Eunice was the one who collected their glories. I and Eunice are highly ranked in our coven. We both possessed four different birds each in our bellies,” Idayat confessed. According to Idayat, all the witchcraft birds in her belly were used for afflicting her parents for punishing her for her wrongdoings. “The first bird in my belly is used for troubling my mother for punishing me for my wrongdoings. The second one is used for pushing my mother into heavy debt. The third one is used to invoke misfortune on my father while the fourth bird is used for sending my father out of his matrimonial home,” she said. The daughter of a Muslim cleric (Alfa) said they normally converge for their witchcraft meetings at available uncompleted buildings. Idayat’s younger sister, Kudirat also confessed to being a member of the group. According to her, she also concentrated her wicked afflictions on her parents too. The mother of the duo, Anuoluwapo had earlier spoken with Omo Edema and blamed the matter on the father of the children whom she said had failed in his true parenting. The journalist reported that Eunice and all other alleged members of the coven confessed and confirmed their being into witchcraft. In another publication on the issue,22 one of the landladies of the house where the families were living corroborated the hardship faced by her tenants: “Mrs. Aregbe said her tenants used to pay their rents on time in the past, but this year had been different. ‘My tenants used to pay their rents on time before, but this year has been different. In fact, I have been contemplating quit notice to serve them. But now I will do everything possible to get to the root of this matter’, the landlady said.” According to Omo Edema, the journalist who interviewed the family, “Eunice and all other alleged members of the coven confessed and confirmed their witcheries. On how they take people’s glories from them, they said they would fly in the spirit realm to carry the urine of their targets to their meeting which, in turn, would deprive them (targets) of their glories.” The transcripts of the interviews with the children are below followed by my analysis. The interviews were conducted in Yoruba and I transcribed them into Yoruba. Interview with Madam Aanuoluwapo, mother of the children by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Kini oruko yin? Aanuoluwapo Omo ilu ibo niyin? Omo Osun State Igba wo leti bere egbe aje? Ah, mi o ki se egbe aje, egbe funfun ni mi. Mi o ki se egbe aje. Awon omo lo gba egbe aje wo inu ile mi. Mo de so fun won pe… [interjection by the interviewer] Iru egbe funfun wo?

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Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

A. Alabi

Egbe funfun to wa ninu ode orun tan je funfun nini, tan maa nse Laila, ilalahu, to se pe ko si eda kankan to le to le to le ba da Alawakubir. To ba de tun se pe ti ilana Christian ni, mo le wo aso funfun, mo le se gbogbo e. Mo so fun baba ka fimo kan sokan lori awon omo wonyi. Awon omo ti dagba. Won fe pa mi, won fe pa iya mi. Won fe pa baba won na. Bawo leyin se mope won fe pa baba won? Ti n ma so fun yin pe mo so fun awon omo mi pe kan ma gbe egbe buruku wonu ile mi, pe tori egbe funfun ni ti temi. Egbe dudu ati funfun won o le jo rin. Awon omo ni rara. Won ni rara. Gbogbo oja ti mo n ta nigba kan wa. Emi to se pe o ye ki n ti de bi giga, mo kiri kiri kiri kiri. Mo kiri kiri. Mo kiri kiri. Mo damu damu damu damu, mi o ri alaanu Ki le hin ta? Mo nta ponmo. Mo si n ya photo. Mi ri alaanu. Mi ra alanu. Ebi mi o. Allah. Igba to je wipe egbe funfun niyin, ti e lagbara laye ati lode orun, ki lo wa de ti… Ese wo loko yin se yin? Emi ko ni mo kan mole. Mo fe so neni to kan mole. Ta lo kan mole? Mo ni kan pe gbogbo awon tan ni oju inu. Kan pe gbogbo won wa. Ta lo kan oko yin mole? Mi o mo. Mi o le so mo. Mi o le so mo. Ore ofe to ri yen, o ti lose e. O ti lose e o, o ti lose e. Oko yin ti lose e. O ti lose e. ki lo de to fi lose e? E so fun pe ko ma gbadura. Ire aye re fe te lowo, ko ma gbadura. Ko ma gbadura. But awon omo yen leyin le fun won legbe. Emi ko ni mo fun won o. Emi ko lo fun won.

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

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Ki lo de to fi lose ore ofe to ni. Ki lese e? Ki lese oko yin? Mo ni ko duro ni time igba kan. Awon lo mu mi wa si Akure yi o. Mi o de Akure ri lati igba tan ti bimi. Won mu mi wa si Akure wa jiya ni. Iyen oko yin? Beeni. Igba taa de Akure, 2009. 2009 la de Akure. Mo gbe oyun Kudirat mi wa si Akure. Ati igba ti mo ti de Akure lo ti n fiya je mi. Iyen oko yin. Beeni. Ko de si owo lowo e mo. Mo ni kafi imo kansokan lori awon omo yi. O ni rara. O ni enu mi run. O ni rara. O ni enu mi koro. O ni rara. Mo wa ni ki lo sele? Mo ni awon omo wonyi, moni won ju wa lo. Mo ni won ju wa lo. O ni rara o. O ni rara. Oni emi ti wo ijo seton. Mo wa ni hin. Mo ni nkan ti mo ma ri ni mo ma nso. Mo ni tori igba ti won lo si school tele. Won lo si Muslim school tele. Private naa lo. Oniye owo ta n san le won lori. Emi ati daddy won. Igba ta wa kuro ni Ijoka, ta de Odole. Ojo nro sinu ile ni Odole. A wa kuro nibe. Ati Odole yen ni awon omo yi tan tin je ijekuje. Ni Odole. Won san gba egbe buruku. Inu ile yen. Awon yen ti ko kuro nibe. Won ti le wa jade. Osu kan pere la lo nibe ta ti fi kuro nibe. Tori omi n da wa lamu. Ki lo wa gbe yin de Danjuma ta wa yi? Ohun na ni mo n so yi. Bi mo se wa kuro nibe, mo wa de Kolawole. Bi mo se de Kolawole. Photo ni mi. Mo ni Camera.Won ti kan irin ise mi pa. mo gbadura gbadura won o je ki n, won tu mi sile. Mo sa nbe olorun pe kolorun tu mi sile. Kolorun gba adura mi. Toripe emi ati baba won, a o fiimo kan sokan. Se e ti loko ri tele ni? Mi o loko ri o. Omo kekere ni mi. Esin wo le n se? Muslim ni mi. Ki lo wa de te kan oko yin mole ni mo n bere lowo yin?

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Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

A. Alabi

Emi ko ni mo kan. Ta lo kan? Mo fe salaye bon se kan, but ko fi arabale. E salaye bayi ko gbo. Oun na ngbo bayi. Awon omo yi, ati Eunice, pelu omo mi. Gbogbo won, won po ti won kan mole. Awon lo kan oko yin mole? Ko n se oko mi nikan na kan mole. Gbogbo awon tan wa ladugbo yi. Gbogbo ire aye wa. Gbogbo awa ta wa ninu ile yi nan kan mole. Gbogbo eyin te jo wa ninu ile yi? Beeni. Ggbogbo nkan ti mo n so lataaro. Won ropo ase ni mo n so. Ki sase. Gbogbo eyin ten jo n gbe inu ile yin a kan mole? Bee ni. Igba te wa mo si, ki lo de teeke gbajare? Emi ko ni mo kan won o. Emi ko ni mo kan won. E ma si mi gbo. Bi emi se. Nijeta, ni ojo Tuesday, Mummy elepo, ati Anti iya won, pelu iya Eunice. Mo sa joko sinu ile. Mo n gbadura. Mo n gbadura pe iwo Olorun. Lana abayo fun mi. Ogun idamu aye mi o to ge. Mo sa n gbadura. Bi mo se sun niyen. Mo wa lala ripe. Ee. Ogun wa ninu ile yi. Ki lo sele. Ki lo sele. Ki lo sele. Mo wa ni ki lalaese taa le ni itusile. Bi mo se taji. Mo san sunkun. Olorun wa ni. Emi kan wa so fun pee ekun to n sun yi ma sunkun mo. Erin ni ko ma rin. Pe omi oju mi patapata o wa ninu agolo. Agolo Beeni. Ola pe mo ti jo danu lale ana. Ki lo de te jo danu? Ta lo fun yin lase ke jo agolo yen danu? Ni agbara Olorun Oba, mo gbudo jo danun. Tori wi pe eru eleru ki je temi. Eru eleru ko ni je temi. Eru ti mi o modi koni je temi. Eru buruku, eru iku, eru wahala won ni.

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

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Bo ni e gbe agolo yen si? Emi ti ju sinu omi. Afefe de ti gbe lo. O de ti dandan ko gbe lo. Se e ri awon omo yi? Awon meta. Een Se eyin le bi won? Emi ni mo bi won. Eyin le bi eleyi? Akobi mi niyi, elekeji ni yi, elekeeta ni yi. O ti da majemu nibe pe tohun ba ti, ojo tinu iya ohun ba tin dun ni kohun fosanle kon n ku. Bawo leyin se mo pe o ti da majemu? Se e mope agbara kan wa to ju agbara lo. Agbara funfun ati dudu o le jo gbe. Tan ba jo gbe asiri won a tu ni. Eleyi naa n ko? Agbara Agbara kan, gbogbo won, won ti dira won po. Ni ojo kan ti gbese mi po, mo damu, mo sunkun sunkun, mo sa lo sodo obi mi. Obi mi na de re, oku die ka to fun won. Mo damu damu damu damu damu, ko si owo kankan. Bi mo se dodo awon obi mi. Awon obi mi sa won mu mi lo sodo awon aafa kan. Tori ko to dipe mo lo, mo n damu, mo n damu. Idamu ba mi to se pe baba won ti sa kuro nile fun mi. Awon omo yin na ni o. Gbogbo awon ta jo wanile lohun. Ati Ayo ati gbogbo won. Tan ti gba ire aye gbogbo wa tan ti de mo agolo tan ti kan pa. Emi sa n gbadura pe iwo Olorun. Eyin melo le n gbe nu ile yi? Se ninu ile lohun? Ile ta wa yi? Ah, walahi emi o mo. Awon bi mewa lo wa nibi. Bee ni, Sir. Ninu ile yio. Se awon mewe wa yen naa de ti gbare aye won? Ni agbara Olorun, gbogbo wa ti ni itusile se.

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

A. Alabi

Okay Ni agbara Olorun ire aye temi ti te mi lowo. Letter ayo mi ti te mi lowo. Igba te wa mope won kan won mole, ki lo de tee so fun won? Mo so fun baba won. Won ni gbo gbo gbo. Mo so fun Anti Kehinde. Mo ni pe church te mu mi lo telemi ti sokale. Mo ni CAC o ki mu emi, mo ni but Olorun ni ise iyanu kan ninu aye mi lo je ki emi sokale. Ki lelemi wi nigba ti elemi sokale? Elemi so pe kin gbe gallon wa, pe omi ayo mi o gbudo gbe ninu ile, pe kin fi sinu ile, ki n gbe kale sinu ile. Mo gbe kale sinu ile. Awon omo lo tuwo. Gbogbo nkan ti mo gbe sinu ile, won se yanmo yanmo. Eeeen. Bawo wa ni oko yin se le ri ire e gba pada bayi? E bere lowo awon omo ko sadura fun. Ki gbogbo won naka si, kan sadura fun. Tan ba ti naka soko yin? Bee ni Tan baa tio sadura fun? Bee ni Ire re yoo pada? Bee ni. Ta ba ni ka wo ninu aye bayi, o ye ki oko yin ti to bawo? Ah! Walahi emi ni omo ologo to nju ologo lo. Ah, mi mo ti tie. Tori pe gbogbo glass tan fi n wo ire aye eni o wa lowo gbogbo won. Awon omo yin? Bee ni, emi ti gba ni ana. Mo ti lo dana sun. Eko tan kan mole. Won ti tu. Won tu ti oko yin? Won ti tu gbogbo e tan. E so fun won. Tori to ba se pe won tu tan. To ba se pe won tu tan. Ah! Emi fe bo

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

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won lasiri but won tura won lasiri won o ko kale tan won wa n kawo lori, won wa Akobi yin ni eleyi? Akobi mi ni. Kini oruko tiyin lekan si? Aanuoluwapo.

Madam Aanuoluwapo’s story is crucial to her children’s confession. She claims she was not responsible for their membership of the witches’ cult and that they became members from their former house. She claims that her membership is in a white group, e.gb´e. funfun. What kind of e.gb´e. funfun she belongs to is not clear in her testimony. She claims that she is not responsible for her husband’s problems and that the children knew about them and that they could solve his problems by praying for him. Since the children are minors, it is important to have corroborating evidence from adults. Madam Aanuoluwapo’s testimony is autobiographical and shows how the community is affected by occultic and witches’ stories and activities. It is members of the community that are negatively affected by the witches’ autobiographical activities. She asserts that her businesses of p`o.nm´o. (cow skin) and photography have not gone well because of her children’s involvement in witchcraft and testifies to her efforts to get them out of the cult. She also thinks that poverty and marital crisis played crucial roles in her life and ultimately in her children’s lives. Interview with Mrs. Aregbe (Landlady) by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe:

Mama, kini oruko yin? Mrs Aregbe ni, Sir. Kini oruko adugbo ta wa yi? Danjuma Road, Oke Aro Ta lo ni le yi? Oko mi loni le, won de ti se alaisi. Eniyan melo ni ngbe inu ile yi? Boya eniyan wa loke. Tori mi o gbe bi. Awon alejo temi ni momo. Yara melo lo wa nile yi? Yara ogun ni, Sir. Ogun yara. Twenty rooms. Se gbogbo inu ile yi ni awon eniyan kankan si wa? Mi o do ke yen sa. Isale ni mo wa.

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:: Mrs. Aregbe: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mrs. Aregbe:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

A. Alabi

Sebi eyin lo n gbowo ile lowo won? Awa meta ni iyawo onile. So, won ti pin ile fun onikaluku. Se gbogbo ile yi lawon eniyan wa? Awon towa loke nko? Se won wa nibe? Nkan to n sele ninu ile yin ti a ba yin abi ti e de ba wa lori e yi. E dakun. Lakoko naa, awon omo yi ati iya won so oro kan to lagbara. Bawo la se le ri omo tan pe ni Eunice? E ma ri. Mo ma wa iya yen lawari, Sir. Awon to n gbe ninu ile nibi, se won ma n je yin lowo ile? Won ki n jowo ile. Won ki n jowo ile. Amon, omo yi ni gbogbo ogo awon to wa ninu ile pata ni awon ti gba. Won ma dapada. Won lawon gba ogo baba ati iya won amo Eunice lo gba gbogbo ogo awon ara ile. Hunn. Won ma da pada ni agbara Olorun. Won maa da a pada. Lagbara Olorun Lagbara Olorun. Bawo la se wa fe ri Eunice bayi? Eto e bayi. Ma jade si. Ma gba number yin. Ma wa lo. Se e mo wipe irorun eku ni irorun eye? Bee ni. Bi awon onile o ba ti ri ogo gba, eyin na o le ri owo ile gba. Bee ni, owo ile kan wa detain (delay) ninu odun yi. Tori won n san tele. Sir, won n san tele. Tori ikan gan mope bayi pe mo ma baja. Ni odun yi, won fi owo ile je awon omo oku orun niya. So, won n san tele. Sugbon odun yi wa hard gidi. O wa lagbara gan ninu odun yi. Mo ni mo fe ba won ja gan ninu odun yi. E fe ba won ja?

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Mrs. Aregbe:

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Ah, tori awon omo oku orun ti mo n toju. So, e ba mi, awon omo yi won o ti jewo tan. O si ku Taye Kehinde. Won so o. Kan pe won omo yen wa. Ngbo, won lo ku awon Taye Kehinde. Nibo naa wa?

Like Madam Aanuoluwapo’s testimony, Mrs. Aregbe, the landlady’s testimony corroborates aspects of the children’s story. Mrs. Aregbe confirms that the tenants did not owe before but things had changed, and this seems to be because of the children’s involvement in witchcraft. Mrs. Aregbe’s story also shows how the community is negatively impacted by the witches in the society. Interview with Idayat by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat:

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Ki loruko re? Idayat. Idayat. Odun melo lo ti wa ninu egbe aje? O ti pe. Ati gba ta ti wa nile ni Odole. Ta lo fun o laje? Iya Iya wo? Iya to wa nibe. Bawo lo se fun o? Igba ti mo lo. Omo kekere kan lo wa nibe. lo to moo tipe tipe. Lo wa ni ohun fe mu mi lobe. O wa mumi lo be. Iya yen wa debe o wa ni seyin lo mu wa. Mo ni bee ni. Won wa ko fun mi. Kini won ko fun o? Won wa ko biscuit ati epa fun mi. Mo wa je. Won wa ni ki n lo kogo wa. Won ni ko lo kogo wa? To ba wo bayi, ogo melo lo ti ko lo? Ogo melo lo ti ko lo? Mo kogo mummy mi ati ogo daddy mi nikan. Ogo daddy e ati ogo mummy e nikan? Ninu ile ta wa yi n ko?

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Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat:: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat:

A. Alabi

Mi o ti kogo anybody lo. Eunice tan n so nikan lo ko ti gbogbo ile. Eunice hun da bayi? Won ti mu lo. E jowo e ba mi wa Eunice wa. Eunice lo kogo gbogbo ile. Ibo nile re wa? E jowo bawo la se le ri Eunice? E ba wa wa ka to kuro nibi. Eye melo lo wa ninu re? Eye merin. Merin. Akoko ki lo fi n se? Akoko mo fi n damu iya mi. O fi n damu iya re. Ki lese iya re? Awa bere ise tan ta wa ninu ile ti won n sekan tan tan nna. Tan na e? To fi n yo iya re lenu. Eye eleekeji ki lo fi n se? Mo fi so pe kan ma je gbese. O fi so wipe kiya re ma je gbese? Eye eleeketa nko? Mo ni ki Daddy mi ma ri she. Soro soke. Mo ni ki daddy mi ma rise. Ki lese baba re? Ko si. Eye eleekerin nko? Mo ni ki daddy mi sa kuro nile. Ki lode to fe fi ni ki daddy re sa kuro nile? Eye eleekerin. Eyin melo le jo n segbe? Eunice, Taye, Kehin. Gbogbo awon to wa nbehun. Le jo n segbe. Ibo le ti n se? Awon nile kan tan ti won o ti ko tan, tan si n ko lowo. Ibe la tii se. Nibo nile naa wa? O wa nile lohun.

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat:

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Ta lolori yin? Nife to wa nibe to ku sibe. Emi naa. Ta lolori yin? Nibi ibi, emi lolori, but nibe yen awon kan wa lolori nibe. Nibe. Iwo lori ibi? Eunice gba go won. O gba ogo won. O ti gba ogo gbogbo ile yi. Ibo lo ko o si? O ko dani ni. O ko dani ni. Ta ba fe gba lowo re, bawo la se le gba? E ma gba na ni. Pe ko tu gbogbo awon to ti ko ogo re, pe ko tu won le. Pe ko tu won le. Iya re ati babe re, ogo to ti gba lowo won ati gbogbo amin to ti fi si won lara, bawo lo se le si danu lara won? Igba ta lo sibibi ta sakuronibi fun, won ti gba kuro lowo mi. Mummy mi naa ti mu mi lo shoosi, won ni kan ra kini fun mi, won ni kan ra ororo ati aso funfun fun mi. kan fi se singlet. Bawo lo se fe da ogo baba re ati iya re pada? Mo ti da pada. O ti da pada? Nigba wo lo da pada? Ana Ana. Se won o ma rise bayi? But eye to wa ninu re, mererin si wa nibe? Ko si nibe. Ko si nibe. Ta lo yo o? Won ti yo. Won ti gba kuro lowo mi. Ta lo gba kuro lowo re? Church Ki loruko re leekan si? Idaya

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A. Alabi

Idayat’s story is a direct autobiographical testimony of her activities. She confesses that she joined the witches in their former home through a woman who gave her biscuits and groundnuts to eat and became a member from there. She asserts that she was a leader in her coven and that she inducted other members to the group. She also claims that she had afflicted her parents with her power as a witch by taking their glory from them. She claims to have four birds for her magical activities. One is to keep her mum in penury, the second is to make her a debtor, the third is to impoverish her dad, and the fourth is to chase her dad from his marriage. She claims she doesn’t have the four birds that empower her witchcraft activities anymore and that they had removed them from her in a church. She also said she had returned the glory she took from her parents and that they will prosper henceforth. Interview with Kudirat by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat:

Ki loruko re Kudirat Eye melo lo ni? Eye meta. Eye meta. Ki lo fi n se? Ki lo n fi eye akoko se? Mo ni ki mummy mi ma damu ka. Ki momo re ma damu ka. Eye eleekeji, ki lo fi n se? Mo ni kan ma rowo taja. Kan ma rowo taja. Eye eleeketa ki lo fi n se? Moni ki won ma je gbese. Kan ma je gbese. Oju iya re lo ma ti n so yi. Oju iya re lo ma ti n so yi. Ewo lo wa fi se baba re? Mi o fi nkankan se won. Eleyi lo fi n kan se won. O fi nkankan se baba re. Eyin melo le jo n segbe? Eunice, Idayat, ati emi ati aburo mi kekere ati awon Taye Kehin. Te ba de pade, bawo le se man fa yan sinu egbe? Bawo le se ma n munyan wa sinu egbe? Aa fun ni biscuit ati epa ati sweet. Tee ba ti fun yan ni biscuit ati epa ati sweet, o wo inu egbe nuhun. Ninu awon omo class yin, melo le ti fa sinu egbe nibe? Ara awon to wa ninu ile lohun.

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat:: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

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Le fa sinu egbe. So, ewa ni ti e ba ti fi ese ti ogiri, ki le lo n sele pelu ogiri? Ti a ba ti fi ese ti ogriri, ti a ba ti nase bi eleyi, ati lo niyen. E ti lo nuhun. Aago melo le n se pade? A n se ni 12 ati 7. 12 igbawo? 12 osan. Osan gangan leyin se pade tiyin? Seven igba wo? Oru, irole, abi aaro? Aan se ni osan, aa n se nin oru, an se laro. Adugbo ta wa yi, ki le ti se si adugbo yi? Eunice nikan lo si se si awon ara ile miran. Emi ati Kudi. Emi ati mummy mi la se si. Eyin, mummy yin le face. Ki le ma n je lohun te ba doun? A ki n je n kankan, lehin ta gbeje ta mu. E gbeje te mu. Eje ta le ti gba bayi? Emi gba eje mummy mi. Eunice to gba awon gbogbo ogo na lo gba gbogbo eje. Won de danikan mu. O danikan mun. Sebi olori ni o? Se olori ni Eunice naa ni? (The mother of the children, Madam Aanuoluwapo cuts in) Mo de le yi, kope osu kan ti mo travel tori gbese yen lo je ki n travel. Mo ti tajataja mi o jere. Mi o lakojo. Ise wo loko yin n se? Aafa ni. Aafa ni, but ko ti ri ishe. Afaa tan ma n se yen, se wa ma n da awon enyan lohun? Won ma n sadura Won ma n sadura fun awon eniyan. Awon omo won ti wa de won mole bayi? Ara nkan taa n so na niyen. Aifarabale. Oun lo je kin so pe ti oko ati iyawo ba ti wa ti won o ba ti fi imo sokan lori iyawo ati awon omo won, walai.

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat:: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat:

A. Alabi

Duro naa, sebi baba re ma nsadura dada. Ki lode to wa papa kawo re pelu adua ti n se? Eh? Bi baba re se n sadua to, te papa lagbara lori baba yin? Eh Angbomi, a gbeje lara won ni. E n gbomi, e n gbeje lara re. Adura ti wa n se nko? Se ko ka yin lara ni? Ko ran wa. Ko ran yin? Ki le ti n se ogo te ba gba? Eh Ogo ti e ba gba lowo awon eniyan, bawo le se n se? A n keep e ni. E n keep e. Ibo le n keep e si? Eyin ibe yen lemi keep temi si. Eunice wabi kan to keep tie si. Bawo la se le ri nibi te keep e si bayi? Mi o mo ibi ti Eunice keep tie. Temi ati Kudi ati ko fun mummy mi gbogbo e. E ti ko fun mummy yin. Ogo awon ara ile te wa gba nko? Emi ko ni mo gba. Eunice lo gba ti gbogbo won.

Kudirat’s confession corroborates Idaya’s and the others. She claims to have three birds for tormenting her mum, to make her financially handicapped in her business, and the third was to make her a debtor. She and others gave other people biscuits, groundnuts, and sweet to lure them into their coven and they went to their meetings at noon and 7 p.m. once they stretched their legs to the wall. She also confirms Eunice as the person responsible for capturing the glory of the other people in the house and that she (Kudirat) and her sister Idayat had afflicted only their parents and that they dealt with them by collecting water and blood from their bodies. Her mother cuts in and confirms that she was in debt and because of that left town about a month after she got there and her business was not profitable. Interview with Omowumi, Iya Eunice by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Ki loruko yin? Omowumi Ta lo bi Eunice?

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Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Omowumi, Iya Eunice:

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Emi ni mo bi. Owo wo le n se? Eja ni mo n ta. Omo yin lo n lawon nkankan o lohun tun gba awon nkankan lowo yin. O ni iigba miran e ma kiri lo e ni ta, igba miran e ma lo e ma ta. Mi o mo yen. o lohun lohun ma nje ko sele be. Iyen mi o mo yen Omo yin lo so be. Se o ma n ri be te ba lo nigba mi? Koye mi. Mo sa mope ko n se gbogbo igba loja mi ma n ya. Ko ye mi. O le ma n na ohun lo je kohun ma binu si yin. O ni e gba gari danu lowo hun lana. Se looto le gba gari lowo re? Bee ni. Mo gba. O ni ara iya to n fi nje yin niyen. Ki loruko yin leekansi? Omowumi.

Madam Omowumi, Eunice’s mother, claims that her business had not been prosperous consistently but did not know whether her daughter was responsible for that. She confirms, however, that she seized the girl’s garri and the interviewer said that was why Eunice claims to be upset with her mum. Madam Omowumi’s testimony also confirms that her business was impoverished and her daughter earlier said she was responsible. Interview with Eunice by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Eunice: Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice:

Ki loruko e? Eunice Pele, e ku agba. Ta lo mu e wo inu egbe aje? Idaya Idaya. Igba wo lo ti mu e wo inu egbe aje? O ti pe. O ti pe. Eye melo lo ni boo se wayi? Merin.

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice:

A. Alabi

Merin. Eye akoko ki lo fi n se? Mo fe ki mummy mi ta. O fe ki mummy e ta. Kini mummy e n ta? Eja Eja. Eye eleekeji, ki lo n lo fun? Ki mummy mi ma ta. O ni ki mummy e ma ta. So, to ba ta leni ko ni ta lola? Eye eleekeji lo lo fi n se? Ki mummy mi ma ta. O so pe ki mummy e ma ta. Eye eleeketa nko? Mo so pe ki mummy mi marise. Ko ma rise. Eleekerin jare? Mo so pe ki Mummy mi ma ri se. O so pe ki mummy e ma ri se. Baba e nko? Ki lo se fun baba e? Ki wa lese mama e? Sobbing. O ma nna mi. O ma n naa e. Ki lo ma se? Se o ma n ji nkan won ni? To ba ti wa ji nkan won. Ojo kan tan ba ti rise. Ojo keji, abi, ki la tun sele? Won ni rise. Won ni rise. Daddy e wa nko? Sebi daddy e na ma n naa e? Ki lo wa de, ki lo ti se fun daddy e leekan ri? Eh? Kosi. Won ni iwo lolori ninu egbe won. Idaya so be. Se iwo lolori looto? Oro ni mo ni ko so. Se iwo lolori looto. Ma fori da mi lohun. Fenu da mi lohun. Bee ni. Iwo lolori? Eyin melo le jo n segbe? Ma kawon fun mi. Taye, Kehinde, Precious, Idaya, Emi, Kudi. Nibo le ti n se? Ibi ile ti won o ti ko tan. Awon ile tan ti ko tan le ti ma n se. Awon ara ile yin patapata yi, tee jo n gbenu ile. Ki na se fun e? Ko si n nkaankan.

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice:: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya:

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Ki lo ti se fun won? Mo gbogo won. Gbogbo ogo won. So soke. So soke. Mo gba ogo won. O gba ogo won. Kini won se fun o? Kosi O da, kosi abi? Kosi Kosi. Kilode to wa fi gbogo won? Ki lo fi n gba? Owo Owo. Ngbo ki lo fi n gba ogo lowo won? Ito Ito. Ki lo fi n gbogo lowo won? Ito. Ito. Bawo lo se wa fi ito yen gba ogo lowo won? Anti yi, so mo won? Bee ni Eh? Ogo melo lo gba lowo won? Ogo merin. Ogo merin. Merin Merin. Ki na se fun e? Kosi Bo lo wa kogo yen si? Se o gbogo lowo ara adugbo? Mi o mo Sugbon o ni o sa lo. Igba to de, ki lo ko de? O ko ogo kan de. Tori o po.

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Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice: Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Eunice:

A. Alabi

O kogo to po de? He O wa lohun tun pada abo. Igba to wa lo, o wa pada wa, mi o wa ri lowo e mo. Ibo lo ko si? Mi o mo ibi to ko si. Tori pe igba to de mi o ri lowo e. O ko ogo towa po. Anti o lohun gba merin lowo yin. O lohhun gba meta lowo anti yi. Bo lo ko si? Se o mo pe o ti so fun mi tele. So loju won. Ibo lo kosi? Ile Ile. Bawo lo se wa fe da pada fun won? Ma da pada. Wa dapada. Nijo wo lo ma dapada? Eni Eni. Ki lo fe kan se fun e ko to dapada? Kan be mi. Kan bee. Bawo ni kan se bee? Kan kunle. Kan kunle kan bee. Se kan kunle kan be bayi ni? Bee ni.

Eunice claims that she was inducted into witchcraft by Idaya a long time ago and that she had four birds. She said she used the first one to prevent her mother’s success in business, the second for her success, and the third for her not to do well. It is not clear what she used the fourth for. It is paradoxical that she used one bird for her mum’s success and negates that success with another bird. She acknowledges that she was a leader in the group and that they met in an uncompleted building. She confirms taking the glories of people from their house through their urine and Idayat also confirms this and that she brought lots of glory with her to their meeting. Eunice promises to return the glory that day to their owners if they knelt down and begged her. When asked what the people whose glory she collected did to her, she said nothing.

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Interview with Taye and Kehinde by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kehinde: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kehinde: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Taye:

Bo se so yen, e so fun mi. Ki lo lo ma n fi ogo mummy e se? Mo ma n fi fo abo O fi ma n fo abo. Iwo na nko, ki lo fi n se? Se iwo ni Taye abi Keinde? Taye En? Taye Ki lo n fi ogo mummy e se? Mo fi n fo abo. E fi n fo abo. Eye melo lo wa ninu tie? Eyo kan. Eye melo lo a ninu tire naa? Eyo kan. Bawo le se wa fe da ogo mummy yin pada? Ile la dapada. Eh? Ile? Ile le ti ma dapada? Ile le keep e si? Ki le fi ki mummy yin se fun yin bayi te fi ma dapada? Eni kan kunle kan be yin abi? Ehh Ee melo ni ko kunle ko beyin? Eyokan eh? Eyo kan

Both Taye and Kehinde confirm that they had a bird each and they collected their mother’s glory and used it to wash dishes. They agree to return their mummy’s glory to her at home where they kept it if she knelt down and begged them once. Again, we hear from the participants/narrators in this story as they narrate their involvement in witchcraft and how they afflicted their mother. Interview with Precious by Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Precious: Edema:

Ki loruko e? Precious

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Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Previous: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya:

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idaya:

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

A. Alabi

Precious. Eye melo lo wa ninu e? Meji Ta lo fun e? Eunice. Se Eunice ni ko ma soro ni? Eunice Eunice. Bawo lo se fun e na? Silence Ese wo ni mummy e se e? Ki le se ti mummy e se? Kini mummy e se fun e? Won ma n na mi. Won ma nna mi. Wa, Idaya. Ki lo se fun mama e? Won ni ise to ba n se kan ma rise nibe? Bo lo wa ko gbogbo nkan to gba lowo won si? Owo e lo wa. Owo onikaluku lo wa. Emi ati Kudi a ti ko ti mummy wa fun. Obe te fi ma n pa awon eeyan nibo lo wa? O ti wa lowo mummy mi. Eeyan melo le ti fobe yen pa? Obe ti Eunice wa lowo e. Obe tawon eleyi na wa lowo won. Obe temi na wa lowo mi. Mo ti fun mummy mi lobe temi. Glass yen nko? Owo ta lo wa? O wa lowo mummy mi naa. O ti fo. Eeyan melo lo ti fobe yen pa? Hee? Hun. Emi. Ha. Awa ati Kudi la nlo. Mummy wa nikan ni but awon eleyi. Awon ati Taye na lo fun mummy e, but Eunice gbogbo eniyan lo n lo fun. Eleyi, ki leleyi ti se fun mummy e?

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Idaya:: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious:

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Won ni ise ti mummy mi ba ti n se kan ma rise nibe. Kan ma ri se. Gbo, ko paro? Ko paro mo e? Bee ni. Se eleyi wa ninu egbe yin? Bee ni Eleyi naa nko? O wa nibe. Ta lo tun ku? O titan. Eunice nko? O wa nibe. Nkan to gba lowo mummy e bawo lo se fe da pada fun won? Boo lo lo ko ire mummy e si? Enu apata. Enu apata. Ojo wo lo wa fe da ire yen pada bayi? Eni Eni? Hun Ta lo lori yin lohun? Ninu ipade yen? Eee? Eee? Eye melo lo ni o wa ninu e leekan si? Meji Meji Bee ni Ki lo wa n fi akoko se? Ee? Mo fi n gba omi. O fi n gba omi? Hun Eekeji na nko? Mo fi n gba eje. Eje. Ara ta lo ti wa gba omi ateje? Een? Een? Ta leni too ti seka fun yato si mummy e? O ti tan.

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Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Precious:

A. Alabi

Een? O ti tan. Ki loruko e leekan si? Precious

Precious claims she had two birds given to her by Eunice but did not explain how Eunice gave them to her. Her mother’s offense was that she flogged her. Idaya, as part of this interview, confirms that each girl had the glory she collected from the adults and that she and Kudi had returned their mother’s. How they deprive people of their glory. Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Madam Aanuoluwapo:

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Gbogbo bi mo se n so, pe kan gbe Bibeli, pe eni to ba ni Koran, ko gbe Koran, kan bami gbadura fun, ki aago meje to lu, ki aago mejo to lu. Gbogbo won ti da time igba ti won ma lo. Se awon eleyi? Bee ni. Tan ti fe ku? Bee ni. Won ti da time. Emi wa fi oja mi ti mo fi pon won pe igba ti mo bi won mi o fi oja odi pon won, mofi oja mo fi gba won, mo sa n gbadura kikan kikan. Tori ati bi ijeta ni mo ti n gbawe. Ngbo, ojo wo le ti da te fi ku? Ojo Tuesday? Ojo Tuesday ti n bo yi? Beeni. Baba se wa yi, ona wo, te ba gba ogo lowo eniyan, bawo le se ma ngba? Soro soke. Tan ba to, tawa ba ti lo dato ohun nu, a dogban gba sinu ike kan, a wa gbe lo ibe. Oro yen o ye mi. Boni ibi ten daa si. Ibo lo wa bayi? O wa ni ibe naa. Ibi ti won sa pamo si ni, but. Se a le ri, Se mo leri? O ma n gbe mo ni. A ti mu. Ee ti mu?

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema:

Mrs. Aregbe: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat:

Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Idayat: Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema: Kudirat:

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Te ba ti wa mu yen, e ti mu ogo awon eeyan, abi? So, ito le tun fi n gbogo. Bawo ni Eunice ti o gbe nile nbi, ba wo lo se rogo awon ara ile gba? Chorus answer from those present (including Madam Aanuoluwapo and Mrs. Aregbe): Ibe lo n gbe. Won ni iya iya e lo wa mu. Bawo lo se rogo ibi gba? To ba se pe won fe to bayi, To ba ti di seven. Aa ni oun bo. A ti debe. A ti denu yara kan kan. Tan ba fe to bayi, a ti, a tun gbe a tun bu, Okay. O ma wo yara won. Lati inu egbe lati wo iyara won? Een A wa lo gbe ito won? A gbe ito won, a da, a fi korofo sibe. A tun ya, a tun wonu ikeji, a tun, a sa ma gbe. Ito le sa fi gba gbogbo ogo awon ara inu ile? Emi o ba won gba ti awon ara ile. Te ba fe da ogo pada, bawo le se wa dapada bayi? Emi ti da pada. Emi ti da ti mummy mi pada. O ku ti Eunice. Eunice o fe jewo. Ko fe jewo. Ti o ba ti wa fe jewo, ki la la se fun ti o fi jewo? Sebi olori niwo. Olori lohun naa. Eye melo lo wa ninu tie? Eye merin naa Naan lo wa ninu tie. Merin na lo wa ninu tire. Eleyi ni meta? Ki loruko tie leekan si? Idayat Ki loruko tie naa? Kudirat.

Madam Aanuoluwapo refers to her desire for Christian and Islamic clerics to pray for the children before 7 p.m. because they already had the covenant of the time they were going to die. Idayat confirms this and also confirms that they took people’s glory through urine. Idayat asserts that she had returned her mummy’s glory and that only Eunice needed to return what she collected. Idayat confirms that Eunice had four birds and hers were also four and Kudirat’s three.

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I did a follow-up interview with Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema on October 27, 2018, on the issues raised in the confessions above. Excerpts from the interview are below: Q: R: Q: R:

Q: R:

Q: R:

Q: R:

Q: R:

When was the interview conducted? The interview was conducted in July 2018 How did you know of the story? We received several calls from the neighborhood, inviting us to come and witness what was going on. When we got there, the scene had already been filled with many people. We had to prevent jungle justice that day. What was the atmosphere of the interview like? It was an open interview. As you may have listened, nobody was forced to speak. There is a side of the story we did not release on air for privacy sake. Neighbors were appearing before the little girls one after the other and the girls were confirming how they had dealt with them in the spirit realm without mincing words even upon several interviews and re-interviews. Did they conduct Christian or Islamic deliverance for the children to get the witchcraft spirits out of them or they gave them up willingly? According to Aanuoluwapo—the mother of Idayat and Kudirat among the group, the confessions were following the counsel of her spiritual father concerning the alleged witch children. This may have led to the deliverance of Idayat and Kudirat. But for other members, we can’t comment on whether they have been delivered or not. The reason is because they were not the one confessing at first, it was Idayat and her sister that allegedly mentioned others in their own confession. And that is why we looked for them too to corroborate Idayat’s claims. Did you get a chance to talk with the father of the children? No. Though we would have interviewed the father of Idayat and Kudirat, but he refused to speak with us, saying it was a shameful thing that he had such children. Since the children are so young, can they really take responsibility for their actions? But in our own understanding of this, they can take responsibility for their actions because they confessed. For instance, section 2016 of the Penal code and 210 of the Criminal Code Act deal with witchcraft related matters though the people concerned here are minors yet the laws of Nigeria stipulate how to treat children offenders. These things did not happen physically except for the confessions. But the truth remains that the effects of their actions as confessed were obvious yet no elements of assault were involved. We did not give their details or use their pictures in our report simply because they are little children. One each among their names was picked and their family names were not used. Apart from the radio broadcast, the following link leads to the original report from us.23

The transcripts of the above confessions show the autobiographical narration of the children’s involvement in witchcraft, how they joined, where they met, what they did, and who they afflicted. Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye and his team got calls

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

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about the witches in the neighborhood and went there for the interviews. Mr. Bamgboye said he and his team had to prevent jungle justice from being applied to the confessors when they got to the scene. Although the circumstances of the confessions were not clear, and we do not know what exactly led to them, we hear directly from the witches narrating their stories themselves. The reported confessions were made by Idayat and her younger sister, Kudirat. Their mother, Madam Aanuoluwapo, Omowumi, Eunice’s mother, and Mrs. Aregbe, their landlady, also join in the narration. Madam Aanuoluwapo blames the whole story on her children’s father. The fact that the mothers and the landlady join the narration is significant because it shows that the story goes beyond the narrators (who were minors) and becomes a family and communal story, an issue I raised in my previous works on Black autobiographies that Black autobiographies are communal and not necessarily only individualistic. Idayat confesses and identifies her role as the initiator of the five others into witchcraft. By doing so, she tells an aspect of the story of her life and the roles she plays in the society. Unfortunately, not a positive role in this context. Just as she introduced others into witchcraft, Idayat asserts that she was introduced into the group by an elderly neighbor in Akure and she tells the story in her own words. She was initiated into the coven through food. She was asked to eat biscuits and groundnuts obviously specially prepared for the purpose, and she became a member of the coven from there. Her immediate assignment was to “bring people’s glories to them.” In the Yoruba society, it is believed that people who are knowledgeable in occultic practices could magically manipulate other people’s destinies and attract their luck and capabilities to themselves so that they could be more successful at those people’s expense. Falola also makes this point (earlier quoted) in Culture and Customs of Nigeria. Idayat claims further that she had brought her parents’ glories to the coven and that Eunice, who also participates in the narration, brought others’ glories to the group. Due to the high-ranking position, she and Eunice occupied in their group, Idayat says that they both had four birds in their bellies for their activities. She used her own four birds for punishing her mother, pushing her into debt, bringing misfortune on her father, and the fourth for breaking her parents’ marriage by sending her father packing out of the home.

Conclusion In conclusion, in this chapter, I have discussed several examples of autobiographical narratives from witches and wizards. The narratives came from different sources ranging from pastors to journalists, and to witches who narrated the stories directly or who were quoted by those who heard from them first hand. Several of the narratives took place under religious settings where the narrators confessed their involvement in witchcraft, how they had inflicted harm on different people, and how they eventually got rid of witchcraft in their lives. One of the benevolent cases that prevented harm was the witch who advised a pastor to stop eating kolanut to avoid misfortune. The

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witches and wizards remembered their stories without necessarily undergoing extensive training as narrators, storytellers, griots, or diviners. Sometimes, their memories were prodded by the community through questioning, while at other times, the consequences of their actions reminded them of their stories, or the encounter with more powerful forces required them to remember their stories. The stories could appear improbable to some, but an understanding of several African cultures and how magical realism worked in the different communities could explain the issues. The spiritual contexts of the events are also crucial for a nuanced understanding and interpretation. All the witchcraft cases discussed in this paper were resolved in favor of the society, suggesting that the society and its story are much bigger than any individual and his or her story. As well, all the examples were resolved through Christianity as the balance of power returned to society for its positive development. In traditional African society, issues of witchcraft were resolved by isolating the witches from the rest of the community and by destroying their magical powers by more powerful and potent communal forces. There were also witch-doctors who worked against the witches and reduced their negative activities in the society.24 This was usually how normalcy was returned to the society and how the development stunted by the occultic was restored. It is important to recognize that the analysis of this sub-genre shows that witches and wizards could be evil and good and the fact that there are more calamitous examples here does not portray the setting of the texts as only made of evil people. As Chinua Achebe would argue, the point should be to show Africa in its glory and imperfections. There are also several examples of the oral genre, including the praise and epithalamium traditions, that are devoid of the negativity in the witches’ and wizards’ confessions examined here. A common denominator to all the confessions discussed here is that the subject position in the texts is occupied by the witches and wizards. The personal involvement of the witches and wizards in the stories as primary narrators is crucial because that is why the stories are autobiographical and that is how they show that the autobiographical genre is not only written but that other versions that are oral and not necessarily in the West are in circulation. The narratives here also show that the stories are not just about the individual narrators only. They are also about the community that was impacted by their activities. The community also forms part of the narration by asking questions and telling other community members what they know and how the witches’ and wizards’ stories affect them. Pastor Oritsejafor’s statement that there are several examples of witchcraft stories in African settings and that one doesn’t necessarily need to go to the academy to study them is germane. The existence and the acknowledgment of these oral stories about the self and their subsequent analysis are foundational to questioning the Eurocentric bias that is in the definition and conceptualization of the autobiographical genre as only a written form. Notes 1. 2.

Falola (2003: 201). Abimbola (1975: 293).

31 When Witches and Wizards Are Narrators …

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23.

24.

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Awolalu (1979: 80). Falola (2001: 30). Washington (2005: 4). Badejo (1996: 76). Ibid., 77–78. Washington ibid., 7. Washington (2015a: 8). Ibid., 8–9. Ibid. Washington (2005) ibid., 280 (lines 66–71). Ibid., 281 (lines 105–113). Ibid., 281 (lines 121–129). Washington (2015b: 26). Ibid., 234. Ibid., 282. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zj-Bn6nop3M&sns=em. https://youtu.be/-XfvOUUYf-8. https://youtu.be/HMUWnmW5jPY See also http://saharareporters.com/2012/ 09/08/bishop-oyedepos-slapping-case-goes-appeal-court. See http://www.informationng.com/2018/08/six-pupils-reveal-how-theywere-initiated-into-witchcraft-in-ondo-state.html, posted on August 19, 2018. I read it the following day and later got the full transcript of the broadcast and the interviews compliment of Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema and his media team. https://mercybabs.com/plugin/article/view/44/in-akure-pupils-alleged-of-wit chcraft-make-shocking-confessions. https://mercybabs.com/plugin/article/view/44/in-akure-pupils-alleged-of-wit chcraft-make-shocking-confessions. See also Telling Our Stories for my discussion of Sade’s confession as a witch and her subsequent conversion to Christianity as recorded in Lekan Oyegoke’s “‘Sade’s Testimony’: A New Genre of Autobiography in African Folklore.” According to her confession, Sade “becomes a witch because of her inability to have children. As a witch, she is still unable to have children. Her encounter with Christianity proves more beneficial, as she becomes pregnant after attending Christian fellowships. Her attempts to disrupt the fellowships she attends are resisted by Christian ministers, including Evangelist Kayode Williams. She finally abandons witchcraft, subscribes to Christianity, and confesses her sins in an autobiographical narration during a Christian revival in 1989 in Ibadan, Nigeria” (Alabi 2005a: 9). Falola (2001: 30).

Acknowledgements I acknowledge and thank all those whose materials either as clerics, authors, witnesses, narrators, and speakers I found useful in working on this paper. I’m particularly grateful to Pastor Enoch Adejare Adeboye, Mr. Bisi Daniels, Bishop David Oyedepo, Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor,

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Mr. Babatunde Bamgboye Omo Edema and his media team, and others for their works that I discussed and cited in this paper.

References Abimbola, Wande. 1975. Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa. Lagos: UNESCO. Adeboye, Enoch Adejare Pastor. 2017. Sermon at the Redeemed Christian Church of God Holy Ghost Congress, December 6. Alabi, Adetayo. 2005a. Telling Our Stories: Continuities and Divergences in Black Autobiographies. New York: Palgrave. Alabi, Adetayo. 2005b. I of the Valiant Stock: Yoruba Bridal Chant and the Autobiographical Genre. In Yoruba Creativity: Fiction, Language, Life and Songs, ed. Toyin Falola and Ann Genova, 321–332. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Alabi, Adetayo. 2007. ‘I Am the Hunter Who Kills Elephants and Baboons’: The Autobiographical Component of the Hunters’ Chant. Research in African Literatures (RAL) 38 (3):13–23. Alabi, Adetayo. 2009. On Seeing Africa for the First Time: Orality, Memory, and the Diaspora in Isidore Okpewho’s Call Me by My Rightful Name. Research in African Literatures (RAL) 40 (1): 145–155. Augustine, Saint. 1991. Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Awolalu, J.Omosade. 1979. Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites . Essex: Longman. Badejo, Diedre. 1996. Osun Segeesi: The Elegant Deity of Wealth, Power and Femininity. Trenton: Africa World Press. Bamgboye, Babatunde Omo Edema. 2018. In Akure: Pupils Alleged of Witchcraft Make Shocking Confessions. https://mercybabs.com/plugin/article/view/44/in-akure-pupils-allegedof-witchcraft-make-shocking-confessions. Posted by Babs News on 08–13. Daniels, Bisi. 2017. Stories of Pastor E.A. Adeboye: The Power of Testimony. Lagos: BusyCreations Nigeria Limited. Davison, Basil. 1969. The African Genius. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press. Falola, Toyin. 2001. Culture and Customs of Nigeria. Westport: Greenwood Press. Falola, Toyin. 2003. The Power of African Cultures. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Hallen, Barry, and J. Olubi Sodipo. 1986. A Comparison of the Western ‘Witch’ with the Yoruba Àjé: Spiritual Powers or Personality Types? Ife: Annals of the Institute of Cultural Studies 1: 1–7. Oritsejafor, Ayo Pastor. 2016. A New Song. Redeemed Christian Church of God Holy Ghost Congress. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zj-Bn6nop3M&sns=em. Oyedepo, David Bishop. n.d. Videos of An Encounter with a Witch. https://youtu.be/-XfvOUUYf-8 and https://youtu.be/HMUWnmW5jPY. Oyegoke, Lekan. 1994. ‘Sade’s Testimony’: A New Genre of Autobiography in African Folklore. Research in African Literatures 25 (3): 131–140. Parrinder, Geoffrey. 1963. Witchcraft: European and African. London: Faber. saharareporters.com/ 2012/09/08/bishop-oyedepos-slapping-case-goes-appeal-court. Washington, Teresa N. 2005. Our Mothers, Our Powers, Our Texts: Manifestations of Àjé in Africana Literature. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Washington, Teresa N. 2015a. The Architects of Existence: Aje in Yoruba Cosmology, Ontology, and Orature. Oya’s Tornado. Washington, Teresa N. 2015b. Manifestations of Masculine Magnificence: Divinity in Africana Life, Lyrics, and Literature. Oya’s Tornado.

Chapter 32

Absorption of Oral Tradition and Folklore Narrative in Written Fictional Works: Paul Lomami-Tchibamba, Ngandu Nkashama and Alain Mabanckou Kasongo Mulenda Kapanga

Introduction: The Limits of Writing Although thought to be in an antithetical relationship, therefore seen as an arrested and a less developed stage of an evolutionary trend, orality especially when apprehended in its folkloric dimension, has been perceived as seamlessly connected to writing because both are mere instruments of expression of a fundamental human activity, namely, the telling a story. The idea of orality as a defining characteristic of a primitive people has been dispelled by several dependable studies. Absence of writing as a sign of primitivism, therefore a step in need of an evolutionary thrust toward writing had its sworn proponents (Roscoe, Palmer, Chévrier, Abdul Jan Mohamed) who had to let go. The proposition of orality standing in a symbiotic linkage with writing in modern African literatures has been unequivocally argued and affirmed by Julien, Kalu (2007), Finnegan, and Okpewho (1988). Taunted to demonstrate the evolution toward highly refined literary forms, the position adopted by these modern critics dispelled evolutionary claims across academic disciplines. Even earlier, Claude LéviStrauss (1908–2009), in The Savage Mind had seriously questioned the notion that the advent of writing as a sine qua none stage toward civilization that would ultimately annihilate orality—or at least turn it into a more folkloric token—goes against all practical and historical evidence. He disputed this belief saying: Writing is a strange thing. It would seem as if its appearance could not have failed to wreak profound changes in the living conditions of our race, and that these transformations must have been above all intellectual in character. […] In the Neolithic age, humanity made immense strides forward without any help from writing; and writing did not save the civilizations of the western world from long periods of stagnation. Doubtless the scientific expansion of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries could hardly have occurred, had writing K. M. Kapanga (B) University of Richmond, Richmond, VA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_32

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not existed. But this condition, however necessary, cannot in itself explain that expansion. If we want to correlate the appearance of writing with certain other characteristics of civilization, we must look elsewhere. The one phenomenon which has invariably accompanied it is the formation of cities and empires …1

Simply put, advanced culture does not necessarily correlate with writing in order to produce exquisite verbal, artistic pieces such as poetry, folktales, riddles, proverbs, etc. Therefore, the absolute sequencing orality-writing is doubtful at best and purely ideological at worst as history demonstrates. If it is sure that the Latin poet Virgil (70–19 BC) wrote The Aeneid, can one assert with confidence that the Greek poet Homer was literate? Scrutinizing The Iliad and The Odyssey, Milman Parry (1902–1935) and his associate Albert Bates Lord (1912–1991), had argued since the 1930s for an intertwined relationship between Homeric poetry—oral-formulaic theory—and the oral performance of poetry: “such a poetic tradition of verse-making could arise only if there were a need for Homer to make his traditional poetry in performance, only if, in short, the poet were unlettered and his poetry oral.”2 To prove the point, Parry and Lord embarked on an expedition in the Balkans notably the former Yugoslavia where they researched existing illiterate singers and bards and collected whole batches of SerboCroatian epic compositions. Although his work was subjected to intense criticism, “Parry’s arguments reformulated in part and supported by mathematical analysis can step aside the arrogant claims that the hour of orality has already passed.”3 In support, Geoffrey Kirk’s study on Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey emphasizes the centrality of orality even then: The answer is that orality is no mere incidental detail, an accident to be emphasized just for the sake of the unusual. It is of crucial importance for the understanding of the poems as poetry, as works of literature in the broader sense, and as vast and erratic forces in the cultural history of the ancient world. The Greeks themselves were unable to see literature as something apart. In its largescale forms, epic or tragedy or the great histories of Herodotus or Thucydides, it was a moral and didactic endeavour as well as art.4

In a rather conventional way, there would obviously be intentional aphasia if one were to only look at the prominence of writing at the expense of orality in the socalled civilized cultures. Indeed, Western societies have been essentially oral until the mass expansion of education and industrial revolution that made writing a daily activity for many. Charles Perrault (1628–1703), a member of L’Académie Française and known as the father of modern fairy tales, owes much to orality in the collection of oral tales that he put to exquisite writing. He does deserve the recognition, but the creativity thrust of these narratives lies somewhere else: orality. In a 1959 article, Marie-Louise Tenèze summarized some of the ongoing debates among folklorist scholars, and yet again, she clearly underlined that the oral tradition was the main source of Les Contes de Perrault published in 1695.5

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Therefore, Africa and Europe Share Orality … By and large, orality ought not to be seen as a primitive stage vis-à-vis writing, but a practice that has intrinsic value on its own as it shares with other forms of expression the narrativeness incrusted in the human language communication. Gary Morson explains this inherent feature as follows: narrativeness [which] requires presentness: the present moment must matter. It cannot be a mere derivative of earlier events or dictated by later events, that is, by the structure of the whole. It is not necessary that all moments have presentness, but some must, and it is from them that narrativeness derives.6

Marson goes on clarifying that presentness is explained by what Aristotle called “contingency, that is, something that can or cannot happen.”7 It is this presentness that is often appealed to in storytelling as a social occurrence that binds people to narrative sequences and iteration. In situations involving children in France, storytelling was used in a park to publicize the concept of a public library through verbal sharing. Isabelle Masse who labels this experience “bibliothèque hors les murs” [Outside the city walls libraries] recounts the illustrative experience as follows: A session lasts about two hours. Individual reading is the best practice for this type of action: an adult reads a book chosen by a child. The latter listen to the adults who would be reading, sitting, standing, playing, or just to his own rhythm. The grownup respects the text, makes pauses, passes the book to other readers, but does not let himself be mobilized by one child. Parents and adults can also apply themselves to reading. Generally, acts outside the walls require an important work of mediation: it is a matter of a potential readership, it is not a matter of waiting for the latter to show up on the library door step. Une séance dure environ deux heures. La lecture individuelle est la meilleure pratique pour ce type d’action : un adulte lit un livre choisi par l’enfant. Ce dernier écoute, assis, debout, en jouant, à son rythme. L’adulte respecte le texte, fait des pauses, passe le relais à d’autres lecteurs, mais ne se laisse pas accaparer par un seul enfant. Parents et adultes peuvent également faire la lecture. De manière générale, les actions hors les murs supposent un important travail de médiation : il s’agit d’aller vers un public potentiel, il ne s’agit pas d’attendre que ce dernier vienne de lui -même.8

Therefore, orality and writing are construed as twin renderings that bathed in the same placenta of narrativity and could be illustrated by the storytelling experience in France and Belgium of the American organization The Book Committee headed by Eugène Morel (1869–1934). After World War I, under its aegis, the first public libraries for the youth called L’Heure Joyeuse were built in Brussels and Paris.9 The one in Paris was located rue Boutebrie in the 5th Arrondissement. The thrust was the hearing or reading of a good story. The first librarians Claire Huchet (1899–1993)10 and Marguerite Gruny (1903–1993)11 would go to public parks and city halls to tell (read) stories. After this unusual public display, they would coax the public into extending the experience by going to read in the library: The idea is to attract the « non-readers » as we say today. Even before the opening of L’Heure Joyeuse, as a June 1924 article in Le Petit Journal illustré, Claire Huchet and Marguerite Gruny went in parks and city halls to tell stories and encourage the public to come to the

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library. In the same way as there is only one step to make to go from the basement, enlightened by a candle, where the librarians were telling stories in rue Boutebrie, to the room of l’Heure of the fairy tale in the basement in rue Prêtres-Saint-Sévérin, the use of parks in 1924 foretells long in advance the practice of having libraries outside the walls that were launched in the open in the Parisian region since the beginning of the years 2000. L’idée est déjà d’attirer les « non -lecteurs » comme on dit aujourd’hui. Avant même l’ouverture de l’Heure Joyeuse, ainsi qu’en témoigne un article paru en juin 1924 dans Le Petit Journal illustré, Claire Huchet et Mar-guerite Gruny se rendent dans les parcs et mairies pour raconter des his-toires et inciter le public à se déplacer à la bibliothèque. De même qu’il n’y a qu’un pas à faire pour passer de la cave, éclairée à la bougie, où les biblio thécaires contaient rue Boutebrie, à la salle de l’Heure du conte en sous -sol de la rue des Prêtres-Saint-Séverin, l’utilisation des parcs en 1924 annonce avec beaucoup d’avance la pratique des bibliothèques hors les murs, re-lancées aux beaux jours dans le réseau parisien depuis le début des années 2000.

The foundational recipe is equally valuable in long narratives such as epics, plays, short stories, tales, novels, films and today even YouTube videos that are accessible to the wide world. This experience undoubtedly is not any different from moonlit nights that Birago Diop (1906–1989), Djibril Tamsir Niane (1932) and Léopold S. Senghor (1906–2001) fondly remembered as their childhood lyrical formative years. Likewise, Senghor always emphasized the strong links between his written poetry and the orality artistry he bathed in as a child listening to stories and poetic songs. His preface Comme les lamentins vont boire à la source to his poetry collection Ethiopiques is nothing but the recognition of this early oral inspiration.12 However, there is no unanimity as some critics separate the two practices in “a state of rivalry” with “oral literature [as] … superior to written literature in all its ramifications and the earlier the African artist returns to it, the better.”13 At one time, Mazisi Kunene and the Ugandan poet Okot p’ Bitek advocated cultural autonomy that would include literature only as a component of history. Similarly, as Eileen Julien notes, Georges Ngaal in his novel Giambattista Vico believed that there was no continuity between the oral and the written, but two different universes facing one another. For Julien, the African novel is nothing but a derivative of oral tradition, because it extensively draws on its repertoire as much as it substantially derives its imagination from it.14 Paradoxically, how was orality brought into the colonial context where the alphabet was a prized asset?

When Missionaries Struck Gold in Orality … The colonial apparatus was not only busy with extracting natural resources from the newly found lands, but embarked on exploring native cultures to better understand the natives’ mind and therefore plan efficient programs for economic and cultural cooptation, or evangelization in some instances. Access to their souls to win them to Christ’s cause and salvation had to be smoothly secured. During the unsuccessful first wave, the long relationship that developed between the Kingdom of Kongo and the Portuguese monarchy (sixteenth century), did not lead to expected widespread

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conversions but instead left sad memories of horrendous acts triggered by the slave trade. Indeed, if their earlier attempts of the sixteenth and the eighteenth centuries at evangelizing miserably failed, writing borne on this third missionary wave to convert Africa (1790s onwards), turned orality into a highly prized instrument for conversion. On this third wave, in designing strategies to win converts by the thousands, missionaries overcame these earlier obstacles by co-opting and transforming oral forms and cultural narrative elements into effective instruments of evangelization. With time, Europe’s triumphalist spirit, a vestige of the eighteenth century Enlightenment euphoria, posited writing as logical outcome in the obsolescence of the natives’ oral traditions as instrument of learning. At best, the two worlds, as Albert Lord puts it, could merge, but with writing expected to tip the balance on its side. New strategies set by missionaries as the “people of the book,” found help in oral traditional artistry in their deployment of the proselytizing messages by cannibalizing or “embezzling,” as the Congolese critic Mpiku Mbelolo puts it, natives’ narrative lore chest that was overwhelmingly oral. They gradually discovered that the potency of orality lay more in the communicability than in the form the narrative or the message was expressed in. They deployed the gospel messages to communities of the uninitiated by couching them into narrative receptacles familiar to the recipients bound by commonly shared oral practices. Consequently, both Catholic and Protestant missionaries developed strong interests in collecting oral tales, proverbs, traditional songs, song-poems, legends, myths, riddles and other verbal artistic forms. Research in native oral artistry became a twin activity of this conversion enterprise.15 They both mapped their evangelizing strategies that modern historians broadly recognize as the complicity between a pair of strange bedfellows: Soon in addition to publishing educational and religious books, they started to produce also history and geography books, ethnographical accounts and collections of oral literature. Producing the books which were the first documents of the written form of the language, the missionaries thus created the pre-conditions for the building up of the literary tradition and the written literary language.16

On a more practical side, the encounter allowed the pairing of two performative instances that ultimately carved the way to a new literary tradition. If the translation of the Bible remained undeniably the privileged target, the knowledge of African oral traditions proved an invaluable conduit through which to channel Christian messages. In the case of the D R Congo: Thus, traditional African narrative genres became instruments for the transmission of Christian mes-sages while hymns were made to address local audience’s culture, a practice that Mbelolo ya Mpiku’s called “embezzlement” or détournement. Catechists and hymns writers heavily used the traditional oral singing genres especially praise poems and other nkung’a (song) for proselytizing purpos-es such as: nkung’a masika (praise poem), nkung’a matondo (thanksgiving song), nkung’a mambu (chant de palabre), nkung’a maniongo (lamentation song), nkung’a kidilu (mourning song), nkung’a makinu (danse song), and nkung’a ndezi (lullaby).17

As a corollary, writing proved to be a powerful tool toward the achievement of those objectives and the training of catechists to read and write was the logical

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outcome. In an indirect way, these literary pursuits paved the way to a rise or rather an enhancement of the desire to see the natives “write” in their idioms beside using learned European languages. Whether such an expectation was gauged in terms of evolution of a people, or seen as a mere cooptation of some individuals into auxiliary roles, it does remain by and large an issue for folklorists to debate. However, what matters most is that the forced encounter between Africa and Europe triggered the need to pair writing with oral artistry with as underlining motivation the telling of a story (narrativity). Pawliková-Vilhanovà sees in the outcome a dialectical resolution in that sense: Christianization went with reading and writing, with the rise of African literatures. In this aspect the missionary work proved to be a truly creative force within the history of the African peoples and societies, transforming their lives materially and mentally perhaps more radically than any other impact before or after and perhaps more deeply than Africans themselves had imagined and realized at that time.18

In the Province of the Lower Congo, where Presbyterian missionaries established their printing infrastructures, the protestant Kongo catechists created traditioninspired narratives. Workers combined these two areas by launching a rich literary body of fictional writings in local languages such as those by Timoteo Vingadio, Emile Adolphe Disengomaka (1915–1965), Jacques N. Bahelele (1911–?), S.A. Nsimba and Rémy Malutama (1911–1956). Several other Protestant churches also encouraged talents from their native flock to use their traditional oral lore for the mission. As baptized Christians, it was incumbent upon everyone to partake in the spreading of God’s word. For Catholic missionaries, the first Congolese Catholic priest, Stéfano Kaoze (1885–1951) ordained in 1917, just twenty years after the Berlin Conference, took a real interest in his native Tabwa culture in the Katanga province. He saw native oral artistry as a valuable asset and the source of African wisdom to use in his priestly tasks. This conviction which came to be widely shared thanks to solid anthropological work and a gradual change in mentalities was an important extra motivation of interest in oral culture and African language studies. As a result, research centers spearheaded by religious orders such as the Centre Æquatoria—by MSC missionaries also called scheutistes—outside Mbandaka, Equateur Province, were established. Despite their biases, high-value scholarly contributions by their members such as Gustaaf Hulsaert (1900–1990) and Edmond Boelaerts (1899–1966) received worldwide recognition. In addition, other innovating publications including Placide Tempels’ Bantu-filozofie [Bantu Philosophy] and Alexis Kagame’s Philosophie Bantu-Rwandaise de l’Etre attempted to understand the thought process of “primitive people” for the aim of perfecting evangelizing strategies or adapting Christianity to local cultures. Beyond the use of orality by these “men of the book,” one should not lose sight of a new paradigm of power relation within the possibility of representation that was thus inaugurated with the arrival of newcomers steeped in an unfamiliar epistemological system. Nevertheless, in the colonial praxis, orality was objectified as were other African traditional religious phenomena such as witchcraft as a “counterdomain” as Peter Geschiere argues in his study Witchcraft and Intimacy.

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African Modern Writers: Bridging Between Orality and Writing? In the framework of this power relation, the adoption of writing was an incentive whereby oral narratives took new scriptural forms and the justifications were often ideological in kind: Amos Tutuola (The Palm Wine Drinkard), the desire to couch an oral narrative on paper; Djibril Tamsir Niane (Sundjata) and Birago Diop (Les Contes d’Ahmadou Koumba ), the mission to preserve oral popular tales; Thomas Mufolo (Chaka), the preservation in the native language, and Pierre LomamiTchibamba (Ngando) and Antoine-Roger Bolamba (Esanzo), a testimony to the civilizing mission initiated by a colonial authority. The thinking behind such a radical position lay in the belief of “an impoverished paradigm” that forced the appearance of texts that were “never transparent or equivalent oral and written versions for similarities of plot or of language that is characterized by parallel phrasing, repetition, antitheses—attributes that are considered traces of oral transmission or performance” (Julien 26). It is appropriate to consider the submitting of narratives to writing as an event—in the Foucauldian sense—that can be situated chronologically while at the same apprehending it as a radical shift due to the dynamism of the context. As Peter Geschiere suggests in his study of African witchcraft, there certainly is “changeability” or a “need to historicize people’s ideas and practice” within orality.19 In the same way and likely discounting Hegel and Hugh Trevor-Roper, Vansina believed and rightly so that all art is metaphor and form. Verbal, such as poetry, song, sayings, proverbs and tales conform to this rule. They express the experience of contemporary situations or event, morals to be drawn from such occurrences or situations, or express intense emotions associated with them. […] Even so, compositions can be significantly altered by the successors of the creators who perform these pieces.20

In earlier days, the matter that drew the most attention is the ideological claim of civilization that situated these events in evolutionary linearity of which the writing of oral tales constituted a watershed moment often cast as evidence of success for the colonial project. Works such as Ousmane Socé’s Karim, Paul Hazoumé’s Doguicimi, Lomami-Tchibamba’s Ngando, Jean Malonga’s Coeur d’aryanne , David Ananou’s Le fils du fétiche , Saverio Naigiziki’s Escapage rwandaise, Bolamba’s Les Aventures de Ngoy, just to name a few, did serve as illustrations of a discourse reactive toward the scripted colonial novel in an ironclad linkage with ethnological pursuits. This indeed becomes, as Ngandu Nkashama underlines, “a discovery of “people’s poetry.” Cut from its original and authentic source, the text attempts at least to join the ‘spirit of the oral’ through the fable and legend.” [“une récouverte de la ‘poésie des peuples’. Coupé de sa source originelle originelle et originaire, le texte essaie au moins de rejoindre au moins ‘l’esprit’par la fabulation et la légende 21.”This is the world that dramatically shifts from the autochthon’s land to that of the indigenous subject—like in the case of Stefano Kaoze—who found himself at the bottom of an irretrievably defined new hierarchy of knowledge and remarkably new rules of a social structure.

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Across the board, writing led to the alteration of upon-agreed codes and to change in the dynamics in oral tradition performance, public delivery and the role of the audience. In the traditional context, the teller and the audience partake in a highly scripted scenario where both parties have specific roles in the recreation of the narrative. In the new paradigm, there is no such provision for the audience to intervene because the relation with the writer cannot be aligned in space and in time in the same way. In addition, the intent of the performance changes (curiosity, study, didactic, proselytizing) because dissociated from its original participatory context. Lastly, the tale loses its dynamic nature, its flexibility and the possibility of recreation because of the durability of the writing.22 Text and tale can stand in an antithetical position to each other as Vansina noted, but also in a complementary way. The concept “text” implies a stable something that exists independently of all those who interpret it. It is a written item. The text is what testifies to something. The problem with this is that because testimony can be given orally several times, there can be several written versions of the same referent.23

Indeed, orality as performance of verbal artistry has been justified as a way to link up with writing as an option of preservation. In a real sense, claiming a gap between these two modes of representation misses the interdependence of their roles as Ruth Finnegan observes: Even in a society apparently dominated by the printed word the oral aspect is not entirely lost. Perhaps because of the common idea that written literature is somehow the highest form of the arts, the current significance and production in a play, the idea held by some at least that much poetry can only attain its full flavor when spoken aloud, or the increasing but often underestimated significance of the oral reproduction and dissemination of classic literary forms (as well as wholly new compositions) through radio and television.24

In line with the patriarchal ideology in the Belgian Congo, the use of writing was deemed a logical next step to innovation in narrative modernization. The prevailing belief was that of a benevolent understanding to fight against savagery and usher the beneficiaries from crippling darkness to the lights of civilization.25 Vansina would refer to it as “improvement” or “innovation.” Instead of being “incremental from performance to performance,” the tendency was to alter them according to new scriptural exigencies (12). At a later stage in the 1930s, writing in a European language as a step forward was a popular idea promoted by the apologetic stance of the colonial discourse. Lomami-Tchibamba, a writer who claims the two Congos as his home, patterned literary texts by transliterating the traditional oral lore for a wider audience beyond ethnic confines. When one focuses on his works, two issues stand out as worth exploring: the reason for writing and the issue of authority.

Lomami and Bolamba, Dressing Anew an Old Tale? Ngando is a Mongo myth telling the story of a disobedient boy, Musolinga, who instead of going to school, prefers escaping into nature and swimming in the Congo

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River. One day, Ngando, the crocodile seizes him and throws Musolinga’s village into a panic to launch a rescuing mission. After enlisting the assistance of everyone, including the medicine man’s, the boy is rescued not before the father breaks the condition he had agreed to not look behind. The consequence is a series of deaths striking the village and the family unexpectedly. Ngando is transcribed into a novel-like French narrative with two guiding objectives in mind: preserve the narrative lore and allow its readership the widest possible access. Whether his successful attempt was a response to a genuine appeal for traditional valuation, or rather a contrived reply to an unavoidable appeal from his “handlers,” nothing could be easily ascertained one way or the other. Although set in an urban colonial space, Kinshasa, the background that he meant to salvage is deeply Mongo, and the transcriber is narratively delivering it to his readership in its nearest authentic form. The written version of Ngando raises questions of “authorship.” The “author,” that is, Lomami-Tchibamba, had certainly heard the tale several times and from more than one teller. This time, his audience is the readership that may or may not be familiar with the tale and therefore is not solicited to participate in the creation or re-creation of the tale in the original sense. In a traditional setting, the audience is familiar with the tale outline: “The teller and public are creating the tale together. The teller leads the event, but responds readily to the public and leads his or her public to experience the tale.”26 In advocating change as an inherent feature to verbal artistry, one would understand why and how Pierre Lomami-Tchibamba’s “writing” of Ngando as an episode of performance— some might say planning to perform—the piece was dictated by the situation of subservience in which this re-creation occurred. However, submitting the tale to a new form becomes in its own right a new aesthetic experience that would certainly respond to new constraints. Since tales rely on the metonymical aspect that allows creativeness, transposing an oral narrative into a specialized idiom presupposes an implied audience able to “speak” the idiom. Because the translation to metonymic language shifts the bulk of the burden of significance from the textual and denotative to the traditional and connotative, the simple forms of phraseology and narrative structure are not as important in and of themselves as those of us trained in literary criticism might assume.27

Expert tellers in a traditional setting are called to perform, but in this case, LomamiTchibamba is more of a sophisticated transcriber than an internal specialist. The pen, the knowledge of the Mongo tale and the French language, weighed significantly in making up this new role as scriptural “author.” This is certainly a new persona in tow in the re-creation of the tale. Antoine-Roger Bolamba (1913–2002) who directed La Voix du Congolais, a journal created for the Congolese évolués in the 1950s, also labored under the radar of his Belgian superiors. He was likely encouraged to delve into his ethnic group’s oral culture and to bring out some of the narratives unknown to Europeans. The autographed copy of A l’Échelle de l’Araignée , to Mr. Vanderlinden, the Director General of Chanic (shipyard) in Léopoldville, clearly shows the nature of the relationship: “A l’Échelle de l’Araignée is (Fig.32.1) offered to you with much humility and much

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respect by a Belgian Congolese black as testimony of admiration for the dedication and the zeal you incessantly display to the cause of the civilization of the Belgian Congo’s blacks.”28 Despite the claim that attests to the power relation, Bolamba traces his ambient oral lore to the inspiration of the African tales. He unequivocally recognizes the collective authorship while giving credit to the chain of individuals up to Anne Siku to whom he unequivocally pays tribute.29 Bolamba was convinced of the great literary values that oral traditional narratives had in store and he pointed out this way in a 1954 article of La Voix du Congolais: “Black civilization cannot be understood only if it is based on the respect of the institutions and the laws of each country. Negro culture is varied in its essence and its principles. It is condensed in an oral literature that possesses a great richness” (My emphasis). [“La civilisation des Noirs ne peut se comprendre que si elle est basée sur le respect des institutions et des lois fondamentales de leurs pays. La culture nègre est variée dans son essence et ses principes. Elle est condensée dans une littérature orale qui est d’une grande richesse.”] Bolamba bathed in the oral tradition setup which he tries his hardest to preserve in Esanzo, chants pour mon pays. Like Birago Diop’s writing of Les Contes d’Hamadou Koumba, he wanted to salvage from precariousness the various narratives from the realm of orality by submitting them to the perennial existence of graphic stability through the durability of the pen. The Latin say “verba volant scripta manent,” had relevance and even some fascination over him, but with a different ideological implication inherent to his condition of subalterneity. In the preface to Esanzo, Senghor praises Bolamba’s oral traditional poetic training as follows: Bolamba has answered her [Marquise de B…] by transcribing in his Esanzo both the text and the translation of two Mongo poems. It is also his response to those who claimed that “someone has been imitated.” He has not done much reading, but he has listened during long nights to tom-toms and to lokolés. So, he may thus have thought “negro thoughts” in French, like the painters of Elizabethville, like Tshibamba and Tshibangu.30

In looking further at his Mongo poems, Senghor recognizes in them the core narrativeness inherent in traditional orality and he commands him for his disposition to have lent a joyful ear to oral accounts of his childhood. That childhood exposure to oral performance allowed the Congolese évolué he was to present the poetic praise accounts of his country in a written form that would insure longevity. Here again, the use of orality raises two questions that led a lively debate about authorship and the underlying reason. Nevertheless, in an ideal world not shaped by power, the new African literary situation had “the two worlds, hitherto coexisting side by side, [that] began to merge.”31

Orality in Ngandu Nkashama’s Modern Writings: An Illustration The debate among critics have pitted two sides, one recognizing orality narrativity in its own right (Okot p’Bitek), and, the other, one arguing for a transformation

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of oral narratives into a durable form or writing (Abdul JanMohamed, Roscoe, Jacques Chévrier …) In her analysis, Eileen Julien leans toward the first claim and finds oral echoes in Ngandu Nkashama’s fiction: “Speech and writing are modes of language, and both modes are ours when we have the means to produce them.”32 When examining the relationship between oral tradition and new modern ways of fiction writing, she unequivocally reasserts the linkage:

Fig. 32.1 An illustration of Ngandu Nkashama’s Modern Writings (© copyrights Jacques Vanderlinden. Reproduced with permission)

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My question is no longer the extent to which the African novel is derivative of oral traditions, but rather the extent to which such references hold the means of imaginative solutions to problems of aesthetic and ideological dimensions. […] Because this approach accords writers more liberty and assumes they are thinking architects rather than prisoners of a cultural heritage, it allows for richer, more complex interpretations.33

Julien goes further by clarifying that writers steeped in orality like Ngandu Nkashama should not be seen as prisoners of a heritage they keep in awe, but rather thinking operators motivated by familiar aesthetic and ideological justifications. Kourouma, Amos Tutuala, Okot p’Bitek illustrate this modulation each in his own individual way. In her African Novels and the Question of Orality, Eileen Julien established a two-track methodology; the first is that, a work, even though exhibiting high stylistic refining, still relied unequivocally on orality. Secondly, written works merge and associate oral elements with novelistic ones. The analysis of Ngandu Nkashama’s work will unfold according to these precepts. In Post-Independence Africa and especially in the DRC, unrestricted exploration of one’s culture came with time to be largely encouraged by political and social instances. Ngandu Nkashama, as any other writer of his time, did not refrain from participating in the revival under President Mobutu’s policy of authenticity. He genuinely labored to integrate traditional oral narrative elements in his modern writings. La mort faite homme, Le Pacte de sang and even La malédiction remind of works such as Ayi Kwei Armah’s The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born, Ben Okri’s The Famished Road or Patrick Nganang’s Une vie de chien (Dog Days). By his own admission, as a child, Ngandu Nkashama lived a continued oral mentorship from his maternal grandfather, a World War II veteran, he would spend summer vacations with in Ngandanjika, Eastern Kasai. His early and constant exposure to oral accounts, dynamics and customs weighed heavily on his deliberate recourse to orality. The influence this maternal grandfather exerted on his life was a vital part in his grooming to rely at key moments on the vast traditional narrative lore. He acted as a trusted go-between in this social practice shared by several communities around the “Black Atlantic,” where the necessity to depend on orality for survival constituted a lifeline in adversely trying moments and related hardships. In Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man, the dying slave instructs that the young ones be orally informed. In the Haitian writer Yanick Lahens’ La maison de mon père, Man Bo, the maidservant, acts as the storyteller who passes on to Alice Bienaimé the rich, popular stories of the lower classes of modern Haiti. About Zora Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Skippy Gates underlines a similar usage: It is the text’s imitation of these examples of traditionally [B]lack rhetorical rituals and modes of storytelling that allows us to think of it as a speakerly text. For in a speakerly text certain rhetorical structures seem to exist primarily as representations of oral narration, rather than as integral aspects of plot or character development.34

What Gates says about Hurston is evident in Ngandu Nkashama’s fictional work. His novels are replete with passages that are conspicuously “speakerly” texts and inform institutionalized written forms through several rhetorical and verbal devices. One notices a deliberate use of oral elements that Babatunde Lawal, the Nigerian Art Historian, labels “habitual memory,” defined by Do Veanna S. Fulton as

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behaviors or skills obtained through convention or repetition—and collective memory— knowledge acquired through education and historical consciousness—Africans in America, and then African Americans, propagated the tradition of passing on history orally.35

This orality inspiration through any habitual performance narrative, whether subconsciously or not, would allow a writer standing in a similar situation to control or mimic the way society wants to represent itself. Ngandu Nkashama injects oral elements as nodal junctures that trigger effects of shock for his audience that shares general knowledge of the situation. The first instance is the use of the Luba kásálá form that illustrates his tapping into orality. The kásálá is a praise poetical oral form performed for special occasions such as marriages, departures for a long haul, happy reunions, graduations, etc. In an earlier study, I found that “Ngandu Nkashama used the kasàlà structure in both Le Pacte de sang and La Mort faite homme to lament over the fate of fellow Africans victimized by an incompetent local leadership bent on lining their silver pockets rather than laboring for the welfare of the masses.”36 Alexei Tcheyeup’s study of the novelist’s works comes to a similar conclusion in linking his fictional narratives to the kasàlà as meticulously described by Patrice Mufuta.37 Contrary to Clémentine Faïk Nzuji’s innovating writing a kasàlà in French, Ngandu Nkashama let the two linguistic registers coexist side by side.38 In La mort faite homme, a peaceful student demonstration ends in bloodshed at the hands of the security forces.39 Here, the kasàlà is used to highlight the resilient spirit of the main character who is at odds with political authorities bent on preserving their privileges while letting the masses languish in misery. Beyond the use of the kasàlà, Ngandu Nkashama fictional narratives are known for using other oral narrative elements such as proverbs, images, and Bantu syntactic structures in his texts. Secondly, Ngandu Nkashama’s texts are purposefully peppered with many proverbs to push the narrative forward. They ferry through didactic lessons that are usually dispensed orally in debates, conversations or other exchanges in open fora. He would let proverbs act as short-cuts packed with powerful denotative and connotative advice deployed to further an argumentation. His acknowledgments use Luba panegyric identifications. In Le Pacte de sang, he adopts an orality mode to pay homage to his father and the forebears. The father is not an unconnected being standing on his own, but a link to the ancestors who passed on life to the present generation. For example, in the following passage, in praising the pater familias’ genealogical line the connective “wa,” that means “of or from” is central and not merely iterative: Kalonji wa Kayeya Wa Kabuya wa Mbuyi Mukalenga Wa Kamuanya wa Iswaka Wa Mukulula’a Lusamba (6) Son of Kabuya son of gentleman Mbuyi Son of Kamuanya daughter of Iswaka Son of Mukulula son of Lusamba

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In the following passage, Ngandu Nkashama establishes parallelisms to flesh out qualities as Luba people are known to do to underline in formal and orality performance circumstances. In this instance, the “priesthood” is emphasized as a new social order that links his own father to the author’s junior brother, Joachim Kadima Kadiangandu (1960–2011), who was in real life a Catholic priest: Tatuenda wa Joachim Kadima Kidiangandu Nsaserdose weter we kunemekibwa (6) Kalonji son of Kayeya The father of Joachim Kadima Kandiangandu Our revered priest who deserves respect In other works, he would use the same panegyric formulaic pronouncements to praise those who are dear to him, who initiated him in the use of verbal traditional lore, and those who make the ancestors’ gift of life worth in increasing the life force as Father Placide Tempels would put it (Bantu-filozopie ). The third instance is related to the use of other languages. In Le pacte de sang, his most frequent element is the polyglotic interviewing that mimics the complex linguistic landscape of the Congo. He uses many expressions mostly from the four national Congolese languages (Lingala, Ciluba, Kikongo and Swahili) such as “minyanga, bitambala, misère ya basi, dietu dia kabi, mikoshi, butumbi luakunduluila, jdamba, tchorse, musesa blablateur, wa chombé, ngembo, madesu, nzekete, nganda, wenze, mista.” The use of neologisms and Congolese special terms reinforce further his reliance on popular orality elements. He incorporates biblical passages, but as read in church by the minister in local languages as in this case in Swahili or even with French translations. These elements provide the reader with a new form of imagery steeped into the oral narrative practices familiar to local societies. Lastly, Ngandu Nkashama strategically indigenizes French in the sense that Peter Vankuta in his study of Patrick Nganang’s use of Cameroonian indigenous languages, Camfanglais and Pidgin English, calls Indigenization. Orality undergirds Ngandu Nkashama’s fictional writing by way of marginal syntactic choices. Syntactic idiosyncrasies stemming from orality heavily determined by African languages dominate his texts and provide a different flavor from normal narratives that defy standard French selon Grévisse. These infractions violate normative syntactic rules, only to mimic in written narratives strategically verbal interventions reflective of local speech chains. This tendency justifies the label of “réalisme du dépassement” replete of figurative and scriptural energy of the modern African novel. However, with regard to the context, they illustrate the way French is utilized by a segment of the population whose spoken and written registers remain marginal, but is overwhelmingly tolerated and even accepted. The narrator, especially in taking higher grounds, incorporates a lot of structures tainted with linguistic variations and distortions. Despite the sustained presence of oral elements in his fictional work, Ngandu Nkashama’s use of French remains within the acceptable limits of written standard

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French. His main objective is not to invite disruption, but to bear witness to how language elements interact and morph into an original narrative whole drawing on multiple idioms. His alterations are not fortuitous because of his interest in matters related to orality and writing. Well aware of the potential controversies, he is a literary critic whose scope of operation extends beyond the relevance of orality in modern literature. He is equally aware in a practical way that oral African languages have two sanctioned registers, one for communication, and another one for formulaic forms such as in religious services, official newscasting and even high moral ground postures. In several instances, writing, because of its exigencies that collapse with the classical form often sanctioned by outside institutions, tends to command the prestigious register befitting the mode of expression that Ngandu Nkashama simply calls the “literary language paradigm.” He explains: However, it is not these languages that produce the written text. The language of writing, if he [the writer] sometimes derives inspiration from it, exceeds the strict limits of lexical, morphological or semantic frontiers that have been assigned to particular linguistic perspectives. Cependant, ce n’est pas de ces langues que procède le texte écrit. Le langage de l’écriture, il s’en inspire parfois, excède les limites strictes des frontières lexicales, morphologiques ou sémantiques, assignées à des consciences linguistiques particulières.40

However, Alan Mabanckou’s writings push this anti-conformism to new heights and initiate types of playfulness challenge and populism that bring the narrative to new dimensions and chart new directions in criticism.

Alain Mabanckou, the “Sanitized” Vulgarization Since the 1930s, Maurice Grévisse’s Le Bon Usage du Français now in its 16th edition has been the designated reference for written French. In an education setting, Le Précis de langue française remains an indispensable tool for the solid mastery of the language. For a few generations of Francophone learners, Le Précis along with La Fontaine’s Fables have been the ever-present companions from elementary school on till today as Marc Lits, Professor at the Louvain-la-Neuve, reminded his audience at the publication of the 30th edition in 1999: Fifteen years after the death of the grammarian, his book is still used in numerous French classes in Francophone countries, in Belgium, France, Switzerland, Québec, in Africa, without any noticeable changes, while the language seems to undergo evolutions as much quickly as the social field in which it is inscribed, or as the vocabulary enriches itself every single day with neologisms, as the school programs, grammatical terminologies and as ministerial directives concerning the usage of the language occur at a rapid rhythm. This is undoubtedly the reason why the inheritors, the keepers of this intellectual tool, intended to get Le Précis undergo a lifting (the word is in the dictionary!), destined to update it. Quinze ans après la mort du grammairien, son ouvrage reste utilisé dans nombre de classes de français de la francophonie, en Belgique, en France, en Suisse, au Québec, en Afrique, sans avoir subi de changements notables, alors que la langue semble connaître des évolutions

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aussi rapides que le champ social dans lequel elle est inscrite, que le vocabulaire s’enrichit chaque jour de néologismes, que les programmes scolaires, les terminologies grammaticales et les directives ministérielles concernant l’usage de la langue se succèdent à un rythme soutenu. C’est sans doute la raison pour laquelle les héritiers, détenteurs des droits de cette œuvre intellectuelle, ont souhaité la faire bénéficier d’un lifting (c’est dans le dictionnaire!), destiné à l’actualiser quelque peu.41

As the term “Précis” in the title indicates, the target that steered the learner’s efforts implies the process of writing in the strict respect of the codes of the French language. When Mabanckou, the writer of Broken Glass lets narrators groomed outside the parameters policed by Grévisse’s writing codes, he unleashes on the literary sacred space a register that readily pollutes the atmosphere or irritates those mastered it. What amounts to a frontal challenge against the norms, a set of individual accounts address the ambiguous question of orality registers. Broken Glass stages a group of men and women, like in Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, who commit their stories to writing through a scribe known as Broken Glass. Encouraged by the owner of the bar Stubborn Snail, the scribe, a former teacher expelled from his post for using foul language, commits to his notebook for prosperity the neighborhood stories.42 He tackles his clerical tasks by blending satirical irony interspersed with sarcasm. Drunken and scarcely educated storytellers draw contradictory claims by critics: recognition or rather legitimizing either “ghettoization” of popular registers or drunkenness writing (“une littérature d’ébriété ”). However, the text acquires validity by reaffirming its legitimacy through narrativity justifiable because of two distinct steps that the text takes. Taking their agency in their own hands, linguistically ragged tellers partake actively in the narration of their own stories by imposing their crude narrativity to a noble activity of the mokanda. For a language policed by a prestigious institution such as L’Académie Française , and graced by illustrious figures of Richelieu caliber, it is ironically a bartender of Le Crédit a voyagé, Stubborn Snail, who usurps that role to critique the notebook for its lack of proper punctuation. Taking the stand of an improvised editor, he rebukes the writer complaining: But it’s a real mess, this book, there are no full stops, only commas, sometimes speech marks when someone’s talking, that not right, I think you should tidy it up a bit, don’t you, how am I supposed to read all that, if it’s all run together like that, you need to leave some spaces, some pauses, don’t you see, I really expected better of you, I’m a bit disappointed, sorry, but your mission isn’t accomplished yet, you will have to start again…43 (Broken Glass 158–159)

Stubborn Snail attacks Broken Glass’s inability to translate the oral pauses into conventional signs likely to indicate how the speech chain would have been articulated in a delayed meaningful way, that is, in writing. Of course, the scribe that Broken Glass is would not comply with such an order because in his mind, the text as an oral rendition has taken shape and the rules that regulate the mode of expression of the “authors” or “originators” have limited relevance. He recognizes the tellers’ ownership of their narratives and he is just an intermediary. In fact, what would strike any advanced user of French as clear violations, Coulibaly sees in the experience an

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instance of emancipation, that is, an attempt to get rid of any restrictions that may have kept these characters from properly laying down their stories: He [Broken Glass] emancipates himself from grammatical rule of punctuation as if he were respecting the spirit of the place where the decorum does not have currency. Thus, the text does not comprise no period and becomes a complex unending sentence. In reality, the drinker-writer has recourse only to commas to “punctuate” his tale. In these conditions, the text comes out as a long sentence without end over two hundred and eight pages. Il [Broken Glass] s’émancipe de la règle grammaticale de la ponctuation comme pour respecter l’esprit du lieu où les règles de bienséance n’ont pas cours. Le récit ne comprend ainsi aucun point et devient une phrase complexe interminable. Dans la pratique, le buveurécrivain ne recourt qu’à des virgules pour “ponctuer” son récit. Dans ces conditions, le texte se présente comme une longue phrase sans fin sur deux cent quarante -huit pages.44 (L’Écriture 155)

The tellers assert the territoriality of their French, of their stories and of their plan for preserving them. It is almost a parody which shows his capacity to navigate this language space area of knowledge that would be familiar only to the very educated few. As Walsh concludes, he is not “undoing the magnetic power of canonization,” but he is putting it in an awkward situation.45 This awkward situation is merely a telling of stories that reminds one of Plato’s symposia where everyone is invited to share, to comment and to talk, except that in this case each one describes his or her moorings to the bar Le Crédit a voyagé as the metaphor of their own society and the privilege of their own territoriality with fully exercised agency. This unusual novel’s form with at the center orality apparently swims in contradictions but is justified by the very reason it was written. Broken Glass is a talking novel and orality remains at the core of its transformation into a writing enterprise. The main objective was to translate their stories into prestigious linguistic forms, or rather to commit their stories—the only way to produce them in a communicative framework—into durable forms. Although Coulibaly analyzes the whole unusual writing marathon as an emancipation campaign, grasping it rather as the manifestation of agency, in other words subalterneity turned into the urge for legitimate action, it reflects the mere and yet overwhelming reality of a group of people sharing each other’s stories. The issue of validity hangs on the separation between the author and the narrator. Here Mabanckou makes a clearly-cut distinction and it is proper therefore to ask where Mabanckou as the author stands vis-à-vis oral tradition. Is he engaged in a rhetorical adventure that ridicules orality? Does Walsh’s opinion, “Mabanckou mocks the oral tradition in the speech of his narrator, whose oratorial style is laced with a sententious air,” meet other critics’ consent?46 One can easily claim that it is this sententious air and his capacity to put pen to paper that give him extra authority in his effort to collect oral testimonials of the neighborhood. First, orality is ascribed greater validity in populating the space once reserved to refined forms, or crude texts purged off their verbal and lexical impurities. Stubborn Snail sententiously wants to heighten the value given to oral tradition by inviting his clients to bring their stories to a permanent form that will defy time through acquired scriptural durability. At face value, the text squarely engages orality on a new path:

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That the day when grandmothers reminisced from their deathbeds was gone now, this is the age of the written word, that’s all that’s left, the spoken word’s just black smoke, wild cat’s piss, the boss of Credit Gone West doesn’t like ready-made phrases like “in Africa, when an old person dies, a library burns,” every time he hears that worn-out cliché, he gets mad, he’ll say “depends which old person, don’t talk crap, I only trust what’s written down,” so I thought I’d jot a few things down here from time to time, just to make him happy, though I’m not sure what I’m saying.47

The text by its alterations and deviations challenges the urge to store the waning oral lore by ignoring or questioning what been pontificated as the proper way to action. Broken Glass has adopted what Jaouah Serghini calls “the dimensions of storytelling” [“les allures d’un conteur ” where the bar le Crédit a voyagé invests characters with authority to “author” their stories by mimicking a well-known traditional practice of orality. Grévisse is obviously sidestepped to allow narrativity room to thrive through gestures and verbal lore.48 Consequently, the stories are submitted in a medium that is an oralized language, or “une langue oralisée.” The narrative so oralized has the advantage of preserving the dynamism, the fluidity and the improvisations incrusted in orality, and pays little attention to the form into which it is preserved. Far from mocking orality, the text elevates its status in invading almost with impunity the Francophone spaces traditionally pre-determined by unrelenting canonical restrictions. With a straight face, Mabanckou uses a different kind of register by transplanting the oral French from the bas quartiers or from the cités of the urban area of Brazzaville (quite similar to Kinshasa’s) into the sacred pages of written literature. Far from being a parody, it attempts to mimic the way people speak French in expressing their most intimate stories in a language they have appropriated and “indigenized.” Even if Walsh claims that Mabanckou “shows playful disdain for the discrimination of the canon,” the very act of lining these testimonies stands as a willful act of defiance and a recognition of the way a prestigious import has been reterritorialized, to use the concept of Deleuze and Guattari.49 Secondly, authorship as the source or the prestigious organizing brain of the text is debunked and contrived to include as essential operators, non-conventional actors who oftentimes are utilized as tools of a high authority à la Balzac. In so doing, Mabanckou problematizes the notion of the author—actually he suggests a Januslike format narrator and the drinker-writer—who is deemed to lead the cast if not conspicuously as Balzac would do in La Comédie humaine, but at least under the cover of shadows. Serghini highlights such a strategy by explaining: At no time do we see this image of a great master at task writing in his shack while meditating and lying down crudely on paper what inspiration dictates him. On the other hand, what is given for us to read, us the readers, is rather the image of a schoolteacher filling notebook pages with mere spontaneity. … Nous n’avons en aucun moment cette image du grand maître écrivant seul dans sa mansarde en train de méditer et d’épancher noir sur blanc ce que l’inspiration lui dicte. Par contre, ce qui nous est donné à lire, nous lecteurs, c’est plutôt l’image d’un instituteur en train de noircir les feuilles d’un cahier en toute spontanéité…50

The strategy allows the texts to bring the narrative in its natural moorings of telling a story while leaving space to the narrative embroidering that human language is

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known to unleash in situations of emotional interactions. The format adopted by Mabanckou’s texts defies the normative directives set by the exercise of writing and the conditions established by all the sensibilities that the activity presupposes. He sets in motion a clear non-conformism that puts into question the firm belief that the French language, or any language for that matter, would not escape unscathed once transplanted and submitted to new social constraints. At the 1998 African Literature Association in Austin, Texas, Chinua Achebe unapologetically boasts of twisting to his needs the English language that someone had carelessly left in a corner. And yet, in this case, the canons prove to be tough to be so easily debunked because of the ambiguity of the text metonymically articulated by the character of the Printer (l’Imprimeur ) whose praising of France where he once labored constitutes his absolute reference. Indeed, the Printer’s tale is a long complaint of a failed immigration. His story ranges from happy laudable moments to a series of sad happenings triggered by his white wife’s infidelities with Ferdinard, “l’Africain du coin ,” and her incestuous encounter with his own son from a previous relationship. Instability sets in and bitterly splits the family asunder: fight between father and son, divorce filed by Céline, confinement to a mental institution and deportation to his native Congo. Nevertheless, the tandem Stubborn Snail and Broken Glass have created a work that put side by side orality and writing without ignoring the tensions between the two. Lastly, the text presents a challenge by an informed teasing of wide scope of knowledge in African literatures. These “normal” people display a firm grasp that extends into other world writers’ work such as J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher’s in the Rye. Broken Glass names many literary titles with no observable driving thread to illustrate a grand idea and without respecting the scholarly instructions that regulate their deliberate usage. Sheer calling what happens here, does not render justice to what he does. He apprehends most of these works in a space that links them to intertextual commentaries, an act that reveals the complicit winks to the reader of a bright mind in observance. In fact, all the narrative accounts are strewn with salient rudiments of African literary history, except this time apprehended and interrogated from supposedly the bottom of society. The low social stratum is legitimized by its orality.

Conclusion The article examined the narrative modalities adopted by three major writers namely Paul Lomami Tchibamba (using Ngando), Ngandu Nkashama (Le Pacte de sang; la Mort faite homme), and Alain Mabanckou (Verre Casssé) who efficiently incorporated orality in their fictional works. As Vansina wrote, oral tradition is a mere rendering of a message or a say at one moment that is determined and shaped by an existing context.51 Rather than being transformed exclusively into the “men of the book,” African writers for ideological and practical reasons teetered on the edges of these two practices, arguing forcefully to recognize the complex and necessary entanglement of

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orality and writing, as elements of the same narrative foundation. Their case brought into question the rigid definition of literacy and the supposed linear ordering of the book. What has been mistaken for essentials came to be shown as mere forms of expression, because the core of the narration as a human practice lies—here we could credit both Propp and Roman Jakobson—not in the forms of their function or exhibition—but in the alignment of the various communicative components, on the one hand, and on the re-enactment phase where actors (the reader, the critic, the listener, the re-creater, the translator, the filmmaker, etc.) perform, on the other. John Miles Foley’s Oral Tradition and the Internet demonstrates the constant dominance of narrativity throughout historical periods—ancient, medieval and modern—but also beyond the durability of writing to include the digital dynamic deployment. He links oral tradition and digital technology in a manner consistent with previous readjustments. This is the inevitability of the narrative as an endowment inscribed in the usage of language paired with an ability of re-presentation through linguistic means and various channels. What has remained constant is the realization that Orality and writing have combined into works whereby they stand not in antithetical relationship as it was earlier inferred, but rather in complementary and sometimes conflictual ways. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6. 7. 8.

9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Claude Lévi-Strauss (1966: 291–292). Foley (1995: 4). Sale (1966: 375). Kirk (1976: 3). Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables drew their inspiration from many sources including the classical fabulists mainly such as Aesop, but also less known such as Babrius and Phaedrus Phaedrus, and even from Persian narratives. Morson (2003: 61). Ibid., 61. Masse, Isabelle. « Bibliothèques hors les murs ». Bulletin des bibliothèques de France (BBF), 2002, n° 3, pp. 86–87. Disponible en ligne: http://bbf.ens sib.fr/consulter/bbf-2002-03-0086-005. ISSN 1292-8399. This renders justice to Walter Ong’s interpretation that “the pen and paper are mere midwives of a pregnant mind.” Quoted bt Wole Ogundele, “Orality versus Literacy in Mazisi Kunene’s Emperor Shaka the Great, 25. While working at the Juvenile Court in San Francisco, she became acquainted with the Hour of storytelling which she would later introduce in France. Marguerite Gruny was Eugène Morel’s niece; somewhat all was in the family. In la Poésie des Souffles in North Africa, in order to translate the frustrations that the masses endured, orality has been used and it shows. Wole Ogundele (1992: 9). Julien (1992: 6).

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15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

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The research center Aequatoria outside Mbadaka in the DRC would be an example of such a development that saw the flourishing of important works done on Congolese languages, history, anthropology, missiology and translation. It remains an important reference. Pawliková-Vilhanová (2007: 256). Kapanga (2017: 88). Pawliková-Vilhanovà ibid., 256. Witchcraft, Intimacy and Trust, 35. Vansina (1985: 11–12). Ngandu Nkashama (1948: 86). Scheub (1977). Vansina ibid., 66. Finnegan (1970: 19). Written literatures in Hausa, Swahili and Amharic happened before the arrival of Europeans. Vansina ibid., 34. Foley ibid., 44. The French original goes as follows: “A l’Echelle de l’Araignée vous est très humblement et très respectueusement offerte par un noir congolais belge en témoignage d’admiration pour le dévouement et le zèle que vous ne cessez de témoigner à la cause de la civilisation des noirs au Congo Belge.” Antoine-Roger Bolamba clearly recognized Anne Siku’s passing of the tale to him in 1938, writing: “Anne SIKU, gentile fille qui m’avez permis de sauver de l’oubli ce qui va suivre, soyez remerciée .” (7) [“Anne SIKU, kind young lady who allowed me to salvage what is forthcoming, be granted gratitude on my part.”] Senghor, forward to Esanzo, chants de mon people, by Antoine-Roger Bolamba (1977: 9, 11). Lord (1968: 29). Nkashama ibid., 24. Ibid., ix. Gates (1988: 194). Fulton (2006: 2). Kapanga (Writing, 180). Tcheuyap (1998: 33). For the definition of kasàlà, see Mufuta (1968: 53). Clémentine Faïk Nzuji’s “Kásálá, poèmes de mon pays” is certainly an illustration of what can be called an orality-inspired piece of poetry. The novel reflects real events of June 4, 1969 in Kinshasa of the bloody clashes between student protests and government soldiers. Nkashama ibid., 29. Lits (1995: 44). For Claire Dehon, the novel is nothing but a matter of praising labor that Stubborn Snail seems to have made his main characteristic (727). Mabanckou (2010: 158–159). Coulibaly (2012: 155).

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Walsh (2010: 132). Ibid., 131. Mabanckou (2010:1) Serghini (2010: 126). Deleuze and Guattari (1988: 132). Serghini ibid. Vansina ibid., 3.

References Bolamba, Antoine-Roger. 1977. Esanzo, chants pour mon pays, trans. Jan Pallister. Sherbrooke, QC: Naaman. Coulibaly, Adama. 2012. L’Écriture Des Surfaces Dans Le Roman Nouveau Africain Postcolonial: Aspects Théoriques. Nouvelles Études Francophones 27 (2): 151–167. Dehon, Claire L. Rev. 2007. of Verre Cassé, by Alain Mabanckou. The French Review 80 (3): 727–727. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/stable/25480783. Deleuze, Gilles, and F. Guattari. 1988. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Brian Massumi. London: Athlone. Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Nairobi, Dar es Salaam: Oxford University Press. Foley, John Miles. 1995. The Implications of Oral Tradition. In Oral Traditions in the Middle Ages, ed. W.F.H. Nicolaisen, 31–75. Binghamton, NY: Center for Medieval and Renaissance Center. Fulton, DoVeanna S. 2006. Speaking Power: Black Feminist Orality in Women’s Narratives of Slavery. New York: State University of NY Press. Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. 1988. The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism. New York: Oxford University Press. Julien, Eileen. 1992. African Novels and the Question of Orality. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Kalu, Anthonia. 2007. The Reviewer Anthology of Oral African Literature. Boulder, CO and London, UK: Rienner. Kapanga, Kasongo Mulenda. 2017. The Writing of the Nation: Expressing Identity Through Literary Texts and Films. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Kirk, Geoffrey S. 1976. Homer and the Oral Tradition. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1966. The Savage Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lits, Marc. 1995. Le Précis de grammaire française, toujours d’actualité? Rev. of Précis de la grammaire française, by Maurice Grévisse. Brussels: Duculot, Québec français 99: 44–46. Print. Lord, Albert Bates. 1968. Homer as Oral Poet. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 72: 1–46. Mabanckou, Alain. 2010. Broken Glass, trans. Helen Stevenson. New York, NY: Soft Skull Press. Morson, Gary Saul. 2003. Narrativeness. New Literary History 34 (1): 59–73. Mufuta, Patrice (ed. and tr.). 1968. Le chant kasàlà des Lubà. Paris: Juliliard. Ngandu Nkashama, Pius. 1948. Écritures et discours littéraires. Paris: L’Harmattan. Ogundele, Wole. 1992. Orality Versus Literacy in Mazisi Kunene’s Emperor Shaka the Great. African Literature Today 18: 9–22. Okpewho, Isidore. 1988. African Poetry: The Modern Writer and the Oral Tradition. African Literature Today 16: 3–25. Pawliková-Vilhanová, Viera. 2007. Christian Missions in Africa and Their Role in the Transformation of African Societies. Asian and African Studies 16 (2): 249–260. Sale, Merritt. 1966. In Defense of Milman Parry: Renewing the Oral Theory. Oral Tradition 11 (2): 374–417.

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Scheub, Harold. 1977. African Oral Narratives, Proverbs, Riddles, Poetry and Song. Boston: G. K. Hall & Company. Senghor, Léopold Sédar. 1977. Forward to Esanzo, chants de mon pays, by Antoine-Roger Bolamba, trans. Jan Pallister. Sherbrook, QC: Naaman. Serghini, Jaouad. 2010. Nouvelle Génération d’écrivains maghrébins et subsahariens de langue française: nouveaux rapports à la langue françise ? Synergies. Chili 6: 121–137. Tcheuyap, Alexie. 1998. Esthétique et Folie dans l’OEuvre Romanesque de Pius Ngandu Nkashama . Paris: L’Harmattan. Tenèze, Marie-Louise R. 1959. A Propos du Manuscrit de 1695 des Contes de Perrault. Arts Et Traditions Populaires 7: 71–74. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/stable/41002729. February 8, 2018. Vansina, Jan. 1985. Oral Tradition as History. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. Walsh, John. 2010. Sarkozy, Mabanckou, and Notes from the Bar: Alain Mabanckou’s ‘Verre Cassé.’ The French Review 84 (1): 127–139. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/stable/25758339. Accessed 13 Mar 2018.

Chapter 33

Oral Traditions in Selected Stage Performances Rasheedah Liman

Introduction African oral performance has a long history of passage from one generation to another through storytelling, chants, songs, eulogy and praises. Every African society has a verbal form of passing information to educate and to enlighten society at large. Mamadou Kouyate, a griot from Guinea, for instance, describes his function thus: I am a griot. I am Djeji Mamadou Kouyate, son of Bintou Kouyate and of Djeli Kedian Kouyete, master of the art of speech. Since time immemorial the Kouyates have been at the service of the Keita princes of Manding…The art of speech has no secret for us, without us the names of kings would sink into oblivion; we are the memory of men; by the word, we give life to the actions of our dead kings for the benefit of the present generation…My word is pure and stripped of all untruths; it is my father’s word; it is my father’s word.1

African oral traditions vary from place to place, depending on societies, cultures and traditions of the people. Historically, oral traditions have been ancient human convention that are found in “all corners of the world”.2 However, oral performances are peculiar to the art forms of different societies. Though some may be similar in nature yet different; there are diverse definitions and perceptions of oral performance, which have been brought to the fore by scholars. According to Foley: Oral traditional Performances are collected…caught and imprisoned in the anthropologist’s or folklorist’s game-bag via inscription on paper, acoustic media, or video media. Lest they wriggle away, these performances are in effect euthanized, stripped of the dynamism that characterizes their living identity in preparation for mounting on the game-hunter’s wall. Then come transcribing and editing, the initial stages in textual taxidermy, as scholars, now thankfully removed from the messiness of the original performance arena and comfortably ensconced in more clinical surroundings, render synthetic order unto the chaos of what once was a multi-dimensional, context-dependent experience.3

R. Liman (B) Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, Zaria, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_33

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It is noteworthy to state that oral performance in Africa is deeply rooted in oral tradition or what Foley termed “oral lore”. In the same vein, Ki-Zerbo asserts that “oral tradition may be defined as being a testimony transmitted verbally from one generation to another. Its special characteristics are that it is verbal in the manner in which it is transmitted”.4 In view of the above, it could be submitted that oral performance is that which uses verbal arts to convey messages, entertain, educate and preserve African values from generation to generation. Oral performance is also another form of identity to showcase African cultural heritage. It tells us the cosmology of Africans and tribes that is transmitted through the words of mouth from one generation to another in the form of myths, tales, legends, proverbs, riddles and songs, which have been reserved and preserved from time immemorial. Oral performance invariably uses what Ki-Zerbo refers to as “channels” or means of expression. These include speech, song, folktales, ballads, chants, verse and prose. In this way, it is possible for a society to transmit oral history and other knowledge across generations without a writing system. Furthermore, oral tradition is information, memories and knowledge held in common by a group of people, over many generations. In general, “oral tradition refers to the recall and transmission of a specific, preserved cultural knowledge through vocal utterance”.5 Adedeji defines oral tradition as a “complex corpus of verbal or spoken art created as a means of recalling the past”.6 He believes that African oral performance is based on ideas, beliefs, symbols, assumptions, attitudes and sentiments of the people. The oral tradition of the Yoruba people of Western Nigeria, for instance, includes proverbs, appellations, incantation, chants and folktales. Furthermore, the notions of culture (às.à), tradition (ìs.e), religion (`e.sìn), character (ìwà), language (èdè) and faith/belief (ìgbàgb´o.) are all interrelated elements of Yoruba oral tradition. The point being made is that virtually all aspects of the Yoruba culture are embedded in the indigenous oral traditions. The bulk of the traditions fall under poetry, though not limited to hunters’ chant (ìjálá and ìròm`o.jé) of the Ògún worshippers, Ifá chant (e.se.-ifá) of `. rúnmìlà, appellation or praise name and poetry (oríkì) and bride’s the followers of O narrative chants (ìtàn e.kún ìyàwó). Hussain states that “The African oral traditions inform us also about why and how ethnic groups created their sense of ethnic and cultural distinctiveness”.7 Corroborating that position, Kottak says that, “some African societies use oral traditions to invent as well as maintain royal genealogy. For instance, in West Africa, myths and legends are used to legitimize royal genealogy and to gain the submission or loyalty of the subject group”.8 Curtin et al. have added: “The myths about ancient Chwezi heroes in Great Lakes region and the legends of Queen of Sheba in the political culture of Ethiopia are worth mentioning”.9 African oral performances depend largely on myths, which are told in words and manner of rendition that gives effect to a performance and help communicate effectively to an audience. African oral performances can be said to be custodians of culture that lingers in the memory of man through music, fables, tales, myths, legends and other forms, which are reflected in stage performances. As a result, they could educate the audience and help them trace back their roots, their culture and the morals in their society as well as the antiquity

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connecting their past, their present and their future. Finnegan posits that “oral performances constitute important component which encompasses the modulation of voice and tone, the emotions in rendition, the use of the voice to connote language and create humor to form the aesthetic elements which accentuate the full actualization of a production”.10 However, oral productions in stage performances strive to achieve a tremendous aesthetic grandeur among performers and the audience through music, chants, parables and others, which are essential components of communication in a performance. Finnegan further points out that “African traditional performance unlike the more verbalized types of European performances emphasizes music, chants, mime which are essential elements of dramatic performances”.11 In Africa, several oral performances have been transformed to stage production. This is owing to the defined practice of modern theatre, which sees a theatrical production as any work of theatre, such as stage play, musical, comedy or drama produced from a written book or script. These productions generally feature actors, costumes and sets. Stage production is basically of two types: that which comes from a scripted play and that which is improvised. This analysis is interested in the former as well as how oral traditions are employed by playwrights and the stage directors to tease out cultural, social and political challenges in the community. Oral performance in stage productions appeals strongly to the aural sense because the audience can feel the softness, agony, desperation and uneasiness through the voice of the actors. Oral forms such as sound, songs, dialogue, hymns, proverbs, dirge, chants and parables are used in stage performances to explain the stage situation to the audience further. These are coupled with the dramatic use of gaps, pace, tempo, beats and silences to create interplay of various emotions for the audience. J.P. Clark’s Ozidi, which was derived from the epic Ozidi Saga, is a good example of oral performance on stage. When it was staged in Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre, the director used all the versions of the traditional epic. Others are Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Dedan Kimathi, about the legendary leader of the Mau Mau uprising during colonial rule in Kenya. Kinjeketile by Ebrahim Hussein is also worth mentioning in this context. The audiences are entertained, and they often respond to the stage performance through laughter, crying and yells. At this point, it will be pertinent to give a brief summary of the selected plays and their stage performances. They include Femi Osofisan’s Women of Owu, Ahmad Yerima’s Orisa Ibeji and Wole Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horse Man.

Theatre/Performance and Oral Tradition African oral tradition has remained relevant today because of the way it intertwines with everyday life in Africa. The notions of culture, tradition, myth, religion, language and faith are all enmeshed in different oral forms. Therefore, oral traditions remain a critical reservoir of history in Africa. Oral traditions indeed constitute a large part of African theatrical performances.

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Nkosi, in his book, explains the nature of indigenous African theatre as communal. According to him “the characteristics of indigenous African theatre are its communal aspect, a collective working in a symbolic language of the fears, hopes and wishes of organic community, a placation of the gods (the natural elements) and a place for the dead who are called upon to intercede for the living. There is no proper ‘script’ and therefore no single author, sometimes not even a proper audience since the audience itself is fluid and indefinable, constantly merging with performers”.12 This description is, of course, restricted to the pre-colonial indigenous dramatic art, which is visual and dependent on forms of communication other than verbal language. It is unlike the contemporary theatre or play, which is time-bound and mostly governed by classical rules of Aristotle’s poetics regarding time, place and action. Traditional African oral performance lasts for several nights and the audience patiently sits through the performance. Furthermore, “the special oral nature of the African people and their theatre elements embedded in ‘orature’ have been the major thrust for the survival of traditional theatre, drama, culture and history”.13 However, these explanations have raised questions concerning the impact of colonialism and Western cultures on theatre and performance generally, in the African continent. For instance, most of the studies on theatre, drama and plays are based on Western canons. The Aristotelian definitions and views are dominant in most African institutions of higher learning. Even local performance groups have been reported to imbibe some of the tenets and conventions of the Western performance canons. Aristotle’s poetics is still the foundational background on performance and drama learning in most African academic institutions. The plays of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus are studied, adapted into plays and performed. To, therefore, speak of a “traditional African Performance” in the twenty-first century would mean the negation of Western performance influence. This neglects contemporary African theatre-based performance, which is mostly not oral in nature and occurs outside indigenous African oral forms such as poetry, music and dance. Western performance style, which is mostly literal in nature, has continued to impact African drama, theatre, play and performance. In addition, Hubert Ogunde’s theatre performance is often described as exemplifying “traditional theatrical art”. However, Ogunde’s musical instrumentation was mostly borrowed from the West, movements on stage and chorus styles are also mostly Western in nature. Although, he (Ogunde) is said to have later adjusted due to the influence of groups anchored by Kola Ogunmola and Duro Ladipo who were said to be more “traditionally grounded”. According to Soyinka, in an interview with Ifatimehin, Hubert Ogunde in the early sixties began to employ traditional instruments in his performance, his music delved deeper into home melodies, and even his costumes began to eschew the purely fabricated, theatrically glossy, for recognizable local gear. Rituals appeared with greater frequency and masquerades became a frequent feature-often, it must be added, as gratuitous insertions.14

In Nigeria and most other parts of Africa, for instance, the blending of traditional and modern forms of performance and theatre is very common. African students, for example, read plays of Bernard Shaw and Shakespeare, act out scripted dramas

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of Wole Soyinka and Ola Rotimi, perform at modern musical and dance concerts and at the same time uphold tradition by engaging in cultural dances and festivals. This blend or hybridity is also seen in some contemporary African scripted plays that are enriched with oral forms. The plays we will find are often derived originally of oral forms, myths, legends and history when they are subsequently staged as performances. A wider concept of theatre and performance is therefore necessary in order to recognize the different forms and context in which African oral traditions occur. This is also the context in which the selected plays for analysis have moved from myth, legends and history to play-text and then unto stage as performance. It is in this movement that words, riddles, proverbs, chants, music and dance in the text are brought alive through performance. This chapter, therefore, explores how African oral traditions play themselves out in the stage performance of the selected plays. The three performances examined were staged at the Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre between 2016 and 2017. The directors are Olagoke Ifetimehin (Death and the Kings Horseman in 2016), Babalola Olushola Hakeem (Women of Owu in 2017) and Ahile Sandra Dodo (Orisa Ibeji in 2017).

Ahmed Yerima’s Orisa Ibeji The play Orisa Ibeji centres on the phenomenon of twins among the Yoruba people. It tells the story of Oba Adedigba, the king of Ibekoland. The tradition of Ibeko forbids the birth of twins in the royal house. The play opens in the shrine of Iya Olorisa who lays a curse upon the people of Ibeko for defying the goddess (Orisa Ibeji) and treating her gifts of joy (ibeji) with disdain in their palace. In the palace, the king is seen in a fearful state. He continuously sees himself dead in his dreams. The Ifa priest is sent for to consult the oracle in order to find a solution for the king’s nightmares. Ifa reveals that sacrifice should be made to Orisa Ibeji in order to cleanse the land of its curse. Oba Adedigba, on hearing this, sends the priest away from the palace for his abominable utterance. As the king lies to sleep, three witches appear before him, confronting and accusing him of being an impostor who deserves the death penalty. Confused on what to do, the king and Oluawo (the cult head) visit the shrine of Esu Odara to find out what to do to remedy the situation. Saura (the devotee of Esu) directs the king to meet the spirit of his grandmother, Akuda, in order to ask her questions about his life. Oluawo summons the spirit of Akuda. She appears and reveals to the king that he was born a twin. And his twin brother, who was supposed to be the crown prince, was separated from him at birth. He (the king) waged war against his brother, which led to his twin brother’s death. Orisa Ibeji is said to be angry with both the king and the people of Ibeko for the death and also the unjust banishment of Iya Olorisa from the land. The king is then given an osugbo (ritualistic beads) to tie around his waist. The spirit of Akuda asks that her body be given befitting burial after which she will be able to pass on to the next world.

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In the palace, the king’s pregnant wife gives birth to a set of twins (a boy and a girl) to the amazement of the king. Having the knowledge that the boy is the reincarnation of his dead twin brother and the girl being that of Akuda, the king’s grandmother. The king accepts them as his children and revokes the law, which forbids the birth of twins in the palace. Orisa Ibeji is then made the blessed goddess of the land. The male twin is pronounced as the crown prince, while the female twin is taken to the shrine of Orisa Ibeji to serve until the end of her life. According to the playwright, “Orisa Ibeji portrays the duality of the human persona. The symbolic essence of the effigy of the twin (ibeji) mythology among my chosen Yoruba people, and the supremacy of destiny are … [the] thematic preoccupation”.15 This play was performed at the Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre in 2016 and was directed by Ahile Sandra Dodo. The director introduced the concept of narration from the beginning of the play and strategically placed characters among the audience in order to create a conversational exchange between the actors, narrator and the audience.

Dream, Reincarnation and Incantation as Oral Tradition The concept of dream is very important in Africa, especially among the Yoruba people of Western Nigeria. A dream is a succession of images, ideas, emotions and sensations that occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep. The content and purpose of dreams are not fully understood, though they have been a topic of philosophical and religious interests throughout recorded history. Dreams, in the Yoruba culture, are taken seriously because they are often related to ancestral links and messages. The dream world is peculiar to the reality of the Yoruba people and as such is well-projected in the performance of Orisa Ibeji as the following dialogue from the play indicates, Adedigba:

Otun:

I awoke to the shrills of a thousand sounds, the grunts of the spirits who keep watch over my royal Head, muttering cries of entities of the endless world of our sacred ancestors. Alone, I lay bare like a dog, sacrificed at the altar of Ogun Please do not mind Oluawo, Kabiesi. Tell us about this dream which frightened you, the lion of our People, so much, you summoned us in the middle of the night…16

The concept of reincarnation is also central to the belief system of Africans. According to the Yoruba cosmology, for example, there are three worldviews: world of the living, world of the dead and world of the unborn. According to Gbilekaa, cited in Ifatimehin, “Life within Yoruba cosmology is viewed from the world of the living, the dead and unborn. The Yoruba share with other African ethnic nationalities the fundamental belief in the continuity of life after death”.17 In the performance, we see the spirit of the dead whose souls have not been reposed as represented by Akuda, the king’s grandmother whose dead spirit demands appeasement and befitting burial in

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order for her to transit to the next world where she can enter the world of the unborn and then be reincarnated as one of the twins. The three witches that appear before the king in his sleep represent the spirit of witchcraft in the performance. Incantation is one major language or means of tapping the power of supernatural forces to perform tasks, such as protecting oneself, creating opportunities, maintaining peace, fomenting trouble and wading off evil beings or devilish actions. It can be used for making or marring people’s progress. It can also be used positively or negatively. In the performance of Orisa Ibeji, we could see right from the beginning of the play how Iya Olorisa eulogized Orisa Ibeji with much fury: Iya Olorisa:

ìyá mi o! Òrìs.à Ìbejì mi o, onínú ire ló ´n bí .edun lamo., w´o.n ní kí e.dun sanwó ilí, ó k`o., í ní kàkà kí òun san, òun á sán wo. ògiri. Haa, yee…. Today, your stern eyes frighten me.18 O my mother! O my dearest twin-goddess; only one with a good heart births thunder for a child, they said, thunder, strike heavily against the only standing building but it refused and said I will rather strike against an empty wall instead of striking a building.

We can also see Oba Adedigba chants the praise of Esu Odara: Adedigba:

Ùs.ù láàlú lánróyè larogo, akirib´o.t´o. o.kùnrin. Alèkúrú lè ga, alèga lè kúrú, aláya gbogbo ìlú, láaróyè, la rogo.19 Devil the realest among rare real men and the most confused of them all. You are an able-bodied man. One who chases the short, the shorter and even the tallest of all men, the most courageous man in the land.

Women of Owu by Femi Osofisan The play, Women of Owu, is a thought-provoking account of how the combined forces of Ife, Oyo and Ijebu invaded and pillaged the ancient city of Owu, killing men and children. The playwright uses a rhythmic mix of chorus, songs, proverbs and dances punctuated by individual stories of woe to delve into the historical accounts of the people of Owu. The performance opens with Anlugbua, a god, who appears as an old man to two Owu women who are on their way to the stream. Through their conversation, the women reveal the event of the previous day, when a besieging army sacked the city of Owu. In their narration, the women describe how the enemy set the thatched roofs on fire, killed the fleeing men, entered the town, and went from house to house killing men, children and raping or taking the women as prisoners. The surviving women lament the deaths of their husbands and children and express fear over their own future as slaves. Among the women is Erelu Afin, the former queen. In her lamentations, she explains how her loss is more than other women. Her daughter, Orisaye, partially deranged but greatly favoured by the gods, vows to avenge the atrocities by murdering one of the warriors who had demanded her hand in marriage as part of the booty of war.

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The god Anlugbua meets with his mother, the goddess Lawunmi, who admits to having started the war because Owu has gone into the slave trade. Now she wants to punish the soldiers she sent to destroy Owu, among other reasons because they have desecrated her own priestess. Before the final signal for the captives to be taken to the waiting caravan en route slavery, the women go into a funeral ritual. Erelu Afin is seen in a trance-like situation overtaken by unseen forces. Erelu and her princesses are determined to foil the plans of the enemy to make them slaves. Before the allied forces could perfect their final plans to whisk her and others away, she (Erelu) resolves never to be subjected to slavery, she then slumps and dies. With a deluge of dirges to synchronize with the pitiable condition of the women, the play harps on the power of words as epitomized and espoused by the womenfolk.

Belief in the Supreme Being, Divinities and the Chorus The performance of Women of Owu was staged at the Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre in 2016. Olushola Hakeem directed the play. In the play, the belief in the Supreme Being is shown to be fundamental to most African belief systems. Among the Yorubas, the Supreme Being is believed to be an all-sufficient one with whom there is no equal. We can find evidence in the line of the character of Anlugbua, the ancestral founder of Owu Ipole: Anlugbua:

We came down from our house in heaven and lent our silent energies to the labour of the workmen. Unseen, of course, then Esu bore our wishes up to Edumare, the Almighty Father, and slowly the bricks and stones and the clay grew into a city enclosed within two walls and a moat around it like a girdle: Owu, the safest place in the entire Yorubaland, but now I return to see- The unimaginable! A city reduced to rubble. How did this Happen?20

The second major belief presented in the performance is the belief in divinities. These divinities are known as gods and they stand next in rank to the Supreme Being. They are derived from the Supreme Being who created them and whom they serve at all times. There are many divinities in Africa and they have different names. The Igbos of Eastern Nigeria referred to them as alusindiminuo, while the Yorubas call them òrìs.à. The role of the divinities is to serve as intermediaries between the Supreme Being and mankind. The divinities have only delegated authority; the real and final power is with the Supreme Being. This is why when venerating and praying before the divinities such prayers are chorused at the end with às.e. meaning “may it be sanctioned by the Supreme Being”. We can see this from the helplessness of the god Anlugbua in the performance of Femi Osofisan’s Women of Owu when he says: Anlugbua:

I ask you- without a shrine, without worshippers, what is a god? Who now will venerate us? Who will sing our praises among these ruins?21

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There is also the case of alliances among the gods in executing plans as in the case of the character of Lawumi, a deified ancestor: Lawumi:

I want their return journey to be filled with Grief: Human beings, it is clear, learn only from Suffering and pain. Already Esu has promised me, there’ll be such confusion at every cross Roads. They’ll never find their way. The hunters’ God, Orisa Oko will turn the forest against them…22

Divinities are believed to be ambidextrous; they are capable of being good and bad simultaneously. We can also see the way Lawunmi supports the allied forces in destroying the city of Owu Ipole in Femi Osofisan’s Women of Owu. Furthermore, the Chorus in the play serves as the director’s instrument for making certain comments on ongoing events as well as informing the audience of activities taking place offstage. Chorus here also represents a communal point of view or perspective and constantly points at cultural norms, which are about to be forgotten. Thus, we see the chorus and the Chorus Leader insists that Erelu Afin performs the ritual to save the future from eternal damnation. Al´e.l´e.…awo mi lo. o Al´e.l´e. eh eh eh awo mi regbó Ìkó ide. n´ lo . o s.íwájú O .` run d`e.d`e.d`e. bí orin arò Òyígíyigì, a ti rúbo. A ó yí padà, a ó darúgbó Òyígíyigì, O . ba omi Títíítí lorí ogbó Òyígíyigì, O . ba omi A ti rúbo. ìy´e., Olúy´e.y´e. n´ tuy´.e A ti rúbo. àgbà, Olúy`e.y`e.n` tuy`e. Àkàlàmàgbò kì í kú léwe Ìyá o, ìyá mi o, n kò lè gbàgbé o23 It’s night, the devotee is going It’s night, the devotee is meeting our ancestor The devotee is proceeding to another realm The hereafter, like a dirge Mighty Father, we have sacrificed Let’s not die, till we reach old age Mighty Father, god of water Long, long lasts the head of grey Mighty Father, god of water We bid for long life, for grey hair We bid to grow old, father of elders Just as the vultures never dies young My mother! I can never forget you!

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Death and the King’s Horseman by Wole Soyinka Death and the King’s Horseman is one of Soyinka’s tragedies. It presents a representation of the Yoruba cosmology. Once again, the performance was done in 2016 at the Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre. Olagoke Ifatimehin directed the performance. In Yoruba cosmology, there are three worlds: the world of the living, the world of the dead and the world of the unborn. The opening of the play involves the ritual ceremonies for the burial of a dead king. Elesin, the king’s horseman, attired in glorious robes, enters the village marketplace in a majestic dance procession, followed by praise singers and drummers. Elesin dances until he is in a trance, a state of transition. He performs poetry and song about the world of the ancestors and the connectedness of the three worlds. The purpose of this ritual ceremony is to help the dead king travel peacefully to the world of the dead. It should conclude with the suicide of Elesin, whose soul will accompany the king’s. Elesin sees a beautiful woman in the crowd and demands one night of love with her before he dies. Iyaloja, the mother of the marketplace, reluctantly agrees. Also in the village is the British colonial district officer, Pilking. When Pilking hears of Elesin’s intention to die, he has him arrested to prevent it. Elesin’s son Olunde, a doctor, returns from England. He has heard of the king’s death and assumes that his father’s death is near. Olunde reveres native culture and has had wide experience of Western culture too. He tries unsuccessfully to make Pilking understand the Yoruba belief system. Ashamed to see his father’s failure, he kills himself in Elesin’s place. When Elesin sees his son’s body, he takes his own life. This suicide is the result of shame, however, not duty, and it cannot repair the bonds that have been broken. The young bride, pregnant from her one night with Elesin, appears. She ritually closes her husband’s eyes as Iyaloja says, “Now forget the dead, forget even the living. Turn your mind only to the unborn”.24

Ritual, Songs, Chants and Eulogy as Oral Tradition The palace of ritual in the African belief system cannot be overemphasized. Ritual is usually the last resort when calamity befalls a land or people. Ritual is done to cleanse the land of evil, appease the gods or in the case of Death and The King’s Horseman, the ritual death of Elesin Oba is meant to smoothen the path of the dead king in order to prevent a communal disorder and disaster. The significance of ritual is presented in the performance of Death and the King’s Horseman particularly in the dialogue between the praise singer and Elesin at the point when Elesin starts his transition to the land of the dead: Praise Singer: Elesin:

Elesin Alafin, can you hear my voice? Faintly, my friend, faintly.

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Praise Singer: Elesin: Praise Singer: Elesin: Praise Singer: Elesin: Praise Singer: Elesin:

Praise Singer: Elesin: Praise Singer:

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Is your memory sound Elesin? Shall my voice be a blade of grass and tickle the armpit of the past? My memory needs no prodding but what do you wish to say to me? Only what has been spoken. Only what concerns the dying wish of the father of all. It is buried like seed yam in my mind. This is the season of quick rains, the harvest is this moment due for gathering If you cannot come, I said, swear you’ll tell my favourite horse. I shall ride on through the gates alone. Elesin’s message will be read only when his loyal heart no longer beats. If you cannot come Elesin, tell my dog. I cannot stay the keeper too long at the gate. A dog does not outrun the hand that feeds it meat. A horse that throws its rider slows down to a stop. Elesin Alafin trusts no beasts with messages between a king and his companion. If you get lost my dog will track the hidden path to me… I have freed myself of earth and now its getting dark. Strange voices guide my feet. The river is never so high that the eyes of a fish are covered. The night is not so dark that the albino fails to find his way. A child returning homewards craves no leading by the hand. Gracefully does that mark regain his grove at the end of the day… gracefully, gracefully does the mark dance homeward at the end of day, gracefully…25

Musical performance in Africa maintains an integral relationship with other aspects of life. A notable feature of this interaction is the fact that music is often performed in a multimedia context in which dance, elaborate costume, mime, poetry and drama are featured in a total theatre spectacle.26 Besides being an important element of performance, songs serve as the cultural value that highlights the nature and temperance of the people. Hence, some scenes in the performance of Death and The Kings Horseman showcase songs that are communally rendered; actors are here seen singing together in a group. Songs express group narratives. Through songs, oral traditions are communicated. To deepen such communal ethos, all their songs are rendered in Yoruba to capture and convey the significance of the performance. Thus, we hear the following songs: Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó lówó o Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó l’ . lá o´ Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó ní gbo gbo n`nkan ` ti má saà’gùn Nbá Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó ní, `nbá ti má sa n`nkan Gbogbo akitiyan e.` dá l’áyé o, l .o´w´o. orí l’ó wà o Mo f´e. d’ogún, mo f . e´d’o.gb`o.n n’ílé ayé, ´n be . l´o.w´o. orí

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Bó til`e. wùn kó p´e. tó o, ará mi, kádàrá máa s.e. o Babaláwo kò lè y`e. e.´ , onís.ègùn kò lò y`e. e.´ o Ló j´e. n ní, àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó lówó o Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó l’ . lá o´ Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó ní gbo gbo n`nkan ` ti má saà’gùn Nbá Àì tètè m`o. p’órí ó ní, `nbá ti má sa n`nkan27 Not knowing early that destiny is riches Not knowing earlier that destiny is wealth Not knowing that destiny is everything I wouldn’t have perform diabolic means Not knowing it is destiny I wouldn’t have perform something All the hustle of man in life Depends largely on destiny I want to be rich and famous in life It depends on destiny No chief priest can revise it No medicine man can revoke it Which is why I say Not knowing early that destiny is riches Not knowing earlier that destiny is wealth Not knowing that destiny is everything I wouldn’t have perform diabolic means Not knowing it is destiny I wouldn’t have performed something Al´e. l´e.… awo mi lo. o.… Al´e. l´e.… awo mi lo. o.… Al´e. l´e.… awo mi regbó… 28 Ìkó ide. n´ lo . o, s’íwájú Night falls, my cult has gone Night falls, my cult has gone Night falls on; my cult has gone to the forest The bell is moving forward On the aspect of chant, Ogli asserts that chanting assumes a style that is midway between singing and speaking.29 He notes that in many African royal courts such as that of the Alaafin of Oyo and Atta of Igala, chants exist and are described as court poetry, which is, as an institutionalized art, meant to revere a hero by creating his achievements in verse.

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Eewoooo reeee ooooo As.o. funfun ní ´n’sukún aróooooo Èjìgbàw`o.r`o. ni n´ ’sukún ìkejì Tan tan tan Which one is this? White cloth is crying for dye One is also crying for the other one N ò mo. bi olórí gbé yan’rí oooooo N` bá lè yan tèmi N ò mo. bi Àfùwàp´e. yan’rí oooooo N` bá lè yan tèmi Ibi kan náà la’gbé yanrí oooooo Kádàrá ò pap`o. ni E.s`e. ló ´n sáré oooo Orí ò re ibì kan30 I don’t know where humans choose their destiny I would have gone to choose mine I don’t know where Afuwape choose his destiny I would have gone to choose mine It is somewhere we choose destiny Destiny is not the same Legs are running But the head is still The dirge, a song for the dead, is very important in Africa. The dirge is sung during the time of transition when the dead is laid to rest, and also during funerals. In the performances where dirge is used, the singer (wailer) laments the loss of the deceased, recounting his or her great deeds, rich ancestry and the vacuum created by his/her death. The grief and emotion of the wailers often affect the members of the audience, enjoining them to spontaneously participate in the wailing. In the stage production of Death and The King’s Horseman , the dirge is also used to communicate and eulogize. Òs.ùpá lé té´nté Òs.ùpá lé té´nté Òs.ùpá lé lál´e. àná Òs.ùpá lé lál´e. àná Òs.ùpá o.` run dà31 The moon lays carefully The moon lays carefully The moon that laid last night

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The moon that laid last night Where is the moon in heaven?

Conclusion The content of most African oral traditions is often deep as every song and every chant is peculiar and often relates to events in the society. The elements of the oral African performance, which have been selected and discussed from the stage production in this study, highlight African culture and identity through songs, proverbs, chants, incantations, etc. While some songs are used to praise kings and eulogize warriors, others are songs of sorrow to console the bereaved. In some instances, African oral performances, particularly when reflected in stage productions, adopt tunes, rhythms and language to suit the nature of the audience. Live performance will continue to take place and attract mixed audience despite numerous challenges like language of communication, and performance structure and space. The transition from the oral performance towards play-text and then to stage production stands out as one of the inherent challenges in African theatre. While some scholars have argued that valuable details during the process of turning oral performance to text and then stage production are lost, others have emphasized the need for documentation. In other words, to preserve oral performance, it has to be transformed into a written text or any other medium for posterity. Both arguments have merit but borrowing from Karin Barber, “If, as is true in many traditions, text depends on performance and performance on text, comparative literary studies should help us to conceptualize the nature and degree of these varying relations of dependency” thereafter we can move African Oral traditions and stage productions in the right and positive directions.32 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Makward (2003: 23). Foley (2005: 1). Ibid., 2. Ki-Zerbo (1990: 16). Goody (1987: 26). Adedeji (1971: 134). Hussein (2005: 16). Cited in ibid. Curtin et al. (1995: 136). Finnegan (1976: 26). Ibid., 29. Nkosi (1982: 175). Omolola (2006: 65). Ifatimehin (2017: 36).

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15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

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Yerima (2014: ii). Ibid., 14. Ifatimehin ibid., 14. Yerimah ibid., 10. Ibid., 57. Osofisan (2006: 9). Ibid., 9. Ibid., 21. Ibid., 42. Soyinka (1982: 76). Ibid., 42–43. Omojola (2006: 17). Ifetimihin ibid., 239. Ibid., 239. Ogli (2010: 263). Ibid. 264. Ifatimehin ibid., 242. Barber (2005: 264).

References Adedeji, J. 1971. Oral Tradition and the Contemporary Theatre in Nigeria in Research in African Literature 2 (2): 134–149. Barber, K. 2005. Text and Performance in Africa. Oral Tradition 20 (2): 264–267. Curtin, P., S. Feierman, L. Thompson, and J. Vansina. 1995. African History from Earliest Times to Independence, 136–141. London and New York: Longman. Farber, D.C. 2006. Producing Theatre: A comprehensive Legal and Business Guide, 3rd ed. New York: Limelight Press. Finnegan, R. 1976. Oral Literature in Africa. Nairobi: Oxford University Press. Foley, J.M. 2005. From Oral Performance to Paper-Text to Cybe. In Oral Tradition, ed. J.M. Foley, 233–236. John Hopkins University Press. Goody, J. 1987. The Interface between the Written and the Oral. London: Cambridge University Press. Hakeem, B.O. 2017. Interface Between History and Drama: A Study of Femi Osofisan’s Women of Owu and Ola Rotimi’s Kurunmi. Unpublished project, submitted to the Department of Theatre and Performing Arts, Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. Hussein, J.W. 2005. The Functions of African Oral Arts: the Arsi Oromo Oral Arts in Focus. African Study Monographs 26 (1): 15–58. Ifatimehin, O.O. 2017. A Critical Analysis of Pretext, Text and Context in the Stage Production of Death and the King’s Horseman. Unpublished Doctoral Thesis, submitted to the Department of Theatre and Performing Arts, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria. Ki-Zerbo, J. 1990. General History of Africa: Methodology and African Prehistory. London: University of California Press. Makward, E. 2003. Two Griots of Contemporary Senegambia. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 23–41. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Nkosi, L. 1982. Tasks and Mask: Themes and Styles of African Literature. London: Heinemann.

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Ogli, G.E. 2010. Idoma Funeral Rite an Ethno-Musicological Study. Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, University of Ibadan. Okpewho, I. 1979. The Epic in Africa: Toward a Poetics of Oral Performance. New York: Columbia University Press. Omojola, B. 2006. Popular Music in Western Nigeria: Theme, Style and Patronage System. Ibadan: IFRA and Gold Press Ltd. Omolola, P. 2006. Traditional African Theatre: A Case Study of the Gambia and Senegal in Performing Language: International Conference on Drama and Theatre in Second Language Education, February 3–5, University of Victoria, Canada. Osofisan, F. 2006. Women of Owu. Ibadan, Nigeria: University Press PLC. Soyinka, W. 1982. Death and King’s Horseman . London: Metheun. Yerima, A. 2014. Orisa Ibeji. Ibadan: Kraft Books Limited.

Chapter 34

From the Hybrid to the Transcultural: A Comparative Study on Orality in the Poetry of Contemporary Robert Simon

It is common knowledge that, in an almost stereotypical fashion, the Western canon has emphasized “oral traditions” as a method by which the African (meaning, in many cases, all of sub-Saharan Africa, excluding any possible sociopolitical, cultural, popular, or meta-geographic differentiations among peoples across the continent) has saved his/her pre-colonial cultural identity. This identity does not necessarily correspond to an understanding of orality as “literature”; rather, this epistemological framework seems to sustain its hegemony via a distinction between the oral and written, the latter becoming a sort of truer literature in such a view. The reality, of course, tends to differ from this assumption quite remarkably, and in a variety of recognizable ways between the various present-day countries themselves borne from the colonial demarcations applied to this majority region of the continent. “With the expansion of literacy and new media across world societies, the oral narrative has shown an adaptation to contemporary structural, thematic and contextual demands.”1 It is this ability of oral literatures, via the creativity and intellectual flexibility of the artists themselves, to reconfigure itself toward a variety of contemporary contexts that will be the subject of the following pages. As an example, the passage of orally transmitted text to more formalized, written (and, under the Western rubric, “artistic”) text in the Portuguese-speaking world is not without precedent. Paulo Dias opens his study on vocabulary and dance with the well-recognized assertion that the pre-colonial, Ovimbundo word jongo now exists in Brazil as jongo, a type of dance in the Northeastern states (331–332).2 Even within the same country (not excluding the idea of nationhood insofar as appropriate to intra-border discourse), the oral traditions of pre-independence can have a stunning influence on the contemporary literary discourse. The level at which it informs “social memory” as “a process of construction, selection and exclusion of … interwoven elements … the art of the possible,” keeping alive traditions and practices which in R. Simon (B) Kennesaw State University, Kennesaw, Georgia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_34

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other contexts may have more easily disappeared.3 In Angola, non-Portuguese-based orality present in poetry written within the borders of, essentially, a Portuguesespeaking Angolan “nation” has become a staple of the literary landscape of the past several decades. Mozambicanpre-independence writing similarly took as its basis the kind of hybridized identities with Angolan writers of the same period saw; later post-colonial identities forced a reworking of this socio-philosophical framework. In comparative terms, so-called Anglophone and Francophone African countries have seen a similar restaging of the oral into the written, more easily transmissible forms in recent decades, albeit by way of techniques which differ substantially from those in Lusophone Africa. Senegal has seen the incorporation of notions of fluidity even at the most local levels of high and low cultural practice, with (of course) differing language politics and corresponding realities from those of the Lusophone African countries. Namibia, in a vein similar to Senegal’s, has seen transnational identity shifts in even the academic cultural venue (as our example here will reveal). Finally, Tanzanian poets have taken on oral tradition as part of a combined strategy of local transculturalism (between the literary production of the former colonizer, local practices, and expressions of ideals of nationhood), concomitant to an evident nation-oriented governmental policy. No matter which process we observe the passage from establishing a constructed, monolithic national culture (and in this, the definition of “culture” will differ from region to region) toward a more fluid concept of post-coloniality, the ideals of hybridization give way to those of what we may refer to as a “transnational” identity. The latter tends to fend off siloed ideals of monolithic cultural definition prevalent in interpretations of early thought and study in the field (Finnegan, “Epilogue,” 275); rather, it prides itself on the porous nature of individual and group boundaries with regard to the “national” and well as “local” and “international” lens.4 Precedents for orally based literatures parsing into Westernized, written literary media exist in neighboring lands. In Namibia, for example, oral traditions of poetic performance have become an integral part of national cultural festivals at the country’s principle university.5 In São Tomé, what began as a retelling of Portuguese and local stories through centuries-old traditions of song have transformed into the basis for contemporary Santomean letters.6 In the former, there is a purposeful appropriation of older, local forms utilized in a Westernized space in order that the literary reshape the physical/architectonic. In the latter, the practice of transmitting literary expression in a non-written medium transforms such expression through the foreign, artificially applied written medium. Owomoyela, in a meta-study of Igbo and Yoruba proverbs as placed into a written, literary context, states that: … our enthusiasm for scholarly thoroughness in our study of folkloric texts sometimes carries the risk of disposing us to discountenance some essential properties of the genre to such an extent that it emerges from our scholarly processing deprived of its ability to fulfill functions we expect of folklore.7

He is referring, of course, to a scholar’s desire to come to a sense of classification and definition according to the apparatus with which we receive our “training” as such. These words, nonetheless, resonate the dangers of the reductivism from which

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this perspective bears its results. Within this framework, it is also possible to apply such a feeling of missed expectations to a sociopolitical interpretation as well. In the sense, states which have followed Western models of national-level governance, and which seek a modicum of success and stability, have incorporated orality at the local levels of government in both the literary and more direct sociopolitical arenas. In some cases, such as the Amharic speaking people of Ethiopia,orality is incorporated into officialized discourse of the state.8 In other cases, what may have begun as a state-sponsored hybridization becomes a transliterary point of rebellion. The result of both is a transnational autochthony, a fluid, communicative transformation of both via each other.9 Kaschula makes evident that this phenomenon occurs even within the context of a globalized, and as such reductive, world: “… the role and function of oral literature as part of both national and global literatures will continue to bring great literary wealth and depth to our continued existence in the modern world. The Internet itself is fast becoming a part of modern oral literature!”10 Even the study of oral literatures, whether incorporated into written forms (such as is the focus of this chapter) or as a separate genre, has recognized the bilateral exchange between the oral and the written as far back as the nineteenth century.11 In Angola, this process of incorporation, appropriation, and transnational (as opposed to “hybrid”) literary rebirth has surged forth as the common trope for literary expression. Despite an intense influence of Portuguese poetic form and trope throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, by the 1950s pre-independence, an anti-colonial poetic emerged which sought to reclaim a traditional, orally based aesthetic. The poetry of Agostinho Neto, for example, takes from oral tradition and poetic discourse present in a variety of local sources, as well as rooted in the aesthetic of 1950s Portuguese experimental poetry, to inculcate the colonizer’s language with that of the colonized, thus appropriating it.12 Historically, the Portuguese-speaking, MPLA-based government has taken a dual role. This somewhat self-contradictory political discourse supported both the construction of a “super-ethnic” nationalist ideal with which to govern the country (to the detriment of UNITA, but especially to that of the FLN) as well as the destabilizing of any positive image of the Portuguese colonizer as the slave-owning oppressor.13 (Not that the truth of the matter would help to clean up the colonizer’s image in this regard, particularly as the MPLA’s base came from the region most oppressed by both the Portuguese and the Creole populations). The process of hybridization of European and Angolan cultural and linguistic norms visibly transitions toward a transnationalism, or an active fluidity (to be defined more specifically in the chapter and through various theoretical works) of elements no longer distinguishable as unique to their former roots. In his study of Lusophone African literary evolution, Arenas wisely states that such a process happens as an expression of the disenchantment that the post-independence period brought about in the otherwise previously utopian-minded populace.14 Move away from notions of hybridity toward perpetual transitional phase without clear resolution. Although less acknowledged a theory, this sort of stopping point between the transition from one social, critical, epistemological and/or literary paradigm to another may fit within a larger framework of Paradigm Shift Theory.15 Matta Matta’s insightful approach makes clear that the move from a utopian vision to a dystopic reality in Angola, as

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viewed through the literatures of the pre-and post-independence periods, creates a space for a cross-cultural discourse which, by its very nature as bilateral and mutually influential, may be taken as transcultural.16 Examples of sociocultural hybridity, to be defined in the chapter as a method of communication between cultural norms yet with little more than simple exchange of superficial ideas or customs, appear in pre-independence verses by poets such as Agostinho Neto and Alda Lara as a contestation to the Portuguese hegemonic voice. The notion of fluidity between the two did not appear a priority since the impetus would have been to rid the one of the other while utilizing that European other as a vehicle for its own demise in the Angolan context. Former rebel leader and eventual first President of the Republic of Angola, Agostinho Neto served to establish a model for Angolan nationality and nationalism. Notions of unity in diversity, common in his poetry from the 1960s and 1970s including works such as Poemas and his seminal work Sagrada Esperança, redefined hegemony as Portuguese speaking, yet extra-colonial in spirit. This apparent contradiction holds sway even in today’s context. The use of colloquial, Angolan speech in a poeticized critical environment led the way for future literary texts of a similar transnational perspective on the harsh realities of pre- and post-independence Angola. In terms of orality in his poetry, the aforementioned works strike the reader’s sense of linguistic normalcy due to the use of terms common in urban Angola (i.e., Luanda) and yet utterly foreign to the unprepared reader. Luandino Vieira’s style of ascribing spoken Angolan Portuguese to the personages of his novels may have begun due to the possible influence of Neto’s work. His 1957 poem “Canção para Luanda” serves as an excellent example of the type of orality apparent in his work, since terms which define more informal speech become commonplace in the poem. As a “song” (i.e., “canção”), it also refers back both to oral traditions from the rural regions and those existing in the 1950s in urban Luanda, based heavily on the former. Alda Lara, another pre-independence poet, had based much of her artistic focus on the contrast between the mother figure, representing the Angolan people, and the figure of the patriarchal father, or colonial masters. É evidente que essas formas poéticas fazem parte de uma tradição cultural mais ampla: vem da poética panafricanista a identificação da terra com a figura da mãe “It is evident that these poetic forms are part of a wider cultural tradition: the identification of the land with the mother figure is borne from the Pan-Africanist poetic.”17 In much of her work representa o rompimento da tradição, fruto do patriarcado e do fato colonial, para instaurar um novo tempo, delineado pela construção de um sujeito cuja pertença é social – ele deixa de ser objeto para se tornar parte do mundo – e que se torna capaz de sustentar uma vontade própria “represents breaking with tradition, the fruit of patriarchy and of the colonial masquerade, in order to establish a new epoch, one defined by the construction of a subject whose place is social – s/he stops being an object in order to become part of the world – and which becomes capable of sustaining their own will.”18 In such a poetic, orality becomes intertwined with a paradigmatic (rather than more concrete) view of colonialism’s demands on the people.

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The post-independence period also saw a rejection of European models, albeit from within the sociopolitical discourse of the 1970s and early 1980s as applied in the aftermath of independence within the newly tasked Angolan state-building project. By the turn of the twenty-first century, the European poetic models so prevalent in the pre-independence period began to see a backlash via works by writers such as Manuel Rui, Ana Paula Tavares, and Ondjaki. Rui’s novels encapsulate a push against the project. His emphasis on the contrast between rich and poor and use of specifically Angolan Portuguese, including oral literatures, makes him a noted novelist of our time.19 Tavares’ poems are, by nature, a combination of more local poetic traditions and recognizably Luso-sphere tropes in a critique, and then appropriation, of elements made to create a status of alterity for her poetic subject’s discourse.20 As for the novelist known as Ondjaki conséguese alimentar o paradoxo e a contradición entre a escritura e a oralidade ata un punto en que a sua división semella desactivada. De ai que a negación dun termo da oposición non implica automáticamente a afirmación do outro, senón que hai un mundo entre esas dúas estremas “…is able to feed the paradox and contradiction between writing and orality up to the point in which its division appears deactivated. It is from there that the negation of one no longer implies the affirmation of the other; rather, that there is a world between the two extremes.”21 His work, as in other examples from the Lusophone African sphere, creates a third space from which a new literary creativity is borne. In any case, the rich combinations of orality and written tropes engender a space for mutually beneficial absorption of practices and ideals between the two media, making for a transliterary locus. Mozambique shows a similar bifurcation between pre- and post-independence periods, as seen in Angola. War of Independence until 1974. Independence in 1975. Military regime and semi-democratic governments with frequent civil strife. Local cultural (mostly non-literary) practices infused with former colonizer’s language in past two decades; similar also to Angola’s transition into Portuguese language by the masses in the 1970s and 1980s. Literature in this period reflects a conscious representation of pre-colonial oral literatures and symbols within a relatively Europeanized, yet uniquely Mozambican, socio-literary construct. Two writers, Noémia de Sousa during the pre-independence period, and Mia Couto in the post-independence decades. Similar to Angola in that pre-independence writing hinged on a notion of hybridized identities, while the more fluid, postcolonial situation demanded a re-evaluation of this socio-philosophical framework. Noémia de Sousa’s poetry spans the decades leading to, and immediately following, independence from Portugal.22 Her poetry reminds us of that of Agostinho Neto in terms of how native, oral literatures influence a more formalized literary discourse: La exaltación de la Mãe África tomará diversas formas en sus versos: el cuerpo de la mujer negra, los recuerdos infantiles, los cantos de raíz africana… pero su grito será siempre una desgarradora paradoja de denuncia y esperanza.23 Verses such as those from her poem “A Billie Holliday, cantora” make topics of memory, trauma, and the need for a return to orality evident (de Melo 68). In this sense, then,

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the orality of the “spiritual” and the necessities of expression in the pre-independence period find a mutually beneficial relationship.24 Mia Couto, pseudonym for António Emílio Leite Couto, has served as one of the most canonical and recognizable voices of Mozambican letters since the 1980s. His collections of short stories reflect a profound element of life in Mozambique, within and outside of expressly artistic endeavors (as a Western canon would define them). As Couto stated in an interview in 2014, “Mozambique is defined by orality, and that is part of the reason why people from Mozambique speak with their entire bodies, not just words … I think what I’m dealing with is the borderline, the frontier between different situations, ideologies, and cultures.”25 It is more than possible to see the transnational and diachronically synchronic state of oral literatures, as well as the self-criticism to which this art subjects itself in his writing: Para o escritor, há uma evidente diferença entre a realidade vivida pelos africanos e a construção de arquétipos e estereótipos com os quais o imaginário ocidental alimentou parte de sua arte. Muitos dos mitos e lendas que compõem a tão cantada riqueza cultural da África talvez existam mais no discurso oficial do invasor do que dentro do território moçambicano ou em meio a sua gente. Ainda assim, os romances de Mia Couto são repletos de ritos a que as personagens se submetem sem questionar, como se obedecessem a um chamado vindo de algo ou de alguém sempre pronto a punir aqueles que cedem à tentação de se desviar dos obscuros preceitos ditados por essa África ancestral.26 There is an evident difference for [Couto] between the reality lived by Africans and the construction of archetypes and stereotypes with which the Western imagination has fed part of its art. Many myths and legends which compose the often sung cultural wealth of Africa exist perhaps more as an official discourse of the invader than from within Mozambique itself or her people. Still, Mia Couto’s novels are replete with rites to which the characters submit themselves without question, as if to obey a calling from something or someone ready to punish those who yield to the temptation of moving outside of the conceits dictated by this ancestral Africa.

The complex irony of da Silva’s statement underscores a conceit which Couto has expressed on many occasions through his work: the colonizer’s vision has embedded itself into many forms of local artistic practice. Senegal, when viewed as an integrated state (a perspective which functions on the macro-level; from within, it would be much more difficult to view the Senegalese as part of a unified “nation” from, for example, the Luso-Angolan perspective), has tended toward a less structured trajectory. Here the fluidity, despite differing language politics and corresponding realities from those of the Lusophone African countries, seems to have incorporated itself more readily into local cultural practices. An excellent example comes in the form of hip-hop music in Senegal. Despite the derision this musical form suffered due to the similarity of the word “rap” with a reference to a malicious spirit in Wolof,27 the genre has come to represent a point of contention with the current government and its practices (25).28 Oral epic poetry has functioned in a similar manner around the world: “to instruct people, while entertaining them, about the values, traditions, great heroes and historical events significant to their culture.”29 In modern times, such oral traditions have survived, at times for very particular uses. Tidiane Lo mentions the state’s use of certain forms in tourist destinations, despite the erasure of those forms in officialized,

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internal discourse.30 In his study of so-called Wolof Kasak songs, “this traditional poetic culture, in spite of the disappearance of the cultural institution that birthed it, is being transformed, revived, and recuperated in novel forms in accordance with modern, urban realities.”31 Part of the tradition’s survival is related to other forms and practices kept alive outside of the urban spaces, such as circumcision.32 In any case, the ability for such literatures to remain relatively untouched in a context of systematic dismantling evidences the desire to guard such forms for future generations. In comparative terms, such a lack of support from urban power centers differentiates the Senegalese case from others; the new incorporation of these forms in urban spaces as a marker of distance from centralized activity to the contrary, bilaterally (between the rural spaces which hold onto them and the citizenry in urban spaces and their purposeful re-integration of these) allow us to view the process not as hybridization/interculturality, but as a transcultural process of mutual integration. Namibia’s approach has been much more deliberate. Owomoyela has noted that the aforementioned “integrated state” did nothing to support traditional oral literatures explicitly, relegating many oral texts to the underperformance of the written word, or worse, to the oblivion of misunderstanding.33 Similar to Senegal, Namibia now has taken a strategy of support, albeit in localized conditions. The University of Namibia has for some time celebrated a “Culture Week” during which a celebration of oral traditions takes place. Students perform poetry in local languages with the direct support of the institution and government. InMakamani’s study, the ability of oral literatures to bend “to its environment and realities”34 according to Bender’s model, which gives particular focus to attention to style, form, and options for performance.35 As a reciprocal duality, while in the past such performances were limited to those forms imposed by European powers (Germans, Dutch, English), now they serve to reinforce and reemphasize local and national forms within the physical and formative remnants of an imposed educational system (i.e., the University).36 Such practices serve to remove barriers between the modernized nation, built upon a Western “progressive” model, and the pre-colonial identities of local peoples within the contemporary borders of the nation-state. We may understand this phenomenon as an evident marker of a passage from the hybrid, or “cross-cultural” stance toward a more fluid, transnational one. The situation in Tanzania merits discussion when considering the dueling processes of state-sponsored transculturalism within the terms of official nationbuilding and non-state-sponsored literary-cultural recombinations. Here we may find both grassroots efforts and official ones attempting to move within the transcultural space. Here, as Suriano has studied, some artists, such as Mzee Nyange, “attempt to advance both ‘traditional’ culture (utamaduni, seen as a set of local – and fixed – customs and traditions) and progress (maendeleo)” in their work.37 Nyange follows a traditional trope in his verses while also speaking on contemporary issues. This type of recombined discourse seems to flow in common with the officialized poetics of 1960s and 1970s Angola. Another example of social processes, in this case, a serious societal and medical issue, comes in the form of song as a tool for outreach. A wonderful example may be found in the poetry of Bi Piriri Athumani whose song uses local and colloquial

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euphemisms, recognized turns of phrase in spoken language, and complex, secondlevel metaphors to warn listeners about the dangers of unprotected sex in an environment of a growing AIDS epidemic in Tanzania.38 On the same token, a variety of government-approved messages using poetics and song have appeared in the past several decades as a function of officialized discourse, usually limited to health issues and prevention, but also open for less socially oriented uses.39 Here, then, we see a combined strategy of local transculturalism concomitant to an open and explicit nation-building policy. Kenya’s recent history has been, on the one hand, one of unity in division, with a strong central government having disenfranchised, whether through censuring or brute violence, the voices critical of the national building project.40 Orality, in general terms, has had to make way for other concerns even as government controls were loosened. For a vast majority of the population, and in particular, for school-aged children and adolescents, oral literatures may survive but in a closely monitored form: Storytelling as a general pass-time is still common among most indigenous communities across Kenya. However, the contexts are steadily changing as social developments like formal education, out-of-home work situations and urbanization with its attendant cosmopolitism has seen the oral narrative evolve in both structure and performance. From the somewhat lengthy yarns told by firelight in the evenings in informal family or village settings, the story in the informal setting is today relatively shorter as the children who are the major performers in these settings do not have much time for group entertainment before bedtime.41

In this context, changes in oral literatures have come in the form of shortened narratives, more contemporary contexts for the stories (i.e., urban settings rather than rural ones), and the dedication of school-based, formalized projects in order that the tradition may continue.42 In this sense, and as seen here, orality in Kenya has been forced into a more restricted and purposefully sanctioned role. On the other hand, by way of orality’s presence in written literature, a space for defiance may still exist. The work of Abdilatif Abdallah, as but one example, shares aspects of traditional, oral literatures absorbed into a contemporary discourse. “… Abdallah takes recourse into a deeply embedded cultural form of literary expression, that of poetry: the ability to condense thoughts and topics by means of the rigid principles of Swahili poetics, thus achieving a high density of metaphorical language.”43 His poetic voice, in essence, creates a space for communication between elements of oral tradition and a post-colonial, critical, and artistic voice, in order that they become part of a discourse of an empowered majority. This process of maturation without the state, then, works in direct contestation to the consolidation of power in the Kenyan political structure as discussed briefly above, yet also reflects a reality for which official discourse does not provide: It might be supposed that [oral literatures are] dying out with the impact of literate, wealthier, and reputedly more ‘progressive’ cultures. This is not necessarily so at all. Some genres, it is true, are receding; but others –political songs, new versions of dance songs, new religious lyrics– are increasing in importance. Oral literature, in fact, plays a part in developing, not just traditional, Africa.44

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It is with this idea in mind that the intersection of oral literature and political, or at least politicized, speech seems a viable method for the extra-official expression of the former as a vehicle for the latter. Another area in which the Kenyan crisis of expression has found a place for liberation is through the growing use of technology in the dissemination of song. The griot tradition poets were able to keep their oral poetry alive via recordings and other web-based projects, to the dismay of a Kenyan state attempting to supplant this art form with sanctioned, state-approved forms.45 Even the evolution of radio in the country has also served to move away from the decades-long and systematic officializing of the discourse of power toward an appreciation of the local languages and the traditions they convey.46 Yet, outside of the urban centers of the country, a variety of oral traditions and literatures still thrive, such as that of the conglomerate of tribes known critically as the “Igembe.”47

Conclusion The goal of these works, at least in terms of presenting orality as a poetic tradition rather than the European view of orality as device, seems to hold to that transnational fluidity. In their verses, it is possible to see traditional (particularly Kimbundu and/or Ombundu in Angola; Wolof in Senegal, etc.) oral poetry in a precarious position of Locus Pace with the aforementioned project as well as with the Portuguese literary culture which pre-independence writers attempted to contest. Outside of the Lusophone sphere, the situation varies quite a bit. We have observed similar processes of orality’s transference to modern artistic media, be these popular Western-influenced styles or part of attempts at nation-building.In Senegal and Tanzania, what began as a relatively lax system of controls has come under the guise of government-based support for the continued practice of local oral traditions. On the other hand, in Kenya and Namibia the process seems to have begun with a more controlled means of dissemination (and in the case of Kenya, violently so), has become more tolerant of extra-government practices over time and with nation-wide, yet locally-based pressure. This fluidity between the written and oral literary practices in each space, then, supports not only a less Westernized paradigm (in epistemological and heuristic terms) but also creates a model of non-violent rebellion against the internal forces that would limit such an exchange. Essentially the passage from modes of expression oriented toward demonstrations of hybridity to ones of transnationalism and mutual integration make evident the necessity of conserving oral literatures in sub-Saharan Africa. Both in universal and more specific, country-by-country lenses have revealed a need to continue to

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support, study, and at times, to act, in the preservation of oral traditions and the perpetual potential for these and written literatures to influence each other. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

Opondo (2014: 118). Dias (2014: 331–332). Field (2001: 249). Finnegan (2012: 275). Makamani (2013: 1–2). Staller (2016: 2). Owomoyela (2007: 171). Gelaye (2001: 206–207). Previous theories of hybridity have not been capable of describing fully the fluidity of such a literary relationship, since the idea of “inter”-culturality appears as part of a newer set of terms for the hybridity and forces cohesion of disparate academic disciplines, an unfortunately artificial evolution of academia at its most superficial (Shnapp, 502–503). This notion bases itself on an idea of culture as a sort of silo from which conversation, and not necessarily contact, is possible. In evolving into the present transnational perspective, on the other hand, Bardwell-Jones gives a related summary as “the liminal space that emerges as a starting point of reflecting on one’s varied social locations” (501). The fixedness of one’s “cultural” (here I use the term “cultural” in a reductive sense similar to that necessary for an acceptance of hybridity, “interculturality,” and the like) space disappears, allowing for a better-nuanced understanding of the contemporary socio-literary context. It should be noted that Kaschula’s (2001: xi) introduction does not mention any of the Lusophone African countries. This tendency is generalized in extraLusophone African Studies and has been noted in previous scholarship. “[T]he chronic peripheral condition of most sub-Saharan Africa in economic and political terms has contributed significantly to the marginalization of its cultural production as a whole on the world scene. This dynamic is quite palpable in the case of Lusophone African literatures, which have remained obscured by virtue of being both African and written in Portuguese” (Arenas 2011: 160–161). It is in part for this reason, yet mostly for the common base these literatures help to establish for such a study, that this chapter highlights orality and its influence in the literatures of the Lusophone African experience in a more specific way. Finnegan ibid., 30–33. Simon (2017: 83–85). Chabal (2002: 5). Arenas (2011: 169). Simon (2011: 63). Matta Matta (2001: 29–30). Abdala Júnior (1999: 219).

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18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47.

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Pereira (2009: 131–132). Arenas ibid., 161–162. Simon (2015: 84). Pérez Durán (2013: 125). Her poetry was composed primarily in the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s and circulated in leaflets during that time; however, a full collection was not published until 2001 with the Associação dos Escritores Moçambicanos (de Melo 2012: 66). Carreño López (2013: 4). Schmidt (2011: 25). El Gendy (2015: 54–55). Da Silva and Barbosa (2016: 141). Gueye (2013: 24). Another example, from Nigeria, is the poetry of Zolani Mkiva which was enhanced through the use of hip-hop music in the late 1990s (Kaschula: xv). Pointer et al. (2013: 3). Lo (2016: 47–48). Ibid., 27. Lo’s use of “African” in referring to a very localized practice in Kenya may be seen as part of a larger marginalization of non-Anglophone African nations/countries made plain in other studies (Simon 2017: 28–29). Owomoyela ibid., 170. Makamani ibid., 4. Bender (1998: 360–363). Although the study Makamani attempted was little more than an affirmation of “learning culture,” the significance of the transnational process the University of Namibia’s performance spaces have ascribed themselves leaves little doubt to its importance. Suriano (2015: 278). Askew (2015: 256). Ibid., 258. Ogola (2011: 80–81). Opondo ibid., 120. Ibid., 120–124. Beck (2017: 5). Finnegan ibid., 505. Kilonzo et al. (2015: 519). Ogola (2011: 80). Kobia (2013: 389–390).

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References Abdala Júnior, Benjamin. 1999. Entre Imagens da Lua e do Sol, a Passagem: uma Leitura Antropológica de Três Poetas Angolanas. Scripta 3 (5): 217–226. Arenas, Fernando. 2011. Lusophone Africa: Beyond Independence. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Askew, Kelly. 2015. ‘Eat Squid Not Fish’: Poetics, Aesthetics, and HIV/AIDS in Tanzania. Journal of African Cultural Studies 27 (3): 255–276. Bardwell-Jones, Celia. 2014. Travel and Home: Conceiving Transnational Communities Through Royce’s Betweenness Relation, Transactions of the Charles S. Pierce Society 50 (4): 501–522. Beck, Rose Marie. 2017. ‘Deep Language’ Crossing Borders. In Abdilatif Abdalla: Poet in Politics, ed. Rose Marie Beck and Kai Kresse, 3–10. Dar-es-Salaam: Mkuki Na Nyota. Bender, Mark. 1998. Suzhou Tanci Storytelling in China: Contexts of Performance. Oral Tradition 13 (2): 330–376. Carreño López, María. 2013. Noémia de Sousa: la voz histórica de Mozambique, Álabe 7, www. revistaalabe.com, 1–10. Chabal, Patrick. 2002. Part I: Lusophone Africa in Historical and Comparative Perspective. In A History of Postcolonial Lusophone Africa, ed. Patrick Chabal, 3–136. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Da Silva, Raquel Aparecida César, and Márcia Helena Saldanha Barbosa. 2016. Mia Couto: Um Autor em Constante Deslocamento. Revista Do Núcleo de Estudos de Literatura Portuguesa E Africana Da UFF 8 (16): 137–147. de Melo, Anita. 2012. Noémia de Sousa. DLB 367: 66–69. Dias, Paulo. 2014. O lugar da fala: conversas entre o jongo brasileiro e o ondjango angolano. Revista Do Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros 59: 329–368. El Gendy, Nancy. 2015. A Conversation with Mia Couto: Sexuality, Orality, and Cultural Frontiers. World Literature Today, 54–56. Field, Sean. 2001. Oral History: The Art of the Possible. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Context, ed. Russel Kaschula, 249–256. Claremont, South Africa: New Africa Books (Pty) Ltd. Finnegan, Ruth. 2001. Epilogue. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Context, ed. Russel Kaschula, 274–285. Claremont, South Africa: New Africa Books (Pty) Ltd. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge, UK: Open Book Publishers. Gelaye, Getie. 2001. Oral History: The Art of the Possible. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Context, ed. Russel Kaschula, 206–220. Claremont, South Africa: New Africa Books (Pty) Ltd. Gueye, Marame. 2013. Urban Guerrilla Poetry: The Movement Y’en a Marre and the Socio-Political Influences of Hip Hop in Senegal. The Journal of Pan African Studies 6 (3): 22–42. Kaschula, Russel. 2001. African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts. Cape Town: New Africa Books. Kilonzo, Susan, et al. 2015. The Influence of Information Technology on the Socio-Political Song in Kenya. Critical Arts: A South-North Journal of Cultural & Media Studies 29 (4): 518–36. Kobia, John M. 2013. Gender Roles in African Oral Literature. Matatu: Journal for African Culture & Society 41 (1): 389–404. Lo, Cheikh Tidiane. 2016. Traditional Poetry in Contemporary Senegal: A Case Study of Wolof Kasak Songs. Oral Tradition 30 (1): 27–52. Makamani, Rewai. 2013. Preserving Oral Tradition: Some Reflections on Students’ Performances During Cultural Festivals Held at the Polytechnic of Namibia (Namibia’s University of Science and Technology) from 2009 to 2012. Nawa: Journal of Language and Communication (NJLC) 7 (1): 1–12. Matta Matta, Inocência. 2001. Literatura Angolana: silêncios e falas de uma voz inquieta. Lisbon: Mar Além.

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Ogola, George. 2011. The Political Economy of the Media in Kenya: From Kenyatta’s NationBuilding Press to Kibaki’s Local-Language FM Radio. Africa Today 57 (3): 77–95. Opondo, Rose A. 2014. Oral Storytelling and National Kinship: Reflections on the Oral Narrative Performance in the Kenya Schools and Colleges Drama Festivals. Tydskrif Vir Letterkunde 51 (1): 102–117. Owomoyela, Oyekan. 2007. Preservation or Mummification? The Implications of Subjecting Traditional Texts to Modern Processes. Research in African Literatures 38 (3): 170–82. Pereira, Érica Antunes. 2009. Secreta encruzilhada: duas vozes femininas que (se) (trans)formam (n)a poesia angolana. SCRIPTA, Belo Horizonte 13 (25): 127–144. Pérez Durán, Gabriel. 2013. As imaxes dialécticas dun contador de historias: A batalla ficcional entre a oralidade e a escrita no caso de Quantas madrugadas tem a noite de Ondjaki. Abriu 2: 123–140. Pointer, Fritz, et al. 2013. African Oral Epic Poetry. Lewiston, MD: Edwin Mellen Press. Schmidt, Simone Pereira. 2011. Rotas (Trans)atlânticas na Poesia Africana do Tempo Colonial: O Caso de Noémia de Sousa. Revista Do Núcleo de Estudos de Literatura Portuguesa E Africana Da UFF 4 (7): 23–30. Simon, Robert. 2011. The Modern, the Postmodern, and the Fact of Transition: The Paradigm Shift Through Iberian Peninsular Literatures. Lanham, MD: University Press of America (Rowman and Littlefield Publishing). Simon, Robert. 2015. Love in the Lost Kalahari: Distance, Mysticism, and Alterity in Manual Para Amantes Desesperados by Ana Paula Tavares. Interdisciplinary Journal of Portuguese Diaspora Studies (IJPDS) 4 (1): 81–95. Simon, Robert. 2017. To A Nação, with Love: The Politics of Language Through Angolan Poetry. Buenos Aires/Los Angeles: Argus-a. Staller, Jared. 2016. Ossobó: Myth, History, and Intertextuality in Santomean Literature. Research in African Literatures 47 (4): 1–20. Suriano, Maria. 2015. Mzee Waziri Omari Nyange: A Story of Intervention in Tanzanian NationBuilding with Guitar Music, Sung Swahili Poems and Healing. Journal of African Cultural Studies 27 (3): 277–293.

Chapter 35

Oral Tradition as Commitment in Modern African Poetry Sola Owonibi and Richard Bampoh-Addo

Introduction Beyond reasonable doubt is the undiluted fact that African poetry did not start with the advent of literacy. It is also axiomatic that oral poetic forms have always existed in Africa. Hence, oral poetry is as old as the history of Africa. Ojaide and Sallah are of the view that “Africa has a rich oral tradition, manifested in several poetic narratives. The epics…intergenerationally transmitted by griots or bards, are just a few examples. These classical oratures, as precursors to our literature continue to exert strong influence on modern African poetry.”1 There had existed in Africa, varieties of poetic forms such as the panegyrics, epics, elegy, dirge, lyrics, chants, occupational chants, incantations, recitations, ritual poetry, among others. These poetic forms have existed in the indigenous languages and have served very useful purposes in defining and acculturating the pre-literate African society, such that the need to revive and sustain this oral tradition has become a strong passion among scholars and poets that are committed, not only to the documentation, transmission, perpetuation of this very rich resource; but also to its reinvigoration and rejuvenation because African oral literature, undoubtedly, did not only give rise to modern African literature but also encompass the moral values needed to reinvent the degenerating world. The foregoing thus holds that modern African poetry still bears credence to its Africanness mostly by drawing on the existing oral literary tradition. This is made possible because a good number of African poets show commitment to the deployment of the essential features of orality in their poetry. Hence, the claim of Senanu and Vincent that, poetry is a cultural heritage that belongs to almost all people and it S. Owonibi (B) Department of English Studies, Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba Akoko, Nigeria R. Bampoh-Addo Department of English Education, University of Education, Winneba, Ghana © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_35

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has served to encapsulate and preserve the sociopolitical, ideological, cultural, religious, and aesthetic artifacts of the people is as a result of the commitment of some notable African poets. Commitment, as used here, is in line with Asomba, who defines it simply as dedication. This simply implies that one becomes associated with something with passion and enthusiasm. Arising from the foregoing, we may then say that modern African poetry is a development of two traditions—the African oral tradition and the Western tradition of literacy. As such, modern African poetry is a development in poetry from orature to literature. On the orality of African literary works, Okpewho examines how modern African writers contribute toward the repositioning as well as the projection of traditional African culture to the larger world. He opines that modern African writers employ translation, adaptation, and exploitation as techniques with which they vindicate the oral culture of the African tradition. Using Okot p’Bitek’s translation of a dirge from the Acoli as a case study, Okpewho observes that p’ Bitek does not tamper with the repetitive structure of the poem. For him, this effort showcases the vibrancy and sauciness of the oral performance and yet manages to affirm, by the sheer force of the repetition, the tragic fate of the poor.2 The following is the exploration of the poems of two great and notable African poets, the Ghanaian Kofi Awoonor, who belongs to the first-generation African poets, and the Nigerian, Niyi Osundare, a secondgeneration African poet. These two distinguished poets are very good examples of poets who made it a commitment to engage oral literary forms as they churn out their works of art.

Oral Literary Commitment in Kofi Awoonor’s Poetry Kofi Awoonor, a foremost first-generation African poet, was born in 1935 at Wheta, Keta district of Ghana. He attended schools in Ghana, the United Kingdom, and the United States of America. He had lectured variedly at the State University of New York, Stony Brook, and the University of Cape Coast in Ghana. At a point, he was Ghana’s ambassador to Brazil. When he started writing, he adopted the name George Awoonor-Williams. Professor Kofi Awoonor was killed in the September 2013 attack at Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi, Kenya, by the al-Shabaab terrorist group. Awoonor, as a poet, shows great commitment to African culture and traditions in almost all his poems. Being from the Ewe tribe in Ghana, Awoonor reflects his Ewe traditions and culture greatly in almost all his poetry. He was so much in love with his root that he can hardly craft any poem without a direct reference to his Ewe root. This commitment he celebrated with the following quotation in Duerden and Pieterse, clarifying his love for oral tradition: I have always felt, perhaps involuntarily, I should take my poetic sensibility if you like the word, from the tradition that sort of feeds my language, because in my language there is a lot of poetry, there is a lot of music and there is a lot of literary art, even though not written,

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and so I take my cue from this old tradition, and begin to break it into English, to give it a new dimension as it were.3

This commitment of his run through the major part of his poetry, as we can see as Awoonor celebrate the following African traditions in his numerous poems.

Rite of Passage and Life After Death The African belief in the rite of passage and life after death is central to the African view. The belief is strongly connected to the prime of place accorded the ancestors in the African belief system. In the following poem, Awoonor deeply explored this belief system: The howling cry through door posts carrying boiling pots ready for the feasters. Kutsiami the benevolent boatman; when I come to the river shore please ferry me across I do not have tied in my cloth the price of your stewardship.4 Awoonor, in the “The Journey Beyond” above, reflects on African’s traditional belief in life after death. The imagery of boat cut across most of Awoonor’s poems and this he derives from the Ewe mythology of death and life after death. The Ewe mythology has it that there is a river that divides the land of the dead from the land of the living and on this river is a ferryman whose duty it is to ferry the dead across to the land of the dead when they have exhausted their allocation of days on earth. This ferryman is known as Kutsiami in Ewe mythology. For this divinely ordained tedious assignment, Kutsiami is expected to be paid for services rendered and the payment is to be made by his passenger, the dead poetic persona. Hence, in every coffin that conveys the dead, the living will make sure that some money is available as a companion so that the dead is able to pay the transport fares of Kutsiami. Peradventure the dead person carries no money, hence unable to pay for Kutsiami’s service, the spirit forever becomes a wanderer by the riverbank, and the departed soul would not be able to participate in the Holy Communion with their ancestors since they have a burden of debt. In the poem, we have the poetic personae pleading with the benevolent boatman for a free ride of some sort as the dead says: I do not have tied in my cloth the price of your stewardship. In the eight lines poem, Awoonor powerfully celebrates this very deep African traditional belief, thereby transmitting and perpetuating the cultural belief in life after death.

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Musicality Musicality is no doubt one of the most arresting things about Awoonor’s poetry. In the dedication to his collection of poems, Night of My Blood is the following poem which underscores the very deep music quality that characterizes African oral literature, and which unarguably permeates the entire African life in the sense that in Africa, we have music to celebrate virtually everything, good or bad, pleasant or otherwise: To the memory of my grandmother Afedomesi; who set me on the way of songs.5 Awoonor dedicated the collection to his grandmother through whom he has acquired the music skills which forms the bedrock of most of his poems. This explains Awoonor’s commitment to the projection of the oral tradition of African village songs, in their various communal forms, themes, and functions. Hence, we have a number of poems in Night of My Blood that seem to be closely linked to some of the oral songs performed by the Ewe tribe of Ghana during their festivals. The following poem, “The Purification” from the collection, Night of My Blood is an enactment of a typical sacrifice to the sea-god in a time of poor fishing: Tell them, tell it to them That we the children of Ashiagbor’s house Went to hunt; when we returned Our guns were pointing to the earth, We cannot say it; someone say it for us. Our tears cannot fall. We have no mouths to say it with. We took the canoe, the canoe with the sandload They say the hippo cannot overturn. Our fathers, the hippo has overturned our canoe. We come home Our guns pointing to the earth. Our mother, our dear mother, Where are our tears, where are our tears? Give us mouth to say it, our mother. We are on our knees to you We are still on our knees.6 The poem is a dirge celebrating a communal plight of failure, wasted effort, labor loss, and the subsequent famine. According to Adali-Mortty, the Ewesong, in general, has a “vague, all pervasive sadness.”7 This, Adali-Mortty opines, is as a result of the harshness of Ewe life. Elegy and ritual songs are common features in Awoonor’s

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work, so also is the sound of the ocean. In a nutshell, Awoonor’s poetry is a poetry that celebrates the folksongs of the Ewe tribe of Ghana. In light of this, the structure of most of his poems bares semblance with traditional oral verse. The first poem in Night of My Blood, that is, “My God of Songs Was Ill,” clearly establishes the fact that Awoonor himself places a very huge burden on singing as he creatively connects it with the dominant thematic pre-occupation of an African writer which is the dispossession of Africans of their social heritage, and the forced entrenchment among them of European institutions and ideas: Go and tell them that I crossed the river While the canoes were still empty And the boatman had gone away. My god of songs was ill And I was taking him to be cured. When I went the fetish priest was away So I waited outside the hut My god of songs was groaning Crying. I gathered courage I knocked on the fetish hut And the cure god said in my tongue “Come in with your backside” So I walked in with my backside With my god of songs crying on my head I placed him on the stool. Then the bells rang and my name was called thrice My god groaned amidst the many voices The cure god said I had violated my god “Take him to your father’s gods” But before they opened the hut My god burst into songs, new strong songs That I am still singing with him.8 Awoonor bemoans the illness of his “God of songs,” and the disappearance of the mediating priest. In other words, our pure cultural values have given way to the polluted Western culture as a result of colonization. To Awoonor, the fountain of creativity for the African writer remains the oral tradition. Furthermore, Awoonor expresses the import of the communal voice in African literature. Unlike the West, the African world is characterized by the sense of communality. While the Western writers speak for themselves and basically out of their individual experiences, African writers speak for their community as the mouthpiece. This is another obvious influence of his heritage of oral rendition, and this distinguishes Awoonor’s poetry from others. Another poem that is of great interest to us is “I Heard a Bird Cry.” In this poem, the poetic personae weep for the desolation of the communal setting and take

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bold steps to regenerate the abandoned gods and rituals of his fore-bearers. Supplications and sacrifices are made to the ancestors for appeasement and atonement for the pollution of the cultural heritage by the modern way of life. Also, we have in the poem, the canoe-river-quest symbolism typical of Awoonor. However, the central motif of bird is not in any way less developed as it projects a state of destruction and anarchy in the personae’s homeland: There was a tree which died in the desert Birds came and built their nests in it. Funeral songs reached us on the village square. I shall weave new sisal ropes And kill two white cocks Whose blood will cleanse the stools, The desert river was dry Before the harmattan came And the storm wind does not Frighten the eagle, The swooping eagle does not give to its child. So the child must turn a beggar in the market place, The heroes, where are the war heroes? Did they smear themselves With the blood of fowls And are bellowing, bellowing Like wounded hippos? The swallow says It is the harmattan wind That chased him into the rafters of the rich Weaver birds came and ravaged my corn-field A cock has laid an egg by the river side But a hawk came and snatched it. What shall we do?9 ‘There was a tree which died in the desert’, the poem reads. Not minding the fact that the tree is now dead, unproductive, and lacking in shelter for both humans and animals, yet, left with no choice “birds came and built their nests in it.” This state of distress, of course, gives rise to funeral songs across the village: “Funeral songs reached us on the village square.” Those who stood around the ring laughed And said my feet had blundered And our hands have lost the cunning of the drums. We answered them, answered them That the crow asked the vulture You are an uneatable bird Why are you so full of your importance? The vulture, it says; Because helpers are not there

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That is why I have shorn my head Awaiting my funeral. My heart, be at rest For the vultures that came Shaking the rafters of your house Have flown away, flown far away, Towards the land of my forefathers. It was in the season of the burning feet, And the feast is ready for us.10 Ultimately, we find in the poem, futile efforts by the birds to reform the already shredded society because the birds themselves are either scavengers, predators, or even victims. “I Heard a Bird Cry” is followed by “Night of My Blood” in the same collection of poems titled Night of My Blood. In this poem, Kofi Awoonor reenacts the migration of the Ewe from the interior to the coastal region they currently inherit. In the poem, we see poetic documentation of a great historical movement by a determined and focused people, a celebration of very many people who suffered and lost their lives in the searching for their “promised land”: We walked from the beginning towards the land of sunset We were a band of malefactors and saints.11 Kofi Awoonor’s Night of My Blood, like most other poetry books of his, depicts an extraordinary expression of traditional African culture

Oral Literary Commitment in Niyi Osundare’s Poetry Niyi Osundare is one of Nigeria’s and, consequently, Africa’s most prominent and prolific poets, dramatists, and literary critics. Osundare believes strongly in the power of words and often asserts that ‘to utter is to alter.’ His relevance to the cause of art and sociopolitical activism has won him the endearment of his readers and the surveillance of political tyrants. Dasylva and Jegede describe Niyi Osundare as a regenerative, transformative, and Marxist socialist poet. And, indeed, one of Osundare’s concerns is the need to correct and turn around Nigerian capitalist society. He reflects, refracts, and depicts the reality of pain, poverty, disease, sickness, social decadence, oppression, suppression, and general lack of freedom, especially in the Nigerian society. This section of the chapter is a reading of Osundare’s collection that x-rays qualities of the traditional African culture, language, and satire. The collections to be used, therefore, include the Eye of the Earth, Moonsongs, Waiting Laughters, and a few fragments of his available poems.

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Osundare and the African Oral Traditions Like Awoonor, Niyi Osundare’s poems identify with the oral traditions of his culture, Yoruba culture of western Nigeria. Osundare’s poetry documents, preserves and teaches the beliefs, tenets, and values of his immediate and, by extension, African oral culture. The Eye of the Earth, a collection by Osundare, is an emotional literary composition aimed at lamenting the ecological deterioration of the earth as an atom of human existence. It is the reechoing of the voices of men and women who clamor for a prioritization of the human race over arm and race. It is the indigenous African man’s plea for a return to the days when native farmers grew what they ate and ate what they grew. Here, Osundare thematizes the Earth, showcases it as the unfortunate recipient of the destructive inventions of human technological development and civilization. In the preface to the poem, Osundare declares: Waters are dying, forests are falling. A desert epidemic stalks a World where the rich and ruthless squander earth’s wealth on The invention of increasingly accomplished weapons of death While millions of people perish daily from avoidable hunger. Tomorrow bids us tread softly, wisely justly, lest we trample the eye of the Earth.12 The above quotation documents a poet’s sincere lamentation of the depleting and deploring state of the earth. As part of the humanity of the earth, the poet, therefore, saddles himself with the responsibility of sermonizing the people and decrying the deplorable condition of the earth. However, the poet situates his lamentation in an indigenous context, through his reference to objects and entities peculiar to his immediate African culture and environment. Hence, the agrarian people of Ikere-Ekiti in South Western Nigeria become the poet’s comrades and he draws metaphors from their cultural mythology and belief system.

Repetition as an Oral Literary Quality in Osundare’s Poetry Osundare, in The Eye of the Earth, expresses this same tendency to infuse qualities of the oral cultural tradition in his poetry. In the first volume of the poem—‘back to earth’—the poet dotes heavily on repetition. In “Forest Echoes,” he says: I tread soft-soled the compost carpet Of darkling jungles… I tread the compost carpet of darkling forest13 The repetition of these lines emphasizes the poet’s pedestrian experience in the darkling jungle and, consequently, births an assertion noticeable on the part of the poet. This repetitive stance internalizes the poet’s involvement in the discourse and activities of the poem, thus eliciting kinesis in the reader’s mind. He goes further:

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This is Oke Ubo Abusoro The distant forest which shames the lazy leg This is ubo abusoro Where my first faltering steps Broke the earth worm…14 Oke Abusoro is a reference to the thick jungle in the poet’s homestead. The repetition of Ubo Abusoro, therefore, skyrockets theoral qualities of this literary creation and unfolds the poet’s unequivocal pride in the cultural heritage of his people. The poet also asserts the rulership of the iroko tree in the jungle by means of personification: Iroko wear the crown of the forest Ironwood against the termites of time Iroko wears the crown of the forest Its baobab foot rooted against a thousand storms15 Here, the poet apostrophizes the iroko tree, giving it features of masculinity and strength. I asserting the formidable qualities of the iroko; therefore, the poet, invariably asserts the strength of the African man. In Waiting Laughters, Osundare also uses repetition to showcase the oral quality of his poetry. Although repetition can be found in the poetry from the West, still, the kind of repetition found in their African counterpart is typical of the oral literary tradition that informs them. In “Waiting Laughters,” the poet says: My song is the even rib In the feather of the soaring bird… My song is the root Trouncing other roots… My song is the embryo of day In the globule of the rising dew16 ; The above lines x-ray the repetitive of African poetry. Like oral artist, therefore, the poet introduces himself and asserts the ineffable qualities of his rendition. The repetition found in Osundare’s work is, thus, archetypal of the traditional rendition of bards and griots, which the poet repeats in his poem when he says: And laughing heels so fugitive In the dust of fleeing truths Truth of the Valley Truth of the mountain Truth of the boulder Truth of the river

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Truth of the flame Truth of the ash…17 The repetition of these phrases establishes the tonality of the poem, thus reflecting its openness to music. In Moonsongs, Osundare uses compound words such as moonmares, moonfire, moongrass, moonsweat, moonharvest, mooncantations , among others. These coinages enhance meaning and further underscore the musicality of Osundare’s poetry.

Oral Literary Performance It can be said that Osundare’s The Eye of the Earth is a poetic composition with intense musical qualities. The form of the poem is a verse-chorus portraiture of drama and performance in typical African festivals and rituals. At the opening of the first movement titled “Back to Earth,” Osundare documents the accompanying traditional musical instruments suitable for his poetry. These instruments include: flute, heavy drums, drums, among others. He also positions himself as the director of a dramatic procession of choristers. He gives insight into what music should be played at the background of his poetry and further, concretizes the reader’s conviction of the oral content of his literary composition. In the words of Adekoya, “Poetry…for all its aesthetic qualities to be fully realized…has to be spoken. Much of its beauty, power, and resonance is lost when…put on paper, rather than chanted or sung…”. In Moonsongs, the first poem in the collection is to be sung to the accompaniment of lively woro drumming. The poet documents a call-and-response structure, as he sings: Peree o pere yo.jú l´o.run Àgbámùréré Peree o pere yo.jú l´o.run Àgbámùréré Às.`e.s.`e. yo. os.ùó dà bí egbin Àgbámùréré Ká kós.ukóbì ká lo. mús.aya Àgbámùréré Ká tó dé’b`e., ó ti b’´o.j´o. lo. Àgbámùréré Kirijì kirijìpe.pe.lúpe. Àgbámùréré 18 Translation: Daintily. Oh! Daintily does the moon appear in the sky Àgbámùréré Daintily. Oh! Daintily does the moon appear in the sky

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Àgbámùréré The new moon as beautiful as the dare Àgbámùréré Let’s gather yam tubers and kolanuts, the required bride-price Àgbámùréré Before we could approach her she has eloped with the day Àgbámùréré In the twinkling of an eye Àgbámùréré19 Also, Osundare adopts the familiar Yoruba oríkì and ìjálá chants in his poems in the Eye of the Earth, where he uses adjectives to describe his various object of discourse in describing the earth. The poet, in the opening line of the poem—‘Earth’ writes: Temporary basement And lasting roof… Breadbasket And compost bed Silence of the twilight sea Echoes of the noonsome tide Ogeere amokyei20 Such adjectives like “basement,” “roof,” “breadbasket,” and bed are descriptive of the physical qualities of the earth. These qualities birth imageries that are visual to the senses; hence when accompanied with music, they elicit a kind of performance that further illustrates the oral nature of Osundare’s poem. Furthermore, in Waiting Laughters Osundare asserts himself as an oral artist when he says: I pluck these words from the lips of the wind Ripe like a pendulous pledge I pluck these murmurs From the laughter of the wind…21 Here, the poet presents himself as an oral artist, entertaining an audience of spectators in the manner of performance poetry of bards and chanters. The musical possibilities of Osundare’s poetry, therefore, position his artistic creations among such compositions that can be performed, thereby emphasizing the orality of African literary works.

The Language of Osundare’s Poetry Osundare’s poetry contains words and phrases closely related to the vocabulary of his indigenous language. He imports indigenous words from the lexicology of the

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Yoruba language into his poetic compositions and this effort is what Okpewho calls exploitation. In exploitation, however, the modern writer makes only a selective use of elements of the oral tradition. In fact, the basis of exploitation of the oral literary tradition of modern African writers lies in the understanding that times have changed. Although they are driven by cultural pride to identify with the legacies of their people, the painful facts of contemporary life require that they reorder these cultural legacies in a way that represent…metaphorical or symbolic use…22

One of such examples of exploitation, which we otherwise term cultural recovery or cultural retrieval, in Osundare’s The Eye of the Earth is the use of Yoruba lexicons such as `e.lulùú (a kind of bird which hoots at regular hours of the day); agbégilódò (timber lorry); babaláwo (herbalist); pato.nm´o. (touch-me-not); o.l´o.sunta (a huge rock often worshipped in lkere Ekiti, Nigeria); `o.r`o.o.l`e. (a pyramid-shaped rock also in Ikere); among others. The deployment of these indigenous words in the crafting of his poetry clearly underscores the commitment of Niyi Osundare to the entrenchment of oral literary forms in modern African poetry. Unlike some writers whose writings are distinguished by obscure symbols and expressions, Niyi Osundare writes in clear terms and this is similar to the philosophical position of Reductionism. Osundare’s commitment to Africa and, especially Nigeria’s socioeconomic, political, and cultural development, cannot be overemphasized. This, he meaningfully communicates to a wide range of audience in his poetry. According to Dasylva and Jegede, Osundare sees poetry as: Not the esoteric whisper Of an excluding tongue Nor a wondering audience Not a learned quiz Entombled in Grecoroman lore23 Hence, poetry should not be in complex strings of words and inaccessible diction. Rather, it should be in everyday language and expression. Poetry does not have to be obscure to be good. It is not a composition that an individual pluck out, without working on its structure. Poetry engages the mind and intellect of man by taking the reader on both emotional and intellectual voyage. In order to allow his work to influence his audience, therefore, he must be comprehensible. Hence, stylistic accessibility and social relevance have been the primary objectives of this great poet. Also, Jenkwe notes that, “In Osundare’s close attention to the affliction of the common man, he carefully employs expression that can be understood by the most of his readership by making use of proverbs, local translated Yoruba words, Yoruba folklore just to make his readers access his work and at the same time portray African sensibility.”24 It is important to state here, however, that Osundare does not use esoteric or grandiloquent words like the first-generation poets. For him, the simplicity of language is employed as a staple tool for the conveyance of meaning. Poetry should not be seen as the exclusive preserve of the elite class; in actual sense, poetry should be accessible to the common folk. It is their song or sigh. In Waiting Laughters, the poet says:

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My song is the root Touching other roots In a covenant below the curst My song is the embryo of day In the globude of the rising dew…25 In sum, to Osundare, poetry should speak to those at the very base of the society, it should identify with their plights by using words and imaginary phrases that amply paint their ordeals. A peasant should find poetry in their casual exercise of planting, tilling, hoeing, harvesting, and plowing. No wonder Osundare, in his commitment to oral traditions in poetic composition remains the people’s poet and an advocate of the language of peasantry.

Natural Images Osundare, as a poet with an African-centered consciousness, makes use of natural images in his poetry. He writes about rocks, forests, birds, animals, and other distributions of nature. In his poem Waiting Laughters, there are images of the moon, rain, mountain, sky, and sun which are both tactile and visual. His collection—The Eye of the Earth—is entirely devoted to mother earth, from which we all share a common heritage. In Moonsongs, Osundare takes time to write in praise of the moon. This, however, buttresses his romantic realities and affirms his qualification as a nature poet. In the poem “Mooncantation,” the eulogy is documented thus: The Moon the Moon is the eye of the sky The ear of patient twilights The Moon the moon is the molar of the rain The ligament of dusts, the appetite of the drew The moon the moon is the femur of the mountain The moon the moon is the gullet of the swallow.26 Here, the African moon is celebrated and its relevance to the sky and other natural phenomena is duly established. The poet did not forget to accompany this praisesinging with the accompaniment of relevant musical instruments like the bata drum and flute. The metaphorical description of the moon with words like eye, ear, molar, ligaments, appetite, femur, and gullet, therefore, substantiates the timeless relevance and indispensability of the moon. No wonder it is described in visual, gustatory auditory, and tactile imageries.

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Musicality and Parallelism Worthy of note is the use of repletion parallelism as unique features in Osundare’s stylistic approach poetry. The engagement of formal and parallel structures of various kinds creates a sense of musicality throughout his poems in the collection Waiting Laughters. Truth of the mountain Truth of the boulder Truth of the river Truth of the flame Truth of the ash…27 The repetition of parallel structures showcases the internal syntax of Osundare’s words in relation to meaning. This, therefore, adds balance and rhythm to the lines giving the composition a musical effect that typical of African oral literature. In addition to this, Ekpemyong opines that repetition as a stylistic device in Osundare’s poetry is to obtain magnification and emphasis. Deploying this oratory device, Osundare goes further in Waiting Laughters: The water is going Going going going The water is going28 Thus, the poetry of Osundare is one which relates words to meaning. Osundare’s poetry is not just an exercise in frivolity. For him, the machinery of language is employed to convey both aesthetics and meaning.

Satire in Osundare’s Poetry One of such features in Osundare’s poetry is the constant effort to establish social reformation. Sometimes, to achieve this, he adopts satirical techniques. Satire, in literary discourse, is often used to expose the ills of an individual or society. It is employed to laugh to scorn the vices inherent in a personality or group. Akingbe describes satire as the act of using humor or exaggeration to speak out against societal ills. In light of the above, therefore there is no doubt that most contemporary Nigerian poets dwell heavily on satire in order to criticize moral decadence and injustice in the society. According to Akingbe, “Contemporary Nigeria poets have had to contend with the social and political problems besetting Nigeria by using satire as a suitable medium to distill the presentation and portrayal of these societal abnormalities.”29 Therefore, the high satirical nature of Osundare’s poetry is an affirmation that poetry, and by extension literature, is not just for aesthetic purposes. Rather it has utilitarian functions embedded in it. Some of the issues Osundare satirizes include the gross inequalities in the society, basically the stratification between the rich and

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the poor, the hardship that has befallen the masses and the attitude of a fortunate few to amass societal wealth. In one of his collections The Eye of the Earth, Osundare juxtaposes the standard of living between the haves and the have-nots. He wonders the justification behind the supposed segregation of the poor, who work tirelessly without any remuneration. While performing this utilitarian calling of the African literature, in his commitment to the deployment of oral tradition, Osundare makes sure that the message is well couched in African symbols and imagery. In The Eye of the Earth, he writes: They too are the earth The sweat and grime of Millions hewing wood and hurling water They are the earth Muddy every pore like naked moles.30 The idea of inequality runs through the poem. Thus, the poet pleads for balance and an appreciation of these downtrodden yet relevant citizens of the nation. He conveyed this humanitarian message using images like “hewing wood” and “hurling water” to depict poverty. Thus, Osundare employs satire in his poetry and uses it to bring to ridicule the perpetrators of evil in the society his country, Nigeria, has become. While doing this, he consciously uses the oral traditional symbols in line with his commitment.

Magico-Religious Rituals It is believed that drama originated from the sympathetic magic of the earliest man. It emanated from the religious and ritual practices of communities in reverence of specific deities or forces. For Osundare, a similitude is found in his poetry. In The Eye of the Earth, the poet assumes the role of a priest, soliciting for rain on the earth. In a typical traditional African society, the rain-maker is a priest who officiates for the people in matters associated with the downpour or otherwise of rain. In case of an absence, the priest mediates between divinity and humanity, hence soliciting the help and compassionate intervention of the gods. In Osundare’s poetry, the poet assumes this role, also as he approaches Olosunta and Oroole, who are both rock deities worshipped in the land. Portraying his surreal encounter with these objects of worship, the poet says: The rocks rose to meet me Like passionate lovers on a long-awaited tryst Olosunta spoke first Whose mouth is the talking house of ivory You have been long very long and far Said he, his tongue on flaming flash Said he his tongue one flaming flash

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Oroole came next His ancient Voice tremulous In the morning air…31 The poet’s encounter with the gods reveals the spiritual interactions that often take place between deities and men, the deities acknowledge the poet’s tiresome trek and address him with a resolve to grant his request. Here, then the poet justifies himself as representative of the people and as an individual who recognizes the forces responsible for the fruitful and fertile existence of his people. Thus, Osundare confirms the poet as a priest, a rain-maker who solicits fertility and regeneration, not only for the agrarian people of Ikere-Ekiti but also for the entire people of the planet earth. He says: The gold let us dig, Not for the gilded craniums Of hollow chieftains (… who deem this earth their sprawling throne) With the gold let us turn hovels into heavens Paupers into people (not princes) Yield your gold, lofty one.32 The classless Utopia of Marxism becomes evident as the rain-maker poet seeks showers from the gods, so that the produce of the earth may be for the betterment of all and not for a selected few. Thus, Osundare presents the magico-religious duty of an African poet in mediating between the people and the gods.

Cosmic Hierogamy in Osundare’s Poetry Hierogamy refers to the union between a god and an attendant goddess, who often carry the symbolic representation of the concepts of fertility and life. It is the marriage of the masculine and feminine principle of creation in relation to the existential belief in regeneration. The faith in the cosmic union of heaven and earth is often upheld by agricultural societies and communities. The belief and, consequent, ritualistic practices are connected to the interaction often believed to exist between the sky and the earth. For Osundare, therefore, the union of sky and earth becomes a thrust in his poetry, invariably giving rise to mythological imageries and metaphors among the agrarian people of Ikere-Ekiti. Eliadein The Nature of Religion says, “Nature is never only natural; it is always fraught with a religious value.”33 Thus, within nature are manifested the different modalities of the scared in the very structure of the world and of cosmic phenomena in documenting the mythological union between the earth and the sky. In The Eye of the Earth, the poet in “Forest Echoes” says;

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The rains have kept their time this year (Earth has) Finally won the love of the sky…34 The anthropomorphic qualities of emotion and sex personified in the Earth winning the sky’s love are one that gives rise to marriage metaphor in the poem. For the poet, the punctuality of the rain at its time is a metaphorical reference to the cordial relationship between heaven and earth. Thus, if the two cosmic phenomena were to be at loggerheads, then there will be a resultant absence of rain and this will definitely birth famine and drought. The earth, therefore, represents feminity, which is often associated with fertility, while the sky reflects the masculine qualities of intercourse and providence. Little wonder the rains kept their time because the Mother earth has won the love of the sky. Poetizing about the imminent fertility that followed the union of the sky and the earth, the poet in “Harvest call” says: This is iyanfoworogi Where…pounded yam rested its feted arms On the back of stooping stakes This is Iyanfoworogi… Where yams, ripe and randy Waged a noisy war against the knife The pestle fights the mortar The mortar fights the pestle Once here in May The sky was a riot of pollen grains Plenty season announced its coming.34 No doubt, the poet establishes himself as a witness to the abundances often experienced when cosmic intercourse exudes between the earth and the sky. The abundance, heightened by the combat noticeable between the pestle and the mortal births visual imagery in the poem, consequently, foregrounding the agrarian metaphor in Osundare’s work. It is important to mention at this juncture that in agrarian societies, usually those in the Middle East, the union of earth and sky, often believed to give rain and fertility to the land, is dramatized in ritualistic practices that sometimes involve actual intercourse. This actual or dramatized intercourse is a part of the tradition of heiros gamos believed to usher in a cycle of rain, fertility, procreation, and abundance. The portraiture of a comic hierogamy in Osundare’s The Eye of the Earth, therefore, gives credence to the poem’s reelection of an African traditional mythology and cultural belief system. Recording the draught inflicted on the earth, when the sky withheld it showers of pollen grains, the poet in “Let Earth’s Pain Be Soothed” says: The sky carries a boil of anguish Our earth has never lingered so dry In the season of falling showers Dust

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Dust in brewing Kitchens The roofs have been silent too long The earth has been…Songless.36 The “songless” state of the earth is a resultant consequence of the absence of a cosmic interaction between the sky and the earth. The earth, and by extension, the people will, therefore, suffer if the gap is not bridged. The cosmogonic reality of Osundare’s work, therefore, plunges the reader into the magico-religious inclination of the poem.

Conclusion Both Awoonor and Osundare have generously showed their commitments to the oral literary tradition of African in the poetry as oral poetic paradigms featured prominently in their works. They both depicted in their poetry the culture of their people, the Ewe of Keta district of Ghana and the Yoruba of South Western Nigeria, respectively. In their poems, local imagery and indigenous mythic thoughts are well internalized. Hence, we can say that there is a very clear interaction between the African oral tradition and modern African poetry as the poetry of the two great African poets has indicated. The poets were able to transpose the structures and images in oral tradition to their modern poetry. In Awoonor and Osundare, oral tradition did not only survive the test of time, it also flourishes and takes a new life. These and more are ways by which the poets discussed in this paper show commitment to oral tradition in their literary works of art. Hence, we may say without fear of contradiction that African scholars today remain indebted to those African writers who in their creative work, have been able to build the inevitable bridge connecting the two traditions by transmitting, reinvigorating, and perpetuating the African oral traditions in their literary works of art. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Ojaide and Sallah (1999: 1). Okpewho (1992: 85). Duerden and Pieterse (1972: 30). Awoonor (1971: 27). Awoonor (1971: iv). Ibid., 17. Adali-Mortty (1979: 183). Awoonor ibid., 17. Ibid., 29. Ibid., 14. Ibid., 59. Osundare (1986: xvi). Ibid., 3–4. Ibid., 5.

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15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

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Ibid., Osundare (1990: 26). Ibid., 3. Osundare (1988: 1). Translation mine. Osundare (1986: 1). Osundare (1990: 2). Okpewho ibid., 92. Dasylva and Jegede ibid., 3. Jenkwe (2003: 8). Osundare (1990: 26). Osundare (1988: 24). Osundare (1990: 3). Ibid., 67. Akingbe (2014: 48). Osundare (1986: 45). Ibid., 13, 15. Ibid., 14. Eliade (1968: 116). Osundare (1986: 3). Ibid., 18, 19. Ibid., 27–28.

References Adali-Mortty, G. 1979. Ewe Poetry. In Introduction to African Literature: An Anthology of Critical Writing, ed. Ulli Beier, 3–11. London: Longman Publishing. Akingbe, N. 2014. Speaking Denunciation: Satire as Confrontation. Language in Contemporary African Poetry 27: 47–67. Awoonor, K. 1971. Night of My Blood. New York: Double Dar & Company. Dasylva, A.O., and O.B. Jegede. 2005. Studies in Poetry. Ibadan: Stirling-Horden Publishers (Nig.) Ltd. Duerden, D., and C. Pieterse. 1972. African Writers Talking: A Collection of Interviews. London: Heinemann. Eliade, M. 1968. The Nature of Religion. New York: Harvest Books. Jenkwe, T.E. 2003. Satire as a Tool for Social Reconstruction in Osundare’s Poetry. In The Poetry and Poetics of Niyi Osundare, ed. Ngumoha Emma, 5–15. Enugu: Jemezie Associates. Ojaide, T., and T.M. Sallah (eds.). 1999. The New African Poetry: An Anthology. London: Lynne Rienner. Okpewho, I. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Characters, and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Osundare, N. 1986. The Eye of the Earth. Ibadan: Heinemann. Osundare, N. 1988. Moonsongs. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Osundare, N. 1990. Waiting Laughters. Ikeja: Malthouse Press.

Chapter 36

The Masked Snap, The Snapped Mask: Mask, Power, and Betrayal in African Cultures Aderonke Adesola Adesanya

Introduction The mask is an interesting object and a profound cultural relic. Humanity deploys it in many ways to convey simple to very complex ideas. Apart from its use for play and display, mask or masking express nuances and idiosyncrasies of persons and communities, connections and dissonance. Masks and masking serve as vehicles (or to borrow the Egyptian concept of “ka”1 the repository and agency) necessary for souls and spirits to “reappear” for the departed to interact with the living or to intervene in their affairs for the common good of communities.2 Masks also embody ideas necessary for social memory and harmony, continuity, validating cultural identity, for promoting ethical and culturally approved models for leadership and good citizenship. They are used for initiation ceremonies, purification, and appeasement. These attributes are common to masking traditions such as the Yoruba egúngún, spirit-guardian masking tradition (komo, kono), and hunters’ association (dozow) masquerades of the western Burkinabé groups, and the Tussian and Siemu peoples of Burkina Faso.3 The characteristics also relate to masquerades in honor of powerful elderly entities such as Gèlèdé that pays homage to powerful, elderly women in Yoruba society. Masks may also be purely whimsical such as the Dodo masquerades (Petite and Grand variants), a child-initiated, child-focused pantomime of the Mossi of Burkina Faso4 or partly dangerous and partly playful as in the case of Yoruba Gèlèdé masking tradition. Concerning masks and their occasional deployment for conflicts, Babatunde Lawal documents instances when the Yoruba Gèlèdé masking tradition was used in contemporary party politics to settle scores among political rivals.5 As malleable metaphors, masks are adaptable and capricious, and due to their association with philosophical ideas and spirituality in traditional and transitional societies, masks (such as Fig. 36.1) embody not only the metaphysical other but also communicate extensive knowledge about such societies. Masks and A. A. Adesanya (B) James Madison University, Harrisonburg, VA, USA © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_36

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Fig. 36.1 Wole Lagunju’s Metaphysical Other II, oil on canvas, 30 × 24 in (Photo Courtesy of the artist, 2017)

masking traditions enable reimagined entities and performances necessary for play, the expression of sociopolitical satire, the reenactment of self and (re)presentation of the “other” in traditional, modern, and post-modern spaces (Figs. 36.2, 36.3, 36.4, and 36.5). While cultures across the globe vary in the attachments they assign to masks and masking traditions, African societies remain invested in their spirituality and symbolism. Babatunde Lawal rightly notes, “Masking features prominently in many African cultures essentially because of its symbolic, life-affirming functions.”6 The richness of African masking tradition in codifying the mores of the society and its agency in making the invisible visible also remain profound. The art of disguise takes different forms and manifestations and convey various philosophies. In masking rituals and spectacles, the mask is the most profound and enigmatic. It is the repository for involving the sublime in human affairs. Sometimes revealing,

36 The Masked Snap, the Snapped Mask … Fig. 36.2 Wole Lagunju’s signature style of Gèlèdé portrait—Gèlèdé modernity and/or Majestic Gèlèdé I. This is a study after Michiel Jansz van Miereld of the Golden Age, acrylic on canvas, 2014

Fig. 36.3 Wole Lagunju’s signature style of Gèlèdé portrait—Gèlèdé modernity and/or Majestic Gèlèdé II, titled Golden Age III, oil on canvas, 31 × 31 in. 2017 (Photo Courtesy of the artist)

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Fig. 36.4 Egúngún Mask, twentieth century, Nigeria. Wood, wool, metal, pigment. 12 × 8 × 6 1/2 in. The Newark Museum. Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Paul E. Schneck, 1979 79.210

other times concealing. The richness and complexity of African masking tradition, the inscrutability of the mask, and variableness of the masker, among many other reasons, informed my choice of the mask metaphor to interrogate one of the debates that the collective of scholars on Words that Matters Series chose to examine sometime in 2017. In this essay, I will discuss the mask as artifact and as a metaphorical covering for sinister behavior, a concealment for dysfunctional, mental health, and ominous intentions of human beings. I will extend my discussion to examine broader issues concerning the transcendental notion of the mask and its interface with politics, power, treachery, and other layers of human interactions in two African cultures—Nigeria and Burkina Faso. For illustrative purposes, I will be using the masks, masking, and oral traditions of the Yoruba, the Mossi of Burkina Faso, and some of the post-modern Gèlèdé portrait paintings of Wole Lagunju.7 The forum that inspired my reflection on masks and masking and to examine them as a metaphor of dysfunctional human behavior was Words That Matter 8 Series 11. On that platform, Toyin Falola introduced a phrase Tí a kò bá jà kì í já! (If we do not fight, the bond of friendship/kinship does not break). This profound expression is what I want to start my discussion with. To engage how the axiom opened up in two ways, first, I will review it in the way it is couched, Tí a kò bá jà kì í já! (If we do not fight, the bond of friendship/kinship does not break) and secondly, I will look at it in a flipped mode, Tí kò bá já a kì í jà! (If something does not snap, we do not fight!). My first argument is that the latter precedes the former. To repeat,

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Fig. 36.5 Wole Lagunju’s Gelede II—Satire and Parody, Oil on canvas, 2014

if something does not snap, we actually do not fight. Whatever snaps are usually hidden hence my invocation of the mask metaphor. The “masked snap” therefore is a mental state or a symptom festering in a person that becomes a disease if not quickly addressed. If ignored, it gnaws and manifests in anti-social behaviors. In public, it opens in the form of gossips, backbiting, backstabbing, treachery, or sinister plots. Call it whatever you like, feud, fight, fracas. In reality, the fight—whether mild or deadly—is actually the outcome of a struggle that began several weeks, months, or even years before its visible manifestation. Depending on the ability of the fiendish friend to mask his/her behavior, the reality will elude the victim; he/she may just not have noticed it or may have treated it with levity! The mask is a complicated art form; you never know what is hidden beneath.9 Real, imagined, or reconstituted, it is just surreal. It oscillates between visibility and invisibility, play and precariousness. Ask the Italian Guiseppe Verdi, a master of his craft about such variableness and the complications and he would detail a treatise about the complexities he encountered in dealing with the masked form in his opera Un Ballo in Maschera (1859). This is A Masked Ball Opera based on the 1792 assassination of Gustave III of Sweden as a result of political conspiracy against him. For Verdi to stage his opera, he faced many difficulties because of the sensibilities of people and the prevalent political

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circumstances in the localities where he wanted to have the performance. People feared the “mask”! The costume central to the performance could be an easy disguise for another assassination. Anyone could come to the scene and actually unleash terror on the public, kill an elite, and get away with it. This forced Verdi to review and adjust the plot of his traveling opera to suit locations. For him, the mask indeed proved to be problematic. Beyond the mask used in play and performance as in Verdi’s, and those deployed in the reenactment of ancestors or history as in the examples of various masquerade traditions in Africa (notably the Yoruba egúngún,10 Gèlèdé face and helmet masks, and the Southern Bwa nwtantatay plank mask11 ), or those that oscillate between tradition and modernity, and indigenous cultures and their diaspora spaces,12 it is the invisible mask that individuals wear that should be feared most. Indeed, Shakespeare puts it aptly, “There is no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.”13 The depth of the human mind is unfathomable, it is like a dark, deep blue sea that tosses a ship to and fro in any direction its tides choose to go. This inscrutability similar to the befuddlement in human relationships that we typically fail to catch, and we eventually fall prey to, is what Falola tries to grasp in the following excerpt: My most serious mistake in life is not to know when to end a relationship. I get the clues, I get the evidence, but I always assume that things will be mended. But they never get mended; they actually get worse! As I refused to give up the relationship, it always ended in a calamity; a serious one in which the other person, motivated by revenge and other reasons, piled up lies and spread them to produce severe damages.14

Damages will escalate because the trigger for the cancerous invasion took root long ago. The muted fight started long before the outburst. A feud is just like cancer; it is present in everyone and incubates and exacerbates over time. Consequently, it would have taken root in the body before the cells are detected. Early intervention calls for the extermination of the cancerous cell before they become malignant. Similarly, a malicious family member, an envious friend, associate, or colleague that demonstrate symptoms no matter how faint, must be demoted and gradually effaced. They are usually hard nuts to crack but crack we must! As the Yoruba say, “ènìyàn kì í finá sórí òrùlé sùn,” meaning “You do not sleep under a roof that is on fire.” If fire engulfs your thatched roof or whatever material your roof is made of, you do not stay inside the house or go to sleep. You either extinguish the fire, or you run as fast as your legs can carry you away from the life-threatening inferno. As a parallel, the typical reaction when one senses similar perilousness in a relationship is first to withdraw, and from withdrawal, one moves to termination. This way “Had I?” would not arise in the way Falola later bemoaned his tardiness in dismissing cancerous relationships. “Had I terminated the relationship at the earliest instance of the clues, the initial incubation of the conflict, the greater calamity that followed would have been avoided.”15 “Had I?” Two painful words. How many personalities in history have uttered such rueful words in their minds, and at their dying moments? In a cycle of death perpetrated by friends, associates, rivals, allies, imagine Julius Caesar, Anwar Sadat, Indira Gandhi, Malcolm X (Malik El-Shabazz), Thomas Sankara, and Benazir Bhutto in their dying moments. Imagine them facing their tragic end and

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contemplating what else they could have done to prevent such tragic exit. Think of the scenarios and begin to relate them to the notion of the masked snap and the snapped mask. These political figures, and many more, are exemplars and lessons in history, of relationships turned sour, of dangers not analyzed and apprehended, and evidence of natural human failings. To cite some examples closer to home, in some African locations, it is necessary to unpack the idea of a snap and relate it to specific historical and political events.

The Anatomy and Paradigms of a “Masked Snap”: Yoruba-Nigeria A snap could be explained as an outburst or disguised fury that matures into hatred with possibility for violence and/or annihilation. A snap is also a mental health issue that requires diagnosis and medication. The intent in this paper is not to examine the medical prognosis but to speculate on possible triggers within a social orbit. What triggers a snap? If we start to catalog it, envy, ambition, rivalry, arrogance, greed, success versus failure, among other things, will top the list. Human beings are gifted differently; some are great orators, others are great thinkers. Some are prosperous, others are average folks, while others live in total penury. Some are fertile and as a result, sire children, as many as desired. Others simply are not so blessed; they have one or two children. Others still have none. In this odyssey, the odd assembly of entities, the haves, and have-nots co-exist. The peril inherent in the admixture is the failure to acknowledge and accept individual differences and to follow personal paths instead of envying others. This remains one of the banes of humanity. People snap when they can no longer contain their anger at the spiraling success of others, or when they feel others are simply favored by the gods and they are not. Sometimes, it is as a result of sheer indignation, perceived self-aggrandizement—that others are not better than them or do not deserve to be in the spotlight—hence they orchestrate the downfall of these “others” or just wish them evil where the power or access to harm them does not materialize. Society often learns more about the evil that men and women do, and not the ones that were not brought to fruition. I want to illustrate with some examples from the archives that involved three Bashorun—generalissimos and one illustrious female of Yoruba history. Bashorun Gáà was a tyrannical leader, and de facto hegemon in the power struggles in the last half of the eighteenth-century Old Oyo empire. Gáà tormented the life and threatened the position of Alaafin Abiodun, the king, whom he never failed to show that he held sway when it comes to power and privileges in the empire. Gáà had eliminated four Alaafin before Abiodun Adegoolu became the king. In spite of the fact that Abiodun paid homage to Gáà from time to time, he remained Abiodun’s mortal enemy, but he feigned friendship. He ultimately betrayed his fangs when he learned that Abiodun wanted his daughter Agbonyin to succeed him. Fate presented the evil Gáà to hatch his sinister plot against Abiodun; he grabbed Agbonyin, who

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Gáà cheekily referred to as Agbonrin—the gazelle, when she paid a visit to his domain. Gáà used Abiodun’s daughter and only child, for sacrifice! Abomination! Abiodun knew Gáà was evil but courted him so that he may rule the empire in peace. But no one rides the back of a tiger and escapes its peril. Abiodun waited too long to put an end to the tyranny of the evil Gáà—until he had lost his daughter. Perhaps, Abiodun, at a point, uttered: “Had I?” We will never know. The tragic episode of the time has gone into the annals of Yoruba history and has been reproduced in different genres (text and theater) as reminders of treachery and cautionary exemplars for contemporary personas. Aare Latóòsà and Efunsetan Aniwura were two powerful figures in nineteenthcentury Yoruba history. Latoosa was an astute military tactician, a savvy politician, and an overlord who held sway in Ibadan and drove the fear of the living daylight even into the minds of even kings including the Alaafin, his former overlord, and from whom he exacted unthinkable homage at a time the wheel of life turned against the Alaafin. Latóòsà achieved unparalleled success at war and in the administration of his domain. Aniwura, an illustrious woman, fierce, and almost an indomitable personality, was the backbone that Ibadan warlords depended on to finance war campaigns. She had enormous resources, slaves, bead wealth, including horses that even warlords who periodically raided many enclaves could not boast of. In the grand scheme of things, Aniwura was a voice to be reckoned with and was friends with Latóòsà as with some other Ibadan leaders. However, she lacked the political astuteness that the recurrent undercutting and tactical maneuvering cornerstones of Ibadan politics during the nineteenth century demanded. The very failings of the woman were used against her. Still, her vulnerability would not have been exploited if not for the fact that something snapped! Something snapped in Latóòsà and other treacherous and embattled cliques. Pride and Patriarchy were at play. Jealousy was another major trigger with several underlying reasons for the strife between the male leaders and the super-successful lone female chief in their midst. Many chieftains were indebted to her and they resented that reality. They refused to settle their indebtedness to her. Latóòsà, in particular, could no longer disguise his disdain for Aniwura. His mask was shattered by long-nursed venom such that he consequently encouraged a sinister plot against the woman. Aniwura was charged with various counts, including treason—predicated on the idea that she deliberately withdrew ammunitions that the Ibadan warlords depended on for success at war. She was also accused of not joining the populace that greeted the warlords at the outskirt of the town as they returned from battle. Failure to rejoice at their successful return was used to validate the accusation of treason. Subsequently, Aniwura was arranged for trial and deposed on 1 May 1874. Her position was given to her subordinate, the Otun-Iyalode (first lieutenant). Historical account indicates that she was publicly disgraced at the Town Council meeting on the 22 of June 1874.16 The overarching issue in this historic tragic saga involving the two elite chieftains of Ibadan history is that from the time Latóòsà envied Aniwura, and plotted her downfall, the latter remained oblivious. Did Aniwura get the chance to utter “Had I?” We will never know. However, oral tradition and written history document the heroic way the valiant woman chose her exit. Aniwura did not fear death at all. By

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poisoning herself instead of waiting for her enemies to execute her, it was clear she resolved to leave the world on her own terms. Other layers to Aniwura’s life account are the trauma she is said to have suffered following some personal misfortunes. First, her only daughter died at childbirth. The tragedy left her childless and heirless in a society that privileges not only material wealth but also human capital. The patriarchal Yoruba world did not have a permanent exalted place for someone like Aniwura despite her wealth and generosity. This blatant social negation threw her world into total turmoil. Something snapped in the woman of great wealth and influence that possibly accelerated her downfall. She became hostile and tyrannical to those around her and under her authority. Her family, friends, slaves, and neighbors walked her grounds with trepidation. Memory of the period of hostility includes the time she ordered her slaves to beat a palm dresser, old Ogunjinmi to death for supposedly encroaching on her property. Historical accounts also recall her wickedness to Adetutu, one of her pregnant slaves beheaded for daring to violate her rule that no slave should conceive again on her household. Male slaves were also not spared, she berated many with impunity and had several of them tied to stakes as punishment for tardiness in their work. In Aniwura’s household, all slaves were customarily subject to verbal abuse, threat of death, corporal punishment, and even cold-blooded murder. The woman’s drastic behavioral change was phenomenal; a once liberal generous female turned into a very mean personality who refused to help people, including those in dire need. The curt treatment meted to Akinkunle, who needed financial help for his ailing son was a classic example of Aniwura’s several harsh episodes. The only person who remained in her favor was Ajile, her best friend. Aniwura’s trauma and subsequent volatility and the masked dysfunctional behavior of Latóòsà and other misogynists of her time period could be said to have pushed the woman to the brink of mental disequilibrium. Oluwatoyin Ilesanmi17 analyzed this state as evidence of psychopathological disorder. According to Ilesanmi’s diagnosis, Aniwura was possibly someone with induced psychopathologic disorder that ensued after the traumatic loss of her only child and the hostile denigrating cultural milieu that places much emphasis on progenitors. Ilesanmi also posits that Aniwura suffered “external locus of control- she blamed God for her tragedy, … and was a distressed individual who transferred her aggression to her slaves and neighbours… She also had negative cognition; exhibited antisocial behavior in the repeated physical aggressiveness (such as attacking a neighbor with cutlass) and manifested verbal aggression.”18 Aniwura was also someone who summarized her life with suicidal ideation—as seen in her famous epic statement “Iku ya je sin” meaning “death is better than shame.”19 Her words remind one of Jean-Paul Sartre’s submission: “There are two ways to enter the final chamber; free or not free, the choice is ours.”20 Aniwura chose the latter; she dared to look death in the face. Her fate could not have been otherwise. To repeat, she had lived all her life according to her own terms; death was not going to change it. Bashorun M.K.O Abiola, successful international businessman, newspaper proprietor,21 and a significant icon of contemporary Yoruba history and Nigerian politics, was a well-known generous individual. He had friends, associates, and allies

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across ethnic and religious divides, and was a benefactor to numerous people. Many cheered him on in his quest to become Nigerian president in his Hope 1993 campaign. When Abiola’s victory at the polls was scuttled in 1993, his prominent “friends,” with Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida as the most formidable ally in power, were responsible for the annulment. Something clearly snapped in Babangida (a.k.a IBB). The mask within the man snapped before the outer one fell from his face. After the June 12 debacle, when a transitional government was proposed to douse the tension and agitation in the land, and specifically to pacify the Yoruba, Ernest Shonekan, Abiola’s tribesman was handpicked. Pronto! He gladly took the interim position of puppet Head of State without even considering the immediate and long-term implications. Many had pondered, “Why did he accept the position? A reasonable conclusion drawn by many on Abiola’s side was that Shonekan was clearly Abiola’s enemy disguised as a friend. Michael Afolayan’s intervention on Series 12 seems apposite to describe Shonekan, and perhaps the other traitors who mortgaged Abiola’s victory. ‘We have found the enemy, and alas, it is us!’…Indeed, we are our #1 enemies! The only problem is that more often than not, we don’t realize it.”22 Why do we fail to see the problem when it is right under our nostrils? Why did Abiola not see the handwriting on the wall? Why did he not sense that fiendish friends like Babangida, Abacha, and the likes were loyal to selves and their tribe than to friendship? Was he blinded by his own ambition? Was he too trusting? Is the hidden mask not implicated in the mist and mirage that clouded his judgment? The mask that hides the evil face, and the hidden intent? Is the Yoruba word amòòkùns.ìkà23 also not appropriate to classify entities who wear masks—the categories of Latóòsà and Babangida? They and their brood exemplify what Michael Afolayan reminds us about the Yoruba, “The enemy is just at the backyard; the ultimate destroyer is inside the house.” They are the ultimate kòríkòsùn, gbàm´o.w´o., gbàmóra (right-hand persons, very close to the body). Apanilára (injurer or mischief maker), apanije. (murderer), apanimáyo.dà, among other symbolic epithets. In Abiola’s epic destruction, Sanni Abacha is another resident evil, and Abiola’s friend-turned-enemy. In the post-June 12 era, the goggled tyrant and head of the junta quickly sacked Ernest Shonekan and began to rule Nigeria with a fierce hand. The tyrant incarcerated Abiola until the business mogul died of health complications on the eve of his expected release from prison. The aftermath generated many questions, with few answers! Abiola regrettably got drowned in the sea of perceived friends who sacrificed his political ambition and life on the altar of competing forces, personal ambitions, indifference, envy, and various shades of hidden issues. In his final days, it is not unlikely that Abiola uttered the two poignant words “Had I?”

What Can Anyone Do About the Masked Entity? A series of questions ensue: Is it worthwhile to unmask the masked fiend? If yes, how many do you successfully track? Is there an antidote to the wheel of samsara24 ? Any end to the trail of enemies? I am not sure there is a straightforward answer. So, I

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will borrow wisdom from the idiosyncratic caution espoused by the Yoruba G`e.l`e.d´e. cult. Part of the social ciphers of G`e.l`e.d´e. is to caution humanity to tread softly. The measured gait and the carefully choreographed dance steps of the G`e.l`e.d´e. masker are symbolic signals to observers of its spectacle on how to mediate and navigate the world, to avoid pitfalls and even grave ends in a world fraught with caprices. In essence, G`e.l`e.d´e. cautions that one should see the world first as a playground and battleground where pinnacles, pitfalls, and plateau rotate in a manner that is consistent with nature and the wheel of life. When it turns on the positive side, that is, the pinnacle, and we attain new or unprecedented heights, we rejoice, we are celebrated, family and friends rejoice with us, but foes fume. We become objects of envy; we are also hated with religious intensity by those who fail to reach similar pinnacles of success at the same time. Such bid their time to hurt or harm us. Divine intervention and destiny prevent greater calamities. Many times, by sheer providence, we escape evil machinations. When the wheel oscillates to reveal a negative side and we experience pitfalls, valleys become a gulf that we want to end as abruptly as it opens its ugly recess, and as quickly as one rolls up a mat at the break of dawn when the drive is to set forth at dawn, to seize the day. During this time—usually of excruciating struggle—our detractors rejoice while we worry over loss, failures, and disappointments. However, the wheel of life is never static, it spins and spurs, our orb rotates again to reveal a plateau, a sort of stabilizing level, where we are neither down nor up, we just hang in the balance. We are busy performing a balancing act and swinging in-between until we can find a firm foothold. At this trajectory which may seem like a nightmarish wonderland, on both sides of the divide—we and our enemies—have opposite mindsets. Ours is full of fervent prayers not to experience the pit again and to ascend to stable ground; theirs filled with earnest devilish imaginations for us to plunge deeper into the abyss. The Yoruba captures this inescapable confounding cycle in the pithy saying, àtòrì layé, bó bá lò síwájú, a tún lò s´e.yìn meaning the world is like a whip; when you swing it, it goes forward and backward. In other intellectual traditions of the world such as ancient Egypt, the reality of order and chaos in the world, the need to chastise and to shepherd informed the iconic flail and the crook royal insignias of the pharaohs. As for the Yoruba, understanding the duality of forces and the instability of life, and developing equanimity and solace to wade through life storms rests in the saying, tibi-tire la dálé ayé; àtòrì dí e.` , àdí-àgbo.n dí e.` ! Good and evil make the world, a palm kernel oil massage follows a whiplash.

S.ooresá and S.’ooreníw`o.n (Endless and Restrained Benevolence) In our quest to master the balancing act of living in a world full of hills and valleys, promises and disappointments, promises and ploys, we may ponder on two other thoughts, S.’ooresá and .S’ooreníw .o`n of the Yoruba. S.’ooresá is the Yoruba word

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for endless benevolence, a call for one to do good without ceasing. S.’ooreníw .o`n is the antithesis of S.’ooresá . It is a cautionary word for anyone to limit well-doing or else such a person will contract or attract evil in various forms including envy, resentment, even death. In both pithy sayings, the Yoruba are correct. Both ideas stem from ìrírí ayé, life experiences. If one fails to practice moderate or discriminatory benevolence, people (friends, family, all, and sundry) will take one for granted. They turn you into a favor bank and become so entitled such that when you are genuinely unable to meet their needs, they turn against you. They call you all sorts of names including tightwad, mean persona. I do not recall the actual text now, but as I grew up, I remember reading a text that has a main character called S’ooresa, a godly man with a benevolent spirit who did tremendous good to many that crossed his path. In spite of his generosity of heart, he was ultimately utterly despised and almost ruined by his friends. The lesson of S’ooresa’s story is to be found in the Yoruba expression: E.nu ò mo. tàná, ojoojúm´o. ló ´n gbe.bo.! The mouth forgets the meal it ate yesterday, every day it accepts sacrifice. People forget quickly the good that you did for them yesterday, it is the favor you failed to render today or tomorrow that becomes registered in their brains. Accordingly, your character and public image are only guaranteed by the tenure of your benevolence! I will use one song to conclude this segment on the Yoruba, a song typically invoked to troll enemies. Whenever the wheel of life turns its wicked grind away from the afflicted, the Yoruba is likely to chant: Kó wó, kó wó! Àràbà ò wó, ojú ti Ìrókò| Kó wó, kó wó! Collapse, collapse! Collapse, collapse! The Kapok tree fails to fall, shame to the African teak Collapse! collapse! The expression, “revenge is a meal best served cold,” is also appropriate to cite here. After all, is said and done, revenge is sweet to him/her who waits for the opportune moment to deal a deadly blow. However, in order to get the opportunity to strike back, you must first learn to survive the wiles and guise of the deadly “masker.” Beware of that individual who stalks its prey like a vulture; the vulture is a patient bird. Hence, someone must be watchful and conscious of the maxim “the patience of the partridge (àparò) is extremely elastic.” Beware of anyone behind a mask. You do not see the face and do not know what lurks in his/her mind. Even the slit-eye demure Gèlèdé masker remain inscrutable! (Fig. 37.6). Carl Einstein has even absolved the wearer in his submission that the mask is expressionless because it is liberated from the “lived experience of the individual.”25 Once the mask is donned, the individual loses the self and is not responsible for his or her actions. This is to be expected since maskers typically perform ecstasy26 dances and get into a frenzied state that transforms them into the surreal. In this somewhat schizophrenic state, the mask shields and shelters the masker from scrutiny—no

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Fig. 36.6 Gèlèdé mask with headwrap. Collection of OYASAF (Photo Aderonke Adesanya, 2015)

penetration, no discernment. If William Shakespeare mused in the epithet, “There is no art to find the mind’s construction on a man’s face,” what then does one expect to unravel from the façade of a masked person? “Life is endless battle and conflict, and you cannot fight effectively unless you can identify your enemies. People are subtle and evasive, disguising their intentions, pretending to be on your side. You need clarity. Learn to smoke out your enemies, to spot them by the signs and patterns that reveal hostility.”27 Or treachery. The art of disguise is a masterstroke ruse—a battle of minds and masks.

The Anatomy and Paradigms of a Masked Snap: Burkina Faso To locate another paradigm of a masked snap, I now turn to Burkina Faso, a Francophone West African country where vibrant multi-ethnic communities use masks for and are invested in the celebration of their heritage. Although the Burkinabés are a Francophone group, they speak a variety of different local languages and dialects

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including Moré spoken by the Mossi, the largest group (50%) and half of the Burkinabé population. The Fulani, the second largest group (8%) in the country, speak Fulfulde. Dioula, the language of trade in West Africa, is also spoken in Burkina Faso. While the people make masks for the celebration of religious ceremonies, these have not been mined for their rich ethos nor have their ideas been interfaced with contemporary politics or popular expressions of the country.28 Notwithstanding, one can speak of mask and masking in a metaphorical sense in Burkina Faso, and most importantly about new modes of perpetuating memory, and in the crystallization of the personality cult of one of their enigmatic leaders in recent history. Altogether, I situate the discussion within the context of the rivalry, tension, intrigues, and social struggle that have played out in Burkinabe polity over the last two decades. The short introductory silhouette of this West African location is necessary because of Thomas Sankara and Blaise Compaoré, two personalities that are the focus of my discussion of masks as metaphors of a snap. Sankara was partly Mossi (his parents were Peulh and Mossi) whereas Compaore is a full-fledged Mossi male considered29 worthy of even the traditional title of Mossi chieftain. Sankara and Compaore were compatriots, friends, and rivals and epicenters of contemporary politics of the 1990s in Burkinabé. They also shared a brotherhood.30 Bruno Jaffré notes that the “two young officers, Sankara and Compaoré, allegedly met during the so-called ‘war of the poor’ between Burkina Faso (then Haute-Volta) and Mali in 1974. But their friendship deepened during a military training in Morocco in 1978.”31 Sankara is said to have been instrumental to the admittance of Compaoré into the revolutionary organization set to transform the political terrain of Burkinabe. Whereas every new member of the clandestine organization (that the revolutionaries in the army had created) had to scale various hurdles before being admitted, Blaise Compaoré was allowed to skip the standard protocols. Sankara had tremendous confidence in Compaoré and commended him to his fellow compatriots. Jaffré cites a scene from a documentary film based on the duo that illuminates the close bond felt by one party and the unequal relationship that existed between the two. Sankara had expressed his love and concern for his friend Compaore in this excerpt: It’s great to have a man to whom one can tell everything, well almost everything. Letting him guess what you did not dare to tell him yourself … It’s great and very unusual … But it can be painful because it implies huge efforts from the other to be always responsive. When I call Blaise at 4 o’clock, to ask him to come and see me he has to accept to spend the entire night until dawn making me relax, laugh, boosting me, in order to help me in carrying out my work. We spend night after night discussing. That means he must have no worries. He ought to live to attend to a sick person or I don’t know … to look after. It’s unique. When I reflect on this, I am asking myself, who is going to support him? Because he has to have someone to lean upon, to keep [him] sane.32

Folks in the revolutionary group were skeptical of the newcomer, but he was granted a pass on the platform of Sankara. Sankara further warmed up to Compaoré by entrusting him to carry out the most secret of his missions. These gestures and subsequent scenarios of reposed but misplaced trust and camaraderie later proved to be Sankara’s waterloo. Another sore point for Compaoré could be the charismatic way in which Sankara seemed to have effortlessly rallied the people.33 Sankara was a

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gifted orator, a socialist-nationalist, and a revolutionary leader of uncommon clout in Burkinabe history. Arguably a man of the people, Sankara pursued agendas of moderation, modesty, prudence, minimalism that were all structured to develop the polity and get the Burkinabe nation out of acute economic crisis. He had the charisma that made his ideas and voice appeal to many across ethnic, national, and international divides. He embraced and promoted the socialist agenda of the Soviet Union and adopted Pan-Africanist mantra. These helped him to lay out important progressive programs and to also start institutional building. The agenda of his regime saw the evolution of monuments such as the Place de la Revolution (constructed in 1984),34 four national theaters, Place des Cinéastes, le Monument de la Bataille du Rail among others. However, he also had enemies within and outside the country. Compaore on the other hand is considered an ambitious, ruthless personality. He had an enabling ally in his Chantale Compaoré (formerly Terrasson de Fougères35 ), his wife who often pushed him to take the bull by the horn, to stir up the hornet’s nest. Given Compaoré’s ambitious move, it was not long before the walls began to crack between the two gladiators of Burkinabe politics of the 1980s, and there ensued a love-lost relationship. Sankara, the one of the two friends who was too trusting and demonstrated camaraderie of cordiality, would eventually suffer a fatality. The other was calculating and for the most part of their trajectory bided his time. He was the mole within the structure created for change and progress in Burkina Faso. The metaphorically snake whose personal agenda trumped groupthink. The rivalry between the two became apparent after the 4 August 1983 coup d’état that forced Jean-Baptiste Ouedraogo out of office. Sankara was pronounced president by the revolutionary group. Unknown to all, this decision did not go down well with Compaoré. He had wanted power for himself. Compaoré is said to have confided in Vincent Sigué that he wanted to be the “top man” given his central role in the events that day (an account that was widely believed).36 Like a veneer, he kept his ambition hidden, his dislike for Sankara disguised. He walked with Sankara for a short while more before he finally struck in 1987 with another coup. Compaoré in his spirited justification for the coup claimed he was geared to sanitize the muddied Burkinabe political system, to rectify wrongs and all sorts. Not many Burkinabes bought his rationalization for the coup. As expected, they were angry at the Sankara’s sudden demise. It destabilized the local setting and also sent ripples across the globe. He was a young, vibrant, valiant man, a gallant soldier, a charismatic leader loved by his people, one who in their eyes was without guile. He was also admired across the continent for his socialist-leadership agenda which he believed could rescue the impoverished Burkina Faso nation from the pit of poverty. Unfortunately, the lofty dreams could not be realized; he was felled in the prime of life, murdered in cold blood.37 Compaoré, his revolutionary co-traveler, had let him down. They had come a long way; but were only friends in the eyes of the public, and in the mind of Sankara. The friendship ended at the footstool of Compaoré.38 Consequently, the rupture of social imagination in the aftermath of the 1987 bloody coup gave Compaoré a new profile; he became the classic Burkinabe equivalent of Roman Brutus, Caesar’s friend. Et tu Brute? could easily be substituted for Et tu Compaoré? Compaoré was not the only masked entity in the 1987 debacle, there were others, including major imperial powers implicated in the saga

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that engulfed Burkina Faso. Sankara had pointed accusing fingers at some nations as being stakeholders and shadow parties in the destabilization agenda of African countries seen to be pursuing communist ideologies and embracing liberation struggles. He had referred to the United States, France, and the like as the “Western imperialist camp.” From Sankara’s viewpoint, there was considerable apprehension among these Western nations that newly independent countries would move toward communist ideologies so they planted moles to destabilize the system—a process which often led to the assassinations of the leaders of those nations. “This was the case in 1956 when the Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser decided to nationalize the Suez Canal and, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), the first Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba (democratically elected) was assassinated in 1961.”39 Essentially, radical and progressive African leaders like Sankara had to deal with bigger masquerades, deadlier in their strategies and machinery (human and weapons) than treacherous local friends or allies. Neo-imperialists were perennial shadow parties that continued to run the affairs of African governments even after the nations had been granted independence. In every nook and crannies, they tried to put “a dog in the fight.” They installed cronies wherever they could and worked to destabilized regimes that they were unable to keep at bay. Jaffré framed the scenarios in this way: In the French-speaking former colonies, the United States subcontracted the fight against ‘communism’ to the French, as progressive movements were leading to revolts and popular wars for independence, as in Algeria, Cameroon and Madagascar.2 After a protracted war in Algeria, France (under the stewardship of de Gaulle), ‘granted’ independence to French ‘possessions’ in Northern and Sub-Saharan Africa in an attempt to retain some of their political-economic dominance in the region. Paris installed subservient regimes in order to continue the exploitative extraction of raw materials as well as retain influence in African markets – and thus to maintain its political domination and its status as a world power. At the time De Gaulle entrusted Jacques Foccart with the mission of holding the region under French influence. Nicknamed ‘Monsieur Afrique’ under de Gaulle and Pompidou, Foccart set up a large network of contacts, which organized surveillance and collected information across the francophone African region. It is well known that he also ordered covert actions and so-called ‘dirty tricks’ (i.e., destabilization efforts).40

So, Sankara was a target of and at many levels; friend, rival, and perennial overlords. However, because Sankara occupied a higher moral ground and was very much invested in the emancipation of the people, the perpetuation of his memory was not a difficult agenda to pursue in Burkinabe even long after his death. The people sought and found new ways to keep his memory alive. His personality cult was propelled into public consciousness in spite of the repressive strategies enacted by Compaoré’s regime over time. Activists, acolytes, and artists were in the vanguard of, so to speak, “the fetishization” of Sankara, in the celebration of his martyrdom, and in the demand for unalloyed democratic structures. Indeed, artists played an important role in the revolution of 2014. One of the unifying trends amongst artists was their use of the figure of Sankara in their fight for democracy. Sankara became the personification of change. His figure was a catalyst for ideas and concepts to which the young generation could identify — many artists associated themselves with Sankara as a human being who lived closely with the people. In the streets of Ouagadougou, protestors held his portraits and, marching in procession, accumulated a sort of collective

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energy – a power. Through these acts, Sankara was reincarnated symbolically as the main opponent to Compaoré […]. He provided and inspired some of the necessary strength for the revolution.41

Bringing Sankara back into limelight was inevitable. His death had created such a huge lacuna to fill, it triggered a quest for change, discontent among the public about the way he was killed, and ultimately, a festering of a revolution. Consequently, there grew a public imagination about Sankara framed in various powerful ways including the use of graffiti, photomontage, painting, theater, music, poetry, film, photography, and urban painting, among other genres to express broader political agenda and to galvanize the public.42 Bogumil Jewsiewicki captured an aspect of this momentum in the following words: …narration is often an important political element in the creation and imagining of a collective identity. Similarly, the figure of Sankara emerged as a powerful component of the new narrative of Burkinabè during the revolution. His image has transfigured through the prism of time and collective and individual memory. Following his assassination, references to and images of Sankara had been forced from public reference and public space. His memory was repressed, silenced, hidden and forced to remain in the collective unconscious. But, step by step, his image reappeared in popular urban art.43

Sankara never favored iconicity; he was largely unhappy with the promotion of his image even during his lifetime. He was acclaimed incorruptible and largely remembered as a leader invested in pursuing his mission and helping Burkinabe to evolve. “Despite his personal dislike for iconography, his figure was sometimes used in art with ideological and political aims. This personality cult was less obvious than in some other socialist countries, including The Popular Republic of Bénin, Ghana or Ethiopia, for instance. One example of this iconography is the image printed on a widely recognized stamp, in which a close-up image of Sankara’s face occupies half of the composition. In the image, he faces a crowd carrying banners with slogans of the party.”44 In all, Sankara’s image was a reimagined one that negated all flaws of the leader and reinforced all his great attributes in collective memories. To some extent, one could allude some subjectivity or even some romanticizing in the portrayal of Sankara in Burkinabe popular culture, however, what remains profound is the way in which everything meant to annihilate his memory have essentially served as galvanizers for his reenactment.

Conclusion I have demonstrated in this essay the ways that mask and masking serve as a metaphor of dysfunctionality. Although mask and masking among African cultures are celebratory artifacts and underline the richness, sacredness, and capriciousness in their ethos, I used the metaphors of the mask and masking in a philosophical sense to explain the conundrums and betrayals that occurred between historical figures and contemporary personalities in two African locations—Nigeria and Burkina Faso. Using the examples of Aniwura and Abiola, notable personalities and political figures in Yoruba,

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Nigeria, and Sankara of Burkina Faso, I also illustrated the complexities of friendship, the perils of masking intentions and disdain for the “other” and being unguarded and how these ultimately lead to fatal circumstances. This was the circumstance that befell Aniwura who was upstaged and murdered following the plots of Latóòsà, her contender and other envious fellow chieftains of Ibadan history. It was also the lot of Abiola, contemporary Yoruba Generalissimo, and astute businessman who met his waterloo in the hands of friends turned enemies. A similar grave scenario played out between Sankara and Compaoré in Burkina Faso. In all these episodes and snapshots of precolonial and postcolonial histories of cultures in Nigeria and Burkina Faso, a common strand is established, masks and masking are complicated ethos. They embody and interface with human predilections and idiosyncrasies. The human face, in and of itself, is a mask—a repository for the multitude of intentions both good and bad that lurks behind it. Intentions are hard to decode just as the masked person in a masquerade spectacle becomes inscrutable to the observer. Underneath the beautiful façade (Fig. 36.7) that appears in public lurks layers of mysteries. Just as one is encouraged not to take masquerading and masqueraders in traditional spaces on mere face value but to approach them with restraints because they essentialize capriciousness and embody the inscrutable metaphysical other, one must also approach humanity with caution, and calibrate human relationships with attentiveness. This does not call for excessive paranoia, rather a measured vigilance necessary to avert grave circumstances like those that befell historical and contemporary figures in proximate societies. Falola accurately summed up the complexities of Fig. 36.7 Bwa plank mask from Burkina Faso. It features an elongated superstructure over a stylized human face. A bird imagery with extended beak is placed just over the human face motif. All are decorated with geometric motifs. Wood and pigments. Madison Collection, James Madison University, Harrisonburg, VA (Photo Aderonke Adesanya, 2016)

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human relationship, “Tí kò bá já a kì í jà!” (If something does not snap, we do not fight!). Notes 1. 2. 3.

4. 5.

6. 7.

8.

9.

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Egyptian word for spirit body, alternate or substitute body in which the soul of the departed continues to exist in the afterlife. Egyptian word for spirit body, alternate or substitute body in which the soul of the departed continues to exist in the afterlife. Concerning the masking tradition of the Tussian and Siemu peoples, see the study of Constantine Petridis. 2008. “Buffalo Helmets of the Tussian and Siemu Peoples of Burkina Faso,” African Arts, 41(3): 26–43. Priscilla Baird Hinkely. 1986. “The Dodo Masquerades of Burkina Faso,” African Arts, 19(6): 59–71. Babatunde Lawal. The Gelede Spectacle: Art, Gender, and Social Harmony in an African Culture. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 1996: 271–272. Babatunde Lawal. Yoruba. Milan: 5 Continents Editions, 2012: 55. Lagunju is a Nigerian diaspora artist of Yoruba ethnicity who makes intriguing, conceptual Gelede portrait paintings, and other visuality inspired by his Yoruba heritage, extensive travels, love of satire, interest in iconicity, notions of otherness, race, marginality, and his various experiences as a diaspora entity. In view of his propensity to use Gelede imagery as a visual language, I have dubbed Lagunju as The Muse of Gelede Modernity. Words That Matter is an online forum that Toyin Falola created sometime in 2017 for critical reflections on Yoruba thoughts, politics, and nationhood, African cultural exegesis, African diaspora and other issues related to life in Africa and the new African diaspora. Contributors include Samuel Oloruntoba, Ademola Dasylva, Adeshina Afolayan, Adeshina, Aderonke Adesanya, Augustine Agwuele, Olajumoke Yacoob-Haliso, Bode Ibironke, Babs Sobanjo, Bukola Oyeniyi, Segun Ogungbemi, among others. As a caveat, one must note that those who dress up the masker know the personality who wears the shroud however, the process of transitioning and transforming into a masker is so elaborate and complex, and the ritual extensive to the degree that the person under the shroud is thus believed to have become empowered receptacle that allows the supernatural to inhabit his body. At this point, “a masker is not deemed responsible for any of his actions, which sometimes include the execution of condemned criminals. In other words, the body under the mask is metaphorically part and parcel of the costume that makes the spirit manifest” (Lawal 2012: 62). A ritualized African mask is an artifact that makes person who wears it to conceptually lose his identity and gets him teleported into the realm of ancestors. Lawal ibid., 61.

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11.

The Southern Bwa are known for these tall plank masks made of wood and painted with pigments. The masks characteristically decorated with overall geometric patterns and a stylized human face at the bottom is considered symbolic. They are tangible forms of the religious ethos associated with the spirit Lanle, whose power is manifested through the wooden masks. For details, see Christopher Roy and Thomas G. B. Wheelock. Land of the Flying Masks: Art and Culture in Burkina Faso. Prestel, 2007: 50–54. See Anuradha Vikram’s “Naked in the Sight of the Object: Masking and Masquerades and Black Identity,” A review of Disguise: Masks and Global African Art, an Exhibition at the Fowler Museum at University of California, Los Angeles, October 18, 2015–March 13, 2016. http://x-traonline.org/article/ naked-in-the-sight-of-the-object-masking-masquerade-and-black-identity/. William Shakespeare, Macbeth, 1.4.11–12. Toyin Falola, Words of Wisdom Series 11, Yahoo mail, 2017. Ibid. Isola and Olubunmi Smith (2005). Oluwatoyin Olatundun Ilesanmi. 2014. “Efunsetan Aniwura: A PsychoHistorical Exploration of Women’s Psychopathology,” International Journal of Information and Education Technology, 4(2): 148–149. Ibid. In the past, suicide was considered a heroic deed and not a psychopathological disorder among the Yoruba. History is replete with kings, warlords, valiant men and women who took their own lives by falling on knives that cut their guts open or by ingesting poison rather than endure social shame or defeat in battle. Quotes.net, STANDS4 LLC, 2018. “The Box Quotes.” Accessed May 10, 2018. https://www.quotes.net/mquote/1082349. He was the publisher of Concord Group of Newspapers. Afolayan (2017). The Yoruba word for one who commits evil in the dark or who covers/deploys his/her satanic actions in the guise of the dark. In Buddhism, this is the tortuous cycle of birth, death, and rebirth to which life in the material world is bound and from which a person striving for nirvana must be detached and/or struggle to overcome. Carl Einstein. 2004. “Negro Sculpture,” trans. Charles W. Haxthausen and Sebastian Zeidler, October 107 (Winter): 122–145. Translation of Negerplastik (1915) 2004: 137. This can also be likened to a drunken state where form morph into formlessness. “L´evy-Bruhl defined ecstasy as one of the ‘border states in which representation, properly so called, disappears, since the fusion between subject and object has become complete’ (1926 [1910]: 362). Einstein calls masks a ‘fixed ecstasy’ (die xierte Ekstase), meaning that they freeze-frame the fleeting passage of ecstasy. In particular, he believed that certain grotesque masks conveyed the experience of transformation (1915: xxvi). He even wonders if donning the mask might not serve as a ‘stimulus’ to ecstasy” (Cited from

12.

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18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

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Strother, Z.S. 2013. “Looking for Africa in Carl Einstein Negerplastik,” African Arts, 46(4): 18). Robert Greene. The 33 Strategies of War. Penguins Books, 2006: 3. A possible explanation could be that the masking tradition of the Burkinabes was not invented for satirical or political commentary but rather more for spirituality and transition purposes. An idea given momentum and circulated by his admirers and Chantele, his wife. This stems from how the family of Sankara estimated the relationship. So deep was their interaction that “Thomas Sankara’s father, Joseph Sankara, came to consider Blaise Compaor´e, an orphan whose family background was uncertain, as his own son. He had his meals with the family nearly every day and he even asked him to search for a wife on his behalf. When Thomas Sankara was assassinated, his father expected a visit from Blaise Compaor´e—a visit that never materialized. Later he said that he lost two sons on that day” (Jaffre, 101). Bruno Jaffré. “Who Killed Sankara?” A Certain Amount of Madness: The Life, Politics and Legacies of Thomas Sankara. Amber Murrey Eds. Pluto Press, 2018: Chapter 6: 101. Ibid., 101–102. As Cohen notes, “Sankara has become a symbol; indeed, he was perhaps already a symbol during his lifetime through his symbolic acts: his metaphorriddled discourses, his art of speaking with humor and his charisma. Through this symbolism, he had an impact on people, including an impact on their imagination. This imaginative impact was retained in the collective subconscious and has survived through memory. Sankara’s image, in the popular imagination, has become that iconic portrait of him with slight smiles, often mixed with portions of his most influential speeches. Thomas Sankara became and remains a personification and a catalyst for the Pan African ideas that young people identify with in today’s Africa” (326–327). According to Cohen, the monument “built in cooperation with North Korea during the Cold War, is typical of the international Soviet style but adapted to a Burkinab`e identity.” On the fresco, we can see four characters representative of the ‘people’, including the soldier with the military jacket and red beret, which clearly refers to Thomas Sankara. At his right, in the center, a woman and a man are carrying the hammer and sickle, emblems of communism. The woman carries a typical cloth from Burkina Faso and the man carries a book (to refer to cultural and intellectual reform and policy) and a scythe (to symbolize agricultural reform). The landscape in the background, with palm trees and its red-orange tonality, creates a socialist-realism style version of ‘Africa’ (Cohen 2018: 315). Twenty years later, the site turned out to be a profound and symbolic place. It was the theater of the resistance against the government of Compaore where the people demanded his demission. The daughter and prot´eg´ee of Houphou¨et-Boigny, Ivorian president. Jaffré ibid., 103.

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This is contrary to the initial reports about the manner of his death. Halouna Traor´e’s account of Sankara is often cited in existing literature. According to him, Thomas Sankara was having “a meeting with his collaborators when armed soldiers arrived at the Conseil de l’Entente headquarters (an office of the CNR). He declared, ‘It’s me they are looking for’ and went outside to face his assassins. The findings of the autopsy – only made public in Ouagadougou in October 2015 – corroborated that he had indeed been assassinated while holding up his arms. His body was riddled with bullets, with one entering just under his armpit. The soldiers shot at him, then at those taking part in the meeting. Val`ere Som´e identified three members of the commando unit: Corporal Ma¨iga (bodyguard of Blaise Compaor´e), Hyacinthe Kafando and Corporal Nadi´e, who was the first to hit Thomas Sankara with a hail of bullets” (Jaffré, 96). One could presume that the fickleness of Compaor e´ , his inordinate ambition fueled the plot to kill Sankara. Compaor´e’s state of mind and the fractured relationship between him and Sankara constituted the weakest link of Sankara’s regime. The 1987 coup plotters saw this crack in the wall and seized the opportunity to organize Sankara’s assassination. Jaffré ibid., 97. Ibid., 97–98. Cohen ibid., 314. For instance, Cohen (ibid.) reports the intense Ouagadougou public engagements with the cult of Sankara. Cited in Cohen ibid., 326. Ibid., 316 and Figure 21.2.

References Adesanya, Aderonke. Letter Toyin Falola to. 2017. Re: Words That Matter Series 11. Email. Afolayan, Michael. Letter Aderonke Adesanya to. 2017. Re: Words That Matter Series 11. Email. Baird, Priscilla. 1986. The Dodo Masquerades of Burkina Faso. African Arts 19 (2): 74–91. Cohen, Sophie Bodénès. 2018. Art and the Construction of a ‘Sankara Myth’ in Contemporary Burkinabe Urban and Revolutionary Propaganda Art. In Certain Amount of Madness: The Life, Politics and Legacies of Thomas Sankara, ed. Amber Murrey, 313–327. London: Pluto Press. Einstein, Carl. 2004. Negro Sculpture, trans. Charles W. Haxthausen and Sebastian Zeidler. October 107 (Winter): 122–145. Translation of Negerplastik (1915). Falola, Toyin. Letter Aderonke Adesanya to. 2017. Ti A Ko Ba Ja, Ki i Ja! Words That Matter Series 11. Email, 2017. Falola, Toyin. 2017. Ti a ko ba ja, ki i ja Words That Matter Series 11. Published April 12 at 3:31 AM. Yahoo Mail. https://mail.yahoo.com/d/search/keyword=Words%2520that%2520Ma tter%2520Series%252011. Greene, Robert. 2006. The 33 Strategies of War. New York: Penguins Books. Hinckley, Priscilla Baird. 1986. The Dodo Masquerades of Burkina Faso. African Arts 19 (6): 59–71.

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Ilesanmi, Oluwatoyin Olatundun. 2014. Efunsetan Aniwura: A Psycho-Historical Exploration of Women’s Psychopathology. International Journal of Information and Education Technology 4 (2): 147–150. Isola, Akinwunmi, and Pamela J. Olubunmi Smith. 2005. Efunsetan Aniwura: Iyalode Ibadan and Tinuubu, Iyalode Egba (The Yoruba Historical dramas of Akinwunmi Isola). Trenton: Africa World Press. Jaffré, Bruno. 2018. Who Killed Sankara? In A Certain Amount of Madness: The Life, Politics and Legacies of Thomas Sankara, ed. Amber Murrey, Chapter 6: 96–112. London: Pluto Press. Lawal, Babatunde. 1996. The Gèlèdé Spectacle: Art, Gender, and Social Harmony in an African Culture. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press. Lawal, Babatunde. 2012. Yoruba. Milan: 5 Continents Editions. Petridis, Constantine Petridis. 2008. Buffalo Helmets of the Tussian and Siemu Peoples of Burkina Faso. African Arts 41 (3): 26–43. Roy, Christopher D., and Thomas G.B. Wheelock. 2007. Land of the Flying Masks: Art and Culture in Burkina Faso. Munich: Prestel. Strother, Z.S. 2013. Looking for Africa in Carl Einstein Negerplastik. African Arts 46 (4): 8–21. Verdi, Guiseppe. 1859. Un Ballo in Maschera. Vikram, Anuradha. 2016. ‘Naked in the Sight of the Object’: Masking and Masquerades and Black Identity, a Review of Disguise: Masks and Global African Art, an Exhibition at the Fowler Museum at University of California, Los Angeles, October 18, 2015–March 13, 2016. http://xtraonline.org/article/naked-in-the-sight-of-the-object-masking-masquerade-and-black-identity/.

Chapter 37

Caribbean Orality Hanétha Vété-Congolo

When considering African orality, the Caribbean oral tradition barely comes to mind. However, in 1903, René Basset, a French ethnologist already undertook the meaningful gesture of adding to his collection of African tales, samples of storytales from the Africana canon of the Americas thus underlining the patent, intimate and logical relation between African orality and that of the Americas: […] in my collection of tales, I introduced examples of the groups […] of negroes of the European colonies. Slave ships did not transport only slaves, they also carried on board tales and it is a curious spectacle to see how African tales, while keeping their principal characters and the kernel point of their adventures, was transformed under the contact with the whites in America and Mauritius.1

The early twentieth century is one during which European observers, colonials and scholars paid particular attention to African orality and that emanating from the offspring of Africans in the Americas. They “laboratorized” the products of the African mind in Africa and especially in the Americas to determine whether the latter valuably contributed to the creation of things American. Active works on the Caribbean oral tradition have not been prominent since the eighties. Such work on African orality is, however, active in Africa although one notices its inner-centeredness. It is true that the task of examining the various manifestations of African orality is monumental given the reigning cultural diversity in Africa. Much has been understood on Caribbean orality and light has been cast on its combinatory nature. Nevertheless, the history of formal knowledge production and dissemination on the Caribbean, often based on approximation, ellipses driven by a biased and racist lens, forces a new consideration of the said knowledge now established as fundamental. The twenty-first-century modes of existence do not favor the full expression of ancestral orality in the Caribbean. That is, one does not witness a spontaneous and massive expression of tale-telling anymore. The latter is rather H. Vété-Congolo (B) Bowdoin College, Brunswick, ME, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_37

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expressed through set events requiring anticipated organization such as festivals. This said, one can observe the way principles directly springing from the oral tradition are embedded in everyday life and found through different means and forms in essential activities especially those related to meaningful thought orientation, production and application that govern ways of being and of doing. It is, therefore, my ambition to reignite intellectual and scholarly inquiries on Caribbean orality, especially from the philosophical and critical thought perspective, one that has been overlooked, so as to comprehend the way orality might participate to Caribbean epistemology and a philosophy and critical thought system heavily founded in notions of axiology and aesthetics. Secondly, I want to advocate for more comparative works, essentially from African scholars in Africa, between African and Caribbean oralities and for a systematic inclusion of Caribbean orality into intellectual, analytical and scholarly endeavors pertaining to African orality. For, Caribbean orality is notable, in that, a substantial number of its constitutive tales directly originate from African orality. It is, therefore, my aim to offer a perspective on these things and people Caribbean from a metaphysical lens, one that is rarely used but yet, that allows for the consideration of that which might sustain, invisibly and therefore significantly, important visible aspects or manifestations of the said things and people and thus, might indicate a particular ethos. In its capacity to transcribe the invisible and determining operations of the mind and transcribe the personal and collective inner imagination and self, orality is a vessel of choice for that purpose. The Americas, continental and insular, are probably the most notable location in the world and outside of Africa, where an African presence of multiple sorts and forms, is effective and it is worth studying these phenomena so as to arrive at a truly whole vision and understanding of the way Africans acknowledged and responded to critical issues concerning the human person in the human universe thereby participating to the uplift of both. What is the meaning of the African action in the world, especially in the Americas, and how do the operations and productions of the mind projected in and by orality suggest that meaning? Of course, none of these questions would be fundamental if the fate of the African in America had not been programmed to equate absence rather than presence. I, therefore, want to draw attention to and offer a symbolic and epistemological interpretation of an arresting African transposition act in the Caribbean articulated in both a storytale “Le fer qui coupe le fer/Hide me” and a saying in French-African Creole, “sé fè ka koupé fè” that subsumes the meaningfulness of the said act.

The Lens of Orality and the Colonial Project All parties involved in Caribbean history, voluntarily or involuntarily, contributed concomitantly or successively, at various degrees and times, to the epistemological and philosophical formation of the region. However, one notices a striking contribution on the part of enslaved Africans, not solely because of the numerical force they represented but also because of their more subtle and invisible yet real work to propose an alternative to the ill fate the enslaving perspective strove to determine

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for all symbolic and metaphysical matters for them. It is precisely because of the relentless and incommensurate perennial efforts to mark the enslaved Africans as irretrievably dispossessed of all means, as mere producers of things material and entertaining culture that this is worth putting forth. Transferred onto the offspring, such a de-structuring vision persists today, hence the need to contradict it and, on behalf of justice, openness and balance, point to ways an African-thought action, different from the historically highlighted African physical and visible productivity, might have contributed to and continues to shape development and production in the Americas, especially in the overlooked and structuring labor of the mind. Departing from a fact of unethical thoughts and praxes by the domineering group, the phenomenon “Caribbean” could not escape the critical aesthetic and ontological concerns. What is the “nature” of the societal structures and identity of the human person emanating from this phenomenon? Actually, given the systematic and systemic physical and psychic assaults endured by Africans, one could predict a resulting identity, on the one hand, translating a mental disposition that excludes the most structuring and stimulating human particularities in the knowledge production and comprehension process and, on the second, contradicting emancipative and aesthetic creations. As a matter of fact, all through the official colonial centuries during which their initial factors were elaborated, the enslaving parties were obsessed with defining the identity of the enslaved in such a way that the question they posed and answered is: “what is the nature of the identity of the African and, is it humanly acceptable?” Relying on a categorical and categorial ranking, their response asserted the “nature” as infrahuman and the status as inferior. As an ontological discourse, the answer presents the enslaver as bearer, producer and articulator-disseminator of knowledge about the African and knowledge the African possesses about himself or herself. Each time, the targets for dismissal is both africanity and africanness, that is, respectively, the fact of bearing physical traits reminding those labeled as “negroes” and, the fact of operating mostly under values recognized as shared by the so-called “negroes” or “Africans.” Similarly, the will to exercise control and preside over “what is” generally, concerning the place itself, the Caribbean, and its phenomena, is an obsession deciphered among enslavers who seek to “make” or fabricate the “is” in question, to categorically and irreversibly construct its reality in form and content. One of the numerous means is what I call “symbolizationism,” a systematic process of elaborating and massively propagating through multiple means, dismissive discourses anchored in a racially demeaning perspective and holding them as objective truth and reality, the goal being to create a durable and consensual vision on what we might call today, African psychism or social thought. The image fabricated through symbolizationism is that of an irretrievable abnormality set in an irreducible aporia since Africans are concomitantly portrayed as practicing fervent spirituality and idolizing materialism. From the enslavement period onwards, together with materialism, what was termed “fetishism” was seen as being at the basis of the Africans’ a-moralism, their prime defect to which ruse needs to be added. Enslaver Reverend Labat of the French colonies, for instance, affirms on the one hand that “Almost all of the negroes coming of age from Africa are sorcerers, or at least, they have a smattering of magic,

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sorcery and poison.”2 On the other hand, he offers a perception enabling to capture the extent to which is anchored the belief that Africans are materialists accepting the fate of enslavement in return for vain material compensation. To perfect their subjection, and bereft all Africans of any taste for freedom, he even advocates as a strategy, manipulating them through this attributed penchant for material assets: Nothing can better prevent them from marooning than making sure that they own something out of which they can draw profit, such as poultry, pigs, a tobacco or cotton garden, herbs and the likes. […] one just needs to confiscate whatever good they may have. To them, this is a much harsher punishment […] than ordinary punishments however harsh they may be. Such an example of confiscation suffices to prevent all of the negroes of one great house to ever lapse in such a fault [marooning].3

This belief that Africans are vainly enamored with material goods was inspired by the fact that material goods, indeed, of no value to Europeans, served to recompense the selling into bondage of Africans by Africans. Labat informs us that, “[…] we pay them with iron bars, guns, gunpowder, bullets, fabric, paper, light stuff and other merchandises […].”4 Later on, Equilbecq will fail none of the constituents of the colonial tradition and symbolizationism going as far as sustaining that the content of the tales he collects in Africa indicates that, the principal aspiration of the Africans is based on material consideration. Intrinsically vain, they will do anything to attain this consideration, be it at the expense of their life, which they disregard. So convinced are they that its corporal disintegration through death, stands for ultimate cessation. Of course, the focus on materiality also implies an absence of intellectual and transcendental complexity and a defect in the value judgement system: The negroe – this is the result of literature itself – sees several goals in human existence, most of them being material: the conquest of power, that of wealth and of the lust after women. The fourth goal corresponds to their instinct for vanity. To achieve these goals, the African will sacrifice everything, even his or her life that he or she considers negligible for he or she sees beyond life but this worst thing that is not frightening to him or her: nothingness. […] This disregard for life is easy to ascertain in the tales.5

Prior to this, the French ethnologist, René Basset, will have already used storytelling to state that, “The idea of moral, in the sense [Europeans] understand it, is rarely found in African tales” and that, “The notions of duty, disinterested justice and honor are absent” from the said tales (Basset 1903: XI). Using folk tales, William Owens who, in 1877 writes, “Folklore of the Southern Negroes” about Afro-descents of the United States, had emphasized the common immoral trait he believed was shared by Africans and descendants of Africans in America: “Anyone who will take the trouble to analyze the predominant traits of negro character, and to collate them with the predominant traits of African folk-lore, will discern the fitness of each to each. On every side, he will discover evidences of […] a very low standard of morals […].”6 For Equilbecq again, per the tales, only courage and ruse are esteemed by Africans with a predilection for the second disposition.7 This only echoes Basset’s stance, which had already claimed that primitive cunning aided with systematic lies is the single most teaching objective of African tales.8 Here again, this outlook is identified in the enslavers’ system of perception as averred by Labat who goes at

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length describing the manifestation of what he presents as a characteristic among Africans, that is, larceny, deceit and bravery.9 Thus, inscribed in the mind through symbolizationism and as confirmed by orality according to this symbolizationist perspective, neither the African, in Africa and within Africana, nor their cultural production such as orality can be conceived as proponents of a valuable contribution to critical thought, construction and development. But, the twentieth century is one during which Caribbeans undertook formal intellectual organization and action to respond differently to the situation of ambient racism, from within and outside of the region. Instrumentalized as a disparaging tool as seen above, orality becomes a fount from which Caribbeans drew edifying knowledge and assurance to build a body of thought articulating the specific ways they estimated their Caribbean selves were. Haitian Jean Price Mars endeavored to counterpoint Gustave Le Bon’s anti-blacks racism and the Haitian mulatto elite, which had internalized the symbolizationist ideology. As culminating in his 1928 Ainsi parla l’oncle , he produces a body of work studying the reality of Haitian culture from a new paradigm of thought that does justice to the African contribution. Two years later, Cuban Lydia Cabrera in turn offers a compilation of “contes nègres de Cuba” which prompts Fernando Ortiz to say that the circumstances of the tales “[…] developed in the black traditional ancestral African culture and also in their new more artificial culture that evolved in the Americas.”10 He also adds that: “This book makes a valuable contribution to both black and white Cuban folklore literature […].”11 In the thirties and eighties, the Négritude, up to the Créolité pundits will also turn to the oral tradition as an anchorage for some of their most significant ideas. Given its distinctive importance in the thought system, it is then only logical to outline some of the most critical traits on which this said importance relies.

Caribbean Orality: An Interoral Particularity Folklorists of the late nineteenth century and especially of the early twentieth century took note of the particularities of the Caribbean oral canon based on an unprecedented mélange between African and European oralities. Charles L. Edwards, who collects music and storytales in the Bahamas in the eighties and nineties of the nineteenth century, explains that the “old stories,” that is, the African derived tales and the “fairy stories,” the European sourced tales, that make up the Bahamian orality is such that one cannot distinguish them because the fairy stories have been so to speak transformed in old stories.12 After spending one summer (1927) in the Dominican Republic collecting tales, Manuel J. Andrade asserts that: “The majority of the tales seem to be of European origin, […]. For a few stories and episodes, we find parallels in African collections.”13 The numeric presence of Spaniards surpassing that of deported Africans in the colony of Santo Domingo can eventually explain what Andrade describes. Let us note, however, that his informants do not seem to grasp what is expected of them and tell him “humorous realistic accounts of everyday life” instead of “the kind of story that the old folks used to tell” when he asks

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them.14 This subtends a lack of fluidity and spontaneity for storytelling contrary to the example Martha Warren Beckwith gives of Jamaicans who claim they are able to tell hundreds of tales when she spent the summers of 1919 and 1921 collecting tales there.15 It is interesting to see how Beckwith already talks of preservation and of borrowing concerning African and European tales respectively: “Much is preserved of old African originals […] much is borrowed also from old English folk riddling.”16 The same phenomenon was observed on the American continent as works from the Southern states of the United States indicate. The inclusive process of borrowing, that is, the fact of drawing on tales from other cultural zones and include them into ones’ established oral canon, is a practice in the different oral traditions of the world and, in this context, Robert Sutherland Rattray or Alice Werner point to its manifestation also in African orality although Werner labels it a curiosity: “Here the African and European elements are curiously mixed.”17 However, while putting forth the specificity of intrinsic mélange regarding Caribbean orality, none of the advocators examined the subtle details specifying it nor what this state of affairs might signify from the metaphysical point of view for a region where lies, falsification, fabrication, exuberance, amplification, reduction and separation have been so prominent thereby exacerbating the importance of questions on life, existence, the truth, reality, balance or ethics. Concerning the Caribbean, borrowing is certainly a sub-procedure sustaining the core principle of orality which is what I call “interorality.” The latter stands as the principal defining factor of the Caribbean oral tradition. In the realm of oral traditions of the world, Caribbean interorality is a noticeable singularity. It is a systematic and massive process of transposition to the Caribbean of tales from different cultural zones. The fact of oral transposition was systematic and tales from Africa essentially and Europe were formulated and reformulated in the milieu principally by enslaved Africans and their offspring. It is in this sense a creation and art form underlining the particular sense of creativity of those who compose it. In this light, interorality archives, mirrors, paraphrases, states and speaks to much of the singularities of Caribbean history and especially some of the feats of the most demeaned of its actors. It is here that one can see it as a subject holding the role of the African griot not solely because of the content of the tales themselves, but because of its very function of memorializing the past and its structure, through which is inscribed a discourse on Caribbean identity and reality. In its very existence, function and object—the discourse—and as a subject—the structure—Caribbean orality is already a counter speech to that emitted by the enslaving party about Africans in Africa and the Caribbean region. Many of the tales are morphologically made up with segments of tales from different cultural zones, European and African, or different segments of multiple variants of one African tale type hence the reason for the term interorality that marks the relation between and within the different cultures and oralities that subtend Caribbean orality. Interorality, so to speak, morphologizes the body of Caribbeanness and may well be the most representative creation that illustratively points to the manner according to which many of the phenomena in the insular Caribbean region came to be. In addition, it points to the form of or structural body of its identity, thus also revealing a sensible and epistemological substratum

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and appearing as the aesthetic of the said identity. To a large instance, interorality is in itself an ontological discourse and makes very salient and unavoidable the questions of culture and identity that are posed vis-à-vis the Caribbean by virtue of its very occurrence, the manner of its occurrence and the factors, ideological and acted, that gave birth to the Caribbean. These very manner and factors of occurrence critically exacerbate forced and voluntary sedentary displacements that presume transformation as much as they engage critically the notions of humanity and human kind, their paradigms, parameters and values since, at their core, reside the attempts of a racial erasure on the one hand and racial and socio-economic supremacy on the other. Thus, per its combinatory structure, one that was proscribed owing to racist precepts, interorality goes beyond the mere aesthetic representation to also be the ethics of the ontological aesthetic. Of course, interorality follows the course of the lived situation, that is, Africans and Europeans occupying together the same space at the same time with no intermediary, of course, after the quasi-total suppression of the original inhabitants, it is only logical that, what emanates out of the cross-, trans- and inter-actions between them, bears the marks of both parties. However, the meaning of interorality transcends simple spatial and situational circumstances to unveil an arresting philosophical scope. This is not to be taken lightly when considering the context of enslavement within which the act is performed and the program of loathsomeness and decomposition intended for the enslaved in the plantation. This act and process of interorality are not mere borrowing and contributed to give significant shape, content and epistemic, ontological and axiological sense to the oral tradition but also to acts of speech that translate a metaphysical position vis-à-vis world phenomena. In the Caribbean, interorality redefined the paradigm for speech, speaking and discourses set by the enslaving powers and proposed a vision as to the arts, art making and meaning in and for the milieu. It is an aesthetic of beauty, beauty which strong signification is made critical by the loathsomeness of the system and situation of enslavement and which deeply concerns ethics. Pointing to the artistic work effectuated by the Africans, it unexpectedly makes more complex the anticipated equation set by the enslaving force concerning the very work of the Africans in America, whereby their work power caters solely to an unethical socio-economic and racial project that excludes them. In its very occurrence, pattern and form, interorality also points to the durable and complex relationship between and across oralities of different cultural zones that were peremptorily presented as immutably separated. It offers, conjoinment, expansion and multiplicity where is advocated rigid separation and the hegemonic politic and perspective of one singular mode. It also engages with the notion of possibilities, especially in the human universe, as, through it, is answered the question: “what else can be in this context which terms, thoughts and practices sacrifice the notions and praxis of beauty, values and justice?” The mere fact of interorality and, its subjacent questions and responses, signals first that, its performers understand that what is actually at stake in the described milieu is not solely matters of social, economic and pragmatico-physical questions, but very much the human person and its meaning. Secondly, it signals a disposition very much preoccupied with the fate of that human person. Questions raised through interorality are what

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and how can the human person, especially African, end up being/becoming in the milieu if such an enslaving predicate succeeds in effacing beauty and values and what is the possible attitude they can observe vis-à-vis themselves, vis-à-vis the enslaver and both humanity and humankind in the midst of this orchestrated chaos. Therefore, what is at stake, being not solely physical but intrinsically metaphysical, interorality globally points to one of the choices made by Africans vis-à-vis the questions about the human person of and in the Caribbean and his or her meaning, vis-à-vis humankind and its humanity when the latter were both most attacked. The counter-response they proffered henceforth, strongly engages a view on speaking, multilingualism, dialogism, voice, speech, discourse, language, orality. Not only a process and procedure, interorality mirrors the orientation of the inner self and philosophical disposition of those who elaborate it as much as it suggests, for the milieu, an ontology and axiology that consider more notions of inclusion, diversity going beyond plurality, mutual acknowledgment and dialogue. As a manner to answer the problem of the experienced situation, as a view on the notions of accurate comprehension and political positioning thereof, as a rendition of deep values, interorality manifests the capacity and way Africans reacted to chaos and utter adversity. Of course, per the fact that they were human beings and acted as normal human beings and not as essentialist objects in the human universe, enslaved Africans reacted to their lived experience in a myriad of ways including those displaying internalization and practice of some of the most destructive plantation modes. My intention here is not to create myths and present enslaved Africans from an essentialist perspective. It is rather to highlight the fact that complexity must accompany our way to analyse and comprehend the African productions and presences in the world. Therefore, since the portrayal usually made of enslaved Africans tends to promote an exagerated disparaging characterization, it is only an act of justice to now cast light on critical and metaphysical responses they articulated vis-à-vis their experience rarely if not never set forth. It is interesting to note that, in his fieldwork in the English-speaking Caribbean in the sixties, the United-Statian anthropologist, Roger D. Abrahams identifies an approach I see is similar in the use of language, speech and oral performance that forms a specific aesthetic resting on a set of values which provides profound meaning to phenomena and constitute a basis for assessment and judgment for what is beautiful or ugly, good or bad. Abrahams witnesses in Saint Vincent a tea meeting during which a rift erupted between performers and part of the audience, which he deemed chaotic. While his evaluation and taste lead him to judge the outcome of the tea meeting disastrous and the behavior ill-appropriate, the Vincentians offer a different perspective deeming that the worth of the tea meeting contestants is inscribed in as much their capability to render riveting aesthetic and axiology as in durably and efficaciously contend against fierce adversity: Performers of all sorts, to be well-received, must be judged on their ability to contend with opposing and competing forces and to keep the contest going indefinitely. A man-of-words is worth nothing unless he can, on the one hand, stitch together a startling piece of oratorical rhetoric, and, on the other, capture the attention, the allegiance, and the admiration of the

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audience through his fluency, his strength of voice, and his social maneuverability and psychological resilience.18

In parts of the Creole-speaking Caribbean, such a capacity to withstand adversity and deploy it via eloquence, speech and language fluency is called “ bèl pasaj,” a Martinican phrase that can be translated in English by “beautiful and good passage.” More than the noun “passage,” which in fact stands for “speech” or “act,” the adjectives “beautiful” and “good” need attention as they are significantly captured by “bèl,” a Creole word that means “beautiful” and in the phrase encompasses at once, both the notions of aesthetic and ethics. This approach to acts of speech through orality observed in Saint Vincent by Abrahams and practiced in the Creole-speaking Caribbean is one present through the archipelago and subsumed by interorality, which typifies the tradition of the spoken word. Sé fè ka koupé fè

Continually heard from virtually all lips—mine certainly did and do utter it whenever appropriate—during my Martinican childhood in the seventies, still actively used in the present times, the French-African Creole phrase, “sé fè ka koupé fè,” occupies a privileged place in the list of oral utterances that reveal deep-seated and profound consensual values that help guide those who manifest them and know and understand some of their most intrinsic principles. “Sé fè ka koupé fè” is said when one desires to explain, justify or advocate an extreme means to contradict an extremist act. Referring at first glance to an outlook drawn of common sense, the saying actually reveals deeper and more complex significations. Meaning, “only iron can cut iron,” “sé fè ka koupé fè,” is an objective assertion denoting a firm conviction. Certainly, derived from empiricism, it refers to an abstract mode of thought or mental disposition advocating the capacity to determine the proper and exact means to put a halt to severe adversity judiciously. The saying conveys the idea of a problematic situation between two parties, persons or systems, one being the assailant and the other the assailed. The assailed undoubtedly suffers from an unequal power relation and injustice. The reference to “iron” and all of the implied meanings of radicalism, severity and injustice thereof, makes mandatory, for the assailed, the use of a means matching with precision and efficacy the said severity. In other words, “ sé fè ka koupé fè” urges the attainment of justice through aptness, the latter aptness being the single-most condition to materialize the former. It also carries a correction and balance aspiration, as the unequal situation needs to be redressed. Obtaining justice and the eradication of the adversity being subjected to aptness, we understand that we are, here, in the presence of a mode of thought promoting comportment based on accuracy. But we also pinpoint that the notion of fight is put forth, and one not arbitrated by any formal or protective institution and that the defendant is on his or her own. The question is, therefore, how to ammunition and empower oneself in such a context where one’s ambition is to perform a radical transformative counter-action. The firm assertion that promotes the praxis of judicious accuracy actually sets forth the awareness of those who propose it as much as it points out to that which they have understood of their experience and surrounding phenomena. Victory over “iron” is

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conditioned to aptness but the latter depends on the subject as the saying implies that he or she is forced to consider his or her properties and even ethics. One subjacent question raised is, from “what moral paradigm and what type of value position must one adopt to confront ‘iron’?” It is true that to achieve the goal, the subject must demonstrate the ability to apply the proper method and make the right choice. Thus, axiological but also methodological, the saying is also a plea to own certain personal skills, qualities and aptitudes for, to ensure that justice prevails in one’s life, one must possess awareness, knowledge, comprehension of the knowledge, perspicacity, suitable adaptability and be resourceful and accurate. Of course, signaling particularities proper to the subject under duress, “sé fè ka koupé fè” also alludes to the assailant’s personality. Through the implied allusion about the magnitude of the assailant’s evilness, which equates unpliable and death-bearing iron, a distinction is made between the assailant’s and the assailed’s identity. The saying does not suggest that the assailed becomes like/equal to the assailant, that is, evil, but that he or she uses means suiting the magnitude of the assault and likely to defeat it. As a matter of fact, it expresses a projection to the future, one that is transformed and rid of “iron” as much as it renders both a commitment and intention since it formulates the fact that, through the possessed knowledge and comprehension of it, through awareness and a projected finality, one is committed and intends to counterpoint “iron.” It is in this that “sé fè ka koupé fè” is a serious and profound saying. That in Martinique, “sé fè ka koupé fè” pervades society is already an indication of the type of political, ideological and axiological position and view Martinicans commonly share concerning extra-ordinary difficulty. As after all, it bears a universal scope, such a position would be unremarkable if it were not pervasive in a Caribbean environment where, for centuries, struggle and injustice propelled by crude enslavement and post-enslavement ordeals had not dominated the existence of those who esteem it. Already, the metaphor of the “iron” is reminiscent of the period of enslavement, one during which enslaved Africans were concretely maintained under the yoke of iron chains and which led them to forge a vision of the universe impelling their conviction that indeed, only iron can defeat iron. Its strong current presence in the minds and on the lips as much as its mobilization into decision and comportmental processes also indicate that the life of the individuals is still invested with major challenges be the latter personal or collective or instilled by new contemporary or lingering historical factors. It is also in this context that the saying transcends the simple realm of common sense and empirical comprehension to enter that of deep conviction, critical thought and rational meaning necessary and useful in decision and development making processes.

“Le Fer Qui Coupe Le Fer” and Its Caribbean Transposition Interestingly, François Equilbecq, a colonial administrator in the French colonies of West Africa who collects storytales from 1904 to 1912, lists one recounted to him in 1912 by a pupil of the Dogon community in Bandiagara and that he names, “Le fer qui

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coupe le fer,” the exact French counterpart to the Creole, “sé fè ka koupé fè.” Equilbecq does not inform us as to the motivation for the title although one can see its proximity with the Judeo-Christian bible, “he who uses the sword, perishes by the sword,” and one can surmise that it may be due to the content of the tale and the understanding the listener Equilbecq has had of it. More interestingly, this same tale was transposed into the Caribbean and is given another title, “Hide me,” by Elsie Clews Parson, an American anthropologist who collects various versions of it in Saint-Kitts in the twenties. Already, transpires the influence of the personal sensitivity and intervention of the inner imagination of these two European-descended collecting receivers of African and Caribbean orality. While Equilbecq opted for a title magnifying the subtext and critical ideology of the tale alluding to a qualitative interpretation and evoking action and activity, Elsie Clews Parson offers a descriptive one that rather refers to the surface of the story and passiveness. In any case, the possible impact is real in the way these African tales are restituted to Africans themselves. Of course, axiological and epistemological questions arise for, Equilbecq goes a length to obtain information directly from Africans whom he scrutinizes for controlling reasons on African soil. The ambivalence and, sometimes, plain racism of European established or self-appointed anthropologists and ethnologists, actually, missionaries, travelers or administrators, who undertook the task of collecting African tales between the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, urge our prudence. This is all the more so that the craze for African folklore manifested in the teeming tale collection process coincides with the European New Imperialism era that started with the Berlin Conference in 1884 and ended at around the first twentieth-century European provoked and led world war (1914–1918). The interest in what has been called “folklore” was first articulated on European soil as a pastime exerted by priests, schoolteachers or, medical doctors, that is, persons of social power, officiating in the hinterland where the populations were generally deprived of decent economic and social means. Thenceforth, the transfer of this craze onto Africa, which is inscribed in the colonial mind as the place of human deliquescence, implies the intervention of an ideological gaze and political posture embodying, even more, the notion of total power. Often than not, African tales were markedly collected by missionaries and colonial administrators occupying, it goes without saying, functions of exclusive colonial power. Therefore, ethical questions arise regarding multiple aspects of the collectors’ work, be it about the intention prompting their collections, the manner supporting the latter and their interpretation of the tales. Elsie Clews Parson herself has also been accused of exoticism and subjacent racism supporting the perspective and methods applied to her anthropological work. She went as far as pretending to be of “American Indian” identity to facilitate acceptance on the part of the related community. Equilbecq’s intention is not altruistic since he also clearly advances his enterprise as a powerful method for the general and effective subjection of Africans and for the attainment of a supremacy one has no difficulty understanding as being white. Since tales are comprehended as being the repository of the innermost depth of a human group, collecting and understanding African tales, therefore, become a political and ideological instrument serving the colonial project. Given what it is believed to be and the epistemic power it can lead to, orality is strategically used

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as an adequate tool to lead a metaphysical offensive whereby epistemes guiding their modes of thoughts and actions could be neutralized, acted upon and possibly replaced by others favoring a more submissive African disposition: From the practical level, the usefulness of these tales is not devoid of meaning for the civil servant who aims at governing the subdued populations on behalf and in the interest of the country for which he works. One must know he whom one wants to dominate so that one can profit both from his shortcomings and qualities to serve one’s set goal. This is the only way that one can achieve, over the dominated, the moral prestige that build effective and durable supremacies.19

As a mode of cultural, artistic and intellectual expression, orality itself, has been (mis)used by the colonial power system to erect part of its “symbolizationism” since, on the pretext of its predilection among Africans and their offspring, it was targeted as a stultifying agent and a sign testifying to the Africans’ childish idiocy. Equilbecq himself will affirm that the analysis of the content of the tales confirms but observations made of the Africans who therefore need not even confess neither their mode of thoughts nor their ethos to the colonizers.20 He casts light on the general colonial vision on Africans assuring that Europeans for whom he publishes his Contes populaires d’Afrique occidentale and who, “[…] did not expect to find about the negro such a varied imagination ask [him] whether these tales are truly popular or whether it could not be that, to the contrary, they are the product and exclusive prerogative of some lettered people”21 (Equilbecq 1972: 22). As a matter of fact, the sentiment is so common that, with her collection of African tales, Werner’s ambition aims at proving that, “[…] the notion of Africa as a continent without history, poetry, or mythology worthy of the name is wholly erroneous.”22 In this light, the validity of the axiological questions remains. Is the title, “Le fer qui coupe le fer,” inspired by what Africans teach and tell Equilbecq about the tales? Is it a translation of a Dogon phrase or is it the fruit of his European conditioned sensitivity and imagination? Is the anchorage of “Sé fè ka koupé fè” in a country such as Martinique, colonized by France, the result of a French European perception of the world assimilated by Afro-Martinicans or, one that springs of an African mode? Notwithstanding, it must be underlined that, despite the lingering doubts brought about by the conditions and ideology governing the tale collections and renditions, Equilbecq insists on the meaningful contribution of his African aids in the collection, transcription and translation process. Thus, those collected in 1911 and 1912, which includes, “Le fer qui coupe le fer,” were translated by, “[…] Samako Niembélé, a smart interpreter who could speak French fairly well and [Equilbecq] could say that [the work with these tales] is more […]” Niembélé’s than his.23 Still concerning the impactful action of Europeans, we learn from Equilbecq that the night is the key moment when tales are told. However, prolonged contacts with Europeans led some Africans to a moral position, that is, skepticism, toward this principle. This alters their understanding of and political position vis-a-vis this law of their orality to the point of dismissive violation since they, thenceforth, told tales by daylight: “It even seems that this décor of semi-darkness has become indispensable to the storytellers.” To the exception, indeed, of these Africans who have lived with Europeans for a long time and who, by this contact, have acquired a certain skepticism, no storytellers would

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tell a tale by the light of the sun.24 Rattray underlines the impact of missionarism on Africans, noting the fact that those collecting and translating the tales on behalf of the Europeans often attended missionary schools which instilled them with “new and foreign standards” that led them to modify the tales during the transcription.25 In any case, as underlined, in addition to the phrase that posits the existence of a specific thought, the tale “ Le fer qui coupe le fer” is also found as a transposition in the Caribbean region as Elsie Clews Parson’s examples specify. It is interesting to note that, although my failing memory does not allow me to reproduce its details, many a time during my childhood, I heard this specific storytale—and scores of others— from my maternal grandmother, a traditional healer and conteuse. Yet, strangely enough, Saint Kitts is the only country Elsie Clews Parson records variants of this tale that does not appear in the abundant lists of stories collected in the Creole- and French-speaking Caribbean. The Kado tale, “Le fer qui coupe le fer” tells the story of a woman devouring her numerous new-born one of whom succeeds in escaping.26 He convinces his mother not to eat him until he can walk. In his escape, he meets numerous people and animals ready to defend him but he refuses, thinking they are not strong enough to face his mother’s malevolence. He meets with a tortoise, which hides him under its carapace and kills the woman. The tale starts with identifying the protagonist stating that it is a “woman” and a “witch.” The identity as a “mother” is not explicitly articulated, although one learns that the “femme sorcière” gives birth to several children whom she immediately eats up. The context is that of a paradox based on multiple births and multiple deaths at the same time. One knows not the reason for such evilness but it is implied that she executes the killing for the sake of the “viande grasse”—fat meat—their body procures her. The preposterous reason for such an abominable crime already situates the woman and the mother in the domain of frivolity and utter sordidness. Later on, though, we learn that it might be a sacrifice since she prepares her “gris-gris”— amulets. The incongruity arises when the notion of “sacrifice/offering” which alludes to an act of a higher order is unexpectedly confused with basic material and human needs such as simply feeding oneself. Besides, one does not know either if she would use her children as an offering. Moreover, the ease with which the son succeeds in convincing her to not eat him renders her naiveté and ridicules her power. She is not presented as belonging to any family unit involving a man or a father. They seem to be isolated and operate in a circumscribed cell with strictly private rules. She apparently functions alone with her new-borns whom she murders immediately upon their birth. Yet, they live in an organized society, collectively with others, since the child, whom one now understands is a boy, lives in the circumcision house after having been circumcised. Her evilness appears as monumental indeed but the lastborn seems to present equal force inscribed in his powers that are as unexplained as his mother’s. Thus, as soon as he is born, he can speak and advise the mother not to kill him immediately but once in capacity to walk, and then, after his circumcision. She recognizes the validity of this advice and, when the time comes, is determined to eat him. This is when, again, the son uses his power to speak and convince, and suggests that she eats him seasoned. Again, she acquiesces and goes to the market to

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acquire seasoning, giving him the opportunity to flee to the village of his maternal uncles. It is uncertain why the son would resort to seeking shelter with his mother’s family since the latter may actually be the source of this evilness. In any case, this reminds us of the importance of the mother’s family, and especially the mother’s brother in many African cultures. One member’s fault does not abolish the family ties and after all, the mother may well be one sheep straying away from her family’s principles. Anyway, one must note that the mother’s family is implied as owning the power to stop her. The young boy is placed within a troubling paradigm of duality. His powers, that of being able to speak fast and of convincing his mother, are limited. Although, overpowered by his mother’s brutality and able to gain but time, the son seems to have an ascendancy over her. She acts as he suggests. Again, even this is moderate since the self-interested “femme sorcière” complies only because she sees in his advice the sure benefit and promise of enjoying more and tasty flesh. The boy is active and resourceful and deploys his sagacity to protect himself. But he recognizes his powerlessness since he cannot defeat the mother, he must run, therefore, and all the while “walking,” that is, remaining active, he continuously cries. He knows the identity of his mother, a factor underlined by the fact that those he met along his way suggest solutions out of ignorance of the said identity. He knows that she is faster than the wind, more ferocious than a lion and as cruel “as a mother who has but one breast.” The comparison and portrayal as a one-breasted mother irremediably sacrifice the image of the mother, not equipped to nourish her children. Symbolically and politically, this amplifies the image of the homicidal mother situated in a position and accomplishing a gesture radically antithetical to the one expected of her. At the mercy of her mother in the family cell, the boy nevertheless benefits from the solidarity of the entire society since all of those encountered in his escape offer help spontaneously. This echoes the thought expressed earlier whereby the fault of one member of the group, be it the mother, does not supplant the larger family’s cohesion. However, it is not until he meets a tortoise, actually, a character who knows of his ordeal, that he can find solace. The tortoise is, of course, a singular persona since, contrary to the other people and animals he meets along his way, the boy does not have to inform it of his situation. He has an innate knowledge of it, which suggests that he too possesses powers. In fact, the tortoise articulates it itself, calling its territory, “the country of the iron that cuts iron.” He hides the boy underneath his carapace and kills his mother, using a trick. She swallows it once but the tortoise gets out through her anus. It exacerbated her pride through taunting her to swallow it again, which she did. This time, he used a knife to cut her loins and kill her. The center of the woman is destroyed as to suggest that she is incapable of being a mother and the inner center of evil must be dismantled for order to be re-established. The tale does not end on poor parenting or resentment against motherhood or women. It rather closes on a positive tone with the tortoise and the young boy practicing eternal fraternity, which his offspring honors through never eating any tortoise. The young boy who has never had a mother actually does not lose anything with her death but gains a new friendship and becomes part of a family. Not only is gratitude advocated but it is one passed on from generation to generation so as

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to stress the esteem for this moral behavior. The image of the mother is sacrificed but society stands as an active substitutive guide and protector, the young boy being repetitively offered helped. Although society does not appear strong enough to overcome the mother’s terror, it is important that it be disposed to tend to the innocent. The moral power here transcends the material or physical one. However, it is interesting to see how the unacceptable iron, therefore, is transcribed via the figure of the mother murdering with constancy her own progeny. This is an impressive manner to evoke evilness as it is indeed thought that there can be no greater evil than a mother suppressing her children herself. That is why two extra-ordinary elements are necessary to oppose her, first, the son’s witty mind and then, the tortoise’s witty force. Her defeater’s stature and kind jar with her destructive energy and movement. But his self-assurance and conviction regarding his powers match hers. As a matter of fact, his phlegm is made more visible by the mother’s ire and the boy’s emotion expressed through tears and fear. The son’s smartness does not suffice to vanquish his mother. The boy is not made to use his audacity completely; probably to give way to the tortoise who shows that one must not hesitate to brave those who seem stronger. In any case, their extra-ordinariness does not rest in the device they use to contradict the “femme sorcière” but in their ingenious and subtle mental strength. Discernment and subtle strategy are applied as a more appropriate mode of contradiction. They thus both oppose a soft force to the brute force and blunt aggressiveness of the witch which contributes, even though temporarily, to their design of self-protection. Now, appearing in Elsie Clews Parson’s 1936 Memoirs of the American FolkLore Society (356) the Caribbean version “Hide me” offered in two variants are very condensed and truncated ellipses of the African matrix. Just like for collections on African soil, those in the Caribbean are not done at pertinent times and informants must recite tales unauthentically. Besides, here too, the informant is a child, which suggests that he has less experience than an adult. The quality of a tale often depends on the intrinsic ethos of the storyteller and his or her mastery and understanding of cultural and traditional instruments. In the first Kittitian variant, and contrary to the African tale where the act of hiding the boy is a spontaneous gesture on the part of the tortoise who manifests selfless solidarity and generosity, the child, who is a girl, solicits help. The evil character is named directly and she is no longer simply a “woman” but a “mother” who has no extra-ordinary power. Additionally, one knows the reason why she eats her children. Times are hard and hardship compels her to sustain herself with her children. Although unveiled here, the reason does not render the act less despicable. Despite the fact that the tale ends after she has met two animals, a mule and a donkey, the young girl encounters no one to rescue her and one imagines that her escape continues forever. One major transformation is the complete obliteration of the essential notion of one’s approach and defensive measures applied to combat adversity needing to equate the intensity of the phenomenon endured. Occulted in the storytale, it is nevertheless found elsewhere in the Caribbean through a saying as seen with the case of “sé fè ka koupé fè.” Another demarcation is that the girl does not deploy any witty trick to confuse her mother. In the second version, the child runs to two animals who refuse to help, which is a major difference with both the African matrix and the other Caribbean variant. This

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transversal play of the notion of refusal is interesting in that, in the “Le fer qui coupe le fer,” the young boy refuses to be helped while it is generously proposed multiple times. In the first Caribbean variant, help is asked and not obtained. The girl passes to another animal, which squarely refuses to help her. Perhaps this is a reflection of the lived situation of the enslaved who is on his and her own and obtaining support but rarely. In this light, it is to be reminded that the girls are perfectly powerless where the African boy shows a level of resourcefulness. Additionally, when he walks to escape his mother, the Caribbean girls simply “run” even though their mother is not endowed with the crucifying magic of the African mother. The intensity of the pressure they face is thus highlighted. In light of the situation’s gravity, the African boy cries, whereas the Caribbean girls sing up their plight to explain it to those they meet. This may be one of the devices found in African storytales whereby a girl murdered by her mother sings to divulge the news to her father, one type also found through multiple variants in Caribbean interorality. This procedure appears here as one (intra) borrowing from another African tale type grafted onto this other tale type in the Caribbean. However, the third animal of the second variant, a goat, asked the young girl to hold on to him and butts the mother down. The goat is not presented as possessing any specific powers, but one understands that the mother meets with an opponent much stronger than she is. Through containing an element that provoked unspeakable fear and disorder and committed unthinkable disruptive acts, Bra Goat is the persona that illuminates the proverb, “sé fè ka koupé fé.” Interestingly, Bra Goat’s kick renders the mother mad and she enters the same state of madness her acts had created. As interestingly, the resulting situation for the mother equates that of the milieu, one where the phenomena generated by the enslaving machine are far from pertaining to reason. While the African tale, “Le fer qui coupe le fer” ends on a note alluding to independence and equality between the two parties (savior and saved) who share the same promise of mutual protection, one understands that the Caribbean goat becomes the girl’s protector as it took her “to live with him.” She then becomes his ward, which may imply that, although she is saved, she does not benefit from total freedom and equal status with her savior, since she needs third party protection. In this Caribbean context, one cannot help but seeing the “mad mother” as the epitome of the system itself and the girl, a paraphrase of the Caribbean that appeared not as autonomous but as a ward of powerful forces. At the same time, when in the African tale, the woman is described as fierce and abominable, in the Caribbean, she appears frail and fundamentally powerless. One may well be tempted to use the condensation of the tales to claim that the African presence in the Caribbean is confused, diluted and ambiguous; hence the meaninglessness of African epistemic influence in the region. Such a mistake should not be committed for, what remains, regardless of the reason why condensation is effective—because of the violent circumstances or memory lapse—is precisely the meaning of the fact of transposing and its multifaceted relation with African orality which sustains much of its intrinsic meaning. For, what is also of interest is that the Caribbean transposition in this particular example, being condensed, one needs the elaboration of the African tale, in Africa, to fully decrypt it and make it intelligible even in its new milieu, the Caribbean. This said, one also needs to read it in relation

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to the saying “sé fè ka koupé fè” that prevails, not in Saint Kitts where the tale was collected, but in another territory of the Caribbean, Martinique. In other words, one part of the sense is in Africa and other parts are in different locations in the Caribbean which is another and complex expression, representation and illustration of what the ontological and epistemic reality is. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

Basset (1903: xix–xx). Labat (1993: 225). Ibid., 230. Ibid., 223. Equilbecq (1972: 97). Owens (1967: 145). Equilberg ibid., 98. Basset ibid., xi. Labat ibid., 232–233 Fernando Ortiz quoted in Cabrera (2004: xiv). Ibid., xvii. Edwards (1942: 19). Andrade (1930: 26–27). Ibid., 25. Beckwith (1924: xi). Ibid., xii. Werner (1968: 321). Abrahams (1983: xxx). Equilbecq ibid., 22. Ibid., 22. Ibid. Werner ibid., 322. Equilbecq ibid., 23. Ibid., 24. Rattray (1930: ix). Equilbecq (1972: 458–461).

References Abrahams, Roger D. 1983. The Man of Words in the West Indies (Performance and the Emergence of Creole Culture). Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press. Andrade, Manuel J. 1930. Folk-Lore from the Dominican Republic. New York: The American Folklore Society, G.E. Stechert. Basset, René. 1903. Contes populaires d’Afrique . Paris: G.P. Maisonneuve & Larose.

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Beckwith, Martha Warren. 1924. Memoirs of the American Folk-Lore Society, vol. XVII. Germany: Buchdruckerei und Verlagsanstalt Bad Wörishofen. Cabrera, Lydia. 2004. Afro-Cuban Tales. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Clews Parsons, Elsie. 1936. Memoirs of the American Folk-Lore Society, vol. XXVI, part II. New York: G.E. Stechert. Edwards, Charles L. 1942. Bahama Songs and Stories: A Contribution to Folk-Lore. New York: G.E. Stechert. Equilbecq, François Victor. 1972. Contes populaires d’Afrique occidentale . Paris: G.P. Maisonneuve et Larose. Labat, Jean-Baptiste. 1993. Voyage aux Isles. Chronique aventureuse des Caraïbes 1693–1705. Paris: Phébus libretto. Owens, William. 1967. Folklore of the Southern Negroes. In The Negro and His Folklore in Nineteenth-Century Periodicals, ed. Bruce Jackson, 144–156. Austin: University of Texas Press. Rattray, R.S. 1930. Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Werner, Alice. 1968. Myths and Legends of the Bantu. London: Frank Cass.

Chapter 38

The Re-invention of Myths, Legends, Panegyrics and Folktales in the Afro-Latin-American Diaspora Félix Ayoh’Omidire

Introduction The tragic tales of the forced exodus of Africans into the Americas within the three and half centuries of chattel slavery has been severally described and profusely documented as the utmost travail that led to the almost complete loss of the humanity of the African and his descendants. To many this dark period of Africa and its children is largely responsible for what is perceived, even today as the gross inability and difficulty of the Black man to join the course of human history alongside other human groups, leading to their incapability to operate within the center and mainstream of social, political, economic and developmental spheres in the contemporary world in which Blackness is often readily associated with the periphery. The narratives of the African experience in the so-called New World have been grandly subsumed time after time under metaphors of nakedness and zombification where the enslaved African was repeatedly documented as having been herded onto the slave ship in all his nakedness—completely stripped not only of every vestige of clothing or any other material possession, but, worse still, of his native African names and oriki (pet names and praise names), his claims and links to friends, relatives and, indeed his origin and his native intelligence. Indeed, the gruesome experience of the middle passage is considered to have completely wiped out whatever civilization the African might have acquired within the intricate rites of passage that used to order his ethnic experience on the mother continent, thus making the African who disembarked from slave ship onto the coasts of North or South America and the Caribbean regions a creature who was completely broken—physically, morally and ethically. Such narrative, however, apparently fails to take into cognizance the cultural resilience of the enslaved African who, although stripped of all outward trappings and vestiges of civilization and humanity, carried in his body and mind the essential F. Ayoh’Omidire (B) Institute of Cultural Studies, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_38

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nucleus of his identity and personality. The effective reconstruction and symbolic recuperation, albeit in varying degrees of exactitude, of the world the African used to know in his homeland were the most decisive steps toward the recuperation of his humanity. Research in different locales of the African Diaspora in the Americas has revealed how, through the negotiated recreation of the fundamental institution of the African family structure which the enslaved African managed to re-invent with the creation of the ritual family ties within the various Afro-Latin-American religious expressions, Africans and their descendants were able to rebuild their world to the best possible degrees under the adverse regime of plantation slavery and, later, indentured labor. As we hope to demonstrate in the course of this chapter, the singular re-invention of the ritual family environment around the emblematic figures of the pai/mãe de santo or padrinos (god fathers and mothers) supported by the tios and tias who were the veritable Oyubonas1 that sponsored and tutored the creole generations of enslaved Africans and their descendants in the Casa-Grande & Senzala of Plantation Slavery in the Americas, became the most revolutionary form of resistance to Slavery in the Americas.2 Suffice it to say here that the claims that the African existence in the Americas was marked by a “cultural nakedness” are completely upturned when one realizes the sheer strength and force of the African personality that was manifested through the effective deployment of the “whole body of (their) indigenous stories, legends, poetry, songs, traditions, cultural practices, and religious beliefs…”3 even within the sociopolitical context of chattel slavery. Essentially, the fundamental instrument that made such a feat possible within the material nakedness that marked the advent of the enslaved African in the New World was the power of African Orality. The deployment of this orality in all its manifold forms and substance thus stands out as a fundamental epistemological statement in the process of negotiation and integration of the African personality and identity in the Americas. In the final analysis, one can even go farther to suggest that, thanks to this same orality, it is possible to consider some aspects of the African ethos as occupying a hegemonic position within the contemporary cultural construct of the Americas as we hope to prove in the course of this chapter.

Orality—Of Theories and Definitions For a very long time, the concept of orality was almost fossilized in the discourse of literary scholars as something that is almost exclusively reserved for the discussion of the so-called marginalized literatures, i.e., the literatures emanating from geopolitical contexts other than the Euro-American. The ultimate proof of such marginalization can be verified in the total absence of the term in the principal dictionaries of the English language, a fact which makes the Microsoft Word to automatically underline it in red anytime it appears in an English text. Whereas terms and concepts like “orature” and its many derivatives such as “oratory,” “oration” and “oratorical” can be easily found in the dictionaries like the Oxford Advanced Learners’ Dictionary (2015), “orality” as a concept is eloquently absent, even though terms like “oracle,”

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“oracy” and “oralism” are admitted in the same dictionary, albeit without according them the literary quality that “orality” strives to portray. Obviously, pioneers of African literature must have had an uphill task in their attempts at defending the unique qualities of African Orality as a valid literary paradigm for the study of African literature (Akporobaro, Abimbola, etc.). One can only imagine the grudging receptions that must have been reserved for the literary productions of the “griotic” traditions of the generations of the Amadou Hampaté Bâ, Birago Diop, Bernard Dadie, Okot p’Bitek, Amos Tutuola, etc., whose literature must have struck their Western readers as appealing only in their perceived exotic freshness. In terms of definition, it is common to have scholars discuss African oral traditions and African oral literature in the same breath. This is not to say that African scholars have difficulties differentiating between tradition and literature. Rather, a close study of both invariably reveals an intricate relationship within the African cultural narrative. For instance, among the Yoruba of West Africa, it has been severally proven that the Odù Ifá (Ifa Oracular Corpus) which is considered as the largest compendium of what is generally accepted as the Yoruba encyclopedia of knowledge and philosophy, religious and ritual traditions can also be, and indeed, is considered as the epitome of Yorùbá literary tradition. Indeed, in most English translations, the label Odù Ifá is often rendered as “Ifa Literary Corpus” (Abimbola, Dasylva, Opeola).4 All in all, Akporobaro offered what can be considered a good definition and scope of African Oral Literature.5 More than its definitions, however, of major interest to scholars are the typologies that make up African oral literature. While the general trend is to classify the different genres along the lines of European literary classification such as poetry, prose and drama, scholars of African oral literature have stated repeatedly the centrality of the performatic quality which makes even the most prosaic genres such as proverbs, myths, legends, epics and folktales to thrive as both poetic and dramatic expressions at the same time.6 As early as the first half of the twentieth century, Euro-American scholars and researchers such as Melville and Frances Herskovits, Claude Levy Strauss, Ruth Finnegan, William Bascom and Lorenzo D. Turner, among many others, have developed a keen interest in the oral literary expression of African and African-descendant communities in the Americas. Precious repertoires of African oral renditions which were recorded in different parts of Africa and the Americas can still be found today in important Euro-American archives such as the Indiana University Archive, the Schomberg Library and the Smithsonian Museum, all in the USA.

African Orality in the Latin America and the Caribbean As suggested in the first segment of this chapter, the transposition of African oral traditions into the New World was closely linked to Slavery and Indentured Labor,

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which took Africans en masse to the Americas. Also, the historiographical reconstruction of the re-invention of African literary arts in countries like Brazil, Cuba and Trinidad has proven the centrality of the reconstruction of the ritual family as the singularly enabling condition for their survival and transmission. By ritual family, we refer to the extra-sanguine family relationship that develops around the personalities of the leaders of the diverse African-derived religious traditions in the Americas such as the Brazilian Candomblé, the Cuban Santería, the Haitian Voodoo and the Trinidadian Sango. The ritual family culminated in the re-invention of the African Ile or Casa (House-Temple), headed by a priest or priestess whom the entire community of followers considers as their baba (father) or ìyá (mother), and who is responsible for initiating the followers into the secrets of the African deities variously known as òrìsà among the Yorùbá, inkisi among the Congo and vodun among the Ewe-Fon. In Brazil, such “god-parents” are generally referred to as ìyalaxé (Mother of the Axé) or Iálorixá (Saint or Orisa Mother) while those they initiate, whether they are their biological children or total strangers, consider themselves as their filhos/filhas de santo, i.e., “god-children.” Such “god-children” belonging to the same terreiroilê axé (temple) not only address one another as irmãos-de-santo (god-brothers and sisters) but also observe the sexual taboos that characterize children born to the same biological parents. Within these same communities, the African family hierarchy is one of the most fundamental ethics that must be learned and imbibed by all. Both biological and ritual seniority must be respected among members of the community. In the primordial days of the re-invention of such ritual families in Bahia, Brazil, scholars like Mestre Didi have documented the important role and respect accorded to the old Africans uncles and aunties known as tios and tias da costa who were the last generation of Africa-born that lived in Brazil either as manumitted or as inherited slaves at the turn of the twentieth century. These tios and tias da costa served as the ties between the African family-world and the Afro-Brazilian re-invented family-world, where they were responsible for transmitting the values, ethics, esthetics, philosophy, rituals, history, mythologies, legends, art forms, science and technology of Africa to the younger generation of African-descendant children generally referred to in the Brazilian and AfroAmerican contexts as crioulos.7 Within the terreiro-ilê axé communities, the tios and tias therefore occupied the position of the teachers of the younger generations. In that way, the tios and tias formalized in a way the vocation of the itinerant negras velhas (old Black ladies) who used to move from plantation to plantation in rural communities during the slave era, to tell tales to the children of the slave masters and their dependents. Within such informal educational system, the bulk of the “lessons” invariably centered on African folklore, tales, myths, proverbs, legends and music as didactic elements aimed at imbibing a sense of African-ness into the younger generation.8

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The Tios E Tias Da Costa and the Invention of Afro-Latin Literature In a paper titled “Travesía ideologica de la cuentística nagó-yoruba en la diáspora brasileña,”9 I refer to the presence of African oral tales in the American diasporas as mnemotechnical tools used by the enslaved African populations to transmit to the creole generations the entire gamut of the collective history, values and knowledge of Africa so carefully tucked away in the memory of the old tios and tias da costa. The purpose of such oral literatures was therefore mainly to protect the younger generations of Afro-Latin-Americans from the ravages of enslavement brutality and constant attempts by the white enslavers to provoke cultural amnesia in the enslaved populations. I argued further in the paper that, contrary to the generally explicated functions of child morality training and entertainment given by most researchers as being the primary objectives and intention of African folk tales on the continent, the old tios and tias da costa were able to address more urgent functions and needs among the enslaved African populations and their Creole descendants. The sum total of these functions is what can be called ideological resistance to collective annihilation. In a paper published in Sementes, the Bahian anthropologist Márcio Néry de Almeida presents a succinct analysis of this additional responsibility that devolved on the otherwise “harmless” African oral tales in the New World narratives: The ancestral tales common to the Afro-Brazilian religious communities serve as a great medium through which one can have a good understanding of how the community is organized and structured as well as how the community sees itself as an entity that sets out to preserve the values and world views inherited from Africa in its corresponding mode of life. As a form of individual understanding of the intrinsically didactic and initiation character, the ancestral tales play a fundamental role in the sense that they make it possible for children and young people to understand why things are the way they are, thus inculcating in them via subtle but none the less dynamic, conscious and contextualized explications, their daily realities with the intention of mobilizing their innermost emotions in such a way as to make it possible that the ancestral knowledge is processed in the innermost recess of their being, thus serving to mold them through the internalization of such knowledge.

What readily strikes the mind from the above inference by Almeida is the ideological transformation of the ordinarily “harmless” African tales into “ancestral” tales that form part of the long process of initiation for African descendants in the New World diasporas. The narratives are thus contextualized and programmed to serve as stimulants and incitation for ethnic and racial pride and consciousness where every aspect of the transmission is invested with a ritual sacredness. As we intend to demonstrate in the following segment of this chapter, the singularity and centrality of the perceived role and the presence of àse (spelt axé in Brazil, and aché in Cuba and other Spanish-speaking societies) in the African oral narratives transposed into the New World societies was an extraordinary strategy of ethnic and racial preservation within the transformative agenda of the African diaspora subjects.

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Languages, Words and Ashe of the African Oral Traditions in the New World As severally discussed by different scholars of the history and processes of African resistance to slavery and racial domination, the use of African languages, words and expressions in the New World was one of the earliest and most enduring nonviolent modes of resistance by enslaved African populations and their descendants.10 Although the colonial fiat eventually outlawed the existence of African or native Amerindian languages as mode of quotidian communication in the different America societies where the languages of the European colonizers such as Portuguese in Brazil and Spanish in most of the other Latin American and Caribbean societies became the only legally recognized languages, Africans and their descendants have always engaged in subversive use of non-European languages either in their pure African forms, or in their creolized forms in their private and ritual contexts. Indeed, in places like Bahia and other major enclaves of the Brazilian northeastern region, as well as in the Havana, Matanzas axis of Cuba, African, especially Yoruba and Ewe-Fon-speaking groups were able to sustain the use of their African languages parallel to the official Portuguese and Spanish languages respectively over a long period of time. Research conducted by pioneer Africanists like the Herskovits, Roger Bastide, Ruth Landes and Pierre Verger in Brazil, especially between the 1930s and 1950s, revealed that the use of the nagô-Yoruba language was prevalent on the streets of Bahia, Recife and São Luiz do Maranhão until well into the first half of the twentieth century. Specifically, the strength of the Yorùbá language use in Brazil during most of the twentieth century was such that it acquired a virtually hegemonic status among other African languages to the point of being considered and employed as the default language of Africans and African descendants both within the sacred rituals of orixás, vodoum and inquisi and within the so-called candomblé das nações nagô, jeje or congo. This hegemony was automatically transferred to the expressions of Africanity within the Brazilian secular society where the generations of Brazilian intellectuals and pioneer Africanists from Raimundo Nina Rodriguês, Edison Carneiro, Artur Ramos in the early 1900s, through the generation of Abdias Nascimento under the banners of the Teatro Experimental do Negro (Black Experimental Theatre) and the Frente Negra Brasileira of the 1940s and 1950s; to the postdictatorship explosion of Afro-Brazilian cultural groups whose activities range from Carnival organizations to political and social empowerment. One readily remembers in this respect the role of the Yorùbá language as the rallying point of Brazilian blocos afros and Afoxê such as Ilê Aiyè, Olodun and Filhos de Gandhy, whose repertoire of songs and myths is largely drawn from Yorùbá oral genres circulating in the candombléjeje-nagô. Mention must also be made here of the particularly refreshing verve that Jorge Amado, one of the greatest Brazilian novelists of the last century, was able to introduce into Brazilian modernist literature by showcasing the realities of Afro-Brazilian religious traditions and the mythic human and orisa characters that populate a good number of his works. Obviously following Amado’s example,

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generations of other Brazilian white, mestiço and black intellectuals such as musicians Caetano Veloso,11 Gilberto Gil, Clara Nunes, Vinicius de Moraes and Dorival Caymmi, to mention just the classics, dedicated a whole range of their creative efforts to reproducing in their music mysterious world of the candomblé queto-nagô with its rich myths and legends of the orixás. The same phenomenon was documented in the case of Cuba by Fernando Ortiz, Lydia Cabrera, Rómula Lacateñere, Rogélio Martinéz Furé, Mirta Fernández Martínez and a host of others. Furthermore, Maureen Warner-Lewis, speaking about the experience and reality of African descendants in Trinidad, affirmed inter alia that: “… in the second half of the twentieth century there were still people alive who remembered their ancestors from Africa and who could sing and speak in African tongues…”12 Needless to say, the same is largely true of Haiti, Puerto Rico, Colombia and other locales of the Cuenca sur.

The Re-invention of African Myths, Oriki and Proverbs in Afro-Latin-America From the African homeland, among the many types and genres of oral literature that “migrated” with the enslaved and indentured Africans into the New World were legends, myths, tales, oracular and secular stories, chants, invocations and incantations, proverbs, etc. As already pointed out in the course of this chapter, the base and medium of all these genres is the spoken word which emanated from the African languages taken by the sons and daughters of Africa into the American diaspora. In the diaspora, this spoken word in the African languages assumes an extraordinary sacredness such that virtually everything that is said in the African tongue is considered imbued with the power of realization otherwise known as ashe among Yoruba-speaking peoples. I have discussed expansively in other essays how the use of African languages among the African descendants in the New World has always been considered a question of racial pride and an ideological imperative to assert their African identity. We have also seen how the use of African languages was put to even more subversive use during the days of active resistance of enslaved Africans to slavery. This is borne out by the historical records of the role of languages like the nagô-iorubá in the successful planning of many slave rebellions in the Americas. Two important examples that readily come to mind are the 1835 Revolta dos Malê (Malê Revolt) in Bahia, Brazil,13 and the 1812 Apunté Revolt in La Habana, Cuba.14 The persistent use of the languages of Africa in the Afro-Latin religious communities, especially the nagô-yoruba language, in the Brazilian candomblé, the Trinidadian Sango and the Cuban santería,15 has been one singular reason for the preservation and survival of African world views, values, literature and aesthetics over the past three to four centuries. Evidence from the extensive research conducted by various generations of scholars and researchers on the different Afro-Latin-American and Afro-Caribbean religions has amply demonstrated how the devotees of candomblé,

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batuque, regla de ochá, palo mayombé, sangô, vaudou, etc., have been able to transmit from one generation to another the myths, legends, proverbs, tales, incantations, invocations, songs, rhythms, etc., exclusively via oral mediums, because, since the time of slavery, writing down the African precepts was considered dangerous as any form of writing among the enslaved population was considered a subversive and seditious practice by the slave masters, and this in some cases could attract even capital punishment as documented in Bahia and Cuba after the Malê Rebellion and the Apunte Revolt, respectively. Of particular interest to the present chapter is how, in some emblematic cases, the content of the different genres of oral literary forms transmitted within the AfroLatin-American religious traditions has mutated and undergone some reinterpretation or outright re-invention over the centuries. For ease of analysis, our examples in the following segments shall be drawn solely from models of Yorúbá oral genres as evidenced within the lucumi rites of Cuban Santería, the nagô rites of the Brazilian candomblé and the Trinidadian Yarriba rites of Shango.

The Form and Substance of Yorùbá Oral Genres in Afro-Latin-American Contexts In this segment, we intend to analyze some examples of Yoruba-African oral genres currently in use within the contemporary Afro-Latin-American and Caribbean societies. The first and most obvious genre is that of Yorùbá-African songs. These are largely apprehensible in the ritual music of the different Afro-Latin religious expressions. From Brazil to Cuba, through Trinidad, Haiti, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Venezuela and Colombia, to the greater part of the USA, especially the New York, Boston and the Miami axes, generations of candombleceros and santeros have reproduced almost uninterruptedly songs and chants to the African orisas (variously spelt orichás, orixás or ochás) in the Americas. In the following sections, we shall identify the different particularities of content and form adopted by these important genres of Yorùbá oral texts in the New World.

Moyugbas, oriqui y rezas These are mostly sacralized greeting formulas, invocations and prayers that are common within candomblé and santería. Moyugba (Cuba) and Motumbá (Brazil) are Latinized renditions of the Yorùbá mojúbà (I pay homage), and they are generally used as a form of sacred greetings to the orisa. The texts are usually rendered in Yorùbá language, mostly in its nagô form in the case of Brazil, and in its lucumi or yarriba forms in the case of Cuba and Trinidad, respectively:

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The first example will be taken from the book Cantos y Collares, Suyeres y Elekes16 (2010) by Evaristo Pérez Carriego. The preface of the book suggests that the author is an Oriaté, a category of Cuban lucumi priests who are responsible for the general conduct of orisa worship in Cuba. The oriaté derives his title from the cleavage of ori (the head, on top of) and àte (the tray on which the erindinlogun [sixteen cowries] are cast during divination). The oriate, also known as italero in lucumi, is not qualified to be a Babalawo (Ifá priest) per se because he is an olochá, but he is expected to be extremely knowledgeable in Ifá literary texts and Ochá rites, rituals, chants, myths and every other aspect of the regla de ochá which is how the lucumi call the orisa worship tradition in Cuba. In the words of Carriego himself, the oriaté is a kind of master of ceremony who conducts all orisa rites from the beginning to the end. By that he specifically means that the oriaté must be capable of conducting every rite and ritual in the life of a typical santero which means taking him through all the “oro” (rites of passage) starting from his or her birth in the ochá generally referred to as the oro de Igbodù in lucumi to the ritual funeral of such a santero, otherwise known as oro ituto. In other words, the oriaté must memorize all the suyeres that must be sang in Yoruba language to each orisa at every moment of any lucumi ceremony. As already mentioned, the oriaté who is often affectionately called oba oriaté by his santero followers does not engage in the divination process of Ifá, using the ikin or opele often called ekwele in Cuba, but he must be able to use the simplified form of Ifá divination called díloggun, i.e., the sixteen cowries oracular tradition known as erindinlogun among the Yoruba of West Africa. This he uses to consult for a new santero on the day of his ita,17 i.e., first outing after he completes his initiation rite of rebirth in the ocha. That is why the oriaté is also called italero. The first text we want to analyze in this segment is what the oriaté Evaristo Carriego titled “Alafia opon (saludando al tablero u Opón),” i.e., “greeting or paying homage to the opón Ifá (the Ifá divination tray) used as the ‘recipient’ or ‘table’ on which the Babaláwo (Ifá priest) inscribes the oracular signatures or odù Ifá that appear during a divination session.”18 It is a text under the suyere genre which, among the Cuban lucumi santeros, can be either a praise poem (oriki), a prayer (adúrà) or an invocation (ìjúbà). Iwaju opon o gbo o. Eyin opon o gbo. Puede que la cabeza del tablero escuche. Puede que el círculo del tablero escuche (Let the head of the divination tray listen. Let the center of the tray listen) Olumu otun, Olokanran osi, aarin opon ita Orun. Ashé Los espiritus comprensivos están à la derecha, los espiritus de las profecías a la izquierda. En el medio del tablero está la travesía hacia el Cielo. Ashé (The spirits of understanding are on the right, the spirits of prophecy to the left. In the center of the tray is the path to heaven. Ashé)19 Those readers familiar with Yorùbá divination sessions will recognize the above text as a formula used by the Babaláwo to dialogue with the oracular forces believed to be present in every divination process conducted by the Ifá priest. The iwaju opon

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refers to Èsù, who is represented on the front of the divination as a human face or a pair of eyes directly facing the officiating priest as if looking directly on what is happening on the tray. The èyin opón refers to Òrúnmìla, the deity, proponent and controller of the divination system. The Olùmú òtún (generally rendered by most contemporary Yorùbá Babaláwos as Olùmú l’òtún ) refers to the powerful forces on the right who are capable of arresting an individual, while the Olòkànràn òsì are their counterparts to the left. The aarin opón, ita orun refers to the center of the tray as the magnetic pull that binds all the afore-mentioned forces together. One particularly interesting detail in the Cuban lucumi rendition on this Yorubá text is the addition of the word ashé (so may it be!). This shows that, while in the YorùbáAfrican homeland, the text is used as an invocation or interpellation to call or invite the oracular forces to come and participate and approve the divinatory process about to be so initiated by the Babaláwo, among the Cuban lucumi, the addition of the expression ashé now makes the text to become a direct prayer to the unseen forces.20 The category of suyere which derives its name from the Yorùbá expression sun ìyèrè is used among Babalawos to refer to the session of recitation (verb sun) of Ifa poems (ìyèrè). Such poems usually relate the admiration and awe in which the Babalawos hold Ifá, Orunmila, Ésù and all the other orisa otherwise known as irúnmolè (uncountable deities). Here is yet another example from Carriego: SUYERE A OLODUMARE Elogio a la Fuente de la Creación (a praise poem to the source of creation) Ìbà Olodumare, Oba ajiki, ajige ogege agbaiyegun, okitibiri Oba tin pa ojo iku da, adere k’aiye awusikatu Oba ajoko birikitikale ogibigajigbo, Oba ti o fi imole se aso bora, Oludare ati Oluforiji, Adimula, Olofin aiye ati Orun… Araba nla tin mi igbo kijikiji, Oyigiyigi Oba aiku ati Oba nigbo, Oba otenile forigbeji, Awamaridi, Olugbohun mimo ti Orun. Ela funfun gbo o, Oba toto bi aro, pamupamu jigijigi, Ekun awon asheke, Awimayehun, Olu ipa Oba airi. Ashé (pg. 44) The admirable thing about this suyere is the way the oriaté renders this poem in much the same way as the typical contemporary Yorùba person would render an ijuba poem to Olodumare. It is interesting that Carriego himself did not seek to translate the many praise names of Olodumare in this beautiful lucumi text. The suyere is also exceptional in its blend of what can be considered as the immutable attributes of Olodumare such as oba ajiki, ajige, ogege agbaiyegun and okitibiri Oba tin pa ojo iku da (the king to be greeted first in the morning, the immutable one who stabilizes the world, the king who changes one’s appointment with death, etc.) and pet names otherwise known as inagije in Yorùbá whose purpose is rather to create a spontaneous response from the person so addressed as evidenced in the suyere’s inclusion of the expression “oba… pamupamu digijigi 21 .” In her work titled Oralidad y Africanía en Cuba—Orality and Africanity in Cuba—Mirta Fernández Martínez documents the apparently indiscriminate predilection of the lucumi santeros in his quest for erudition in the language of their African forebears. Indeed, contrary to what may be expected from fervent olorisas (adepts

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of the orisa tradition), the overriding need to collect and memorize texts in African languages was extended to even texts that seek to propagate the Christian credos of their white oppressors further. A good example here is the rendering of the Pater Noster, popularly known in Christendom as the Lord’s Prayer which the Cuban lucumi santero, Babalawó Victór Fernández rendered as follows: Baba wa timpe li oke orun. Owo li oruko echubare, de ife tire ni ki acheli aiye, biti oke orun, fu wa li oche oyo wa li oni, dari igbese wa yi wa, bi awa ti dariyi awon onibese wa, ma si fa wa si inu ideno, sugbon gba wa ni inu tusali. Amin.22

I have personally come across the same fervor among Brazilian candomblé practitioners who include as part of their ritual prayers to the orixá, the Yorùbá version of the Catholic pelo sinal prayer: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” which one of my Brazilian students once recited in what I refer to as their Yoru-Bahian language thus: Orunko babá, ati amu, ati awon mimo and Amim. We would like to return once again to the Cuban oriaté Carriego for the next example, which is the oriki genre. Many researchers have written extensively on the content and forms of the oriki among the Yorùbá-speaking peoples, notable among which are the works of Adeboye Babalola and Karin Barber. Generally, the oriki is considered as a contraction of the words orí (the head or personal destiny) and the verb kì (to praise or to greet). Thus, the main function of the orikì is to greet or praise a person or an entity in a special way, usually in a poetic sequence with the aim of arousing in such a person or entity, the pride of being and ultimately, the release of the àse which is considered the essence of every being, living, dead or spirit.23 This poetic interpellation is usually rendered in a vocative form in order to obtain the maximum effect on the individual or entity whose orí is being praised. In the following example, titled “Oríkí Ikin” which he delicately translated as Alabando la Sagrada Fruta del Arbol de la Vida, i.e., praising the sacred fruit of the Tree of Life24 : Cubra los ikines con ambas manos(the oriaté covers the 16 ikin with his 2 hands while reciting this suyere) Orunmila o gbo o. Orunmila iwo awo. Orunmila nos escucha. Orunmila nos revela los misterios. (Orunmila you hear us. Orunmila, you reveal to us the mysteries) Oun awo. Owo yi awo Iluminenos los misterios. Bendiganos con el misterio de la abundancia (Reveal to us the mysteries. Bless us with the mystery of abundance) Emi nikansoso l’ogberi. A ki ‘fa agba Merindinlogun sile k ‘asina Espiritu creador de la armonia perfecta. Muestranos la sabiduría de los dieciséis principios con que moldearon la Tierra (Creator spirit of perfect harmony, please reveal to us the wisdom of the 16 principles present in the creation of the Earth) Eleri ipin f’ona han mi. Ase. Revéleme el testimonio de la Creación. Ashe. (Reveal to me the testimony of Creation. Ashé)25

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Here again, we see a text that is normally an invocation or prayer to Orunmila by a presiding Babalawo at the start of a divination session being rendered by the Cuban oriaté as “Oriki of Orunmila,” i.e., praise poetry in honor of Orunmila. However, in the Yorùbá context, the Babalawo uses this prayer-invocation to declare his belief that Orunmila is the supreme partner in the divination process and he, the Babalawo cannot see nor understand anything about the request of the person for whom the divination is being done unless Orunmila himself reveals the request which the client has spoken in whispers or even without uttering any word directly to Orunmila, using the piece of money (owo) as the “bearer” of the message to Orunmila and Esu. The Babalawo is therefore in the dark as to the request formulated by the client, and unless Orunmila reveals same to him through the manipulation of the oracular instruments, he will continue to be an ogberi, an “ignorant person” in the case that the client has brought for Orunmila to solve, and consequently, he, the Babaláwo, will not be able to help the client. By no means, this is not to say that the Cuban olorisas or his Brazilian, Trinidadian or Haitian counterpart does not know the difference between an oriki invocation and a prayer per se. It is apparently the ubiquitous and overarching quest for the ashé at every moment which obviously transforms every suyere or oriki into a prayer for the lucumi santero. This is clearly evident in the invariable colocation of the powerful ashé at the end of all the suyere and oriki rendered by the venerable oriaté. One can juxtapose the Cuban oriki with the following oriqui – saudação (praise greeting) of Mãe Menininha do Gantois (1894–1986), a respected Afro-Brazilian ialorixá – mãe de santo (orisa priestess) of the twentieth century, whose fame pervaded the whole of Brazil and beyond as one of the few priestesses of the Afro-Brazilian candomblé to have enjoyed direct recognition and patronage by the Brazilian ruling elites. She had many songs composed in her honor by notable Brazilian musician-intellectuals such as Dorival Caymmi, Toquinho and Vinicius de Moraes. The latter once stylized her improvised oriqui in a track they titled “oração à mãe Menininha do Gantois” (prayer to Mãe Menininha do Gantois) in a 1971 disc. In the track, they extolled her motherly attributes as “a Oxum mais linda da Bahia” (the most beautiful Osun in Bahia). Among the numerous oriqui that circulated in Brazil in the honor of Mãe Menininha whose real name is Maria Escolástica da Conceição Nazaré, Bahian anthropologist Marco Aurélio Luz collected the following annotated oriqui in a chapter of his book Do tronco ao opá exim: memória e dinámica da tradição afro-brasileira: Olajogun Apakee (honorável ancestral apakee) Iá, iá, omo atun aiê se (mãe, mãe, as crianças que trazem a paz do mundo) Ba wa tun aiê se (proteja nosso mundo) Iyá nla, omo atun aiê se (as crianças que trazem a paz do mundo) Ialorixá n’ile Iá Omi Ase Iamasse, Ka sun re o!.. (Ialorixá do terreiro Iá Omi Ase Iamasse, descanse em paz) Iba Orixá (Honra ao Orixá) Iba Iami (Honra às mães ancestrais) Iba l’onii o o o (Honra sempre)

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This Afro-Bahian oriqui was obviously one of the saudações (greetings) recited to honor the memory of Mãe Menininha during her axexê (funeral rites) in 1986 as evidenced in the 5th line of the oriqui where the poet bids “goodnight and rest in peace” to Mãe Menininha, high priestesses of the Ilê Iyá Omi Ase Iamasse Temple. Notwithstanding the imprecise translations of segments of this oriqui reproduced by Luz, obviously, by rendering it as an adieu oriki, otherwise known in Afro-Bahian candomblé circles as a saurê (from the Yorùbá “sun n re o!”), i.e., RIP to the defunct Iyalorixá, Luz is extrapolating in this invocation to Mãe Menininha the attributive oriqui of the Ìyàmi – nossas mães ancestrais (our ancestral mothers) otherwise referred to and highly revered in Yorùbá religious traditions as the ìyàmi àjé, a cult of female potentialities purportedly founded by the orisa Osun to punish the excesses and disrespect of men for womanhood.26 This is obviously why Luz used this oriqui to close the chapter he titled “Iba orixá, iba, iba iya-mi, iba l’onioo ”27 of his 2001 book.

Patakines: Myths, Legends and Tales This category of texts is generally referred to as itan within the Afro-Brazilian candomblé and the Trinidadian Shango traditions while the Afro-Cuban lucumis prefer the term patakí (plural patakines). They are stories, tales and myths, mostly of the orisas, as contained in the 256 Odù Ifá (Ifá Literary Corpus). Ifá scholars, intellectuals and authorities such as Wande Abimbola, Ayo Salami, Awopeju Bógunmbè and Ifayemi Elebuibon as well as New World Africanists like Bascom, Verger, Bastide, Carneiro, Cabrera, Ortiz, Lacateñere and Furé, among so many others, have collected extensively texts belonging to this genre of Yorubá oral tradition. They are mostly found in the Ifa Literary Corpus, a massive compendium of the 256 Odù Ifá and the many thousands of extant ese Ifá, attached to the Odù. The myths and tales of the orisas and their human and animal interlocutors are attached to both the Ifá Òrúnmìlà tradition of the Babalawos and the eerindinlogun tradition common with the oloosa. As we have already mentioned, the myths could concern any of the orisas or it could be about humans, animals or even non-living beings. In most cases, these myths provide a proto-historic account of how or why a situation came to be. A good example is the myth of how Esu Odara came to be the controller of àse and the only one qualified to take the ebo (sacrifices) made by humans to Olodumare, as related to the Odù Ifá Osetura, which, as the myth reveals, is a contraction of àse tuu wá (it was àse that brought him into existence).28 Another example is the Ifá story (itan) that explains the etymology of the term ìyàwó as related to the Odù Ifá Ogbè Ògúnda, also known as Ogbè Yónú. As documented in the second ese of Ogbè Yónú recorded by Babalawo Awópéjú Bógunmbè, the term ìyàwó—which is freely used today to refer to a wife in the secular context as well as a spiritual “wife” of the orisa, i.e., any individual who is an adosu or a possession priest that is mounted by an orisa—was originally coined by Òrúnmìlà to summarize the episode of his encounter with princess ìyà, daughter of the king of Iwo, who was given to him as

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a wife by her father.29 The lady, through to her name (ìyà—tribulations), decided to humiliate Òrúnmilà in every imaginable way until the latter eventually broke down all her defenses and she succumbed and surrendered to him as her respected husband. Òrúnmìlà, therefore, decided to introduce her to everyone as ìyà ti mo je ni Ìwó nìyí (behold the tribulations I passed through in Ìwo town) which thus became abbreviated to ìyàwó (spouse). One interesting turn to the existence and use of the Yorùbá myths and tales of Ifá in the Latin American and Caribbean religious and social context is the ease with which some of the myths get confused and even re-invented, a situation which might make the diaspora version to be at variance with the homeland version. Over the years, we have collected a few of such re-invented tales in Brazil and Cuba. For lack of space, we shall limit our analysis here to the re-invention in Brazil of the myth of the amorous relationship between Ogún (the Yorùbá war and iron deity) and Obà (the deity of river Obà).30 As documented in the Odù Ifá Ògúndá Otúrúpón, Obà was a valiant and beautiful but very haughty virgin who loved to measure her strength with brave and strong warriors and wrestlers. She was so sure of herself that she would challenge any male to a wrestling bout and easily floor him, no matter how strong the man may be. But, one day, Ogún decided to take up the challenge. After consulting with his Babalawo to know what ebo (sacrifice) he needed to perform in order not to be humiliated by Obà, he performed the sacrifice and rubbed his body with the Ifá sacrificial oil as directed by his Babalawo. Needless to say, since he had made the prescribed sacrifice, Esu assisted him in the wrestling bout, and he was able to throw down the beautiful and valiant Obà. In order to prove that he has indeed overcome her completely, the victorious Ogún went ahead to remove Obá’s underpants and had sexual intercourse with her. The Odù Ifá from then on summarizes the episode as Ògún dá Òbà, o túrúpón è!, i.e., Ogun overcome Obà and removed her genital covering, thus giving rise to the name of the Odù as Ògúndá Otúrúpón. In the Brazilian version of this myth, however, the contention is presented, not as a fight between Ogun and Obà, but was incorporated into another myth which recounts the amorous encounters involving Ògún, Sango (spelled Xangô in Brazil) (the deity of thunder and justice) and Oya (the Yorùbá female deity of the whirlwind and the cemetery). In the original Yorùbá myth, Ògún was the first man to discover the beautiful Oya, also known as ìyá-mesan-òrun (usually abbreviated to Iyásan) which became her preferred name within the Brazilian candomblé tradition where she is called Iansã. Due to Ògún’s crudeness and unromantic character, the original Yorùbá myth records that he eventually lost Oya to Xangô who is a more romantic and amorous lover, a good dancer and a handsome king. An interesting addition to the Brazilian version was that the two rivals—Ogun and Xangô—fought over Iansã the beautiful maiden who, all the while apparently looked on (probably in amusement), “combing her long soft hairs on the beach” awaiting the outcome of the rivals’ contention. The fabulous song composed about this myth in the 1970s really made this fight of the Yorùbá titans look like a lovers’ fight that is commonplace among Brazilian rivals as the song concludes: Como a luta só termina, quando existe um vencedor/Iansã virou rainha/da coroa de Xangô!31 Thanks to a now popular track title A lenda dos orixás by Clara Nunes in the 1970s, this blending of the two

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Yorùbá myths into one beautiful Brazilian love story account of how Iansã became the favorite wife of Xangô has today fully extrapolated the confines of candomblé temples to become a popular theme in Brazil. A couple of other samba singers have repeated this song, notable among whom is the Bahian singer, Mariene de Castro. The beautiful chorus of the song that is rendered to the accompaniment of ijexá rhythm popularized by the afoxé carnival bands seems to suggest that, after losing the beautiful Oya (Iansã) to his rival Xangô, Ogun decided to drown his disappointment at sea, thus the desperate call: Iansã cadê Ogum? Foi pró mar!, Iansã cadê Ogum? Foi pró mar! (Iansã, where is Ogun? He’s gone off to the sea…).32 The ingenuity of the re-invented Brazilian myth is that Ògún has no affinity with the sea as he is an orisa of the deep, impenetrable African forest and the hilly countryside of eastern Yorubaland, which made his home to be located among the Ekiti, Ijesha and Ifè Yorùbá subgroups. That is probably a most plausible reason why Lydia Cabrera, the queen of Afro-Cuban ethnology in the twentieth century, gave to her classical collection of Lucumi tales and mythologies the title El Monte, i.e., the forest. However, as Barnet has rightly pointed out while echoing many other scholars before him, the power to invent and re-invent their mythologies has been an important strategy of the Yorùba survival in the New World. Another version of the myths on Ogun’s sexual deviance and the resultant social travails was documented in Cuba in a Pataki whose beautifully dramatized form can be found in the recordings of the Cuban Balé Folclorico Nacional in the 1950s, and subsequent dramatized performances put together in the Homenaje a Lazaro Ros and Homenaje a Mercedita Valdez (s/d), as well as by the Yoruba Andabo Rumba Group directed by José Luis Lobato.33 The Cuba lucumi version of the myth goes thus: Oggún, el orisha del hierro, era un campesino hosco y solitario. Cuando los orishas bajaron a la tierra, Oggún les abrio paso entre la maleza con su machete, limpiando el camino. Vivia con sus padres, Obbatala y Yemmu, y junto a sus hermanos Ochosi y Elegguá. Oggún estaba obsesionado con su madre y muchas veces intentó violarla, pero no pudo hacerlo gracias a la intercesión de su hermano Elegguá, que nunca lo permitió…34

The myth continues to relate how, one day, while Ògún wanted to carry out his incestuous intent on his mother, Yemoo, Obatálá, his father, caught him red handed. As punishment, Ògún imposed upon himself, self-banishment into the deepest recess of the African forest where he refused every contact with other humans and orisas. Although he kept producing iron for humanity in his exile, his wounded spirit made it possible for the ajogun, the malevolent spirits to torment the world of humans through the iron implements and tools he fabricated. In vain, every one of the orisas tried to make Ogún come back to live again in the community, until Òsun Iyalode, the deity of beauty and wealth, went in search of him, armed with a bowl of pure honey. She rubbed the honey on her body and allowed Ògún to taste of her honey. Thus, Òsun was able to entice the antisocial Ògún back into the community by allowing him probar la miel de la vida (a taste of the honey of life). In the documentary produced in 2001 in memory of Cuban Lazaro Ros, one of the best akpowon (orisa singers) of the twentieth century, this same patakin of Ogun and Osun is explained by Lazaro Ros himself in a way that even suggests an echo of the other myth of

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the fight between Ogun and Oyá that was earlier alluded to in the Brazilian version previously cited.35 This shows how the African myths continue to be re-invented from place to place in the New World.

From MPB to Carnival Music: African Musical Genius in Latin America The eruption of the rhythms of Africa on the world musical stage through the discovery of the different musical expressions of Latin America and the Caribbean has gone down in history as the definitive turning point in musical appreciation in the last century. The different categories of black music from Latin America such as rumba, salsa and son from Cuba, calypso and soca from Trinidad, the Dominican merengue, the Jamaican reggae, the Brazilian samba, pagode, axé and carnival music, the Colombian cumbé and the Afro-American jazz, among so many other popular musical genres, are today household rhythms all over the world. In most cases, the root of these vibrant rhythms has been traced to the musical genius of enslaved and indentured Africans and their descendants transposed into the New World context of the American diaspora. The themes of African music in the New World are as varied and multifarious as are the genres and the human conditions of the Africans and their descendants. It is virtually impossible to attempt an exhaustive repertoire of such themes in an essay of the present scope. Indeed, it is admirable that, apart from the preservation and transmission of the old songs taken out of Africa, new songs were composed in the New World to document the new realities and history of African descendants. A good example is the song recorded by Maureen Warner-Lewis in Trinidad in which the singer relates the event of a cannes brulées (the defiant subversive acts of setting aflame the sugarcane plantations as an act of resistance to slavery): Ó ru ogúnná gbòngbò Àjàsé gúnná Ó ru ogúnná gbòngbò Ó fi ìrèké pán He carried aloft a huge flambeau The Àjàsé man set the fire He carried aloft a large flaming brand He sets the canes alight.36 Back to our contemporary time, a point of interest to the present paper is how some of the music that emanates from the Latin American and Caribbean contexts has made a major impact on the global listening public due to the admirable presence, preservation and use of African languages and world view in their form and content. Today, apart from Afro-American folkloric bands like the afore-mentioned AfroCuban Yorubá Andabo group whose repertoires center around the myths, chants and

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dance of the African orisa, there are more secular bands who only use their knowledge of African themes to enrich the form and content of their music. Examples of such bands abound today in Europe, North America and Latin America.37 Due to lack of space, we have chosen just three examples of songs from the Yoruba diaspora to illustrate this continued evolution. The first one is the liturgical chant babá fururú loreré by the Yorubá Andabo group of Cuba, which I have used as the epigraph of this paper. Recorded by Cuban ethnologist Lydia Cabrera around 1957, it is a lucumi rendition of one of Obatalá’s universal chants which extols him as the creator deity.38 This song can be juxtaposed with the next one, also from Cuba which, however, at first glance appears to be more “secular”. This other song is the classic A Santa Bárbara (to Saint Barbara), recorded by one of the most respected Cuban singers of all times, Matanzas-born Celina González Zamora (1929–2015). To all intent and purpose, the song is a secularized salutation to the Catholic saint, Santa Bárbara Bendita, patroness of the Cuban nation. However, although the lyrics are in Spanish, those who are familiar with the lucumi world view would understand that the song is really addressed to the Yorùbá deity Changó who is syncretized with Santa Bárbara in the Regla de Ochá. The chorus leaves no one in doubts about this: ¡Qué viva Changó!/¡Qué viva Changó!/¡Qué viva Changó!/¡Qué viva Changó, señores! (all hail Changó, all hail the immortal Changó!). The beauty of this song is its subterfuge at camouflaging the fact that the praise and petitions are actually being addressed to Changó, whereas the one overtly appealed to by the song is the Catholic saint: Santa Bárbara bendita/para ti surge mi lira/Santa Bárbara bendita/para ti surge mi lira/y con emoción se inspira/ante tu imagen bonita…39 (Blessed Saint Barbara/to you I dedicate my song/and with deep emotions I sing/before your beautiful image). The song thus illustrates so poignantly the deep-rooted syncretism binding the Yorùbá orichás to the Catholic saints in Santería and Candomblé. The third and last song we would like to present here for lack of space belongs to the category of contemporary secular Latin American music which borrows heavily from the cultural world view of the Afro-Latin religious traditions. The following track is a musical adaptation and contextual re-invention of the world of the Bahia candomblé. The song Motumbá is an amalgam of orixá values as celebrated in Bahia and most other Brazilian cities in the New Year Eve event that is generally called Reveillon in contemporary Brazil. Today, a big tourism and cultural event which generates millions of dollars for governments and organizations all over Brazil, the Reveillon feast has its roots among candomblé practitioners who spend the night of December 31 at the beach, clad in white and armed with ritualized items like candles, toilette soap, flowers, mirrors and other gift items to be presented to the Yoruba deity of the ocean—Iemanjá—so that she would bless them in the coming year. As the title of the song suggests, Motunbá is a praise music to Yemanja which, in addition to her traditional ritual qualities, is presented in the track as the “mother” of the Brazilian samba and the capoeira dance cum martial art, two very important elements of contemporary Brazilian culture which have become export products on the global market. Thus, the track proclaims Yemanjá as the queen of Brazilian

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cultural expression and economic prosperity who must be revered with the appropriate ritual offering of acaçá (hard pap), milho branco (white cooked maize) as well as sophisticated gifts like espelhos (mirrors) and flores (flowers) worthy of a twentyfirst-century queen. The track recorded by Bahian carnival group Timbalada in 2005 goes thus: Mãe de samba motumbá Capoeira camará, Da jangada vai jogar, Altas flores em alto mar, Pede ao mar prá ir ao mar Sobá, sobá, sobá! Prepara o milho branco, Acaça pra Iara yá, Prepara o rito de espelho do tipo de se enfeitar Prepara bonito que é para agradar O reino sagrado das águas de Yemanjá Sobá, sobá, sobá! Yemanjá sobá, sobá mi erê Sobá mirerê, Iemanjá sobá loquè.40 Mother of the samba, I greet you Capoeira comrades here have come to make offering from our makeshift boat throwing to sea sweet-smelling flowers seeking permission and blessings from the ocean deity sobá! Sobá! – all hail the queen of the oceans prepare the white cooked maize meal prepare the hard acaça pap for our dear mother prepare the rite with mirrors to embellish please make everything beautiful to make happy the sacred kingdom of the waters of Iemanjá sobá! Sobá! – all hail the queen of the oceans all hail Yemanjá, all hail our queen all hail Yemanjá, all hail our queen most high

Conclusion This chapter has tried to discuss and analyze the many manifestations and re-invention of African oral traditions in the New World, with examples taken freely from the Yorùbá genres in the Latin American and Caribbean contexts. For lack of space, we have had to limit our discussion and analysis mostly to a few examples from Cuba, Brazil with occasional reference to Trinidad, Haiti and other Latin American and

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Caribbean locales. Also, our discussion has been able to accommodate but few examples of the many oral literary genres present in the New World, leaving out so many. For example, the paper was not able to discuss such genres as the African pregão culture in Brazil, commonly referred to as ipolowo ojà among Yorùbá-speaking peoples. This oral art of advertising wares and services by Africans was a common feature of daily life in Brazil, especially the states of Bahia, Rio de Janeiro and Pernambuco for which there are ample records of the existence of this African art form up till 1940 when, according to eyewitness accounts, it was common to hear the itinerant baianas de acarajé extol their wares by shouting on top of their voices: e r’acará jequô o! (buy àkàrà—fried bean cakes—to accompany your èko—hard pap meal).41 Likewise, we could not discuss other major African oral genres which have also survived and continue to be present in the quotidian expressions of Afro-LatinAmerican subjects such as the ofò/àyájó genres (Yoruba incantation texts), African proverbs and idiomatic expressions42 and the very rich genre of Afro-Latin tales and short stories. Even within the oriki genre that we have analyzed to a reasonable extent in this essay, we have had to leave out some aspects such as the practice of accompanying the mention of the names of Yorùbá deities with a spontaneous attributive oriki as is common within the Candomblé, Umbanda and Xangô traditions of Brazil and the regla de ochá of the Cuban lucumi santeros and their various offshoots. For example, it is considered improper for a filho/a -de-santo or a santero/a to mention the name of his/her tutelary orisa without spontaneously adding the ritual salutation oriki such as Oquê arô! for Oxossi; Ogum iê Ogum Onirê! for Ogum; Ora iê iê o! for Oxum; eepa babá! for Obatalá (Oxaguiã/Oxalufã); atotô! for Omolu/Babalú; Odoyá/Omi ô! for Iemanjá/Yemayá; kawo kabiesilé! for Xangô/Changó; eepa hei! for Iansã/Oya; laaroiê/laroye! for Exú/Elegguá; and salubá for Nana/Nanburuku. With regard to the rich genre of African folktales which, for lack of space, we have not been able to accord much attention in the course of this essay, it is our firm conviction that this has been adequately taken care of by the many generations of native and Latin American and Caribbean literary scholars and expert akpalos of world recognition such as Mestre Didi (Desocóredes Maximiliano dos Santos), Júlio Braga, Mãe Stella de Oxossi, Mãe Beata de Iemanjá, Pai Agenor de Miranda, Pai Paulo Tolomi, Lydia Cabrera, Rómulo Lacateñeré, Samuel Feijjóo and ultimately, my humble self, who have dedicated volumes after volumes of brilliant collections of various forms of tales of African origin, both the ritualized itans (mythologies) of the oracular collections and the more moralistic human and animal tales (aló) such as the classical Yorùbá folktales like Olurombi and Peregun, and the animal characters of the African folktales such as ijapa (tortoise) of the Yorùbá, anansi (spider) of the Ewe and leuk (rabbit) of the Wolof, Serere and Mandinka peoples of the West African Sahel, whose exploits continue to be retold, adapted or even at times, out rightly re-invented. We have seen this also in the case of Mestre Didi’s Contos de nagô and Contos crioulos da Bahia,43 in the written form in Latin American Portuguese, Spanish and Creole languages from Haiti to Ecuador, from Brazil to Cuba, from Port au Prince to Port of Spain, from Belize to Buenos Aires, thus validating the transition

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process and the definitive admission of the precious archives of African oral texts into robust modern literary narratives. Notes 1.

2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7.

8.

9. 10. 11.

12. 13.

In Yorùbá African Ifá initiation system, the Ojugbona is a titled Ifá priest. He is also the one responsible for the initiation of an Ifá neophyte; thus after the Oluwo, who is the chief officiating priest, the Ojugbona is the second “teacher” to whom the omo-awo (Ifá neophyte) owes total respect and allegiance. See Gilberto Freyre (1958). This seminar work was translated into English as Slaves and Masters. Falola and Akinyemi (2016: 8–9). See, for example, titles like I. F. Ojo and A. Ajayi, The Place of Ifa Literary Corpus in the Yoruba Cultural Education as well as Modupe S. Opeola, Re: Formation of Ifa Literary Corpus for Relevance in Modern Times, in A. Ajayi and S. I. Fabarebo (2009). Akporobaro (2001: 32–42). Finnegan (1970). The Portuguese term crioulo or its English translation, creole, generally refers to children born to parents of Africans or European origin in the Americas. In Cuba and other Spanish-speaking countries, they are called criollos. In contrast to their Africa or Europe-born parents, the crioulos generally considered themselves as “natives” of the Americas. This was often a reason for discord and distrust between them and their African progenitors, some of whom would not even trust their crioulo children with some deep African ritual secret for fear of betrayal. It must be pointed out that such teaching did not include ritual knowledge which was reserved only for the period of initiation proper because ritual knowledge within the Afro-Latin-American was jealously guarded from the non-initiated especially because they were considered as illicit practice by the civic authorities and their discovery might lead to arrest or even death for the practitioners who were accused of practicing feitiçaria (sorcery). Ayoh’OMIDIRE (2007: 10–15). See among others Elbein dos Santos; Reis; Braga; Mestre Didi; Yeda Castro. Caetano Veloso summed up this sentiment when he declared in one of his tracks in the album titled Noites do Norte: no meu coração da mata quitou pelé-pelé, faz força com pé na África, é línmdo ver gente linda… falar tupi fala iorubá … This was echoed some years later by the famous track that became the war song of Ilê Aiyê carnival group: eu sou África, jeje-nagô/sou África/Ilê Aiyê Curuzu! Meaning I am Africa, of jeji (dahomyan and nagô-ioruba extraction, I am an Africa of Ilê Aiyê, whose birth place is Curuzu in Salvador. Warner-Lewis (1991: xx). For more on the Revolta dos Malê, see Pierre Verger (1968), João Jose Reis (1986).

38 The Re-invention of Myths, Legends, Panegyrics …

14.

15.

16.

17. 18.

19.

20.

21.

22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27.

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Reis’ 1986 work is considered the most detailed account of the Revolta dos Malês. His account is rivalled today by the fictionalized reconstruction of the biography of Luiza Mahin in the ambitious novel Um defeito de cor (Rio de Janeiro: Editora Record, 2006) by the mineira Ana Maria Gonçalves. As for the Apunté Revolt in Cuba, see among others Howard (1998). The same is also true of other African languages such as the ewe-fon within the Rada and vodoun rites of Haiti and Brazil, respectively, as well as the bantu languages within the palo mayombé rite of Cuba. The complete title of the book already carries the meaning and translation in both Spanish and lucumí-yorùbá, i.e., canto is the Spanish translation of suyere while collares are elekes in Spanish and lucumi, respectively. The English translation of the title will then be (sacred) Songs and Necklaces. This practice of always putting the two languages side by side is common in New World texts. As can already be inferred, lucumí is the version of the yorùbá language widely spoken in Cuban santería rites. Many vocabularies and expressions of this language have found their way into the daily life of Cuban of every social and racial extractions through their intensive use by santeros and santeras as adepts of Afro-Cuban religions are generally called. Some of the most popular ones today are aché, moyugba, achere, iboru, iboya, etc. The word ita in Yorùbá can refer to the “outside” and by extension, “outing”. Ita is thus the public domain or the open space. For detailed accounts of how the Ifa priest manipulates his divination instruments such as opón ifá (divination tray), ikin (sacred palm nuts that represent Ifá), òpèlè (divination chain), ìróké (rattle) and ìyerosùn (special powder spread on the opón Ifá), please see among others Abimbola, Bascom, Elebuibon, Epega and Barnet. Here and in similar quotations in this segment, I have opted for a direct English translation in order to reflect the use, context and understanding of the Yorùbá oral texts transposed into the New World contexts. The present author has severally undertaken a profound and detailed analysis of the extensive use of the expression ashé (also spelled as aché or axé) in Cuba and Brazil, respectively, from where it has spread to other locales within the Yorùbá Afro-Latin Atlantic space. See Ayoh’OMIDIRE (2005, 2008, 2014a). Oba pamupamu digijigi would sound rather irreverent today to an average Yorùbá due to its ludicrous alliteration that is almost suggestive of lusty sensuality. Martínez (2005: 103). Ayoh’OMIDIRE (2005). Here obviously, Carriego opted for a more metonymic translation by referring directly to the igiope, the African oil palm from which the ikin (kernels) are obtained as the tree of life. Carriego (2010: 63). See Odu Osetua (Ose Otura) in Abimbola (1969). Luz himself is a titled oloye (honorary chief) in the lese orixá tradition where he is Otun Ojú Obá of the Ilê Axé Opó Afonjá, and in the lese egum tradition

798

28.

29. 30.

31. 32.

33. 34. 35.

36. 37.

38.

39. 40.

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where he is the Elebogui of the Egungun (ancestral cult) Axipá Temple founded by Mestre Didi Alapinni in 1980. For a detailed account of this myth, see the whole of Chapter VII of Juana Elbein dos Santos’ Os nagô e a morte. 1986, especially pp. 139–161 where the Argentina-born Bahian anthropologist documents the entire corpus of the Odù Osetua as recited for her by a Babalawo in Ketu, Republic of Benin. Bógunmbè (1995: 64). Coincidentally, this same river Obà is the major river of the Ìwo Yorùbá people to whom the earlier myth of ìyàwó was linked, hence the popular oriki of the town as: “Ìwó, olódò Obà…” (Ìwó, the land of the Obà river). Free translation: “Since a fight is not over until there emerges a winner, Iansã became the queen, of Xango’s crown!”. See Mariene de Castro. A deusa dos Orixás. Available in https://www.you tube.com/watch?v=rxR_2WOlzjI. Published 16 February 2013. Accessed 14 March 2018. For a more detailed analysis of this re-invented Brazilian myths, see Ayoh’OMIDIRE (2009). Ayva Música (2005). See Carriego (2010: 32). See Documental pós-humos de Lázaros Ros. Available in YouTube at https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpDrSOCCX6UPublished on 1 August 2011 by predelahabana. Accessed 14 March 2018. Warner-Lewis (1991: 4). Special mention must be made here of the Afro-Cuban Rap band based in France which has adopted the name Orichas as its official name. Their 2002 album Emigrante is a precursor of sorts of the immigration waves that is today a topical issue all over Europe. Apparently, the young Afro-Cuban rappers were already envisaging then the troubled dénouement that the immigration issue would have for the hapless hordes of immigrants, hence the popular refrainmantras of their lead track Aguántala (hang on): “Orichás me están cuidando, Orichá me están cuidando!” (The orisas are protecting me, the orisas are keeping watch over me!). Babá fururú loreré o … is praising Obatalá as the “father who emerges from distant land all clad in white.” Obatalá is the orisa of creation who is associated with the color white as a marker of purity. He is the essence of all the orisa funfun (deities associated with color white). As the orisa responsible for the formation of human figures, he is respected as the Orisa-Nlá, the great orisa, thus recognizing his position as the Arch-deity of the Yorùbá pantheon. His cult is perhaps the most universal in Yorùbá tradition as he is worshipped in different Yorùba towns under specific names such as Oosa-Ogiyan in Ejigbo, Oosa-Olufan in Ifon and Oosa-Ilawe. This lucumi version of the universal praise song extols Obatalá´s qualities as known in all these lands. For the full lyrics of this track, see http://lyricstranslate.com/en/celina-gonz% C3%A1lez-santa-b%C3%A1rbara-lyrics.html. Accessed 15 March 2018. See Timbalada. Motumbá. https://www.letras.mus.br/timbalada/117334/. Accessed 14 March 2018.

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41. 42. 43.

799

See Vivaldo da Costa Lima. See, for example, the book Owe by Mãe Stella de Oxossi (2007). For a full discussion this reinvention, see Ayoh’OMIDIRE (2005, 2007, 2015b).

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ELEBUIBON, Ifayemi. 2003. Ìyèrè Ifá. San Bernardino: Ile Orunmila Communications. Ellis, A.B. 1894. The Yorùbá-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa. Chicago: University Press. Falola, Toyin, and Akintunde Akinyemi (eds.). 2016. Encyclopedia of the Yorùbá. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Feijjóo, Samuel. 1987. El Negro en la Literatura Folklorica Cubana. La Habana: La Editorial Letras Cubanas. Feuser, Willfried, and José Carneiro da Cunha. 1982. Dílógún: Brazilian Tales of Yoruba Divination. Lagos: Centre for Black and African Arts and Civilization (CBAAC). Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. 1992. Oral Poetry: Its Nature, Significance and Social Context . Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Freyre, Gilberto. 1958. Casa Grande e Senzala, 9°. Edição Rio de Janeiro: J. Olympio. Herskovits, Melville. 1966. The New World Negro. In Herskovits, ed. S. Frances. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Herskovits, Melville J., and Frances S. Herskovits. 1964. Trinidad Village. New York: Octagon Books. Howard, Philip A. 1998. Changing History: Afro-Cuban Cabildos and Societies of Color in the Nineteenth Century. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1938. Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica. Afterword, Selected Bibliography and Chronology by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. New York: Harper & Row, 1990 Edition. Isola, Akinwumi. 1994. Iku Olokun-Esin, a Yorubá Translation of Soyinka’s Death and the Kings . Horseman, Ibadan: Fountain Publications. Luz, Marco Aurélio. 2002. Do Tronco ao Opa Exim: memória e dinâmica da tradição afrobrasileira. Rio de Janeiro: Pallas. Martínez, Mirta Fernández. 2005. Oralidad y Africanía en Cuba. La Habana: Editoria de las Ciencias Sociales. Martínez, Mirta Fernández, and Valentina Porras Potts. 2003. El Ashé está en Cuba. La Habana: Editorial José Martí. Okphewo, Isidore (ed.). 1985. The Heritage of African Poetry. Essex: Longman. Olupona, J.K., and T. Rey. 2008. Òrìsà Devotion as World Religion: The Globalization of Yoruba Religious Culture. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. Ortiz, Fernando. 1936. Los Negros Brujos. La Habana: Editorial Letras Cubanas. Ortiz, Fernando. 1995. Los instrumentos de la música afrocubana: Los tambores batá. La Habana: Editorial Letras Cubanas. Oxossi, Mãe Stella de. (Maria Stella de Azevedo Santos). 2007. Owe.- Provérbios. Salvador. Rego, José Lins do. 1981. Dias idos e vividos- Antologia, org. Ivan Junqueira. Rio de Janeiro: Nova Fronteira. Reis, João José. 1986. Rebelião Escrava no Brasil: a história do levante dos Malês. São Paulo: Editora Schwarrcz, 2003 Edition. Rocha, Agenor Miranda. 1998. Caminhos de Odù. Rio de Janeiro: Editora Pallas. Salami, Ayo. 2002. Ifá: A Complete Divination. Lagos: NIDD Publishing and Printing Limited. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1963. Contos de Nagô. Rio de Janeiro: G.R.D. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1966. Porque Oxalá usa Ekodidé, 3ª. Edição. Ilustração de Lênio Braga, Rio de Janeiro: Pallas, 1997 Edition. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1976. Contos Crioulos da Bahia. Petrópolis: Ed. Vozes. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1981. Contos de Mestre Didi. Rio de Janeiro: Codecri. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1988. Mito da criação do Mundo, com nove litogravuras de adão Pinheiro. Pernambuco: Massangana. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 1994. História de um terreiro nagô – Crónica histórica . São Paulo: Carthago & Forte.

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Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 2003. Contos Negros da Bahia e Contos de Nagô. Salvador: Corrupio. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). 2004. Contos Crioulos da Bahia, Creole Tales from Bahia, Àkójôpõ Ìtàn Àtenudénu Ìran Omo Odùduwà ni Ilê Bahia (Bràsíì) - edição trilingüe (português, inglês, yorùbá), tradução de Lisa Earl Castillo (inglês) e Félix Ayoh’OMIDIRE (yorùbá). Salvador: Núcleo Cultural Níger Okán. Santos, Deoscóredes M. dos (Mestre Didi). Juana Elbein e Orlando SENNA, Ajaká– Iniciação para a Liberdade [auto coreográfico em 3 movimentos], s/d. Santos, Juana Elbein dos. 1986. Os Nàgô e a morte: Pàdê, Àsése e o culto Égun na Bahia. Traduzido pela. Universidade Federal da Bahia, Petrópolis: Vozes. Verger, Pierre. 1968. Flux et reflux entre la côte des esclaves et Bahia, tese de doutorado . Paris: Mouton. Warner-Lewis, Maureen. 1991. Guinea’s Other Suns: The African Dynamic in Trinidad Culture . Dove, MA: The Majority Press. Warner-Lewis, Maureen. 1994. Yoruba Songs of Trinidad. London: Kamak House. Yemonjá, Mãe Beata de. 1997. Caroço de dendê: A sabedoria dos terreiros (como ialorixás e babalorixá passam conhecimentos a seus filhos) . Rio de Janeiro: Pallas.

Chapter 39

Zora Neale Hurston: Retrieving Folk Memory in Mules and Men Joseph McLaren

Having resided in Eatonville, Fort Pierce, and other locations in Florida, the noted Harlem Renaissance writer and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston is known for her project of cultural retrieval through the study of African American folklore in the Southern states, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, especially, and the Caribbean. Born January 15, 1891, in Alabama, Hurston died in Fort Pierce, Florida, in 1960, but it was in Eatonville where she spent her childhood years. Eatonville was the epicenter of her folkloric and cultural understandings, which would extend to the broader Gulf Coast region. Author of the celebrated novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, she was a central figure of the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and into the 1930s. Though controversial for a number of reasons, including acceptance of patronage and positions on racial equality,1 she was revived by Alice Walker during the Black Arts Movement and brought to greater critical attention through the seminal research of Robert Hemenway, whose Zora Neale Hurston: A Literary Biography posed the troubling question, “Why did such a writer end up living on food vouchers from the state of Florida?”2 The significant number of critical studies devoted to Hurston is a testament to her relevance to African American culture. Especially after the 1970s, she became the subject of critical investigation by such scholars as Mary Helen Washington, Cheryl Wall, Karla Holloway, Susan Meisenhelder, Diana Miles, Arnold Rampersad, Henry Louis Gates, Jr, Harold Bloom, Tiffany Patterson, Carla Kaplan, and Virginia Moylan.3 The interest in Hurston in the twenty-first century is also exemplified by such conferences as that held in 2005 at Barnard College, where Hurston was a student of Franz Boas in the 1920s. Organizer of the 2005 conference, Monica Miller remarked, “Hurston was indeed a ‘genius,’ a tutelary spirit, not only of the south, J. McLaren (B) Hofstra University, Hempstead, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_39

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but also, in nearly equal parts, of fiction writing, folklore collecting and analysis, anthropological research and methodology, and, most fascinatingly, of performance theory” (Miller). Furthermore, organizations such as the Association to Preserve the Eatonville Community connected to the Annual Zora Neale Hurston Festival of the Arts and Humanities (ZORA! Festival) show Hurston’s ongoing recognition in Florida. Although Hurston’s literary achievements are considerable, she remains somewhat enigmatic. Hurston’s controversial status was framed by Daryl C. Dance, who summarized many of the issues: “Did she love black people or did she view them with condescension and contempt? Did she have self-respect, or was she a shameless suppliant of white patrons? … Did she tacitly accept and ignore racial indignations or did she strike out against them?”4 In Dust Tracks on a Road, Hurston established her connection to Eatonville, where she moved as an infant a year after her birth in Alabama. Florida, Louisiana, Alabama, and later Haiti and Jamaica would become the sites of her ethnographic research. However, it is in the Gulf States of Louisiana, Alabama, and Florida that she would hone her unique anthropological techniques. Her connection to Eatonville, Florida, near Orlando, has become legendary. Eatonville, Florida, is and was at the time of my birth, a pure Negro town—charter, mayor, council, town marshal and all.…[I]t was the first to be incorporated, the first attempt at organized self-government on the part of Negroes in America.5

Another view of Eatonville is expressed in Alice Walker’s 1975 essay “Looking for Zora,” where she remarked, “Eatonville has lived for such a long time in my imagination that I can hardly believe that it will be found existing in its own right.”6 These were prophetic words given the reemergence of interest in Hurston, and the folktales found in Mules and Men, the first study of African American folk traditions by an African American. Prior to Hurston, African American folklore had been collected by primarily white Americans, especially Joel Chandler Harris, the most well-known of nineteenth-century collectors. Eatonville was the epicenter of Hurston’s anthropological or ethnographic study, the base from which her early life experiences would be measured against or augmented by her research in nearby areas such as Polk County, Florida, where part of the materials used in Mules and Men can be found. In Dust Tracks on a Road, she reminisced in poetic prose about the significance of Polk County: “After dark, the jooks. Songs are born out of feelings with an old beat-up piano or a guitar for a midwife.”7 Hurston’s collected folklore materials are consistent with the definition offered by Isidore Okpewho, “what…people traditionally say (e.g., songs, proverbs, tales) and what they traditionally do (weaving, dance, rituals).”8

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Eatonville as Literary Source: Hurston’s Vernacular Fiction Hurston’s fictional works also show a reliance on folklore and the foundational experience in Eatonville. She employs vernacular with a few strategic interests, one, to construct narratives that are centered on social, familial, and interpersonal relationships, such as marital situations; the other, to codify, performing the role of the anthropologist who collects folklore materials, but also realizes that vernacular voices, though sometimes categorized as “Negro Dialect,” had a level of authenticity. Her most important novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God, explores the folk legacy of Eatonville but with a decided emphasis on black women’s identity and what critics of the seventies saw as a feminist perspective, or womanist, to use Alice Walker’s terminology, evident in the character Janie Starks, who at the opening of the novel returns to Eatonville as the narrator observes the conditions for women: Now, women forget all those things they don’t want to remember, and remember everything they don’t want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.9

In Eatonville, the men and women gaze at Janie, and as they watch “sitting on porches beside the road,” they are “tongueless, earless, eyeless conveniences all day long. Mules and other brutes had occupied their skins.”10 The animal presence signified by the mule is recalled later in the novel when Janie as a young adult is scolded by her grandmother, who views the world as racially divided, “So de white man throw down de load and tell de nigger man tuh pick it up.” This power relationship in Grandma’s folk wisdom shows the transfer of the “load” to black women, when she concludes, “De nigger woman is de mule uh de world so fur as Ah can see.”11 Like Janie, who embodies Hurston’s own progressive thoughts regarding gender relations, Hurston understood the power relationships between men and women in familial situations. Janie’s mobility, as noted by Carole Boyce Davies, is “the strongest statement of a ‘migratory subjectivity.’”12 Other fictional works such as the short stories “The Gilded Six Bits,” “Sweat,” and “Spunk” and her novel Jonah’s Gourd Vine evoke the vernacular expressive language also found in her reproductions of folklore materials in Mules and Men and the power relations, identity issues, and roles of women. As Tiffany Patterson has noted of Eatonville in general, “Sexual transgressions were particularly frowned upon. Black women who expressed their sexual appetites, whether in conversation or behavior, brought shame not only on themselves but on the community.”13 The short story “Spunk” also contains the motif of marital relations but mixed with supernatural “hoodoo” depictions, when Spunk, who kills Joe Kanty and takes his wife, later fears Kanty’s spirit, a black bobcat, evoking animals as powerful figures. Spunk’s mysterious death at the sawmill is attributed to the workings of the bobcat spirit of Kanty. As Spunk says in his dying moment after the sawmill blade has cut him, “It was Joe…the dirty sneak shoved me.”14 Marital situations and their problematic power relationships can also be observed in Jonah’s Gourd Vine , where the central character, John Pearson, is a replica of Hurston’s own father. John, a mulatto, married to Lucy, ends up in Eatonville,

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described as a place of mobility: “Uh man kin be sumpin’ heah ‘thout folks tramplin’ all over yuh. Ah wants mah wife and chillun heah.’”15 Hurston used other Eatonville characters in her fiction such as mayor Joe Clarke, Walter Thomas, and Pheoby Watson in Their Eyes Were Watching God. Joe (Jody) Clarke, as mayor of Eatonville, reminds us that Hurston’s father, John Hurston, was Eatonville’s mayor from 1912 to 1916.16

Mules and Men: The Ethnographic Self Hurston as fiction writer mined the kinds of folk materials that would later become the subject matter of Mules and Men, which became the focal point for numerous critical assessments in folklore journals. Although Hurston understood the role of anthropology, ethnography, and the social sciences in general, she also realized her role as a storyteller and translator of the folk experience. As she said in a letter to Fannie Hurst in 1933, “I do not attempt to solve any problems. I know I cannot straighten out with a few pen-strokes what God and men took centuries to mess up. So, I tried to deal with life as we actually live it—not as the Sociologists imagine it.”17 Furthermore, Hurston as ethnographer was also undermining the Western or Eurocentric model and as Keith Walters observes, “A failure to appreciate the extent to which Mules and Men enacts the very tradition it seeks to document and describe may help account for why the work has been so little appreciated.”18 Hurston was aware of the collections of black folklore from the nineteenth century and especially the notoriety given Joel Chandler Harris’s Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings (1880) when African American folklore had been gaining attention. Mark Twain’s novels had used black vernacular language, and African American writers such as Charles Chesnutt had employed plantation tales and vernacular in such works as The Conjure Woman. Melville Herskovits, also a student of Boas, had done fieldwork in Haiti in the mid-1930s. In addition, Lorenzo Dow Turner, linguist and ethnologist, had studied the Gullah language in the 1930s, publishing Africanisms in the Gullah Dialect. Langston Hughes would publish with Arna Bontemps The Book of Negro Folklore, and Harold Courlander’s A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore furthered interest in folk materials during the time of the Hurston revival. Because of Hurston’s unique situation, that is, researching in part the locale in which she was raised, Central Florida, one assumes a certain inherent intimacy with the material as borne out in Dust Tracks on a Road, and in a section simply titled “Research.” Hurston likely experienced what Okpewho has observed: “nothing can compare with that feeling of intimacy and welcome that you get when you research among your own people.”19 However, Huston also experienced moments of danger and unease. Hurston remarked, “My search for knowledge of things took me into many strange places and adventures…I had not learned how to take care of myself in these circumstances, I could have been maimed or killed on most any day of the several years of my research work. Primitive minds are quick to sunshine and quick to

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anger.”20 What did Hurston mean by primitive minds? Was she mocking the notions of primitivism voiced by such patrons as Charlotte Osgood Mason and the general tendency of anthropologists to consider African cultures as “primitive”? Also did the marketing of the text by the publisher, Lippincott, play to such stereotypical notions in dust jacket statements where “The claim that Hurston’s subjects are ‘typical’ is obviously problematic.”21 Mules and Men, brought out in 1935 by Lippincott, with illustrations by Miguel Covarrubias and a preface by Franz Boas, retrieves a wide range of folklore materials, especially folktales, which constitute the collective memory of certain residents of Florida and Louisiana in the early decades of the twentieth century.22 Of the many topics covered in Mules and Men, the work can be understood in its treatment of religion, women and relationships, slavery, and language. The language question is particularly significant because of the status of so-called Negro Dialect, which had been used extensively by writers such as Paul Laurence Dunbar, but also used to caricature African Americans in minstrelsy. In general, the respelling of words to give the dialect sound eventually became passé in African American literature. Divided into two parts, “Folk Tales” and “Hoodoo,” Mules and Men shows Hurston’s unique anthropological style of recovering folk materials. As Carla Kaplan reminds us, “Hurston openly participated in the rituals she recorded.”23 The work was republished in a number of editions, the 1970 edition with an introduction by Darwin Turner, noted African American literary scholar of the 1950s and 1960s, and later in 1990 with a foreword by Arnold Rampersad and afterword by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. Especially following the Hurston revival initiated by Alice Walker, interest in Hurston increased during the 1970s with the greater recognition of African American women writers, who considered Hurston their literary ancestor. As John Edgar Wideman notes, “Hurston’s representation of the folk voice in her anthropological work, autobiography and fiction expanded the idea of what counts as literature, reframing the relationship between spoken and written verbal art, high versus low culture, affirming folk voices, female voices.”24 In his introduction to the 1970 Perennial Edition, Darwin Turner remarked, “These are the kinds of tales with which workers in Florida entertained Zora Neale Hurston and themselves in idle moments during the evenings, on trips, at dances, and between jobs in the fields.”25 Beyond the mere entertainment value, these folktales suggest a process of retrieving memory through an insider anthropological investigation. Most important, Hurston, as observed by Boas, was able to retrieve various folktales by her linkages to the local sources and by “participating in [the] true inner life” of the black community.26 Boas also asserted that the race of the anthropologist was a factor when attempting “to penetrate through that affected demeanor by which the Negro excludes the White observer effectively.” Hurston was not merely an ethnographer when approaching the tales she collected for Mules and Men, and her approach was literary as opposed to strictly ethnographical: “Having decided upon a novelist’s format rather than an ethnographer’s, Hurston did not in consequence throw out the ethnographer’s viewpoint.”27 Furthermore, the early understanding of Hurston’s style and approach by Hemenway has been supplemented by perspectives on her reliance on fieldworkers. As noted by John Dorst, if

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“read solely as an experiment in the presentation of ethnographic data, Mules and Men still functions smoothly as an instrument for the facile consumption of cultural Otherness.”28 Although critically discussed in the seventies, Mules and Men was also reviewed in the thirties, some reviews indicating a cultural distance although not necessarily a negative assessment. Thomas Caldecot Chubb’s assessment in The North American Review exemplifies this distanced tone: “There you see the negro lusting, fighting, drinking coon dick and living in such an atmosphere of squalor as would crush–as it has crushed on various occasions any less resilient race.”29 Chubb, referring to a particular story, offered an overall positive assessment though in language that was somewhat condescending: “ably the original teller of this story, has a wisdom of his own. Why not? For in the deep South, where, after Africa, most of these tales had birth, he still lives close to the red clay soil, the soil which is a god to paganism. And wisdom cometh from the Lord.”30 Another reviewer, Joseph J. Williams in Folklore, remarked in 1936, “There is practically nothing to remind us of African origins as in the case of West African folklore” and further suggested that Hurston’s work might cause readers to expect the kinds of folk materials collected by Joel Chandler Harris in the Brer Rabbit Stories.31 Interestingly, Melville J. Herskovits responded to Williams’s fallacy concerning African relevance in Mules and Men: “For if the entire body of Negro folklore be taken into account, it becomes readily apparent to what degree it is unjustifiable to assume, as Father Williams assumes, that Negro lore is restricted to accounts of animals.”32 Regarding Part II of Mules and Men, “Hoodoo,” Williams offered the following: “we have a really valuable exposition of one of the strangest traits in the character of the Southern Negro.”33 The objectifying terminology used by Williams suggests the way African Americans, in general, were viewed in certain Eurocentric perspectives. Hurston’s goal was to counter such objectification, especially by presenting the tales through the voices of her informants. Hurston’s familiarity with the Eatonville epicenter is indicated early in the collection when she observes “a group on the store porch,” which exhibited the “Same love of talk and song.”34 This setting represents the site of storytelling or as Virginia Moylan states, “the hub of the town’s social life, where the master storytellers spun their tales.”35 However, the process of retrieval also involved a certain distance from the Florida sources or, as Hurston understood it, being “away from my native surroundings.”36 In other words, “Hurston depicted southern folk life as a cultural reference point for the construction of black interior life.”37 Most importantly, the memory retrieval suggests a certain uncovering of the folk self, the knowledge acquired through childhood association with folktales that can be compared to clothing, a “tight chemise” that necessitates its removal. Hurston’s project allowed her to “look at my garment,” and through this vision, acquire a range of folktales as part of an ongoing process of communal interaction.38 The significance of Hurston’s method is suggested by D.A. Boxwell: “that Hurston’s presence in the work as a created and asserted self is central and essential, unifying the action it depicts and giving a strong sense of cohesion to the collection’s disparate parts and multitudinous story-telling voices.”39

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Hurston’s interventions link the series of folktales divided into ten sections. Within these sections, the retrieval process can be understood by Hurston’s own commentaries and segues that join folk memory into a unique ethnographic method. Her systematic study was also augmented by her investigation of racial concerns. Having received a grant from the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, headed by Carter G. Woodson, Hurston was obligated to submit reports, one of which covers such locations as Eatonville, Orlando, and Winter Park: This month has been given to searching out of beliefs and customs, and many strange things have come to light. I have recorded already 89 beliefs and numerous nuances or adaptations of customs. I shall report on the two Negro towns in the state within ten days.40

What did Hurston mean by “strange things,” a comment that supports her growth in ethnographic knowledge beyond that which she inculcated in the Eatonville epicenter. From the perspective of the anthropologist, she elicited responses and traveled to a variety of locations. As Susan Meisenhelder, observed, “What she [Hurston] discovered when she looked at her culture through the spyglass of anthropology was that the folktales she had always heard were not merely amusing stories or even relics of slavery, but living forces, strategies used in her own day for dealing with power inequities.”41 In Mules and Men, a series of stories involve relationships to “God,” churches, the Bible, the “Devil,” gender relationships and, as it regards race relations, plantation tales involving “massa.”42 The plantation tales often result in the outwitting of the slave owner by the enslaved person. In relation to race, “the pressure to accept white definitions of oneself as a mule is an intense one.”43 One of the religion-oriented stories plays on Biblical texts but uses environmental or natural landscape as an extension. The folksy manner used to envision Christ shape a relationship to him that is personal and friendly. Christ was walkin’ long one day wid all his disciples and he said, “We’re goin’ for a walk today. Everybody pick up a rock and come along.’44

The characterization of Peter as the disciple upon whom the church would be built is dealt with in a hyperbolic manner, where the rock that Peter carries is “half a mountain. It was so big he couldn’t move it wid his hands.” As a result, Christ says to Peter, “dis is a fine rock you got here…on dis rock Ah’m gointer build my church.”45 Although the metaphorical significance of the Biblical text was known, it is the physical analogy that is used to evoke humor and the ultimate message of the story, in that Peter defies Christ, saying “Naw you ain’t neither…You gointer turn dis rock into bread.”46 Christ glues the eleven other rocks together, demonstrating in the story “how come de Christian churches is split up into so many different kinds.”47 The sophistication of the concept holds true and is somewhat prophetic regarding factions that would be a theme of the Hurston short story “Bone of Contention” and the play Mule Bone, the Langston Hughes-Hurston collaboration. The way gender relations are revealed in Mules and Men supports what Cheryl Wall has observed about the collection: “In effect the subtext of Mules and Men is the

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narrative of a successful quest for female empowerment.”48 An example of a folktale evoking gender and power dynamics is expressed in a conversation with Hurston, Gene, Shoo-pie, Armetta, and George Thomas. Thomas, who remarks, “Her tongue is all de weapon a woman got,” sparks the retelling of the tale of “why women always take advantage of men.”49 In the tale, “man” wanted more strength to dominate a woman: “but they was even balanced and neither one could whip de other one.”50 Also, the humanizing of folk figures is exemplified when the “man” asks “God” for the power, and they both are given African American vocal patterns: “Good mawnin’, Ole Father” “Howdy man. Whut you doin’ ‘round my throne so soon dis mawnin’?”

The argument made by “man,” that “God” wouldn’t “want to be always comin’ down way past de moon and stars to be straightenin’ her out,” results in the declaration “All right, Man, you got mo’ strength than woman.”51 However, as the tale proceeds, “woman” consults the “Devil” who tells her to ask “God” for three keys from God’s mantle. The “Devil” then empowers the keys to control three areas: the kitchen, the bedroom, and the cradle, the latter referring to being “cut off from his generations.”52 In achieving this end, the “woman” concludes the tale: “You men is still braggin’ ‘bout yo’ strength and de woman is sittin’ on de keys and lettin’ you blow off till she get ready to put de bridle on you.”53 The power relations between men and women are addressed through folksy logic involving the powers of “God” and the “Devil,” suggesting dualistic forces rather than a singular authority. Interestingly, this tale can be compared in part to the Gikuyu-Mumbi origins story of Kenya found in Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s novel The River Between where in the beginning there existed equality between men and women. Moreover, certain stories show moments of resistance to oppressive labor conditions. As David Nicholl has observed regarding tales collected in Polk County, “She displays the migrant laborers telling tales on the job, and in so doing she shows how the tales form a discourse of dissent relating to the conditions of labor in the company town.”54 In one of the tales titled “Member Youse a Nigger,” told by Joe Wiley, John, an enslaved man, is promised his freedom after saving the children of “massa” from potential drowning. The man is promised the following: “make a good crop dat year and fill up de barn, and den when he lay by de crops nex’ year, he was going to set him free.”55 Although John is given his freedom, he is reminded that “youse a nigger” even to coerce his return. Ultimately, “John kept right on steppin’ to Canada.”56 The tale not only demonstrates the necessity to labor for one’s liberation but the maintenance of identity in the face of subversive attempts to control or maintain a slave mentality. The trope of Canada, the promised land of liberation, is evoked to show determination and purpose.

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Vernacular Music and the African Connection Although it is well known that African American folktales have antecedents in African folktales and oral literatures, in Mules and Men, Hurston focuses more specifically on the African American or Diasporic contexts, especially relating to slavery, race relations, and male-female interactions. However, there are references in the text to the African link. As Teresa Washington reminds us, “Mules and Men is perhaps the richest testament to African cultural and spiritual continuity in America, and it offers fascinating examples of overt and covert Africana divinity in action.”57 Washington’s analyses focus on several folktales, a term she challenges when used in African American contexts that “have clear antecedents in Yoruba ese Ifá” and considers Hurston to have been a “transcribing conduit.”58 This aspect of Hurston’s relationship to an African spirituality can explain why there are few overt references to Africa in Mules and Men, but oblique or masked allusions sometimes emerging in general references to the continent. Furthermore, Hurston’s use of folklore techniques and styles in her fiction mirrors what African writers have done and which Okpewho has recognized in that “many modern African writers consciously borrow techniques and ideas from their oral traditions.”59 In Part I and following the story of “High Walker,” Hurston describes a night of music in Loughman, Florida, accompanying a marriage celebration. She is guided by one of her contacts, Big Sweet, a woman who is concerned with her safety at the event “and gave [Hurston]…some advice about looking out for [her]self.”60 Hurston’s response to Big Sweet suggests her use of vernacular language to engage with her informants. When she says, “Well, Big Sweet, if it’s like dat, Ah speck Ah better not go out unless you be wid me,” it is evident that although an outsider, she wants readers to observe her verbal connection to the folk.61 Hurston as driver, transporting various people to events, also shows the way she embeds herself within the cultural context involving card games and potential rivalries. Tensions are released by dance and music entering the cultural space at a crucial moment. Heard Slim’s bass strings under the singing throbbing like all Africa and Jim Presley’s melody crying like repentance as four or five couples took the floor. Doing the slow drag, doing the schronch.62

The importance of the so-called juke joint to Hurston’s fieldwork is evident in this recollection, where the harmonization of community and personal rivalries is achieved through the communal dance. Her reference to “throbbing like all Africa” also indicates the rhythmic influences that are generally part of the overall transmission of the African cultural heritage. Part II, “Hoodoo,” distinguished from “Voodoo”, “as pronounced by whites,” covers Hurston’s fieldwork in New Orleans, where she considers the Crescent City as a vital center. Although not overtly stated, the linkages between African traditional religion and “Hoodoo” have been well established as is the relationship between Haiti and Louisiana as it relates to cultural transmission. The link to Haiti, New Orleans, and Africa is that New Orleans practitioners can be seen as Diasporic descendants and connected to Haiti as parallel inheritors or transmitters.63

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New Orleans is now and has ever been the hoodoo capital of America. Great names in rites that vie with those of Hayti in deeds that keep alive the powers of Africa.64

Most important, Hurston debunks the popular Americanized notions of Voodoo, which during the 1930s had become part of stage and fiction entertainment: “That is why these voodoo ritualistic orgies of Broadway and popular fiction are so laughable. The profound silence of the initiated remains what it is. Voodoo is not drum beating and dancing. There are no moon-worshippers among the Negroes in America.”65 As Karla Holloway suggested, Hurston “was prompted to probe areas of consciousness and culture to account for the survival of African mythologies in the communities of these areas. She was to learn that through Hoodoo, the spirit of Africa was given flesh; Hoodoo enabled a physical and visual survival of the religions of the mother continent.”66 Hurston’s search for connections to Marie Leveau, considered the most important figure in New Orleans hoodoo, leads her to the Vieux Carre and the French Quarter, where she eventually becomes a “pupil” of Luke Turner, nephew of Marie Leveau. Hurston’s detailing of her initiation path adds to the anthropological record beyond the accumulation of folktales. Hurston would later visit Haiti and Jamaica and publish the results of that fieldwork in Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica. In those works, her anthropological approach continued in the same manner as in Florida, where she made contacts, especially with practitioners, who became her informants.

Conclusion Hurston was successful in her retrieval of folk memory, principally because of her ability to enter the field with an innate understanding of the traditions she was investigating, although she would experience certain “strange things” or new awakenings beyond the Eatonville epicenter. Crucial as well was her mission to validate the language of the folktales she recorded and the overall importance of places such as Eatonville in the creation of black communities, where cultural interaction linked its storytelling to an African homeland, though distant and masked in the music, dance, and stories of Florida and Gulf Coast region. Even as Hurston joined the academic circle of ethnographers and formed her ethnological self, she was also observing the relationships between men and women as they show gender and power considerations. When she collected tales relating to religion, labor, gender relations, or slavery, their manner of reproduction was given palpable expression in human terms. Undoubtedly, the retrieval process in Mules and Men was enhanced by her creative literary skills, which were central to her ethnological method. Notes 1.

Washington (2011: 3).

39 Zora Neale Hurston: Retrieving Folk Memory …

2. 3.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

813

Hemenway (1977: 7). By the close of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first, numerous fulllength works show the scholarly interest in Hurston: Zora Neale Hurston: An Annotated Bibliography and Reference Guide (1997), compiled by Rose Parkman Davis; Hitting a Straight Lick with a Crooked Stick: Race and Gender in the Work of Zora Neale Hurston Women, by Susan Meisenhelder (2008); Zora Neale Hurston: A Life in Letters, collected and edited by Carla Kaplan (2002); Violence and Testimony in the Works of Zora Neale Hurston, by Diana Miles (2003); Zora Neale Hurston and a History of Southern Life, by Tiffany Patterson, 2005; Modern Critical Views: Zora Neale Hurston, edited by Harold Bloom, 2008; Zora Neale Hurston’s Final Decade , by Virginia Moylan; Zora Neale Hurston: An Annotated Bibliography of Works and Criticism (2013), edited by Cynthia Davis; and Critical Insights: Zora Neale Hurston (2013), edited by Henry Louis Gates, Jr, and Anthony Appiah. Dance (1983: 321–322). Hurston (1942: 1). Walker (1983: 94). Hurston ibid., 149. Okpewho (1992: 5). Hurston (1937: 9). Ibid., 9–10. Ibid., 29. Davies (1994: 149). Patterson (2005: 101). Hurston (1995c: 954). Hurston (1992: 92). Kaplan (2002: 37). Ibid., 286. Walters (1999: 344). Okpewho ibid., 329. Hurston (1996: 146). West (2005: 134). Quotes from stories and tales are taken from the 1990 edition. Kaplan ibid., 24. Wideman (2001: xiv). Turner (1970: 6). Boas (1935). Dolby-Stahl (1992: 54). Dorst (1987: 307). Chubb (1936: 182). Ibid., 183. Williams (1936: 329). Herskovits (1937: 219). Williams ibid., 331. Hurston (1990a: 1).

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35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

Moylan (2011: 10). Hurston ibid. Patterson ibid., 10. Hurston ibid., 1. Boxwell (1992: 606). Kaplan ibid., 103. Meisenhelder (2008: 107). Although Mules and Men is the recognized collection of Hurston’s research, a version of the collection titled Every Tongue Got to Confess: Negro FolkTales from the Gulf States was published in 2001 by Harper Collins and edited by Carla Kaplan. The publication was of a manuscript that “turned up in the papers of William Duncan Strong, an American anthropologist known to have been a friend of Franz Boas’s.” However, it isn’t clear “which version of the ‘stories’ this was or through whose hands it passed” (Kaplan, Introduction, Every xxviii–xxix). Meisenhelder ibid., 113. Hurston ibid., 27. Ibid., 27–28. Ibid., 28. Ibid. Wall (1989: 661). Hurston ibid., 30–31. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 33. Hurston ibid., 34. Nicholls (2000: 44). Hurston ibid., 90. Ibid. Washington (2012: 263). Ibid., 264, 266. Okpewho ibid., 18. Hurston ibid., 175. Hurston ibid., 175–176. Ibid., 178. Ibid., 183. Ibid., 183. Ibid., 185. Holloway (1987: 103).

43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

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References Boas, Franz. 1935. Foreword. Mules and Men. Philadelphia: Lippincott. Boxwell, D.A. 1992. ‘Sis Cat’ as Ethnographer: Self-Presentation and Self-Inscription in Zora Neale Hurston’s Mules and Men. African American Review 26 (4): 605–617. JSTOR, www.jstor. org/stable/3041874. Chubb, Thomas Caldecot. 1936. Review of Mules and Men, by Zora Neale Hurston. The North American Review 241 (1): 181–183. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25114715. Courlander, Harold. 1976. A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore. New York: Crown. Dance, Daryl C. 1983. Zora Neale Hurston. In American Women Writers: Bibliographical Essays, eds. Maurice Duke, Jackson R. Bryer, and M. Thomas Inge, 321–351. Westport: Greenwood Press. Davies, Carole Boyce. 1994. Black Women, Writing and Identity: Migrations of the Subject. New York: Routledge. Dolby-Stahl, Sandra. 1992. Literary Objectives: Hurston’s Use of Personal Narrative in Mules and Men. Western Folklore 51 (1): 51–63. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1499644. Dorst, John. 1987. Rereading Mules and Men: Toward the Death of the Ethnographer. Cultural Anthropology 2 (3): 305–318. JSTOR,www.jstor.org/stable/656429. Harris, Joel Chandler. 1880. Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings. New York: Appleton. Hemenway, Robert E. 1977. A Literary Biography. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Herskovits, Melville J. 1937. Correspondence. Mules and Men. Folklore 48 (2): 219–221. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1257251. Holloway, Karla F.C. 1987. The Character of the Word: The Texts of Zora Neale Hurston. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Hughes, Langston. 1991. Mule Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life. New York: Harper Perennial. Hughes, Langston, and Arna Bontemps (eds.). 1958. The Book of Negro Folklore. New York: Dodd, Mead. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1935. Mules and Men. Philadelphia: Lippincott. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1937. Their Eyes Were Watching God. (1978 edition). Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1970. Mules and Men: Negro Folktales and Voodoo Practices in the South. New York: Harper. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1990a. Mules and Men. New York: Perennial Library. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1990b. Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica. 1935. New York: Harper. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1992. Jonah’s Gourd Vine . In Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories, 1–171. New York: Library of America. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1995a. The Bone of Contention. In Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories, 968–978. New York: Library of America. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1995b. The Gilded Six-Bits. In Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories, 985–996. New York: Library of America. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1995c. Spunk. In Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories, 949–954. New York: Library of America. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1995d. Sweat. In Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories, 955–967. New York: Library of America. Hurston, Zora Neale. 1996. Dust Tracks on a Road. 1942. New York: Harper Perennial. Kaplan, Carla (ed. and compiler). 2002. Zora Neale Hurston: A Life in Letters. New York: Doubleday. Meisenhelder, Susan E. 2008. Conflict and Resistance in Zora Neale Hurston’s Mules and Men. In Zora Neale Hurston: New Edition, ed. Harold Bloom, 105–130. New York: Bloom’s Literary Criticism/Infobase. Miller, Monica L. 2005. Introduction. Jumpin’ at the Sun: Reassessing the Life and Work of Zora Neale Hurston. The Scholar and Feminist Online 3 (2): n.p.

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Moylan, Virginia Lynn. 2011. Zora Neale Hurston’s Final Decade . Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Ngugi wa Thiong’o. 1965. The River Between. London: Heinemann. Nicholls, David G. 2000. Conjuring the Folk: Forms of Modernity in African America. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character, and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Patterson, Tiffany Ruby. 2005. Zora Neale Hurston and a History of Southern Life. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Turner, Darwin. 1970. Introduction. Mules and Men: Negro Folktales and Voodoo Practices in the South, by Zora Neale Hurston, 6–15. New York: Harper. Walker, Alice. 1983. Looking for Zora. In In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose , 93–116. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Wall, Cheryl A. 1989. Mules and Men and Women: Zora Neale Hurston’s Strategies of Narration and Visions of Female Empowerment. Black American Literature Forum 23 (4): 661–680. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2904095. Walters, Keith. 1999. ‘He Can Read My Writing But He Sho’ Can’t Read My Mind’: Zora Neale Hurston’s Revenge in Mules and Men. The Journal of American Folklore 112 (445): 343–371. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/541367. Washington, Mary Helen. 2011. Introduction: Zora Neale Hurston: A Woman Half in Shadow. In I Love Myself When I am Laughing: A Zora Neale Hurston Reader, ed. Alice Walker, 1–19. New York: Feminist Press. Washington, Teresa N. 2012. Mules and Men and Messiahs: Continuity in Yoruba Divination Verses and African American Folktales. The Journal of American Folklore 125 (497): 263–285. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/jamerfolk.125.497.0263. West, M.Genevieve. 2005. Zora Neale Hurston & American Literary Culture. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Wideman, John Edgar. 2001. Foreword. Every Tongue Got to Confess: Negro Folk-Tales from the Gulf States, ed. Carla Kaplan, xi–xx. New York: HarperCollins. Williams, Joseph J. 1936. Review of Mules and Men, by Zora Neale Hurston. Folklore 47 (3): 329–334. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1256868.

Part IV

Orality, Technology, and Popular Culture

Chapter 40

Orality, Media, and Information Technology Kole Odutola

The debate about what is lost (or gained) in the process of transitioning from orality to written text is almost behind us, if the extensive works carried out by scholars like Ruth Finnegan, Deirdre Ann LaPin, Okpewho Isidore, Trevor Blank, Daniela Merolla, and Akintunde Akinyemi are to be given their dues. An emerging area of scholarship is the transition from oral to the digital and a consideration for audience reception. Based on the premise that the three terms of orality, media, and information technology at first glance may appear to have little to do with each other, I consider how the three relate. At a deeper level of meaning, it becomes obvious that all creative endeavors start from a thought and the thoughts are transformed into words; these words could be spoken, either performed, or set down in form of texts. The transcription into words accords a culture permanence of some sort, according to Alain Ricard, “[t]o pay respect to a culture it is necessary to make monuments out of texts…”1 There is a possibility that these texts (or text-like materials) may end up on the Internet for general dissemination beyond the locale of their production. Wings will therefore have been given to the monuments to ‘fly’ into other cultural spaces. In most African societies, the spoken and performative practices rate highest on the scale of the communication continuum. To come fully to terms with the intersection of orality, textuality, and technology, there are academic fields like anthropology that is “interested in how cultural attitudes govern performance events and the literary products which emerge from them.”2 In effect, culture becomes the structure on which performances are erected and subsequently interpreted by listeners and observers. To understand how a people speak and perform is to appreciate their culture and outlook to life in general. Apart from the scholarly interests of anthropologists, “[a] linguist examines the manner in which sound and mime are combined with words in the formulation of a communicative act.”3 K. Odutola (B) University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © This is a U.S. government work and not under copyright protection in the U.S.; foreign copyright protection may apply 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_40

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To further contextualize orality and textuality, Mark Turin, 2013, observes that “oral and performative traditions are not translated when a community shifts to using a more dominant language, and oral literature in general remains one of the most poorly studied and least recognized forms of human creative expression.”4 However, creative performances have been studied in tandem with the nature of the language and its diversified possibilities of meaning; what has been left out (and should not be ignored) is an understanding of how the medium shapes performances, reception, and interpretation. This third leg of academic enterprise is within the purview of media studies. It is in this field that the tripartite of content, form, and its reception intersect seamlessly. To the knowledge of this researcher, how virtual audiences receive folktales has not yet been given its due intellectual/critical attention. Deirdre Ann LaPin in her unpublished 1977 dissertation sets out methodological frameworks for the critical appreciation of oral narratives, which, she submits, are dramatic rather than literary. She further goes on to critic the “critical tradition which has long been content to discuss drama from a text rather than the stage [which] cannot adequately evaluate or analyze an art which places its emphasis on sound and sight as well as words.”5 Trevor Blank’s injunction that “[i]t is time that folklorists look to the Internet, not only to expand our scholastic horizons but also to carry our discipline into the digital age,”6 must be taken seriously. To do justice to oral literature, newer means and perspectives should be brought into the picture, especially in the current digitized age. A scholar like John Miles Foley prefers to distinguish between three separate verbal market places whose transactions are communicative acts; he refers to these as tAgora, eAgora, and oAgrora.7 These three forms of communication are defined based on the medium of their expressions. Trevor Blank raises the question of how the Internet “reconfigures the nature of communication as a form of cultural maintenance and definition?”8 Alain Ricard even goes further to argue that “it is easier to write essays and give lectures on what orality is about than to actually bring to print, which is exposing to the scrutiny of the world, actual examples of the craft of oral poets.”9 If the print in its limited power of circulation can do that how much will the Internet do for digitized performances? One of the methods of research in media studies is hunting for, and gathering of, texts and text-like materials. The materials collected are described and analyzed using appropriate theoretical frameworks that respond to stated research objectives. In this chapter, data are collected from two online sources and subsequently analyzed against the background of reception theoretical perspectives. The next section reviews existing literature on the thematic intersection of orality, media, and information technology.

Literature Review The issue of how orality, media, and the information technology intersect is not a new issue to scholars. Trevor Blank asserts that long before the Internet “print promoted folklore and allowed folklorists to ‘constitute the oral in relation to a distinctive

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technology of detachment and extension.’”10 Daniela Merolla (2014) observes, “oral storytelling informs other media and takes over new roles in the political arena.”11 The effect of new roles needs to be systematically investigated. Apart from the new roles, Mark Turin focused on hidden possibilities in the proceeding of the “World Oral Literature Project workshop” which took place at Cambridge University in 2010. Oral literature, which Turin frames as a contested term, comprises of a large category of possibilities. He includes in his list “ritual texts, curative chants, epic poems, folk tales, creation stories, myths, spells, legends, proverbs, riddles, tongue twisters, recitations and historical narratives.”12 The plurality of questions to ask about this list, on the one hand, will help understand how these various performative acts interface with information technology. On the other hand, the questions will also extend to how a concept such as cultural liberation technology influences audiences. The concept of “cultural liberation technology” is adapted from Larry Diamond’s concept of liberation technology where he argues the Internet has the ability “to empower individuals, facilitate independent communication and mobilization, and strengthen an emergent civil society.”13 How else can an emergent civil society be read, if not as part of a growing audience. For instance, Merolla observes that “the expansion of audiences and themes within oral genres due to broadcasting performances … that shift from direct contextual discourse-praise of patrons-to moralizing and or/or national discourse for all of society.”14 If “orality enabled shared decision-making in collective gatherings,” intervention of information technology ensures wider dissemination which allows people from different cultures have the ability to freely share their cultural resources with others in ways that are far reaching and empowering to them.15 The downside of this cultural liberation technology should not therefore be overlooked. Merolla again (citing Diawara) points attention to “dichotomy between an ‘authentic’ oral tradition and the modern broadcasted version (i.e., the importance of the message declines when new singers have no historical and musical training, leading to the rapid consumption of productions void of textual depth).”16 As can be deduced from above, most of the scholarly investigations into what John Foley frames as oral tradition (OT) and information technology (IT) have focused more on the production side of the practice. To my knowledge, not a lot of attention has been focused on audience reception of oral performances (either recorded in situ or re-enacted in the presence of video cameras). Not even the sophisticated construction of “technauriture” could go beyond a model of engaging with the interplay of orality, the written word, and technology, and its contextualization.”17 In the next section, I intend to focus on the theoretical framework of audience reception in relation to how African verbal arts have been represented on the Internet, especially the social media. My definition of social media is media produced outside of institutionalized gatekeepers of values, style, or social interests. The choice of social media affords me the opportunity to collate audience reactions as a measure of active media consumption. In effect, the viewers sought for what to consume and not just passive viewers. There need not be any difficulty in understanding what constitutes an audience in this case. Karin Barber’s submission helps chart a course, “[t]here are different ways of convening, and of experiencing reception, whether

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collectively or in dispersal, which are deeply connected to the nature of social life of the age and place.”18 However, the Internet appears to have transformed the cultural and historical specificity Karen Barber alludes to in her 1997 work. On that premise, what constitutes an Internet audience needs to be reformulated because of the asynchronicity of performers and spectators. The Internet, just like the television, “has made possible the imaging of an atomized, dispersed but mass audience,” which may not tune in at the same time and do not share class or social similarities. The expectation here in terms of feedback is that very little in terms of social relations, class, or background links the virtual audience we have to deal with.

Theoretic Framework There are many parts to reception theory, depending on the intended outcome of the study. There are instances where the objective is to uncover meaning an audience constructs from a performance or a text. David Phillips states, “[r]eception theory is a version of reader response literary theory that emphasizes the readers’ reception of a literary text.”19 He went further by tracing the history of the theory to the seminal work done in the 1990s by Hans Robert Jauss. There are other scholars who also include Wolfgang Iser “as one of most important initiators of reception theory.”20 He is sometimes identified as a reader-response critic. The implication of this is that reception theory accommodates diverse perspectives that are not mutually exclusive. It is also common to include Jay Blumler and Elihu Katz’s uses and gratifications theory as an integral part of the reception theory.21 The linking cord of these concepts is that the viewers/consumers are not considered as passive in any way. David Phillips listed five areas of uses and gratifications that are very apposite in analyzing performances of verbal arts or any other media episode as: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Escape from reality; Social interaction—people create personal relationships with the characters in media texts, dangerous if not questioned…..common ground for conversation; Identity—something in the story resonates; Inform & educate—the audience gain an understanding of the world around them; Entertainment.

The origin of the theory has not always been without controversy, so CarrieLynn D. Reinhard states “[i]t wasn’t until the field accepted that the audience could be active that research truly considered the role of the audience’s reception of the media messages. When there was a more passive conception of audience, there was no need to focus on interpretation as it was assumed that everyone received and perceived the content the same way.”22 As with every theory that goes through iterations, James Machor and Philip Goldstein review the various accounts and posit about new reception studies which according to them can be divided into modern and postmodern types. “Both types reconstruct the historical method that Anglo-American

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formal criticism, first established in the 1940s and 1950s, had so severely discredited; however, while the modern preserves traditional notions of textual autonomy, the postmodern challenges such aesthetic ‘foundations.’”23 The richness of the reception theory allows us to re-frame the comments made by participants of storytelling performances on social media. In the process, I shall ask: 1. 2.

Who are the audiences of African verbal arts on the Internet? What do the textual commentaries inform us about how the performances were received?

Method There are social media sites that have functional search engines that make locating any theme relatively easy. Examples of such sites are YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. This present study will focus on the first two social media platforms. Exploring the content of YouTube by the use of a combination of keywords brings up a number of sites that are both relevant and those of little consequence to this present study. YouTube is one of the sites that make searching for videos posted, relatively easy. The keywords used for this present study are African storytelling. The search yielded 72,000 possibilities. Among the uploaded videos are those for journalistic digital storytelling videos and a few unrelated videos. The videos of interest are those that capture the spirit of African storytelling performances or reenact what looks like tales by moonlight. It is not surprising that videos are listed in an alphabetical order since search engines work best with algorithms. Apart from YouTube, Facebook’s search engine also allows for quick textual searches of its database. The two keywords, “African storytelling” and “African folktales” keyed to see which of the two will lead to relevant sites that are useful for this study.

Data Collection from Youtube This section contains a general description of the content of the video clips and later a collation of number of views and comments follows. The first video clip on the list is “african (sic) storytelling.” It starts with a male in front of the camera telling a story in an African mode.24 The story is presented in a call and response format; though the audience is not visible, reaction sounds can be heard off-camera. To add to the believability of the performance, moving images relevant to the story line were inter-cut into the master shot during editing. The background of the entire scene showed that of green nature and a set of drums that gave it that authentic feel Vivian Yenika-Agbaw referred to in her 2011 article “Folk literature and the preservation of culture: New approaches to African storytelling.” This particular video retained “the oral integrity of the original tales,” in both voice

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and visuals.25 The storyteller even asked questions of the virtual viewers and waited for their responses before continuing with the tale. It might not have started with the usual call and response African storytellers are known for, but it ended on the same moral note expected of stories like these. The second video that comes next is tagged as “An Evening with Princess Ayo, The African Storyteller 1.”26 The performer is female and she sits throughout the 8 minutes of the video clip. The studio set has props and decorations to depict an African setting. TEDxUF—Baba Ona—2 African Stories27 includes both stories, drumming and singing. There are no stage décor and no view of the audience throughout the performance. What comes across are reactions of people showing appreciation for the performance. It is also obvious that the call and response method by the performer is effective. Another video titled “Éwé Storytellers from Ghana”28 is preceeded with speeches about African storytelling and then a very brief creation story told in English with little theatrics by a Chief who came in from Ghana to Washington for a book presentation. The brief story told was also about the power of speech and how human beings lost that power of speech. Toward the end of this event, the Chief sings and starts a story in Ewe (a language spoken in Ghana) which was also re-told in English by Anna Cottrell, the British woman who compiled the storybook. The fifth video clip is tagged as “Storytelling (2012) African Caribbean history through the art of the spoken word - Godfrey Duncan.”29 This storyteller starts with the call and response familiar to those in the Caribbean. He starts with Creek and the audience responded with a longer drawn crack. The story is told with a small musical instrument in his hands. The story is about a frog that was resting by the riverbank and saw a fish eating other smaller fishes. The frog as the storyteller says went to a bird who reported to an eagle. The well-mined, suspense-filled story ended with a lesson in how whales swim in the open seas by opening their mouths without opening their teeth to eat smaller fishes. This video clip does not only focus on the storyteller but also pan into the audience to register the faces of the listeners unobtrusively. The trance-like attention on their faces could tell how carried away they were with the ability of the storyteller to use all means, including mime, vocal inflections, and body movements to enrapture his listeners. At different segments of the story, the storyteller called out creek to check if the audience were still following his re-enactment. The next video clip is by Diane Ferlatte, an international storyteller. The presentation was part of the International Storytelling Conference in 2013. Her style of presentation mixes storytelling with singing as a way of creating an audience repartee. As part of her setting the scene for her performance on a stage, she says, “if you want to learn about another culture listen to their stories and their songs.” When it appeared the story started, it was more a historical account of how Africans were enslaved and how they created communities by sharing leftover bones to flavor their beans. These were bones given to them by their masters. The real story was about papa E.le.gba [E.le.gbara], one of the gods in the Yoruba pantheon. The moral of her story is that there is more than one side to a story just like the friends saw papa Ele.gba’s red

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and black colored “fila.” The audience reaction is captured by camera shots inter-cut with that of the storyteller. The next two video clips, I Ain’t Lying: Mississippi Folktales30 and (Aug 26, 2009) Storyteller Diane Ferlatte/Brer Rabbit’s Dance.31 will not be analyzed because the first one does not fit into the data for this study. The storyteller in the other one has been analyzed above. The time the list progressed to the video tagged “The ABCs of Black History Children’s Guide,”32 it becomes obvious that interest in viewership has increased. The reason for that interest has to do with the informational nature of the video clip. Children and adults get to learn about historical figures of African descent who contributed to the making of America. Apart from this educational video, there are about 30 animations of stories from different cultural settings. The comments left by some of the viewers can be a good measure of how the viewers received the production.

Data Collection from Facebook The rationale for choosing Facebook as one of the social networking sites to collect data from is based on Ross et al.’s (2009) work. The posit “online interactions generated more self-disclosures and fostered deeper personal questions than faceto-face conversations.”33 Searching Facebook, another social media platform, with the keywords African storytelling led to just an announcement about a storytelling performance in Minnesota. However, using African folktales brings up multiple sites. Table 40.3 shows a few of the pages and how many likes each of the pages have as of February 10, 2018. Nadkarni and Hofmann point attention to the connotation of the like function. “The functionality allows users to give positive feedback about preferred content.”34

Discussion It is possible from the data collected to seek answers to the two questions “who are the audiences of African verbal arts on the Internet” and what the textual commentaries inform us about how the virtual viewers received the performances. To do this, it must be bore in mind that in a face-to-face situation “[t]he storyteller creates the experience, while the audience perceives the message and creates personal mental images from the words heard. In this experience, the audience also becomes a creator of the art.”35 The virtual audience in the case of this research play a different role because they experience the performance in a different way and leave their feedback in ways that may not affect the story and the storyteller. Table 40.1 presents a list of 7 video clips and the number of viewers that visited/watched each video clip. The clip that had the highest clicks did not have as

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Table 40.1 Number of views of each video clip Video number/tag

Number of views

Number of comments

Remarks

1. African Storytelling

34,857 views

31

Published on Jul 21, 2013

2. An Evening with Princess Ayo, The African Storyteller 1

28,086 views

24

Published Jan 22, 2010

13,736 views 3. TEDxUF—Baba Ona—2 African Stories

6

Published on Apr 23, 2011

4. Éwé Storytellers from Ghana

15,244 views

0

Published on Jan 20, 2015

5. African Caribbean history through the art of the spoken word—Godfrey Duncan

8644 views

3

Published on Mar 18, 2013

6. International Storytelling Conference (2013) Many Stories but One World—Diane Ferlatte

43,666 views

18

Published on May 27, 2013

7. The ABCs of Black History Children’s Guide

34,800 views

76

Published on Mar 8, 2014

Source Author’s creation

many comments left by the viewers. The ABCs of Black History Children’s Guide had 34,800 views and 76 comments. One of the comments helps provide a lead to the kind of viewers who watched; the commentator wrote “Ty for this! I will be watching this nightly with my grandson.” It is not difficult to deduce the age of the person who left the comment and engrained in it is a feedback of approval. The next comment has little to do with the video clip; it says, “Africa has hardly any resources that’s why it’s the poorest continent, (k for KKK)” and this comment generated 66 other responses in defense of the African continent. This kind of textual feedback may not shape the recorded story but they add to the experience of those who viewed the video clips. The next video clip that generated 31 comments is African storytelling clip. The feedback is mostly of appreciation; for example, one says “great job story teller!” “Thank you, Africa’s numero uno!,” “Great story, I enjoy it very much,” “don’t watch this with subtitles on..,” “my 6 yr. old Kenyan gal is really following (sic) this story… very relevant story! thank yu (sic),” and in response to the comment about the 6-yearold girl following the story, the administrator of the YouTube channel (zinse agginie) responded with “That is how old I was when I started enjoying my stepmother’s storytelling. Hope she is having fun retelling the story.” In this instance, a virtual interaction is set up at the post-performance stage.

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Some comments show appreciation and sometimes mark the location of the viewer; for instance, one of the comments read “Nice!! thanks for sharing. Greetings from México!.” There are other times the comments show the nostalgia of those who watched the clip for instance “We grew up on this as children in Trinidad and Tobago…,” and zinse agginie again responded with “Thanks.” One viewer wrote, “These stories are great! Not only for children and family to listen but also for those who are learning how to be a good storyteller,” and Zinse agginie remarked “that is the purpose.” The comments are not only about commendation alone, there are times viewers have questions to ask or clarification to make. For instance, one person asked “what does the storyteller do to make the story entertaining for young children???? (sic),” and the response from Zinse is “Keep it short, limit big words, speak slowly and clearly and pray hard.” Another was more interested in an issue that had nothing to do with storytelling, “What is Africa’s capital?” the person asked and two responses came in quick succession, one replied with “Africa is a continent…NOT a country,” and the other added that “Africa is a continent with 54 different countries. May you please rephrase your question, thank you.” A feedback such as this points to the other aspect of storytelling; they are sites for education, entertainment, and information. The general direction of the comments gives an idea about how storytellers on digital platforms interact with their “unseen” audiences. The viewers of the video clips are located in different geographical zones and engage with the stories told depending on their social location and cultural background as can be inferred in some of the questions above. Table 40.2 presents the number of views for animation. Video clips such as these are more popular with children because “[w]hen children use a computer, they have before them, combined, all of the storytelling media of the past rolled into one. This makes for a rich experience. It is part oral tradition, part print tradition, part television tradition, all integrated to create a fascinating whole.”36 As can be seen in the table, the number of views does not match the number of comments. Animation number 7 has 5808 views but only one comment. Whereas animation number 11 on the table has 138,215 views but only 4 comments. When the comments are high as in animation number 4, with 193 comments, the animation is a short film that has a mixed audience. Some of the comments are from those who understand the technicalities of how animations are produced. Other than technical comments, one person said, “This is better than everything animated that goes on tv right now PERIOD. At first, I thought the roughness was funny, but the characters, storytelling and everything else made it work and work EXCELLENTLY (sic). I’m so impressed that I need more. I’m wiling to buy DVDs.” Table 40.3 has data from Facebook that also collects information on the number of likes for each page. The numbers simply inform us about the number of visitors to the site and how many have bothered to register their presence. Ashwini Nadkarni and Stefan G. Hofmann propose two main reasons registering a presence on Facebook: “(1) the need to belong and (2) the need for self-presentation.”37 Based on this premise, Table 40.3 has a column on self-identity. The column gives an indication of why the page was set up and the audience for whom it intended to cater for. The

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Table 40.2 Number of views for animations Animation #

Number of views

Number of comments

1. Why Mosquitos Buzz in Peoples (sic) Ear

162,447 views

47

2. Eating Healthy Fruits Is Good For Kids!

323,932

157

3. The Deamon, the Woman and 150,698 the Bird

40

4. 2D Animated Short Film “ADUMU”

412,634 views

193

5. THE LEGEND OF NGONG HILLS

71,994 views

35

6. African Tales (ijapa ologbon ewe)

111,548 views

79

7. African film Festival

5808

1

8. Bouba and Zaza protect the Earth

365,323

Comment section is disabled for this video

9. Eyes on the Stars

734,010* This is a true life story

616

10. Count to 10 in the Yoruba Language

80,187

33

11. Folktale: Anansi Tries to Steal All the Wisdom in the World

138,215

4

594,897 12. Tinga Tinga, tales of Africa—Why elephant has a trunk?

73

13. Why Monkeys Swing in the 138,730 Trees

9

14. Why Warthog Is Ugly

438,730

68

15. Why Bat Hangs Upside Down

407,920

68

16. Why Crocodile has a bumpy 617,699 back

67

17. Why Aardvark has a sticky tongue

215,107

20

18. Why Camel has a hump

404,587

48

19. Why Mole lives underground

211,605

23

20. African Tales the Movie—Mark of Uru—Enemy of the Rising Sun

1,433,249

533

*indicates this data is an outlier and extremely different from the others. Source Author’s creation

317

Art and Entertainment

African Embroideries

Road to If`e.: Manifesting Goodness through the teaching of Ifá

Orisirisi African Folklore

(continued)

Tambani is a job creation project for African women from the Venda tribe. They embroider their folktales as applique blocks

These classes share the teachings of Ifá, a West-African spiritual and life tradition and the progenitor of the Orisha/Santeria tradition

1000 558

Orisirisi African Folklore is a performing arts company that uses folktales, legends, myths, music, dance, children’s games, and other African rooted folklore to teach, entertain, and illuminate the beauty and poignancy of african (sic) life and culture

Artists for a New South Africa (ANSA) was a nonprofit organization that worked in the US and South Africa to combat HIV/AIDS

Let tell a tales about the past and the future and let us both connect with africa (sic) and the world

Folktales Moonlight is interested in harnessing, preserving, and promoting Africa’s oral culture and creativity through digital comics online

Eating and exploring our way through Africa one country at a time. Fall in love with all things African

This page was created by Duru Chibuike Francis to build a stronger relationship with the people who are more interested in African stories

414

2500

894

Folktales Moonlight

Artists for a New South Africa

488

We are Africa

24,000

21

African Folktales

My African Stories and Folktales

African Folktales Onstage! 1 and 2: plays for pre-teens

281

African Folktales Onstage

Folktales teach us life lesson and so this page is created, to have a foundation where African folktales can be posted and learn from each other

“Until the lion tells his side of the story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter”

596

Number of Likes Comments

African Folktales

Facebook page

Table 40.3 Number of likes on each facebook page

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Da Terrence Roberts is a jali/griot, a storyteller who weaves his stories like the web of his favorite character Anansi the Spider. Roberts is a collector of tales worldwide but is most known for his African and African American folktales

Da Story Weaver

508

Discover a more positive image of Africa! Participants will play African musical instruments, hear African folktales, and see a short film

The four flute types found on most continents since prehistoric times are presented with myths, legends, and folktales. In teen books but for everyone

Uncle Remus is a fictional character, the title character and fictional narrator of a collection of African American folktales adapted and compiled by Joel Chandler Harris, published in book form in 1881

How kids Live in West Africa

56

Flute lore, Flute Tales: Artifacts, History, and Stories about the flute

African Proverbs and Folktales

81 242

African Proverbs and Folktales

Uncle Remus

This audiobook was created in honor of Nelson Mandela’s 90th birthday, to bring his favorite African folktales to people around the world while raising money for programs serving children in South Africa who are orphaned or impacted by HIV/AIDS

400

Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales Audiobook

Global African Voices publishes the wealth and richness of literature by African authors and authors of African descent in English translation

990

Global African Voices

Tales From The Calabash

Our apps and videos cover areas as African Languages, Folktales, Ethics, Etiquette

13

2900

Number of Likes Comments

African Folktales with Erik Waal

Genii Games

Facebook page

Table 40.3 (continued)

830 K. Odutola

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page with 596 likes leaves a message that “until the lion tells his side of the story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” This serves to position the page as Afrocentric. The detailed electronic footprints left by visitors to Facebook pages are only revealed to the owners of the site. The report gives number of page visits, weekly total reach, people engaged, and total page likes. These data help the owners monitor those who visit their pages. Unfortunately, the kind of data needed to monitor feedback from users is unavailable. What is available from each page owner helps us understand the owners’ perception of the role of their pages.

Conclusion One of the important features of face-to-face performances of storytelling is the reaction and participation of audiences. The five listed areas of uses and gratifications by David Phillips apply to actor-spectator episodes. Depending on the spaces for performances, it is possible to observe a viewer escape from reality by suspending disbelief. To be a part of a storytelling experience either in real time or asynchronously, viewers must suspend disbelief. As regards social interactions, Phillips asserts, “people create personal relationships with the characters in media texts, dangerous if not questioned…common ground for conversation.”38 In the data collected, there are evidences that there are textual interactions among the viewers and the owners of the video clips. Apart from visible textual interactions, there are also other virtual communication modes. To put this to test, I put a phone call through to one of the storytellers whose videos I reviewed. She talked about the differences in feedback she receives from people who watch her perform on stage and those who see the video recordings. She said there are some performance spaces where those in attendance do not encourage performer-audience repartee, whereas she often receives emails, phone calls and other modes of communication from those who saw the videos online. The other three items on the list by Phillips refer to identity, information, education, and entertainment. The number of likes on the Facebook page according to Nadkarni and Hofmann points attention to what can be deduced as a positive feedback by the users or viewers.39 The like function has other options for a user or viewer to express his or her satisfaction with the posting. However, a researcher, without access to the weekly report sent by the management of Facebook, will not be in a position to delve further into the connotation of the figures. What a researcher loses in terms of details will be gained the indication of traffic to the page and at times, the electronic footprint that allows us to know that viewers and users are not passive consumers of the performances. Notes 1.

Alain Ricard (1997: 199).

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2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.

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LaPin (1977: 15). Ibid., 16. Turin (2013: 174). LaPin ibid., 14. Blank (2009: 2). tAgora stands for textual Agora, eAgora connotes electronic Agra, while oAgora implies Oral Agora. See Foley (2012: 9). Ibid., 5. Ricard ibid., 197. Blank ibid., 7. Merolla (2014: 80). Turin ibid., 174. Diamond (2010: 70). Merolla ibid., 83. Ibid., 81. Ibid., 83. Ibid., 84. Barber (1997: 347). Phillips (2008). Robert Holub (1984: xii). Blumler and Katz (1974). Reinhard (2012: 3). Machor and Goldstein (2001: xi). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIk7ppDMKRg. Yenika-Agbaw (2011: 25). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0L-TpcdwI9Q. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cs4LZwgNh_c. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuXht4_MWaM. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNifcY22LhE. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Smwr24UCRXo. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEoEGr955tw. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3UQeNwr8To&list=PLFUOBy1zsQ2 tEhrwExjEjJvrBPEV9xULn. Ross et al. (2009: 579). Nadkarni and Hofmann (2012: 244). Ranjana Das (2012: 1). Krystina Madej (2003: 2). Nadkarni and Hofmann ibid., 243. Phillips, ibid. Nadkarni and Hofmann ibid.

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References Akinyemi, A. 2015. Orature and Yoruba Riddles. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Barber, K. 1997. Preliminary Notes on Audiences in Africa. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 67 (3): 347–362. Blank, T.J. 2009. Folklore and the Internet: Vernacular Expression in a Digital World. Logan: Utah State University Press. Blumler, J.G., and E. Katz (eds.). 1974. The Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Gratifications Research . Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Das, R. 2012. Critiquing the Postcolonial Construct a Re-Reading of Chinua Achebe’s Major Novels. Ph.D. dissertation, North Eastern Hill University, India. Assessed at http://shodhganga.inflibnet. ac.in/bitstream/10603/5329/6/06_chapter%202.pdf. Diamond, L. 2010. Liberation Technology. Journal of Democracy 21 (3): 69–83. Finnegan, R. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Foley, J.M. 2012. Oral Tradition and the Internet: Pathways of the Mind. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Holub, R.C. 1984. Reception Theory: A Critical Introduction. London and New York: Methuen. LaPin, D. A. 1977 Story, Medium and Masque: The Idea and Art of Yoruba Storytelling. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison. Machor, J., and P. Goldstein (eds.). 2001. Reception Study: From Literary Theory to Cultural Studies. New York: Routledge. Madej, K. 2003. Towards Digital Narrative for Children: From Education to Entertainment: A Historical Perspective. ACM Computers in Entertainment 1 (1): 1–17. Merolla, D. 2014. Introduction: Orality and Technauriture of African Literatures. Tydscrift vir Letterkunde 51 (1): 81–90. Nadkarni, Ashwini, and Stefan G. Hofmann. 2012. Why Do People Use Facebook. Personality and Individual Differences 52 (3): 243–249. Okpewho, I. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character, and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Phillips, D. 2008. Reception Theory. Accessed from https://www.slideshare.net/dphillips4363/rec eption-theory-presentation. Reinhard, C. L. D. 2012. Three Approaches to Media Reception and Audience Reception Studies. Unpublished paper. Ricard, A. 1997. From Oral to Written Literature. Research in African Literatures 28 (1): 192–199. Ross, Craig, E. Orr, M. Sisic, Jaime Michelle Arseneault, Mary G. Simmering, and Robert Orr. (2009). Personality and Motivations Associated with Facebook Use. Computers in Human Behavior 25 (2): 578–586. http://scholar.uwindsor.ca/psychologypub/3. Turin, M. 2013. “Orality and Technology, or the Bit and the Byte: The Work of the World Oral Literature Project. Oral Tradition 28 (2): 173–186. Yenika-Agbaw, V. 2011. Folk Literature and the Preservation of Culture: New Approaches to African Storytelling. A Journal of International Children’s Literature 49 (3): 25–32.

Chapter 41

Orality and Information Communication Technology Tunde Adegbola

Introduction One of the important features that distinguish humans from lower animals is the use of language to express complex thoughts and convoluted ideas. Such deliberate arrangements of thoughts and ideas, expressed in written, spoken or any other performed forms, produced with the intention of making meaning and thereby transmitting information, constitute text. Texts provide the basis for humans to express themselves and thereby understand one another and in addition to engaging their environment productively. By the free exchange of thoughts and ideas, humans are able to live together harmoniously, exploiting the natural forces of nature for the betterment of the human condition while upholding the integrity of their shared ecosystem.

Spoken Versus Written Communication In order to achieve the exchange of thought with others, humans developed a system of vocal sounds, based on tacit agreement on meanings within specific cultures. These culturally defined systems of sound symbols are used as speech for the purpose of communicating thoughts and ideas. By so doing, humans acquired the capacity to share their thoughts and ideas and thereby develop such thoughts collaboratively with others. A collection of texts that is stored mainly in human minds and is basically expressed and shared orally constitutes orature. Orature describes a body of texts including prose, verse, proverbs, riddles and many other genres through which the

T. Adegbola (B) African Languages Technology Initiative (Alt-i), Ibadan, Nigeria © This is a U.S. government work and not under copyright protection in the U.S.; foreign copyright protection may apply 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_41

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collective knowledge of a people is documented through memorization and recitation.1 It is the most basic storehouse of human understanding of their environment. It guides their interaction with the environment and with one another. Speech as a medium of expressing human thought is extremely volatile. It suffers a dire temporal limitation in that while the thoughts expressed in speech may remain valid, speech through which it is expressed vaporizes as soon as it is produced. So, even though the thoughts expressed through speech may stay in the mind of the person that expressed it, as well as in the minds of those who hear it, the verbal signals through with such thoughts are expressed disappear almost instantly. In a bid to address this temporal limitation of speech, humans developed writing. In contrast to speech, written texts subsist by default and remain available to be read until they are either erased inadvertently or deliberately. Hence, writing offers a vital advantage of permanence over speech. Writing, therefore, presents as a better representation of thoughts and ideas in the singular sense that the written version of expressed thoughts stays on the medium on which it is written just as they also stay in the minds of both those that produced them and those that consume them. As a counterpart to orature, a body of written texts constitutes literature. The process of managing human thought and verbal expressions devoid of the technology of literacy is described as orality. An important consequence of the permanence of writing as against the volatility of speech is propagation. Written texts can be more easily transported from place to place than spoken texts. It takes the physical transportation of speakers or their hearers to disseminate ideas expressed in speech beyond a given location. This process of disseminating texts through third parties as against the use of literature brings up the issue of faithful reproduction and objectivity. Thoughts and ideas disseminated through third parties are susceptible to the memory limitations and the subjectivity of the persons through which they are spread. On the contrary, thoughts and ideas expressed in literature remain faithful to their sources and can be consumed by many more people, offering the advantage that such thoughts and ideas are collaboratively developed by many people. Thus, thoughts and ideas expressed in literature can more easily benefit from other thoughts and ideas of many more people leading to collective refinement of the knowledge embedded in these thoughts and ideas. Yet another consequence of the volatility of speech is the spontaneity that usually attends its use. Even though orature too does benefit from careful consideration and reconsideration over time, much more often than literature, orature is a product of spontaneous thought. In contrast, literature is usually the result of well-considered thoughts and ideas because writers are wont to consider their thoughts and ideas carefully before committing them to writing, knowing that such writings subsist. Hence, literature offers the added advantage of precision resulting from the higher levels of careful consideration that attend its production process. Despite these apparent advantages of literature over orature however, speech still remains the preferred mode of human communication. Speech is acquired passively from childhood just by being a member of a speaking community while literacy demands deliberate and painstaking efforts. While writing offers the advantage of permanence over speech, it lacks certain critical dimensions of the expressiveness

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of speech. Despite the development of punctuation and other marks such as the comma and full stop as well as question and exclamation marks and other devices designed to improve the expressiveness of writing, writing still falls grossly short of the capacity to communicate certain important nuances of speech that are vital parts of a discursive process. Also missing in writing are extra-verbal cues such as body language that hold vital contextual information that are complementary to speech. In addition, the spontaneity of speech, though presented as a disadvantage above, does also serve as an advantage in certain contexts. Present trends in the use of information communication technology (ICT) present the possibility of reasserting the intrinsic advantages of speech and thereby enhancing the capacity to use orature more productively. Various distinguished scholars, including McLuhan and Ong, have studied the characteristics of oral and literate societies noting how orality and literacy determine the kinds and levels of interaction that are possible in such societies as well as how these modes of communicating thoughts and ideas affect the individuals in such societies. Scholars like Finnegan and Barber have studied African oral societies that still exist within a global world order defined essentially by literacy (Barber 2007; Finnegan 1970). In like manner, scholars like Brady, Dyson and Asela have studied the effect of modern ICT on the communication of information within oral societies that exist within the modern global world of the information age (Brady et al. 2008). However, sufficient scholarly attention has not been directed at the possible effects of orality on the development of ICT and the effect of ICT on primary oral cultures and cultures that Ong describes as cultures with high oral residue (Ong 1982). Furthermore, the effects of literacy on the development of modern ICT and the needless levels of the influence of the culture of writing on the trajectory of its development are yet to take the attention of scholars. This chapter, therefore, engages the interfacing of orature and ICT in an effort to demonstrate the need to give adequate consideration to primary oral cultures and cultures with a high oral residue in the further development of modern ICT. Such consideration will contribute to ensuring that the inequities that characterized the agrarian age and industrial age are not carried along into the information age. In engaging the interfacing of orality and ICT, we consider how ICT offers the advantages of literature to orature without compromising the advantages of orature. Ong had proposed a notion of secondary orality in which the use of telephone, radio and television as fundamentally oral technologies is enhanced by both chirographic and typographic literacy (Ong 1982). It is clear that Ong’s notion of secondary orality was limited to the state of technology within the period he made his observation. Based on the present state of technology, we propose that with the ongoing improvements in the capacity of speech technologies to convert spoken texts to written texts and written text to spoken texts, the combination of literacy and ICT may end up invigorating orature, leading probably to a second global age of orature. In this age, orature will be heavily mediated by literature as an intermediate state mainly for the purposes of storage and propagation of human thought. This may not necessarily be a post-literate age as literature itself will continue to play an important role but the primary role of literature will be that of conservation and preservation of thought

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while the role of orature will be that of production and dissemination. People will speak to devices that will convert the spoken texts to written texts just as a storage medium and so the laborious process of writing will be undertaken by such devices. Texts may stay stored as writing but will be converted back to speech whenever it is to be consumed by humans.

From Stone Tablets to Electronic Tablets The expression of thought by the use of visual marks has passed through various pictographic, ideographic and mnemonic systems which featured various levels of ambiguity. These later developed into a system in which utterances are encoded in such a way that others can decode them with a high level of accuracy. These represent two main traditions of writing, one in which graphical symbols represent composite objects or ideas and the other in which they represent basic unit of speech sounds. By using graphical symbols to represent basic units of speech sounds, a writing system inherits many of the underlying features, structures and complexities of language as expressed in speech, thus bringing writing up to a high level of accuracy. The desire for humans to record information in the form of permanent or semipermanent graphemic marks has also passed through various media stages. In some writing traditions, important information such as laws are said to have been etched on stones in a rather laborious writing process, which however guarantees a high level of permanence. Writing has also been achieved as impressions on clay tablets, stains on wooden tablets and later on papyrus, parchment and paper. Clay and wooden tablets were a precursor to papyrus and parchment, which later gave way to paper as we know it today. Within this process of the development of writing, we observe a tacit quest for the continuous reduction in the quantity of mass and hence energy required for the documentation and the movement of information in the form of written texts. This quest easily manifests in the fact that stone tablets are a lot more difficult to etch and heavier to move than clay tablets. In the same way, wooden tablets are heavier to move than papyrus and parchment, and papyrus and parchment are heavier than paper. When we stain a piece of paper with ink in a bid to put information on it, the mass of the piece of paper increases, even if negligibly, on account of the mass of the ink applied to it. The paper will, therefore, require more energy to move by virtue of the information it now contains. To this end, we can conceive a notion of the mass/energy equivalent of information. The more the information applied to a medium, the more the mass of ink required to bear the information and the more the energy required to move the information. Hence, the information contained in a text determines the magnitude of energy required to move the information. The purpose of the movement of text is to make the thoughts expressed in the text available to as many other humans as possible. This presents the advantage that others can use the information to make decisions and take actions on the one hand and to further refine the thought and apply it into more useful applications on the other hand. We

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can argue, therefore, that by virtue of the principle of least effort, humans naturally will strive to achieve communication with minimum expenditure of energy. The development of writing served this purpose well because rather than moving the whole mass of the body of the originator of a thought, such thought having being committed to some writing media can be moved with much less energy. This quest for the reduction of energy in the movement of thought among humans must have informed the transformation of writing media from stone tablets to wooden tablets, from wooden tablets to scrolls of parchment from parchment scrolls to paper and even to the ultimate manipulation of the grammage of paper to both aesthetic and functional ends. Beyond the consideration of energy, the transformation from stone and wooden tablets to scrolls of parchment to paper also served the purpose of reducing the volumes required to contain and store text. This same quest for the reduction of energy required in the movement of text and the volumes required for its storage can be argued to have informed the transformation from the ink-stained paper to electronic media we now use today. The present popular use and near ubiquity of electronic media in certain parts of the world have brought about a massive reduction in the quantity of energy required for the mobility of human thought and the volumes of space required to store it. Even within the electronic scheme of things, there has been a consistent reduction in the mass and volume required to move and store information. From the days of punch cards to Winchester drives through 8-inch, 5¼-inch and 3-inch floppy discs, the compact disc (CD) and the digital versatile discs (DVD) to these days of flash drives and terabytes of hard drives that can fit into a breast pocket, the quest for the reduction in the magnitude of energy for the movement and the volume of space needed for the storage of information continues. In these modern days of ICT, information is now carried by the arrangement and movement of electrons via electric current or electromagnetic waves. Coming from the days of stone tablets to these days of electronic tablets, we see a consistent reduction in the mass and volume of matter required to move information. The electron is a fundamental particle with an extremely small mass and so it is easily moved with relatively small amounts of energy. To this end, the use of the electron as the basic particle whose arrangement and movement is now the basis for the representation of information gives insight into why modern-day information devices are relatively cheap, more efficient and more versatile. The use of the arrangement and movement of electrons in carrying information has also had significant effects on the speed at which information is moved, making it possible for information to now move at the speed of thought outside the human mind. At the height of the “airmail” scheme, it took days rather than minutes to send written messages between certain locations on earth. Even though the telephone helped to bridge this temporal gap, the absence of the called party from the physical location of a telephone box at the end of a length of a physical copper cable compromised the timeliness of communication via the telephone. The electronic mail (email) however now combines the immediacy of the telephone with the permanence of snail mail. An email arrives almost instantly after it is sent and can be received on mobile personal devices that are usually carried on the persons of interlocutors. Even if the receiver

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does not have access to a device at the moment a message arrives, the message is available to be received as soon as the receiver accesses a device. This is why events that happen at a certain location on the earth can now be broadcast to the whole world live, leading to a new world of the proverbial global village. In ICT, we see a convergence of orature and literature and more in multimedia. A convergence in which the permanence of literature is complemented with the timeliness of orature, the precision of literature complemented with the expressiveness of orature and the propagation of literature is complemented with the spontaneity of orature. These lead to the possibility of creating virtual multimedia copies of the real world and thereby replicating the multimodality in the way humans interact within and with their natural environment. Apart from the reduction in the energy and the volume required for the movement and storage of information, electronic media have also responded to the multimodality in humans’ sensing and perception of their environment. The five senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch are the means by which humans obtain data from their environment. Information communication technology (ICT) now makes it possible to code and transmit information relating to the senses and many of them can be engaged simultaneously. Furthermore, the seemingly more versatile senses of sight and hearing can now be engaged simultaneously at a level of multimedia on ICT. The sense of sight, for example, can be engaged for information transfer by the use of written text, charts and diagrams, as well as still images and motion picture, while the full range of the human auditory spectrum and beyond can be engaged for information transfer via speech or other inaudible symbol systems based on mechanical waves. Thus, multimedia, as we know it today, can be used to abstract and replicate reality at levels that hitherto can only be dreamed of. Based on these observations, we can conceive the present stage of the information age as a distinct stage within a consistent tendency for the reduction in the mass as well as the volume and consequently the energy involved in communication. This suggests an interesting interplay between the duality of transportation and communication.

Effects of Literacy on Ict By the time modern ICT came on the scene, literacy as a norm had become pervasive in significant parts of the world within which ICT was developed. For this reason, the development of ICT took literacy for granted and went along a trajectory in which ICT was developed as a necessary extension of literacy. For example, the typewriter, which before then was the main mechanical means by which printed matter was originated naturally became the standard input device for ICT. The QWERTY layout of the English keyboard was deliberately designed to be inefficient in order to slow typists down because they were too fast for the then mechanical typewriters to cope with. That this inefficient contraption became the standard way by which humans passed their thoughts and ideas to computers is a testimony to the overbearing influence of literacy on the development of ICT.

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Humans learn to point at and verbally describe whatever they want from a very early age and these become the standard ways by which they make choices for the rest of their lives. However, the point-to-choose approach to communicating desires to a computer came long after the typewriter keyboard had become the standard input device for computers because of the rather high status of literacy within the civilization that produced modern ICT. For this and other technical reasons, the graphical user interface (GUI) and touch screen monitors which should have been the logical approach to computer input were latecomers on the scene. Up till now, many developers of ICT devices still see the keyboard as the standard input device through which people would pass their thoughts and ideas to computers. Also significant is the fact that most of the point-to-choose that happens on the graphical interface of most ICT devices is addressed at alphabetic representations words. It must be acknowledged as earlier observed that alphabetic writing makes many of the underlying features, structures and complexities of language available to literacy and this served as an incentive for literacy to emerge as an integral part of the development of ICT. It must also be noted, however, that based on the principle of multiple realizability, there must be some other ways of representing the basic units of speech other than alphabetically and such possibilities should be factored into the future development of ICT in order to better include oral societies in the emerging global information society. Because literacy now plays a very important role in human societies and so has become an integral part of ICT, it is necessary to reflect over the basis of its importance as there may be nothing intrinsic to literacy itself that accounts for this importance. This contention brings to mind the maxim “the medium is the message”.2 Apart from the difficulty presented by McLuhan’s rather fluid use of the word medium and other well-articulated objections from equally distinguished scholars, the whole idea of writing as just one component in multimedia as further elucidated in other sections of this chapter throws new light on writing as an information medium. Hence, we suggest that the importance of literacy is due mainly to what it achieves and not what it is. Literacy is the ability to read and write and that ability in itself is not what makes literacy great. What makes literacy great is the advantage that comes with the ability to read and write, that is, the access it gives to other people’s thoughts and the access it gives other people to one’s thoughts. Even though the capacity for language use is intrinsic to humans, literacy is not natural to humans. That is why it takes deliberate and active painstaking efforts to acquire and usually in a formal school setting. For the adult illiterate, the process of becoming literate is usually rather challenging confronting the adult illiterate with a steep learning curve. In contrast, the ability to use speech is acquired passively, just by immersion from childhood in a relevant speech community. The quest for literacy comes mainly from the need to address the volatility of speech and thereby provide facilities for documenting texts in a permanent form outside the minds of individuals. Had the capacity for efficient audio recording been developed before writing, writing is not likely to have acquired the level of importance it now has. If humans had discovered a way to record speech cheaply and store the recorded materials on some low-cost media that can be easily accessed when required,

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learning to read and write is likely to have been seen as unnecessary stress. Hence the present importance of literacy must be put in the proper context and its effects on the way ICT has developed should be seen in the light of the history that attended the development of literacy itself. In articulating his research interests, Roni Rosenfeld of Carnegie Melon University stated in 1996 that the Computer Age will truly arrive when computers learn to communicate with us humans on our own terms (Rosenfeld 1996). This position underscores the fact that the way computers communicated with humans around 1996 cannot be said to be conformant to the way humans communicate naturally. Needless to state that at present, computers still communicate with us humans essentially on their own terms rather than on ours. Rosenfeld further elaborated his position by stating that for the computer to communicate with us humans on our own terms, we must pursue four technologies which he termed the SILK technologies. The SILK technologies, according to Rosenfeld, consists of speech technology, image technology, language technology and knowledge technology. The first two technologies of speech and image are technologies that support the human approach of pointing at and verbally describing whatever they desire. Between 1996 when Rosenfeld made this observation and now, a lot of positive developments have taken place around the four SILK technologies and ICT in general now have much greater capacity to make significant impact on oral cultures. The potentials of modern ICT to further impact oral societies and the need to develop a strategy that is free of the constraints of literacy for the development of ICT, specifically for oral societies and for societies with high oral residue shall be considered in the next section.

Effects of Ict on Orality The process of the production and use of text was originally based primarily on orature. According to Ilesanmi, the word orature is used to express the idea of eloquent public speaking, that is speaking in settings where there is a high premium on comprehension and reproduction of the thoughts expressed.3 Thus, an important challenge for humans is how to speak in ways that what is said will not be easily forgotten. In the production of text, therefore, there is the quest to devise methods by which the produced text will be available for others to contemplate, by which the version available to others will represent the original thought with veracity and by which many people will encounter the text. In other words, how the content of text can transcend the limitations of time and space. The development of literature from orature was a major breakthrough that served the quest for the permanence, precision and propagation of text. Once written, text is committed to a material medium and the thoughts and ideas expressed on such medium remain and are available for others to consume, contemplate and further develop. In addition, the thoughts and ideas remain in the exact form they were expressed by their originators devoid of the effects of the retention weaknesses of the human mind as the sole medium of storage and transmission. Finally, the expressed

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thoughts and ideas attain a level of mobility defined mainly by the ease with which the medium can be moved far beyond the spatial and temporal confines of the originator of the thoughts and ideas. As was noted earlier, ICT presents a convergence of orature and literature, thereby combining the advantages orality and literacy. In addition, it offers multimedia in which communication can manifest in various media such as print, speech and other sound effects, charts and diagrams as well as still images and motion picture. Hence, in ICT, information may manifest in linguistic (verbal), visual, aural (sound), spatial (space), temporal (time) and gestural (physical movement) modes. Apart from the use of the gestural mode in sign language used within the deaf community, for example, the manifestation of communication in spatial, temporal, and gestural modes has opened the way for virtual reality in which humans can interact with virtual computerbased agents in a virtual space though in real time (Adegbola 2012). ICT has therefore advanced to a level in which most human experiences can be documented in various media and multiple modes. Thus, not only has the problem of the volatility of speech been addressed in ICT, even the volatility of scenes and the volatility of gestures which are veritable sources of extra-verbal cues to oral information have also been addressed without the need for literacy. Literacy now comes only as a welcome supplement and enhancement as each of these modes now manifest the characteristics of permanence, precision and propagation which were hitherto the sole preserve of literature. To this end, Nnodim highlights the use of radio and TV as well as audio and video cassette in the propagation of ewì, which she describes as a neo-traditional oral poetry among the Yorùbá (Nnodim 2005). Beyond the use of the above media in disseminating their works, ewì poets now also use social media extensively in the propagation of their works. With the convergence of these communication media and modes in ICT, the levels of discursivity and interactivity that was hitherto available only to speech are now also available to writing thereby blurring the line between speech and writing. For example, a social media platform like WhatsApp started as a platform for exchanging written messages. Because written messages get to the receiver from the sender almost instantly on such platforms and the receiver can also respond almost instantly, the interactivity of speech is thus seemingly replicated in writing. In addition, a single message can be read by many people in a WhatsApp group and many people in the group can respond to the same message almost instantly, thereby replicating the discursivity of speech. Because the speed of writing is usually slower than the speed of speech for most people, WhatsApp messaging sometimes features cross-posting in which a sender asks a question and before the question is answered another question is asked by the same or another sender. The receiver, therefore, needs to address specific answers to specific questions and this was addressed by the WhatsApp application by the addition of a feature that allows for messages to be quoted in a later release (v.2.16.118) of the software. Apart from the various features for exchanging written messages and exchanging images, WhatsApp and other social media platforms also provide an audio recording feature, which allows for oral messages to be exchanged. The audio recording feature

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makes it possible for non-literate people to participate effectively in social media. A highly effective use of this audio recording feature is found in a WhatsApp group “O.MO. YORÙBÁ ÀTÀTÀ”, a social media group of 198 Yorùbá indigenes around the world. A rough spot analysis of the telephone numbers of participants shows 150 participants from Benin Republic, 20 from Nigeria, 6 each from Equatorial Guinea and Gabon and 5 from Congo Brazzaville. Others participants are from USA, France, Germany and Brazil. A most interesting feature of this group is that most of the postings are audio messages. Figure 41.1 below shows a screenshot of a typical page of the group. The fact that most of the posting on this screenshot are audio messages is significant. It underscores the point made earlier that the use of audio recordings to address the volatility of speech can rival literacy and is likely to be preferred by humans. The number of non-literate members of the group is not known, but the enthusiasm with which most of them embrace an alternative to text on an ICT device cannot be overlooked. The number 198 for the membership of “O.MO. YORÙBÁ ÀTÀTÀ” is significant on the grounds that WhatsApp imposes a limitation of only 256 members for any group at a time. Monitoring the group over time shows a membership of between 190 Fig. 41.1 A screen shot of O.MO. YORÙBÁ ÀTÀTÀ WhatsApp group

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and 250 at various times. Members are known to join and withdraw from the group at will. A number of members that withdrew from the group attributed their withdrawal to the large memory demands particularly for the audio files on their phones. Hence, we can conclude that the two main constraints to the growth of the group are technical in nature. This lends credence to the suggestion that present developments in ICT do not give enough attention to the needs of non-literate people. Ong suggests that oral communication unites people in groups, whereas reading and writing are solitary activities that isolate people from the human world. The application of ICT to both oral and written communication can be said to challenge this assertion but it must be noted that the jury is still out on this. On the one hand, reading and writing on social media are about active participation in virtual communities. On the other hand, however, reading and writing on social media tend to suck people out of their physical communities into virtual communities of people they sometimes have never met and may never meet. From yet another point of view, the use of speech by sending and receiving audio messages on social media does not manifest much differently from the use of reading and writing. Hence, Ong’s assertion that oral communication unites people in groups whereas reading and writing are solitary activities that isolate people from the human world can be said to be based primarily on early adjustments to the volatility of speech which demanded proximity of interlocutors (Ong 1982). People on social media tend to give less and less attention to their physical societies, transferring the attention to virtual societies. The society of social media is essentially virtual and not real. Even though it facilitates multimedia and multimodal communication, it still fails in facilitating certain modes of communication sufficiently and effectively. For example, tactile communication, which in certain circumstances might be the most appropriate mode, is one at which ICT still has some catching up to do.

Making Ict Work for Oral Societies Humans have been making tools for up to two and a half million years, according to the Oldowan tradition in which the maker of a tool decides its use. However, for the first time in recorded history, humans have now made a tool whose use is not decided by the maker. The computer is the first tool made by human beings in which the user rather than the maker determines the use to which it is to be put. This is because the computer hardware is a general-purpose hardware whose use is determined by software. Software is the set of instructions that determine the use to which a general-purpose hardware is to be put at any given time. Addressing this issue, Schoenoff notes the adaptability and multipurpose nature of ICT, commenting that the computer is a unique tool because its purpose is constantly being reinvented by its users (Schoenhoff 1993). He adds that the power of ICT consists in the fact that it is a symbol machine, and its symbols and their interpretations can be altered. The fact of a general-purpose hardware whose function is determined by software brings back to focus, the issue of media and modes of communication, expanding

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the discourse also to that of the language of communication. If indeed we have built a tool whose use is determined by the user and not the maker, in what mode, media and language would it be instructed as to what it is to be used for? Who will give the instructions and at what level will such instructions be given? These issues are pertinent to the question of making ICT work for oral societies if we are to build an inclusive global information society. At its most basic level, the computer is instructed through the use of machine language, which is a collection of strings of binary numbers symbolizing various simple instructions. Each string is designed to carry out simple unit instructions, which when pooled, achieve more complex tasks. Today, these simple unit instructions are packaged into relevant sets that perform more practical complex tasks and each set is represented by symbols in some stylized version of natural language presented on a graphical user interface (GUI). Even though many early GUIs were available only in a few languages such as English, French and other European languages, there is now a big localization industry dedicated to rendering these GUIs in various other languages. However, these GUIs generally assume literacy. Even though they are based on the point-to-choose principle, the items pointed at are usually words rendered in alphabetic writing. This certainly constitutes a barrier to non-literate people and members of oral societies from becoming part of the emerging global information society. Multimedia is the presentation of information in a multiplicity of forms including audio, print and images as well as animation and video. It facilitates a high level of interactivity, which makes for a complete communication experience when supported with adequate feedback facilities. To make ICT work for oral societies, there is a need to reevaluate the role of literacy in ICT and thereby devise new multimedia-based schemes which allow users to be addressed in speech, images, animation and video and allows them to respond by pointing at images and speaking to agents on the computer. With the present state of the art in ICT, the above scenario is feasible and easily achievable as multimedia technology has advanced sufficiently to make this proposition viable. Looking further at what speech technologies can add to multimedia for oral societies, Adegbola, paints the following scenario: a farmer in a remote Nigerian village dials a special number on his/her ordinary … cell phone and demands from the machine at the other end; ‘eélòó ni wo.n n´ ta kòkó ló . wó. ló.wó. báyìí ní o.jà àgbáyé?’ (what is the going price for cocoa in the international commodities market?) and the machine at the other end of the phone line answers, speaking the same language of inquiry.4

He concludes that these are the sorts of benefits that adult non-literate members of oral societies should be able to derive from modern ICT without the need to engage the steep learning curve of literacy. Granted literacy has applied its footprint indelibly on ICT, yet the SILK technologies proposed by Rosenfeld continue to show great improvements. In particular, speech technologies such as Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) and Text-To-Speech (TTS) Synthesis have developed so much that they can now mediate interaction

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between members of an oral society and literature. To this end, Adegbola in a 2007 interview envisaged a redefinition of literacy, changing it from the “ability to read and write” to the “capacity to interact with literature”.5 With the combination of multimedia and speech technologies, this redefinition of literacy is now possible. However, there are a number of impediments that may militate against ICT development for oral societies along the line outlined above. In the first instance, by virtue of their inability to take advantage of the benefits of literacy, oral societies hardly have the communicative capacity to attract the attention of a global media that depends heavily on literacy as its foundation. Secondly, the profit logic on which a significant sector of the global ICT industry is based may not favour the case of oral societies that remain largely impoverished by their inability to read and write. The agrarian and industrial revolutions produced societies of “haves and have-nots”. The potentials for a more equitable information society of the information age are real. As the global community continues its steady march towards the information age, opportunities are presenting for the creative use of ICT to address the inequities that manifested in society due to the agrarian and industrial revolutions. There is a need to engage these opportunities enthusiastically. Out of the estimated 6000 languages spoken in the world today, less than 80 are written.6 In the words of Rosenfeld, the Computer Age will truly arrive when computers learn to communicate with us humans on our own terms. For oral societies, literacy is not an option, and it is most gratifying that SILK technologies can work for oral societies in the background, using literature mainly as a storage medium for human thoughts. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Adegbola (2011: 28). McLuhan (1964: 7). Ilesanmi (2004: 47). Adegbola (2016: 155). eLearning Africa (2007). Crystal (2000).

References Adegbola, T. 2011. Transmission of Scientific Knowledge in Yoruba Oral literature. In Yoruba Fiction, Orature and Culture, eds. Toyin Falola and Adebayo Oyebade, 27–40. Trenton: Africa World Press. Adegbola, T. 2012. Multimedia and Signed, Written or Oral Languages. In Net.lang: Towards the Multilingual Cyberspace, eds. Laurent Vannini and Herve Le Crosnier, 311–325. Caen: C&F Editions. Adegbola, T. 2016. Indigenising Human Language Technology for National Development. In African World in Dialogue: An Appeal to Action, ed. Theresa Washington, 152–177. Oya’s Tornado.

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Barber, K. 2007. The Anthropology of Texts, Persons and Publics: Oral and Written Culture: Africa and Beyond. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brady, F., L.E. Dyson, and T. Asela. 2008. Indigenous Adoption of Mobile Phones and Oral Culture. In Proceedings Cultural Attitudes Towards Communication and Technology, eds. H.H. Sudweeks and C. Ess, 384–398. Murdoch University, Australia. Crystal, D. 2000. Language Death. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. eLearning Africa. 2007. Interview with Dr. Tunde Adegbola, African Languages Technology Initiative. Retrieved April 20, 2018. http://www.africafocus.org/docs07/el0705.php. Finnegan, R. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ilesanmi, T.M. 2004. Yoruba Orature and Literature: A Cultural Analysis. Ile Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. McLuhan, M. 1964. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. London: Routledge. Nnodim, R. 2005. Yorùbá Neo-Traditional Media Poetry: A Poetics of Interface. Matatu: Journal for African Culture and Society 2: 247–264. Ong, W.J. 1982. Orality and Literacy. New York: Routledge. Rosenfeld, R. 1996. Summary of My Research Interests. Retrieved March 10, 2018. http://www. cs.cmu.edu/afs/cs.cmu.edu/project/theo-1/dunja/pww/proxy/text-learning/data/neg/e1446.html. Schoenhoff, D. 1993. The Barefoot Expert: The Interface of Computerized Knowledge Systems and Indigenous Knowledge Systems. Westport: Greenwood Press.

Chapter 42

Orality and Advertisement: Swahili Proverbs in Mobile Phone Service Ads in Tanzania Charles Bwenge

Introduction African proverbs have always been a source of fascination in the explorations and attempts to understand African oral literature. Scholarly collections and bibliographical publications pertaining to African proverbs abound. However, it has taken a while for scholars as well as practitioners in various fields to appreciate the value of African proverbs as they intersect with their fields. A notable example in this regard is the work of Christian missionaries in Africa that ignored, actually, dismissed African proverbs for a long time only to relatively recent realizing that it was an unproductive way of preaching the Gospel. In the wake of globalizing businesses, commercial advertisers also seem to grab the opportunity of understanding and they are no longer ignoring African proverbs in promoting their products or services. Nevertheless, exploration pertaining to the relationship between oral literature and the discourse of advertising in the African context has not been given significant scholarly attention. This chapter attempts to do exactly that but in a very modest way—it examines the intersection between African proverbs and commercial ads related to mobile phone services in Swahili-speaking Tanzania. Thus, the focus is on the Swahili proverbs—the observed but also backed up by the Haya proverbs— the imagined. First, an overview of African proverbs is presented, followed by a brief discussion on the richness of Swahili and Haya proverbs. Then, a short account pertaining to the discourse of advertisement is provided with special reference to the advent of mobile phone services in Tanzania—which eventually leads to the author’s personal story that constitutes the data to be analyzed and discussed.

C. Bwenge (B) University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_42

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African Proverbs If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language that goes to his heart. –Nelson Mandela1

Defining this concept we call ‘proverb’ has never been an easy task—and admittedly, I would not even pretend to attempt to do that, at least in this article. For example, dictionary.com says that it is “a short popular saying, usually of unknown and ancient origin, that expresses effectively some commonplace truth or useful thought; adage; saw,”2 and my favorite states that it is “a short sentence, etc., usually known by many people, stating something commonly experienced or giving advice.”3 The Kamusi ya Kiswahili Sanifu—(Standard Swahili Dictionary), provides a relatively lengthy definition of ‘methali’ an equivalent of ‘proverb’ as “usemi wa kisanii wa kimapokeo unaofikiriwa na jamii kuwa kweli na unaotumiwa kufumbia au kupigia mfano na huwa umebeba maana pana kuliko maneno yenyewe yanayotumia”4 (lit. an artistic traditional saying considered by a society to be true and is used to hide/code meaning or provide an example, and usually has a wider meaning than the words themselves.) Importantly, from these not-so-clear definitions, a number of common features can be derived that proverbs exist in all societies, are artistically created statements usually short ones, creators are not known—therefore they are a society’s property, they use metaphors, members of a society are expected to know some, and they have social functions including sending coded meaning and used as examples in a given situation. In short, they exist in all societies and all humans experience them in one way or another. In contemporary African society, it has been an ever-exciting experience. The literature on African proverbs reveals wide and deep scholarly efforts pertaining to collecting them and publishing the collections. And it is not the purpose of this article to list down all collections across the continent or list down all Swahili proverbs or proverbs of any given speech-community. Few works and specific views regarding African proverbs are cited here as examples of the cultural richness existing out there. Moon, one of the scholars that have done extensive study of African proverbs, argues, correctly, I think, that proverbs are time-tested stepping stones that reveal the soul of oral cultures.5 He also subscribes to Van Rheenen’s view that “learn as much of the new culture as possible, a new cross-cultural worker must learn the oral forms of his adopted people, in particular proverbs and myths.” Such a view supports Nelson Mandela’s view quoted above—If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart. Moon, further states that “indigenous proverbs are creative expressions, using the local language and reasoning processes. As such, the appropriate use of proverbs promotes additional creativity and opens further worlds of discovery.” In this publication, Moon also recognizes Tarr’s religious standpoint in demonstrating that “the use of West African proverbs and parables can help increase one’s understanding of Scripture.” Scholarly interest in African proverbs also led to the launching of the African Proverbs Project CD. The project collected over 25,000 proverbs from at least 27

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different speech communities along with bibliographies. Most interesting is the African Proverbs Working Group (APWG), a group that coordinates collection and research on African proverbs and maintains a website on which research information and related issues are posted.6 Interestingly, the site also posts the proverb of the month. For example, the proverb of the month for March 2018: “when you reap problems, you share with your family” was submitted by Nande from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Although it focuses on the meaning and biblical application, it is an insightful project and significant contribution toward a more scholarly exploration and understanding of African proverbs, stories, and sayings applicable beyond a religious province. Indeed, African proverbs have attracted enormous attention— For example, Kwame Gyekye (1995), a Ghanaian philosopher and author, has done extensive study on Akan proverbs.

African Proverbs: a Rich Heritage Proverbs are probably the most creative expressions that have persistently remained intact, that is closer to the real heart of African orality. Proverbs crafted over a thousand years ago—long before Africa got into contact with, say, European languages and cultures, are still intact—linguistically, structurally and functionally. Thanks to the advent of a widespread literacy on the continent starting in the nineteenth century (some societies such as Swahili had already experienced a kind of elite literacy long before that period), tremendous efforts have been made to collect and preserve them in print, and just recently in digital. Swahili, a national language and lingua franca in Tanzania and Haya, one of the over hundred ethnic languages in Tanzania provide not only an insightful case in this regard but also useful examples pertaining to the richness that is embodied in African proverbs. Every student and scholar of Swahili is familiar with S.S. Farsi’s collection of Swahili proverbs, Swahili Sayings from Zanzibar: Proverbs. First published in 1958, Farsi states in the preface that I have always taken a very keen interest in Swahili and this has prompted me to record every proverb I have heard in my conversations with old people. Proverbs are very useful for inculcating moral lessons …the local beliefs and superstitions I have been able to collect are extensively interesting – many of them have a practical or even scientific basis… the Swahili language is too rich in proverbs and riddles for one man ever to be able to collect them all within the covers of a single book.7

Listed in alphabetical order, Farsi’s collection contains over 500 proverbs with literary translations in English and their English equivalents where applicable. While it is undeniable that a total number of Swahili proverbs could be well higher than what is in this collection, and obviously new ones have subsequently emerged, the collection indicates or rather points to the fact that these proverbs had been in use long before the mid-twentieth century and, interestingly, continue to be used to this day including in cyber-world conversations. For example, it is not uncommon to come across usage of Swahili proverbs on a daily basis in popular social media such as JamiiForums. This

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is a Tanzanian-based social networking website founded in 2006 on which anyone can register and post a new topic or comment on any topic using Swahili or English or mixed Swahili-English. Practically, Swahili is the dominant language with all its shades on this platform.8 In fact, JamiiForums may constitute a site for an insightful e-ethnographic or sociolinguistic study of a Swahili-speaking society. This does not exclude any study focusing on proverbs. As recently as early 2018, one member of the group posted his/her comments just by listing down four proverbs: (1) Duh! • • • •

Mwanzo wa ngoma ni lele! Mdharau mwiba mguu huota tende Mbuyu ulianza kama mchicha Kamba hukatikia pembamba9

Two of the four proverbs are among those listed in Farsi and the other two do not appear in the collection. Mwanzo wa ngoma ni ‘lele’ (translated as ‘The beginning of an ‘ngoma’ is ‘lele’ [i.e., just one man singing tra-la-la]. Big things have small beginning).10 Mdharau mwiba mguu huota tende (not listed). Mbuyu ulianza kama mchicha (not listed). Kama hukatikia pembamba (translated as ‘A rope parts where it is thinnest’). Further clarifications: This proverb is invariably used to mean that blame always falls on the unlucky. Cf. ‘A chain is only as strong as its weakest link’).11 Importantly, is that as in other African cultures, Swahili proverbs is as a vibrant and lively oral literature as ever. Hellen B. Nestor, on the other hand, published a collection of 500 Haya proverbs titled 500 Haya Proverbs. The Haya is one of the over 100 ethnic/cultural groups in Tanzania. Their native land is located in the north-western corner of the country particularly in present-day administrative districts of Muleba, Bukoba, Karagwe, Kyerwa, and Missenyi in Kagera Region. In the preface, Nestor opens the preface (three-language versions: Haya, Swahili, and English) with the following statement “proverbs offer practical advice, are short and precise, similar though in different languages and different races in the world; are respected and used by all people over many generations.”12 He further states that “these 500 Haya proverbs have been collected by me through talking with my parents, relatives, old men and women of Kitendaguro village situated about 10 km away from Bukoba town, Kagera. This shows that it is the old people who retain such knowledge.”13 The proverbs are arranged alphabetically and each proverb is followed by its meaning in Haya language, then its Swahili equivalent or translated meaning, and finally its English equivalent or the translated meaning. It appears like there is a general consensus among proverb collectors and preservers including Farsi and Nestor that proverbs constitute a source of moral lessons, proverbs are short and precise, with respected truth and, above all, they constitute practical wisdom—that is talking one thing from a local point of view and in its own language but with extensive meaning/applicability globally.

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It is the combination of its traditional and modern characteristics as well as local and global traits embodying African proverbs that make them among the most attractive choices for today’s globalized commercial advertisements.

The Case of Vodacom (Voda) in Tanzania Vodacom Tanzania Ltd, popularly known as VODA in the country, is a subsidiary company of Vodacom Group (Pty) Limited, South Africa which is also a subsidiary of Vodafone Group UK. By all accounts, it is a globally-oriented company. Indeed, it was among the first entrants upon the advent of cellular phone technology at the turn of the century. Despite aggressive competition from other cellular networks such as Tigo and Zantel, Celtel (now called Airtel), VODA still boasts leadership position in the field and the most popular network to this day. On its website, a number of operational milestones are listed including … Operational Milestones • In December 1999, Vodacom Group (Pty) Ltd. won a bid to operate a GSM cellular network and provide Public Land Mobile Network Services (PLMN) in the United Republic of Tanzania and formed the subsidiary company Vodacom Tanzania Limited. • By July 2000, Vodacom Tanzania completed its state of the art GSM infrastructure and went live August 14, 2000. Within the first four months of operations 50,000 subscribers were connected. • In September 2004, Vodacom connected its one-millionth customer and the company continued to grow rapidly. In September 2005, the Government of Tanzania introduced the converged licensing framework, which was meant to enhance the provision of communication services in the country thus bringing in the concept of technology neutrality. • As leader in the telecommunications market, in February 2006, Vodacom Tanzania took a bold decision to negotiate converting its PLMN license into the new licensing framework. • In March 2006, Vodacom Tanzania, recorded its two millionth customer. In July 2006, Vodacom Tanzania was granted three major service licenses in the Communications Sector namely, Network Facilities License, Network Services License & Application Services License, with the authority to provide a range of communication services, voice & data combined both nationally & internationally. • In January 2007, Vodacom reached another milestone as it connected its third million subscriber, and became the first mobile network in Tanzania to post such a huge subscriber base.14 The most striking aspect of mobile phone services is the online financial transactions of which VODA’s service is known as M-Pesa.

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Vodacom M-Pesa Vodacom M-Pesa service has in particular been cited as a revolutionary financial transaction service provided by Vodacom Tanzania. It was the first of in this type of services and consequently still the most popular among Tanzanians who need to send to and receive money from anywhere in Tanzania to any person with a mobile phone. With Vodacom M-Pesa, customers are assured of money transfers that are immediate, safe and most importantly, reliable. Introduced in April 2008, Vodacom M-Pesa has been reaching out to every corner of Tanzania ever since. The services are mainly Person to Person, Customer to Business, Business to Customer and Business to Business, and recently has patterned with Wave to enable people who live outside the country to send money to persons or businesses in Tanzania as long as the recipients have VODA phone account.15

Voda’s Ads and Oral Literature Besides operational milestones, VODA through its marketing strategies has actively engaged in the national conversation regarding language use in public space as well as in revitalizing the role of oral literature in a modern society—thus intersecting the discourse of advertisement with oral literature—an aspect that has not got significant scholarly attention it deserves. Billboard advertisements have actually been an insightful site for observing such an intersection. In my own observations—I found VODA and COCA dominating billboard advertisements in the city of Dar es Salaam.16 VODA and COCA, as commonly referred to locally (respectively standing for Vodacom Company and Coca Cola Company), have persistently continued to be among household brand names in the Tanzanian society. Presumably due to their nature as mass-oriented consumer products. By then, on the one hand, VODA’s ads were strictly in either Swahili or English only, that is, the two languages would not be seen mixed in the same piece of an advertisement—probably a communicative strategy to exploit the persistent strong pride that Tanzanians had (and still have) maintained in their national language, a national identity. On the other hand, most of COCA’s advertisements were in English only— presumably exploiting the vigorous resurgence in English popularity pertaining to its rise as a primary language of the global market-driven economy, global identity! Nevertheless, through its discourse of advertisement, VODA has conformed to and confirmed the dynamics pertaining to Tanzania’s linguistic culture as samples below indicate (each item are words, phrases and/or slogans found in each distinct piece of a billboard): (2) Taifa Moja. Mtandao Mmoja (lit. translation: One Nation. One Network) [2005] (3) VodaJamaa. Punguzo la 10% kwa namba mbili unazozipenda (Discount of 10% on your most 2 frequently called numbers) [2005]

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(4) Asante Tanzania kwa kutuwezesha kuwa No. 1/5 sherehe ya kuzaliwa (Thank you Tanzania for making us No.1 5th anniversary) [2005] (5) Biashara Kwanza/Kutuma muda wa maongezi/Bure kutoka Vodacom (Business First. To send talking time. Free from Vodacom) [2005] (6) A VERY WARM KARIBU: Switch to 075 while in Tanzania (a billboard at the International Airport in 2007) (7) Jionee tofauti: Vodacom mtandao Unaoongoza Tanzania (2007) (8) Internet yenye kasi kuliko zote Tanzania/Kadi ya internet ya Vodacom/jionee tofauti/Vodacom mtandao unoongoza Tanzania (2007) (9) Take off with Tanzania’s fastest Mobile Internet/Introducing the Mobile Internet Data Card from Vodacom/Experience the Difference/Vodacam Tanzania’s Leading Cellular Network (2007) (10) Bonga nao ukiwa na Bonga (Chat with them when you have Bonga) (2014) Bonga is a Swahili slang for chat which is also used by VODA to name a type of product. (11) Vodacom Kazi ni kwako/Mtandao mpana na wenye kasi Tanzania/Maisha ni murua (Vodacom it’s up to you/the largest and speedy network in Tanzania/Life is good) [2014] (12) Ongea saa 1 bure deilee/piga *149*01#/Vodacom Kazi ni kwako (talk for 1 h free daily/call*149*01#/Vodacon it’s up to you) [2014] (13) Share matukio fasta/cheki spidi yako/Vodacom Power to you (share events faster/check your speed) [2014] (14) Kuwa Supa naInstagram Bure (be super with Instagram Free) [2018] (15) Ni Mwendo wa Mamilioni deile (It is a way of Millions daily) [2018] (16) Cheki video laivu mtandaoni bila kukwama (Check live videos on the Internet without any obstacles) [2018].

The sample advertisement texts above indicate that during the first years of operating in Tanzania, VODA tried to keep Swahili and English apart (a diglossic approach). For example, compare (7) and (9). Interestingly enough, whenever they used Swahili, they would use a standard variety of Swahili as in (2) to (5). As years passed, some changes in Tanzania’s linguistic culture were remarkable, and so was VODA’s style in its discourse of advertisement. The resurgence of positive attitudes toward English but without shaking the strong pride in Swahili intensified the Swahili-English codemixing in public space, regardless of levels of formality. The notion of code-mixing is used here in the sense as defined by Wolff that “any instance of interchanging usage of two or more languages within the same conversation or discourse by the same bilingual speaker.”17 Some form of Swahili-English bilingualism does exist in Tanzania. Like other post-colonial states in sub-Saharan Africa, Tanzania also has been grappling with the issue of language in/and education since independence and no tangible solutions have been reached to this day. Despite viewed by some scholars as one of the successful cases in language planning (at least until the late 1970s),18 Tanzania has always found itself in the dilemma, which is well documented in the literature.19 It all began with the Swahilization project, which was the linguistic wing of the famous Tanzania’s ujamaa ideology (itself conceptualized in Swahili in the Arusha Declaration of 1967) that aimed at constructing a socialist society. Mazrui and Mazrui, for example, observe that “The Swahilization of the political process in

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Tanzania has resulted in wider participation and broader political recruitment, and has enriched the language in terms of political vocabulary and metaphor.”20 In the process of constructing a socialist (ujamaa) society, formal education was considered a priority and this triggered a public debate regarding the appropriate medium of instruction. Already declared a national language, Swahili was declared an official language in 1967 (alongside English) and immediately a medium of instruction in primary schools (the first seven years of formal education).The policy would gradually be extended to secondary schools and eventually to higher education. In the meantime, while a heated public debate for and against extending the Swahilimedium policy into secondary education gained momentum and persisted throughout the 1970s, English continued as a medium of instruction in secondary and postsecondary education but not without disastrous outcomes.21 For example, commissioned by the National Swahili Council (acronimized in Swahili as BAKITA) in the mid-1970s to conduct a survey on the effectiveness of English-medium instruction in secondary schools, Mlama and Matteru concluded that critical problems were widespread emanating from using English as a medium of instruction in secondary education.22 They went on to suggest solutions that included (i) Swahili should be used as a medium, and (ii) the teaching of English as a subject should be improved. 20 years later after Mlama and Matteru’s survey, the problems had multiplied because the Tanzanian state, in 1983, decided to keep English in secondary school, thus maintaining the status quo: Swahili-medium primary education and English-medium secondary education. Roy-Campbell and Qorro observed a deepening language crisis that prompted to name their report as Language Crisis in Tanzania: The Myth of English versus Education. They stated it clearly that the study illuminated the seriousness of the language question in education in Tanzania “it has been clearly shown that many secondary school students in Tanzania are being barred from access to knowledge as a result of the language barrier.”23 They also suggested the following alternatives to be considered in resolving the crisis: (i) return to English as the medium of instruction in primary schools, (ii) strengthen English language teaching in primary and secondary schools under the current system, (iii) formalize bilingualism in secondary schools, and (iv) change the medium of instruction from English to Swahili in secondary schools. By the time this study was published, significant changes had already started to take place on the ground due to the economic and political changes—free-market and multi-party systems respectively—that had been adopted in the early 1990s. Individuals had been allowed to establish private schools, which led to the co-existence of two educational systems since then— the state-run public education and privately-provided education. The former has maintained the Swahili-medium primary education (English taught as a subject) and English-medium post-primary education. On the other hand, the latter has introduced English-medium education from kindergarten to university level in which Swahili is taught as a subject. The public schoolsprimarily cater for the masses (poor masses) who cannot afford a pricy English-medium private schools, especially at the primary education level. Additionally, investors in private schools have been striving to make the learning environment better and attractive, which has resulted in providing quality education as opposed

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to public schools characterized by poor environments. Since then, private primary and secondary schools are not only commonly referred to as English-medium, but also school owners use “English-medium” as a selling/marketing point. The famous example that I have cited elsewhere is the notice on a Dar es Salaam secondary school’s main gates that I captured in 2005 stating boldly that “Speak English Only. Speaking Swahili is prohibited and punishable”—thiswould be unthinkable in the 1970s and 1980s. Nevertheless, inevitably this situation has resulted into relatively distinct socioeconomic classes—children from well-to-do families get what might be viewed as quality English-medium education, whereas those from less-privileged families end up with poor Swahili-medium education, particularly remarkable at the primary level of education. When both groups go for secondary and higher education, obviously those from English-medium primary schools cope well with English-medium secondary education while their counterparts struggle. Those with reasonable proficiency in English are most likely to be more competitive than those with less proficiency when it comes to globally-oriented job markets. From Tanzania’s linguisticcultural point of view, it is not surprising that proficiency in English is equated with quality education and global knowledge and skills. Billings, for example, documents the linguistic-cultural transitioning and its consequences by observing the Tanzanian beauty pageants that Limited access to standard English bars otherwise talented, educated, and hardworking Tanzanians from realizing their dreams, even though much of the day-to-day communication among the educated middle class is more likely to occur in a variety of Swahili deeply mixed with English rather than in standard English alone…While it is the educational system that constraints access to standard English in Tanzania, it is not education itself that prevents upward mobility for many. Highly coveted service positions such as bank teller, travel agent, or hotel desk staff often require knowledge of standard English, but not necessarily a high level of education.24

As the variety of Swahili mixed with English—an outcome of the Swahilization project and subsequent linguistic-cultural dynamics—has become popular not only among Tanzania’s youth but also the entire educated middle class, VODA has not lost sight on such cultural dynamism as sample ads in 12–16 indicate. Texts in the ads draw on the mixed Swahili-English variety in which some of English words have been left in their original form (e.g., share in 13) and some have been manipulated to sound and appear as if they are English borrowing in Swahili (e.g., deilee in 12, deile in 15, fasta&cheki in 13, supa in 14, and laivu in 16). It should be noted that although these words cannot be considered as standard borrowings, they are commonly used among the youth and the educated elites. Then why would VODA choose to use non-standard Swahili? Refer to Mandela’s philosophy ‘if you talk to [a man] in his language that goes to his heart.’ The youth and the educated elite in Tanzania may well constitute more that 50% of the total population of over 50 million people. In this regard, VODA is attempting to identify itself with the segment of the population that speaks the mixed code. In most of the billboard ads, they usually have a Tanzanian celebrity such as Bongofleva (Tanzanian hip hop) superstar Nasibu Abdul Juma (aka Diamond Platnumz) talking to the viewers. This means that VODA

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not only attempts to identify itself with this section of the population, but also having one of the celebrities talking the language can be most effective. That’s an effective ad—youths will most likely identify with Diamond and consequently go for ‘ongea saa 1 bure deilee’ product (falling under both bandwagon and emotional appeal persuasive devices).

Beyond a Language Variety: Swahili Proverbs in Voda’s Ads Fascinatingly enough, VODA has gone an extra mile to embrace oral literature in its discourse of advertisement—which manifests itself into not only talking to [the man] in his language but also in their mode of communication—thus winning both their hearts and minds. Thus, VODA’s creativity in capturing the attention of the targeted audience is demonstrated in exploiting oral creative expressions. Fina, for instance, observes correctly, I think, that “The studies of narrative have shown that what defines people as members of a group is not only the content of their stories but the way in which they use socially established resources to tell them.”25 The use of proverbs or any other genre in oral literature fits very well in this framework. In September 2014, I was traveling from Bukoba to Dar es Salaam via Mwanza Airport. Due to my passion for observing billboards and other signs in the public sphere, the Vodacom billboard below attracted my attention as I was waiting for my flight to Dar es Salaam (Fig. 42.1). Fig. 42.1 A VODA billboard at Mwanza Airport, Tanzania

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At Mwanza Airport, passengers wait outside the departure terminal before going through the security point. This provides opportunities for continuing enjoying fresh air, interacting with locals who are doing some petty businesses around the airport, and for a person like myself—do some study regarding social and physical settings. That’s how I captured this billboard on my phone camera. Reading Haba na haba hujaza kibubu was even more exciting because of two reasons. First, previously in my African Business Culture class I had mentioned and demonstrated to students the importance of observing language and linguistic culture, among other things, while designing an ad for their ‘hypothetical cell phone companies’ in their adopted African countries as Term Project. This story is narrated in details later in the section titled ‘Bringing Orality in African studies related classes.’ Second, until then haba na haba was a familiar proverb to me. It was one of the easiest proverbs to memorize while we were in elementary school as haba na habahujaza kibaba. If someone had decided to read the ad’s slogan aloud and ask me to complete it without looking at the billboard, I would have completed with confidence as I used to know it haba na haba hujaza kibaba. But, most interestingly, this was not …hujaza kibaba, but ….hujaza kibubu. VODA, cleverly, twisted the proverb to achieve the ad’s goal without losing the original poetic characteristics—which is common in Swahili proverbs if not all African proverbs. Haba na haba hujaza kibabais listed in Farsi’s collection in which it is loosely translated as ‘little by little fills up the measure’ and given a closest English equivalent ‘Little drops of water, little grains of sand, make a mighty ocean and a pleasant land.’

The Intersection Between Proverbs & Discourse of Advertisement The characteristics of African proverbs entail most of the advocated elements that make an effective ad, that is, an advertisement strong enough to move the masses including to retain current customers, attract new customers and those who have not made up their minds to go for the products or services in question. This ad is about using M-Pesa for cellular-phone based financial transactions. This could be told in other many ways, but VODA chose the use of a Swahili proverb. Employing a proverb in an advertisement is not only talking to them in their language (which no doubts wins their hearts), but also talking to them in their own mode of communication; an added value. Common characteristics of a proverb include such things as: believed by all members of a given speech community to provide practical advice and/or a moral lesson. This characteristic captures what in the discourse of advertisement is emphasized as talking about the benefits of the product or service. In this case of Haba nahaba hujaza kibaba, represents practical wisdom that anything whole, regardless of its size, is made up of small parts, the wisdom that applies to reality all over the world.

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Another common characteristic pertaining to proverbs is being a short, clear, and precise statement. In the discourse of advertisement literature, short and clear slogans are emphasized. Advertisers agree that viewers do not always want to read everything written in the ad. In fact, a short and precise statement is easier to remember. In any society, no other type of statement comes closer to proverbs to serve such purposes. Furthermore, Swahili proverbs are predominantly poetic in form—see the ba sound at the end of each noun in haba na haba hujaza kibaba. Proverbs are respected as accumulated wisdom that has passed down from one generation to another. In this regard, they can satisfy a testimonial device. I do not think that there is anyone in the Swahili speaking community, for instance, who would disagree that haba na haba (bits and bits) eventually make the whole! Due to its shortness, a proverb can stand on its own as a catch phrase to be viewed and read even by viewers who are traveling in motor vehicles. For proverbs, a great majority are common knowledge to viewers. Therefore, they may not need to be read as a whole. The only thing a viewer is prompted to think about is the intended association between that proverb and what is being advertised—the goal of an advertisement. This is exactly what I myself experienced with regard to haba na haba hujaza kibaba. However, probably the most memorable point in the haba na haba hujaza kibaba proverb as used by VODA for this advertisement is the modification of the form in which kibaba (a traditional measure equivalent of 700 grams in volume) is replaced by kibubu (a traditional small wooden box used for saving small change). When I read the proverb in the billboard for the first time, I thought it was a typo in print. This triggered my curiosity to read it again, and soon, I realized that kibubu was an intentional modification. How is this related to advertisement strategies? First, replacing kibaba with kibubu serves well as a powerful device to grab the attention of viewers. I myself had to read the slogan (proverb) twice which led me to give it a serious thought; second, considering the content, the traditional metaphoric meaning embodied in ‘kibaba’ is equated to the metaphoric meaning embodied in kibubu which has to do with financial service and as a result serves well the targeted concept in this advertisement—metaphorically talking about the benefits of VODA’s M-Pesa services; and third, not only VODA is identifying with the Swahili-speaking people by talking to them in their language as well as in their mode of communication, but also it is participating as an active player in enhancing and reshaping Swahili oral literature.

Bringing Oral Literature into the African Business Culture Classroom—the Imagined Commercial Ad I had previously taught an introductory course—African Business Culture—to undergraduate students at the University of Florida. One of the topics that we had touched upon was Africa’s linguistic culture which would introduce them to such sub-topics

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as languages spoken on the continent, their status (locally, regionally, and nationally), who speaks what language(s) and where and why? And eventually exploring the relationship between understanding Africa’s linguistic culture and undertaking a successful business in Africa. As part of the class assignments, students would keep a journal on Africa’s current business news/events—referred to as MyAfricanCountry Journal. Each student would be assigned to a particular African country on which they familiarize themselves, through the Internet news media, events related to business. They would be required to enter at least two entries per week for 8 weeks of the semester. The format of an entry in the journal would include the original title of the news item, the publication date, source, a summary of the chosen article, reasons for choosing that news item, and a comment/opinion. MyAfricanCountry journal assignment would be followed by a term project. A term project would involve students in planning to introduce their hypothetical cellular phone companies in their respective African countries. On the assumption that by now, they have already become familiar with the cultures of their countries, they are required to design an advertisement to publicize the services that their companies will be providing. They are advised to consider all cultural aspects, including linguistic cultures for a successful and effective ad. Toward the end of the semester, they make PowerPoint presentations. This was (and still is whenever I get the opportunity to offer the class) most favorite assignment. Before the assignment takes off, I would provide a guideline for a successful project of this kind and also present a demo PowerPoint presentation. I would use Tanzania for this purpose—presenting an overview of the geopolitical, social, and cultural setting. I would briefly touch on the linguistic-cultural setting and finally, demonstrate how one can make use of oral literature in designing an effective mobile phone service advertisement. My native district is Bukoba where I grew up and therefore picked up some Haya proverbs. Haya is the native language of the area. Like in other parts of rural Tanzania, natives of Bukoba grow up speaking their ethnic language and the national language, Swahili. While Swahili is used in all formal settings such as in schools or at a political rally, Haya is most commonly used as a medium of interaction in most informal social and cultural communicative events in which all participants are Haya-speakers. Sometimes, if there a few non-Haya speakers, Haya speakers would still speak Haya! I would then use Bukoba as a micro-level setting to emphasize the richness in oral literature that can be tapped to serve global-oriented businesses. Actually, I would go on making a practical joke as wondering why a cellular phone company such as VODA had not taken advantage of ethnic linguistic resources (I understand the ideologies of language in Tanzania). However, for the purposes of emphasis on the richness of ethnic linguistic resources, I would go ahead and introduce the Haya proverb that I would use for advertising my cellular phone services in the Bukoba area which goes, asobukwatane kagulu. Loosely translated as ‘relationship is maintained by the leg’ (GULU = leg; KA- is a diminutive prefix). The meaning of the proverb is that in order for relatives or friends to maintain relationships, everyone should be ready to use their legs, i.e., to visit each other. This proverb might have been created in the long past when the only means of mobility was walking. For some reason, it is one of those proverbs that I learnt while I was a kid and are not included in Nestor’s

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collection! Nevertheless, even today, it still makes sense if kagulu is viewed as a metaphor representing any kind of mobility. Now given the current socio-economic and cultural dynamics that have been brought by the globalizing world, people do not have the luxury of making physical visits whenever they wish to do so. Fortunately, the barriers imposed on us by physical distance, have been cleared by the emergence of the new information technology, including cellular phones. Therefore, for my advertisement to make a strong appeal to the Haya speakers in Bukoba, I would include this proverb in this format: OBUKWATANE KASIMU. KASIMU means a phone (SIMU) but in a diminutive state ‘KA.’ The slogan using the original proverb would mean that in order to maintain good relationships among relatives and friends, making a phone call is essential.This is my story that I had shared with my students long before I encountered the VODA’s haba na haba hujaza kibubu. At that point, I said to myself that this is exactly what I have been telling my students. Oral literature is a resourceful site for successful discourses of advertisements.

Conclusion What this ‘story’ has demonstrated is the not so explicit existence of the intersection between the discourse of advertisement and other fields related to language, especially sociolinguistics and oral literature. More scholarly studies are necessary for further exploration of this important multi-disciplinary aspect. And Africa presents an insightful site for this kind of exploration. The ‘story’ has pointed out, for example, that employing proverbs in commercial advertisements in not only “talking to ‘them’ in their languages,” but also engaging ‘them’ in their mode of communication which, indeed, encompasses most of advocated strategies for an effective advertisement, as well as engaging actively in enhancing this richness. As recently as I was finalizing this chapter, I had a casual and informal textual conversation with one of my cousins through a WhatsApp platform. He is Nanjing, China; I am in Newberry, Florida USA. We are talking about familial issues, and he concludes his points with the following: Hiyo ndizi ni ishara tosha ya upendo wa Buhaya. Bakachwa omugani, bati ‘Ebiile obichumbilwa mukaasho, nyoko akuchumbila ebibisi’. Maana ya msemo huo bado ni upendo. Mama anakuwa na upendo na huruma mpaka nakupatia ndizi bila kuwa zimeiva vizuri, ila mama wa kambo anataka akukomoe. That banana is a sign of love in the Haya culture. The old saying goes ‘well-cooked banana is done by your step mother, your mother cooks you not-well-cooked ones.’ The meaning of this saying is that because of true love, the mother cannot stand seeing you starving so is ready to serve you not-well-cooked bananas. But, the step mother wants to see you starving more on the excuse that she’s making you well-cooked ones.

However, this is one of those sayings not listed in Nestor. Who said African oral literature is at the brink of disappearing? It is alive and vibrant and, fortunately,

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embraced in most modern-day discourses that matter, including the discourse of advertisement. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

http://quotesgram.com/img/nelson-mandela-quotes-language/13810387/. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/proverb?s=t. Cambridge International Dictionary of English (1995). Kamusi ya Kiswahili Sanifu—Standard Swahili Dictionary (2004). https://orality.imb.org/files/1/279/African%20Proverbs.pdf. www.afriprov.org. Farsi (1966: iv). www.jamiiforums.com. https://www.jamiiforums.com/threads/nimeupenda-ujumbe-wa-khamisi-kag asheki-kwa-zitto-maria-sarungi-na-evarist-chahali.1405949/. Submitted by Gamba la Nyoka JF-Expert Member #5 Today at 8:02 a.m. Joined: May 1, 2007 Messages: 6668 Likes Received: 6959 Trophy Points: 280. Farsi ibid., 34. Ibid., 13. Nestor (1978: ix). Ibid., ix. https://vodacom.co.tz/en/whoweare_operational_milestones/. https://vodacom.co.tz/en/whoweare_vodacom_m-pesa/. Bwenge (2009, 2011, and 2012). Wolff (2000: 317). See Mazrui and Mazrui (1998); Heine (1990). Mlama and Matteru (1977); Roy-Campbell and Qorro (1997); Blommaert (1999); Tumbo-Masabo and Chiduo (1999); and Mazrui and Mazrui (1998). Mazrui and Mazrui ibid., 129. Blommaert (1999). Mlama and Matteru (1977). Roy-Campbell and Qorro (1997: 130). Billings (2009: 601). Fina (2006: 352).

References Apwg. African Proverbs Project. (www.afriprov.org). Billings, Sabrina. 2009. Speaking Beauties: Linguistic Posturing, Language Inequality, and the Construction of a Tanzanian Beauty Queen. Language in Society 38: 581–606. Blommaert, Jan. 1999. State Ideology and Language in Tanzania. Cologne: Rudiger Koppe. Bwenge, Charles. 2009. Language Choice in Dar-es-Salaam’s Billboards. In The Languages of Urban Africa, ed. Fiona Mc Laughlin, 152–177. London: Continuum.

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———. 2011. Operating Globally, Speaking Locally: Diglossic-Patterned Advertisements of Global Brands and Their Meaning—The Case of Barclays Bank in Dar es Salaam. In African Creative Expressions: Mother Tongue and Other Tongues, ed. Akintunde Akinyemi, 168–190. Bayreuth: Bayreuth African Studies. ———. 2012a. English in Tanzania: A Linguistic Cultural Perspective. International Journal of Language, Translation and Intercultural Communication (Special Issue Varieties of English, Athens: Dionikos Publisher, 2012 1 (1), 167–182. (ISSN: 2241–4304). http://latic-journal.org/ index.php/latic/article/view/18/12. ———. 2012b. Business Signs in Dar es Salaam: A Sociological Perspective. In Language in African Performing and Visual Arts, eds. Sandra Sanneh, Kiarie Wanjogu, and Oluseye Adesola, 48–59. Connecticut: Yale University Press. Farsi, Shaaban S. 1966. Swahili Sayings from Zanzibar: Proverbs. Dar es Salaam: East African Literature Bureau. De Fina, Anna. 2006. Group Identity, Narrative and Self-Representation. In A Discourse and Identity, ed. Nna de Fina, Deborah Schiffrin, and Michael Bamberg, 351–375. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gyekye, Kwame. 1995. An Essay on African Philosophical Thought: The Akan Conceptual Scheme. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Heine, Bernd. 1990. Language Policy in Africa. In Language Policy and Political Development, ed. Brian Weistein, 167–184. Westport, CT: Greenwood Publishing. Mandela, Nelson. http://quotesgram.com/img/nelson-mandela-quotes-language/13810387/. Mazrui, Ali, and Alamin Mazrui. 1998. The Power of Babel: Language and Governance in the African Experience. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Mlama, Penina, and M.L. Matteru. 1977. Haja ya Kutumia Kiswahili Kufundishia katika Elimu ya Juu. Unpublished survey report. Dar es Salaam: Baraza la Kiswahili Tanzania. Moon, Jay W. (https://orality.imb.org/files/1/279/African%20Proverbs.pdf). African Proverbs: Stepping Stones within Oral Cultures. Nestor, Hellen B. 1978. 500 Haya Proverbs. Arusha: East African Literature Bureau. Procter, Paul (editor-in-chief). 1995. Cambridge International Dictionary of English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roy-Campbell, Zaline, and Martha Qorro. 1997. Language Crisis in Tanzania: The Myth of English Versus Education. Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota Publishers. TUKI. 2004. Kamusi ya Kiswahili Sanifu. Dar es Salaam: Oxford University Press. Tumbo-Masabo, Z.N., and E.K.F. Chiduo (eds.). 1999. Kiswahili katika Elimu. Dar es Salaam: TUKI. Wolff, H.Ekkehard. 2000. Language and Society. In African Languages: An Introduction, ed. Bernd Heine and Derek Nurse, 298–347. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 43

Reinventing Oral Traditions Through Arts and Technology Stephen Folaranmi and Oyewole Oyeniyi

Introduction The Yorùbá proverb, òwe l’ e.sin o.` r`o., bí o.` r`o. bá so.nù òwe la fi ´ n wá a, which translates literally as proverbs are horses (power) of speech with which we retrieve lost words, illustrates the efficacy of words, well thought of observation, concepts and ideas among Africans that have been used for thousands of years to communicate among themselves. Proverbs is just one of the various forms of oral tradition used by Africans. African oral traditions are various forms of traditional knowledge that the Africans used to teach and educate themselves about their stories, lineage, and histories. They also include myths of origin, religious knowledge and practices among the people. In the pasts, many of these were usually not written with exceptions of places1 where some form of writing was developed. Despite these, many of these seem to have suffered some loss over thousands of years because of lack of, or inadequate documentation. However, the art of memory2 of the past, woven into cultural practices and day-to-day living has ensured that many of these are still kept till date. For example, these can be found in proverbs and folklore. This two forms of oral tradition particularly have survived so much over centuries because of their daily usage among the people. These are also ‘probably as numerous and diversified as the people and languages of Africa.’ Furthermore, drum signals were also used to send and relay messages, to attract attention, and to summon people. Drum languages were used to communicate as well as an accompaniment for dance. Drum signals and languages imitate the tonality of the spoken languages. This is not only evidenced in music but in other artistic forms and daily living such as dance, painting, sculpture, weaving, and language. According S. Folaranmi (B) Fine Arts Department, Rhodes University, Makhanda, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] O. Oyeniyi Department of Fine and Applied Arts, O.báfémi Awól´o.w`o. University, Ilé-Ifè, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_43

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to Green (1985), they are history re-enacted, a source of communication. The oral traditions of Africa, the lifestyles of Africans, the history and culture of African peoples were preserved, in the majority of African nations, solely through a system of oral transition from generation to generation. This oral system was composed of dance, music, song, and iconographic artistic representations. Unfortunately, any system depending entirely upon oral communication for its transmission is doomed to partial failure because of human memory and outside interpretation. Hence many scholars have postulated that oral tradition itself is not particularly the history, traditional accounts by themselves cannot, therefore, rank as authentic histories but they form the only true basis upon which we can reconstruct the African past. In the words of Professor Blake: “We must study the history of Africa through African eyes and for its own sake”3 ; we can do this only by a proper appraisal of traditional history. Furthermore, as Biobaku rightly puts it (still relevant in the twentieth century); Indeed the task of collecting oral evidence is an urgent one, for the old and well-informed are passing away with the years and the necessities of the modern life in the Yorùbá country (and many African societies) as elsewhere are destroying the fabric of the communal life which in its every aspect subserves to the historical tradition. Indigenous religion hardly finds devotees among the educated young; very few new chiefs comprehend the historical meaning of installation ceremonies, and many a young wife knows nothing of the oríkì which every bride revelled in reciting a decade or two ago.4

All hope, however, seem not lost as expressed by Mhlophe (1996) who maintains that oral literature or tradition in Africa is still persistence in the twenty-first century. She recounts her experience of African oral tradition and storytelling in such manner that relieves a memory of what used to be, which is enshrined in the saying umuntu ufunda aze afe that is, ‘a person learns until the day they die.’ This adage simply depicts knowledge as an unending endeavor, something that we must continue to seek until the loss of breath. Our oral tradition sustained that even though they were not in earlier times written. In essence, there is a continuum, a process by which new materials are added to the tradition of telling stories and recounting experiences by the people. Today, millions of stories have been written, re-written and commented in various ways. First as books and in other media. Available materials and literature on oral traditions in Africa are enormous. Thousands of studies have been done by various scholars, both foreign and indigenous. Millions of Africans are writing their own stories today in the form of books and other media to propagate their histories and stories. By the 1930s, several African writers such as Mohammed Bello and Pita Nwana began writing stories and novels to debunk Eurocentric5 narratives. Authors such as Achebe, Ngugi, and Soyinka have used storytelling to debunk these views about the nature of knowledge making in African before the arrival of Europeans. Before now, as noted by Arowolo,6 the subjugation and domination of Africa by Western culture encouraged the thriving of European mode of civilization. It began to outgrow African cultural heritage (often found in oral tradition). Many African began to speak other foreign languages, and in many instances neglected their own languages and cultures. It, therefore, meant that many stores that were hitherto told in the local language were no longer available.

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These stories can be passed on not just through books and other written works, but also in other media.7 The use of technology and new media in preserving these materials is an area where not much has been discussed even though many interventions have been done in that regard. It is with this in mind that this chapter takes a look at the ways by which these materials are being used and circulated today through various media and technology in Africa. This chapter, therefore, gives an overview of the forms of oral example that art and technology have aided their propagation in Africa, using a few examples of animation video and comic from Yorùbá folktales and television programs.

Examples of African Oral Tradition Oral tradition in African included storytelling in forms of myths, legends, folktales, proverbs, bards, and songs. They form an important category of mnemonics in traditional history. The human mind is prone to romanticizing; it, therefore, produces myths and legends in order to preserve ancient historical experiences or elucidate complicated abstract notions. As the past receded, the heroes became gods8 and memories of ancient migrations became identified with speculations about the tantalizing subject of creation. Examples of creation myths and legends are found all over West Africa—indeed all over the world. The Yorùbá myth of Ife as the center of creation and the legend of Moremi provide the historian with important clues as to the riddle of the claims of a Near Eastern origin.9 According to Edosomwan and Peterson, these stories sometimes incorporated proverbs, which are short, memorable sayings that express a belief or piece of advice. The Yorùbá, like many other parts of Africa, are indeed very rich in this. The Yorùbá language is exceptionally rich in proverbs, in their social exchanges; they believe that it is inappropriate to ‘speak with the whole mouth’. They speak with the power and context of proverbs: òwe l’ e.s.in o.` r`o., bí o.` r`o. bá so.nù òwe la fi ´ n wá a, meaning proverbs are the horses (power) of speech: if communication is lost, we use proverb to retrieve it’. This is a way of introducing proverbs into the conversation. It describes or relates the power of the Yorùbá proverbs with that of the horse.10 In different parts of Africa, proverbs have been used to communicate deep words and philosophy of a people. It is said to provide a place to share words of wisdom, what others have said before us, a place to help us all succeed by standing on the shoulders of giants.11 Many authors have also used oral tradition as a methodological approach in understanding and analyzing works of arts in Africa, especially among the Yorùbá.12 Oríkì among the Yorùbá forms the basis of formal praise poetry. These are most often given to people, but may also describe class, animals, or inanimate objects, and they are usually laudatory.13 Various scholars have identified several forms of oríkì among the Yorùbá, there is oríkì s.ókí —one-word oríkì, as in Àkàní, Àb`e.ní, Àjàó, Àr`e.mú, and so on.14 There are also oríkì of lineages, towns and places, chiefs and kings, divinities, plants and animals.15 Although not very common today among the educated Yorùbá elite, it used to be a day-to-day form of showering praises on children by their parents

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when they greet them in the morning. I did enjoy such endearment from my grandfather while he lived. Oríkì (cognomen) are permanent titles held by individuals, some of whom have several of these names so that a collection of them recited together resemble loosely constructed poem about the person praised.16 Another very potent form of oral tradition is folktales. Abrams and Harpham defined folktales as sayings, verbal compositions, and social rituals that have been handed down by word of mouth.17 It is universal and usually of unknown authorship even if many eventually achieve written form. These are stories organized around a particular purpose and theme, either to relate a moral lesson, tell a human truth, describe the adventure of war and tell stories of personality types and figures.18 According to Amali, the Idoma people of Benue State in Nigeria used folktales to demonstrate to people what the society expects of them, such as acceptable behaviors.19 Perhaps folktales have received more attention in terms of production into comic books and animation in Africa than most any other form of oral tradition in recent times. This is partly due to the characters usually mentioned in such tales. These tales have often been used for mediation and teaching of relevant lessons, especially to the young folks. They are also used for the edification of the young ones by drawing attention to the overt didactic statements or moral lessons at the end of such tales by focusing on narrational comments of storytellers on the personality of the main character, Ìjàpá.20 Despite this, there seems to be much to be done, compared to what obtains in other continents of the world. The enormous work is almost scary, especially when one considers the words of Mhlophe (1996) who says when “we look at idioms from different languages spoken in South Africa21 and we see that we will probably not live long enough to do all we need to do.” Folktales are unlike the mythic tales where Ès.ù22 is the trickster figure, the trickster in Yorùbá tales, according to Sekoni, is Ìjàpá (the Tortoise). The fact that most tales told to Yorùbá Children are about the Tortoise and few about Ès.ù, and that every member of the society or community is a potential narrator of these tales points to the importance and place of these tales among the Yorùbá. Ìjàpá folklore relates and expounds the daily social dealings and experiences within a given Yorùbá community. As Sekoni puts it, this is different from tales of Ès.ù, which takes on a more spiritual or religious angle. The Ès.ù tales are more relevant and told among devotees of a cult and initiates rather than to children who are still in their formative years and lack that understanding of spirituality in which they dwell. This is the more reason why the tales have attracted the interest among children, not just among the Yorùbá but in many different parts of the world. These tales in their hundreds have also attracted the attention of movie makers, artists, animators than any other form of oral tradition.

Art, Technology and African Oral Tradition: Origins Not much has been written about the animation and production of African oral tradition with the new media in the twenty-first century. Much of what is available is gleaned from reports and essays on one of the most significant advancement in our

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age—The Internet.23 The Internet itself has created the avenue for young, creative and talented Africans to show what they can do and produce with the aid of technology. Perhaps the works of Alade, Fo.lárànmí, and Odejobi; and that of Toni can be used as examples of attempts to assess the production of animated African oral tradition, most especially folktales.24 Toni suggests that one way of preserving such heritage is by making folk stories accessible to the very young because the generational transfer of folk heritage ensures that cultures do not die out. Therefore, a paradigm for transmitting culture to the children must be developed and deployed. In their joint work, Alade, Fo.lárànmí, and Odejobi, on the other hand, proposed a model of animation for Yorùbá folktale in order to motivate the reading and sociocultural awareness among children and young adults. This is to ensure or encourage a visual development, sustenance and conservation of Africa’s oral tradition. UNESCO constantly disturbed about the world’s endangered intangible cultural traditions.25 Some of these include the Chinese shadow puppetry, Mexican mariachi music, poetic dueling in Cyprus, and many in Africa are all disappearing. According to Toni, the Igbo folktale is in this league of the oral traditions, art forms, and rituals in danger of becoming lost. Urgent efforts must, therefore, be sought toward ensuring that most of what is left is documented and represented in mediums such as would be interesting for the twenty-first century. A brief history of Africa’s involvement in animation is here attempted. Animation is a series of moving illustrations compiled and presented as a story. The origins of animation are still a contested issue, as evidence of early animation has been found in various parts of the world. Most people assume that the origins of animation lie in Asia, particularly China and Japan, and evidence of early animation found in Africa is barely mentioned in such debates.26 However, in Africa the names of David and Shlomo Frenkel, two Egyptian brothers always comes to the fore when animation is mentioned, the first animated film the Frenkel brothers created was destroyed in a fire in Cairo. However, their later works are still preserved in various museums in Egypt. Besides this, early animation found in South Africa and the Democratic Republic of Congo proves that Africa has a long and rich animation history. Outside of Africa, Disney animated films about Africa are tremendously popular. Films such as the Lion King, Tarzan and Madagascar are extremely popular among many African youths. While ‘The Lion King’ can be applauded for introducing audiences to the Swahili proverb ‘Hakuna Matata’ and to the music of South African composer Lebohang ‘Lebo M’ Morake’, it has been daubed problematic because not a single African was featured it.” These have also been shown to be intensifying western notions of Africa as a ‘wild’ place filled with animals and jungles and (strangely) lacking humans. Michel Ocelot, a French animator who is widely recognized in Francophone countries, spent much of his childhood in Guinea, West Africa. Ocelot is a pioneer in animation, as his films represent a vastly different African narrative than Disney’s. Although he had directed many short animated films, his 1998 feature film Kirikou and the sorceress made him a renowned figure in animation. Kirikou and the sorceress is an animated film inspired by West African folklore such as Anansi27 from Ghana. Other animated films by Ocelot have been acclaimed to have derived inspiration from

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Africa, specifically North African countries and featured African protagonists using their wit and intellect to overcome adversaries as against the Disney’s animated films about Africa. It is therefore not out of place to encourage African filmmakers and artists to produce their own animated films using inspirations from oral tradition and deploy them in such manners as to disabuse the mind of the world about Africa while projecting the various rich African cultural heritage. In other parts of Africa, there are talented artists, animators, groups of individuals, company and movie industry/studios producing stories that are loved by the locals, they have also invested in the animation and motion pictures. There is Ubongo Kids English and Akili and Me—in Tanzanian’s Kiswahili. In Nigeria, there is an animator, Adamu Waziri, with his television series Bino and Fino. Due to the enormous popularity of the series in Nigeria, the show enjoyed broadcast and followership in several other western countries until a few years ago when it was no longer visible probably because of funding. According to Nihinlola,28 Waziri’s Company, Golden Effects, which produced Bino and Fino are on the verge of seeking ways to bring back these series. We also have the likes of Alagbe Adegbola, Matthias Aragbada (Dudutoonz), James Alabi (Abinibi), Tola Alabi, Jydekris Okonkwo and Kunle Afolayan whose efforts for his Ìjàpá tales series which uses a voice over image 2D animation is commendable. Aside from the animation of Ìjàpá series, Kunle Afolayan is one of the talented artiste in the movie industry in Nigeria-Nollywood, who have constantly been inspired by history and oral tradition in his works. Recently, Nollywood overtook the American movie industry as the second largest producers of movies in the world after India’s Bollywood. It is perhaps almost impossible to exhaust the hundreds of new entrants into this growing industry in Africa, but we may be able to learn so as to inch closer to the destination we have in our dreams by looking toward what the post-World War II Japanese did. No longer is Japan a distant island associated with the traumas of war, but rather a visually spectacular, awe-inspiring nation with multiple narratives. The Japanese government, realizing the power of its animation industry, incorporated the industry into its foreign policy and cultural diplomacy agendas. “The projection of soft power is a conscious, focused and highly prioritized effort by the Japanese government to exploit the country’s popularity among young people worldwide — multitudes of whom share a passion for Japanese fashions and fads — and to create a broader sympathetic image in the host country.”29 African Animators can improve on what is already our small beginning to achieve a great success at rejuvenating these ideals. Government in different African countries could also support young talented individuals and groups with a view to conserving these cultural heritage through what technology and art have to offer in the movie industry and animation.

Animation in Africa Today The animation industry is gradually growing. Up and coming young animators across Africa are using the internet not only as a means to learn new technical skills but

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also as a platform to display their own animation and to form collaborations with other animators. South Africa has particularly been blessed with the facilities and technology to develop several aspects without any need to travel to Europe or other parts of the developed world. While still a young industry—compared to other parts of the world.30 It is known that many musicians, filmmakers and animators use the state of the art equipment and facilities in South Africa to produce inspiring pieces. African animators are using Africa as an inspiration for their animation to tell African stories to broader audiences. Technology in terms of computer and other related devices are constantly being deployed to illustrate varieties of African oral tradition. From rich proverbs and Ìjàpá tales to fictional stories used to illustrate proverbs, myths and early life experiences. Artists are mostly at the forefront of these developments. These artists probably studied any other area of specialization not directly related to the use of such devices in schools, but with the new twenty-first-century technology, they have created an inroad into this new area to tell their own stories using oral tradition in a new and inspired way. Others involved are computer scientists whose researches have taken them into the appreciation of African oral tradition. Their research seeks means by which these storylines could be easily captured and disseminated to targeted portions of the society. Research groups in some of these universities have further emerged with the development of models that aid the reinvention of these important aspects of African culture and history.31 The rapid advancement in Information and Communication Technology (ICT) in the last decades have significantly changed the content and practice of education. This advancement of ICT application in education makes it a complimentary medium of education and learning process. In fact, in the last two decades, there has been an increasing demand for instructional needs both in quality and quantity. Today, ICT plays an important role in educational institutions as well as entertainment and since its technologies have come into every facet of our lives, including learning; many educational studies and curriculum have been consummated to that structure. So, the introduction of ICT into education as well as entertainment has provided more efficient and customized software teaching aide thus reaching a great number of people.32 The use of this IT application has enabled instructional materials to be utilized in a variety of exciting elements to deliver knowledge and instructions in order to ensure that student focus on learning strategies. Also, the bedrock of the information revolution is the development of digital technology, particularly multimedia, which has brought about a significant change in the way we conceive, describe and foresee our world.33 It is these IT-related technology that has fascinated a number of young Africans. For this aspect, we have looked at the works of two Yorùbá artists, who are illustrators and animators. A few of their works have also been analyzed to give an insight into what is presently happening in that space. Despite the dearth of facilities compared to the best in the developed world, they constantly show that with the will, talent and some start-up they can reinvent African oral tradition to the admiration of teaming African youths and audience. One of them work live and work in Pretoria South

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Africa, while the other lives in Lagos, Nigeria, the center of art and thriving movie industry. Zacchaeus Idowu Abayomi is a young Nigerian artist who only got involved with anima nation after leaving the university where he studied Fine Arts, specializing in painting. He says that the interest actually developed while on the verge of graduating from College. Well, based on my background, I had this belief that animations was meant for kids. Not until my 3rd year in the university approximately 5 years now, I met a friend34 who opened my eyes to the creativity, joy and satisfaction embedded in animations and how watching animations could help me creativity-wise. When I realized the process of animated movies from concept art to final look of the movies, I almost got carried away, I started creating characters in my local taste.35

Abayomi renders striking imagery of Yorùbá legends and sometimes proverbs. One of his favorite Yorùbá proverbs is s.e.` k`e.r`e. kì í bá wo.n ròde ìbànúj´e.36 —illustrated in a work he titled s.e`. k`e.r`e. (Fig. 43.1). However, it is in the area of portraying Yorùbá legends that he has defined a space for himself. In Fig. 43.2 Olúkòso, another appellation `. y´o. is represented in his famous insignia of office, for S.àngó, the deified king of O the S.àngó dance wand which shows a similarity between his inspiration and that of Nihinlola who has also created animations of Yorùbá Legends and Deities (Figs. 43.3 and 43.4). Prompted for his inspiration, Abayomi’s further says; I love designing or creating African 3D characters for teenagers and adults. One of the reasons I really want to venture into animations is to sustain and revive the dying African culture. Kids of nowadays shy away from our culture and traditions. Some of them even enjoy foreign made animations and comic books, they can say a lot about marvel’s avengers, Disney princes and princesses. I find no joy in these. That’s why all of my works carry African theme and look. And it has always being my goal to have a Nigeria base animation studio that will make use of African made stories and characters for animated movies that kids, teens and adults can watch and enjoy. In a nutshell, I create 3d characters that catch the interest of kids and teenagers.37

It is certain that Abayomi like many others on the African continent are already thinking of what must be done to safeguard this cultural heritage, and they have found animation as a veritable tool to do just that. With more of their kind, the right tools and training, a new industry that propagates African oral tradition is already in the offing. AyoOluwa Nihinlola, a graphics artist, illustrator and digital art enthusiast, lives in Pretoria South Africa. A Nigerian who also studied Fine and Applied Arts at Obafemi Awól´o.w`o. University, Ile-Ife and later went for a one year program in 3D animation and game design at The Open Window Institute for Arts and Digital Sciences, Pretoria, South Africa. He is currently the Design head at Gamsole (one of African’s biggest gaming start-up), in charge of illustration, animation, UX designs and motion graphics for the company, I also double as the creative director at E5 Studioz. He also says he did as much as he could to learn. His love for this genre of art or entertainment started at an early age:

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Fig. 43.1 Abayomi Idowu, Onís.e`. k`e.r`e. (Illustrating S.e.` k`e.r`e. kì í bá wo.n ròde ìbànuj´e.), 2018. Photoshop CS5

I have always had passion for art, which is what lead to my choice of study at the university, but I was fortunate enough to be exposed to computer systems at a really early age (around 6-7 years) and I was really fascinated by how the computer system works and more amazed when I came along software’s like PowerPoint and CorelDraw. So, with my passion for arts and the discovery of these different digital software, I knew this was what I definitively would love to do for the rest of my life.38

His interest in Art/animation started from childhood, due to a lot of influence from western 2D cartoon animations like Tom and Jerry, Justice League and Disney cartoons majorly because they were the ones that were easily available then and

874 Fig. 43.2 Abayomi Idowu, Olúkòso, 2017. Photoshop CS5

Fig. 43.3 AyoOluwa Nihinlola, S.àngó, Yorùbá legend and deity of Thunder, 2015. Photoshop CS5

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Fig. 43.4 AyoOluwa Nihinlola, Kajola village, setting of the 2D animation, 2013. Photoshop CS5

they were really done well also. As he grew up and began to gain more exposure he realized there were very few indigenous/local animations around, so he developed a keen interest in 2D illustrations and animations; I spent hours studying the designs of these folks and many others, trying to figure out the software and techniques they employed to achieve their designs. All these started to pay off when people started responding to designs I posted on Facebook. Approval also came from friends and family and later from other members of the design community, who were ready to comment, commend and critique on my works. All this helped forged my design and career path.39

AyoOluwa Nihinlola’s works are a blend of various aspects of Yorùbá oral tradition, from proverbs, legends, myths and folktales (ààl´o. àpagbè àti ààl´o. àpam`o.). He says these are what later inspired him Because of the environment I grew up when I was a kid (Oyo town, Oyo State), I had 40 access to the very good Yorùbá literatures like Ògbójú O . de. nínú Igbó Irúnmal`e. and the Alawiye books by Daniel O. Fagunwa. Those really inspired me a lot, and I imagined then as animations and illustrated books for kids, because I could see there are not much good cultural based content for kids and teenagers and also Yorùbá Proverbs inspires and gives me a lot of ideas. So these are sources of inspirations are what drives my interests and target audience.41

AyoOluwaNihinlola like many others in this field use a number of software available for animation and illustrations. The most popular 2D animations software around the continent are Adobe After Effects, Adobe Animate, Toon Boom (Harmony) and Moho (Anime Studio), all combined with a wacom drawing pad an essential tool. “I personally use Adobe Illustrator, Adobe After Effects and Adobe Photoshop to execute my ideas.” In addition to his earlier works at projecting Yorùbá oral tradition, Nihinlola is currently working on a new project, an illustrated book of rare African proverbs. This will definitely be another extension of one of his work we will consider here for in-depth analysis. This animation by Nihinlola illustrates a Yorùbáproverb that says Òtít´o. kì í s.ìnà, ir´o. níí forí gbo.gb´e. which translates as “The truth never goes

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awry; it is falsehood that earns a gash on the head.” This implies that, the truth do not bring misfortune; it is falsehood that leads to trouble. The animation titled Àpèje. O.ba—the king’s feast, is set in a typical Yorùbá village, examining key aspects of the Yorùbá culture. This two-dimensional animation project42 comprises of three themes which are very important in people’s lives; these are: truth, corruption, and philanthropy. The central theme of the story is the truth. Truth has always been central to the Yorùbá people, with many folktales and proverbs expressing this trait. Proverbs such as B’ír .o´ bá lo. l’ógún o.dún, o.j´o. kan ni òtít´o. yóò bá a—“If a lie reigns for 20 years, the truth will surely catch up with it,” and in another:´o.j´o. gbogbo ni ti olè, o.´ j´o. kan ni ti olóhun—Everyday is for the thief, one day (is) for the owner. This lays emphasis on the infallibility of truth and the expectation that we should always insist on doing what is right. The proverb in consideration in this story, however, focuses on another aspect of truth, which is its emphasis on the fidelity of actions. A summary of the storyline animated by Nihinlola is here presented. ‘Long time ago in Kájo.là (Fig. 43.4), there was a generous chief called Anímáshahun (Fig. 43.5), who gave freely to the people in the village, the people in return always profess their Fig. 43.5 AyoOluwa Nihinlola, Chief Animashahun. 2013. Photoshop CS5

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love for him (Fig. 43.6). He, however, suspected that the peoples’ feeling for him could be different from their profession. To satisfy his suspicion, he organizes a feast approved by the king to test the people’s loyalty. Chief Anímáshahun sent his messengers to announce the feast and asked each guest to bring a gourd of palm wine (Fig. 43.7). One man named Àjàlá (Fig. 43.8) was eager to attend the feast, but he had no wine to bring, even though his wife suggested that he should buy a gourd of palm wine, he refused, claiming it will be

Fig. 43.6 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Chief Animashaun giving out things to the people of Kájo.là. 2013. Photoshop CS5

Fig. 43.7 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The chief’s messenger announcing the feast. 2013. Photoshop CS5

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Fig. 43.8 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Àjàlá, 2013. Photoshop CS5. Photoshop CS5, 2015

stupid to spend his money in order to attend a free feast (Fig. 43.9). He decided to substitute water for palm wine, thinking that, “If hundreds of people were to pour Fig. 43.9 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala’s wife advising him to get the requirement for the feast, 2013. Photoshop CS5

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real wine into the chief’s pot, one gourd of water from him will make no difference to the quality of wine.” On the day of the feast, everyone came, dressed in their finest clothes at the house of the chief with their full gourds (Fig. 43.10). There was music and dancing, as they entered the chief’s compound and poured the contents of their gourds into the chief’s large earthen pot (Fig. 43.11). Àjàlá also emptied his and greeted the chief affectionately (Fig. 43.12). When all the guests were seated, the chief ordered his servants to serve everyone. Àjàlá and others were thirsty, eager and expectant for some sweet palm wine (Fig. 43.13). At the chief’s signal, all the guests put their calabashes to their lips and were surprised that what they tasted was WATER! Each guest had thought that his ONE gourd of water would not spoil a great pot of good palm wine, and so each one had brought water and none brought palm wine (Fig. 43.14). They all drank the water as if it was wine; they were ashamed oftheir dishonesty. Each of them went back home with thesewords of the proverb ringing at the back Fig. 43.10 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The day of the feast everyone dressed in their finest clothes, 2013. Photoshop CS5

Fig. 43.11 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. The villagers walking towards the chief’s big pot, 2013. Photoshop CS5

880 Fig. 43.12 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Close-up on Ajala’s hand pouring the false wine into the pot, 2013. Photoshop CS5

Fig. 43.13 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala and friends eager to drink from the sweet palm wine, 2013. Photoshop CS5

Fig. 43.14 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Ajala spitting out the water, 2013. Photoshop CS5

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Fig. 43.15 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Chief Animashaun Smiling, 2013. Photoshop CS5

of their mind; ‘òtít´o. kì í s.ìnà, ir´o. níí forí gbo.gb´e.’. Meanwhile, the Chief found an answer to his suspicion of the people’s insincerity to him and was very pleased to have imparted some lesson into their lives, teaching them to be truthful and sincere in everything they do (Fig. 43.15). In this 2D animation,43 AyoOluwa Nihinlola creates two main characters using the various computer applications such as Adobe Photoshop CS4, Adobe Illustrator CS5, Adobe After Effect CS5 and CorelDraw X4 (Figs. 43.16 and 43.17). Àjàláand Chief Anímáshahun. Àjàlá shows himself to be fraudulent by pretending to pass water off as palm wine. While Chief Anímáshahun is the rich philanthropist member of the village. Àjàlá’s character and actions depict a man who is neither truthful nor straight forward. This is buttressed in his thought that, “If hundreds of people were to pour their palm wine into the chief’s pot, one gourd of water will not spoil so much palm wine.” The Yorùbá are however, not the only ones interested in this opinion of absolute truth. Most African cultures express these virtues in their traditional setting, in their language and culture. The Holy Bible, also in Numbers chapter thirty-two verse twenty-three records that “…your sin will find you out.” This seems to be the case with the people of Kájo.là as they are eventually revealed

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Fig. 43.16 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Clean-up and outline in Adobe illustrator CS5

Fig. 43.17 AyoOluwa Nihinlola. Digital painting in Adobe Photoshop CS4

to be fraudsters by the generous Chief Anímáshahun. One marvels, however, at the attitude of the people of Kájo.là, despite their cultural values as expressed in truth. The worlds’ battle with corruption in leadership is well-documented. However, what many people agree upon is that the problem of corruption is not only about the leaders, but a problem from the people as a whole. This story offers credence to that opinion as it took more fraudsters like Àjàlá to fill a big gourd with water, in the guise of palm wine. Hence in Kájo.là, not only Àjàlá was fraudulent; but the entire community. Nigeria and many African countries today seems to have found herself in the same position as Kájo.là. Could it be that the neglect of our cultural values and

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tradition may have led to this? If they had remembered the several educative sayings and proverbs they probably would have learnedone or two lessons as expressed in a Zambian proverb which says Mwenda bwinno alile ikanga lya musuma—he who behaves well eats a good guinea fowl; good conduct brings its own reward. It is however unfortunate that if just one of the men who attended the feast truly brought a gourd of palm wine, he will be in the minority, as the gourd will still taste like water and be erroneously seen as corrupt as others. This is exemplified in another Yoruba proverb olówó kan láàrin otòs.ì m´e.fà, otòs.ì ni gbogbo wo.n—“if only one becomes rich among seven poor siblings, the seven of them are poor, since he is obliged to share his wealth with all.” As long as the good people in any community are in the minority, the perception of such community will remain negative, leaving the good people to suffer with the bad. While the story is silent on what aroused chief Anímáshahun’s suspicion of the peoples’ ‘infidelity,’ it appears the events of the feast may change his philanthropic gesture. Chief Anímáshahun took it upon himself to investigate the real character of the people he was dealing with. It teaches a lesson to always investigate before engaging in any endeavor.

Conclusion From Nigeria to Kenya, Tanzania, Morocco, Ghana, South Africa and many parts of traditional African societies, there was a time when stories were told around the fire. The young listened with much attention and enjoyment. Both authors enjoyed partly some of these while growing up a few decades ago. One therefore readily relates to Mhlophe’s expression of loss. But even then, that tradition had started waning. These stories, even though told, were no longer by your father and mother, but either by grandparents or elderly relatives who visited once in a while to spend some time with the family. We used to look forward to such moments and period of their visits and enjoyed the stories, especially the ààl´o. àpagbè and àpam`o.. Later we found out that the television was gradually taking the place of those stories. Today, it is even more serious than decades ago. The interests and attention of children are now captured by the numerous comical animations from the west. In Africa’s urban centers, the way and manner of living had changed, the routine, duties and new forms of professions did not leave room for parents and others to return home after a hectic days work to tell any story. In Lagos, Nigerian for example, many parents hardly see their wards in broad daylight. They leave home at 4 a.m. and return when their children are already in bed. The only time they have with their wards will be weekends, which are now also occupied with several other activities such as visits, ceremonies and religious services. These kids are often left at the mercies of the foreign animated videos, foreign stories and comics in book forms that do not teach anything about their own culture, and in some cases negates the principles and values of their culture. The question is, why did we not intervene on time? Why were our own stories not on the television, so that we can watch and learn many of the life lessons that those stories were full of?

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Through these displacements, many generations of young Africans now find it difficult even in their own countries to speak their language; they struggle with it and prefer to speak the language of the colonial masters. This is not to say that books and other such materials from different parts of the world are bad, far from it. However, it is a call to do something very drastic to address the situation for the pride of Africa as well as the conservation of the many indigenous cultural values and systems that are on the verge of extinction because of this. Perhaps the issues about the types of educational system we have is that which confirms the Yorùbá adage of giving with one hand and collecting with another. That same type of culture plays out when Africans were encouraged to throw away their traditional works of art, some destroyed, others were looted and are now in various museums all over the world. The calls for a return of these looted antiquities are resounding everyday with the recent calls being that of the Ethiopian relics.44 If we, therefore, call for a recall of these antiquities, it is only logical that the language and oral tradition in the form of proverbs, folktales, myths and stories that birth them be also recalled. It is these recalls that many animators, movie makers and artists are engaging with today. What better ways can this be achieved in the twenty-first century other than to use the same medium used to lure us away from our tradition. A mixture of art and technology to produce awe-inspiring animation of our stories, translated into as many languages as possible. We need to reinvent these stories to fit into the hundreds of new media, and in many ways that the young and generations after can look forward to. The television should therefore not seen as a threat in these matters, but an opportunity to reach millions and billions of people in different parts of Africa and in all continents. The television, computers, radio, and Internet should be seen as instruments for the reinvention and spreading what Mhlophe (1996) refers to as magic stories. Acknowledgements The authors would like to appreciate the kind gesture of Abayomi Idowu and AyoOluwa Nihinlola for providing the images for Figs. 43.1–43.17, and the permission to use all the images in this chapter. We will also like to thank the Department of Fine and Applied Arts, O.báf´e.mi Awól´o.w`o. University Ile-Ife, Nigeria and the DST/NRF SARChI Chair in Geopolitics /Arts of Africa and Global Souths, Fine Arts Department, Rhodes University, South Africa for their support.

Notes 1. 2.

3. 4.

Egypt was one of the few places in Africa where writing developed very early. Traditional history relies mainly upon the retentive memory, which is sharpened by its constant exercise. Retentive memory is, however, stimulated in other ways. Often, the Yorùbá compress events and circumstances into significant forms which are constantly used. see (Biobaku 1956). Cited in Biobaku (1956: 47). Ibid., 45.

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5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

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A popular Eurocentric perspective in the early nineteenth century was that before the arrival of Europeans, Africa was a savage continent devoid of culture. See Edosomwan and Peterson (2016). Arowolo (2010: 91–103). Edosomwan and Peterson (2016). Among the Yorùbá there stories of legends such as Sango and Ogun who were later defied as ancestors and gods in Yorùbá cosmology. Biobaku ibid. Lindfors and Owomoyela (1973). https://thezambian.com/online/zambian-proverbs/. Folárànmí (2002, 2012), Abiodun (1987, 2014). Finnegan (1970). Johnson and Johnson (1976), Olatunji (1984), Barber (1991). Olatunji ibid. Finnegan ibid. Abrams and Harpham (2005). Achebe (1994). Amali (2014). Sekoni (1994). If a fear is expressed of the few languages spoken in South Africa, what form of expression would be expected of such countries like Nigeria where it is believed that about 250 languages are spoken. Ès.ù a Yorùbá deity is the intercessor god, that devotees of all the other òrìs.à have to pay homage to. http://www.filmcontact.com/south-africa/animation-industry-africa-brief Toni (2015), Aládé et al. (2015). Nastasi (2011). This is also partly because Africa got into the race of this kind of documentation late. Oral tradition was the key, the ownership of the knowledge was the society in which the story is told and relevant. It’s being externalized was therefore not the key. The twenty-first century has however changed that. Anansi is an Akan folktale character which often takes the shape of a spider and is considered to be the spirit of all knowledge of stories. He is also one of the most important characters of West African and Caribbean folklore. Interview with AyoOluwa Elisha Nihinlola, a young Nigerian animator, artists and illustrator who works from Pretoria South Africa. April 9, 2018. http://english.hani.co.kr/arti/english_edition/e_international/471476.html. http://themediaonline.co.za/2018/04/south-africas-booming-animation-ind ustry/. See Alade, Fo.lárànmí, and Odejobi ibid. Curilem et al. (2011). Alade, Fo.lárànmí, and Odejobi ibid. The friend is AyoOluwa Elisha Nihinlola. Aside AyoOluwa, Abayomi have also been influenced by Oseni Oluwaseun and Dudutoons studioz. Personal communication with Idowu Abayomi Zacchaeus April 9, 2018.

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36.

The Sekere is a percussion instrument that also considered a drum. It is a hallowed out, dried gourd wearing a network of beads which allow percussionist to utilize dual sounds while playing. Ibid. AyoOluwa Elisha Nihinlola, personal communication April 9, 2018. Ibid. The first novel to be written in the Yoruba language by D.O. Fagunwa, the book was published by The Church Missionary Society Press in 1938. This was a classic fictional novel also translated and republished as the Forest of a Thousand Demons by Wole Soyinka. Personal interview with Nihinlola on April 9, 2018. This was AyoOluwa’s final project for his BA in Fine and Applied Arts, Obafemi Awolowo University. One of the key driving force of his later inroad into the animation of Yoruba oral tradition. The two dimensional animation processes are Story idea, Storyboards, Voice recording, Sound tracking, Character design, Animatics, Design and timing, Layout, Animation, Adding of special effects, Adding of Final touches and rendering of computer data. See (Layiwola 2010) and https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/04/ethiopiahopes-london-museum-returns-looted-treasures-180404113036817.html.

37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42.

43.

44.

References Abiodun, Rowland. 1987. Verbal and Visual Metaphors: Mythical Allusions in Yoruba Ritualistic Art of Orí. Word & Image 3 (3): 252–270. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1080/02666286. 1987.10435384. Abiodun, Rowland. 2014. Yoruba Art and Language: Seeking the African in African Art. New York: Cambridge University Press. Abrams, M.H., and Geoffrey Galt Harpham. 2005. A Glossary of Literary Terms. Boston, MA: Thomson, Wadsworth. Achebe, Chinua. 1994. Things Fall Apart. New York: Anchor Books. Aládé, S.M., S.A. Fo.lárànmí, and O.A. O.d´e.jóbí. 2015. A Model for Animation of Yorùbá Folktale Narratives. African Journal of Computing & ICT 8 (3): 113–120. Amali, H.I. 2014. The Function of Folktales as a Process of Educating Children in the 21st Century: A Case Study of Idoma Folktales. In 21st Century Academic Forum Conference Proceedings IC21CE 21, 88–97. Dubai: UAE. Retrieved from http://www.21caf.org/uploads/1/3/5/2/135 27682/amali.pdf. Arowolo, D. 2010. The Effects of Western Civilisation and Culture on Africa.Afro Asian Journal of Social Sciences 1 (1) Quarter IV: 91–103. Barber, Karin. 1991. I Could Speak Till Tomorrow: Oriki, Women and the Past in a Yoruba Town. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Biobaku, S.O. 1956. The Problem of Traditional History with Special Reference to Yoruba Traditions. Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 1 (1): 43–47. Retrieved from http://www.jstor. org/stable/41856612.

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Curilem, M., G. Acuña, F. Cubillos, and E. Vyhmeister. 2011. Neural Networks and Support Vector Machine Models Applied to Energy Consumption Optimization in Semiautogeneous Grinding. Chemical Engineering Transactions 25: 761–766. Edosomwan, Simeon O., and Claudette M. Peterson. 2016. A History of Oral and Written Storytelling in Nigeria. In Commission for International Adult Education (CIAE) Conference of the American Association for Adult and Continuing Education (AAACE) At: Albuquerque, New Mexico. Finnegan, Ruth. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. London and New York: Oxford University Press. Folárànmí, Stephen. 2002. The Importance of Oríkì in Yoruba Mural Art. Ijele, Art E-Journal of the African World 4 (2). Retrieved online from http://www.africaknowledgeproject.org/index.php/ ijele/rt/metadata/905/0. Folárànmí, Stephen. 2012. Mural Art in Oyo Palace. Saarbrucken, Germany: LAP LAMBERT Academic Publishing. Green, Doris. 1985. African Oral Tradition Literacy. Journal of Black Studies 15 (4): 405–25. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/2784209. Johnson, Samuel, and O. Johnson. 1976. The History of the Yorubas from the Earliest Times to the Beginning of the British Protectorate. Lagos: C.S.S. Bookshops. Layiwola, Peju. 2010. Resurrecting the Disappeared: A Recontextualisation of 1897. Benin1897.com: Art and the Restitution Question, 1–13. Ibadan, Nigeria: Why Art Editions. Lindfors, B., and Oyekan Owomoyela. 1973. Proverbs: Translations and Annotations. Papers International Studies African Series, No. 17, 154. Ohio University Press. Mhlophe, Gcina. 1996. Storytelling: A Part of Our Heritage. In The Muse of Modernity Essays on Culture as Development, ed. Philip G. Altbach and Salah M. Hassan, 109–115. New Jersey, USA: Africa World Press Inc. Nastasi, Alison. 2011. United Nations Names the World’s Dying Cultural Heritages. UNESCO. Retrieved from http://www.unesco.org/bpi/intangible_heritage/backgrounde.htm. Olatunji, O. 1984. Features of Yoruba Oral Poetry. Ibadan: University Press. Sekoni, Ropo. 1994. Folk Poetics: A Sociosemiotic Study of Yoruba Trickster Tales. Westport, CT; Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood Press; Praeger. Retrieved from http://ebooks.abc-clio.com/?isbn= 9780313037658. Toni, Duruaku. 2015. Animated Graphic Film for the Rejuvenation of a Fading Culture: The Case of an African Oral Heritage. African Journal of History and Culture 7 (6): 123–132.

Chapter 44

De-Territorializing Lyrical Performances via Digital Culture Abubakar Aliyu Liman

Introduction Lyrical poetry has existed in most cultures of the world. The spread of oral performance, in particular, the culture of singing across regions, locations and communities, is almost a universal given. Lyricism is a poetic subgenre that is rooted in text, which is sung or chanted through the deployment of rhythmic patterns that are signified by melody and harmony. Lyrical poetry (song) like any other oral art form is enacted through the agency of performance. Performance is “an intrinsic constituent of [all] oral expression”.1 That is to say, a wide range of activities are involved in lyrical performances, including drumming, dancing, costumes and the application of special effects in video recorded performances. These items have, in the process of rendering and delivering lyrics, transcended mere oral textual features. To corroborate this further, Nkem Okoh has found in oral performance of all kinds “extra-literary devices” that are mediating or giving life to literary features of the text.2 Oral performance is always spectacularly characterized by “facial expressions, costuming, bodily gestures, histrionics, vocal pyrotechnics, idiophones, purposeful, calculated shifts in narrative tempo, the use of mime, song and dance”.3 Although both oral poetry and oral narratives are a mosaic of some sort because they combined such components as proverbs, riddles, wise-sayings and drama, which are textured within them, the extra-literary devices referred to by Okoh are particularly realized through performance.4 Africa, like any other region of the world, is well-endowed with different types of songs. In the anthology collected by Mapanje and White, African oral poetry (chanted, sung or performed through musical accompaniment) is classified into praise, pleasure, survival, relationships, gods and ancestors, protest and satire.5 But in general terms, every form of human activity, ceremonies, festivals, wrestling, boxing, building, farming (sowing, harrowing, harvesting), fishing, pounding, hunting, initiation are always accompanied with A. A. Liman (B) Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_44

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songs.6 There are hardly poems/songs that are “performed as words alone, without some form of [musical] accompaniment”.7 But the form and content of lyrical performances in Africa are rapidly changing or adapting to cultural realities of postcolonial Africa, as we shall subsequently see in contemporary modes of digitized performances across the continent.

Conceptual/Methodological Framing African oral cultures are generally believed to be tradition-bound especially in studies conducted by colonial anthropologists.8 Albert Lord has earlier made the assertion in his The Singer of Tales where he defines oral poetry as a traditional art form, as something that is “synonymous with traditional and folk poetry” in the words of Finnegan.9 Similarly, Finnegan has highlighted Lord’s position where she referred to his “authoritative encyclopedia article” in which oral poetry is seen as “poetry composed in oral performance by people who cannot read or write”.10 However, in The Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa, Finnegan has eloquently critique such a perception. In her argument, she revalidates the fact that oral poetry is an art form that has gone beyond temporal and spatial limitations. This truism is observable in different climes and cultures. Oral poetry is an art that manifests itself in the past as well as in the present. Therefore, it will not likely be displaced in the future because of its being an indispensable component of human culture. Mapanje and White have also argued that oral poetry, in general, does not only capture a moment in the past, but it is here in the present, and will always be around for posterity. It is an art form that submits itself to the wider processes of “changelessness and continuity” in most cultures and societies, rural and urban. Oral poetry is also “rooted in rural communities but flourishing too in the towns. It is adapting to modern circumstances just as it adapted and reflected change in the past”.11 The essence of this evaluation is to extrapolate how contemporary African lyrical performances that are basically rooted in the linguistic traditions of the African people adapt to new realities. In the postmodern phase of postcolonial African cultures, the possibility of holding on to some pure, authentic and uncontaminated oral traditions is no longer tenable. Global media flows are everywhere disemboweling local cultures by reordering them through the processes of hybridity, conflation, commoditization, commercialization and digitization for the purpose of the consumption habits promoted by worldwide capitalist market for cultural products, whether modern or traditional.12 In postcolonial Africa, the certainties of authenticity and originality used to be enjoyed by our pristine oral cultures, especially in pre-colonial times, are fast disappearing with the way digital media and newer communication technologies are opening up and integrating African oral traditions to the pathways of cultural globalization. One of the cultural features of postcolonial African societies is in tensions between residual forces of those traditions that give Africa its distinctive cultural identity on the one hand, and the fragmentation, rupture and displacement engendered by western cultural modernity, on the other hand.

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Some postcolonial scholars like Bhabha see the emergence of a new cultural reality, nay logic, which is neither purely traditional nor completely modern from the way it promotes and privileges mongrel forms. As postcolonial African cultures become more and more hybridized, their once jealously guarded age-old identities and pristine boundaries started collapsing through mimicry and interpolation of global forms in local cultures to create their own modernity. The more appropriate concept that captures this complex turning out of things is de-territoriality. De-territoriality is a postmodern concept, a term borrowed from Felix Guattari and Deleuze Gilles in their notion of de-territorialization, which implies a process of discovery, of progress and development, and of extending the limits of boundaries. In essence, the concept of de-territoriality seeks to open up possibilities through its encounters, relationships and the unleashing of chain-reactions.13 They applied the concept in their psychoanalytic reading of the impact of capitalist social relations on individuals and groups all over the globe. It is in several senses, a geographic term that is spatially linear. In postmodern discourse, it is used to express the manner in which cultural boundaries give way or crumble under the weight of global media flows, or the medium through which local cultures become rejuvenated as they get injected with new lease of life through conflation with other forms. African oral cultures are, for instance, increasingly subjected to the phenomenon of borrowing and adaptation of forms and styles external to them. This is aided by widespread applications of electronic media devices to local modes of cultural expression. Cultural artifacts that used to give oral cultures their aura of originality are now expressed differently not only in their locations but as they travel across different borders from their places of origin. In another example, young educated African performers are appropriating popular African-American musical performances as they conduct all sorts of experiments with multiple forms and contents, to produce hybrid forms or what Homi Bhabha referred to as mimicry.14 Methodically, at the core of this paper is the attempt to survey diverse popular lyrical performances that are impacted by electronic media devices and modern means of instrumentation in postcolonial Africa. The other aspect of the paper has to do with evaluation of the wealth of African lyrical performances represented in digital landscapes for the consumption of global audiences. The Internet and its virtual spaces have been accommodating African musical identities, performances and culture-specific modes of expression. YouTube and other multimedia platforms have been projecting lyrical performances produced in different regions and countries of Africa for the free consumption of audiences across the globe.15 There is no doubt, despite the threats of cultural globalization mediated by western institutions of culture through powerful cable television networks and other global media outlets, African cultures are still proving to be robust and vibrant. African lyrical forms are making their impact through digital media outlets. These performances are obviously here to stay, to grow and prosper even if they have to be forced to adapt to changing realities. Representative lyrical performances have been selected across the regions of Africa. Finally, those performances and the manner in which they interface with digital media are to be textured in the analysis of those randomly selected performances across the continent.

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De-Territorialized Lyrical Performances More than any other region of Africa, West Africa, the home of Negritude philosophy and cultural nationalism, has shown a lot of resilience in terms of the sustainability of oral performances. Nigeria, Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso, Cote d’Ivoire, Togo, Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Benin Republic, Ghana, Senegal and Mauritania have each been endowed with rich cultural forms and styles in oral performances. Sahel countries enjoy a robust musical culture that is dominated by different types of Kora instruments, which is associated with the performances of Toumani Diabate, Boubacar Traore, Salif Keita, Mamady Keita, Oumou Sangare, Fatoumata Diawara, Youssou N’Dour, Habib Koite, Idrissa Soumaoro, Ballake Sissoko and with Ali Farka Toure leading the pack.16 While modern and traditional instruments have typically flavored Toure’s songs, his lyricism is deeply immersed in West African lore. His training in handling the Njarka, a small one-gut stringed fiddle made from gourds, has conveniently graduated him into guitar. He has been playing the Njarka right from his childhood days. In any case, it was his mastery of the Njarka that has transformed him into one of the leading guitarists in the world to have ever come out of the African shores.17 The key instruments that have characterized his musical style are Njarka, Cabasa and guitar. But he has been internationally associated with the growth and popularity of the African-American blues, which in some quarters was believed to have Malian ancestry through the type of unique vocalization seen in Toure’s songs. Several of his compositions have served as the soundtracks of popular western films. That can also be found in the background music of some French films. Ali Farka Toure has also been the leading figure in most documentaries on the sights and sounds of Sahel Africa. In one of Toure’s popular titles “The River”, the lyrics are by some parameters of musical evaluation embedded in the repertoire of the epic and griots cultures in the Sahel. “The Secret” is a piece that has singularly captured the soul of the Sahel region—its peoples, its history, its climatic features, its flora and fauna, its mien and its serenity before the age of uncertainty and destruction wrought by Islamic State (ISIS) puritans on the rich Sahel cultures. The fusion of local Kora, 21 strings harps like the lute, and the modern guitar in some of Toure’s performances, is one of the striking experiments in contemporary African musical expression. This experiment is best exemplified in “In the Heart of the Moon”, a duo he composed and performed with Toumani Diabate. The melody is a synthesis of traditional Kora played by Diabate and the guitar by Toure himself. The outcome of the combination is quite appealing, even though in this particular composition, the lyric was progressively subdued. Ali Farka Toure has become a global phenomenon through his unique musical performance. He has traveled to several European countries, the United States and Asia to stage his performance. He has collaborated with so many big names like Ry Cooder, great American guitarist, vocalist and composer. There is also another towering figure from Mali, Salif Keita. His music is classified as Afro-pop because of its cross-cultural overtone as it combines influences from Europe and America in lyrics and musical accompaniment. Keita’s “Yambo

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Yambo” is one of his most popular performances in Africa and Europe. The song has refreshingly demonstrated the vitality of a hybrid composition, which has effortlessly combined African traditional percussions such as Balafon, Djembe, drums and Kora with modern guitar, saxophone, organs and synthesizers. Keita himself is the lead vocalist in the performance. The very energetic lyrics have effectively harmonized with the chorus and the beats and the dances to produce affectionate tunes that vigorously appeal to both African and western audiences. His music is also a delight to cross-cultural audiences who grace his stage performances. Massive attendance to his concerts is a testimony to his popularity. Keita is one of the regular participants at the annual Wurzburg International Music Festival, where African music is celebrated. The festival attracts some of the most outstanding names in music from the African continent and Caribbean Islands. The other towering figure from Malian cultural landscape is Oumou Sangare, a singer and composer from Wassoulou region, south of River Niger. She inherited her music from her mother, Aminata Diakite, who was a traditional singer using the accompaniment of calabash beats. The calabash performance is common among many cultures of the Sahel, including the Hausa culture of northern Nigeria. Sangare has popularized Wassoulou musical genre through her performances. There is hardly any part of the world she has not traversed to stage her performances. “Ah ndiya” is a household song in different parts of Africa. In the course of her musical career, she has won many awards. The most prestigious of which is the Grammy award in 2011. In a typical case of cultural de-territorialization, two different musicians from different cultural backgrounds have blended themselves in a single song performed with Alicia Keys. The conflation of Wassoulou song tradition represented by Oumou Sangare and African-American popular rhythm and blues by singer Alicia Keys in a duet titled “Fallin” has clearly broken the all sorts of gulf and barriers between Africa and America and, above all, the blurring of boundaries of culture, language and identity between members of the black race divided by history and geography. In the encounter, a combination of popular African music plus African-American rhythm and blues has demonstrated the universality of music, which has by all parameters transcended linguistic and ethnic barriers in its beauty and elegance. It has in no small way appealed to transcultural and transnational audiences. Despite the limitations of language, the mixture has recorded much success from the reception it has received in a concert performed in Paris. In another context, Sangare had a similar duet with a banjo player Bela Fleck in a soul touching biographical note, which is dedicated to the suffering, loneliness, trials and tribulations of children without fathers, and also children abandoned by their fathers, left for their mothers to bring them up with all the difficulties it entails. The song is entitled “Djorolen”, and it has so far attracted more than 2.4 million views on YouTube. The Kora tradition is very prominent among the cultures of the Sahel. It has been a great source of influence to generations of musicians like Rokia Traore, Habib Koite Sirata, Fatoumata Diawara, Amadou and Mariam Dimanche, Fanta Dogomani, performers that are existing in communities, cultures and identities inhabiting the banks of River Niger. In far-flung Gambia, away from Mali, the home of Kora, Sona Jobarteh is another Kora virtuoso, though born in the Gambia, she studied music in

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London. She inherited music from her father, who also grew up under the tutelage of griots family in the Gambia. However, Jobarteh can be categorized as part of the new generation of Gambian composers and singers who mixed traditional and modern instruments in her performances, which is quite a reflection of her split cultural outlook running between London and Bangul. In the course of her musical career, she has traveled to different parts of the world. She is a Kora-based rising star with global outreach because of the way she fused the training she received in London with her Gambian musical traditions. Her music is an amalgam of Gambian folksong genre accompanied by mainly the Kora, djembe drums, calabash and shekere, woven with different guitars to produce a purely Gambian tang. Similarly, Senegalese Baaba Maal is another popular singer with local and international audiences. He has a strong attachment to his Pulaar people and culture. Like Sona Jobarteh of Gambia, Maal has acquired some training in music from his teachers before he left secondary school. Abroad, he mastered various instruments, musical composition and notation from European universities. After his training, he returned home to apply the wealth of his training to enrich the traditional musical culture of his Pulaar people. Maal’s songs are composed and performed in Pulaar language. He specifically targets his people with the message of his songs. The scope of his songs projects the struggles and experiences of the Pulaar community, which has historically evolved from the ancient Futa Toro kingdom along the banks of River Senegal. In his composition, he deployed traditional Kora, calabash, xylophone and guitar to produce all sorts of fusion that range from reggae to salsa and rock. Other countries in the region such as Burkina Faso, Cote d’Ivoire, Niger and Benin Republic have also produced outstanding lyrical performers that have gained international reputation. In Burkina Faso there are voices of Adama Drame, Victor Deme and Amadou Balake. To a certain degree, the Sahel West Africa is fairly homogeneous as a distinct category of musical culture, which is classifiable on the basis of broad features of musical styles across communities, cultures and identities. The wide use of Kora is, for instance, the marker of musical identity in the spaces in which musicians frequently deployed it in their performances. Nigeria is, however, a different ball game in music culture even with the Sahel climatic conditions in the upper parts of northern Nigeria. Despite its colonial experience, Nigeria is one country that is deeply immersed in its diverse oral cultures and traditions. Nigerian music is a jumble of conflicting influences and cultural loyalties. In musical performance, Nigeria is one complex cultural landscape that perfectly fits Harold Bloom’s thesis concerning anxiety of influence.18 In Nigeria, the typology of lyrical genres has its own trajectories of growth and diffusion in diverse communities. Therefore, sources of influence of Nigerian music are as diverse as one can go. There are several culture zones, and each with its own history, distinct flavor, audience, potentials and challenges. In northern Nigeria where colonial modernity is still minimally accepted, for instance, the survival of oral traditions has been reinforced by the system of Indirect Rule instituted by British colonial administration. This is a system in which the traditional feudal political structures were retained for the convenience of colonial administrators after the conquest of the region in 1903.19 The dominant

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Hausa-Islamic culture was at the point of contact more or less insulated from colonial culture and western modernity. As a matter of fact, the colonial administration in the region has encouraged the growth of local cultures and traditions. The colonial period is generally seen as the golden age of court panegyrics. The promotion of oral performance as the collective heritage of the people can be interpreted as an ideological strategy of conferring legitimacy to the system of Indirect Rule in which cultural expression is used to reinforce the seeming political autonomy of the system of Native Authority. The system has deliberately promoted the court panegyric, royal orchestra and other high culture forms that reaffirm the power and glory of the ruling elite. In a similar respect, folk performances are also encouraged through festivals in the different cultures and ethnicities of the region. This is, however, the context in which praise singers thrive as the dominant mode of lyrical performance. The situation remained so up until the closing years of the twentieth century during the time in which various communities in northern Nigeria had witnessed a sort of cultural paradigm shift with the proliferation of small media technologies between the 1980s and 1990s, and digital culture in the first decade of the twenty-first century.20 The availability and affordability of electronic media devices have triggered creative and innovative spirit among young people that have due to unemployment begun to troop into a new culture industry in which the production of popular literature, video film and musical composition were wholly mediated by electronic devices like camcorders, computers, keyboards and synthesizers in the precincts of production studios. The performers have churned up thousands of songs through this new style of rendition that has as its only source of musical accompaniment synthesizers producing rhythm and melodies in the music studios that began to proliferate northern Nigerian towns and cities. On this basis, the performers are classified as makadan zamani (modern Hausa lyricists) or even mawakan soyayya (love singers), because of the predominance of love lyrics, especially in Hausa video film soundtracks. There is a remarkable departure from the age-old traditions of cultural production, and the use of local instruments like drums, talking drums, flutes, gong, trumpet, calabash, extemporary lyrics and open-air performances. The appropriation of media technology has immensely reinvigorated the entire processes of cultural production. In particular, it has reinvigorated the production of lyrical performances, which is now done in the precincts of a production studio equipped with state of the art electronic gadgets. A song is now written before being subjected to measured lyricism and musical flavoring using the synthesizers, after which a video performance of the song is released. The electronically mediated products are then released to the public via recording devices like DVDs and CDs after an arduous process of sound editing and distillation for desired effects. This new style of performance has produced its own class of outstanding performers as Aminu Ladan Abubakar, Adamu S. Zango, Yakubu Mohammed, Ali Jita, Fati Nijer, Abdu Boda, Maryam Sale Fantimoti, Mahmud Nagudu, Ma’aruf Shatan Manzo, Murja Baba, Nazifi Asnanic, Rabi Mustapha Isa, Misbahu Muhammad Ahmad, Shehu Sani Danmarayan Wudil, Sadik Zazzabi, Bello Ibrahim Billy’O, Hussaini Danko and Nura M. Inuwa.21

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These musicians have in their various compositions and performance styles produced such lyrical sub-genres as love song, marriage song, praise song, religious song and film soundtrack. However, some of the distinguishing characteristics of their songs are found in their creative experimentation in selecting the form and content of their performance. Here, every style from any cultural source, local or foreign, is subject to being copied or parodied. The first major source of influence is Indian films that have for decades been very popular in the Hausa world. In fact, at regular intervals of most popular Hausa video films songs and dances are performed, an act which is a direct copy of popular Bollywood films. The only difference between the Indian and Hausa movies is in the use of Hausa language as the medium of delivery. Even costumes are sometimes directly lifted from Indian traditional dressing. There are also an ensemble of songs and dances curated from Sudanese Arab music, Afrobeat, American hip-hop, Afro-pop, rhythm and blues, Makossa and Salsa. They also dip their hands into the rich repertoire of Hausa folksongs to bring out old forms that they then blend with whatever they are coming up with in some of their compositions. Self-reflexivity is another feature of modern Hausa songs where the composers constantly praise themselves and their talents. Adam S. Zango is one noticeable composer and performer among so many who like to experiment with some of the sources of influence. In a song entitled “Garin Kaduna”, dedicated to the city of Kaduna, which used to be the capital of northern Nigerian regional government, Zango mixes Afro-beats, hip-hop and the epithets associated with Hausa praise singing. In another lyrical track “Sarkin Zazzau”, composed in honor of the Emir of Zazzau who happens to be one of the important emirs in northern Nigeria, there is a wholesale transplant of the court praise song with all the metaphors of power, royalty, elegance and majesty drawn from animals like elephant, hyena, scorpion, hawk, ostrich, peacock and ascribed to the emir. The video performance of the song is a collage of decorated equestrian procession, royal regalia, colorful Emir’s palace, royal court and courtiers. The video of the Emir himself is juxtaposed with the performers in a pastiche of young men decked in royal regalia dancing the royal dance.22 Zango has also traveled widely within Nigeria and West African sub-region performing his songs in concerts, in countries like Niger Republic, Cameroon and Dubai. The audiences of this class of modern popular Hausa musicians have extended beyond the local environment in which they started their career. Increasingly, they can be seen in a duet with other popular performers from other regions of Nigeria. Southwest Nigeria is another culture zone that is unique in its own right considering its known lyrical traditions of oriki (praise song), ijala (hunters’ chants) and odu (Ifa worship songs). Although Yoruba oral culture is full of vitality, another added impetus is in its openness and receptiveness to progress and modernity during colonial and postcolonial epochs. In comparison with other groups in Nigeria, Yoruba culture is more accommodative to external influences. The culture is slightly different in outlook when compared to, for instance, the Hausa culture. To begin with, Yoruba language belongs to the Kwa-group of languages while Hausa belongs to the Chadic group of languages. Although Hausa culture used to be rich in oral performances, it

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is, however, witnessing decline due to the emergence of puritanical Islamic movements. In the case of Yoruba society, even though music is not accepted as a profession and musicians were in the past referred to as alagbe, nonetheless music culture has steadily grown, especially with the coming together of Yoruba sub-groups as a unified cultural entity in the colonial period. The Yoruba language is rhythmic, melodic and tonal. The language tends to exhibit elements of repetitiveness in its usage and expressiveness. This, therefore, makes it amenable to poetic rendition and lyrical expression with a lot of ease.23 Perhaps, this is the fundamental reason behind the embedment of the art of lyrical poetry in Yoruba language and culture among the Yoruba communities of Nigeria, Togo and Benin Republic. Yoruba musical culture is characterized by the deployment of different types of drums, which has been the source of influence to the musical traditions found in Cuba, Afro-Latin in Brazil and in the Caribbean Islands. Yoruba culture has produced some of the most distinguished musicians performing different types of musical songs. There is the Juju music, one of the most popular genres, which is associated with Tunde King, Tunde Nightingale, Ayinde Bakare, Moses Olaiya, S.F. Olowokere, I.K. Dairo, Kayode Fashola, Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Shina Peters and Segun Adewale. There is another type of music known as sakara that is identified with Ojo Olawale, Abibu Oluwa, Yusuf Olatunji, Sanusi Aka and Saka Layigbade. There is Apala of Haruna Ishola, Sefiu Ayan, Ligali Mukaiba and Yekini Ajadi. Fuji is among the popular music invented by Yoruba people. This form has produced such figures as Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, Dauda Epo-Akara, Ganiyu Irefin, Kollington Ayinla, Salawa Abeni, King Wasiu Ayinde Marshall and Wasiu Alabi Pasuma. There is also the Waka music led by all-female performers such as Batuli Alake, Salawa Abeni, Kuburat Alaragbo, Asanat Omo-Aje, Mujidat Ogunfalu. There is also the highlife tradition which lots of Yoruba musicians have helped to nurture and popularize in Nigeria. Highlife tradition is a West African phenomenon because it cuts across boundaries due to its rootedness in colonial modernity, urbanity and Christianity. Bode Omojola has contextualized it: As a genre, its emergence in the 1950s in Nigeria epitomized an historical process which started in the last half of the nineteenth century. Highlife symbolizes the musical acculturation which has taken place in Nigeria, not only within formal institutions and contexts like the church and the night club, but also in the informal, everyday musical life of the people. For example, European influenced African melodies commonly used in the everyday life of Nigerians, are part of the modern musical phenomenon which Highlife defines. Highlife defines in basic terms the nature of the musical syncretism which permeates the entire spectrum of modern Nigerian music: the incorporation of African rhythmic vitality with European derived harmony.24

Highlife musical tradition is a turning point, a moment of transition between traditionbound lyrical performances and contemporary music dominated by modern system of instrumentation. Highlife has tremendously influenced Juju and Fuji musicians that have emerged in all parts of southern Nigeria. Performers like Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Shina Peters, Kollington Ayinla and Sikiru Ayinde Barrister have in their various genres successfully integrated guitar and other modern instruments

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associated with Highlife music in their compositions. This has considerably modernized Yoruba music and has also brought it to the limelight of contemporary Nigerian music. In fact, most contemporary lyrical performances are a synthesis of the old and new that results in the production of hybrid forms and performances that are in tune with the cultural realities of the day. For instance, the Afro-beat popularized by Fela Anikulafo Kuti’s, despite its heavy soul and Jazz influences, cannot be totally divorced from Yoruba culture in lyricism if not in instrumentation. It can be summed up as the culmination of diverse musical traditions of the Yoruba people. Joey Akan, the Music Editor of Pulse, an online news outfit, has corroborated the role of tradition, influence and individual talent (to use the wordings of T. S. Elliott) in contemporary popular Nigerian music. He aptly states in his submission: We love to think that everything that happens in the music industry is new. That it came from a place of genius-level creativity. We are not wrong. The music we are currently consuming, and the musicians that make them are new creations, designed through years of hardwork and planning to get to this level of success. But the influences that they consumed as raw material to make the art are not new. And although the artists would hate to admit this to you, they are in one way or another knock-offs or refined versions of older artists.25

On this note, he proceeds to list some of the most popular names in the world of Nigerian popular music that have drawn their inspiration from others that came before them. For example, D’banj is influenced by Sir Shina Peters in the manner of Tekno Miles by Bright Chimezie, Adekunle Gold by Ebenezer Obey, Terry Apala by Wasiu Alabi Pasuma Wonder, Yemi Alade by Stella Monye, Flavour N’abania by Stephen Osita Osadebe, Seun Kuti by Fela Ransome Kuti, Wizkid by Adewale Ayuba, Kcee by Mike Okri and Brymo by Majek Fashek. The older musicians that have inspired the younger ones through their music have been categorized as transition musicians that have drunk from the pool of the old traditions of juju, fuji, apala and Highlife. They have blended traditional with modern instruments in musical accompaniment of their Yoruba language songs, even though they sometimes engage in code-switching where they laced their songs with English expressions. However, the younger popular musicians that have been equated with older ones are some of the key musicians vibrating across Nigeria and beyond. In Nigeria, the twenty-first century has come along with its own cultural logic, which is heavily encrusted by postmodern values. In other words, all cultural forms are characterized by the technique of collage, pastiche and parody.26 That is to say, all cultural performances are nourished by postmodernism, which in itself is a cultural concept that seeks to dissolve binaries and boundaries existing between high and mass culture, traditional and modern forms (any text on postmodernism). The style of performance staged by new Nigerian lyrical performers is a fusion of diverse genres and traditions culled from sources within and outside Nigeria. The spirit of conflation and hybridization is what distinguishes the new artists. They are a new generation of young, bold and provocative performers who are swimming with the currents of global cultural flows. That is why it is difficult to generically categorize or pigeonhole their music even where they exhibit some degree of regional commonalities. The new musicians include such popular names as Wizkid, D’banj and Davido, Tiwa Savage, Olamide, Alade, 2face Idibia, Flavour, Tekno, Chidinma,

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Patoranking, Don Jazzy and Banky W., Kiss Daniel, Phyno, Korede Bello, Timaya, Burna Boy, Runtown, P-Square, Seyi Shay, Asa, Ice Prince, Iyanya, Waje, Mr Eazi, Reekado Banks, Lagbaja and Falz. Collectively, they have drunk from the repertoire of rich musical traditions that spanned decades between the 1950s to date. They mesh all influences and experiences that they garnered through their steady growth and maturation in the Nigerian music industry. Some of the leading voices in recent years are those of Davido and his peers. In 2017, Davido produced one of the most popular singles titled “If”. This number has left its imprint in Nigeria and internationally. On YouTube alone, millions of viewers were recorded. The lyric is couched in Nigerian urban Pidgin English sprinkled with Yoruba language clichés. The refrain consists of an admixture of such words as “money”, “love”, “Versace”, “Gucci”, “miniskirt”, “body” and “juju”. These are seemingly irreconcilable images of African mythology appropriated by the icons of capitalist consumer culture. The singers merely signify a postcolonial subject that is projecting a split consciousness induced by conflicting historical experiences, encountered in the coming together of the forces of tradition and modernity in Africa. The video version of the song has been performed in one of the coziest streets of an unidentified western metropolis, possibly a street in London, with departmental stores in the background; and with young African girls dancing lasciviously in full glare of assortment of covetous men who become attracted to the dancers. They eventually joined the provocative dance.27 Davido is rated one of the most sought-after Nigerian artists in Africa, Europe and America in 2017. The other performer that is also leading the pack is singer/songwriter Wizkid. He started big from the onset of his career in music. He is one artist that has attempted to popularize the emergent Afro-pop internationally through his concerts and album deals with big recording companies like RCA and Sony Music International. Sony Music, one of the biggest global recording corporations based in the United States with branches in other continents, has produced his debut album titled “Sounds from the other side”. He has more international recognition than any other Nigerian Musician of his generation. He collaborated with many big names in the world of popular music. His collaborations consist of such big names as Chris Brown, Ty Dolla $ign, Breezy, Trey Songz, French Montana, Justine Skye, Ft. Drake, Tinie Tempah and Mamacita. Wizkid’s collaborative performances are an eclectic ensemble of path-breaking lyrical trends in the world of popular music, which have been ferreted from Afro-beat, Afro-pop, hip-hop, reggae, and rhythm and blues. Wizkid has also won many international music awards, including Sound City award for the “Digital Artiste of the Year”. Wizkid is the first Nigerian musical performer to gross over one million followers on Twitter as well as to have attracted over 50 million views on YouTube. Another performer that holds so much promise is Tekno. His songs “Pana”, “If”, “Yawa”, “Go” and “Mama” are very popular with youths in Nigeria, Africa and the West. His lyrical style combines Pidgin English with local phrases from multiple Nigerian languages. You will come across Hausa terms as sai gobe, yawa with some Pidgin expressions in yawa go de; others are “chop baleful” and “I no go do”. Characteristic of Pidgin English usage, his lyrical sequences have subverted

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expressions in normal conversation. His lyrics have also reinforced the fragmented clichés commonly found in the linguistic expressions of youth subculture in Nigeria. This unique style has led him to collaborate with Slim Daddy, a development that gave Tekno more popularity at home and abroad, and album deal with Colombia records. Tiwa Savage is yet another popular female singer known as the “Queen of Nigerian music” with refrain as “scatter this place”, “make him spend money o”, “settle this tonight” and “original bobo”, purely pidgin clichés oozing out of her songs. Her debut song “All Over” is one of the most celebrated songs played in Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa. In her performance, the influence of pop and rhythm and blues is prominent. Runtown is a rising Nigerian Afro-pop singer; there is cross-border impact of both Nigerian and Ghanaian cultures in his lyrics, style, costume and performance in “Pain Killer” and “For Life”. In the case of Olamide, one of the ten most popular contemporary Nigerian singers, in his album “Lagos Nawa”, images of poverty in some nondescript streets of downtown Lagos is highlighted in the main song “Wo!!”. Typical of the life of suffering folks, the lyric switches Yoruba language and Pidgin English. Ironically, in the video, everybody is happy as the street dancing indicates, despite choking penury. South Africa is a different model in terms of Africa’s shared experience. Decades of apartheid and its brutal conditions, racism, social segregation, oppression, exploitation, inhumanity and violence have created a situation in which the culture of resistance among the blacks and coloreds has generated its own cultural forms in all spheres of the arts. However, poetry and lyricism are important vehicles for expressing the cultural life of the oppressed. This is the context in which South Africa has produced some of Africa’s best composers, singers and performers. But that is not to say in tackling the monster of apartheid artists have totally abandoned traditional influences of all the ethnic identities that have made up diversity in forms and values, which the system of apartheid did everything possible to uproot without much success. And the songs of the distinguished South Africa Artists are still symbolizing the flavor of those old Sotho, Zulu, Pedi and Shangaan traditions of indigenous South Africans. Anyway, there are household names like Lucky Dube, Miriam Makeba, Soweto Gospel Choir, Ladysmith, Black Mambazo, Brenda Fassie, Hugh Masekela, Vusi Mahlasela, Simon, Mahlathini and Freshlyground as the canons that have shaped the future post-apartheid musical performances in South Africa.28 These performers have been inspired by the anti-apartheid political struggles waged by leaders of South African liberation movement like Nelson Mandela, Steve Biko, Oliver Tambo, Mbeki, Ramaposa and many other outstanding figures. Makeba, for instance, is: [Best] known as Mama Africa, is the first South African singer to have gained tremendous world recognition in the 1960s. Other than being a great musician, she was also a formidable fighter against apartheid. And until her death, she sang for justice, humanity and equality. She saw her country being reborn, and apparently as we speak, all the songs she sang in her classic albums like Sangoma and Pata Pata still constitute what we term as the greatest hits of all time.29

But even with such distinction, South Africa has produced lyricists that have made their impact on the global cultural landscape. Brenda Fassie is one of the leading

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voices of Afro-pop. During her career, she produced songs jointly with AfricanAmerican superstars like Lionel Richie and Whitney Houston. Vusi Mahlasela is another maestro, a grand figure of South African music. His songs straddle apartheid and post-apartheid periods, which comprise such motifs as freedom, forgiveness and reconciliation. However, there is striking shift of emphasis in the post-apartheid period with performers reflecting the spirit of reconciliation in the composition of their bands and lyrics and stage performance. The group that embodied this spirit is Freshlyground. According to Andile Smith: Freshlyground is an Afro-fusion band that was formed in 2002 in Cape Town. Interesting enough, this band has members from South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Mozambique, all who bring versatility to the music the group produces. That’s to say the group blends different elements like Africa folk, blues, Jazz, indie rock and Kwela in their music. The group gained international recognition when they released their first very successful album, Nomvula that managed to hit double platinum. In 2010, they collaborated with Shakira to record the official song for the 2010 world cup that was held in South Africa, “Waka Waka”.30

It appears, Freshlyground is the avant-garde of performers that have set the reconciliation trends for the rainbow coalition of multiple identities—black, whites, coloreds and mixed-race composers, singers and performers littering the cultural spaces of post-apartheid South Africa where soul, rock reggae and variegated fusion of “oldstyle Kwela or mbaqanga beats” are exemplified by KwaZulu Natal “Big Idea”, “Guy Buttery”, “Wonderboom”, “Assagai”, “Amanda Black” “Kwesta” and the compositions of Mafikizolo. Around Cape Town there emerged local hip-hop groups as Prophet of Da City, Godessa, Parliament, Wildlife Society, Fifth Floor and Lions of the Zion singing mostly in Afrikaans. From Tanzania to Kenya and Uganda, East Africa is in no way different from other parts of Africa in terms of style, content, performance and even sources of influence. Hip-hop, Afro-pop, rhythm and blues and funk have also conquered East Africa. Those genres are rendered in the different languages of the region including Gikuyu, Luo and Swahili with a bit of code-switching where English words and phrases are deployed in the lyrics. The young performers are not in any significant sense indistinguishable from their peers in West Africa. There is even some direct Nigerian influence when one of the most popular Kenyan Afro-pop groups Sauti Sol featured Patoranking in “Melanin”. Victoria Kimani is a household name not just in Kenya but also in the United States where she once performed in a duo with R. City. There is also the Tanzania diva, Afro-pop queen, Vanessa Mdee that is causing a lot of attraction to music lovers across East Africa. Alikiba mixes English and Swahili in some of his lyrics such as “Seduce Me”. In Uganda, there is Bebe Cool, in some of their lyrics they cross border to meet their Kenya peers Sauti Sol to perform a duet. The performance of the song “Mbozi za Malwa” has obviously caused some excitement in both Uganda and Kenya. Eddy Kenzo also from Uganda is another popular performer that appeals to young people. Rwanda is also left out in the buzz with Bruce Melodie who is inclined to rhythm and blues in most of his songs. As a result, he made serious inroads in other East African countries. Central African countries of Cameroun and Congo have, despite their cultural diversities and differences of colonial experiences, lots of cultural commonalities in

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musical performances. Cameroon, in particular, has made a gift of Makossa to Africa and the world. Modern popular music in Cameroon, Central African Republic and the two Congo has tremendously been influenced by the popularity of Makossa. In Cameroon where it all started, Makossa, which is described as funky dance music, is a culmination of different traditional genres as bikutsi, assiko, balafon orchestra, Zairean rumba, etc. Manu Dibango is one of the top musicians that have popularized Makossa, especially in Europe and United States (Dibango “Biography, Albums, Streaming Links”). BM Ebebi, a Congolese composer and singer, has in a visualized performance of one of his titles presented energetically erotic dancers dancing against the background of columns of the overhead bridge of an African city emblazoned with street arts all over the place. North Africa, the Maghreb (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Libya) and Egypt, has manifested a musical culture that is described here as the crossroad of many cultures from many continents—Asia, Europe, Andalusia, Arabian Peninsula, Persian Gulf and sub-Saharan Africa. Arabic language is mainly the language of musical composition in not just the Maghreb but in Mauretania and Sudan. The Berbers insulated in the desert have made remarkable contribution to the musical cultures of the Maghreb as well as the Sahel in the Southwest. Both the Maghreb and their sources of influence from across the Red Sea and the Mediterranean have similarly inspired the musical culture of the Sahel region.

Conclusion So far, the analysis above has demonstrated that the new cultural reality prevailing in Africa is defined by a situation in which traditional oral performances are undergoing remarkable transformation all over Africa. The new electronically mediated lyrical performances are transgressing cultural, historical and geographical boundaries through the agency of modern educated African performers that have indiscriminately appropriated different cultural influences, local and foreign. Their first source of influence is western pop culture and the performance styles of African Americans. The postmodern African youth have also, in the spirit of postcolonial ordering of society and culture, unapologetically immersed themselves in both their own oral traditions and other borrowed modern forms and styles. This has led to the production of a pastiche culture curated from older and newer forms, contents and performances, for the entertainment of culturally fragmented audiences. The outcome of such creative experiment is cultural eclecticism, which cannot by any stretch of imagination be wholly ascribed to any pristine African culture, because every specific culture on the continent is now turned into a mosaic, a hotchpotch of different cultural influences—traditional and modern—all rolled into a single bundle. As the new hybridized modes evolve and gain popularity, the picture that has now emerged on the cultural scene of postcolonial Africa is that of de-territorialization,

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the opening up of African oral cultures and traditions. At the same time, the emergent hybrid cultural forms are then streamlined along the patterns of capitalist culture industry with its system of production for global consumption. Also, as seen from the survey of contemporary popular African lyrics and languages, most African languages no longer constitute barrier to access of foreign musical forms. Music, in general, shares some universal attributes that individuals, irrespective of their differentiation, diversity and cultural identity, easily connect to through performance. However, lyrical performances are similar in all cultures that have been co-opted into the networks of digital media platforms or through the appropriation of relevant technological devices for cultural production. Technological appropriation is happening to popular lyrical performances in different parts of the world. This is the sense in which the globalization process is mediating and deterritorializing African societies and cultures, including contemporary African lyrical performances. The process involves streamlining local music along the performance patterns of pop culture of the metropolitan West. It can be argued that postcolonial African plural cultural identities are through parody swooped up by the currents of popular culture flows, which are global in character but however belongs to nobody in essence and existence outside the diktats of the cultural logic of globalization. Notes 1.

2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

This edition which is titled Oral Literature in Africa by Ruth Finnegan is a revised version of the earlier edition produced in hard copy in 1970 and 1973 by both Oxford University Press and Hinneman Ibadan, respectively. The reference is also from a digital copy and is produced as part of World Oral Literature Series: Volume 1. Nkem Okoh (2008: 88). Okoh ibid., 88. Okoh ibid., 87; Okpewho (1990: 12–18). This classification is contained in the table of contents of the book titled Oral Poetry from Africa: An Anthology compiled by Jack Mapanje and Landeg White (1983). Graham Furniss (1996) has identified these classes of songs in his book, Poetry, Prose and Popular Culture in Hausa where he is categorizing the preoccupation of different types of singers/oral poets in traditional Hausa society based on its strict feudal social stratification. Mapanje and White ibid., 3. Finnegan (1992: 25). Finnegan (1979: 7). Ibid., 7. Ibid., 2. Castells (2000: 422). During (2007: 179–180); Genosko Felix Guattari (2009). Bhabha (2004: 121).

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15.

Most of the digitized performances from across the African continent used for analysis here, and as samples are available on YouTube. All these performers and some of their selected lyrical performances and the type of instruments they use are all on the Internet. Once their names are searched on Google information on their music and performances can easily be accessed in different websites. Denselow, Robin “Obituary: Ali Farka Toure”, posted Wednesday 8 March 2006, 15.40 GMT, https://www.theguardian.com. Bloom (1975). Yakubu et al. (2005). Larkin (2000). Gusau (2016: vi). Adam S. Zango has his audio and video CDs and DVDs on sale in most towns and cities of northern Nigeria, including his interviews on the YouTube and other Internet. Olatunji (1984). From Bode Omojola’s Nigeria Art Music published by the Institute francais de recherché en Afrique IFRA captured in https://books.openedition.org. Akan, Joey “These 10 contemporary Nigerian musicians have existed before as older legendary artists” May 3, 2017, www.pulse.ng.com. Hutcheon (2000). The Internet and YouTube are awash with information and performances by these popular Nigerian singers like Davido, Wizkid, Tekno, Tiwa Savage, Olamide, Mr. Eazi, Ycee, Simi, etc. Smith, Andile “10 Greatest Musicians from South Africa” https://buzzsouth africa.com. Ibid. Ibid.

16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30.

References Akan, Joey. 2017. These 10 Contemporary Nigerian Musicians have Existed Before as Older Legendary Artists. May 3, www.pulse.ng.com. Bhabha, Homi. 2004. The Location of Culture. New York, NY: Routledge. Bloom, Harold. 1975. The Anxiety of Influence . New York, NY: Cornell University Press. Castells, Manuel. 2000. The Rise of the Network Society. Oxford: Blackwell. Denselow, Robin. 2006. Obituary: Ali Farka Toure. Posted Wednesday 8 Mar 15.40 GMT, https:// www.theguardian.com. Dibango, Manu. 2002. Biography. Albums, Streaming Links. https://allmusic.com. During, Simon. (ed.). 2007. The Cultural Studies Reader. London: Routledge. Farka Toure, Vieux. 2011. The Secret. (feat. Ali Farka Toure). May 11, https://m.youtube.com. Finnegan, Ruth. 1979. Oral Poetry: Its Nature, Significance and Social Context . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Finnegan, Ruth. 1992. Oral Traditions and The Verbal Arts: A Guide to Research Practices. London: Routledge. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge: OpenBook Publishers. Furniss, Graham. 1996. Poetry, Prose and Popular Culture in Hausa. London: Edinburgh University Press. Genosko, Garry Felix Guattari. 2009. A Critical Introduction. New York, NY: Pluto Press. Gusau, Sa’idu Muhammad. 2016. Makada da Mawakan Hausa: Littafi na Biyu . Kano: Century Research Publication. Hutcheon, Linda. 2000. A Poetics of Postmodernism: History, Theory, Fiction. London: Routledge. Keita, Salif. 2013. Yambo Yambo. Nov 21, https://m.youtube.com. Keys, Alicia, and OumouSangare. 2012. Fallin. Sept 7, https://m.youtube.com. Larkin, Brian. 2000. Hausa Dramas and the Rise of Video Culture in Nigeria. In Nigerian Video Films, ed. Jonathan Haynes, 209–242. Ohio, OH: Ohio Press. Lord, Albert B. 1971. The Singer of Tales. New York, NY: Atheneum. Maal, Baaba. 2017. Biography. https://baabmaal.com. Mapanje, Jack, and Landeg White. 1983. Oral Poetry from Africa: An Anthology. Essex: Longman. Olatunji, Olatunde O. 1984. Features of Yoruba Oral Poetry. Ibadan: University of Ibadan Press. Okoh, Nkem. 2008. Preface to Oral Literature. Onitsha: Africana First Publication. Okpewho, Isidore. 1990. The Primacy of Performance in Oral Discourse. Research in African Literatures 21 (4): 121–128. Omojola, Bode. 1995. Nigeria Art Music. Published by the Institute francais de recherché en Afrique IFRA captured in https://books.openedition.org. Sangare, Oumou, and Bela Fleck. 2010. Djorolen. Dec 26, https://m.youtube.com. Smith, Andile. 2013. 10 Greatest Musicians from South Africa. https://buzzsouthafrica.com. Toure, and Diabete Debe Live at Bozar. 2017. In the Heart of the Moon. May 19, https://m.youtube. com. Yakubu, A.M., et al. 2005. Northern Nigeria: A Century of Transformation 1903–2003 . Kaduna: Arewa House Publication.

Chapter 45

Orality and Technology: Transforming Traditional Songs to Popular Music Rosaleen Oabona Brankie Nhlekisana

Introduction Music plays an important role in the lives of African people. Songs are one of the most interesting and important genres of African oral tradition. According to Rosenberg, “ song is one of the most widely communicated forms of verbal art on the African continent” 1. He argues that popular songs are dynamic and widespread and permeate the lives of people in Eastern Africa. It can be argued that this observation is not peculiar to East Africa only but rather it is applicable and true to the whole African continent. This is so because songs permeate all aspects of African people’s lives, be it social, political, economic, religious, or otherwise. Consequently, there are songs related to almost everyday life activity of the people. The songs are not performed for entertainment purposes only, but they also express people’s feelings, attitudes, philosophy, beliefs, values, and so forth. Traditionally, in Africa songs were transmitted orally from generation to generation and they were performed orally in the presence of an audience at various social activities, such as weddings, initiation ceremonies, naming ceremonies, and funerals. Songs are transmitted predominantly, though not exclusively, through oral means from generation to generation. However, with time, some of these traditional songs have been transformed and transmitted differently through technological devices such as on radio, television, Internet and CDs, DVDs, and so forth. It can be argued that the influence of globalization and its attendant modern technologies has reconfigured the way orality functions in the contemporary African context. Ogone argues that, “ confronted with the powerful presence of media technologies that threaten to supplant its central role in many African societies, orality has been compelled to reinvent itself by means of appropriating the same media for its survival” 2. Orality is generally viewed as a

R. O. B. Nhlekisana (B) Department of African Languages and Literature, University of Botswana, Gaborone, Botswana e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_45

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powerful medium of expression and communication throughout the world, and particularly in Africa. However, as societies develop and change, knowledge transmitted orally changes and adapts to contemporary times. This paper focuses on the transformation of African traditional songs to popular music. For purposes of this paper, by popular music, we mean songs that are recorded on audio cassettes and CDs and are played on radio, television, and at discotheques for entertainment. The music is also produced and marketed locally and internationally. According to Letswamotse, “ popular music here refers to music produced and rendered by musicians for entertainment and profit.3 This music is usually recorded on audio cassettes, records and compact discs that are mass-produced and marketed to the general public for profit locally and internationally” 4. Further, Marsh says that “ popular music, disseminated through electronic sources, including television, radio, film, video, CD, audio cassette and more recently CD-ROM is an integral part of their auditory and visual environment” 5. Furthermore, Gondola says “ the term ‘popular’ which defines the music styles that began to spread in the Belgian Congo and the French Congo in the early 1930s, refers to the fact that this music reached a great number of people of various ethnic origins” 6.

Types of Songs Songs are an integral part of African lives, as such there are different types of songs in the African continent such as wedding, funeral, initiation, pounding, harvesting, hunting, lullabies, protest, war, religious to name a few. In the traditional African context, these songs were performed orally at specific occasions; for example, wedding songs were sung at wedding ceremonies; funeral songs at funerals; pounding songs when women were pounding maize, sorghum, or millet; and lullabies when a mother or babysitter was lulling the baby to sleep. However, due to various factors such as urbanization and change in people’s lifestyles, some of the songs are now sung at different contexts from their initial ones. For example, work songs can be sung or heard at wedding celebrations, protest songs at beer halls, and night clubs, wedding songs at parties and other social gatherings. This could be due to the fact that people like and enjoy the melody and the rhythm of the songs without paying attention to the context or meaning of the songs. The other reason could be that people no longer perform some of the activities related to these songs because their lifestyles have changed, but since they know and love the songs they sing them anyway. Traditionally, the songs were sung mainly for entertainment purposes and to perform specific functions based on the context in which they were performed. Now in the contemporary period, some of the songs have been decontextualized and recontextualized, consequently changing their functions as well to suit the performers and the audience.

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Prevalent Issues in Songs As already mentioned, songs permeate all aspects of life in Africa; therefore, singers or musicians compose songs based on what is prevalent in their environment. The songs usually address issues that are peculiar to a particular community through similarities and differences exist. African cultures share similar values, and these are usually expressed through songs and other verbal art forms. Values such as communality, hard work, self-reliance, love, peace, humility, and so forth are encouraged through songs. On the other hand, unacceptable behavior such as infidelity, jealousy, laziness, abuse (be it of children, women, or men), individualism, and so forth is discouraged and ridiculed through songs. Further, the issue of social and moral decay in contemporary African society is common in African songs. In relation to this issue, Mugovhani argues that “the content in this arrangement carries messages of advice and reprimand to the youth, both married and unmarried. It decries the social ill and immoral behavior of today’s youth and indiscriminate killing of innocent people” 7. He further argues that “ today’s youth have lost any sense of respect for their elders, whilst society, in general, has degenerated, disintegrated, and is almost moribund”.8 Furthermore, in Africa, there are songs that deal with social, political, economic, religious, health issues, and so forth. For example, there are songs that talk about marriage, divorce, poverty, incompetent or corrupt leaders, diseases, development, abuse, and death. The songs contain words of wisdom that covertly or overtly educate people about some specific aspects of their lives. Though they sing to entertain, they also use the songs to warn, advise, entertain, and sensitize the community members on critical issues that concern them. Nhlekisana argues that the messages portrayed in Botswana popular songs are gendered.9 Her analysis reveals that the songs deal with issues such as infidelity, promiscuity, marriage but that in most cases, it is the woman who is blamed for all these problems.

Functions of Music/Songs In Africa, the main function of music is to entertain; however, music serves numerous other functions as well. For example, it is used to express human feelings, attitudes, experiences, philosophy, beliefs, values, concerns of everyday life, and so forth. “ Music has been found to teach humanity the values of togetherness, mutuality and harmony” 10. Songs can be used to praise and appreciate the good work that others do. It can also be used to teach the young generation about their history, culture, and traditions. Music can also be used to sensitize people about epidemics in their locality. Further, music is also used to transmit the society’s values and attitudes from person to person and from one generation to another. Ola-Busari argues that among Owe people of Okun-Yoruba in Nigeria, traditional knowledge, cultural values, and worldviews are passed on through oral indigenous education methods. She says “apart from learning cultural norms and interpersonal skills, the stories teach traditional values

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such as courage, endurance, equity, greed, grief in bereavement, integrity, justice, fairness, love, charity, leadership, poverty, unity…”11 Furthermore, songs can be used to attack, ridicule, criticize political leaders on issues such as corruption, unemployment, nepotism, and so forth. Wanyama states that in Kenya, “ musicians attack rampant corruption among government officials and they sensitize ordinary citizens and incite them against the government of the day” 12. While Gondola says that music is an important vehicle of social discourse and political awakening. He argues that “ popular music stimulated the development of political consciousness and the first political meetings were held in bars in DRC ”13 . He goes on to say that “ musicians have felt compelled to denounce all deviant or delinquent proclivities of city dwellers; denounced the single woman who patronizes bars; vilify the ambitious urban young people who worship the god Money; end the secrecy surrounding AIDS” 14. In addition, Lwanda argues that “ in postcolonial Malawi, therefore, in the absence of significant written and electronic texts, popular music performs an important two-way role in disseminating cultural modes of thoughts, beliefs, and practices between individuals and society”. In addition, “music functions as a tool of cultural continuity, invention, restoration, hybridity, diversity, social-cultural reproduction and construction, as well as entertainment”.15 Music also acts as a mouthpiece of the people, especially the voiceless. As Mano states, “ popular music can represent ordinary people, ridicule the powerful and serve as the voice for the voiceless” 16. Music can also be used as a tool to confront and communicate issues that, under normal circumstances, would be left untold. This is because like poets, musicians have poetic license. According to van der Geest and Asante-Darko, highlife music has many functions in Ghanaian society. The first and foremost is, entertainment; the songs reflect the problems of daily life, people use them to air their frustrations, they are used by mourners at funerals to express grief, they can have an ideological function if they instill social norms and values, they become political tools for the oppressed as well as those in power.17 Evidently, music performs numerous functions in Africa.

Popular Music in Africa: Overview A lot of studies have been conducted in different parts of Africa about popular music. Below is a brief overview of the literature on popular music in Africa. The review is not exhaustive but has attempted to cover the different parts of the continent. First, the review shows that most popular music artists borrow from traditional music to produce their music. In most cases, the artists either use traditional songs wholesome, that is without changing the words but rather just adding instruments, changing the rhythm, melody, and so forth. While on the other hand, some make slight modifications to the existing songs. For example, Letswamotse, in her study, argues that modern artists use well-known indigenous songs in modern music in an unmodified or slightly modified state or simply rearrange the lyrics to suit the modern setting and tastes. She states that “the songs are borrowed or adopted with or without

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modification. This preserves their originality and authenticity. Modernization is in the form of instrumentation and not the words used. However, some artists modify the borrowed songs by rearranging the words, phrases or paragraphs of the song lyrics”.18 Another scholar, Waterman, argues that “ Yoruba popular musicians have often drawn upon the traditions of their natal communities to create distinctive sounds intended to give them a competitive edge in the marketplace” 19. He also argues that “ Yoruba popular music fuses the role of song (a medium for praise, criticism, and moralizing) and the role of rhythmic coordination in sound and physical movement (an expression of sociability and sensory pleasure)” . Other studies have shown that popular music does not only borrow from traditional songs but from other verbal art forms as well. Mugambi’s study reviews contemporary radio songs in Uganda.20 She views contemporary songs as narrative songs because they tell a story, they are commercially produced, and they are circulated through radio or audiocassette. Her study reveals that contemporary radio songs in Uganda have been heavily borrowed from the traditional Kiganda storytelling tradition. She states that “traditional elements central to the function, form, style, and content of the traditional narrative (lugero) of the Baganda have been integrated into the radio song and placed in a new context relevant to the contemporary multiethnic Uganda nation”.21 The review also shows that artists use the music to address various issues prevalent in the continent. For example, Hadebe analyzes the music of Lovemore Majayivana, a well-known Zimbabwean musician, and says that Majaivana uses traditional Ndebele songs and sayings to compose his music.22 He argues that Majaivana uses the music to express the social, economic, and political experiences of the Ndebele people, particularly after independence. In addition, Waterman says the two dominant styles of contemporary Yoruba popular music are juju and fuji.23 He says “ both of these genres combine the traditional functions of praise song and social dance music. They are widely disseminated via mass media and performed at urban nightspots but make their greatest ideological impact at the hundreds of naming, wedding, and funeral ceremonies hosted every weekend by Yoruba businessmen, traders, chiefs, professors, executives, and civil servants throughout southwestern Nigeria” .24 Therefore, borrowing from and/or using existing songs or other verbal arts motivate the composition of music that is abundant in Africa today. Further, some scholars talk about the effects of the transformation of traditional music to popular music. Nhlekisana argues that science and technology can benefit Setswana traditional songs by enriching the genre and putting it on the global map.25 She further argues that using technological devices on traditional music has both positive and negative effects on the genre. Therefore, Batswana should embrace the positives that come with new development while at the same time, being ready to tackle or deal with negative impacts. This study is closely related to the current one. However, they differ in the sense that the previous study dealt specifically with Botswana, whereas the current one deals with Africa in general. On the other hand, Ola-Busari’s study shows that at some point technology played a major role in the erosion and restoration of the traditional life of the Owe people of Okun-Yoruba in Nigeria. However, later technology again played a major role in the restoration of indigenous knowledge, especially among the youth.26 She argues that “ in recent

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years technological advances have become even radically sophisticated, fuelled by the use of cell phones, the internet and social networking sites. The global effects have been phenomenal, especially in information and communication technologies (ICTs) and human communication. This has revolutionized every aspect of human endeavor and has brought profound political, economic, educational, social and religious change” 27. It can be argued that technology is a double-edged sword in African music and culture in general. It all depends on how people view or use it. In addition, some studies on popular music show that traditional music is transformed into popular music through instrumentation. “ In contemporary popular music, the instrumentation, the singing mode and the spoken poetry are arranged in a spectacular way to produce what may be viewed as modern” 28. Further, Gondola discusses how music became a medium of gender negotiation and the extent to which gender, colonization, and urbanization functioned in Leopoldville (now Kinshasa), and how in its origins Congolese popular music appeared as an eminently male culture.29 He goes on to say that “ during the 1950s, for every musician searching for something new, “traditional” instruments and dances were incorporated” 30. This clearly shows that popular musicians relied on traditional songs and traditional instruments for their inspiration to compose “new songs”. The use of instruments livens the music and makes it more interesting and attractive to the audience. It also satisfies the needs of the diverse contemporary audiences. Other studies reveal that performance styles of traditional music are changed when the music is transformed into popular music. Wendt argues that in North Africa, “ the rapid growth of the media in the early 1900s spurred development of new genres and hybrid styles. The recording industry, present in North Africa as early as 1910, promoted widespread dissemination of regional and foreign styles. Young urban composers and singers infused with nationalistic spirit began to turn to regional repertories for material and inspiration” 31. He also argues that the “ music composers drew their inspiration from many sources, including Moroccan, European, and American traditions. The instrumental interludes between strophes, a traditional practice, provided attractive displays of virtuosity with appeal to urban audiences” 32. Further, Kidula states that “these materials were then palliated for local and national aesthetics and for consumption in a contemporary space. The contemporary aspect was mainly assumed in the use of instruments associated with global popular music, such as guitars, keyboards, brass and the like”.33 Moreover, Waterman says that “ taken as a whole, Yoruba popular music provides a complex commentary on the relationship between local traditions and foreign influence in an epoch of profound change”.34 Generally, popular music artists in Africa use either traditional instruments or modern instruments or both in the production of their music. The choice of instruments used is mainly to attract and appeal to the contemporary and mixed audience locally and internationally. Further, Mugovhani says that “ the world of African music has, notwithstanding, witnessed an evolution of late” 35. “ South Africa’s rapidly changing postcolonial terrain has begun to witness an upsurge in new stylistic trajectories in indigenous musical practices. African indigenous music has moved away from its predominantly traditional rural enclave, where it was primarily known as music that

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had no performer-audience scenario; ideally, the traditional setting expected everybody to participate in music making. Nowadays it is arranged and performed by modern musical ensembles for non-participating audiences. It is now also frequently encountered in music stores in both rural and urban areas” 36. In some cases, local artists copy the styles of other musicians in their locality, the region, or internationally to produce their own songs. Since we live in a global world, it is not surprising that some popular music artists draw their inspiration from global styles while at the same time being inspired or motivated by local music styles and forms. For example, contemporary Afro-pop sometimes combines the electric guitars of Western rock and roll with melodies and rhythms of traditional African music. However, “ it is essential to acknowledge the antecedents of their creativity, many of which lay in expressive genres and forms that have their basis in folk and traditional expression” 37. Furthermore, some scholars argue that the context in which traditional songs were played has changed due to its transformation to popular music. For example, church hymns were traditionally sung in churches only, but now they have been popularized and can be heard on radio, television, and the Internet. There are many gospel artists in Africa, and the music they produce is not confined to the church only, but it is now popularized, commercialized, and therefore can be heard globally. Togarasei (2007) analyzes the role of gospel music in contemporary Zimbabwe. He defines gospel music as “ any music with a gospel message, which is recorded or played mainly for commercial purposes” 38. He argues that the music has left the arena of the church and entered the arena of popular culture. Further, “ the beat accompanying the good news can vary from rock, country, R&B, folk, classical, jazz or any other kind of music” 39. He further argues that the rise of gospel music was accompanied by its commercialization because from the time the music began to be well received; artists recorded and sold it for profit. Furthermore, he says the gospel artists regard recording as a way of evangelizing because through song they can preach to thousands if not millions of people at the same time. In addition, traditional political protest songs and women’s protest songs were confined to the political arena and the home respectively, but nowadays they can be heard playing at parties, night clubs, and other social events. The songs have been decontextualized to suit the prevailing circumstances and the contemporary period. Another issue that comes out of the review is the lack of or the non-enforcement of copyright laws in Africa. Wanyama argues that “ copyright law is clearly stated in terms of its definition and penalties to its infringement in part or whole. However, due to the high rate of globalization and electronic production, Kenya is faced with a big challenge of enforcing the music copyright law, as expected” 40. Closely related to the issue of copyright law is the issue of music piracy. According to Ogone (2015), the Kenyan record industry continues to suffer from piracy.41 However, this is not a uniquely Kenyan problem; rather, it is an African and global problem that needs immediate interventions from governments. In addition, in his study Lwanda examines the political and commercial appropriation of female music by males specifically in Malawi and, in general, Southern Africa. He argues that “once appropriated, the music is often used, via the oral public sphere,

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in ways that, politically and economically, impact negatively on women”.42 Appropriation in this instance denotes the wholesale or part acquisition of, the copying of, the mimicking of or the adoption, and adaptation, by males of female musical lyrics, melodies, and patterns. He further argues that “ this appropriated music is used to perpetuate female disadvantage and inequality by exploiting public sphere orality” 43. Nhlekisana examines the representation of gender in popular music in Botswana. She argues that “ popular music or modern song in Botswana is a form of cultural transmission and an important medium through which gender ideologies are constructed, sustained and contested” 44. Furthermore, some scholars explore the role of popular music. For example, Mano (2007) states that “ Nyamnjoh analyzed the political role of popular music in Cameroon. He discovered that the most popular songs criticized the economic crisis, denounced social injustices and the slow pace of development, and condemned the Cameroonian government’s inaction and complicity in the face of corruption” 45. In addition, music played a key role in the struggle to end apartheid in South Africa. Many musicians opposed racial discrimination through their music and support of anti-apartheid political cause. Waterman explores the role of contemporary popular music in the production of cultural identity among the Yoruba of southwestern Nigeria. He states that “ popular music suspended in and energized by a web of socioeconomic relationships connecting international markets to local boom-bust economies-is a privileged medium for the imaginative modeling of Yoruba society” 46. On the other hand, Mano argues that “ popular music can act as a variety of journalism at certain historic moments and in specific contexts. Where mass media are weak, and opposition political parties are frail, music can serve as the voice of the voiceless by offering subtle avenues of expression. Popular music can perform the journalistic function of communicating daily issues in ways that challenge the powerful and give a voice to the disadvantaged” 47. Further, Nhlekisana examines the role of popular music in wedding celebrations.48 She states that nowadays during wedding celebrations, people no longer sing wedding songs. Instead, recorded music is played by the disc jockey. She argues that this kills the spirit of communality that was prevalent in the society. Evident from this review is the fact that popular music plays a critical role in Africa. Not only is it a form of entertainment but it serves various functions as well. In addition, Van der Geest and Asante-Darko (1982) explore the political meaning of Ghanaian highlife songs. They say highlife “is a blend of traditional Akan rhythms and melodies with European musical elements, such as the use of European instruments and harmony. It encompasses a variety of artistic expressions: music, dancing, story-telling, and theatre”.49 Some scholars have shown that popular artists borrow from different genres when composing their music. Kidula says that in most countries, national genres were best articulated by popular secular music such as highlife, Congolese, kwela, juju.50 While these genres were widely disseminated due to linguistic purveyance, they were rooted in the music cultural traditions of the countries that initiated them. Most secular popular musicians situated their development in urban locations, where multiple cultures interacted with each other and contemporary international genres to birth a product that was identified as African and modern. The product itself included

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musical properties from the ethnic groups and backgrounds of the musicians. In some cases, there is a merging of genres to produce popular music. For example, gospel songs played with a reggae beat, or a wedding song played with a jazz beat. Other artists mix many musical styles in one song. In such cases, the focus is no longer on the messages but on the melody and rhythm of the song. Such mergers are exploited with the intention of attracting multiple audiences. Lastly, Rosenberg analyzes the works of two wordsmiths from East Africa and argues that “ their works embody the salient relationships and overlapping tendencies of works considered high literary art and popular songs, which are thought to constitute a different type of artistic productivity. The study reveals that there are significant points of contact between both popular songs and other forms of verbal art in the region” 51. Popular music in Africa has been studied from different angles by various scholars from inside and outside the continent. This validates and attests to its importance.

Transformation: From Traditional to Popular Music Traditional African songs by virtue of being cultural products are subject to change with time. However, they have also proven to be a dynamic and resilient genre. The change could be in the performance styles, the context in which they are performed, their functions, and even the type of audience and instruments used. These changes are usually brought about by literacy, technology, urbanization, and globalization among other things. Clearly, there is a relationship between technology and orality. Kaschula and Mostert argue that it is access to technology that creates and encourages a global culture of immediate access to information.52 They also say that performers are taking advantage of this new form of technologizing orality; hence, they coined the term technauriture to refer to this process. Therefore, technauriture is a term that integrates technology, auriture (the aural aspects of producing and receiving oral literature), and literature in the process of digitalizing and technologizing of oral art forms.53 According to Nhlekisana, urbanization and globalization have affected the performance of African traditional songs.54 Though it is still practiced, its performance has decreased. For example, most societies no longer practice initiation; therefore, initiation songs are no longer sung. Further, the younger generation prefer to watch TV and listen to music on the radio, on their cell phones, and so forth rather than to go out and take part in singing traditional songs. A similar view is expressed by Merolla who says that the erosion of orality “ concerned elements such as the demise of live interaction between performer and the public as well as social functions when oral genres engage literacy and new media, passive television watching that increasingly substitutes active collective performances such as gathering around a storyteller in both urban and rural contexts (i.e., The stereotyped reproduction of oral songs and narratives devoid of their social and contextual meaning when they are diffused via

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radio and television)” 55. However, since culture is dynamic, and people are innovative, musicians have remixed the traditional songs and instrumentalized them to adapt to the new context hence the emergence of popular music. Further, Mugovhani states that “ whereas indigenous African music used to be mainly associated with ceremonies, rituals, socialisation and entertainment, amongst others, some of these traditional musical practices have now developed and are manifesting new identities. He says contemporary musicians have attempted to promote and preserve their indigenous cultural heritage by trying to simulate the original musical creations of their forebears” 56. Furthermore, most African traditional songs used the call and response pattern and instruments such as rattles, drums, flutes, and so forth. Some there was a lot of handclapping and rhythmic dancing. However, nowadays “ modern instruments such as lead guitar, bass guitar, marimba, drums and percussion instruments are used” 57. This clearly shows that the performance of African music has changed with time. The change is due to urbanization and the emergence of professional artists who transformed this verbal art form into a commodity ready to be sold everywhere. Despite these changes, “ African oral traditions somehow manage to remain alive, albeit in new mediated forms” 58. He further argues that “ mediatisation does not fully supplant traditional orality but rather repackages it and builds on it. Therefore, through the process of domestication, local knowledge cultures in Kenya accordingly exploit the very transformative potentials of new technologies to temper their cultural effects” 59. Furthermore, Merolla states that “ many contemporary cultural productions (songs, theatre, videos, etc.) belong to neither traditional nor high written genres. Many works belong to forms of orality but also engage other media, involving changes of and in oral practice” 60. These changes should not be viewed as forms of cultural loss but rather as evidence that culture is not static, it is dynamic, and that technology and media are contemporary avenues of transmitting, promoting, preserving, and revitalizing African oral art forms.

Advantages of Using Technological Devices As already indicated, the world we live in is highly technologized. Orality and technology are closely intertwined or related. According to Mdlalose & Mabalane, “ advances in technology have their advantages and have benefited mankind in many ways” 61. They argue that technology continues to play a critically important part in people’s lives. For example, media technology enables wide knowledge sharing across cultures and societies; it enables easy access to information and more. They also argue that technology is a tool which requires content. While culture benefits from technology by receiving wider exposure, culture to a great extent contributes to the existence of technology and, consequently, both entities expand their popularity. Below is a discussion of the advantages of using technological devices on traditional African music.

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The first advantage is that because of technological devices the music crosses geographical, ethnic, cultural, and moral boundaries, unlike when it is performed in a local environment to a specific audience and a specific context. For example, wedding songs performed at a wedding celebration will be heard by those present only, but if they are recorded on cassettes, CDs or DVDs the listenership will be expanded. In other words, the music becomes accessible to all segments of the society, the nation, and the international community. This also means the music reaches a wider audience both in terms of listening and viewing when recorded on cassettes, CDs, and DVDs. “ Mediatisation dissolves the boundary between the audience and the mediatised cultural material, thus making the former feel a sense of presence in that world” 62. Songs are performed live and recorded to be later played on radio. In some cases, they are performed live on TV. Media here plays the role of disseminating the genre to a wider audience and moves them out of the local to the national and even international audience. To make them more accessible to all the targeted consumers “ Unlike in the previous practice in which performances could only reach a particular localised environment, the new music can reach a wider audience through enhanced amplification, and the modernised African art brings with it better projection and improved audibility as regards the voices and newly—utilised instruments” 63. Radio and television are the most popular media whose reception knows no boundaries and influence international artists.64 Undoubtedly, technology puts African music on the international map. The other advantage is that technological devices make music accessible to everyone, anywhere across the globe. Once the music is recorded in whatever form, it can be played or sold even in other parts of the country and the world at large. As people travel or migrate, they either buy the local music or they take the local music with them to their destination. Therefore, technological advances transform an otherwise local musical genre into an international or global one. “ Electronic means available and the ease of international travel have made it possible for traditional music and dance to reach a far broader public through audio-visual means, concerts, tours and festivals” 65. Further, cultural exchanges offer the most integrated way for the people of one country to be exposed to the music and dance of another country. Consumers of electronic mass media can experience a common heritage with people they have never seen; they can acquire memories of a past to which they have no geographical or biological connection.66 “ Astute performers emphasised particular stylistic elements common to several related traditions, thus making their music more accessible to audiences of diverse ethnic backgrounds” 67. “ It is the radio song as an oral form, with its accessibility to the population across ethnic, class, educational, and gender boundaries, that becomes a central channel for the flow of transformative ideas within the nation” 68. For music to survive and make an impact, it has to be accessible to everyone. Further, technological advances also help to preserve and promote this valuable tradition by recording it in various modes. Recording also brings some permanency of fossilization to the musical item. Traditional songs were not properly recorded so by using them in modern music, it means putting them on record for future reference because they are recorded in CDs, DVDs, and cassettes. They would not be easily

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forgotten and are continuously renewed. Using already existing songs is, in a way, a means of reviving and resurrecting traditional songs, some of which were being forgotten or no longer performed. To be fully preserved, musical tradition must be a living thing, readily received by the young, from the old who have mastered it and are prepared to transmit it whole. In other words, music preservation must be an active process as van Khe rightfully argues that “records kept in the audio archives of the museums and research institutes will bear witness to posterity of traditions that might well be lost otherwise”.69 Ola-Busari further argues that “despite these negative observations, the global effect of modern technology has also paradoxically, awakened people to the need to preserve their cultural identity, using the same technological media that have contributed so much to its endangerment (and, in some instances, its extinction)”.70 Evidently, recording safeguards the music in one way or the other and puts Africa on the international music scene. Furthermore, video recordings are an advantage to this genre because they capture not just the audio but the visual aspects of the performance as well. “ Video technology plays a significant role in the domestication of modernity in Africa. Video has evolved into a technology closely identified with African experiences, as it affords more people than ever before an opportunity to participate in global discourse” 71. Audiovisual methods will remain the most economical way of introducing musical traditions to other countries. Videos, which nowadays can easily be accessed on the Internet, promote, either to view or to purchase, African music and show the world that African musicians are a force to reckon with. In addition, the use of technology encourages the young generation to learn, appreciate, and respect their culture. “ Most people would not appreciate indigenous songs in the old form, so they are slightly modified to suit the tastes of modern entertainment music so as to be appreciated by and accessible to the majority of consumers” 72. By adopting them into modern music, however, the songs are not only remembered but are utilized for present-day challenges. “ The songs of Majayivana are a very important contribution to the recording, preservation and promotion of Ndebele oral art. Had these songs merely been written down obviously few Ndebele people would have known about them. By adapting them into modern music, however, the songs are not only remembered but are utilized for present-day challenges” 73. Technology ensures the durability and longevity of this musical product, especially for generations to come. The music also makes them proud of their identity and culture. Music is also a source of income for the artists/musicians since they can make money by selling their cassettes, CDs, DVDs, and videos. The inclusion of traditional songs in modern music is purely commercial. Through innovation, this cultural practice, which was previously confined to archives and museums, is now commercialized. “ Previously marginalised and disadvantaged music and dance artists have been enabled to introduce new innovations which allow contemporary artists to blossom from being financially deprived mere entertainers to entrepreneurs ”74 .The musicians can now perform at various places or sell their products and consequently make a living out of music which was a rarity in the past. Lastly, a lot of African popular music artists are usually invited to perform in different parts of the world. This boosts the morale and creativity of the artists. It

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also urges them to work hard and compose and produce more music because their success is not theirs only, but it is for their respective countries and the continent at large. Further, it encourages others to work hard so that they too can be well known. So, technology promotes the music and helps it to reach international markets. It also encourages others

Disadvantages of Using Technological Devices Though there are many advantages of using technological devices on traditional music, there are numerous disadvantages as well, and these will be discussed below. The first disadvantage is the commercialization of authentic traditional music. In the past, music was composed and performed for free and for pleasure, now if it’s performed live, people have to pay and if it is recorded people have to buy whether it is a cassette, CD, or DVD. Further, technology alienates and destroys people’s culture. Ola-Busari says that the negative impact of advances in technology, Christianity, and education on the traditional lives of the people continued unabated. The prevalence of electronic media and globalization shifts people’s attention and attitude away from tradition and folklore/their culture and copies or prefers cultures of other people. Furthermore, technology kills the spirit of communality that was prevalent when people gathered together to watch the performances. For example, a song that was sung by a group of people once it is popularized is sung by one person. In addition, there is commodification of traditional music. Once the music is put into cassettes, CDs, etc., it loses its aesthetic and cultural value and becomes a commodity ready to be sold. This sometimes results in mass production with poor quality for money. The other disadvantage brought by technology is that the initial composers do not benefit financially from their music while those who appropriated or borrowed from its benefit. This problem is compounded by the fact that there are no copyright laws that govern the appropriation of traditional music into popular music. Where copyright laws exist, they are not reinforced. This problem needs to be addressed with immediate effect. The use of technology kills the spirit of creativity because current musicians do not produce their own music, most of them rely on existing traditional songs which they re-mix to produce new ones. According to Letswamotse, when artists copy, they are not being innovative. Copying creates distortion of meaning and the mood of the song. Using technological devices on traditional music also leads to the decontextualization of the music because now it can be performed in any context to any audience. For example, initiation songs when played on radio can be listened to by anybody, even the uninitiated, this was a taboo in the past and is against most African cultures. “ Traditional knowledge, including oral poetry and many genres of oral literature have been transported onto the global stage through various developments pertaining to information and communication technologies (ICT) and the ubiquitous nature of the internet” 75. Essentially, this is a positive scenario as it opens up many avenues for practitioners of indigenous knowledge. However, “ against these

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positive developments and opportunities there exist threats of abuse and the evaporation of the indigenous knowledge which has served humankind for millennia. These threats manifest through global dissemination that dilute the role of context which is an essential component of the knowledge in question” 76. Further, Mdlalose and Mabalane argue that “ there is an inevitable relationship between technology and culture. Technology destroys important sources of humanity. It creates culture without a moral foundation. It undermines certain mental processes and social relations that make human life worth living. They also argue that technology in sum, is both friend and enemy” 77. Lastly, though the popular music industry is growing rapidly, most musicians are still because they are being cheated by recording companies. This is another matter that should be dealt hitherto with immediate effect by African governments and policymakers.

Conclusion Popular music serves many roles/functions in Africa. The most important function being entertainment; however, these songs have other functions as well. The songs reflect the realities of life prevalent of urbanization, globalization, and social change transformation prevalent in the continent. The paper has shown that traditional songs in Africa have been affected by technological devices either negatively or positively, but their functions remain almost the same. The songs address several but related issues, be they social, political, economic, religious, and so forth. The paper concludes that technological devices have greatly influenced the way in which orality functions in contemporary Africa; therefore, there is a need to accommodate and embrace these changes to generally fulfill the ever-changing societal needs of the continent. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Rosenberg (2008: 99). Ogone (2015: 479). Letswamotse (2004: 1). Ibid., 1. Marsh (1999: 2). Gondola (1997: 69). Mugovhani (2015: 93). Ibid., 93. Nhlekisana (2009). Letswamotse ibid., 3. Ola-Busari (2015: 119). Wanyama (2007: 28). Gondola (1997: 76). Ibid., 78.

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15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59.

Lwanda (2003: 135). Mano (2007: 63). van der Geest and Asante-Darko (1982: 28). Letswamotse (2004: 82). Waterman (2000: 169). Mugambi (1997). Ibid., 205. Hadebe (2001). Waterman (1990: 372). Ibid., 372. Nhlekisana (2008). Ola-Busari, ibid., 121. Ibid., 125. Letswamotse ibid., 53. Gondola (1997: 65). Ibid., 69. Wendt (2000: 201). Ibid., 202–203. Kidula (2000: 40). Waterman (2000: 185). Mugovhani (2015: 82). Ibid., 82. Rosenberg (2008: 101). Togarasei (2007: 53). Ibid., 54. Wanyama (2007: 27). Ogone (2015: 426). Lwanda (2003: 119). Ibid., 139. Nhlekisana (2013: 178). Mano (2007: 64). Waterman ibid., 372. Mano (2007: 61). Nhlekisana (2007). Van der Geest and Asante-Darko (1982: 27). Kidula (2000). Rosenberg (2008: 99). Kaschula and Mostert (2009: 171). Merolla (2014: 84). Nhlekisana (2008: 123–124). Merolla ibid., 83. Mugovhani ibid., 82. Ibid., 87. Ogone (2015: 480). Ibid., 487.

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Merolla ibid., 82. Mdlalose and Mabalane (2015: 76). Ogone ibid., 488. Mugovhani ibid., 94. Letswamotse ibid., 53. Van Khe 1977: 69. Lipsitz (1990: 5). Wendt ibid., 203. Mugambi ibid., 221–222. van Khe (1977: 64). Ola-Busari ibid., 122. Ogone ibid., 480. Letswamotse ibid., 92. Hadebe ibid., 27. Mugovhani ibid., 94. Mostert and Kaschula (2010: 64). Ibid., 65. Mdlalose and Mabalane (2015: 74).

References Chesaina, C. 1991. Oral Literature of the Kalenjin. Nairobi: East Africa Educational Publishers. Gondola, D.Ch. 1997. Popular Music, Urban Society, and Changing Gender Relations in Kinshasa, Zaire (1950–1990). In Gendered Encounters: Challenging Cultural Boundaries and Social Hierarchies in Africa, ed. M. Grosz-Ngate and O. H. Kokole, 65-84. New York, NY and London: Routledge. Hadebe, S. 2001. The Songs of Lovemore Majayivana and Ndebele Oral Literature. In African Oral Literature: Functions in Contemporary Contexts, ed. R. H. Kaschula, 16–29. Claremont, CA: New Africa Books. Kaschula, R, and A. Mostert. 2009. Analyzing, Digitizing and Techonologizing the Oral Word: The Case of Bongani Sithole. Journal of African Cultural Studies 21 (2): 159–175. Kidula, J. 2000. Polishing the Luster of the Stars: Music Professionalism Made Workable in Kenya. Ethnomusicology: Journal of the Society for Ethnomusicology 44 (3): 408–428. Letswamotse, S.N. 2004. The Role of Traditional Expressive Artforms in Botswana Secular Popular Music. Unpublished MA Thesis, University of Botswana, Gaborone, Botswana. Lipsitz, G. 1990. Popular Culture: This Ain’t No Sideshow. In Time Passages: Collective Memory and American Popular Culture, 3–20. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Lwanda, J. 2003. Mother’s Songs: Male Appropriation of Women’s Music in Malawi and Southern Africa. Journal of African Cultural Studies 16 (2): 119–141. Mano, W. 2007. Popular Music as Journalism in Zimbabwe. Journalism Studies 8 (1): 61–77. Marsh, K. 1999. Mediating Orality: The Role of Popular Music in the Changing Tradition of Children’s Musical Play. Research Studies in Music Education 13: 2–12. Mdlalose, N, and Mabalane J. 2015. Synthesisation of Storytelling and Technology. Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies 25 (1): S73–S80. Merolla, D. 2014. Introduction: Orality and Technauriture of African Literatures. Tydskrif vir Letterkunde 51 (1): 80–90.

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Mostert, A., and H.R. Kaschula. 2010. The Role of Copyright, Copyleft and Open Source in Advancing the Electronic Accessibility of Oral Literature. Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies 20 (1): 64–84. Mugambi, H.N. 1997. From Story to Song: Gender, Nationhood, and the Migratory Text. In Gendered Encounters: Challenging Cultural Boundaries and Social Hierarchies in Africa, ed. M. Grosz-Ngate and O. H. Kokole, 205–222. New York, NY and London: Routledge. Mugovhani, N.G. 2015. Emerging Trends from Indigenous Music and Dance Practices: A Glimpse into Contemporary Malende and Tshigombela. Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies 25 (1): S81–S96. Nhlekisana, R.O B. 2007. Honey, Let’s Waltz the Day Out’: The Effects of Popular Music on Wedding Celebrations in Botswana. Muziki:Journal of Music Research in Africa 4 (1): 152–162. Nhlekisana, R.O.B. 2008. Sensitivity to Globalization: Preservation of Setswana Traditional Songs through Technological Devices. BOLESWA: Journal of Theology, Religion and Philosophy (BJTRP) 2 (2): 118–128. Nhlekisana, R.O.B. 2013. Language and Gender in Popular Music in Botswana. In Gender and Language in Sub-Saharan Africa: Tradition, Struggle and Change, ed. L. L. Atanga, S. E. Ellece, Litosseliti, and Sunderland J. John, 177–202. Amsterdam and Philadelphia, PA: Benjamins Publishing Company. Ogone, J.O. 2015. Remediating Orality: The Cultural Domestication of Video Technology in Kenya. Critical Arts 29 (4): 479–495. Ola-Busari, J. O. 2015. Restoring Owe Traditional Knowledge: A Technological Journey of Reclamation. Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies 25 (1): S114–S127. Rosenberg, A. L. 2008. Making the Case of Popular Songs in East Africa: Samba Mapangala and Shaaban Robert. Research in African Literatures 39 (3): 99–120. Togarasei, L. 2007. Making Money or Spreading the Gospel? An Analysis of the Mission of Gospel Musicians in Contemporary Zimbabwe. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa 4 (1): 51–65. Van der Geest, S, and Asante-Darko, N.K. 1982. The Political Meaning of Highlife Songs in Ghana. African Studies Review 25 (1): 27–3. Van Khe, T. 1977. Present and Future Preservation of Traditional Music. The World of Music 19 (3/4): 62–75. Wanyama, M.N. 2007. Policy and Implementation: A Case of Music Copyright Laws in Kenya. Muziki: Journal of Music Research in Africa 4 (1): 27–41. Waterman, C.A. 1990. Our Tradition Is a Very Modern Tradition: Popular Music and the Construction of Pan-Yoruba Identity. Ethnomusicology 34 (3): 367–379. Waterman, C.A. 2000. Yoruba Popular Music. In The Garland Handbook of African Music, ed. R.M. Stone, 169–185. New York, NY and London: Garland Publishing. Wendt, C. C. 2000. North Africa: An Introduction. In The Garland Handbook of African Music, ed. R.M. Stone, 188–205. New York, NY and London: Garland Publishing.

Chapter 46

Performance of Folklore on Television: New Vistas in African Folklore Renditions Rose A. Opondo

In once mainly orate, but now largely literate African communities, orality was and still remains an important medium of expression as well as enculturation. Literary and historical oral art as oral traditions in these communities not only serve as entertainment, but also as communication within the aesthetic nuances of a people which embodies their cultural outlook in life. Oral traditions or folklore embodies the spirit of a people through processes transforming myth into reality. Over time, the myths are interwoven into the tight fabric of cultural life, and instead of remaining separate from reality, they are transformed into group cultural wisdom, authored by unnamed ancestors and passed down through generations. It is thus easy to see why these folk materials have been venerated in times past and still hold much sway within traditional cultural communities in the present. These oral traditions still exist mainly as folklore. Folklore in contemporary Africa has been challenged by literacy, orthography, the disintegration of homogeneous cultures, modernization, and Westernization. Changing ideologies brought about by contact with Eurocentric Western cultures have often put traditional African cultures and their artistic expression on the defensive. Today, the performances of traditional forms of oral cultures pose questions of identity, change, and continuities of African oral arts and culture. Ruth Finnegan notes the emergence of a narrative of Africa as “age-old, passive, traditional, an earnest of the faraway past when the world was more innocent and closer to nature than now…” This long-told story circulates in continually recycling versions, feeding on that far-reaching mythic division between a world that is traditional, rural, oral, collective and unchanging, set against a world of modernity, development, urban-ness, literacy and action.1

Despite the onslaught of modernization and accompanying cultural dis- and reintegrations, African communities still cling to the rich traditional folk past which R. A. Opondo (B) Department of Literature, Theater, and Film Studies, Moi University, Eldoret, Kenya © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_46

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gave and still gives meaning to various questions of life within cultural contexts that they can understand. Finnegan notes that “many narrators and audiences are still moved by these tales of a timeless Africa with its age-old traditions and lack of history…”2 African folklore still communicates the wisdom of the forefathers that sections of present generations cling to so as to maintain that thread of continuity and posterity of culture. Oral artifacts in the form of songs, narratives, proverbs, riddles, verbal duels, chants, and crooning are seen to be imbued with the spirit of the past which should inform the present and validate the future within African identity sensibilities. It is not easy to kill a spirit; African folklore is the spirit of African cultures incarnate and so its resilience is seen in its tenacious attempts to remain alive. This is fostered in a people’s desire not only to keep an art alive, but a desire to keep an identity in memory through the metamorphosis forced by contemporary realities. The entry of writing into the human communication processes revolutionized access to and experiences of creative communication. With the writing of fiction and non-fiction narratives, the place, relevance, and future of oral traditions came into sharp focus. The reference to oral creative productions as oral literature is one of the debates which encumber the study of this art. Ong in his rejection of the term “oral literature” argues that thinking of oral tradition or a heritage of oral performance, genus, and styles as “oral literature” is rather like thinking of “horses as automobiles.”3 Writing has, however, since been recognized, not as a competition to oral art, but as a complimentary space that borrows and draws from and also expands and communicates across cultures, the oral arts. While the written text provides a residual evidence of creativity, oral arts have to compete with various memories in the human mind. Orality is recognized as a space for production, performance, and archiving of artistic sociocultural phenomena. It is a space validated by its characteristics of keen observation, vivid imagination, and ingenious expression in the languages of communication. The question of interest for this chapter is the entry of another form of mass media in the dissemination of traditional oral art, which Ong refers to as “primary orality”; this was hitherto done in real time and with direct interaction between performer and audience. Mass media incorporates both print and electronic vehicles for the transmission of desired communications. Debra Spitulnik says about mass media: Mass media – defined in conventional sense as the electronic media of radio, television, film and recorded music and the print media of newspapers, magazines and popular literatureare at once artefacts, experiences, practices and processes.4

From this definition, television, one of the electronic forms of mass media, is seen as an “artefact, experience, practice and process.” Various readings can be drawn from this observation, but the focus here is on television as experience, practice, and process and how its entry into the performance of the oral traditional arts impacts the experience of the latter. Television is both a technological platform and a narrative space. As a technological platform, its communication process is “public, rapid and transient.”5 A superficial look at these aspects may equate it to oral performance in real time in a face-to-face setting. However, the television space as a performance

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space contrasts oral performance with its reach of a relatively larger, heterogeneous, and anonymous audience. Its audience lacks the intimacy of oral performances. The entry of the oral performance into film through television is therefore essentially an encounter between two divergent narrative spaces. This chapter acknowledges the paradigm shifts in performance and experience of oral arts on the digital platform. We agree with Kaschula when he notes that “all forms of literature, including oral literature have and are being dramatically transformed by the digital media.”6 He uses the term Technauriture to refer to the performance of oral literature on the digital platform. He explains it thus: The term Technauriture essentially provides a theoretical paradigm for the interface between oral performances, the capturing of performance as well as the dissemination of oral performance through the medium of new technologies including the World Wide Web.7

With such changes in the composition, performance, and experience of African folklore, we are made to consider whether it is simply an upgrade like formerly eating with hands and now using cutlery, or whether there are major paradigm shifts in theory and practice of the orality space. Berber correctly observes that such changes reopen questions about definition, interpretation, and research methodology in the field of orality and popular cultures in Africa.8 In performances where formerly the performer occupied the same space with the audience, the shift in the distance between performance and access poses phenomenal paradigm shifts in the totality of oral performance experience. The following excerpts capture the dilemma about the life of the traditional performance of African oral art: Story-telling isn’t exactly a dying art. It is simply being transformed into TV and radio programs. Oral history and literature is also being immensely collected and published so that the stories are not lost. Examples of folklorists who are ensuring that the next generation will read the old fireside stories are Dr. Ezekiel Alembi, Ruth Finnegan, Roger Abrahams, Taban lo liyong, Oyekan Owomoyela, Harold Courlander to mention but a few. Through storytelling, diasporic Africans are beginning to know more about the jubilations, tribulations, trepidations and cultural heritage of their African forebears. Yoruba stories such Ijapa/Ajapa are also found in Costa Rica, Cuba and Brazil. The famous Anansi/Anancy of Ghana is called Bra Takuma (after his son, Ntikuma) in Jamaica. There are Gullah griots in Sea Island and Sapelo, in South Carolina who tell their stories very much like the Mande speaking Djeli.9 While modern technology has nearly killed the traditional format of storytelling, it can also be used to give it a new lease on life. Oral tales are being recorded virtually and archived for future use and for purposes such as conserving memory and collective identity.10

While the performance of these oral traditions on television and other electronic media is aimed at the utilization of currency of communication, it makes demands on these performances that lead to dramatic changes which are the focus in this chapter. Performance of oral arts for the television has varied from attempted mimicry of real-time oral folklore performances, to contrived performances for television, and adaptations of folklore material into contemporary narrative styles for television. These point to the demands of television made on the performance of oral traditions, which have to adapt to the contemporary space. The performance of oral traditions on television necessarily disorients the traditional modes of performance by allowing the entry of other imaginative and creative

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arts to enter into it, in an attempt to preserve tradition on contemporary platforms. These call for a renegotiation of performances within both cultural and social realities. Of certainty, however, is that the audiovisual space of television has occasioned what Beck and Wittmann call the increasing popularization and mass-diffusion of African oral art.11

Artistic Collaborations in Oral Performance for Tv The entry of oral literature performance on television brings in other artists outside the oral performance into any single performance. We no longer not have only the primary narrator, the praise singer, or the poet or griot; nor only their active audiences. Elements of cinema—wherein film productions including television operate— include camera, lights and color, sound, production design, performance, and editing. These are all areas of artistry in imagination and creativity. Oral art performance on television must now incorporate the art and craft of film production. This effects intertextuality as film texts now enter into the oral performance and direct the gaze of the spectators.

The Oral Artist The oral artist in most traditional African sensibilities was seen as a chosen individual endowed with abilities to see beyond what the ordinary person sees. This means that the performer is almost a mediator between the ancestors and the mortals, and as such was revered and respected. Their art was an offering to the gods and edutainment for the mortals, an art which was then revered primarily for its content. The oral artist in this context is not an actor in the sense of film. They do not have to get into character; they are at once a medium and an artist. The concern is therefore with the presentation of their message and the receptive participation of their audience. Their performance skills, while embedded in the presentation, are not subjects of conscious scrutiny but emphatically worked to carry their audience. Kabira, in her discussion of the oral narrator, notes that the oral artist is a creation of their community and so their performance is highly contextual. She distinguishes between the community-oriented community and the feudal one, and notes the resulting different orientations of artists’ composition foci. The oral artist in the communally oriented society sides with the helpless, the socially deprived and oppressed members of his community, and upholds the values held by the majority of the people. He can hence be called a true artist of the people and for the people… Narratives from southern African societies, such as the Xhosa, which were developing towards feudalism in the pre-colonial period, show that the oral artist often celebrates different values in his narratives. With the emergence of a new class of aristocrats and kings in a feudal society, the narrator’s heroes begin to change; they are no longer little boys,

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unknown warriors, or just ordinary members of the family. Here the heroes of the narratives are kings and the sons and daughters of chiefs.12

Confirming the superiority of the content over the performer, Finnegan, in her analysis of the Somali poet, notes that “A Somali poem is always the subject of interest and discussion, drawing criticism if it is considered mediocre.”13 For this reason, performance, while integral to the performance, does not bring into sharp scrutiny the particularity of the performer. These are embedded in the performance which as Kabira notes “is often a question of memory, organization, creation and understanding of the audience.”14 Performing for the camera as required by today’s digital platform has seen the rise of an oral art performer who is more of an actor and communicator with requisite acting and communication abilities, rather than a “traditionally anointed” mouthpiece of the gods. Most performers of oral arts on television are therefore increasingly being drawn from a skilled pool of communicators. Acting out the role of a traditional oral performer, the television actor has to be conscious of their acting skills in order to “sell” the show. Wright notes that: Unlike the lone artist or writer, the “communicator” in mass media works through a complex organization embodying an extensive division of labour and an accompanying degree of expense. The complexity of modern mass media has moved the creative artist many stages away from his final product.15

Given that the typical film actor enacts the story of a different character outside themselves, they have to “find the emotional arc in the story and play that.”16 In an interview with Hellen Alumbe Namai of Zamaleo, she reveals that she now has to rehearse the performance several times before the final shoot. As an oral narrator performing in front of the camera, she has to be conscious of every movement and facial expression as these will be “picked” by the camera. Besides the content to be delivered, performance skills now come under sharp scrutiny. This development, while seemingly drawing the performance of the oral arts from the sacred preserves, places into sharp focus performance skills which enhance the presentation of any art form. As spectators of the television show, we are presented with a seamless performance, whereas as literary critics, we are presented with new vistas in performance that require interrogations. The oral artist performing for television is also limited to a specific time, particular space, and bright shining lights and camera lenses for an audience. This performer must be conscious of performing for an unseen audience and therefore imagine the audience’s responses. Some performances have tried to address this by having a stage audience while performing for the television audience as well. This fragmentation of the audience comes with its own challenges. In the performance of “The Tale of Tokoloshe” in the Fireside Tales on South Africa Television (SATV), the narrator engages fully with his television stage audience and this is picked up by the camera. Even with close-up shots, his eyes are off camera looking at the stage audience. At once, this alienates the television audience momentarily, as they are made to recognize another audience apart from themselves. On the other hand, there are many instances where the performer has to speak directly into the camera, to the television

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audience. It can be assumed that at these moments, the studio or stage audience would feel the same alienation. Further, their sense of temporary alienation may be on a different level since they occupy the same space with the performer, yet there are moments of the latter “turning away” from them. The performer must therefore delicately balance between the two sets of audiences, requiring re-orientations in the performance of oral art for the television.

The Director In film productions, the director has the sole responsibility of directing the narrative to be transmitted to the audience. He is therefore a narrator in his own right. Prince notes that the director in film “coordinates and organizes the artistic inputs of other members of the production team, who generally subordinate their artistic tastes and preferences to a director’s stated wishes or vision.”17 This succinctly captures the concerns of this paper. That the other members of the production team have to subordinate their tastes and preferences to those of the director affects the production of oral arts performed on television. The members of the production team in this performance, apart from the film crew, will be the oral artist. Their performance will now have to follow the directions of the director who, in the words of Prince, “has chief artistic authority”. The oral artist in this context relinquishes their artistic authority to another, who directs the production for the audience. The director as an artist in their own right now has to work with another artist of a totally different genre in filming the oral performance. Directing an oral art performance, while straining to keep within the dictates of television narrative structures, requires cognizance of the unique relationship between performer and audience in an oral performance. The production must therefore keep to the traditions of a deep and immediate interaction between performer and audience, while at the same time achieving a fit within normal film structures. Television narratives follow the common script of having the audience looking in at the unfolding events at a later date from the actual performance. Oral performances, on the other hand, require the audience to be integrated into the performance and look into past events unfolding through imaginations evoked by the performer. The director has to integrate the two audiences into the single performance on television. Film narratives have the power to transport the audience into their make-believe world through visuals and sound effects. Oral arts like oral narratives achieve this feat through creating vivid imaginations in the audience’s mind using only words and sounds. Ideally, the set should be void of visuals apart from that of the performer. However, this “dry” set may not go well with the dictates of television. The merger of the two divergent narrative spaces thus takes the director back to considerations of the “target” audience. Is it the typical television viewer looking for entertainment, or is it the cultural person looking for cultural involvement? The director has to resolve this in directing the oral performance for television. This would require an understanding of the oral art performance in its traditional contexts and re-negotiating the same for television.

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Sounds, foreign languages, dialogue, and music enhance the visual image and increase a film’s effects on the viewer. The director directs the tempo and loudness of the film to contribute to the narrative plot either to foreshadow coming events, emphasize a specific scene, or heighten the viewer’s emotional response. In traditional oral performances, the sound effects are produced by the performer, often solo. The incorporation of musical groups into an oral narrative performance, for example, is an integration of genres that is more recent rather than ancient in tradition. Direction of sound and other accompanying effects like lighting and scenery fall on an artist outside the oral artist. Oral performance on television therefore invites interrogations on emerging collaborations in performance as the oral artists give up sole ownership of their performance.

The Cinematographer The television platform offers an intertwined narrative to the story, through the technical aspects of production. It does this when it creates a visual narrative that directs the audience’s gaze. It acts through interpretation of the narrative which, more often than not, has been shot before beforehand. Through panning, close-ups, parallel panes, and focal points, the director in conjunction with the cinematographer directs the focal attention of the audience. The film crew takes directions from the director but they also work as artists in their own right. The camera personnel, under direction by the desired narrative effect, determine the best angles for shots. In film, shots tell a story; they select memories for the audience. The audience gets the story through the lens of the camera and so the narrative is essentially directed through the visuals provided. The cameraman can give panoramic views, long or medium shots, and close-ups of character or objects, and this directs the viewer’s perception of the narrative through retained visual memories. Unlike in situations of live performances where the artist has sole command of the viewer’s attention, on television, the cameraman can distract from the artist or compliment the artist depending on the shots. For example, while explaining a particular character, the viewer’s mind can be distracted by what is being said by a framing of another activity at the bottom corner of the screen or that which has replaced the performer on the screen altogether. Through the lens techniques of long-range shots, close-ups, camera movements, camera angles, profiles, framing of shots, and close-up shots the camera operator weaves in a narrative into the oral performance. Their “plot” must enter the “plot” of the oral performance by showing the viewer dramatic emotions that might go unnoticed with ordinary vision, and place the image and its behavior within a larger psychological context. As the camera moves, slowly or at a varying pace, the audience peruses the landscape, gleaning how the culture works, as they are transported to an alternative place and time. In face-to-face performances of oral arts, the audience’s gaze is almost always directed on the artist alone, but many features of facial expressions and body movements are fleetingly transient. The film captures and

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immortalizes these, and changes the experience of the performance on the television screen. This changes the highly transient images created by pure imagination of this faraway reality, as narrated by an oral artist. The experience of imagination occasioned by face-to-face oral narration is further interfered with by the digital visuals used to compliment or illustrate the narrative in the screen performance. According to D’Abreo (1994), Mass media are in essence prolongations and refinements of the human senses. Through the use of media, we can prolong or go beyond the limits of our senses insofar as we can perceive and participate in events that are taking place far away from us.18

In performances where the artists decide to incorporate digital images for illustrations of sections of the tale, the viewer’s attention may switch to the analysis of the images. In the “Tale of Tolokashe” on SATV, (South Africa), the sound of singing precedes any image on the screen; this is followed by animated pictures of animals and plants with representations of eyes moving about. The animations present animal characters that provide visuals for the audience, specifically children. This is also seen in the performance of “The Tortoise” on QTV (Kenya) where the audience perceives raindrops in animation and the blooming of flowers. In both performances, the camera at times also shifts to zoom in on the fire, which is the centerpiece in the performance. Such visuals intrigue the audience, and for a few seconds, attention is taken away from the narrator and their words. This fragmentation necessitated by the digital platform calls for the re-crafting of verbal presentations to fit animated visuals without, at the same time, breaking the flow of the narrative. The cameraman is thus a mediator in the performance and now contributes to the direction of the audience’s gaze. They help to select and imprint visuals on the spectators’ memory.

The Film Editor Film editing can create astonishing views not found in reality. Prince defines editing in film as “the work of joining shots to assemble the finished film.”19 The work of the editor begins with the completion of the director’s and cinematographer’s work. The editor puts up the final product through a process of elimination of what they consider unworthy of viewership in the experience of the story. Television shows require editing as well, even if not to the level of film productions. This is because as Prince notes, “the editor selects the best shots from the large amount of footage the director and cinematographer have provided, assembles these in order, and connects them using a variety of optical transitions.”20 Further, the television shows are strictly timed; consideration of this requirement falls within the editor’s docket. With editing, there is a process of selection. This is an artistic predisposition of putting puzzle pieces together to create the illusion of a whole for the audience. In the face-to-face performance of an oral art, the performer has no “cut and paste” facility. They select experiences for their audiences through mental composition and choice

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of words. The film editor works, not necessarily with words alone, but with visuals as well. This presents an intriguing paradigm shift, both in filming an oral narrative and in editing the footage for viewership. In an oral art performance, every verbal cue is important to the narrative. Determination of what makes the cut is therefore not as clear cut as in the filming of a typical film script. In the oral tradition performance, the editor has to work with a script that has its own demand, coming from a different genre of art.

Expectations of Television and Consumption of Oral Arts Television culture has widely spread across Africa in the last century and is now accessible by a large population of the African people. Television is a major mass communication media today in almost every country in Africa. Its major aim is to reach the masses with pre-formulated communication. Television is the most invasive of mass media technologies because of its widespread availability in homes, hotel rooms and social places of gathering. Strides in infrastructural developments in Africa have seen access to television even in the most remote regions. A report on Statista notes that there were nearly 55.34 million TV household in sub-Saharan Africa in 2014–2015, with the number set to rise to about 75 million by 2021.21 By 2016, it records over 19.47 million subscribers that pay for TV in the same region. It therefore suffices to assume that a relatively large population in African countries can now access television. Performing oral traditions on television would then reach a large population of the African masses. However, just as in the American and European worlds, television is viewed primarily as a source of entertainment, then information. Education, cultural or otherwise, comes as a distant third in this pecking order. Performance of oral traditions for the television can be subjected to interrogations on overriding objectives. Is it the preservation of culture or provision of alternative entertainment drawing from ethnic cultures? The answer could very well depend on whose interests apply at any one time; however, the undisputable fact is that the television media has its own expectations of both industry and audience. This begs the question: Who then is the audience for oral art performances on television? The consideration of audience affects the airing of these shows as they are seen more as corporate responsibility acts than commercially viable ventures. The reality of television is that it has to make profits to stay afloat. This then directs the kind of shows that are put up. More audience-attracting magnets translate into wider viewership which in turn attracts advertisers, the main financial mainstay of media houses. The Zamaleo Act in Kenya notes that their primary audience is young school age children. This becomes their primary target in keeping with one of the ideologies of oral traditions as socializing tools of the young for communal integration. Michelle Tanon-Lora, a novelist, philosopher and poet who performs for television in Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire notes that some performances are more suited for adults and these are aired when, ideally, children are away from home or in bed.22 Children’s shows

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may almost always fall into the category of corporate social responsibility for media houses as the adult viewership—the main consumers of advertisements—is limited. This excludes performances of oral arts from prime television time. Closely tied to preferences in television viewership in Africa are the concerns of the contemporary audience. The television audience will at any time watch what speaks to their lives and current social, cultural, economic, and political environments. Ron Lembo in Thinking Through Television notes that: People usually relate what they are watching to one or another aspect of their own lives or to things that they have seen and heard elsewhere. In doing so, they supply a referent, or referents, to the television discourse…establishing connections between that world and their aim as a way of making that discourse meaningful.

Cultural environments are dynamic and in constant flux due to the impact of reorientations in social interactions and access to global information and cultures. As such, traditional African cultures are also in flux. Oral art traditions still largely assume a conservative outlook of cultures past. For example, in the performance of a Maasai coming of age ritual on KTN, the ritual is still necessarily set within the traditional context which many may argue is not relevant to the realities of today. As such, psychological and ideological identification with what is happening on the screen is wanting. This is the missing link in getting the desired audience numbers. Such performances may then be viewed by the majority as desperate attempts to arrest a “dying past” and therefore not worth their while. This distraction is further compounded by the audience’s ability to select what to watch in the privacy of their own homes. For the contemporary African masses, a majority who access and watch television shows regularly have been weaned on situational comedies, reality shows on television and other entertainment and informative shows based on modernist outlooks and Eurocentric ideologies. Their adopted or aspired lifestyles are therefore reflected more by contemporary social interactions rather than traditional contextualization of interactions. This would account for the success of film or television productions which infuse the past into present lifestyles, mostly using the latter as histo-cultural backgrounds and motivations. An example is the acclaimed Nollywood films from Nigeria. The performance of oral arts for television must then re-orient itself to the needs of the television audience and repackage its presentations. This can be seen in the performance of Akan riddles and proverbs on Ghana Television (GTV), which have been repackaged as competitive duels among screen performers. The competitive edge which shows the linguistic prowess and cultural grounding of the participants attracts audiences to the show. The traditional integration of riddles and proverbs into oral narratives, or the performance of riddles by children alone as pastime, is repackaged for a mainly adult viewership on television. Television directs the gaze on the audience and gaze of the audience. As we watch television, it gazes at us while directing our gaze as well. There are genres of oral traditional arts that shy away from the public gaze. Circumcision rituals and some burial rituals have specialized publics and as such, are not candidates for performance on television. Where these have been recorded for television, issues of

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propriety emerge, hence, censorship and other control mechanisms. In the traditional cultural environments, the separation of publics is eased by secluded performances. With television, however, even the strictest controls in terms of air time and schedules may not be foolproof. As such, some genres of African folklore may be subjected to “natural” death. Television as an envisaged cultural preservation medium may not access such performances. Another demand of television is serialization and breaks. To encourage continuity while at the same time avoiding the boredom which comes with familiarity, television shows are packaged into various episodes within seasons. For regular informative and entertainment shows, this provides for a refreshment of narratives. Oral art performances may not necessarily follow the same patterns; they have their own internal seasons of the performance of particular genres. Some examples are harvest songs, war narratives, and court poetry and marriage songs. These integral generic seasons are however subjugated to the seasons of television. This would then bring into question the continuity of oral culture embedded in these performances. By and large, these may be relegated to mere exhibitory nuances rather than continued practice.

Continuities: Performance of Traditional Oral Cultures on Contemporary Spaces As has been noted so far, as oral art performance enters into the space of film narratives, there emerges changes in both the composition and performance of them. The introduction of performance on a television set, the absence of an interactive audience, or the presence of an “acting” audience, the experience of oral performance in isolation in the privacy of home spaces, the restriction of performance into television show durations and timings as well as camera demands on the performer all impact the contemporary performance of African folk art on television. The observed changes in setting, performer-audience relations, and traditional cultural orientations of performances are reoriented and in some instances distorted completely to cater for contemporary television audiences. What then of the oral art survives the onslaught of changing media? Oral genres which can also be understood as oral literature, being texts that can be studied, are given their definition and distinction by the aspect of performance. Finnegan notes that “oral literature is by definition dependent on a performer who formulates it in words on a specific occasion.” From this definition, we deduce real-time face-to-face interaction between performer and audience within specific temporal spaces that contribute meaning to the particular performance. This is one aspect that lends generic authenticity to the performance of oral genres and endows it with cultural acceptance. Performing the same genres for television presents major paradigm shifts from the traditional constructions of time and space. Although the screen provides for the retaining of verbal cues, body language, voice inflections, and setting and costume, it takes away from the interactions between

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performer and audience. Discussing Acholi orality, Okumu notes that “the narratives are performed at a specific time to a responsive audience.” This can be said of most traditional African oral genres that have public audiences. The emphasis made by Okumu on performance, time, and audience underscores the importance of time and space in the performance of these genres. On television, both are revised as the timing depends on when the program will be aired, and the space is that which is removed from the intended audience. The performer’s interaction with their audience can therefore only be imaginary, even where a set audience has been contrived! Furthermore, the audience’s response to the performer is mental and passive. The audience in most cases is isolated from one another even when they access the performance at the same time. The community building aspect of the oral performance is thus distorted. David Reisman also notes in his chapter on “The Mass media in the Stage of Other-direction,” that “the moral lessons of tales told by mass media cannot be tailored to fit the capacity of the individual listener, as they might have been in face-to-face storytelling.” The demands of television on manipulation of the audience which necessarily direct content development differ from traditional oral performance strategies. This has seen attempts to recapture and immortalize the village context by staging the fire at the fireside narrative events, as well as the introduction of optics in the illustration of narratives performed for television. Such changes are influenced by the demands of visuals by the television spaces and necessarily re-orient the content development of folk art for television. The simplicity of the storytelling, its renowned linearity, is subjugated to the complexities of film spaces. These attempts nevertheless have to contend with the television audiences as presented within communication theories, which are in agreement with the tenets of Technauriture. In Seiter et al., we are introduced to a television audience that becomes a producer of meanings and pleasures rather than a mere commodity for the consumption of television views. With regard to the aspects of time schedules and credits requirements for show presentation on television, the narration has to fit within a specific time to allow for credits both before and after the main performance. Also, depending on the station, the narrative may be broken to air commercials, especially if it is a primetime show. These breaks are a deviation from the format of traditional performances where breaks were woven into the narration through song, riddling or questioning for alertness and attention, and are part and parcel of the plot. Performances, now being aired outside cultural contextual environments, must have accompanying background narratives for explanation. The TV audience is also removed from the performance and relates to the performer through the lens of the camera. The primary audience is thus a technological entity. Prince notes that in cinema “an actor’s performance is reconfigured by editing, sound design, music, and other elements of structure”; whereas the screen audience will ultimately access the performance, their interaction with the performer is filtered by technology, creating an artistic distance that begs interrogation. This would impact on community building in the performance of African folklore.

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Conclusion But in a strange twist, like a tale from One Thousand and One Nights, perhaps technology thought to be responsible for the decline of the storyteller - could turn out to be its savior…Storytellers from Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, Egypt, Tunisia, Mauritania and even Ireland have recently been performing and sharing their ideas at the Hakaya festival in Amman, Jordan…Many of them are not full-time traditional storytellers but actors, directors and film makers for whom storytelling remains at the heart of their creative lives…While celebrating the art of the oral narrative, the festival also looked at ways of keeping it alive through modern media. Although Hassan el Gretly laments the passing of the storyteller or hakawati, he says the art also lives on in theatrical performances, film, television and the internet…While modern technology has nearly killed the traditional format of storytelling, it can also be used to give it a new lease on life. Oral tales are being recorded virtually and archived for future use and for purposes such as conserving memory and collective identity. Theatrical performances, television, and film are also keeping the art form alive. Social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter are providing a platform for personal narratives. Ultimately, storytelling needs that arise from changing times must be met with technological innovations that help foster communication.

From the foregoing discussions and from the two excerpts from online conversations on the continuity of oral arts in the sociocultural landscape of Africa and its diaspora given above, we can deduce the impact of audiovisual media on traditional performances. The entry of African folklore oral performance into an electronic audiovisual mass media like television demands closer scrutiny of the performance of African oral literatures, especially within the contexts of its continued claims of traditional and cultural authenticity and grounding. In his discussion of reading television as a creative space, Fiske notes that: The written word works through and so promotes consistency, narrative development from cause to effect, universality and abstraction, clarity and a single tone of voice. Television, on the other hand, is ephemeral, episodic, specific, concrete and dramatic in mode.

This difference in television has been discussed as a divergent performance space into which the oral performance enters, with the resulting re-orientations, distortions, and re-alignments in performance. The chapter has concentrated on the impact of the digital space on the performance of oral African art, emphasizing the major shifts in performer, performance, and audience. It is therefore imperative that the television space has necessitated major structural and ideological changes in the composition and performance of the African oral folk material that takes us into new vistas of performance necessitated by technology and its emerging artistic spaces. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

Finnegann (2007: 65). Ibid., 69. Ong (1982: 12). Spitulnik (1993: 293).

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Wright (1959: 15). Kaschula (2016: 350). Ibid. Berber (2005). Sitsofe Kwaku Agbemenu (Online debate). Pierce Muchiri (Online debate). Beck and Wittmann (2004). Kabira (1983: 2). Finnegan ibid., 107. Kabira ibid., 16. Wright (1959: 15). Prince (2014: 122). Ibid., 16. D’Abreo (1994: 93). Prince ibid., 150. Ibid. Accessed 1 April 2015. Tanon-Lora (2018: Oral interview).

References Agbemenu, Sitsofe Kwaku. 2004. Is Story-telling a dying art? BBC News, Friday, July 16, news.bbc.co.uk>Africa. Beck, R.B., and Frank Wittmann (eds.). 2004. African Media Cultures: Transdisciplinary Perspectives. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag. Berber, K. 2005. Text and Performance in Africa in Oral Traditions 20 (2): 264–277. D’Abreo, D.A. 1994. The Mass Media and You. Bombay: Better Yourself Books. Finnegann, R. 2007. The Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa. Oxford: James Curry. Fiske, J., and J. Hartley. 2003. Reading Television. London: Routledge. Kabira, W. 1983. The Oral Artist. Nairobi: Heinemann, Kenya Ltd. Kaschula, R.H. 2016. Technauriture as an Educational Tool. South Africa in Nordic Journal of African Studies 25 (3&4): 349–363. Lembo, R. 2000. Thinking Through Television. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Muchiri, Pierce. 2004. Is Story-Telling a Dying Art? BBC News. Friday, 16 July, news.bbc.co.uk>Africa. Okumu, C. 1999. Acholi Orality. In Uganda: The Cultural Landscape, ed. Eckhard Breitinger. Kampala: Fountain Publishers Press. Ong, W. 1982. Orality and Literacy. The Technologizing of the Word. New York, NY: Routledge. Namai, Hellen Alumbe. 2016. Oral Interview Conducted on 13th May in Nairobi, Kenya. Prince, S. 2014. Movies and Meaning: An Introduction to Film, 6th ed. Essex: Pearson Education Ltd. Reisman, D. 1961. The Lonely Crowd, Abridged ed. London: Yale University Press. Seiter, E., Hans Borches, and Gabriele Kreutzner (eds.). 1991. Remote Control: Television, Audiences and Cultural Power. London: Routledge. Spitulnik, D. 1993. Anthropology and Mass Media. Annual Review Anthropology 22: 293–315.

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Tanon-Lora, Michelle. 2018. Oral Interview Conducted on 9th March in Accra, Ghana. Wright, C.R. 1959. Mass Communication. A Sociological Perspective. New York, NY: Randan House.

Chapter 47

Orality, Cinema, Film, and Video Henry O. Unuajohwofia

Introduction Man is fascinated by the transformation media has brought to how human narrative experiences are transmitted. No less charming are the changes that have happened to the ability of man to adopt technologies to enhance the power of the human voice. The invention of other media such as books, printed materials, and movies has not replaced the use of the spoken word. Rather, the spoken word, otherwise referred to as orality, has remained tenacious. But in storytelling, the once purely oral narratives like the folktale have been hugely transformed through the introduction of other technologically advanced media such as movies or film. As such, the content and technique of transmitting narratives through the purely oral media using the mouth cannot be the same as when narratives are transmitted through the channel of film. This is what this paper wants to unravel. This paper argues that the shift from transmitting stories by means of oral media through the cinema has impacted the content and aesthetics of narratives. Orality is more than using spoken words to express experience. Apart from what Grant Lovejoy says, that “many dictionaries define orality as ‘a reliance on spoken rather than written language for communication,’” the scholar sees “a fuller description of orality as… the collection of characteristics (cognitive, communicational, and relational) that are typical of cultures that functions orally”. Also, James Morgan faults the dictionary definition of orality as too narrow. The scholar sees orality as “a larger aspect of an oral media that shapes the way the communities are.”1 This broad definition highlights the permeability of the oral to every aspect of life in cultures where orality is dominant, even in the presence of other communication media. Though a wholly oral culture is not possible in this globalized world, the flexibility of orality to fuse with other mediums to transmit experiences cannot be ignored. It is this uniqueness of the oral in the lives of men that spurs Milman Parry to study the H. O. Unuajohwofia (B) Delta State University, Abraka, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_47

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oral epic songs in the former Yugoslavia. Although it is Parry who initiated a study on the Homeric epics from a philological perspective (he died in the early 1930s), Albert Lord, one of his students, continued the fieldwork on the Yugoslavia material in 1949, after the completion of his doctorate degree in Harvard University. This work resulted in the book, The Singer of Tales. Lord’s analysis of the epic songs introduced new methodical ways of harnessing the potential of orality in stories, even when in the midst of the shift from oral to literate media. In analyzing the text of an oral story, Lord identifies the theme as an indicator of orality. According to Lord, the theme is “the group of ideas regularly used in telling a tale in the formulaic style of traditional song.”2 The theme is the fixed idea that a story projects to the audience, part of what Harold Scheub refers to as the “inherited tradition.”3 The theme is usually an area of culture that is stressed positively or negatively. Lord also details the use of formula as an element of orality. Lord sees the formula as “a group of words which is regularly employed under the same metrical conditions to express a given idea.”4 According to Lord, it is the regular use of a formula and not memorization that fixes the structure of an oral performance on the mind of the performer. Formula is acquired through learning and habitual usage and can be deployed spontaneously. Writing about the contributions of Parry and Lord to the study of orality, William McCarthy observed that the “volumes by Milman Parry and Albert Lord… provide the foundation for oral studies.”5 In 1982, Walter Ong published his book Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. In the book, Ong traces the development and influence of literacy on what was once an oral world. In an objectively analyzed work, Ong is able to delineate certain elements that orality possesses, even in a literate culture. William McCarthy summarized that these features of orality have been “addictive rather than subordinative” because they look toward pragmatics rather than syntactics. Orality is “aggregative rather than analytic,” and in orality, there is the burden of “epithets and other formulary baggage.” Ong, according to McCarthy, is also of the view that orality is “redundant or copious.”6 This feature aids the narrator and his listeners to be on the same line of understanding. Other features of orality as unveiled by Ong are that orality is “conservative” through the employment of clichés. Orality is also “close to the human life world,” as “it is empathetic and participatory rather than objectively distanced.” It is interpersonal in nature and can capture the rigors of the human experience. This factor aids easy integration. Orality is also “situational rather than abstract,” and it tends to be homeostatically inclined. This is the ability to renew narratives through the embedding of inherited traditions in contemporary events, and weaving tales to integrate modern audiences toward easy interaction.7 Another aspect of orality where Ong left his mark is his separation of the various levels of orality. This vertical separation resulted in the phenomenon of the primary orality, secondary orality, and residual orality. Primary orality, according to Ong, is the use of oral communication as the primary mode of transmission for human experience in cultures “totally untouched by any knowledge of writing or print.”8 Once a society embraces literacy, the level of primary orality in that culture will change. In Ong’s view, the invention of writing brings its own influences and challenges to

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orality. The development of writing moves the art of oral narration to the chirographic phase of book and print media. In trying to tell stories in writing, storytellers have to move from the oral/aural to writing. The elements of orality identified earlier become the remnants of orality in the written text of a story; what Ong calls “residue.” In the context of written literature in Africa, the remnants of oral culture embedded in a written work can be termed “residual orality.”9 The impact of technology on human civilization is not limited to only the scientific aspects of life. Oral artists and storytellers have adopted various technologies to project their art. This is what Ong calls secondary orality. Ong has this to say: …with telephone, radio, television and the various kind of sound tape, electronic technology has brought us into the age of ‘secondary orality’. This new orality has striking resemblance to the old in its participatory mystique, its fostering of a communal sense, its concentration on the present moment, and even its use of formulas. But it is essentially a more deliberate and self-conscious orality, based permanently on the use of writing and print, which are essential for the manufacture and operation of the equipment and for its use as well… secondary orality is both remarkably like and remarkably unlike primary orality. Like primary orality, secondary orality has generated a strong group sense, for listening to spoken words forms hearers into a group, a true audience, just as reading written or printed texts turns individuals into themselves. But secondary orality generates a sense for groups immeasurably larger than those of primary oral culture…10

The concept of secondary orality therefore becomes the marriage of primary orality and technology resulting in the creation of other media for transmitting the human experience. In Africa, the study of orality has been closely associated with the investigation of various art forms propagated through the oral media. In this study, special focus is paid to the folktale as a narrative form wholly employing primary orality in its transmission before the marriage with electronic technology. The works of Minnie Postma, John Mbiti, Ruth Finnegan, Harold Scheub, Dan Ben-Amos, Modupe Broderick, and John Pepper Clark all point to the folktale as an oral form exhibiting most of the features of orality enunciated earlier. But as Africa becomes enmeshed in the web of globalization, this interpersonal art form is frittering away. The appropriation of electronic technology to create new platforms for the transmission of narrative experiences (survival of orality) has been termed “convergent media” by Ropo Sekoni. Godini Darah puts the unavoidable shift of oral media toward convergent media, as symbolized by the situation of the folktale, this way: Whereas other folk forms such as proverb, song, music, folk drama/theatre, and various juvenile materials are still practiced, the folktale appears to have withered away. The rural communities that practiced the art are still there in Africa but most of them do not have the kind of stable socio-economic situation that generated and utilized the folktale. Urbanisation has shifted critical audiences away from the agrarian hearths to new communities. In this new setting, the concept of “moonlight tales” has lost its aesthetic significance.11

Though the folktale as an oral form of storytelling is waning, it does not portend the end of orality. Instead, orality has continued to thrive in other ways, as the human voice has been able to achieve so many successes with the appropriation of secondary

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orality. This is the synchronization of primary orality, secondary orality, and technology. Sekoni refers to convergent media as “computer mediated communication” which “enhances interactivity and participation in a manner reminiscent of the era of primary orality…”12 One such convergent media that propagates orality in the transmission of the narrative experience is the cinema, film, or movie. Andrei Severny defines cinema as the “art of simulating experiences, that communicate ideas, stories, perceptions, feelings, beauty or atmosphere by the means of recorded or programmed moving images along with other sensory stimulations.”13 The same scholar also guides us in the definition of film when he writes that “the Oxford English Dictionary defines film in technical terms – ‘a story or event recorded by a camera as a set of moving images and shown in a cinema or on television.’”14 The same dictionary also defines movie as “a motion picture or film produced for entertainment that tells a story.”15 In the definitions of the three terms—cinema, film, and movie, one idea that cuts across them is that they all refer to a story transmitted as a set of motion pictures simulated to reflect reality. Akshay Patil differentiates between the terms cinema, film, and movie when he says that “movie is slang for a motion picture. Film is the medium on which motion pictures are fixed.”16 Cinema is from the French Cinematographe which comes in part from the Greek Cinema, meaning “movement”. So, cinema is really just another word meaning moving picture. It also has come to mean movie, generally the process of filmmaking and also the building where films are shown. However, in this chapter, the terms cinema, film, and movie are used interchangeably to mean the medium of transmission of narrative experience through motion pictures and simulated animations of events. While most communities in Africa remain rural in their economic and social outlook, the folktale as a medium of storytelling continues to hold sway in captivating the populace. But as they say, change is dynamic. So, with the development of cities, the Nigerian landscape has begun to witness a drift, termed by some scholars as the rural-urban migration.17 Economic development that came on the heels of the trans-Saharan and Atlantic trade between Africa, Asia, and Europe necessitated a mass movement of people from rural Africa to modernizing towns to seek better livelihoods. This movement did not diminish the propagation of stories through folktales. Rather, it created a mass urbanized audience that is not homogenous in culture. This diverse audience is united in their experience of the storytelling art but they are varied in their unique languages and customs. Therefore, there arose a vacuum of storytellers, who had once held sway in their various communities, to reach these mixed listeners. The development of cities encourages the interaction of diverse groups of people, both Africans and non-Africans. The economic interest of Europe in Africa, which has been described in detail by African scholars like Frantz Fanon, encourages the transfer of technological devices developed in Europe and America to Africa. One of the most outstanding is television technology. John Bittner notes that man’s interest in motion pictures started as cave drawings, where some drawings show the feet of men or animals outstretched as though in motion. The development of the Kinetograph in 1889, the Kinetoscope in 1891, and the Vitascope in 1896 culminated in the

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Nickelodeon in 1905.18 Of utmost interest in the development of motion picture technology to this study is that in 1903, motion picture technology was adapted to tell a story. Stanley Baran narrates the experience this way: “Edwin S. Porter, an Edison company cameraman, saw that film could be an even better storyteller with more artistic use of camera placement and editing. His 12 minutes, The Great Train Robbery produced in 1903 was the first movie to use editing, intercutting of scenes, and a mobile camera to tell a relatively sophisticated tale.”19 In 1927, during the showing of the film, The Jazz Singer, Warner’s Brothers (according to Bittner) became the first to use “synchronized sound to tell a story…audiences loved it.”20 Thus began an era in which the television became the main machine for delivering movie stories. Closely aligned to the development of technology in the enhancement of movie storytelling is the factor of the globalization of communication. Storytellers saw this opportunity early enough to explore the developing technology of the television and motion picture for commercial gains. In his essay “Principles of Igbo Oral Epic: A Study in Traditional Aesthetic and Oral Literary criticism,” Chukwuma Azuonye identifies four aesthetic principles as the benchmark for criticizing the Igbo oral epic: functionality, authenticity, clarity, and creative variation. The principle of functionality implies that the Igbo oral epic serves the function of instilling the culture of heroism in the listener, acting as a “tonic to awaken that old spirit of bravery.”21 The oral epic also functions as a means of preserving traditional stories, as well as a transmitter of tradition. Thus, the oral epic enhances survival of the epic stories of the Igbo people. The principle of authenticity relates to realism in the epic. In this regard, three elements are distinguishable. First, the images in the epic are selected to have an associative meaning within the context of the performance. Second, historical details that are verifiable are included in the epic performance. Lastly, the identification of truth in the objects, places, and persons by the audience adds to the pleasure derived from the epic performance. The use of good and clear voice, simple language, the arrangement of plots, and the choice of appropriate theme for development leads to clarity in the Igbo oral epic. The principle of creative variation alludes to the “degree of creative improvisation” that a performer of the Igbo epic is capable of. Recent events and contemporary themes are embedded in old stories to create variation. When new events and details are added to the epic, it creates changes and at the same time there is growth in the length of the epic. In all, Azuonye surmises that “the principles of oral literary evaluation in Ohafia Igbo oral epic tradition…are relevant to the evaluation of particular genre, in a particular oral tradition, against the background of a particular historical and social situation.”22 These four principles will guide the interpretation of stories transmitted through movies to highlight the impact of the shift from oral media to cinematic media. Transformation is noticed in the presentation of the cognitive experience in stories transmitted through the cinema. One issue that can captivate a viewer’s interest is that of struggle. In stories transmitted through movies, three aspects of the projection of the idea of struggle can be deciphered. First, there is the physical struggle between various interests and layers in movie stories; these are broadly classified as taking place between good and evil. In this fast-paced dynamic world, the boundary between

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good and evil has become thin. As the saying goes, “one man’s meal is another man’s poison.” In the story of Sarafina , a film based on the struggle between the pro- and anti-apartheid forces in apartheid South Africa, the level of confrontation takes a violent physical dimension with torture, murder, and arson in full glare. However, in Oshimiri: The Great River, a Nigerian movie, the struggle takes a spiritual aspect. Perhaps in view of the complications involved in the merging and wielding of political and religious authority by one imperfect man, this tension leads to the separation of both powers in the Anike Kingdom. Even then, the religious aspect of the lives of the people of Anike is always interfering in the political processes of the kingdom. When Agadjealo was the supreme deity of the kingdom, her priestess, though tolerant of the principles of the separation of powers, still tried to use her powers to influence political decisions. One instance where the priestess tries without success to influence political decision is during the birth of Uduka, the eventual priestess of Ugidi. The priestess tried to co-opt the king (Igwe Udoka) to sacrifice the child because the prophecy showed that she was an evil seed who would torment the people in the future. But the king, representing the political authority, refused to heed her instructions. Even though the consequences are harsh, the lesson that there is beauty in the separation of political powers from religious authority cannot be discountenanced. The beauty of the medium of movies in transforming the content of stories from the oral narrative mode to a dramatization of events is achieved in this instance through the placement of the palace of the king in a town separate from the shrine of the gods, which is set in the forest near the holy river. Furthermore, the movie pictures the sovereignty of the political power over the religious one when it dramatizes the action of the priestess as always going to the palace of the king to report messages from the gods. Thus, the film media is able to dramatize the separation of powers without necessarily utilizing direct description. The third aspect of the idea of struggle has to do with emotional struggle. In the Egyptian movie titled Asmaa, the trials and triumphs of the title character Asmaa as she battles with AIDS reflects the ability of the cinema to clearly portray the inner struggles of characters in stories. The pictures of Asmaa as she suffers abandonment and segregation are heartrending, as she struggles against the fear of others in society that they might catch the virus from her, even when they know it cannot be transmitted through mere contact. Her father Hosni, her daughter Habiba, and her acquaintances also go through psychological torture as they struggle to help her get a doctor who can operate on her to save her from a debilitating gall bladder disease. The technology of the motion picture thus enables the cinema to project the images of desolation that verbal description through the primary mode of orality cannot realistically develop. Relatively, the issue of resistance in the stories transmitted through the film media discloses the idea of freedom as a fundamental pillar in the achievement of a just society by man. This pursuance of the ideal of freedom has dominated man’s thinking for centuries. In storytelling, the idea of freedom forms the bedrock of the struggle between groups. In The Lion King, an animated film based on the simulated animal kingdom of the Pride Lands, the sovereignty of the lions has alienated the hyenas and others from leadership positions in the Pride Lands, thereby eternalizing their

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position in the periphery. The film media employed to transmit the story captures this apartheid vividly. The cinema media uses contrast to project the Pride Land as a place of peace and plenty. The herbivores willingly submit to the authority of the carnivorous lions. Meanwhile, the opposition (the hyenas) are relegated to the Elephant Graveyard, a location that the movie media projects as an arid and dry place full of bones and thorns. The opposition continue in this shadow state until Scar comes to prepare them for the “coup of the century.” It is at this stage that their resistance gains limelight. Likewise, in Mark of Uru, a Nigerian animated film, the formation of the group that shields Azuka from the hegemonic powers are the outcasts. These are rebels against the policies of society that brand them as unwanted for no crime of theirs. Akika describes them this way: Adisa was sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit. He tried to prove his innocence to no avail. In the end, he ran away because he believes it is wrong for a man to bear the consequences of another man’s actions. Mitai was rejected by her parents after she was born without hair. They believe she was a curse and left her to die in the jungle. A lonely woman found her, raised her and also discovers her unusual abilities. Unfortunately, the old woman died and Mitai was left alone. Tari was the only child of her warrior king. When her father was killed in the battle of Buguma, she was accused of killing her father in order to ascend the throne. You know about me. I’ve been an outcast since childhood.23

It is the intuitive urge to be free that gives birth to these stories that are animated for emotional effects. As Okpewho puts it, “these tales derive their inspiration from issues closer to contemporary culture or political history than from a memory of a distant trauma.”24 Aside from the political and religious consideration, the Oshimiri story from Nigeria also instills the spirit of adventure and sacrifice in the youth of society. As a young man in the story, Prince Ikenna embodies the spirit of adventure and sacrifice. He is a hunter even though he is a prince and next-in-line to the king. At the height of its siege by Ugidi, Prince Ikenna volunteered to go to the Ugulama caves to get the boon that will restore the kingdom along with Uduego and Ujadike, both valiant warriors. The trio traveled across seven mountains and seven rivers and at the cave when the keeper of the Ugulamo powers asked for one of the warriors to volunteer to be sacrificed, Uduego decided to do it. However, prince Ikenna refused. Their conversation reveals a lot about the mindscape of the trio when it comes to sacrifice. Uduego: Ugulamo: Ujadike:

Prince: Ujadike: Prince: Uduego:

You! You mean one of us must die? Hun! (Uduego look at Ojadike) Please don’t look at me. Look at the prince. He is the prince of our land. I never know this would come to this. I thought once we come and take the thing and go back home and they will celebrate us. In fact, I’m leaving here. Ujadike My Prince… I’ll do it No! No!! My Prince, let me do it. The destiny of our great kingdom lies solely on your great shoulder. I’m just your noble subject…25

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Against all pleas from Uduego, Prince Ikenna volunteers and is sacrificed. This level of sacrifice is highly regarded and stands in stark contrast to the one exhibited by Ujadike. Ujadike volunteers to embark on the adventure to be celebrated on his return. Instead, he dies in the cave. In contrast, Uduego volunteers to go on the adventure, and volunteered to be sacrificed but is spared and he returns with the boon. As for Prince Ikenna, he volunteers and was sacrificed for the salvation of his people. With the three observable levels of sacrifice as aptly represented through the movie media, Campbell’s words will guide us in the evaluation of the true hero in this instance. Campbell says: “The hero, therefore is the man or woman who has been able to battle past his personal and local historical limitations to the generally vivid, normally human form.”26 The importance of man is not lost on the worldview of the characters in the cinema stories. This necessary action is passed on into the memory of the audiences of movie stories. For example, as the epic saga unfolds in Tears of Love and Reconciliation, a South-Sudanese film, in-between the heroic deeds, adventures, conflicts, and resolutions, the story also projects the importance of love in the affairs of mortals. Through the ability of the movie to present multiple perspectives and actions, the film is able to capture the theme of continuity. After the kidnap and release of Nok’s father comes the tragic missive that Dein, Nok’s betrothed, is dead. Amidst the crying that followed, Nok revealed she is two months pregnant. While thinking of what to do, her mother promised her that she will take care of the child. This is the sense of the theme of continuity present in movie stories. As noted earlier, the development of motion picture technology is a milestone in the art of storytelling. As Baran contributes to the discourse, “as was the case with newspapers and magazines, the advent of television significantly altered the movieaudience relationship.”27 In a pre-movie storytelling event in Africa, a storyteller sits around a group of listeners and narrates the story to them. Anyone about twenty meters from the scene of narration will never become part of the audience. Whenever the narrator is summoned to narrate the same story to another audience, the narration will have to move or the audience will be called to meet the narrator. The implication is that though stories from one culture are found in another, it may be through what some scholars have explained as diffusionism.28 Also, as Femi Shaka observes, the African film style is now generally acknowledged to derive its narrative forms and structures from traditional African oral narrative practices, especially that of the professional griot genre.29 The adoption of the movie media by storytellers thus leads to the “death of distance” as captioned by Frances Cairncross.30 By enabling audiences anywhere and everywhere to watch the same performance of a story, the movie thereby becomes a variegated channel for the propagation of stories that enhances clarity. The movement from the interpersonal primary media such as the folktale to the movie media symbolizes the life and death of the narrator. In the folktale media, the narrator becomes the creator of the fictional world that simulates the dream world of the audience. With the voice of the narrator and the histrionics of performance, the audience is transported to a level of magical realism that stimulates the intellectual

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capacities cum the emotional realization of satisfaction. The invention of the television and its appropriation by storytellers triggered the gradual death of the narrator. In the movie media, the narrator’s voice was silenced and the story became the focal point of convergence between voice and action. In stories adapted for the cinema, scenes are used instead of the narrative units in the folktale. Tarun Reddy defines scenes as “a unit of story that takes place at a specific location and time. If one of these changes, you have a new scene… A scene is the exact location where the action is happening.” Synonyms of scenes in filmmaking are shots and sequence. The shot is “one uninterrupted run of the camera to expose a series of frames.”31 Interestingly, Broderick has defined the unit of a folktale as a “segment of an event.”32 As technology and commerce exert their influences on the transmission of stories, the criteria for measuring clarity will no doubt become more advanced. In the movie media, the oral delivery of stories is now more complex in scope. The narrator is dead and the distance between the storytelling art and the audience is now electromagnetic instead of spatial. This change will automatically necessitate a change in criteria for measuring clarity and creative variation in the story. As noted earlier, the development of the motion picture technology is a milestone in the art of storytelling. Clarity enhancement in movies also facilitates high definition in terms of its portrayal of motion pictures. In movies, real actions—words and performances— are captioned and relayed to audiences realistically. In my fieldworks of interactive sections among storytellers, orators, and stand-up comedians, the movie media is extolled by some for its motion pictures. According to M. C. Jagua, a stand-up comedian, in movies there is a comic relief, moral lesson, and no dull moment.33 However, others condemn films for a distortion of reality. For instance, Vincent, a restaurant owner, has this to say about movies: “Movie! Movie is not too appropriate because the performances are not so real. They are dramatizing them; all the movies are dramatized. The degree of acting is much more than that of storytelling, like the moonlight games. That is why, sometimes, they (critics) will say that watching movies spoils children.”34 This view is corroborated by George Rodman that “many critics worry that docudramas, fictional movies that dramatize real life events, mislead audience about historic facts.”35 Nevertheless, movies remain a clear channel for transmitting stories to audiences far and near. Once again, the movie media is able to realize the gods in tangible forms other than the elemental state. This enables the audience to separate the struggle among the gods from that of the humans, though they are connected. For instance, in the Oshimiri story from Nigeria, two observable and parallel plotlines are contrived in the meta-structural realm. First is the fall and rise of Agadjealo deity. As the reigning deity in Anike Kingdom, Agadjealo meets its Waterloo when king Udoka refuses to carry out Agadjealo’s instruction that “the evil child” Uduka should be killed. With this singular act, the people of Anike reject the guidance of Agadjealo. So, when Uduka comes later as the priestess of Ugidi, a merciless god, the people of Anike accept Ugidi as its guidance god, especially after the miracle of rainfall that ends the physical drought of no rains, the spiritual drought of the relationship between Anike and Agadjealo, and the victory in the war with the Amanabo people. This is the fall

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of the Agadjealo deity in Anike. As Agadjealo is declining in influence, another plot on the rise of Ugidi is developing. The climax and anti-climax of both plots are seen in the death of the priestess of Agadjealo and the ultimate demand of Ugidi that Queen Akune, Chief Ejagha, and Chief Onuka should be sacrificed to Ugidi. The plot of Agadjealo starts rising again when the king refused to sacrifice any chief or the queen to Ugidi. The boon brought from Ugulamo by Uduego serves to reactivate and revitalize the powers of Agadjealo. The triumph of Agadjealo at the end parallels the demise of Priestess Uduka and Ugidi. With the contrasting plots acting as an electromagnetic force, the audience realizes the story of Oshimiri clearly due to the pictures, special effects, and sound deployed through the movie channel. As the narration of the stories employs the cinema media, the narrator is also bound to deploy unorthodox techniques to realize the merger of fantasy and realism. An instance of such is the use of realistic cinematography. David Mullen explains this technique as “the artificial copying of artifacts from documentary work in which there are uncontrollable elements or moments causing certain artifacts (focus, problems, lens, flares, underexposed and thus, grainy or noisy images). It feels like reality because it looks rough, unplanned, unmanipulated- though the image maybe as thoroughly designed and executed as the slickest shot ever made…”36 The scene in The Lion King where Rafiki conjures up the image of Mufasa (the symbol of hegemonic power) in the sky to talk to Simba and admonish him to return to the Pride Lands to fight for his right dramatizes realistic cinematography. This technique makes it possible to link Simba’s present to his past, as well as his aspirations for the future. The technique also enables the merger of fantasy and realism, a hallmark of the performance of tales in Africa. In the realization of the merger of reality with fantasy that Adrain Onyando refers to as magical orality, filmic stories organize their characters to reflect both the physical and the fantastical worlds. Magical orality is directly linked to primary orality. In this vein, magical orality is the force that must bewitch, captivate, and retain an audience’s attention in an oral performance, especially storytelling. The deployment of this technique is seen in the film Maangamizi: The Ancient One, a Tanzanian movie. The scene where Samenhe confronts his late mother in the land of the dead is uniquely presented with the aid of special effect to reflect a merger of reality and fantasy. Also, a fascinating aspect of the movie story where novelty and imagination are expressed through the use of special effects for roles that cannot be performed by humans is the deployment of the “talking snake” in the Nigerian film Oshimiri: The Great River. When the human who later becomes the mother of Uduka encounters Ugidi as an ethereal personality, Ugidi appears to her as a snake. As the snake talks to her, the use of special effects enables the storyteller to realistically portray Ugidi as a powerful deity who can co-opt any material element to bid his will through the cunning associated with a snake, in the form of the biblical story of the fall of man. Creative imagination also manifests in the development of the myth of therianthropy in the cinema’s story. This is the old story of the ability of humans to change into other animals by means of shape-shifting. This level of mythic artistry finds a contemporary resurrection in the Oshimiri story in the scene where the Ugulamo

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confronted Uduka, the priestess of Ugidi. Uduka changed to a dragon and Ugulamo transformed to a hunter. The movie media of transmitting the story scene realistically portrays the shape-shifting style with special effects so that although many young viewers may not link the events to the almost disappearing myth of therianthropy, adult audiences will be able to recollect and refresh their memories with this exceptional representation in the story of Oshimiri. In his work on “Simulation, Consciousness, Existence,” Hans Moravec explains that “today’s simulations, say of aircraft flight or the weather, are run to provide answers and images. They do so through additional programs that translates the simulation’s internal representations into forms convenient for external human observers.”37 The cinema media enables stories to achieve realism through the simulation of reality. The process of simulating the real events of humans is taken higher with the role played by the location in the two animated stories under study. The setting of The Lion King plays an important part in the cognitive interpretation of the story. During the reign of King Mufasa, the Pride Rock as the location of the story is called is a land of plenty. The food chain from the top of the pyramid to the bottom is full of life; this active environment is captured in the song “The Circle of Life.” The stability the audience observes in the natural circle is simulated in the action of the story: Mufasa is at the helm of affairs, and there is peace, stability, and plentiful food. However, the rebellion of Scar in collaboration with the Hyenas ruptures the simulated reality of the natural order. Through the deployment of the animation media to transmit the story, the audience is able to see the transformation in the setting of the story. Therefore, as Scar usurps the leadership of Pride Rock, the audience sees the break in the natural order of the circle of life. The once luxuriant location becomes dried. Food becomes scarce due to a lack of rain. The Pride Lands and Pride Rock became arid and wasted. Later, when Simba came back to reclaim his possession, the action coincides with an animated setting showing a period of volcanic upheaval. The mountains and rocks start to vomit fire. There is firestorm in the whole of the Pride Lands. As Simba defeats Scar to take over the leadership of the Pride Lands, the setting changes as the rains started falling; when he is fully in charge, the whole land has been restored to its former glory. The circle of life is restored as the simulated action of Simba’s restoration as King of Pride Rock is completed. This is what is referred to as simulated reality in this work. As Nick Bostrom observes, “one thing that later generations might do with their super-computers is run detailed simulation of their forebears or of people like their forebears. Because their computer would be so powerful, they could run a great many such simulations.”38 The use of songs also smacks of imagination and freshness in filmic stories. Studies carried out by various scholars on the story genre have revealed the importance of songs in storytelling. Thus, Gordon Innes can assert that “the musical aspect of a bard’s performance is of the greatest importance…”39 Also, Scheub and Okpewho have noted that song is a repetitive device in a story. However, with animated stories, the embedding of songs into storytelling takes a new dimension. While working with the Ewe of Ghana, Daniel Avorgbedor described the role of concrete media and poetics, and observes that “song performance in the Ewe context also permit the

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use of visual or sculptured images to reinforce the text…With visual illustration, the words are less likely to be forgotten, and permanence is consequently achieved.”40 Although Avorgbedor’s observations are strictly tailored to the story in print or text media, the conclusions are paramount to the study of songs in animated stories. In these songs, the narrative sense is realized through the words in the rhythm. The story of Sarafina from South Africa exemplifies the use of songs in two levels; the first are the songs deployed in the background of the action, while the second level is the active singing by the characters. It must be stressed at this point that as society develops, the spirit of private ownership began to impact on the storytelling art. Thus, the once publicly owned stories (folktales) moved to private ownership, like the case of the cinema’s stories. The hallmark of this privatization of stories is evident in the issuance of copyright licenses for movie stories. Consequently, the privatization of stories is geared toward satisfying the commercial interests of storytellers. In this vein, the storyteller has moved the once publicly owned stories in the form of folktale to privately owned cinema stories. Still it is enlightening to consider these words of James Carey, that “because we have looked at each new advance in communication technology as opportunities for politics and economics, we have devoted them, almost exclusively to government and trade. We have rarely seen them as opportunities to expand (our) powers to learn and exchange ideas and experience.”41 So far, analysis of the impact of the shift from the agonistic primary orality to the cinema media has shown the level of authenticity, functionality, clarity, and creative variation the movie media has brought to storytelling in Africa. The study has shown that the movement from primary orality as a medium of propagating stories to the film media has created a shift in the mode of transmitting stories in Africa. In turn, this shift from the agonistic primary orality to the movie media has generated changes to the content, techniques of transmission, and structure of the story. In this vein, the essay will end with Edward Said’s admonition that “the attempt to read a text in its fullest and most integrative context commits the reader to positions that are educative, humane, and engaged, positions that depend on training and taste and not simply on a technologized professionalism, or on the tiresome playfulness of ‘postmodern’ criticism, with its repeated disclaimers of anything but local games and pastiches.”42 Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Morgan (2008: 4). Lord (1960: 68). Scheub (1975: 45). Lord ibid., 30. William McCarthy (2001: 62). McCarthy (2001). Ibid., 61–75. Ong (1982: 11).

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9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

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Ibid., 115. Ibid., 136. Godini Darah (2014: 44). Sekoni (2013: 51). Severny (2013: 10). Ibid. Hornby (2015). Akshay Patil (2014). Onyima (2014: 15). Bittner (1989). Baran (2004: 105). Bittner (1989: 166). Azuonye (2008: 85). Ibid., 102. The film Mark of Uru. Okpewho (1998: 128). The film Mark of Uru. Campbell (2014: 18). Baran ibid., 169. Okpewho (1992: 167–170). Shaka (2004: 32). Cairncross (1997: 199). Reddy (2016: 1). Broderick (1977: 60). Interactive session with Kingsley Akpojotor (alias MC Liki Liki Mouth) and Ovwe Oghenevwede (alias Money Finish Eye Clear and MC Jagua) at Quest FM and Television Station, Ogor, Delta State, Nigeria on 20 March, 2017.31 interactive session with orators, storytellers, comedians, and movie viewers and sellers at Samson Akpomedaye Ofua’s compound, Oviorie, Delta State, Nigeria on 16 March 2017. Rodman (2006: 176). Rodman (2006: 176). Mullen (2008: 5). Moravec (1998: 6). Bostrom (2003: 2). Innes (2003: 104). Avorgbedoe (2003: 223). Carey (1992: 20–21). Said (1994: 201).

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References Andrei Severny. 2013. The Movie Theater of the Future Will Be in Your Mind.www.tribecafilm. com/stories/future. Avorgbedoe, Daniel. 2003. The Preservation, Transmission and Realization of Song Text: A Psycho Musical Approach. In The Oral performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 186–208. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited. Azuonye, Chukwuma. 2008. Principles of the Igbo Oral Epic: A Study in Traditional Aesthetics and Oral Literary Criticism. In Radical Essays on Nigerian Literatures, ed. G.G. Darah, 75–104. Lagos: Malthouse Press Limited. Baran, Stanley. 2004. Introduction to Mass Communication: Media, Literacy and Culture. New York: McGraw-Hill. Bittner, John. 1989. Mass Communication: An Introduction. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall Inc. Bostrom, Nick. 2003. Are You Living in a Computer Simulation? The Simulation Argument. Philosophical Quarterly 53 (211): 243–255. Brodericks, Modupe S. 1977. The Tori: Structure, Aesthetics and Time in Krio Oral Narratives. Unpublished Dissertation. University of Wisconsin-Madison, Wisconsin, USA. Cairncross, Frances. 1997. The Death of Distance: How the Communication Revolution Is Changing Our Lives. Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Campbell, Joseph. 2014. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Carey, James. 1992. Communication as Culture: Essays on Media and Society. New York: Routledge. Darah, G.G. 2014. The Folktale Is Dead: Long Live Storytelling. Nigerian Journal of Oral Literatures 2: 37–50. Film terms glossary cinematic terms. Definition and explanation. www.filmsite.or>filmterms. Hornby, A.S. 2015. Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary . Oxford: Oxford University Press. Innes, Gordon. 2003. Formulae in Madinka Epic: The Problem of Translation. In The Oral Performance in Africa, ed. Isidore Okpewho, 101—110. Ibadan: Spectrum Books Limited. Lord, Albert Bates. 1960. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. McCarthy, Williams. 2001. Oral Theories and Epic Studies: A Bibliographical Essay. Choice, 61— 75. Moravec, Hans. 1998. Simulation, Consciousness, Existence. https://www.frc.ri.cmu.edu>~hpm. Morgan, James. 2008. What Is Orality. Published Term Paper. Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, Wake Forest. Mullen, David. 2008. “What is Realistic Cinematography”. HOW-TO Techniques and Best Practices Channel. HYPERLINK “https://urldefense.proofpoint.com/v2/url?u=-3A__www.studen tfilmmaker.com_news_arti.&d=DwMFaQ&c=sJ6xIWYx-zLMB3EPkvcnVg&r=e9V1hGvG7 4yfhZ85IIId-g&m=PSFNScmQDkE_2KMiAOosHeH_MonlzcWmTzua_TWw2xg&s=g3clQG SSM3bJBDQfL5fdsikBFV4ZCUMISL4UdA9KpUQ&e=” https://www.studentfilmmaker.com/ news/arti. Okpewho, Isidore. 1992. African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Okpewho, Isidore. 1998. Once Upon a Kingdom: Myth, Hegemony, and Identity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Ong, Walter. 1982. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Methuen & Co., Ltd. Onyima, Blessing Nonye. 2014. Local Economy and Health: Potato Production and Its Implication for Rural Repopulation in Agadama, Delta State. In Aridon: The international Journal of Urhobo Studies, eds. Tanure Ojaide and G.G. Darah, 32—41. Ibadan: Malyhouse Press. Patil, Akshay. 2014. What Is the Difference Between a Movie, Film, Picture, Cinema and Theatre. Quora. www.quora.com/what-is-the-dif. Reddy, Tarun. 2016. What Is the Difference Between a Shot and a Scene. http://www.quora.com/ what-is-the-difference-between-a-shot-and-a-scene.

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Rodman, George. 2006. Mass Media in a Changing World. New York: McGraw Hill. Said, Edward. 1994. The Politics of Knowledge. In Falling into Theory: Conflicting Views on Reading Literature, ed. D.H. Richter, 193–203. New York: St. Martin’s Press Inc. Scheub, Harold. 1975. The Xhosa Ntsomi. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Sekoni, Ropo. 2013. Orality, Communication Technology and Cultural Capital in Nigeria. Nigerian Journal of Oral Literatures 2: 53–64. Shaka, Femi. 2004. Modernity and the African Cinema: A Study in Colonialist Discourse, Postcoloniality, and Modern African Identities. Asmara: Africa World Press Inc.

Part V

Oral Tradition, Folklore, and Education

Chapter 48

Restaging Oral Narrative in Civic Education Kimingichi Wabende

Introduction Oral literature as an agent of culture and reflection of the same is inherently dynamic. Over time, it has served different generations existing under various socioeconomic conditions. Drawing from different historical contexts and adapting to varied demands, it continually renews itself. By its very nature of verbal variability, it allows itself to incorporate new experiences and contexts. This flexibility also alludes to its ability to fit into various performance spaces owing to the fact that traditional performance spaces do not require elaborate design elements. The oral narrative as one of the major genres of literature has sought to find space in the ever-changing performance and socio-economic environment. Historically, through performances the oral narrative has generated meaning that is contextually relevant but, like good literature, remains meaningful over generations. Participatory theatre, which emphasizes performance modes that are community-grounded and therefore accessible and acceptable to the audience, has borrowed from oral literature; it has employed oral narratives that are well known in communities to teach unfamiliar concepts that exist in modern societies. This chapter examines how oral narratives are used in civic education as an awareness tool to teach the community about democracy and citizen participation in the process of constitution-making. It will explore the inherent meaning of the narrative’s contextual and emerging meanings during the performance of said narratives. The chapter draws from research and experience that the writer participated in through the Kenya Oral Literature Association (KOLA), Collaborations Centre for Gender and Development (CCGD) and People Popular Theatre (PPT) over a period of ten years of civic education in Kenya.

K. Wabende (B) University of Nairobi, Nairobi, Kenya e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_48

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This chapter takes a postcolonial point view which looks at unjust power relations as manifested in cultural products like literature, film and the arts. The chapter takes a Marxist interpretation of colonialism or imperialism to include not just political dominance but also dominance through ideas and culture. Post-colonial theorists consider themselves politically engaged and committed to a liberation process. As Ann Dobie notes in Theory into Practice: The subject matter of post colonial literature is marked by its concern for ambiguity and loss of identity. Written by culturally displaced people, it investigates the clash of cultures …examines their histories, questions how they should respond to changes they see around…they recognise in themselves the old and the new.1

The arts that follow under this category are seen as part of the movement to expose and struggle against the influence of those in power. Thus, the kind of literature being produced should reflect the changes in society, be it technological, political or economic.

The Oral Narrative in the Traditional Setting In this section, we look at the performance of the oral narrative in traditional African settings, with special attention to functionality and nature, and how performance impacts on its role as a teaching tool within the African society. Oral narratives in traditional settings were mostly performed by the matriarch and/or patriarch in the community, who naturally commanded respect and reverence owing to their age and status. It was largely felt that women were in charge of morals and the upbringing of the children in the society. They therefore taught the young children about community values, which were mostly captured in the Ogre narratives and animal stories. The men on the other hand were charged with the role of inspiring the young men in society to emulate the great deeds of their forefathers, and also in preserving the community’s history; thus the men focused on telling legends and myths. This would explain why, as Wanyonyi Mangulieche (traditional performer and Bukusu sage) elaborated during an interview, the bonfire narration would sometimes begin with only a male audience during which narratives on bravery and warrior exploits would be told. Women would have a female-only session, especially when there was an impending marriage ceremony. They would occasionally reconstruct brief narratives while cooking meals, especially if such narratives bore relevance to the occasion or the actions of the young girls present. Their narration is viewed not only as an artistic endeavour but also as a social function. The traditional setting in which the audience sat around the bonfire lent itself to a conducive atmosphere where an intimate relationship existed between the performer and the audience. In performance, different settings produce various reactions and effects. The narrator and the audience sat in a circle with no raised platform. By ensuring that the narrator is at the same level with the audience, the arrangement gave the audience a sense of confidence. They perceived the narrator as part of them and

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they therefore did not feel alienated. They were free to interact with the performer with minimal inhibitions. In the same breath, the narrator is able to integrate the audience into the performance. The audience becomes co-narrator of the story just by physically being integrated into the story through sitting in a circle. They are also psychologically integrated because as the story moves along and they respond to questions and react to it, they play characters and the support crew. It is this interaction that creates the fluidity in performance of the oral narrative, where the audience switches between being narrators and being the audience. The arrangement essentially creates an active audience that enlivens the performance. Such a session allows for more interaction between the performer and the audience since there are no physical and artistic barriers separating the two. The narrator and the audience in the traditional setting were familiar with each other, and the need for the creation of rapport was not necessary. They would mostly be composed of family members and perhaps a few neighbours, hence no formal introduction or icebreakers were needed. The uniqueness of the audience in the traditional setting also includes the fact that they were familiar with the story in advance most of the time. This allowed the audience to choose the type of story to be told. The narrator would ask at the beginning of the storytelling session: “What kind of story would you like to hear?” At this level, the audience practices its democratic and aesthetic rights to choose the story they want to hear. In most cases, the story would be known to the community and its rendition would be a privilege given to the narrator. The audience, by allowing the narrator to render the story on their behalf, was by extension expected to support the narrator and to cushion him. They would continually respond at every level to show the narrator that they were following the story. This process gave the audience a sense of ownership. The narrator was only a mouthpiece for the rest of the community, who act as support crew in the narration. This unique element made the audience in the traditional setting very cooperative and it ensured the success of the story as it unravelled to its eventual conclusion, which was interpreted as a community success. The oral narrative, as an important component in informal education, occupied a unique position. The oral narrative performance space was not only an entertainment space but also a classroom where lessons were drawn from the story. The community has proverbs—largely viewed as a summary of community wisdom—that emanated from narratives which underlie the philosophies and values of the community. Given the importance of narrative sessions in educating and socializing the young, oral narrative performances were taken seriously. A parallel can be drawn between the oral narrative and the Greek theatre. For a long time, the Greek theatre operated as a religious ritual and ceremony which recounted their history and legends of their time. George Kernodle notes in Invitation to the Theatre that “in Greece the drama grew up in Dionysian festival celebrating the resurrection of the spring out of the sacrificial death of the old season…tragedy was profoundly religious, yet it put the emphasis on man and values of this world.”2 The theatre (space) was built as a shrine for Dionysus. Pickering takes the same line of argument, positing that dramatized activity was “… dramatized prayers, that is, it was a dramatic enactment of that which was being asked of the gods.”3 The whole community would flock to the theatres

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both for entertainment as well as a religious duty owed to the gods who protected the community. In Africa, the oral narrative was at the centre of the communities’ operation as a socialization agent. The development of the oral narrative as a performance art has undergone various transformations from its traditional performance space around the fireplace to the modern setting in a conventional theatre. From its traditional African origins, it has not been spared western influence. This is to say, there have been changes in the conventions, themes, methods and style resulting from the introduction to technology and cultural contacts. The transformation of the oral narrative is occasioned by many factors that include cultural interaction, performance demands and internal structural re-engineering.

The Oral Narrative and Civic Education It is important to point out the need for civic education in Africa. To ensure their prolonged stay in power; many African leaders portrayed the masses as incapable of comprehending the complex matters of the constitution and governance; the masses best hope was in their elected leaders that would make decisions on their behalf, negating the need for direct participation in democratic decisions. Constitutional issues were deemed too complex for ordinary people, and only legal minds could look at them. The former Kenyan president Torotich Arap Moi openly declared in a public rally “What does Wanjiku know about the constitution and constitution making.”4 Wanjiku, a name that became synonymous with ordinary citizens and a rallying symbol of civic participation in constitutional making, was thought of by politicians as a person who cannot make an informed choice and therefore whose best interest could only be catered to by those who “knew” and “understood” her. Constitution making became a purely legal issue with legal language understood only by “learned friends.” The civil rights movement thus fought for Wanjiku’s participation in the constitution-making process. Within this thinking, there was a lot of emphasis on “constitution” as an English and legal term, not comprehensible to those who are not competent English speakers. It also implied that it was a concept that could not find equivalent terms within African languages. If this thought was to be pursued further, a suggestion that constitutionalism is alien to Africa and the constitutional process could only be undertaken by powers from outside the continent. Bearing in mind that as African literature and knowledge existed mostly in oral form, this argument linked constitutional knowledge to written works; thus to have knowledge of the constitution and constitutionalism is to have a written document and evidence of the capacity and ability to understand. This begs the question as to whether the lack of a written constitution negates the existence of a constitution in a society. The over-reliance on written constitutions in countries that have traditionally relied on oral tradition could perhaps be linked to a disregard of the constitution because of the alien form in which it is presented. Therefore, those who do not know how to read do not know the constitution and the

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rights enshrined within it, and thus cannot claim them. Those who know how to read can claim all rights and only allocate what they deem necessary to the uneducated. Participatory Education Theatre, the commonly used theatre method in civil education, borrows heavily from popular theatre. David Kerr views African popular theatre as: …Performance of drama, puppetry, singing and dancing. These performances are called popular because they are arrived at the whole community not just those who are educated. They are performed in local languages and deal with local problems so everyone can understand them and find them useful.5

Based on research on theatres in Botswana, he argues that they build on local ability and interest in storytelling, poetry and dancing. The whole idea in participatory theatre is to use the familiar to teach the unfamiliar. The performances try to reach those that are disadvantaged by a lack of education through the use of language and modes of performance that are local. Kerr asserts that communicating in theatre has “…the ability to reach certain audiences, thus overcoming the barriers of illiteracy, its use of local languages and locally accepted cultural values/artistic forms and its own innate attraction because of performance entertainment.6 The whole process becomes an appreciation of their own culture as they learn new lessons without encountering unfamiliar images.” The target of Participatory Educational Theatre (PET) is to utilize what is already known to the community to teach them a new phenomenon or trigger a discussion on relevant issues of concern. The performers therefore have three options: construct a totally new narrative, adapt a known narrative with minor modifications, or use a well-known narrative highlighting (through narration) important moments relevant to the topic of discussion. The narrative also employs familiar characters whose attributes and behaviour are known to the community. The community therefore easily understands what the characters stand for or symbolize within the narrative. Part of what formed the argument for teaching oral literature in Africa was locating what Ngugi wa Thiongo calls the re-membering: the understanding that for a people to discover themselves, define themselves, and locate the present and anticipate their future, they need to re-discover where they came from.7 It is by locating the familiar pillars on your path, from the past, that one is able to trace the road travelled and hopefully predict the future. Therefore, the foundations of African literature that inform people’s philosophy and understanding of the world are to be found in African oral literature. Our values, goals and aspirations are creatively weaved with our oral literature. Since these values inform and constitute the bedrock upon which the constitution is built, constitution-making processes should see oral literature both as a means of understanding what the constitution is all about and as a source informing the content of the constitution. Ochieng Anyoma in an Article titled “Oral Literature for Development (OLD)’S Strategy for Change” argues that the role of oral literature (verbal art) was to perform services, to draw attention to the sources from which people gained their identity.8 In the modern world, identity formation and nationalism emanate from a people brought together by the constitution that binds them within certain geographical borders. This

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constitution assigns to them a name and values that should define them as a people with shared culture, as spelled out in the different parts of the constitution. It brings together different thoughts and ideologies and marries them into a comprehensible document that defines them. Using oral literature to sensitize people to the constitution (an abstract word) is in line with what Anyona sees in oral literature as “…the potential to provide a venue to understanding personal experiences of an otherwise increasing abstract world.”9 The complexity of the idea of a constitution had to be deconstructed through oral literature for comprehension by the masses. Ruth Finnegan, drawing from a structural functionalist argument, notes that “…oral literature is said to fulfill the function of providing a model through which people can verbalize the relationships and constitution of their society.”10 The quote points towards an important role that oral literature plays in oral society. In predominantly oral societies, people capture their relationships and constitution in the oral literature texts, which function as shared documentation of their social contracts. These relationships vary from friendship, family, the community and their interactions with “others” that are not regarded as “belonging” to that which has been defined in the oral constitution. Thus, robust within the oral literature is the community understanding of the constitution, how constitutionalism works and what each social contract implies.

The Nature of the Oral Narrative and Its Suitability to Civic Education Oral narratives cannot be ascribed to an individual author; they are a shared intangible heritage. The fact that one is a narrator does not in any way give one a title of ownership. The oral narrative gives each person room to creatively express themselves through its characteristic of verbal variability, but still retains the basic structure and content. It is this verbal variability that gives the narrative flexibility to adapt to the contextual environment of the performance and the period. Ruth Finnegan, citing Junod, alludes to this ability saying: …New elements are introduced owing to the tendency of nature story teller always applying circumstances of their environment to the narration, so are the new objects brought by civilization and without slightest difficulty made us of by the narration.11

The performer is able to infuse new elements and refresh the old ideas to reflect the current realities in the content of the performance. The narrator is equally allowed to foreground issues deemed relevant to the audience as a way of customizing the narrative to the audience. Thus, Finnegan further argues that: …a piece of oral literature tends to be affected by such factors as the general purpose and atmosphere of the gathering at which it is rendered, recent episodes in the minds of the performer and audience or even time or the year. Many oral recitations arise in response to various social obligations which, in turn are exploited by poet and narrator for his own purposes.12

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Thus, circumstances surrounding the performance are all brought into bear both in the rendition of the narrative and the interpretation by the audience. The immediate needs and desires of the audience direct their antennas towards the salient issues affecting them. In civic education where participatory theatre methods are used, it is tradition that the audience is told of the nature and purpose of the performance before the narration begins. The civic education activities also focus on burning issues in the community. This makes the audience go out of their way to seek relevance, interconnections and allies in the narrative in order to draw a parallel between their own lives and the lives of the characters. The narrator exploits every opportunity to highlight milestones in the narrative that advance the goals of civic education or bear the closest relevance to the issues being tackled. Inherent in oral narration technique is a constant interaction between the audience and performer. The oral narrative is positioned as an important social interaction tool not only in reasserting community values but also in reinforcing collective memory through supportive co-narration. Kennedy Chinyowa posits that “…there is reciprocity and dialogue between performer and audience. He draws upon shared knowledge and values by allowing the audience to intervene in the happenings.”13 He sees similarities between community theatre and the oral narrative performance in terms of “… actor-audience dynamics by allowing room for the audience involvement during and after performance.”14

Contexts in Civic Education Civil Rights Meetings as Context for Oral Narrative Performance The most common civic education context for oral narrative performance is in the civil rights meetings. Performance troupes are invited to entertain and highlight the thematic areas for that particular meeting. The audience in attendance is an informed audience, and most such meetings are meant to be sharing moments. It is a critical and reflective audience and at times almost fanatical. They normally have certain issues they hold dear, and their involvement entirely depends on whether the narrative propounds their ideological inclination. The notable groups in this category are those involved in women’s movements, most of them advocating for the emancipation of women. The performance in such ceremonies would depend on the issues at hand, which do vary over a period of time. These issues vary from female representation and women and the constitution, to other topics like the rights of women. At forums where any of the above issues are discussed, performance troupes would be invited to give a performance. In many of the troupes studied, they would pick a narrative from the traditional repertoire with women characters that are most likely to advance the thematic desires of their clientele. Bearing in mind that performers have choices in determining the level of biases during the narration, the needs of

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the client act as the springboard from which the performers begin. Those performers interviewed explained that they did not have to stick strictly to the original intentions of the narrative as long as they retained the substantive content and structure of the narrative. When highlighting the strength of women leaders, many groups performed the story of Wangu wa Makeri (a powerful female chief during the colonial preperiod) who was traditionally portrayed as a dictator and a cruel woman, a strategy used by men to reinforce a patriarchal hold over leadership by portraying women rulers as dictatorial, undemocratic and unreliable. The traditional version of the story, though based on a true story, has acquired a mythical tint. It is meant to explain why women are no longer rulers in the Gikuyu community. It says that Wangu wa Makeri was a ruthless ruler who instead of using chairs and tables used the backs of men. She also made men do jobs that were considered feminine. In her arrogance, the story goes, she danced naked in front of the whole community. The men could not take it anymore, so they planned and made all the women pregnant and in this moment of weakness, overthrew them. The men took over leadership and restored peace and harmony. However, during the performance in a women’s forum, Wangu wa Makeri would be portrayed as a strong and courageous woman leader who inevitably attracts jealousy from men due to her leadership skills. Whereas the traditional narrative shows the aftermath of the overthrow of Wangu wa Makeri as a period of harmony and peace, in such an event organized by women, the aftermath is said to be a period of restlessness due to the overthrow of a godly crowned female leadership. The women’s movement and growing awareness on gender equality has given the narrative a new lease. It views Wangu wa Makeri not as a villain but a legend. In the context of the Gikuyu community, whose clan lineage comes from the nine daughters and therefore a presumably matriarchal society, women are the true heirs. Therefore, the overthrow of Wangu wa Makeri is interpreted as the overthrow of the rightful heirs to the throne. In most of these performances, no provision is made for performance space; thus the performers have to show versatility in utilizing space. They, in essence, perform from within the audience space. Normally, they look for sitting spaces within the audience early enough before the performance so that when called upon they stand up from different areas in the audience. This set up has a sense of making the audience see the performers not just as people who have specifically come to entertain but those who are a part of the group’s dreams and aspirations. This means that the performers’ place at the function is not just to perform and leave but to advance the ideals espoused by all those in attendance. This technique has made this type of audience one of the most enthusiastic and participatory. They respond to most questions asked by the performers and react to issues raised in the narration. The narratives enlist participation by indicating issues that go against local beliefs and values, in which case the audience may boo or show disgust towards the characters. However, when issues are compatible with their audience’s aspirations, they receive cheers. This is a privileged audience since at the beginning of the session the mode of operation is explained to them, informing them of issues to look out for in the narrative, the topic for discussion and the objectives of the session. Knowing what is

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expected after the performance, the audience takes a keen interest in the performance. In such performances, the audience is an interested party (stakeholder) in the issues at hand and the performance is only supposed to stimulate their minds into a discussion. Any event that relates to issues at hand is quickly picked up and invites maximum concentration from the audience.

The Professional Oral Narrators in Shifting Spaces The traditional narrative provides fodder for the modern narrators. Many performers utilize the traditional narratives but exploit the flexibility of the genre to fulfil specific needs. They take popular narratives from the traditional repertoire, with characters that are familiar to the audience, but infuse their performances with certain biases to suit the occasion. As Dan Ben Amos argues in “New Perspectives in Folklore”: Any divorce of tales, songs, or sculpture from their indigenous locale, time and society inevitably introduces qualitative changes to them. The social context, the cultural attitude, the rhetorical situation and the individual aptitude are variables that produce distinct differences in the structure, text and texture of the ultimate verbal, musical or plastic product.15

The movement from the traditional setting is like a divorce from the original context of the narrative performance. The new contexts have come with many changes that reflect on the performance environment. Under this cadre of professional oral narrative performers, we focus on performers who earn a living from narration but also play the role of civic educators. This section will examine the participatory techniques used by the Kikwaya and the Sigana oral narrative performers to involve the audience. These two Kenyan theatre groups that specialize in oral narrative performance have elaborate techniques of audience engagement that illustrate both the participatory theatre process and learning of the democratic and civic processes. Performing mostly in urban spaces, these groups are known for breaking conventional boundaries to occasionally narrate outside the traditional repertoire, including those from the Bible or Greek mythology. Two things that stand out in these groups are: the need to achieve artistic excellence and the need to earn money from their performances. The need for artistic excellence makes the groups go through an organized and regular production process before staging a performance. This process involves analyzing the audience’s needs, on which basis the narratives will be chosen. This is followed by different members being assigned narratives depending on their ability and their appropriateness to the occasion. For example, if the performance focuses on women empowerment, the female performers are selected. The group would then go through rehearsal phases exploring different audience scenarios and space designs. This rehearsal scheme helps in achieving the second objective of earning from the performance. The organized rehearsal ensures that the performances are of high quality and are appreciated by the audience. Due to the need to please the audience, they create a cohesive and focused performance; they thematically choose their narratives to have a running

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motif that holds them together. The rehearsal also includes the practice of making the audience at ease during the performance to enhance interaction. Those that perform in spaces that can be manipulated mostly organize their audience in a semi-circle and the performers complete the circle. This is to enhance the illusion of performance in a traditional setting. In such a performance, like those staged by Kikwaya at the Godown Arts centre, there would also be several narrators, giving the impression of a community ownership where each individual has a right to tell their story. However, the audience might not know the narrator and thus there may be some level of suspicion or mistrust between the two. By implication, the narrator is not assured of the responses from the audience during narration. The Kikwaya performances display a certain structure in their events. The first phase of the narration is used to break the barriers, physically and psychologically, in order to facilitate the interactions. The narrators therefore start with ice breakers which include theatre games, children play songs and familiar tunes. While doing this, they invite the audience into the performances and integrate them into the performance activities. This is done in order to enhance the trust between the performers and their audience. They create a sense of familiarity so that the performance atmosphere has minimal tension. The performer’s efforts are geared towards gaining familiarity. In two of their narrative sessions, members of the audience variously introduced themselves. One technique was to have everybody in a circle—holding hands—with each introducing themselves. Within the circle, each person would then be asked to name all the people present and given that they had not all met before, most of them, including the performers, would make mistakes. Following this, the performers and the audience would laugh at each other and at themselves when they made such mistakes. However, since these mistakes were not harmful to anyone, the audience came to recognize that it was simply all for fun. Considering that the members of the performing group would also make mistakes, it freed the audience from imagining that they had a weakness in remembering other people’s names. By the end of the exercise, the audience and the performers would feel that they fairly knew each other because they had seen each other at their weak points (when they forgot names) and at their strong points (when they could remember the names). As the performance progressed, they no longer felt embarrassed when they made more mistakes. They could call each other by name and the performers had the added benefit of knowing their audience by names. At the end of the exercise, the performance would have once again, like in the traditional setting, brought a family together, only this time it went beyond blood ties. Although it was done for a good purpose, there were cases involving a few locals and tourists whose main reason for attendance was to enjoy the narrative as an audience. The pre-performances activities were in a way an intrusion into their privacy. One could therefore sense from them a reluctance to participate in group activities and resistance to cross into the performance area. In the understanding of many oral narrative lovers, the narrative is always situated in a certain ethnic community. Narratives are narrated in their mother tongue. In recognition of this aspect, the Kikwaya narrators started off their sessions by greeting the audience in various languages. Habari zenu (Swahili), or muriega (Kikuyu), to

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which various members of the audience would respond. With each greeting from a different community came a response and a sense that the narrators were aware of the presence of the audience. Individually, each narrator strove to situate every member of the audience within their own comfort zone, their own ethnic community to which they relate the narrative. This also made the audience feel that present in the narrative session was a cosmopolitan community that serves as the meeting point of different cultures. Though the narration was done in English, the roots upon which the narrative itself rested were the different ethnic communities that comprise the Nation of Kenya. To add on this, the narrators were careful to include greetings from the Congo, given the popularity of the music from the area, and of course, English, knowing very well that among the members of the audience were tourists from various countries. At the end of it all, the ties between what was being narrated as coming from the African community and the mixed audience were not lost because after the greetings, the narrators announced that the session was for everybody regardless of where they came from. In the process of doing pre-performance activities, certain restrictions and boundaries are broken. The audience crosses the psychological barriers of being there solely to watch performances by actively participating in them. And with the permission of the performers, even as they sat on the audience’s side, they transcended the physical barriers created by the structural arrangement. This made it easier for the audience to cross over and participate in the performance when the need arose. Equally, some performers used the pre-performance activities to teach the audience the opening formula for the narrative to be performed, so that at the commencement of the actual narration the audience actively responded. This way, the performers integrated their audience in the narration, making them partial owners in the way that traditional narratives enjoyed that privilege. When such groups performed in conventional theatres—mostly proscenium or quarter thrust—a different technique is adopted to overcome structural barriers. In proscenium theatres, like the Kenya National theatre, the physical barriers are so pronounced that they inhibit the audience from actively participating in the performance. The performer has to therefore let go of the privileges of the conventional theatre in order to be close to his audience. He has to climb down the pedestal in order to be close to his masters. They therefore perform from the foyer which is within a touching distance to the audience. In return, the audience feels appreciated since the narrator manages to create intimacy with it. The Sigana performers furthered this idea of getting the performers closer to the audience by beginning their narrative from one part of the audience. In this case, the whole auditorium would be assumed to be a meeting place for the extended family. The performers would call out children from different houses telling them: “it is story time”; the children would appear from different directions and join the audience. In this case, the audience then became part of the children that had come out from different houses. The performers would take advantage of the fact that the auditorium is divided into different parts—in the case of the Kenya National theatre, three parts. Thus, each section of the theatre would represent a camp within the audience. Each of these camps would then be used to argue for one of them

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to narrate or for a particular narrative to be told. During such a debate, the actual audience in each camp would be seduced into supporting the performer on their side. Either camp would win, or one from each camp would co-narrate. As a way of sorting out the conflict, an older person would emerge to quiet things down, and as a compromise he either chose his own narrative or narrated all the narratives requested. Several things are achieved by using the above technique. It gives an illusion that there has been a democratic process in choosing the narrative and therefore the audience, as part of the group that participated in the selection, is part and parcel of the narration process. By being part of the narration process, they have to support and cushion the narrative as a sign of ownership. In the same breath, it also gives the illusion that even the narrator was democratically chosen from the audience. In some incidences after “the older person” had narrated he would allow each of those who wanted to narrate the story to do so and the side that they would have come from would then support and cheer them. In this manner, the narration is given a semblance of an innocent competition which hooks in the audience. Although performing in a space that employs the four-wall concept, the performers figuratively destroy the walls to enable them to fuse with the audience. Basically, for these performers, they are members of the audience with the privilege of being given a chance to narrate, which they do not wish to abuse by disengaging themselves from those who they meant to serve. They therefore do not assume a higher rank by climbing the stage and creating barriers with the audience. They stay and narrate within the audience area to sustain the intimacy and sense of belonging. The audience also does not feel alienated and can immediately connect with such a performer, even with the knowledge that it is an alien environment. In addition to the possibilities of creating an open atmosphere within a restricted zone, the performers still reap the benefits of a conventional theatre. Performances in an African setting allow the audiences interrupt, unless where strict customs demand compliance like in ritual ceremonies. The structure and norms within conventional theatres provide a rich base for the performer to execute his role. Structurally, it gives more visibility to the performer while angling the audience to strategically minimize interferences. Theatres are constructed purposefully with sight lines in mind to enable the audience to watch a performance with minimal effort, as well as for the performer to execute his role effortlessly without the pre-occupation with issues of visibility. The conventional theatre also gives the performer and the audience the benefit of good acoustics, allowing for full exploitation of the vocal qualities of the narrator. The performer (narrator) comes into the theatre with African performance conventions but perform to an audience inculcated with observances and norms of western conventional theatre where the audience is controlled and subdued. This allows the performers to conveniently use “double standards” when it fits them, applying conventional theatre standards when they need a more controlled and subdued audience and applying the African mode when they need more participation. They climb on the stage to disengage with the audience and to heighten aesthetic distancing, or break the walls and join the audience to encourage more involvement.

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National Civic Education Program Massive efforts towards creating awareness on civil rights attracted international support. A programme was set up to enhance civic participation in constitution making and democratic process. The expansion of democratic space in African countries created the need for citizen knowledge on civil rights, in order for any meaningful engagement in the democratic process and enjoyment of the same. In Kenya, through the creation of National Civic Education Programme (NCEP), many Civil Society Organizations with projects tackling specific thematic areas and using different methodologies emerged. Among them was the Kenya Oral Literature Association (KOLA) that employed Participatory Educational Theatre (PET) in the implementation of the civic education programme. KOLA, whose goal is to promote oral literature, chose to execute the project through the use of oral narratives as a medium of communication. This section looks at examples of narratives used by the community theatre groups that carried out civic education in Kwale and Bungoma counties in Kenya. It evaluates how the traditional narratives reflected new thoughts when presented in the civic education forums. Both Kwale Arts troupe and Mt Elgon Theatre group from Bungoma were trained in participatory theatre techniques and employed familiar narratives in passing on their messages. Either during or upon completion of the narrative, the audience would be invited to participate and engage the actors in teasing out the salient issues in the narrative. We examine two popular narratives as case study. First, we look at the narrative “why the Tortoise has a rough shell.” In the story, the Birds, who were going to heaven for a visit, thought it wise to invite the Tortoise as their official spokesman. The Swahili name for the Tortoise is Mzee Kobe (mzee means elder) implying the Tortoise is wise. The Tortoise readily accepted the invite and the honour of acting as the official spokesman. To enable the tortoise to fly, each bird contributed a feather. On the way, as they flew, the Tortoise told the birds that it was a custom in heaven that each visitor has to acquire a name to be used during the visit. While all the Birds retained their names for the occasion, the tortoise chose the name “All of you.” That settled, they moved on. Upon arrival in heaven, they were well received. When the first meal was served, the Tortoise asked “whose meal is it?” and the host answered “it is for all of you.” The Tortoise gleefully told the Birds that was all his meal as the spokesman, and he ate everything claiming it must be in the tradition of heaven to feed the spokesman before the rest of the people. This went on for the whole day and the Birds slept hungry. The following morning, the Birds, who were all hungry and angry, plucked their feathers from the Tortoise’s body, leaving him unable to fly. One Bird however offered to take a message from the Tortoise to his family, and he requested that his family bring out all the soft things in the house so that he may jump from heaven and land without injuring himself. The Bird, out to revenge, told the tortoise family that there is an enemy chasing the Tortoise and therefore they should put out all sharp objects. On jumping from heaven, the Tortoise broke his shell and it was only through a famous medicine that his life was saved. However, his shell

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could not go back to its former self owing to the extensive damage from the fall. That is why his shell is rough. This narrative is known in different versions in Africa and was captured in Chinua Achebe’s novel Things Fall Apart. It a “why” story, also referred to as an etiological tale. An etiological narrative gives a creative account of why certain animals display peculiar manners or looks. During the civic education programme, certain elements were highlighted and foregrounded. The handing in of feathers became a central milestone in the narrative. The Birds having chosen the Tortoise as the official spokesman, they each handed over the feather with instructions on what their representative should say to the host once they get to heaven. Each bird would hand in the feather and say; “I am giving you this feather but remember when you get to heaven say….” So, each bird had a unique request which became a pre-condition for lending him the feather. It became a contract; while the Birds will facilitate his flight to heaven, the Tortoise would faithfully present their views. The next milestone was the taking back of the feathers. The birds would pick the feathers and say; “I gave you my feather with the understanding that you would represent me, you didn’t, so I withdraw my feather.” The audience was invited to participate in donating the feathers and whoever felt aggrieved by the tortoise for not representing him well was given an opportunity to withdraw his feather. The audience found this to aptly represent the democratic right of voting. They pointed out that without votes (feathers) the leaders have no powers (ability to fly). It came out that representation in democracy is a donated authority that can be taken back by citizens. Elected leaders serve at the behest of the electorate and are servants of the people, not their bosses. The concluding remarks that came from the audience best summarize this perception. The audience noted that, like in the story, the vote takes the leaders to high offices and if they do not respect part of their bargain, they will fall from high places and be destroyed, never to go back to their former self. The narrative was a case of old wine that had beautifully matured over time. The second narrative that serves as a case study is the narrative called The Community Well. It says that, in the animal kingdom, there was famine that threatened to wipe out the whole community. There was no water to drink, and no food to eat. The animals fearing starvation came together to solve this perennial problem. To ensure sufficient water for drinking, irrigation and watering animals, they decided to dig a community well. All the animals wholesomely agreed to the idea, however the Hare refused. Upon completion of the project, they set up rules governing the use of the well. The animals that had not participated in the digging of the well, by law, would not partake of the water. This narrative was performed at the time when the constitution-making process was at the peak and generated all kinds of ideas in the audience mind. They equated Kenya to the community well where each citizen contributed to its construction. They recognized the fact that in order to manage common resources responsibly there was need to have laws, in the case the constitution, governing the people. They pointed out that constitution defines those who belong (those had participated in the digging of the well) and those who do not belong (the hare who opted not to participate) to the prescribed boundaries. Further that the

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constitution is a shared document to which each person subscribes and abides by. The emphasis in the narrative was on the democratic nature in which the choice to dig a community well and how it was to be managed was contacted. The narrative brought out the idea that the constitution is a negotiated document that emanate from sharing ideas among citizens. One of the most interesting ideas came from a participant who observed that the choice of the narrative was very appropriate because it captured Kenya as a multi-ethnic society. Rather than having one type of animal in the narrative, it had all kinds of animals representing different ethnic groups.

Conclusion This chapter has looked at how the oral narrative has found space in the modern setting as a civic education tool. The chapter noted that modern narrators borrow the traditional form, not conservatively but by exploiting the very nature of the genre both at the performance level and textual level. The oral narrative in traditional settings had a fluid audience that may at one moment actively participate in the narration to the extent of being part of the performers, fluid in the sense that they can be both audience and performer at the same time. While operating in a modern, alien environment, the modern oral narrative performer tries to create such an atmosphere using pre-performance activities to enable its audience to easily switch roles and transcend physical and psychological barriers in the performance. Participatory Education Theatre (PET) intentionally goes out to have more audience involvement. It employs narratives that are familiar to the community in order to invite members of the audience to take up the narration or join in the singing during the course of the performance. Equally, at critical moments in the narration, especially when characters have to make major decisions, the audience is requested to participate in the decision-making by taking sides. Through seductively invading these spaces, the oral narrative has conclusively found a niche in the modern world despite changing social and economic conditions because of its adaptability and flexibility. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Dobie (2009: 208). Kernodle (1978: 152). Ibid. Habari (2018). Kerr (1997: 5). Ibid., 151. https://www.pambazuka.org/arts/ngugi-wa-thiong%E2%80%99o%E2%80% 99s-re-membering-africa-2009. Anyona (1997: 30). Ibid., 31. Finnegan (2012: 321). Ibid., 14.

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Ibid. Chinyowa (2004: 45). Ibid., 44. Ben-Amos (1971: 5).

References Anyona, Achieng. 1997. Communication and Development: Oral Literature for Development (OLD)’s Strategy for Change . Kenya Drama/Theatre and Educational Association (KDEA), ed. Loukie Levent and Opiyo Mumma. Ben-Amos, Dan. 1971. New Perspectives in Folklore. The Journal of American Folklore 84 (331): 3–15. Chinyowa, C. Kennedy. 2004. Shona Story Telling and the Contemporary Performing Arts in Zimbambwe. Suffolk, UK and Rochester, USA: James Currey Ltd. Dobie, B. Ann. 2009. Theory into Practice. Boston: Wadswoth, Cengage Learning. Finnegan, Ruth. 2012. Oral Literature in Africa. Cambridge: Open Book Publishers. Habari 24 T. 2018. yotubelggb160tzeek. Kernodle, R George. 1967. Invitation to Theatre. Harcourt Braceworld: Thorn Wilder. Kernodle, R. George. 1978. Invitation to the Theatre. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Publishers. Kerr, David. 1997. African Popular Theatre. Nairobi: East African Publishers. Kikwaya, Sigana Moto Moto, Godown. 2009. Nairobi, February 3–5.

Chapter 49

Orality and Early Childhood Education Damola Adesina

Introduction Speech is the most natural mode of human communication. For this reason, any efforts to transfer knowledge and skills, including literacy skills, in the process of early childhood education will depend largely on the use of speech. Hence, orality in Early Childhood Education is a phenomenon that should normally be taken for granted. In this chapter however, orality in early childhood education derives from a quest for a renegotiation of spaces between orality and literacy, brought about by the ascendancy of literacy as an agent of modernity and the feeling in certain circles that orature belongs in antiquity. In order to situate this negotiation process within the proper context, it is necessary to undertake some conceptual clarifications that will explicate the terms “orature,” “literature” and “education” as used in the context of this chapter. Orature describes a body of texts stored in human minds through the process of memorization, and expressed through the process of recitation. In this context, we conceive text as the deliberate expression of human thoughts, ideas and desires with the intention of subjecting such thoughts, ideas and desires to interpretation in order to make meaning. On the other hand, in its most generic sense, literature refers to a body of written texts. Even though in certain restricted uses it describes the output of a process of artistic crafting of language, in the more generic sense in which it is used in this chapter, literature is the rendition of texts in written form. Ilesanmi makes a clear distinction between orature and literature, noting that the idea of “oral literature” is an oxymoron.1 We shall adopt this Ilesanmi convention in this chapter, thereby referring to anybody of text in oral form as orature rather than oral literature, reserving the term literature only for texts rendered in the written form. Education is the process of facilitating learning for the purpose of acquiring knowledge, skills, values, beliefs and socially desirable habits. Iheoma describes it as the D. Adesina (B) Centre for Yoruba Verbal Arts, Ibadan, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_49

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conscious selective formal system of initiating the young into the social life of the adults.2 Within the lifespan of an individual, education may be encountered at various levels starting at the early childhood level: beginning from the natural relationship between a mother and child to formal nursery education, then primary education, on to secondary education and further to tertiary and other more advanced levels of education. In short, for humans, whether formal, informal or non-formal, education is a lifelong affair as the need to acquire knowledge, skills, values, beliefs and socially desirable habits subsists at various stages of life from the cradle to the grave.

Early Childhood Education Early childhood education in particular relates to the formal and informal teaching of children in the early stages of their lives, which in some settings may go up to the age of about eight years old. Designed to cater for the all-round development of the child’s personality, it attends to the social, emotional, cognitive and physical needs of the child to establish a solid and broad foundation for lifelong learning and general well-being. According to Henniger, traditionally, young children were cared for by family members in the home even in Europe and most parts of the western world. Today however, early childhood education as practiced in Europe and most of the Western world is based on education outside the child’s home environment.3 To this end, Capizzano and Main as cited in Henniger report that 38% of children in the United States between birth and age 2 spend upward of 35 hours each week in childcare outside the home, and another 17.3% spend between 15 and 34 hours per week in such facilities. Even though this trend is becoming more and more popular in urban Africa as well, the greater and more significant aspects of early childhood education are still realized within the home setting, particularly in the rural areas. The first stage of early childhood education within the home setting in Africa comes from two main sources. The first source is the home “school” which has parents, grandparents and other members of the nuclear/extended family as the teachers. The other source is the “home school outside the home,” which has all adult members of the larger close-knit community as the teachers. This fact is underscored by the popular African proverb that says “it takes a village to raise a child.” The complementary nature of these two communities is illustrated by yet another African proverb that says “it takes two pairs of eyes to birth a child but 200 to see the child to adulthood.” In the Yoruba culture, for example, the education from these two ranks of home are described as e.` k´o. ilé (education from within the nuclear/extended family) and e.` k´o. òde (education from outside the nuclear/extended family). With the introduction of Islam and Christianity, some aspects of education from the larger close-knit community became formalized into religious education, which was either acquired in Koranic/Arabic language school for Muslim children and Sunday school as well as children’s service for Christian children. As earlier stated, there is now an increasing tendency toward more formal school-based early childhood education, particularly in urban Africa.

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The need for structured education within the life span of a human being goes through a number of phases, usually in the order of nursery education, primary education, secondary education, tertiary education and advanced/lifelong learning. Nursery education is regarded as preschool education for children between the ages of 3 and 5 who are too young for formal and compulsory education, while primary education is typically the first stage of formal education designed to meet the basic learning needs of children and prepare them for secondary education.4 What is usually referred to as early childhood education tends to vary from country to country, but it is generally situated between the beginning of the natural relationship between a mother and child through nursery, up to the first part of primary education. Some countries regard early childhood education as ending at the commencement of primary education, while others still regard children up to 8 years old as being involved in early childhood education. The structure of education described above is contemporary and modern, and takes into consideration the important interplay between orature and literature as tools in the process of building human beings that will have the wherewithal to live useful, productive and profitable lives within modern-day society. In many traditional African societies, early childhood education was based mainly on orature. Of course, around the world one of the greatest feats of early childhood education is passing on the ability to speak to a child. This is expected to be accomplished by the age of 2½ years, all within the family with no formal school involved. The phrase “mother tongue” shows who the main language teacher is at this stage of early childhood education. Though obvious, it stills remains significant to note that the teaching method at this early level is entirely oral. In Southern Africa and indeed most parts of Africa, oral traditions of folk tales told around fires to an audience spanning multiple generations engage in the process of socializing children into society through storytelling. For example, the Akan people of Ghana have an active storytelling tradition built around Anansi the spider. According to Zulu tradition, tales are so important that Manzandaba, one of the earliest mothers on earth, had to travel a great distance to the bottom of the ocean to procure tales for her children. Indeed, in most of Africa early childhood education was realized through the telling of tales and riddles as well as alerting the children to societal taboos. This is what Adesina and Olorunyomi refer to as the àl´o. school, in which àl´o. àpagbè (tales) and àl´o. àpam`o. (riddles) are used to inculcate values and develop children’s cognitive skills in the Yorùbá context. The àl´o. school may not necessarily place a distinction between nursery and primary education, but in general addresses issues of early childhood education of meeting the basic learning needs of children, preparing them for the next phase of their education in the òwe school. The authors argue that the òwe school, in which children are taught to use proverbs as templates based on which they can generalize the facts and values learnt in àl´o. àpagbè and drilled through àl´o. àpam`o., is the equivalent of modern secondary education.5 Experts submit that the objective of early childhood education is to engage children in constructive play so that learning takes place informally and incidentally through play. Commenting on play, Huizinga argues that play is a natural tool of socialization.6 They further suggest that play is older than culture, because no matter

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how culture is defined, play will always presuppose human society; this is seen in how animals are not taught to play by humans and human civilization has not added any features to the essential idea of play. We can infer from Huizinga’s arguments that even though humans have organized the basic elements of play into complex processes such as games, and games into much more complex processes such as leagues, humans cannot claim play to be an essentially human phenomenon; therefore, play cannot be said to be a product of human culture. Even at its most basic forms at the level of animals, play transcends a mere physiological phenomenon or a psychological reflex. In other words, there is sense in play. Using a pun on the word “play,” Huizinga asserts that in play there is something “at play” which transcends the immediate needs of life and imparts meaning to the action, concluding that all play means something. Using the example of language as the first and supreme instrument shaped by humans for the purposes of communication, teaching and command, and the facility language offers to distinguish, establish and state things, he declares that thereby language makes it possible to realize material objects such as ideas, as well as raising them into the domain of the spirit. He therefore concludes that “in the making of speech and language, the spirit is continually ‘sparking’ between matter and mind, as it were, playing with this wondrous nominative faculty. Behind every abstract expression there lie the boldest of metaphors, and every metaphor is a play upon words.”7 The deep meanings derivable from play explain why early childhood education all over the world usually involves storytelling, role-playing, riddles and various other oratorical forms through which children get involved and engaged in informal learning via play. This is supported by various theories, all pointing to the idea that play translates to training for children, preparing them for the serious work that will be demanded of them later in life. Even though some of the foremost early theorists of the relationship between play and cognitive development such as Piaget and Vygotsky present a diversity of positions, what is not in doubt from their positions is that play is the core avenue to learning for children. While Piaget argues that play is a child’s efforts to match environmental stimuli with his or her own concepts, Vygotsky posits that children not only practice what they already know, they also learn new things.8 Either way, there is consensus that children are introduced to solid principles via play in ways that arrest their childish minds, leading to comprehension and longterm memory of the encounters in play Children’s games, football, and more adult games such as chess are played in profound seriousness.9 The Zulu understanding of storytelling as play is well illustrated by the adventures of Mazandaba in her efforts to procure stories for her children. The excuses given by several animals she approached for stories was that they were too busy with work to have time for stories. Hence, the frequent use of stories in early childhood education agrees with the position of early childhood education experts that play is the main avenue through which children acquire education. Education is a natural human quest. As Homo sapiens, humans naturally express a quest for knowledge; this has always been satisfied by education, whether formal, informal or non-formal. This natural quest for knowledge was satisfied through the use of orature in pre-literate times, but with the development of writing, literacy

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became a very important aspect of education. Yet, in the contexts of preschool and school settings, Nutbrown concludes by referring to various studies that suggest that teachers and other adults tend to adopt a “watch and wait” approach to play, thereby limiting its frequency, duration and quality.10 Literacy definitely has had positive effects on education, and various scholars of orality and literacy such as Havelock, Goody and Watt, Ong and Olson have argued that the development of alphabetic literacy among the Greeks brought about a drastic change to Western European cultures.

Children’s Literature In literature, information that has the potential to enhance human knowledge for productive interaction in the human environment is committed to written form in order to make such knowledge permanent. The idea of children’s literature therefore developed later as a sub-theme of literature in general, with the aim of extending to children the benefits of literacy and literature. We posit here that the original objective of literature is to document human thoughts for the purpose of information exchange between adults. Children’s literature therefore must have developed out of the realization that the wide range of oratorical texts employed in the enculturation of children can be reduced to writing first and foremost in order to make such ideas permanent and precise, to help the propagation of such ideas, and as a means of introducing children to literacy. Hence, at the inception of children’s literature, the use of literature for the enculturation of the new generation of every society must have taken as its primary source the body of orature used for the same purpose of enculturating children in pre-literate times. It is noteworthy that speech as a form of communication is acquired passively, merely by being a member of a language community. Literacy on the other hand needs to be actively engaged in order to develop the cognitive skills required for reading, and both the cognitive and psycho-motive skills required for the necessary hand-eye coordination demanded by writing. In this vein, Green and Riddell provide strong evidence that formal schooling is the dominant determinant of basic literacy. Hence, literacy demands a lot more concentration and focused activities, thereby giving less scope for play than orality. Coupled with the submission of experts in early childhood education that storytelling, role-playing and riddles are a core strategy in early childhood learning through which children get involved and engaged in informal learning via play, orature will always play a much greater role than literature in early childhood education. Be that as it many, early literacy development, a process in which literacy plays a significant role in early childhood education, is now quite popular—particularly in the western world and some parts of urban Africa. Early literacy development is aimed at offering child learners exposure to measures of literacy that would give them preschool familiarity with books, early writing and the use of environmental prints such as road signs, as well as relating oral language to print. A valid concern

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is that the quest for and efforts in early literacy development do not consume and thereby reduce the space traditionally allocated to orality as a primary element of play in early childhood education.

Orature, Literature and Early Childhood Education Due to the advantages of permanence, precision and propagation offered by literature, written language was held to be supreme and therefore superior to the spoken language for many centuries. It was taken as the source of standard linguistic excellence and was seen as providing language with permanence as well as authority. Written language was therefore the main plank on which the prescriptive traditions of language rested.11 Furthering this general feeling of the superiority of literacy over orality, the development of literacy as a colonial legacy in most of Africa and other parts of the colonized world resulted in literacy being perceived as possessing a colonial status of supremacy. To that end, literacy is therefore seen as an element of modernity, and orality as a relic suitable only in antiquity. In such settings, being literate immediately confers upon a person a level of superiority, regardless of the level of innate intelligence and acquired knowledge demonstrated by a non-literate person. Being literate was seen as enough in itself and the word “illiterate” acquired connotations of being uninformed, unintelligent and therefore unfortunate. Hence, in many such settings, there is a tendency to see literacy as an end in itself, particularly in early childhood education. Furthermore, literacy is usually considered as one of the most significant pieces of evidence on the educational progress of a child. This then goes further to consolidate the impression of literacy as an end in itself in the educational development of children, and the complementarity of orality and literacy is not given the required consideration. Hall cited in Crystal responded to this perception that literacy is supreme to orality thus; “when we think of writing as more important than speech, we are putting the cart before the horse in every respect.”12 Not seeing the importance of literacy in the context of a necessary complement to orality leads to a general attitude of downplaying orality in education, particularly in early childhood education. This has had some effects on the objectives of early childhood education in parts of Africa. In the same vein, the notion of literacy as an element of colonial supremacy also led to a downplay of local languages in favor of foreign languages acquired as part of the colonial legacy. Many oral texts through which children were enculturated were looked down upon, and new materials that did not bring about a resonance between the children and their local environment were imported and imposed. Imported books introduced strange ideas such as “A for Apple” to children in an environment in which the apple never grew and therefore did not exist. The children were therefore constrained to undertake rote learning with little or no relation or congruence between what they were taught and what exists in their natural environment. The notion of “A for Apple” was developed to help children relate concrete ideas to abstract ideas, but for the African child living in an

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environment in which the apple does not exist, “A for Apple” becomes a notion that relates one abstract idea to yet another abstract idea, thereby failing in the quest to help a child learn from their environment. As is to be expected, based on colonial notions of the supremacy of imported ideas, the “A for Apple” disposition became a basis for the evaluation of education by parents; parents now seem to prefer the “A for Apple” schools. Hence, the image of “A” and an “Apple” on the walls of schools became a status symbol. Furthermore, the “A for Apple” disposition later acquired an economic dimension as apples found their way to the streets of some African countries, becoming a major factor in international trade and a sink of scarce foreign exchange in these African countries. Generally, literate cultures store knowledge essentially in written and other forms of documents, facilitated by recording and retrieval technologies based on applying graphemic marks to certain media. In contrast, oral cultures encode knowledge in the popular collective memory of the community. When industrialization brings these two kinds of cultures together, there are resultant imbalances that naturally promote the dominance of technology.13 This is essentially a notion of the industrial age. It does not take into account the fact that as the march toward the information age continues, and with the continuing development of multimedia, technologies that document thought now transcend ink and paper. Consequently, as much as multimedia now bestows on orality the vaunted attributes of permanence, precision and propagation of literacy, there is a corresponding need to reevaluate the value of orality particularly in early childhood education in Africa. The failure to see this development and take due advantage of it to further enhance the complementarity of orality and literacy in early childhood education can be attributed mainly to the faulted notion of literacy as an end in itself. On yet another level, scholars have observed a significant diversity in the kind of society produced by either orality or literacy. In literate societies, information and knowledge is generally available to the young through books, causing the young to depend less on the elders of the community for information, knowledge and wisdom. This, Tomaselli and Eke argue, is a process of enculturation into an industrial world, which promotes individualism over communalism and produces activities and thoughts that lead to a disruption of traditional generational forms of respect. Tomaselli and Eke also suggest that the direct importation of methods, theories, ideas and psychoanalytical assumptions developed in the First world to Africa present epistemological problems.14 These methods and theories assume particular sets of modern and post-modem conditions and periodizations not necessarily replicated in Africa in quite the same ways; they often cannot account for indigenous ways of knowing and making sense in Africa. Some educators usually take the position that literacy is conditional for pedagogy, while others take the opposite position that literacy does not engender cognitive changes, basing their position on Narismhan’s examples from India and other parts of the world. In Africa in particular, the bulk of early childhood education in precolonial times was undertaken essentially based on orature. With the introduction of literacy during the colonial era, the scope for early childhood education expanded from merely orature to both orature and literature. However, unfortunately not enough

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of the traditional orature and orality that formed the basis of early childhood education was included in the curriculum of the formal school system. A rich oratorical tradition defines the early childhood education in pre-literate African societies. As suggested by child development theorists Rousseau and Montessori, children often think and learn quite differently from adults.15 Montessori in particular (as cited in Crain) theorizes the concept of genetically programmed blocks of time during which children are especially eager and able to master specific tasks. This she theorizes as sensitive periods. She argues that if children are prevented from enjoying appropriate experiences at appropriate critical sensitive periods, the special sensitivity—which could have drawn them to the relevant activities—would vanish, and this will have disturbing effects on their development. These periods observed by Montessori include: a sensitive period for order between ages 9 months to 3 years, during which the child frames the world as ordered and desires for objects to be where they belong; a sensitive period for details between ages 1 and 2 years, during which children fix their attention on minute details which adults tend to overlook; a sensitive period for the use of hands between 18 months and 5 years, during which children are exceptionally tactile and show a tendency to constantly grasp objects; a sensitive period for walking between 1 and 2 years, during which the child walks for the sake of walking with no destination in mind, just to perfect the act of walking; and finally a sensitive period for language between 9 months to about 6 years, during which the child starts to acquire language and its use. Early childhood education in Africa responds to the specific needs of these stages of development by providing appropriate stimuli at the appropriate stages, taking account of the cognitive affective and psychomotor domains of a child’s personality and its development. Such cognitive aspect of a child’s personality, as manifested in a desire for order, attention to details and acquisition of language in the African setting may be catered for by taboos and the stories behind them. On the other hand, the psycho motor aspect such as the use of hands, walking, and talking are catered for by examples such as the children strapping dolls to their backs in anticipation of a need to carry their younger sibling in the very near future. At appropriate later stages in a child’s development, the knowledge, feelings and skills acquired at the earlier stages are deployed toward more productive results by teaching the children to fold their mats after waking up in the morning, sweep the house and the compound and return the brooms to their appropriate places as a means of promoting and exploiting the quest for order that had been developed at the sensitive period for order. The need to give attention to details is promoted by the attitudes and skills developed during the sensitive period for details. Such attitudes are further enhanced by some of the games played later in life. A typical example of such a game is one in which children sing, waving their hands toward the flying cattle egrets, inviting the birds to mark their fingernails. Each child then inspects his or her fingernails looking for little white specks that must have always been there but were usually neglected, claiming that the cattle egret just marked them. The skills acquired during the sensitive period for the use of hands are later employed in weaving, basket making, mat making, and the playing of musical instruments. The capacity for bi-pedal motion acquired during the sensitive period for walking continues to mark the child as a human rather than

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any lower animal, providing the child the capacity to move to specific destinations for specific purposes. This capacity also translates into the capacity for running, swimming and various other physical sporting activities designed to deliberately enhance the capacity for movement. Very much like bi-pedal motion, the knowledge and skill acquired during the sensitive period for language stand to distinguish a child from lower animals. This is later on built into knowledge and skills, which provides the basis for orality as well as reading and writing. The knowledge and skills acquired during these various periods and beyond, including literacy, are all acquired through orature. For example, in a typical Yorùbá homestead (the agboolé) consisting of a collection of the nuclear families of siblings and cousins, the women would take turns to lead the àl´o. (tale telling and riddles) sessions under the moonlight after the day’s farm work. However, as modernity crept in, the agboolé structure gradually succumbed under the pressures of urbanization. Heads of various nuclear families that would have constituted an agboolé build separate houses for each nuclear family now, separated by considerable distances in different towns and cities. Hence the tradition of having all the children of an entire agboolé in an àl´o. class, sometimes up to 40 children at a time, disappeared. In an attempt to salvage this tradition, parents and sometimes grandparents that have the privilege of living within the nuclear family of one of their children in some urban center strive to retain the practice of telling tales to the few grandchildren from one nuclear family, and reciting the personal oríkì (praise name) of the grandchildren. Every Yorùbá person is supposed to have a praise name; a personal oríkì, which is usually one of the names by which they are called and identified. Finnegan explains that some individuals have several of these personal praise names, which often form the basis of formal praise poetry.16 She goes further to state that a recitation of a collection of these praise names resembles a loosely constructed poem also called the oríkì of the person. The extended oríkì of each child is followed by the oríkì of the family lineage, in that order. In explaining that oríkì is the core of the Yorùbá knowledge system, Adesina and Olorunyomi appeal to the morphology of the word oríkì as consisting of two morphemes: orí and kì. They define orí materially as the head of the person, animal or any other object, but ideationally as the essence of a person or phenomenon; it’s true nature. As for the other morpheme kì, it means “to cite or describe in detail.” They further elaborate the morpheme kì as meaning “to compact.” Hence, they conclude that oríkì can be understood as the detailed, condensed and concentrated description of a person, object or phenomenon.17 Children in a traditional Yorùbá homestead usually have their oríkì recited to them by their grandmothers, mothers, mothers’ co-wives (within a polygamous setting) and aunties, as well as much older sisters every morning in response to a good morning greeting by the child. Their grandfathers, fathers and uncles also sometimes recite the oríkì, but much less frequently and intensely than the womenfolk. The daily repetitive ritual of the recitation of the oríkì being a condensed version of the child’s history and the parents’ aspirations over the child every morning is therefore a veritable exercise in pedagogy. Thus, we can say that oríkì constitute a fundamental

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material for early childhood education among the Yorùbá. In addition to oriki, the Yoruba also use various genres of poetry, collectively referred to as ewì, as part of the orature applied in knowledge management. Beyond the history of an individual child or that of the family, oríkì also relate the history of hamlets, villages, towns and cities and other significant geographical location. The following short portion from the oríkì of Ibadan, a major city in Southwest Nigeria, illustrates how oríkì describe a people, their circumstances and their attitude to life, thereby guiding the child on what is expected of him or her as customary behavior. Ìbàdàn O . mo. ajòro sùn O . mo. a je. ìgbín je. ìkaraun Ìbàdàn mesì o.` g`o. Níbi olè ti n jàre olóhun,18 Ibadan whose offspring go to bed on a meal of òro Who consumes both the snail and the carapace. Ibadan where the insolent is never spared a mouthful A land of twists where the bonafide owner may lose to a thief in judgment. History records that Ibadan started as a bivouac for the disbanded Oyo army and life in those early days were austere, giving no room to luxury of any sort. Hence, the circumstances that made Ibadan indigenes go to bed on mere fruits rather than the sumptuous meal of àmàlà and pounded yam they were used to in Oyo. It is this history of austere times that is reflected in this short excerpt. Apart from propagating historical information, oriki and other elements of orature such as ewi also prescribes proper behavior, as illustrated in the following excerpt of an ewi on the sluggard: Mo f´e. b´o.le. s`o.r`o. bóyá ó lè gb´o. Alápá má s.is´e.… Olóko n r’oko olódò ´n r’odò Iwo. ká’wo lé fèrèsé ò ´n yo . ’jú fín ín Ojúm´o. m´o. kedere, o.` le. sùn te.te.re. Àkuko. ko. inú o.` le. bà j´e. Al´e. l´e. inú o.` le. dùn19 Allow me to admonish the sluggard Who though with active hands prefers not to work While neighbors go to the farm and the streams You lazily peep through the window In broad daylight the sluggard still continues his slumber The cock announces daylight and the sluggard goes blue Night falls and the sluggard rejoices As shown in the excerpt of this ewì on the sluggard, laziness is roundly condemned by virtue of the negative characterization of the sluggard. In contrast, the next ewì on work encourages proper behavior epitomized by the virtue in hard work.

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Is.e.´ lòògun ìs.e.´ Múra sí is.e.´ o.` r´e.e.` mi Is.e.´ ni a fi ´ n di. ni e gíga Bí a kò bá r´e.ni f`e.hìn tì bí o.` le. làá rí Bí a kò bá r´e.ni gb´e.k`e.lé, a te.pá m´o. is.e.´ e.ni Ìyáà re. leè lówó l´o.w´o. Babáà re. leè l´e.s.in léèkàn Tí o bá gbójú lé wo.n, o t´e. tán ni mo so. fún o. Ìyà n´ b`.o fún o.mo. tí kò gb´o.n E.kún n´ be. fún o.mo. tó n´ sá kiri Má fi òwúr . o`s.eré o.` r´e. mi Is.e.´ ni a fi ´ n di. ni e gíga20 Work is the antidote to poverty Engage work with vigor fellow Work leads to greatness Without anyone to lean on We appear helpless With none to rely on We intensify our effort at work Your mother may be rich And your father with horses in the stable If you rest your hope on their riches You are surely doomed Suffering gets the better of a fool Weeping lay in waiting for the vagabond Waste not your youthful years Work is the pathway to greatness. Finally, orature also serves to affirm the basic necessities of healthy living such as security, justice, good neighborliness and nutrition. The following ewì on food affirms the value of food and provides information on a variety of dishes that collectively provide a balanced diet. The ewì, a parody of the apostle’s creed, affirms the need for proper nutrition as a necessity of life by presenting the information contained therein as a creed for healthy living. Ìgbàgb´o. Oúnje. Mo gba oúnje. gb´o. Òun ni alákóso ara Oúnje. dídára a máa mú ara dán A máa mú egungun le E.` j`e. a sàn ká koko Àìdára oúnje., òun ló n´ fa àìsàn l’. es` ´e. Ìje.kúje. oúnje. òun ló n´ so . ara di arúgbó Ojú á di fotoro Imú á di gbunrungun

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Gbogbo àw`o. ara á wá rí kùj´o.kùj´o. Mo sì tún gbàgb´o. p`e.lú pé Nínú ìpàdé oúnje. Iyán ni alága Àmàlà ni igbá kejì E.` ko. ni asáájú Ó sì j´e. onír`e.l`e. Ní j´o. tí iyán n´ gbé ‘yàwó Ilá ni ìyàwó Nígbà tí àmàlà l’obìnrin Ewédú l’obìnrin E.` f´o. ni aya àkàsù M´o.ínm´o.ín are.wà l’olùf . e´e.` ko. mímu Dòdò náà kò r’ . e`hìn Ó jo.ba sí ìletò Dùùndú kò k`e.r`e. Ó jo.ba sí ìgbèríko Alágbára ni ata B`o.r`o.kìnní tòmátò O . l´o.r`o. ni e.` gúsí L´e.hìn gbogbo ìw`o.nyí omi dídára ló ´n se ara dídára21 The food creed I believe in proper nutrition The marshal of body parts Good food gives the skin a glowing sheen Fortifies the bones, And promotes proper circulation of blood Improper food results in ill health And junk food accelerates ageing Making the eyes deep sunken into the head Disfiguring the nose ridge And causing wrinkled skin And I also believe That when dishes confer Iyán leads And amala supports E`. ko. is the humble starter garbed in humility When iyán got married Ilá was his choice bride When àmàlà took a wife Ewédú was his preference And e`. f´o. was the spouse of e.` ko. Beautiful m´o.ínm´o.ín the lover of ògì.

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Dòdò, never a back bencher Rules in adjoining settlements Neither is dù`ndú a small fry– It rules in the surbub Pepper the strength of every dish Tomato its popular supplement E.` gúsí a rich accompaniment And potable water makes for a healthy body This is an example of an ewì through which children are informed of the value of proper nutrition. The different roles and the complementarity of various categories of food are highlighted, encouraging children to feed on a balanced diet without directly discouraging them from eating only the food they prefer. Apart from oríkì and ewi, other oratorical genres of early childhood education include àl´o. àpagbè (tales) as well as their accompanying songs orin, and àl´o. àpam`o. (riddles). Àl´o. àpagbè (tales) are used to communicate facts, introduce etiquettes and establish morals, while àl´o. àpam`o. (riddles) are used to drill and thereby cause the children to rehearse the knowledge presented in àl´o. àpagbè (tales) and the accompanying songs. The elements of knowledge acquired in àl´o. àpagbè (tales) and drilled to them in àl´o. àpam`o. (riddles) later on in life become the raw materials of reasoning through the templates provided by proverbs at the secondary level of education. Hence, oriki, ewi, àl´o. àpagbè and its accompanying songs as well as ààl´o.àpam`o. constitute the sources of the premises based on which these children will learn to exercise their reasoning faculty, by using proverbs to generalize the specific facts presented in these sources and applying them to yet un-encountered situations later on in life. Yoruba traditional pedagogy uses song a lot in teaching children, seen in orin itself. The songs usually come before or after the àl´o.. It is so because children never forget songs. A Yoruba adult today will even remember the songs he learnt in àl´o. school, but may never remember the full details of the story in the àl´o.. Song is also used because it makes àl´o. very interesting to children. The traditional teachers took note of the short attention span of children and used songs to sustain their interest. This tool in the hand of a skillful àl´o. teller will make the children clap and ultimately dance, thereby getting fully involved in a truly interactive teaching session. Songs help the children to follow the story line of the àl´o., especially after singing a song one or two times. By the time a song is rendered a third time, the children can cue into where the àl´o. leads. Hence, song is a powerful tool for sustaining play as the main avenue of learning in early childhood education. The capacity of song to engender and promote interactivity by making the children clap and ultimately dance, engaging and challenging one another in healthily competitive dance, is the hallmark of song as a means of bring play into the learning process. Besides the above utilization of orature to instill values, character and proper behavior in children, orature is also used to supply children with scientific information about their environment. The following song, for example, offers a short lesson in

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geography, teaching the child how to make distinctions between rivers, the lagoon and the ocean. Níbo le. fi ti Niger sí odò O . ya Òkun ni olórí omi 22 O .` sà ni igbá kejì r`e. What will you say about the Niger The great river we called O.ya The sea is the principal of all waters And the lagoon its assistant Apart from teaching scientific facts, some songs are also used to teach unusual spellings that young children are confronted with. An example is “Mississipi,” a song that points out to children the fact that the word involves double “s” and double “p”: Mississippi Mississippi ‘M’ ‘I’ double S I double S I double P I Mississippi Some songs teach children how to tell the time, days of the week and months of the year. For example, the following song teaches the virtue of rest after a week of work: O . j´o. márún ni à n´ lò ní ilé-ìwé Kò sí ilé-ìwé ní o.j´o. àbám´e.ta àti àìkú Múra, múra sí is.e.´ máse se o.` le.23 There are only five days of the week to be spent in school There is no school on Saturday, no school on Sunday So put in your best, and be not lazy Here is another for the number of days in the months: O . gb`o.n o.j´o. ni September April June November February nìkan ni 28 or 29 Àwo.n yókù lé kan l ‘ .o´gb`o.n o.j´o.24 There are 30 days in September April June November Only February has 28 or 29 days The rest have 31 days Apart from songs in àl´o., other short songs taught to children at this level pass on profound values, which in turn enable the learning ability of each child to be gauged even at this play level. This shows Huizinga’s idea of the “profound seriousness in play.” Àl´o. àpam`o. instills alertness in children and sets them thinking as they search their brains for the right answer to any riddle. This, Majasan describes as a “test of wits” for the child.25 It is used as a drill for children to pass valuable information from

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their short-term memory to their long-term memory for retrieval at later stages in life. It also constitutes a means for the assessment of the child’s power of reasoning, their analogical sharpness and general intelligence. Àl´o. àpam`o. not only stimulate the child’s cognitive domain, but also the affective domain as they teach various lessons in character that will make a responsible adult in the future. Typical examples of àl´o. àpam`o. include: Riddle: Solution: Riddle: Solution:

Kí l ó b´o. sí odò tí kò ró tómú? Ab´e.r´e.. What falls into water and does not cause a splashing sound? The needle.

Riddle: Solution: Riddle: Solution:

Kí l ó ko.já níwájú ilé o.ba tí kò kí´o.ba? Àgbàrá. What passes the palace without acknowledging the king? Flood.

Riddle: Solution: Riddle: Solution:

Kò ní apá kò ní e.s`e. ó b´e. sínú igbó jùà. Kí ni o? K`e.l`e.b`e.. With neither arms nor legs it leaps into the bush. What is it? Phlegm.

Riddle: Solution: Riddle: Solution:

Òkun ´n hó yamuyamu omo burúkú ti orí b .o` o.´ . Kí ni o? Orógùn. The sea rumbles in rage, yet the idiot plunges into it. What is it? The kitchen stirring rod.

Riddle: Solution: Riddle:

Kí ni ó´n bá .oba je.un tó tún bá o.ba mu o.ti tí kò kó ewé? Es.ins.in. What dines and wines with the king without sparing a thought for cleaning up afterwards? Housefly.

Solution: Riddle: Solution: Riddle: Solution: Riddle:

Òrúkú tindí tindì, òrúkú tindì tindì, òrúkú bi igba o.mo., gbogbo wo.n ló lé tìíro fún. Kí ni o? E.` wà. Òrúkú tindí tindì, òrúkú tindì tindì, òrúkú produced 200 children and adorned each of them with eyeliner. Beans.

Solution:

Òrúkú tindí tindì, òrúkú tindì tindì, òrúkú bi igba o.mo., ó yo. e.gba lé wo.n l´o.w´o.. Ìrùk`e.r`e. Àgbàdo. Òrúkú tindí tindì, òrúkú tindì tindì, òrúkú produced 200 children and gave each a whip. Corn silk.

Riddle:

Gbogbo ilé sùn, ká´n n´ bo kò sùn.

Solution: Riddle:

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Solution: Riddle: Solution:

Igi imú. The whole household lies down yet ká´n ´nbo remains upright. Nose ridge.

Ààl´o. àpagbè are a collection of tales that incorporate elements of etiquette, propriety, acceptable behavior and general social values. They usually consist of tales of personified animals such as anansi the spider of the Akan, that are either punished for going against social norms or rewarded for upholding them. An ààl´o. àpagbè usually starts with an announcement “ààl´o. o” by the storyteller, to which the expectant children respond “ààl`o..” Apart from summoning children in the close neighborhood to the location of the storytelling session, the announcement also signals to the children that the storytelling session is meant to be an interactive session between the storyteller and the children. After this announcement, the storytelling proper starts, after which a song is sung by the children and led by the storyteller, helping to drive the point of the story home. The singing may sometimes be accompanied by a spontaneously produced rhythm of clapping or the beating of appropriate objects in the vicinity as drums by the children, and this may sometimes elicit dancing. More often than not, after the singing and dancing the storyteller requests that the children relate the moral of the story. This is a means of assessing the level of comprehension of the children. By asking the children explicitly to analyze the story and identify the moral of the story after singing and dancing, the children are assisted in remembering as much of the story as possible. Through associating the moral of the story with an appropriate song, which they are not likely to forget even in their days of adulthood, the moral of the story is made to stick in their minds and thereby guide their behavior later in life. A popular example of ààl´o. àpagbè that teaches self-control and honesty is the story of the Tortoise who consulted a medicine man to assist in addressing his wife’s infertility.26 The fertility drug offered by the medicine man had as its base a sweet smelling and tantalizing soup, which the Tortoise found difficult to resist. Halfway home and overcome by his lack of temperance, he ate some of the delicious soup, after which he discovered a growing protrusion in his tummy. He quickly made his way back to the medicine man and to douse his embarrassment, he went singing the following song: Babaláwo, mo wá b`e.b`e., alugbinrin Òògùn t o.´ o se fún mi l´e.e.` kan, alugbininrin To ní ki n´ má mà m’ .o´w´o. kan’nu, alugbininrin To ní ki n´ má mà m’ . e´s`e. kannu, alugbinrin Gbòngbò kan ló y`o. mí t`e.e.` r`e., alugburin Mo f’o.w´o. kan ‘l . e`mo mú kannu, alugbinrin Mo bojú wo’kùn ó rí gbe.ndu alugbinrin Babaláwo, mo wá b`e.b`e., alugbinrin Medicine man, I come to beg for forgiveness, alugbinrin Recall the medicine you sent to my wife, alugbinrin you told me not put my hands in my mouth, alugbinrin Neither put my feet in my mouth, alugbinrin

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Unfortunately, I slipped on a tree root and fell, alugbinrin And mistakenly put my soiled hand in my mouth, alugbinrin Only to find my tummy gently protruding, alugbinrin Medicine man, I plead for forgiveness, alugbinrin The examples of orature including oríkì, ààl´o. àpam`o., ààl´o. àpagbè and ewì cited above serve to enculturate children beginning in their formative years, supplying them with profound knowledge they will naturally draw from as needs arise at different stages in life. As adults, they can draw on this knowledge in form of the songs, rhymes, stories and maxims that they have imbibed since childhood. Despite the pressures of modernity, some of the now-urbanized parents and grandparents continue the tradition of the ààl´o. classes under moonlight and even lantern light. As a result of the influence of literacy, the ààl´o. classes now extend to reading sessions in which in a reversal of roles the children, now literate, sometimes read to their parents and grandparents. As the children read, the parents and grandparents correct incorrectly pronounced words, clarify imageries and amplify figures of speech used in the written stories. Beyond the reversal of roles in which children now read to parents rather than parents telling stories, the ability of the parents to correct wrongly perceived words as read by the children presents yet another interesting phenomenon in which illiterate parents and grandparents are able to infer the right sense of words in a passage by deriving their true meaning from context. Hence, these illiterate parents and grandparents are able to assist their children and grandchildren in their reading exercises. By this token, some of the children are able to survive the scourge of urbanization growing within a pedagogical environment defined by both orature and literature in the home, while the vast majority of children now have to be catered for by the formal structure of early childhood education based on schooling outside the home environment.

Conclusion The complementarity presented by the possibility of mixing the traditional oraturebased pedagogy with the modern literature-based pedagogy is not properly appreciated and, as the advantages of literacy in the larger society became more and more apparent, little or no room was given to traditional orature in early childhood education in various African communities. This situation manifests at various levels in various African communities with the result that the synergy that could have been created in the mixing of orature and literature was missed. The objective of this chapter is to consider the role of orature in early childhood education against the background of the predominance of contemporary thinking that literature is the fundamental background of any type of education. Examples from an African situation are used to demonstrate the possible synergy of orature and literature. It behooves the education systems around the world, particularly in

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Africa, to reconsider the relative roles of orality and literacy in early childhood education. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

Ilesanmi (2004: 48). Iheoma (1988). Henniger (2010). Ejiogu (1986). Adesina and Olorunyomi (2020). Huizinga (1955). Ibid., 4. Fox (1996). Huizinga (1955). Nutbrown (2011). Crystal (2000). Crystal (2000: 180). Tomaselli and Eke (1995). Ibid. Crain (2005). Finnegan (1970). Adesina and Olorunyomi (2020). My recollection of traditional Ibadan folk cognomen. My personal recollection of Yoruba oral poetic performance. Odunjo (1961: 15). Fagunwa (1940: 42). My personal recollection of urban Yoruba oral poetic memory verse. Ibid. Ibid. Majasan (1969). The narration of the folktale is my personal recollection of this Yoruba oral narrative performance.

References Adesina, D., and Olorunyomi, S. 2020 Appropriation for Pedagogy by Early Yoruba Christians. In African Languages and Literatures in the 21st Century, ed. E. M. Lisanza and L. Muaka, Chapter 3: 14–43. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan. Capizzano, J., and R. Main. 2005. Many Young Children Spend Long Hours in Child Care: Snapshot of America’s Families III No. 16. Washington, DC: Urban Institute, Ventilation. Crain, W. 2005. Theories of Development: Concepts and Applications. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Prentice Hall. Crystal, D. 2000. Language Death. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Ejiogu, A.M. 1986. Landmarks in Educational Development in Nigeria. Lagos: JRAC. Fagunwa, D.O. 1940. Irinkerindo Ninu Igbo Elegbeje. Ibadan: Thomas Nelson. Finnegan, R. 1970. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fox, J.E. 1996. Back-to-Basics: Play in Early Childhood. Early Childhood News 8 (5): 19–24. Goody, J.R., and I. Watt. 1963. The Consequences of Literacy. Comparative Studies in Society and History 5 (3): 304–345. Green, C.A., and C.W. Rinddell. 2012. Understanding Educational Impacts: The Role of Literacy and Numeracy Skills. Presented at CEDEFOP/IZA Workshop on Skills and Skill Mismatch. http://conference.iza.org/conference_files/2015_Skill_Mismatch/viewPr ogram?conf_id=2779. Accessed 26 May 2018. Hall, R.A. 1950. Leave Your Language Alone. Michigan: Linguistica. Havelock, A.H. 1989. A Preface to Plato. Cambridge: Belknap Press. Henniger, M.L. 2010. The Scope of Early Childhood Education. https://www.education.com/refere nce/article/scope-early-childhood-education-ECE/. Accessed 4 Apr 2018. Huizinga, J. 1955. Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture. Boston: Beacon Press. Iheoma, E.O. 1988. Ideals of the Educated Man: A Historical and Philosophical. LER 4 (1): 59–67. Ilesanmi, T.M. 2004. Yoruba Orature and Literature: A Cultural Analysis. Ile Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press. Majasan, J.A. 1969. Folklore as an Instrument of Education Among the Yoruba. Ibadan: University of Ibadan Press. Narasimhan, R. 1991. Literacy and Orality, ed. D.R. Olson and N. Torrance. New York: Cambridge University Press. Nutbrown, C. 2011. Key Concepts in Early Childhood Education and Care. London: Sage. Odunjo, J.F. 1961. Akójopò Ewì Aládùn. Ibadan: Longmans. Ong, W.J. 1982. Orality and Literacy. New York: Routledge. Tomaselli, K., and M. Eke. 1995. Perspectives on Orality in African Cinema. Oral Tradition 10 (1): 111–128.

Chapter 50

Teaching Folklore and Oral Traditions: The Folktale Medium as Pedagogy Michael Oladejo Afolayan

Introduction The teaching of folklore and oral tradition has become a daunting task partly because, for the most part, we now live in literate societies in which much of our knowledge production is dependent mostly on the written text. The “two-by-four” concept of learning, which we will talk about momentarily, has become a bane on the progress of verbal art generally, and even more so when it comes to the teaching of folklore and oral tradition in our societies. By the “two-by-four” notion, we refer to a situation in which learning is totally dependent on the two covers of the textbook, and knowledge acquisition is whatever is procured within the four walls of the classroom. The anomaly of this erroneous pedagogical principle is the limitation it places on knowledge attainment and delivery; it locks the individual victim of such pedagogy in the prison of a regressive epistemological space. However, by virtue of the multidisciplinary nature of folklore and oral traditions, this ought not be the case because the subjects of folklore and oral traditions are so much more commonplace in daily living than even their practitioners recognize and the expert scholars give them credit for. However, Harold Scheub, writing a review of African oral traditions and literature, notes the powerful role that African oral traditions exert in the lives of the people, and the educational function they play in rural communities of South Africa. They are dynamic and didactic; capable of revealing the essence of the people’s sociology. Folklore and oral traditions are active tools for daily living, and most importantly, they are sophisticated and naturally equipped with structures that researchers can observe. Scheub further notes: The African oral tradition distills the essences of human experiences, shaping them into rememberable, readily retrievable images of broad applicability with an extraordinary potential for eliciting emotional responses. These are removed from their historical contexts so that performers may recontextualize them in artistic forms. The oral arts, containing the M. O. Afolayan (B) Osogbo, Nigeria © The Author(s) 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7_50

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sensory residue of past cultural life and the wisdom so engendered, constitute a medium for organizing, examining, and interpreting an audience’s experiences of the images of the present.1

In essence, oral traditions provide an inexhaustible repertoire of knowledge, and they could be used (and are used) as effective tools for teaching formally and informally. This inexhaustibleness is the allusion that Karin Barber draws on in her choice of the title to her award-winning book, I Could Speak Until Tomorrow. Works of Adeboye Babalola on heroic poems of the Yorùbá, as showcased in the recent work of Adeleke and Mobolaji, point to the same vital point of the boundless nature of the knowledge base of Yorùbá orature.2 Typologizing the various genres that constitute folklore and oral tradition is a task reserved for the experts in the field. I will not do that. In a seminal work, Dasylva has delved into the art of dissecting the genres entailed in folklore, oral traditions, and oral literature. He demystifies the confusion inherent in folklore classifications and definition, noting, among other things, that: Oral traditions or folklore studies as a discipline and, in a contextual sense, goes beyond such traditions as are rendered only by word of mouth – linguistic and non-linguistic expressions. It includes the all-embracing customs of a non-literate (oral) society or people…. In other words, folklore is all inclusive, and encompasses the traditions of the indigenous people. Folklore research, for instance, was originally restricted by traditionalist-scholars to, folktales/stories, legends, myths, world-view, customs, belief and belief systems – including spirits or supernatural beings, witchcrafts, among others. However, in recent times, folklore has been extended to include rituals, deities, dances, kitchen, and/or home utensils, institutions, and all manner of crafts (wood, brass, bronze, metal works) that were created from the ancient time by the people, and that still survive to-date.3

Therefore, I will focus only on one aspect of folklore/oral tradition that is fairly familiar to me, the àl´o. (folktales). Indeed, I should state from the outset that my knowledge of the folktale tradition is still evolving and is limited to Yorùbá culture. This knowledge is more at an intuitive rather than intellectual level because it is my exposure to the àl´o. growing up that has schooled me on the subject, and not so much by virtue of the knowledge I acquired from Western citadels of learning. Even then, my knowledge of the Yorùbá folktales is still limited. This chapter is divided into five parts. The first (and current section) is the general introduction to the chapter; this section sets the stage for the remainder of the chapter. The second segment looks at the concepts of àl´o. and ìtàn, trying to match the two in functionality and at the same separating them in context. The third part provides a cross section of the existing literature on the subject of folklore and oral traditions, strengthening the significance and power of oral traditions (orature) among the people. The fourth part borrows a familiar Yorùbá folktale with components of Ifá verses to once again demonstrate the pedagogical power of this aspect of Yorùbá folk tradition, underscoring how it could be utilized as a crucial pedagogical tool for disseminating important norms and values of the Yorùbá people in formal and informal settings. The fifth and final part provides the applications and implications, as well as conclusions drawn from the extracted folktale.

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Àl´o. and Ìtàn Speculatively, one may equate the word àl´o., the commonplace riddle/s, with the deeper notion of àr`o., a puzzle-breaking narrative found in ifa literature, akin to the folk àl´o. àpam`o.. By virtue of folk etymology, àl´o. is a loaded concept in Yorùbá. It implies, among others, something that is twisted, turned, transplanted, and narrated. In essence, àl´o. is a puzzle, a riddle, utterances twisted and that require unknotting; it is the act of twisting. Whether in the form of àl´o. àpam`o. (brainteaser, sort of) or àl´o. àpagbè (responsorial tale rendition, sort of), àl´o. implies something that triggers the brain and challenges the audience. It is more than sheer entertainment. Its counterpart, ìtàn, has a similar but not identical meaning and, according to Yai, it includes the power and art of spreading, illuminating, enlightening, discerning, and disentangling.4 Yai, however, omitted the “deceiving” part of the concept within its semantic cum homonymic range; after all, tàn in Yorùbá also implies deception but not in a derogatory sense. Deception in the mind of the Yorùbá in this context is an integral part of the pedagogy of unraveling, bamboozling the person into the theater of reason. It is a form of challenging and forcing the individual into spotting the truth through context. Ìtàn, like àl´o., sets the mind up for the cognitive process of putting in place the collage of reasoning, set in the narrative process where the audience has the burden of deciphering. Àl´o., àr`o., and ìtàn seem to intermingle, and separating them might be another task for the experts (including philologists, semanticists, etc.) in the field. However, in this chapter, the use of àl´o. and ìtàn may sometimes cross. Two things are clear though; almost at all times, àl´o. are not true; ìtàn, on the other hand may not necessarily be untrue but in either of the two cases there is the critical thinking process required of the audience. Secondly, there is an expertise power that is attributed to both concepts as they are governed by indigenous rules. E.nìkan kì í pàl´o. òsán (no one engages in story/tale-telling in broad day), for example, presupposes there is the unwritten tradition that àl´o. in its conventional performing art is a people’s pastime culturally accepted as an art (and act) meant for evening relaxation. This does not preclude the use of it at other times. For example, at such times when it is purely for pedagogical purposes, not for evening entertainment—the traditional stage for performing it—àl´o. could come to play. The same goes for ìtàn; it is governed by a sterner rule, treated with respect and considered to be a more serious narrative than àl´o.. As a poet once chanted: E.ni t’ó bá nítàn níí s .o`tàn Èèyàn tí ò bá nítàn Tó bá f´e. s`o.tàn Títán nirúu wo.n o.´ n tán5 Storytelling belongs to those with stories A person without stories Yet attempts to tell one

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Would end up finishing him/herself Storytelling, then, is the product of cultural and narrative experience. Those that lack such experience but attempt to engage their audiences in it would end up finishing (embarrassing) themselves, ending with public shame. The Ifa literary corpus has utilized àl´o. in both of its forms as àl´o. àpagbè and as àl´o. àpam`o.. In a series of puzzles called àr`o., Wande Abimbola documents riddles in Ifa that are akin to àl´o.. In such series, four puzzles are told for listeners to unravel.6 All of these puzzles came from Oke Igeti, the mythical natal home of Orunmila. The four àr`o. showcased here include the challenge to solve the riddle of someone who, after building a house, sleeps outside its wall; the answer being a wasp. The second is the puzzle of a person who had a mouth but could not speak; the answer being the female organ. The third puzzle was that of a dead dog that could eat more e.` ko. (the thickened corn-paste gruel) than a living one; the answer being the dog meat eaten along with the supporting e.` ko.. It is clear that some of these àr`o. have slipped into àl´o. àpam`o. (assuming here that the Ifá text, being the oldest oral tradition in Yoruba, pre-dates the Yoruba àl´o.) and have been used so often that few know they actually originated from the Ifa literature. Furthermore, in the birth of Ifá divination, as revealed in Ìwòrì Méjì, Abimbola records the tragic confrontation between Orunmila and his youngest son, Olówò, who audaciously displayed effrontery in his refusal to pay homage to their father, the grand patriarch of royalty. This prompted the latter to disappeared into the earth beside a mysterious eight-headed palm tree. The aftermath, according to the myth, included strange occurrences that bedeviled the known universe: pregnant women no longer delivered their babies; the barren were sentenced to a lifetime of childlessness; the sick remained sickly with no chances of regaining their health; waters no longer flowed on river streams; semen dried up in male testes; women ceased to experience their menstrual flow; yams no longer grew into fruition; corns died before maturity; black-eyed peas grew flowers but no seeding accomplished the flowering; raindrops were too scanty to generate any efficacious impact on the dry soil; hunger was so pervasive that goats ate up anything in sight, including knives. These were hyperboles that demonstrate the extremities of human pain and suffering that resulted from the angering of Orunmila. The myth, however, utilizes almost exactly the same matrix and descriptive language found in àl´o. àpagbè depicting the fight that ensued between Il`e. (Mother Earth or King Terrestrial) and O.l´o.run (the Sky God or King Celestial) when they both caught a single e.m´o. (the guinea pig) after a protracted hunting expedition. Dividing the catch between the two former friends brought a challenge that resulted in the angering of the Sky God, who, on withdrawing from the earth, unleashed a barrage of social pandemonium that was exactly like that described in the Ifa literature noted above. Its refrain is often rendered as: Olúnréte, Àjà`nréte. Il`e. p`e.lú O . l´o.run W´o.n peku e.m´o. kan;

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Il`e. l’óun l’àgbà O e` o.n . l´o.un l’óun l’ . gb´ O l´ o un bínú, Ó lo . . . Òjò k`o. kò r`o. m´o. Àgbàdo k´o. kò gbó m´o. Is.u k`o. is.u ò ta O . mo.gé gúnmú O . mú gbe.… Olúnréte, Àjà`nréte.7 Il`e. and O.l´o.run Harvested a single guinea pig Il`e. claimed to be older O.l´o.run claimed to be older O.l´o.run departed in anger Rain stopped falling on the ground The corn refused to ripen Yams refused to bud Young girls started to grow breasts The breasts suddenly dried off… The similarity is clear, underscoring the seriousness of the Yoruba folktales; it is no wonder why folktales remain a serious pedagogical tool among the people. In his documentation of Ògúndá Méjì, Abimbola further reveals the riddle of the òrìsà cosmology when at the assemblage of seven òrìs.à—S.ango, O.ya, Oos.aala, E.le.gbara, Ogun, O.s.un, and O.runmila, the òrisas were challenged to know who among them was capable of going all the way with a person in life and even into the grave.8 All seven bragged of having the sacred capability until they reached their natal homes and were served with their favorite cuisines, at which point they each terminated their allegiance to the person and stayed in their abodes. Then, came the provocateur’s utterance: O.runmila, I confess to my filthiness. Kindly clad me with cloths… O.runmila, you are the lead person, I am the one lagging behind, After all, you are the one capable of teaching the child more precisely than even the child’s blood relatives. Tell me, Ifa, who is it that is capable of accompanying a person all the way to the grave?9 At which time the riddle was unraveled and the answer was “Orí,” the essence of human personality. Apparently, this sacred Ifa chant could easily be played as an àl´o. àpam`o. where the audience is posed with the same riddles.

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Àl´o. and ìtàn have even traveled into the genre of truisms. There are many proverbs and idiomatic expressions, for example, that are drawn from àl´o. and clichés and used to teach moral lessons. Take for example, a scenario where a child is self-destructing; the Yoruba are wont of saying, Ò n´ jí ara re. ní kánún (You are stealing your own potash). This saying draws its origin from the tale of a young girl selling kánún (potash—a popular strong salty stone used for seasoning among the Yoruba). The stage is set in a village where, while she was hawking the product, an elderly man approached the young girl and engaged her in haggling. Each time the elderly man proposed a lower price, the young uninformed girl refused but went a short distance to remove aspects of the product and, oblivious of the old man’s knowledge, returned to accept the latter’s previous proposed price. The drama went on and on until it became obvious what the young girl was doing. At that point, the old man asked her, albeit rhetorically, “Why are you stealing your own potash?” This saying has made its rounds almost in all Yoruba homes whenever an individual, most especially, but not exclusively, a child, is engaged in such behavior that gives the impression that the individual was doing something to hurt him/herself but thinks other people were being hurt and that he or she was doing so without the knowledge of the purported victim.

Review of Literature Among various academic disciplines, anthropology and literature seem to be ones that amply utilize folktales and oral traditions. Henry Louis Gates’ The signifying monkey is a prime example. As the cover description for the world renowned book declares, the author examined “the ancient poetry and myths found in African, Latin American, and Caribbean culture, and particularly the Yorùbá trickster figure of EsuElegbara and the Signifying Monkey whose myths help articulate the black tradition’s theory of literature….” In a beautifully written piece, Olatunde Bayo Lawuyi, for example, brilliantly used a common theme of the Yorùbá folktales tradition to provide sociological and anthropological discourses. In a book titled, Ijapa and Igbin, Lawuyi zeroed in on two Yorùbá folktale characters, Ijapa (Tortoise) and Igbin (Snail), to problematize politics of Nigeria and analyze the historical trajectory that the politics of self has altered, which works for the elite but underserves the masses. The turning of the table in overbearing situations is the crucial didactic element theme from the tale of Ijapa and Igbin, a mythological narrative that has emanated the popular cliché, o.` t`o.t`o. èyí àna ìgbín! (Come on, how dare Igbin treats his in-law in such contemptuous manner!). The componential analysis and exposition of Ijapa and Igbin lends credence to the anthropological understanding that commonplace non-human phenomena have implications, applications, and relevancies to human existence. The message is clear: The table could turn in overbearing situations and in overtly ambitious circumstances. The tale delivers the message in the most concise and precise manner which other methods would have failed or struggled to deliver. The two mythical characters in this Yorùbá folk tradition are well known to the average

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Yorùbá. One, Ijapa, is a folk hero, often foregrounded in trickster tales; the other, Igbin, is a peripheral, non-celebrated, almost inconsequential animal which hardly features in heroic acts. That their tale could become a pedagogical tool for the analysis of social issues tells how readily available Yorùbá folktales and other oral traditions could become rational data for processing serious intellectual dialog and salient analyses. The genre of the oral tradition is a special gift to humanity in that it is utilized daily in almost all spheres of life. This is more so in African societies, and particularly true for the Yorùbá people. One of the most readily available but effective pedagogical tools a teacher could utilize in the teaching of any subject, at all levels and in all settings, is storytelling. This could be rendered in the form of folktales, anecdotes, comics, verbal illustrations, and so forth. C. L. Adeoye’s classic novel, E.` da O . mo. Oòdu’à , is an excellent example of how a combination of various aspects of the Yorùbá folklore, including folktales, Ifá chants, incantations, storytelling, etc., were used to create a unique Yorùbá cosmology, which has been taken to be serious in the several decades of its creation by its author. Mweti, whose work will be explored shortly in the course of establishing the theoretical foundation for executing this chapter, talked, for example, about how educators have utilized folktales in classroom practices among the Akamba people of Kenya. In a seminal work, Adeleke Adeeko put together what he finds to be the “art of being Yorùbá” among which orality emerges as a strong tool of epistemology as witnessed, for example, in D. O. Fagunwa allegorical writings. In it, examples are cited to underscore the inexhaustible extent to which verbal art is capable of enhancing the repertoire of knowledge dissemination and acquisition. In what follows, we look at Yorùbá folktales, an aspect of folklore and oral tradition, and how they can be utilized as effective tools for teaching and learning in the classroom. Mweti, a professor of education, writer, humorist, and proponent of constructivist pedagogy, has written elaborately and posited several salient points on the power of tales in the dissemination of knowledge. To add color and lucidity to his points, Mweti has cited examples from his personal experience as a practitioner of African oral tradition in the Diaspora, especially in the Americas. He also believes in the cognitive effect of interjecting folktales into teaching routines. In his doctoral research, borrowing the functionalist theoretical perspective, Mweti argued that the use of storytelling generally does enhance the cognitive ability of a child, especially in an oral society, and that because storytelling is common to all cultures, it could be the weapon that is capable of uniting humanity, enhancing progress, and advancing global understanding. In citing examples such as the Cinderella stories, Mweti noted that folktales have worked effectively in teaching moral lessons across cultures and indeed have demonstrated the common trends and social bonds across humanity.10 For example, Mweti juxtaposed the Cinderella story of the Western World with the story of Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters of East Africa. He also looked at the Russian Falcon folktale, where the bird tried to save its owner but was shot and killed by the same hunter, the falconer, out of frustration and misunderstanding; this would provide a parallel tale to the East African folk tradition of the hunter who kills his dog when he sees the dog’s face covered with blood, thinking the dog had killed and

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eaten the deer they were hunting, not knowing that the dog had actually wrestled with and killed a leopard that was trying to kill the hunter himself. The five reasons that Mweti touched on in making his argument for the need to utilize storytelling and/or folktales in teaching in the classrooms are: 1.

2.

3.

They help in building bridges across cultures. Since the world as we know it is fast becoming a global village, the need for shrinking it even further is real. Mweti argues that storytelling in any form brings this to empirical reality. Citing examples, it is clear that one common identity that humans lay claim to is the ability to communicate and engage in verbal art. Storytelling is an effective tool for establishing the reality of this assumption. They appeal to people’s emotions. Citing examples of his tellings of Kenyan folktales to illustrate certain points while visiting certain Wisconsin K-12 schools, Mweti explains how often students of totally different cultural and racial orientations would feel closer to him and in some rare cases offer him gifts to bring back to his “family in Africa” simply by virtue of his association with them and because of the soothing effect of his narratives. They help people appreciate other cultures. Storytelling helps students to recognize the unity in diversity among the various cultures of the world. Again, stressing the need for the global understanding that folk narratives bring, Mweti cited the words of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. in his introduction to the works of Goss and Barnes. Gates wrote: Whichever culture we belong to, we definitely need some kind of healing that storytelling can provide. Its power to break down barriers, and explain the reasons for those barriers we tend to protect ourselves with, is both unique and interesting.11

4.

5.

They serve a cathartic function. This is a psychiatric notion that relating scary narratives in the presence of a mentally challenged individual could provide a coping mechanism for that individual’s survival and facing his or her own challenges point-blank. Fairy tales are found in all societies and they actually predate most forms of folklore. Citing McDonald, Mweti posits that one critical role of folktale narration is that it allows individuals to experience a space of tranquility in which he or she is able to think, and allows their emotions to be released unfettered. It is clear that there is no better medium for unleashing scary tales than in folktales. Therefore, educators at all levels, especially those dealing with children with emotional and cognitive challenges as well as practitioners of clinical psychology and psychiatric medicine, ought to utilize it maximally. They help people who are struggling to make sense of their world. Because of the global village concept of our world today, through folktales and other forms of oral traditions people are discovering themselves as they see themselves through others. The global magnitude of orality is what Yai alluded to in his much-read work, In Praise of Metonymy. Here, Yai cites Wande Abimbola’s work at length:

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… the geographical dimension of ìtàn revolves around five cardinal axes. Wande Abimbola accurately circumscribes this element of the definition of ìtàn in the following terms: Ifa has long ago divided the globe into five regions, namely: b.

a.

Ìk´o. Àwúsí (the Americas) Ìdòròmù Àwús`e. (Africa)

c.

Meréetélú (Europe and Asia)

d.

M`e.sin Àkáárúbà (Arabia, the land of the worship of Kaaba) Ìwo.nràn níbi ojúm´o. tií m´o. wá (which refers to Australasia)

e.

As far as the Yorùbá are concerned, all the above-mentioned parts of the world are all lands of Ifá. Thus, when an Ifá priest wakes up in the morning, he will salute Ifá in all these five divisions of the earth.

Among the Yorùbá, folktales and other forms of oral traditions have often been utilized in the media, in popular writings as well as on the radio and television. Even Nigerian popular musicians utilize this art form maximally. For example, the aceYorùbá music legend Ebenezer Obey is known for his effective use of folktales for entertainment and discography. Indeed, the opening quote for this chapter is taken from one of his famous songs. One of his most popular songs in the 1970s was titled, “Kò s’´o.gb´o.n t’áa lè dá”; this was a collection of folktales, in which the most popular one was intended to teach the inconsistencies of humans. He narrated (or sang) the story of a man, his son, and their donkey, whose actions never satisfied the villagers—they complained of selfishness when it was the father alone on the donkey; they complained when it was the father and the son riding together, for wickedness of wanting to overwhelm the donkey; they complained of stupidity when the father and the son walked the donkey by itself, with no burden on top of it. The didactic data was clearly drawn from the popular folktale. In the past, there were radio programs that engaged listening audiences in folktales and other forms of storytelling. A large number of listeners waited daily to learn new things from such folktales and storytelling sessions. Two popular Yorùbá radio programs of the 1960s and 70s, like “Òjó As`o.tàn,” and “Àl´o. o,” were high on the family menus, where both children and adults anxiously gathered in the evenings to listen to the various productions of these modernized but interesting oral traditions. These were reasonable supplements and compliments to the traditional evening gathering of àl´o. pípa. One of those programs used to end with the theme song well known to all and sundry: Àwa pàl´o. pa dídùn, Ó dìgbà o; Àwa pàl´o. pa dídùn, Ó dìgbà o o. A pàl´o. f’álejò, A tún pa f’ónílé, Àwa pàl´o. pa dídùn, Ó dìgbà o.

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We’ve provided interesting folktales/riddles Now, we bid you goodbye; We’ve provided interesting folktales/riddles Now, we bid you goodbye; We provided folktales to strangers; We provided folktales/riddles to folks at home; We’ve provided interesting folktales/riddles Now, we bid you goodbye. Today, with the upsurge of FM radio stations in the Yorùbá communities, there are still a handful of such programs utilizing the Yorùbá oral traditions. The hope is that such programs would grow. The goal is not to substitute the dying traditional culture of folktale narrations around the moonlight with the modern-day technological media but to serve, at least, as reminders to what used to be and provide an encouragement for the return of such culturally enriching traditions. In this age of cultural disconnect among the growing Yoruba population, this is a long shot, but it is the proverbial journey of a thousand miles, which must begin with the first step. What the above-noted literature has demonstrated is that folktales and oral traditions of the Yorùbá are hot items in intellectual and popular discourses. In what follows, I provide an àl´o. (folktale) that I reproduce from childhood recollection. I heard this particular folktale many times from my parents, peers and village elders, as well as from my teachers to the extent that it would fall in the category of folktales I could recall with the hyperbolic cliché of “even when I am sleeping.” The context of use was always the same: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

I was impatient or any one of my peers was impatient We needed resolution The solution was to be patient An elder needed to explain the solution to my/our problem The pedagogy was resorting into the folktale narrative.

Folktales as Pedagogy— Sùúrù (Patience) and Milking the Lioness Here is My Tale: It is about a woman whose husband no longer loved her. She did everything to please the husband to no avail. Rather than obtain the love of this husband, she only received castigations, more rejections, ridicule, and hate. The woman was afraid the husband would soon abandon or altogether get rid of her in preference for other wives in the household, or even for younger women in the community whom he could easily get married to. The man would not eat her food; he would not sleep with her; he would not take care of her children; he would not give her money to buy any household items; and would not even take her to the farm or on any other outings she normally made with his wives.

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As time passed, the woman was becoming frustrated, dejected and lonely. Nothing she did worked. The other wives knew of her plight but could not help her in any way. She visited the family of the husband but they could not intervene successfully. She went to her own family to report the situation and all the efforts she had made, but that would not help either. She consulted with her children, her co-wives, and even the people in the community but all her efforts proved abortive. One day while in the marketplace, an idea occurred to her that she could visit the oldest man in the neighborhood community who also happened to be a medicine man capable of making good luck charms for people in this woman’s situation. As soon as she left the marketplace, she dashed straight to the house of the medicine man. Luckily for her, the old man was seated in front of his house as the woman walked in. “Welcome, my daughter,” the old man said. “What may I do for you today?” The woman wept bitterly as she narrated the events of her life and her experience with the husband. “Elder,” the woman said, as she stayed on her knees soaked in tears. “I have been made aware of your reputation as a great medicine man who is able to perform all kinds of miracles. I need one. I need a special good luck charm that would make my husband love me from now on. Please are you able to do that for me today?” “Stand up, my dear daughter,” said the old man. “You came to the right place and I can assure you that you will soon gain the love and confidence of your husband and your situation will never be like this again. The problem is that it takes a while to complete this medicine. Therefore, come back in seven market days and I will give you exactly what you need. Meanwhile, go back and do what you have been doing.” The seven market days sounded far too long for the woman, who was under pressure to get her problem resolved instantly. Time was of the essence and the woman needed to gain the confidence and love of her husband immediately. “Father,” the woman lamented, “my understanding is that you always have the good luck charm readily available and that I should be able to get mine from you today. Please help me to make it today and I will pay anything you want.” “Sorry, my daughter,” said the old man. “It does not work like that. It is a process that takes time but you will get what you want eventually. Go and come back on the appointed day.” The market day took place every fifth day, and so it sounded like a day that was too far away, but the dire situation of the woman forced her to accept the instructions of the medicine man. However, as the saying goes, “It may seem like twenty years, but a Thursday will always come.” Yes, indeed, the fifth market day appeared too far away but eventually it arrived; the woman proudly returned to the old man and requested her good luck charm, the love potion. As it was on the first day, the old man was seated in the same spot when the woman arrived. It was quite clear he was already expecting her.

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“Greetings, Elder,” the woman said as she stayed again on her knees in eager anticipation. “Welcome, my daughter,” replied the medicine man. “I am here to get my love potion,” said the woman with excitement and optimism. “I even brought with me a special bag to hide it so no one would know. Please tell me, Elder, how much it would cost me.” The medicine man told her to hold on to the money because she was the one to bring the last ingredient for the good luck charm. Shocked and scared, the woman asked if the potion was not ready after all these five market days. “No,” said the man. “The last part of the ingredient is yet to come. You will go back and bring me the milk of a lioness, which you must harvest yourself.” This request frightened the woman. “How am I to get the fresh milk of a lion by myself? I am not a hunter. Can I ask a village hunter to get it for me?” “No,” replied the old man. “You have to be the one to milk the lion yourself. Once that is done, then bring the milk to me immediately.” Disappointed and exasperated, the woman left in anguish, despondent and hopeless, weeping. But she did not give up; instead, she now started to look for great hunters in the community and presented her case before them. She needed to find if any of them could lead her to where she could find a nursing lioness to milk. The hunters scorned and laughed at her, thinking she must be out of her mind to conceive of the idea of milking a lioness. “Do you think you are in the mission to milk a cow, or a goat?” they all asked her in derision. She was too determined to give up but assured them she needed to do this even if the cost would be her life. An elderly hunter then volunteered to take her where she would see a lioness that was breast-feeding. The man promised she would not leave the forest until the woman found the lion. The problem was that it would be three market days before he could take her there. Again, she was concerned for the length of time it would take for the hunter to take her there, but she obliged. On the third market day, the woman returned to the hunter, who took her on a long and winding road that led to a faraway jungle in a remote part of the community. The journey took another seven days but the two finally arrived at this dangerous part of the jungle. The hunter warned the woman to be quiet for a long time, pointing in the direction of where the lion and her cubs would come and feed. They found somewhere to hide and had to remain standing without moving. It took seven days with the hunter and the woman alone in the forest without uttering a single word, not moving or eating. Then, all of a sudden, the lioness finally emerged with the cubs, seven in number. The cubs were hungry and kept nursing on their mother’s breasts. The mother would sometimes launch at and snatch an unsuspecting deer, gazelle or other small game walking by the woods near them. Neither the hunter nor the woman could talk throughout this period of observation, which lasted another seven days. At this point the hunter told the woman he had completed his own part of the bargain, having shown her the lioness, and the job was now up to her. The woman paid him the money and they both returned to the village. It was now the woman’s job to figure out what to do. An idea occurred to her; she would purchase a three-day supply of fresh meat from the butchers and carry it to the

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lion’s den, feeding the lion and its cubs with the meat every so often until she was able to get closer to them. What she did next was to make the purchase and carry a full load of a three-day supply of meat to the forest, a journey of seven days. She then waited until the lioness and its cubs came out, which took another seven days. On her first visit, it took her another seven days to walk stealthily to be near the lioness, close enough for the lion to notice her. The moment the lioness saw her, it was angry and charged at the woman. This woman quickly threw a huge flesh of beef in the direction of the lioness. The lion then stopped and grabbed the meat, dragging it to her cubs, and they all feasted on it. She waited another three days, doing the same thing and getting the same result. When her meat supply was finished, she returned home, thinking she had started something that she prayed would work for her. The woman repeated this several times as the lioness and her cubs started getting used to her, and in fact it seems they were even waiting for her fresh meat supplies. It took her more than one year of repeating the same act until the animals started getting used to her. She got closer and soon it felt as if they had become her personal pets. She would rub on the cubs and caress the mother. One day, she had the confidence of attempting to milk the lioness. It was easy because the mother was already at ease with the caring woman. She milked more than enough. By then, the cubs were old and weaning from their mother’s milk. It was a convenient time to part company with the animals. With enthusiasm, the woman ran to the house of the old man, and as always, the man was already seated waiting for her. On her knees, again, the woman quickly presented the fresh milk of the lioness with a broad smile. The medicine man asked her to tell her the journey she had taken so far in getting the milk. She went ahead and told elaborately her harrowing experience, a journey that had taken a very long time. The old man shook his head, and thanked the woman for obeying him and for all the risks she had taken in getting the milk. “Okay, Elder, would you now mix the milk and produce the good luck potion?” “There is no potion that I have to give you any longer, my daughter; you did it all. All I want you to do now is to think back at all you have seen and done since you left this place until you could get the milk. Henceforth, you should apply the same patience it has taken you to your dealings with your husband. That’s all you need. Patience is the potion for love. After all, only the patient can milk the lioness.” The woman was doubly surprised as she stood up and handed money to the medicine man, who refused it but got some of the milk of the lioness. She went her way and started to deal with the husband with the same patience she applied in the last several months of getting the milk. It worked. Soon, she became the favorite of her husband and all other women were consulting her to teach them the good luck charm that helped her to become their husband’s favorites. And that is my tale!12

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Applications, Implications, and Conclusion Didacticism without sermonization is the whole purpose of folktales of this nature among the Yorùbá. No analyses are required, and no further interrogations of the audience are further necessitated. This process shows how little is needed to instruct the norms and values of society. The metacognitive element in this particular folktale is its tendency to demonstrate the lengthy process of getting a love problem resolved through patience. Sùúrù (patience) is a major value that is advocated seriously among the Yorùbá. In the anthropomorphic sense, Sùúrù is believed to be one of the wives of Orunmila, who often won his husband’s heart through her humane deeds and imperturbability even in the most difficult circumstances she faced. It is among the sacred virtues of Yorùbá; hence it is often said sùúrù baba ìwà (patience the ultimate virtue of character and human existence). In Ifa literature, a verse states: Ìbínú ò da n`nkan fún’ni Sùúrù baba ìwà; Àgbà t’ó ní sùúrù Ohun gbogbo l’ó ní. A dífá fún O .` rúnmìlà Ifá ó s.’òwò rè Ìwó Àte. Ìyà t’ó je. O .` rúnmìlà ní Ìwó Àte. N ló b’áko. N ló b’ábo.13 Anger brings nothing good to one Patience is the father of character. An elder endowed with the virtue of patience Is endowed with everything in life. (This was the) Ifa divination performed for Orunmila When he went on a journey of divining in Iwo Ate The ordeal that Orunmila endured in Iwo Ate Gave birth to males Gave birth to females This verse provides the folk etymology for the concept of ìyàwó (wife) in Yorùbá. Ìyà Ìwó (The ordeal/suffering experienced in Iwo) implies that marriage brings about pain; the corollary of which is that it requires patience. Once the individual is able to endure the unpleasant process of building a marriage together, the outcome is pleasant and rewarding to both husband and wife by giving birth to children (male and female offspring) in the process. The saying among the Yoruba, sùúrù loògùn aráyé (patience is the medicine/secret for surviving the difficult life experiences), speaks to the important place of patience in the people’s worldview. While there is an innate possibility for an individual to be endowed with it naturally (onísùúrù), it can be acquired as well, which is why the phrase, k´o. sùúrù (learn patience) is a common expression in Yorùbá. In essence, the verse complements the folktale on patience and

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with it we conclude that the use of folktales as a pedagogical tool is not limited to the àl´o. narrative, but applies to various folk narratives in Yorùbá, including proverbs and other wise sayings as well as in Ifá tradition. However, folktales remain a vital tool readily available and easily accessible for educators to utilize in their classroom practices. Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Scheub (1985: 1). Adeleke and Mobolaji (2017). Dasylva (2017: 140–141). Yai (1993). The poet is Muyiwa Akinbowale (aka Alore Igbala) based in Johannesburg, South Africa. He is a freelance poet and gospel singer. Wande Abimbola (1975: 388–410). According to Akinyemi (2007: 128), this folksong is similar to the tale motif used by Amos Tutuola (1953) in the quarrel between earth and sky. Abimbola (1969: 60). This is my own translation of the lines in Ìwòrì Méjì that say: O .` rúnmìlà, mo j´e.w´o. o.` bùn Wáá dás.o. ró mi, … O .` rúnmìlà, ìwo. l’aráa ‘wájú, Èmi l’èrò . e`yìn, S.e bi ìwo. lòó k´o.mo. l´o.ràn bí ìyekan o.mo.. Ifá, mo ní ta ló tó Alásàán bá ròkun? (Abimbola 1969: 60)

10. 11. 12. 13.

Mweti (1999). Gates, Jr. (1988: 17). This is my personal recollection of a tale I heard while growing up in Nigeria. Abimbola (1975: 60).

References ´ nlá. Ibadan: Oxford University Abimbola, W. 1969. Ìjìnlè Ohùn Enu Ifá, Apá Kejì – Àwon Ifá Nlá´ Press. Abimbola, W. 1975. Sixteen Great Poems of Ifa. Paris: UNESCO. Adeeko, A. 2017. Arts of Being Yorùbá: Divination, Allegory, Tragedy, Proverb, Panegyric. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Adeleke, D., and A. Mobolaji. 2017. Àrífàyo Ìmò Abínibí Nínú Oríkì Orílè Métàdínlógbòn tí Adébóyè Babalolá Ko. Yorùbá Studies Review 1 (2): 99–112. Adeoye, C.L. 1971. Eda Omo Ood’ua, Atunse Keji . Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Akinyemi, Akintunde. 2007. Oral Literature, Aesthetic Transfer, and Social Vision in Two Yoruba Video Films. Research in African Literature 38 (3): 122–135. Barber, K. 1991. I Could Speak Until Tomorrow: Oriki, Women and the Past in a Yorùbá Town. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

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M. O. Afolayan

Dasylva, A.O. 2017. Folklore, Oral Traditions, and Oral Literature. In Culture and Customs of the Yorùbá, ed. Toyin Falola and Akintunde Akinyemi, 139–158. Austin, TX: Pan-African University Press. Gates, H.L. 1988. The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of African American Literary Criticism. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Lawuyi, O.B. 2012. Ijapa and Igbin: A Discursive Meditation on Politics, Public Culture and Moral Imaginings in Nigeria. Ibadan: University Press. Mweti, C. 1999. The Use of Stories and Their Power in the Secondary Curriculum Among the Akamba of Kenya. Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison, Madison, WI, USA. Scheub, H. 1985. A Review of African Oral Traditions and Literature. African Studies Review 28 (2/3): 1–72. Tutuola, Amos. 1953. The Palm-Wine Drinkard and His Dead Palm-Wine Tapster in the Dead’s Town. New York: Grove. Yai, O.B. 1993. In Praise of Metonymy: The Concepts of “Tradition” and “Creativity” in the Transmission of Yorùbá Artistry Over Time and Space. Research in African Literatures 24 (4): 29–37.

Index

A Abagesero, 338 Abalogu, Uchegbulam N., 6, 16, 18 Abaya, 516 Abdallah, Abdilatif, 708 Abdulkadir, Dandatti, 6, 7, 43 Abeni, Salawa, 897 Abimbola, Wande, 16, 171, 228, 373, 620, 659, 779, 789, 797, 998, 999, 1002, 1003, 1009 Abiola, Aduke, 98, 100, 101 Abiola, Bashorun M.K.O., 743 Aboakyer festival, 113 Abrahams, Roger D., 406, 766, 767, 775, 927 Abubakar, Aminu Ladan, 895 Achebe, Chinua, 169, 171, 178, 479, 485, 511, 526, 658, 679, 866 Action Group (AG), 76 Adamawa plateau, 110 Adeboye, E.A., 619, 620, 622, 624–629, 658 Adeeko, Adeleke, 222, 228 Adegbola, Alagbe, 870 Adekoya, Olusegun, xii, 724 Adékúnlé, Abílá Adéo.lá, 358 Ademola II, Oba Ladapo Samuel, 100 Adenle, Oba Samuel Adeleye, 100 Adesanya, Aderonke, xix Adesina, Damola, xxiv, 294, 977, 983 Ade, Sunny, 897 Adewale, Segun, 897 Adeyemi II, Alaafin Adeniran, 101 Adeyemi, Lere, xiv Adu-Amankwah, David, xii, 299, 313 Aeschylus, 688 Affini process, 518 Afolayan, Kunle, 870

Afolayan, Michael Oladejo, xxv, 354, 744 African American folklore, xx, 803, 804, 806 African Diaspora, v, 174, 603, 778, 781 African divinatory systems, xi, 216, 220, 222, 223 African folklore, ix, xxiii, 3, 119–123, 125– 129, 169–171, 174, 176–178, 335, 405, 415, 659, 769, 780, 926, 927, 935–937 Africanist cosmology, 541 African National Congress (ANC), 454–456 African oral literature, vii, viii, xiv–xvi, 3–6, 16, 24, 42, 52, 284, 320, 421, 423– 425, 433, 453, 465, 467, 468, 474, 475, 483, 715, 718, 728, 779, 849, 862, 937, 963 African oral traditions, v–vii, ix, x, xvi, xxi, xxiii–xxv, 88, 169, 171–178, 413, 551, 552, 554, 556–558, 665, 685– 687, 689, 698, 716, 732, 779, 794, 865, 866, 868, 869, 871, 872, 890, 907, 916, 995, 1001 African Proverbs Working Group (APWG), 851 Afrikaans, 493, 504, 562, 901 Afro-beat, 384, 896, 898, 899 Agawu, Kofi, 440, 441, 450, 576 Agikuyu, 338, 605 Agona, 113, 301 Agwuele, Augustine, xii, xiii, xv, 377, 379, 383, 389, 399, 400, 753 Ahmad, Misbahu Muhammad, 895 Ahmadu Bello University Studio Theatre, 687, 689, 690, 692, 694 Ajadi, Yekini, 897 Ajasoro, Moremi, 243

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 A. Akinyemi and T. Falola (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of African Oral Traditions and Folklore, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55517-7

1011

1012 Aje-Udje, 15 Akamba, 3, 1001 Akan, viii, xii, xiv, 36, 39–41, 249, 251, 253, 255, 257, 281, 282, 290, 297, 299, 301, 304, 307, 310, 312, 323, 423, 424, 426–428, 445, 851, 914, 934, 977, 990 Akangbe, Clement Adeniyi, viii Aka, Sanusi, 897 Akinyemi, Akintunde, 169, 170, 178, 225, 819 Akoefe, 112 Àkókó-dó, 110 Akuapem, 111, 301, 510 Akwambo festival, 113 Akwantukese, 107 Akwantutenten, 107 Akyem, 301 Alabama, xx, 803, 804 Alabi, Adetayo, xvii Alabi, James, 870 Alabi, Tola, 870 Alade, 93, 101, 869, 898 Alagao, E.J., 439 Alake, Batuli, 897 Alaragbo, Kuburat, 897 Alembi discusses, Ezekiel, 256 al-Shabaab, 716 Amanda Black, 901 Amazons, 243 Ames, David, 37, 38 A.M.E Zion Church, 579 Amharic, 85, 458, 516, 703 Amin, Idi, 458 Amman, 937 Amos, Dan Ben, 943 Amusat Oyerinde Adejobi, 238 Anambra State, 107 Ananou, David, 667 Andrade, Manuel J., 763 Anglophone, xix, 702 Angola, xix, 243, 702–705, 707, 709 Anike Kingdom, 946, 949 Anímáshahun, Chief, 876, 877, 881–883 Aniwura, Efunsetan, 742, 743, 751, 752 Anlo-Ewe, 107 Anlo Ewe Slave Songs, 444 Anlugbua, 691, 692 Anyidoho, Kofi, 171, 440, 450 Apala, 897 Apartheid, 54, 336, 441, 455–457, 459, 465, 611, 900, 901, 914, 946, 947 Apostle Revelation Society (ARS), 579, 581

Index Appiah, Anthony, 221 Appiah, Kwame, xvi, 554 Apunte Revolt, 784 Aragbada, Matthias, 870 Araka, Christopher Monyoncho, 338, 341 AR (augmented reality), 102 Archaeology, 87, 99, 100 Argungu Fishing Festival, 174 Aristotle, 53, 60, 63, 184, 199, 223, 663, 688 Armah, Ayi Kwei, 171, 359, 373, 672 Asa, 899 Asafotufiam festival, 107 Asante, Molefi Kete, 174, 178, 399 Asnanic, Nazifi, 895 Asogli, 108, 112 Assagai, 901 Atlantic slave trade, 438, 439 Australian Aborigines, 530 Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH), 518– 524 Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR), 846 Avorgbedor, Daniel, 71, 81, 951, 952 Awoonor, Kofi, 254, 255, 260, 716, 721 Awoonor-Williams, George, 716 Aworo-Esile Compound, 83 Ayan, Sefiu, 897 Ayinla, Kollington, 897 Ayoh’Omidire, Felix, xx, 796–799 Ayuba, Adewale, 898 Ayyaanto, 517 Azuonye, Chukwuma, 28, 29, 45, 72, 73, 79, 81, 945, 953

B Babalawo, 619, 624, 627, 785, 786, 788–790 Babalola, Adeboye, 16–19, 22, 44, 171, 255, 256, 260, 299, 313, 787, 996 Baba, Murja, 895 Babukusu, xiii, 378, 384–386, 390, 394, 398, 399 Baganda, 338, 587, 588, 591, 605, 911 Bagirango, 338 Bahelele, Jacques N., 666 Bahia, 780, 782–784, 788, 793, 795 Bakare, Ayinde, 897 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 187, 200 Bakossi, 483 Bala, viii, 36, 37 Balake, Amadou, 894 BaLobedu, 530–532, 534, 542, 544 Bamana kingdom, 189

Index Bambara, 560 Bangul, 894 Banks, Reekado, 899 Bantustan, 455 Banu Hilal tribe, 187, 188 Barasa, Margaret N., xiii Barber, Karin, 6, 16, 43, 124, 129, 171, 177, 179, 200, 204, 416, 425, 465, 469, 698, 787, 821, 822, 837, 996 Barrister, Sikiru Ayinde, 897 Basaa, 195 Bascom, William, 16, 227, 233, 234, 244, 406, 490, 492, 505, 779, 789, 797 Bashi singers, 76 Basongye, 36 Basotho, xi, 263, 264, 266–270, 272–276, 454, 491 Basset, René, 759, 762 Bastide, Roger, 782, 789 Batanga, 194, 195 Bateson, Gregory, 444 Batswana, 530–532, 534, 544, 911 Battuta, Ibn, 190 Bauchi, 37 Bauman, Richard, 256, 260, 298, 312, 313, 315, 416, 444, 450 Baybars, al-Zahir Malik, 187, 201 Beattie, John, 220 Bebe Cool, 901 Beckwith, Martha Warren, 764, 775 Be.e.re. festival, 109 Beier, Ulli, 16, 31, 81 Belgian Congo, 668, 670, 908 Belgium, 663, 675 Bellangamba, Alice, 440, 450 Bello, Korede, 899 Bello, Mohammed, 866 Bemba, 111 Ben-Amos, Dan, 406, 444 Benin, xx, 236, 237, 281, 297, 439, 511, 844, 892, 894 Bhabha, Homi, 555, 891 Biafran war songs, 441 Bial, Henry, 51 Bible Study and Prayer Group (BSPG), 581, 597 Bidney, David, 234 Biebuyck, Daniel, 197, 199, 200, 204 Bienaimé, Alice, 672 Big Idea, 901 Biko, Steve, 900 Billy’O, Bello Ibrahim, 895 Bird, Charles, 184, 191, 202, 203

1013 Bittner, John, 944, 945, 953 Biya, Paul, 479, 480, 485, 486 Blabu, 112 Black Power, 383, 384 Blank, Trevor, 819, 820, 832 Bloom, Harold, 803, 894 Blumler, Jay, 822 Boas, Franz, 803, 806, 807 Boda, Abdu, 895 Bogetutu, 338 Bógunmbè, Awopeju, 789 Bolamba, Antoine-Roger, 667, 669, 670 Bollywood, 870, 896 Boma, Kisii, 338, 605 Bomu, 322, 329 Bono, 301 Bontemps, Arna, 806 Boston, 784 Bostrom, Nick, 951, 953 Botswana, 529, 533, 534, 909, 911, 914, 963 Bourgeois, Arthur, 218, 226 Bowra, C.M., 22, 45, 200 Boxwell, D.A., 808 Boyle, Anene, 234 Braga, Júlio, 795, 796 Brazil, xx, 281, 701, 716, 780–784, 788, 790, 791, 793–795, 844, 897, 927 Brazzaville, 678 Breezy, 899 Broderick, Modupe, 943, 949 Brong Ahafo Region, 382 Brown, Chris, 899 Brown, Duncan, 41, 42, 47, 463 Bruchac, Joseph, 493, 506 Buenos Aires, 795 Bukoba town, 852 Bukusu, 384, 385, 387, 389–392, 394, 395, 398, 960 Bulsa, 442, 445, 446, 448, 465 Burkinabé, 735, 747, 748 Burkina Faso, xx, 281, 321, 465, 579, 735, 738, 747–752, 892, 894 Burna Boy, 899 Burns, James, 576 Bushmen (Khoi), 239 Bwa, 321–325, 740 Bwenge, Charles, xxii C Cabrera, Lydia, 763, 775, 783, 789, 791, 793, 795 Cairncross, Frances, 948, 953 Cairo, 869

1014 Cameroon, 110, 120, 185, 193–195, 235, 474, 476–478, 480–484, 750, 896, 902, 914 Campbell, John Lome, 126 Candomblé, xx, 780, 795 Cape Town, 4, 101, 901 Carey, James, 952, 953 Caribbean Eatonville, xx Carlson, Marvin, 51, 63, 65, 66 Carneiro, Edison, 782, 789 Carre, Vieux, 812 Cawaale, Cali Mire, 335 Caymmi, Dorival, 783, 788 CCGD (Collaborations Centre for Gender and Development), xxiv, 959 Central Africa, x, 36, 86, 183, 193, 237, 439, 529, 558, 611, 901 Chad, 188, 381 Chaka, 199, 667 Chambalaalla, xv Chamo, 516 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 676 Chesnutt, Charles, 806 Chewa, 74, 109, 111 Chichewa, 381, 564 Chidinma, 898 Chief Ejagha, 950 Chief Onuka, 950 Chimezie, Bright, 898 Chimurenga, 460 China, 862, 869 Chipta, 108 Chokwe, 110 Chomsky, Noam, 53, 298, 312 Christianity, xvii, 105, 114, 174, 258, 463, 513, 575, 577, 582, 583, 586, 588, 603, 605, 617, 619, 627, 658, 666, 897, 919, 976 Christian missionaries, 3, 577, 588, 849 Christian Youth Builders (CYB), 580, 581, 584 Christ, Jesus, 63, 584, 591, 592, 624, 625, 629, 632, 664, 809 Church of Moshoeshoe, 276 Church of Pentecost, 579 Cicero, x, 63, 213 Clark-Bekederemo, J.P., 193 Clark, John Pepper, 5, 7, 10, 24, 25, 27, 687, 943 COCA, 854 Cohen, D.W., 407, 423, 602 Cohen, Herman, 481 Coker, Oluwole, ix

Index Colombia, 783, 784, 792, 900 Colonialism, xiv, 4, 105, 335, 422, 432, 433, 463, 473, 551, 552, 606, 621, 688, 704, 960 Cooder, Ry, 892 Cote D’Ivoire, 235, 281, 579, 892, 894, 933 Cottrell, Anna, 824 Courlander, Harold, 806, 927 Covarrubias, Miguel, 807 Crapanzano, Vincent, 413 Creole, 603, 703, 767, 769, 771, 778, 781, 795, 796 Cuba, xx, 281, 780–786, 790–797, 897, 927 Cyprus, 869

D Daba, Habib Ahmed, 37–39, 47 d’Abdon, Raphael, 466 Dahalo, 199 Dairo, I.K., 897 Daniel, Glyn, 99 Daniel, Kiss, 899 Daniels, Bisi, 624, 625, 658 Danko, Hussaini, 895 Dantu, 511 Darah, G.G., vii, 7–9, 11, 13, 943, 953 Dar es Salaam, xxv, 854, 857, 858 Darwin, Charles, 4 Day, James, 284 de Almeida, Márcio Néry, 781 D’banj and Davido, 898 de Heusch, Luc, 195, 196, 203, 204 de Iemanjá, Mãe Beata, 795 Delta State, 11, 953 Deme, Victor, 894 de Miranda, Pai Agenor, 795 de Moraes, Vinicius, 783, 788 Deo Remotus, 219 de Oxossi, Mãe Stella, 795, 799 Dergue, 516 de Saussure, Ferdinand, 53, 298 Diabate, Toumani, 892 Diamond, Larry, 821 Dias, Paulo, 701 Diawadou, Barry, 461 Diawara, Fatoumata, 201, 202, 821, 892, 893 Dibango, Manu, 601, 611, 612, 902 Didi, Mestre, 601, 780, 795, 796, 798 Dimanche, Mariam, 893 Dinka, vii, 34–36, 71 Diop, Birago, 241, 664, 667, 670, 779 Diop, Haja M’Bana, 457

Index

1015

Diouf, Abdou, 467 Dirge, the, xi, 247, 253, 697 Disengomaka, Emile Adolphe, 666 Disney, 869, 870, 872, 873 Djembe, 281, 560, 893, 894 Dofio, 325 do Gantois, Mãe Menininha, 788 Dogomani, Fanta, 893 Dogon, 113, 319–321, 768, 770 Dogon Sigui Festival, 113 Don Jazzy, 899 Dorson, Richard M., 121, 126, 256, 404, 406, 410, 415 Dovlo, Rt. Rev. L.K., 579 Drame, Adama, 894 DRC (Democratic Republic of the Congo), viii, 186, 195, 196, 672, 750, 910 Dube, Lucky, 900 Duncan, Godfrey, 824 Durant, Will, 223 Dwang, 382 Dzobo, Rt. Rev. Professor Noah Komla, 579

Epo-Akara, Dauda, 897 Erelu Afin, 691–694 Eritrea, 603 Èrúwà Day, 114 Esanzo, 670 Esperança, Sagrada, 704 Èsù, 618, 786 Esu Odara, 689, 691, 789 Ethiopia, xiv, xv, 85, 188, 222, 378, 383, 423, 442, 458, 513–516, 518–525, 603, 686, 703, 751, 884 Ethiopian Peoples’ Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), 458 Euripides, 688 Euro-American heritage, 24, 778, 779 Eurocentric, xvii, 85, 86, 114, 219, 530, 617, 621, 658, 806, 808, 866, 925, 934 Evangelical Presbyterian Church (E.P), 579–581, 584, 590, 592, 594, 596, 597 Ewe drumming, 287, 288 E`. y`o. Festival, 112

E East Africa, x, xxii, 75, 86, 88, 183, 197, 338, 455, 458, 459, 513, 529, 530, 603, 605, 611, 901, 907, 915, 1001 Eastern Cape, 530 Eastern Kasai, 36, 672 Eastern Kasai Province, 36 Eatonville, xxi, 803–806, 808, 809, 812 Ebebi, BM, 902 Echeruo, 112 Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), 462 Edì festival, 107, 111 E`. dó Bini, 110 Edwards, Charles L., 763, 775 Efik, 110 Egwu, Anya Ude, viii Egypt, x, 85, 106, 183, 187, 188, 438, 484, 605, 745, 869, 902, 937 Einstein, Carl, 746 Ekegusii, 338, 608, 609, 612–614 Èkìtì, 108 Èkìtì people, 107 ELAR (Endangered Languages Archives), 134 Elebuibon, Ifayemi, 789 el Gretly, Hassan, 937 Ellison, Ralph, 672 Emir of Zazzau, 896 Emperor Menelik II, 516

F Fabian, J., 329, 407 Facebook, 176, 823, 825, 827, 831, 875, 937 2face Idibia, 898 Facial action coding system, 379 Fagunwa, Daniel O., 875, 886, 992, 1001 Fairclough, Norman, 610 Falola, Toyin, 119, 407, 440, 553, 571, 618, 620, 657, 659, 738, 740, 752–754, 796 Falz, 899 Fante, 301, 430, 443 Fantimoti, Maryam Sale, 895 Fashola, Kayode, 897 Fassie, Brenda, 336, 900 Fatta, Maghan Kon, 243 Feijjóo, Samuel, 795 Feminism, xiii, 358 Feok festival, 107 Ferlatte, Diane, 824, 825 Festivals agricultural, 106–108, 113 historical, 106, 107, 109, 113 Ondo (Nigerian), 106 passage rite, ix, 106, 109, 110 purification, ix, 106, 111–113 royal, 106, 109 Fichee Cambalaalla, xv, 513–517, 519 Fichee day, 519

1016 Fichii-Fulote Qeexala, 523 Fifth Floor, 901 Finnegan, Ruth, v, 4, 5, 7, 8, 18, 42, 43, 70, 74–76, 78, 79, 128, 170, 171, 173, 177, 247, 249, 251, 255, 257, 284, 290, 299, 307, 406, 422, 423, 442, 445, 458, 461, 462, 490, 491, 661, 668, 687, 702, 779, 819, 837, 890, 925–927, 929, 935, 943, 983 Fipa, 217 Flavour, Tekno, 898 Florida, xx, xxi, 803, 804, 807, 808, 811, 812, 860 Foccart, Jacques, 750 Fodeba, Keita, 337 Foley, John Miles, 610, 680, 685, 686, 820, 821 Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO), 292 Fort Hare, 4 France, 248, 317–320, 663, 675, 679, 750, 770, 844 Francophone, xviii, xix, 675, 678, 702, 747, 750, 869 French Montana, 899 Frente Negra Brasileira, 782 Freshly ground, 900, 901 Freud, Sigmund, xi, 234, 244, 264–266, 275, 279, 280 Ft. Drake, 899 Fuji, 282, 897 Fulbe society, 189 Fulfulde, 189, 191, 192, 748 Furé, Rogélio Martinéz, 783, 789 Futa Toro kingdom, 894

G Ga, 108, 281, 511 Gáà, Bashorun, 741, 742 Gabon, 193, 194, 844 Gaelic, 126 Gale, Thomas, 240 GaMatlala, 534, 540 Gambia, the, 189, 893, 894 Gamsole, 872 Gates, Henry Louis, 803, 807, 813, 1000, 1002 Gauteng, 381 Gbe family, 166 Gèlèdé, 735, 738, 746 Geschiere, Peter, 666, 667 Getembe, 338, 605

Index Ghana, viii, ix, xiv, xvii, 36, 39, 87, 101, 107, 108, 111–113, 120, 189, 190, 218, 235, 242, 256, 258, 281, 297, 301, 381, 382, 421, 423, 424, 426, 429– 431, 441–443, 445, 446, 465, 467, 510, 511, 513, 575–577, 579, 581– 583, 586, 590–597, 603, 716, 718, 719, 732, 751, 824, 869, 883, 892, 927, 951, 977 Giiki, Gitumia, 335 Gikuyu, 241, 335, 381, 901, 966 Gil, Gilberto, 783 Gilles, Deleuze, 891 Gisu, 217, 218 Global Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Ghana (G.E.P.C), 579 Godessa, 901 Goffman, Erving, 300, 312, 313, 444 Gojjam, 458 Goldstein, Philip, 822, 832 Goody, Jack, 191, 202, 698, 979 Graw, Knut, 222 Gray, Bennison, 252 Greene, Sandra, 440 Grévisse, Maurice, 675, 676, 678 Gruny, Marguerite, 663, 680 GSM, xxi, 853 GTM (Ghana-Togo Mountain), ix, 131, 134 Guattari, Felix, 678, 682, 891, 903 Guinea, xiv, 23, 189, 191, 193, 337, 457, 461, 462, 576, 603, 604, 685, 869, 883, 892, 998, 999 Gunner, Elizabeth, 29, 30, 248 Gusii, xii, 335, 338, 339, 344, 351, 353, 604–609, 612, 613 Gusiiland, 339, 340, 601, 605 Gusii people, xii, 339, 605 Gustave III, 739 Guy Buttery, 901

H Hagher, Iyorwuese, 20, 21, 44, 74, 81 Haiti, xx, 672, 783, 784, 794, 795, 797, 804, 806, 811, 812 Hakaya festival, 937 Hakeem, Babalola Olushola, 689, 692 Harlem Renaissance, xx, 803 Harris, Joel Chandler, 804, 806, 808 Harvard University, 942 Hausa, viii, 7, 36–39, 86, 87, 101, 127, 281, 380, 381, 457, 463, 681, 893, 895, 896, 899, 903

Index Hawassa, 515, 516, 525 Haya, xxii, 199, 849, 851, 852, 861, 862 Hazoumé, Paul, 667 Heraclius, 198 Hermogenes, 63 Herodotus, 438, 662 Herskovits, Frances, 779 Herskovits, Melville J., xx, 779, 806, 808 Hijab, 123 HIV/AIDS, 460, 910, 946 Hobbes, Thomas, 475 Hofmann, Stefan G., 825, 827, 831, 832 Hogbetsotso, 107 Holloway, Karla, 803, 812, 814 Holomisa, General Bantubonke, 456 Homer, 184, 662 Horace, 63 Hountondji, Paulin, 221 Houston, Whitney, 901 Huchet, Claire, 663 Hudson-Weems, Clenora, 358 Hughes, Langston, 806, 809 Humm, Maggie, 233, 244 Hurston, Zora Neale, xx, xxi, 444, 672, 803–814 Hussein, Ebrahim, 687 Hymes, Dell, 312–314, 319

I Ibeko, 689 Ibibio, 110, 297 Ice Prince, 899 ICT (Information Communication Technology), xxii, 837, 839–847, 871, 919 Ifá Òrúnmìlà, 789 Ifá system, 222 Ifetimehin, Olagoke, 689 Ìgàngàn Day, 114 Igbo people, 511, 945 Igirigiri, Kaalu, 28, 72, 73, 79 ìjálá, vii, 16–18, 21, 74, 78, 686, 725 Ijaw, viii, 24 Ìj`e.bú land, 358 Ikuenobe, Polycarp, 221, 222, 228 Ikwerre, 110 Ilé If, 107, 111 Ilesanmi, Oluwatoyin, 743 Ilunga, Kalala, 195, 196 Indigenous technology, 291, 293 Innes, Gordon, 23, 24, 45, 125, 202, 951, 953 Instagram, 823

1017 Internet, xxi, 631, 703, 819–823, 825, 861, 869, 870, 884, 891, 904, 907, 912, 913, 918, 919, 937 Inuwa, Nura M., 895 l-Qays, Imru, 188 Irefin, Ganiyu, 897 Ireland, 937 Ìr`e.sì, 83–85, 90 Isa, Rabi Mustapha, 895 Ishola, Haruna, 897 Isidore, Okpewho, 559, 617, 661, 716, 726, 804, 819 Islam, 3, 105, 114, 174, 258, 370, 513, 603, 619, 976 Islamic State (ISIS), 892 Isola, Akinwunmi, 16, 424, 434, 754 Iyanya, 899 J Jagua, M.C., 949, 953 Jakobson, Roman, xviii, 571, 680 Jamaica, 784, 804, 812, 927 Japan, 869, 870 Jauss, Hans-Robert, 822 Jegede, Oluwatoyin Bimpe, xi, 129, 176, 178, 233, 244, 721, 726, 733 Jennings, C., 407 Jewish diaspora, 530 Jita, Ali, 895 Jobarteh, Sona, 893, 894 Johnson, Jill, 358 Jones, A.M., 184 Jordan, 491, 937 Jos, Dan Maraya, 38, 39 Julien, Eileen, 661, 664, 667, 671, 672 Juma, Nasibu Abdul, 857 Jung, Carl, 234 Justine Skye, 899 K Kaduna, 896 Kagame, Alexis, 199, 204, 557, 559, 666 Kagera, 852 Kamaru, Joseph, 335, 337 Kangaba, 190 Kankanga rites, 111 Kano, 37 Kante, Sunmanguru, 243 Kant, Immanuel, 475 Kaonde, 111 Kapanga, Kasongo Mulenda, xviii, 681 Kaplan, Carla, 803, 807, 813, 814

1018 Karanja, David, 335 Kaschula, Russell H., xiv, 468, 469, 703, 710, 915, 921, 922, 927, 938 Kasem, 447 Kasena culture, 447 KASIMU, 862 Katete, 109 Katz, Elihu, 822, 832 K.A.U. (Kenya Africa Union), 461 Kavirondo, 338, 605 Kavirondo Gulf, 338 Kayibanda, Grégoire, 559, 572 Kedjou, Sogolon, 243 Keita, Mamady, 892 Keita, Salif, 459, 604, 892 Kekana, 531 Kennedy, John G., 413 Kenya, xiii, xiv, xvii, 3, 110, 173, 198, 235, 241, 337, 338, 341, 379, 381, 384, 398, 421, 423, 432, 460, 461, 466, 467, 513, 529, 542 Kenya African Preliminary Examination (KAPE), 341 Kenya African Rifles (KAR), 338 Kenzo, Eddy, 901 Kerr, David, 963, 973 Keys, Alicia, 893 Khaldun, Ibn, 188, 190, 201 Khelobedu, 530 Kidjo, Angelique, 459, 601, 611 Kiernan, J.P., 223, 224, 228, 229 Kikuyu, 968 Kikuyu Reserve, 461 Kimani, Victoria, 901 Kimbali, Carol, 284, 294 King Lear, 62 King, Tunde, 897 King Udoka, 949 Kinyarwanda, 199 Kinyarwandan poetry, 557 Kipsigis, 338, 604, 605 Kirk, Geoffrey, 662, 680 Kisumu, 607, 613 Kiswahili, 608, 611–614, 870 Kita, Sotaro, 381, 382, 399, 400 Kitutu Chache, 341, 609 Kitz, Anne Marie, 214–216, 225 Klein, Martin, 440, 450 Kloyosikplemi, 107 Knappert, Jan, 3, 199, 204 Kogi, 110 Koite, Habib, 892, 893

Index KOLA (Kenya Oral Literature Association), xxiv, 959, 971 K´o.láwo.lé, Mary E. Modúp´e., 358 Kora, 189, 604, 892–894 Kotobabi, 592 Kouyaté, Dani, 199 Kpelle, 192, 197 Kponlogo, 281 Kresss, Charlton, 610 Krobo, 107 Kulamba Festival, 109 Kunene, D.P., 29 Kunene, Mazisi, 664, 680 Kuomboka festival, 107 Kupe Muanenguba Division, 483 Kuria, 338, 605 Kuti, Fela, 337, 459, 460, 462, 601, 604, 611, 898 Kuti, Seun, 898 Kuvi area, 76 Kwahu, 301 Kwame Danso, 382 Kwesta, 901

L L’Académie Française, 662, 676 Lacateñere, Rómula, 783, 789 Lacateñeré, Rómulo, 795 Ladysmith, Black Mambazo, 900 Lagbaja, 899 Lagos, 112, 115, 383, 872, 883, 900 Lagunju, Wole, xx, 738, 753 Lahens, Yanick, 672 Lamu archipelago, 198 Landes, Ruth, 782 Lane, Edward William, 187 LaPin, Deirdre Ann, 819, 820, 831, 832 Lara, Alda, 704 Lasisi, Akeem, 173 Latin American music, 793 Latóòsà, Aare, 742–744, 752 Lawal, Babatunde, 672, 735, 736, 753 Lawunmi, 692, 693 Lawuyi, Olatunde Bayo, 1000 Layigbade, Saka, 897 Lebanon, 937 Lee, Dennis, 367 Leguy, Cecile, xii Le Hurray, Peter, 284 Lesaneng Mountain, 540 Lesbianism, 358 Les Contes d’Ahmadou Koumba, 667

Index Les Contes de Perrault, 662 Lesotho, xiv, 276, 454, 494, 529 Leveau, Marie, 812 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, xviii, 196, 318, 319, 328, 661, 680, 779 L’Heure Joyeuse, 663 Lianja, 196, 197 Liberia, 185, 192 Libya, 188, 902 Liman, Abubakar Aliyu, xxiii Liman, Rasheedah, xviii Limba, 42, 76, 132, 297 Limpopo Province, xv, 530–532 Lindley, David, 284 Linford, Bernth, 170, 171, 178 Lion King, the, 869, 946, 950, 951 Lions of the Zion, 901 Lits, Marc, 675 Living Faith Ministries, 630 Liyongo, Fumo, 198, 199 Locke, David, 443, 576, 592, 596, 598 Locke, John, 475 Logoli, 338, 605 Lomami-Tchibamba, Paul, xviii Lomami-Tchibamba, Pierre, 667–669 London, 433, 596–598, 753, 894, 899 Lord, Albert Bates, 7, 662 Louisiana, xx, xxi, 803, 804, 807, 811 Lovejoy, Grant, 941 Lovejoy, Paul, 439, 449 Lozi, 107, 111 Luba kingdom, 195 Luchazi, 110 Lunda, 107, 111 Luo, 240, 241, 254, 338, 381, 605–607, 613, 901 Lusophone, xix, 702, 703, 705, 706, 709, 710 Luvae, 110 Luz, Marco Aurélio, 788, 789, 797 Lyela, 465

M Maal, Baba, 894 Mabanckou, Alain, xviii, 675–679, 681, 682 Machor, James, 822, 832 Madagascar, 220, 750, 869 Mafikizolo, 901 Maghreb, x, 183, 902 Mahlasela, Vusi, 900, 901 Mahlathini, 900 Majayivana, Lovemore, 911, 918 Makeba, Miriam, 336, 601, 611, 900

1019 Makerere University, 404 Makward, Edris, 23, 457, 698 Malawi, xiv, 74, 109, 381, 442, 458, 459, 529, 910, 913 Malê Rebellion, 784 Mali, 3, 86, 113, 120, 185, 188–191, 242, 243, 321, 603, 892, 893 Malonga, Jean, 667 Malutama, Rémy, 666 Mamacita, 899 Mambila, 220 Mandela, Nelson, 275, 336, 455–457, 461, 466, 850, 857, 900 Mandika, 281 Mandinka, viii, 23, 125, 189, 299, 795 Mangulieche, Wanyonyi, 960 Maninka, 189–192 Maninka bards, 201 Manyawu, Andrew, 460 Manzo, Ma’aruf Shatan, 895 Mapfumo, Thomas, 460 Mariam, Mengistu Haile, 516 Maroteng, 532, 540 Marshall, King Wasiu Ayinde, 897 Mars, Jean Price, 763 Martínez, Mirta Fernández, 783, 786, 797 Marx, Karl, 359, 373 Masaai, 338 Masekela, Hugh, 336, 611, 612, 900 Masina, 189, 190, 192 Masolo, D.A., 221 Mason, Charlotte Osgood, 807 Massaquoi, Momolu, 185, 200 Matta Matta, 703, 710 Matthew, Brander, 61, 268 Mau Mau, 460, 461, 687 Mau Mau resistant movement, 337 Mauritania, 204, 892, 937 Mauss, Marcel, xii, 317, 318, 327, 328 Max-Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics, 134 Mbaino, 479 Mbaye, El Hadji Mansour, 467 Mbeki, Thabo, 275, 900 Mbelolo, Mpiku, 665 Mbende, 560 Mbiti, John, 3, 113, 241, 943 MbomAma festival, 112 Mbudye, 195, 196 Mbuli, Mzwakhe, 42 Mbutuma, Melikhaya, 455, 465 McAule, Gay, 56 McCarthy, William, 942, 952

1020 Mccolles, Dianne Kersley, 284 McCormick, Peter, 475 McLaren, Joseph, xx Meisenhelder, Susan, 803, 809, 813, 814 Mellers, Wilfrid, 284, 294 Mende, 93, 239 Mendonsa, Eugene, 219 Menininha, Mãe, 788, 789 Merolla, Daniela, 819, 821, 832, 915, 916, 921 Merriam, Alan, 46 Meru, 338, 605 Me Too Movement, 366 Metzler, John, 235 Miami, 784 Middleton, John, 214 Miles, Diana, 803, 813 Miller, Joseph, 407 Miller, Monica, 803, 804 Misiani, D.O., 337 Mkaika, 109 Mkiva, Zolani, 459, 466, 467, 711 Mofolo, Thomas, 199 Mohammed, Yakubu, 895 Moi, Torotich Arap, 335, 962 Monye, Stella, 898 Monyoncho, Christopher, xii, xvii, 335–337, 339–341, 343, 354, 601, 606, 607 Morake, Lebohang ‘Lebo M’, 869 Mo.rèmi, 111 Mo.remi Festival, 107, 112 Mo.remi, Queen, 107 Morgan, James, 941 Morocco, 188, 748, 883, 902 Morson, Gary, 663, 680 Moshanyana Senkatana, 271 Motsei, Anastacia Sara, xi, xv Moylan, Virginia, 803, 808, 813 Mozambique, 109, 705, 706, 901 Mr Eazi, 899 Mudimbe, V., 407 Mufasa, 950, 951 Mufolo, Thomas, 667 Mufuta, Patrice, 673, 681 Mukaiba, Ligali, 897 Mukanda passage rite, 110 Mules and Men, xx, xxi, 804–809, 811, 812, 814 Mullen, David, 950, 953 Multiculturalism, xv, 489, 492, 611 Mwanza Airport, 858, 859 Mwengo, Bwana, 198 Mwindo, 196, 197

Index Myhre, Knut, 224

N NADA (New African Diaspora Artist), xx Nadkarni, Ashwini, 825, 827, 831, 832 Nagô, xx, 784 Nagudu, Mahmud, 895 Naigiziki, Saverio, 667 Nairobi, 101, 607, 609 Namibia, xix, 702, 707, 709, 711 Nannyonga-Tamusuza, Sylvia, 579, 587, 588, 591, 596–598 Nascimento, Abdias, 782 National Civic Education Programme (NCEP), 971 Native American, 493 Nativism, xiv, 421, 422 Nazaré, Maria Escolástica da Conceição, 788 NCNC (National Council of Nigeria and Cameroon), 76 Nc’wala, 108 Ndebele, xv, xvi, 530–532, 534, 544, 911, 918 Ndembu, 111 N’Dour, Youssou, 337, 459, 596, 892 Nerlich and Clarke, 328 Netherlands, 134 Neto, Agostinho, 703–705 New Encyclopedia Britannica, 62 New Juaben, 107 New Orleans, 811, 812 New York, 53, 596–598, 716, 784 Ngaal, Georges, 664 Nganang, Patrick, 672, 674 Ngandanjika, 672 Ngando, 667–669, 679 Ngoni, 108, 202, 304 Nhlekisana, Rosaleen Oabona Brankie, xxiii, 909, 911, 914, 915, 920, 921 Niane, Djibril Tamsir, 189, 243, 664, 667 Niembélé, Samako, 770 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 360, 373 Niger, 185, 188, 189, 320, 892–894 Niger Delta, 5, 7, 74 Nigeria, vii, viii, xiv, xx, 5–7, 11, 16, 20, 22, 28, 34, 36–39, 57, 72–76, 83, 86, 87, 100, 101, 107, 108, 110–112, 114, 115, 120, 124, 125, 127–129, 173– 176, 188, 193, 219, 235, 236, 238, 242, 255, 281, 282, 297, 336, 337, 379–381, 383, 392, 421, 424, 427,

Index 431, 457, 460, 465, 511, 577, 579, 593, 596, 603, 604, 619, 632, 656, 659, 686, 688, 690, 692, 711, 721, 722, 726, 728, 729, 732, 738, 744, 751, 752, 844, 868, 870, 872, 882, 883, 885, 892–900, 904, 909, 911, 914, 934, 947, 949, 953, 1000, 1009 Nightingale, Tunde, 897 Nihinlola, Ayo Oluwa, 870, 872, 875, 876, 881, 885, 886 Nijer, Fati, 895 Njambe, Jeki la, 194, 196 Nkashama, Ngandu, xviii, 667, 671–675, 679 Nketia, J.H.K., 39–41, 249, 251–253, 255, 257, 282, 589, 590, 593, 597, 598 Nobel Prize, 16 North Africa, 86, 529, 603, 680, 870, 902, 912 Northcote, 338, 339, 605 Northern Sotho, 530, 532, 534, 540, 542, 543 Nsimba, S.A., 666 Nubian Village, 413 Nublabla, 112 Nuer, 71, 242 Nunes, Clara, 783, 790 Nwana, Pita, 866 Nyamuame, Samuel Elikem Kwame, xvii Nyamwamge, Alfred Nyagaka, xvii Nyanga, 196, 197 Nyangau, Dismas, xvii, 604, 606, 608, 609, 611–615 Nyangbo, ix, 134 Nyaribari, 338 Nyitse, Leticia Mbaiver, 21 Nzuji, Clémentine Faïk, 673, 681

O Oba Adedigba, 689, 691 Obaagun, 98 O.ba (King) Festival, 109 Obalufon River, 239 Obàtálá, 618 Obey, Ebenezer, 897, 898, 1003 Obote, Milton, 458 Odù, 790 Odutola, Kole, xxii Odwira festival, 107, 111 `. f`o.nràn, 112 O O.gbaa Kaalu, 72 Ogbè Yónú, 789 Ogoni, 110

1021 Ogori, 110 Ògún, 364–367, 618, 686, 790, 791 Ogunde, Hubert, 688 Ogunfalu, Mujidat, 897 O.hafia, 79 Ohafia-Igbo, viii, 945 Ohwovoriole, Felicia, xi Ojobolo, Okabou, 24, 27 Ojúde O.ba, 109 Oke-badan festival, 336 Òkè-Igbó Day, 114 Okoh, Nkem, 120, 121, 249, 889 Okonkwo, Jydekris, 870 Okpewho, Isidore, vi, xxv, 3, 4, 6, 16, 23–29, 42, 43, 45, 77, 78, 81, 125, 126, 129, 130, 171, 177, 179, 199, 203, 234, 244, 247, 251, 252, 256, 259, 260, 299, 313, 355, 572, 732, 733, 806, 811, 813, 814, 903, 947, 951, 953 Okri, Mike, 898 Òkukù, 124 OLAC (Open Languages Archives Community), 134 Oladigbolu I, Alaafin Siyanbola, 101 Olaiya, Moses, 897 Olajubu, Oludare, 16, 18–20, 22, 70, 73 Olamide, 898, 900, 904 Olaniyan, Tejumola, 178, 179 Olatunji, Olatunde, 16, 885, 904 Olatunji, Yusuf, 897 Olawale, Ojo, 897 Olorisa, Iya, 689, 691 Olówò, 998 Olowokere, S.F., 897 Oluwa, Abibu, 897 Omigubo, 442 Omigubo war songs, 442 Omihubo, 442 Omo-Aje, Asanat, 897 Omobola, Odejobi, 577, 578, 589, 596, 597 Omojola, Bode, 897 Omweri, Charles, xvii, 601, 607 O`ndó, 109, 110 Ongala, Remmy, 459 Ong, Walter, 31, 41, 172, 248, 837, 845, 926, 942, 943, 979 Onyando, Adrain, 950 Opondo, Rose A., xxiii, 173, 490, 710, 711 Orality, 89, 100, 101, 121, 170, 489, 554– 556, 563, 617, 661–668, 670, 672– 681, 701–706, 708–710, 715, 716, 725, 759, 760, 763, 764, 766, 767,

1022

Index

769, 770, 774, 778, 779, 786, 819– 821, 836, 837, 843, 851, 907, 914– 916, 920, 925–927, 936, 941–944, 946, 950, 952, 975, 979–982, 1001 Oral Literature, vii, viii, xii, xiv–xvi, xx, xxii, xxiv, xxv, 3–5, 7, 16, 22, 23, 28, 29, 39, 40, 69, 78, 79, 100, 120, 121, 170, 173, 199, 234, 236, 247, 252, 257, 321, 335, 339, 409, 422–424, 433, 473, 474, 479, 484, 491, 664, 665, 670, 703, 705–709, 781, 783, 811, 820, 821, 849, 852, 854, 858, 860– 862, 866, 915, 919, 926–928, 935, 959, 963, 964, 971, 975, 996 Oral tradition, v–x, xii–xiv, xvi–xviii, xx– xxii, xxv, 4, 20, 31, 87–90, 100–103, 120, 121, 126, 127, 129, 169–178, 190, 191, 193, 195, 199, 220, 256, 317, 341, 403–406, 408–415, 433, 437–441, 448, 465, 514 Orisa Ibeji, 687, 689–691 Oromo, 198, 516 Orthodox Ethiopian Church, 513 Orthography, xxiii, 166, 167, 563, 925 Ortiz, Fernando, 763, 783, 789 Orua, Tarakiri, 74, 193 Òrúnmìla, 786 Osadebe, Stephen Osita, 898 Osigwe, Chinedum, 579 Osofisan, Femi, 687, 692, 693 Òs.ogbo, 112, 358 Òsun, 618, 791 Osundare, Niyi, 554, 716, 721–732 `. s.un Festival, 112, 174 O Òs.un worship, 358 Otwori, Isaac, xvii, 601, 607 Ovia-Osese Festival, 110 Owó Le.lwà, 359 Owu Iponle, 238, 239, 692, 693 Oxford English Dictionary, 944 Oya, 618, 790, 791, 795 Oyedepo, David, 630, 658 Oyeniyi, Bukola, viii, 753 O.yo. Empire, 109 Ozidi Saga, viii, 23, 24, 26, 74, 193, 687 Ozi River region, 198

Parliament, 338, 490, 901 Parry, Milman, 6, 610, 662, 941, 942 Parson, Elsie Clews, 769, 771, 773 Participatory Educational Theatre (PET), 963, 971, 973 Pasuma, Wasiu Alabi, 897, 898 Patil, Akshay, 944 Patoranking, 899, 901 Patterson, Tiffany, 803, 805 Payne, M.W., 216, 224, 226 p’ Bitek, Okot, 664, 716 Pedi, 530, 900 Peek, Philip M., xxvi, 224, 226, 227, 229, 449, 450 Pernambuco, 795 Perrault, Charles, 662 Persian Gulf, 902 Peters, Shina, 897, 898 Phaedrus, 215 Pharaoh, 266, 745 Phillips, David, 822, 831 Phindane, Pule Alexis, xv Phyno, 899 Pidgin English, 674, 899, 900 Plato, 215, 602, 677 Plautus, 63 Pokomo, 198, 199 Pongweni, Alec, 460 Pretoria, 534, 871, 872 Pride Lands, 946, 947, 950, 951 Priestess Uduka, 950 Prince Ikenna, 947, 948 Prophet of Da City, 901 Protestant Church, 591, 666 PS (performance studies), viii, 51–53, 55– 57, 173 P-Square, 899 Puerto Rico, 783, 784 Pulaar, 567, 569, 894

P Pacific Islands, 530 Palestine, 937 Papafio, Quartey, 511, 525 Paris, 204, 328, 663, 750, 893

R Racism, 4, 763, 769, 900 Rafapa, Mokgaetši Margaret, 532 Rafiki, 950 Ramaposa, Cyril, 900

Q Qeexaala, 517, 519, 522, 524 Qorro, 856, 863 Queen Akune, 950 Queen of Sheba, 686 Quem Quaeritis Trope, 63

Index Ramos, Artur, 782 Rampersad, Arnold, 803, 807 Ransome-Kuti, Funmilayo, 100 Rassemblement Democratique African (R.D.A.), 461 Rattray, Robert Sutherland, 525, 764, 771 Rauscher, Frederick, 475 Rawls, John, 475 Reinhard, Carrie Lynn D, 822 Ricard, Alain, 16, 23, 819, 820, 831, 832 Richie, Lionel, 901 Ringo, 459 Rio de Janeiro, 795 Rodriguês, Raimundo Nina, 782 Rokem, Freddie, 51 Roman Catholic Church (R.C.), 579, 595 Romero, Patricia W., 413 Ros, Lazaro, 791 Rotimi, Ola, 689 Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 475, 982 Rui, Manuel, 705 Runtown, 899, 900 Rwanda, 7, 236, 242, 559, 586, 901 Rwandan Academy of Culture, 559

S Saboro, Emmanuel, xiv, 446, 450 Said, Edward, 952 Sakawa, 338 Salami, Ayo, xiii, 359, 373, 374, 789 Salinger, J.D., 679 Sangare, Oumou, 462, 892, 893 S.àngó, 872 Sankara, Thomas, 740, 748–752, 755, 756 Sankofa, xvii, 575 Santería, xx, 780, 783, 784, 793 Sauti Sol, 901 Savage, Tiwa, 898, 900, 904 Schechner, Richard, viii, 51–58, 62, 64 Scheub, Harold, 77, 175, 178, 405, 406, 412, 413, 416, 681, 942, 943, 951, 952, 995, 1009 Sefuwa dynasty, 188 Sekgakgapeng, 532, 538, 540 Sekoni, Ropo, 25, 70–73, 943, 944 Senegal, xiv, xix, 23, 120, 189, 191, 281, 282, 337, 457, 466, 467, 529, 596, 603, 702, 706, 709, 892, 894 Senegambia, 23, 220, 222, 567 Senghor, Léopold S., 455, 466, 664, 670, 681 Serere, 795 Serghini, Jaouah, 678, 682

1023 Sesotho, 199, 276, 489, 490, 493, 496 Severny, Andrei, 944, 953 Seydou, Christiane, 190, 200–202 Seyi Shay, 899 Shangaan, 456, 900 Shata, Mamman, 38 Shaw, Bernard, 688 Shepherd, Simon, 55, 65, 745 Shona, 241, 275, 460, 463, 464, 560 Shonekan, Ernest, 744 Sidaama, 509, 513–518, 520, 524, 525 Sidama, xv Sierra Leone, 76, 132, 185, 236, 239, 297, 338 SILK technologies, 842, 846, 847 Simon, 900 SIMU, 862 Sisala, 218–220 Sissoko, Ballake, 892 SiSwati, 560, 561 Sithebe, Zodwa, 560, 561, 563 Sitole, Bongani, 456 Sky god, 108, 998 Slavery, xiv, xx, xxi, 362, 433, 437–444, 446, 449, 569, 692, 777–779, 782– 784, 792, 807, 809, 811, 812 Slim Daddy, 900 Smartphone, xxi Smith, Andile, 901 Snapchat, 823 SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies), 134 Socé, Ousmane, 667 Social Contract Theory (SCT), xv, 475 Sokoto, 37 Somalia, xiv, 86 Sone, Enongene Mirabeau, xv, 486 Songhai, 281 Songo, 517, 518, 524 Soninke gesere bards, 190 Sons of Hitong, 195 Sophocles, 688 Sotho, 31, 301, 382, 456, 530, 900 Sotunsa, Mobolanle Ebunoluwa, xi, 283 Soumaoro, Idrissa, 892 South Africa, viii, xiv, xv, 4, 29, 31, 33, 41, 42, 85, 87, 93, 110, 199, 236, 241, 276, 305, 421, 424, 426, 430, 432, 443, 455, 456, 459, 462, 466, 489, 490, 505, 529–532, 534, 540, 542, 562, 603, 611, 853, 868, 869, 871, 872, 883, 885, 900, 901, 904, 912, 914, 932, 946, 952, 995, 1009

1024 South Africa Television (SATV), 929, 932 Southern Africa, 7, 42, 77, 85, 86, 88, 93, 220, 240, 242, 300, 454, 455, 457, 459–461, 463, 464, 466, 467, 529, 531, 558, 562, 913, 928, 977 Southern Nations, Nationalities and Peoples’ Regional State (SNNPR), 515 South Mogirango, 338 South Sotho, 382 South Sudan, vii, 34, 586 Soviet Union, 749 Soweto Gospel Choir, 900 Soyinka, Wole, 16, 171, 175, 687–689, 694, 699, 866, 886 Spain, 248, 795 Ssekabaka Mwanga II, 588 Staphorst, Luan, xvi, 571, 572 Stroeken, Koen, 217 Suba, 338, 605 Sudan, vii, 34, 71, 188, 235, 242, 299, 513, 603, 902 Sudan Empire, 107 Sudanese Arab music, 896 Sukuma, 217 Sundjata, 243, 667 Swahili, x, xxii, 3, 37, 75, 101, 183, 185, 186, 197, 198, 381, 513, 613, 614, 674, 681, 708, 849–852, 854–857, 859–861, 869, 901, 968, 971 Sweden, 739

T Takla, 112 Takuma, Bra, 927 Tala, Kashim, 477, 485 Tamari, Tal, x Tambo, Oliver, 900 Tanzania, xiv, 199, 217, 240, 336–338, 459, 465, 513, 586, 702, 707–709, 849, 851–857, 861, 870, 883, 901, 950 Tariki, Omwenga, 607, 608 Tcheyeup, Alexei, 673, 681 Tchibamba, Paul Lomami, 679 Tenèze, Marie-Louise, 662 Text-To-Speech (TTS), 846 Thiam, Anchou, 457 Things Fall Apart, 479, 511, 972 Thomas, George, 754, 810 Thomas, William, 602 Timaya, 899 Tinie Tempah, 899

Index Tiv, vii, 20, 21, 74, 75, 255, 457 TLA (The Language Archive), 134 Tlemcen Amazigh, 512 Tobago, xx, 827 Togo, 166, 579, 892, 897 Tolomi, Pai Paulo, 795 Tonkin, Elizabeth, 407, 410–413 Toure, Ali Farka, 892, 904 Towa, Marcien, 221 Traore, Boubacar, 892 Traore, Rokia, 893 Trey Songz, 899 Trinidad, xx, 281, 780, 783, 784, 792, 794, 827 Tswana, 305, 456 Tuareg, 188, 320 Tucker, Elizabeth, 422 Tuhami: Portrait of a Moroccan, 413 Tumbuka, 111 Tunisia, 187, 188, 484, 902, 937 Turin, Mark, 820, 821 Turner, Darwin, 807, 813 Turner, Lorenzo Dow, 779, 806 Turner, Victor, 53, 444 Tutrugbu, 131, 132, 134, 135 Tutuola, Amos, 374, 667, 779, 1009 Twain, Mark, 806 Twitter, 823, 899, 937 Ty Dolla $ign, 899

U Ubuntu, 269, 271 Udje, vii, 5, 7–13, 16, 17, 34 Udje Theater, 13, 14 Uganda, xvii, 217, 220, 235, 251, 458, 575, 579, 586–588, 591, 901, 911 Ùgbò, 107 Uhanghwa, 14, 16 Uhuru, 460, 467 Umueze community, 107 Umunumo, 112 Umutomboko, 107 UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization), vi, xii, 131, 292, 423, 514, 519–524, 552, 559, 869 United Nation Environmental Protection Agency (UNEPA), 292 United Nations Development Program (UNDP), 292 University of Cape Town, 4 Unsura, 517

Index Unuajohwofia, Henry O., xxiii Urhobo, vii, 5, 7–10, 12–14, 16, 17, 19, 22, 34 USA (United States of America), 366, 379, 380, 716, 779, 784, 844, 862 V Vankuta, Peter, 674 Vansina, Jan, 89, 103, 406, 407, 412, 413, 415, 417, 438, 439, 667, 668, 679, 681, 682 Veloso, Caetano, 783, 796 Venda, 530, 542 Venezuela, 784 Venuti, Lawrence, 554, 571 Verdi, Guiseppe, 739, 740 Verger, Pierre, 782, 789, 796 Vete-Congolo, Hanetha, xx Vidal, Olatunji, 292, 294 Vieira, Luandino, 704 Vilakazi, Bernard W., 4 Vingadio, Timoteo, 666 VODA, 853–855, 857–862 Vodacom, 853, 854, 858 Volta, 108, 382, 579, 584, 597 Voodoo, xx, 811, 812 VR (virtual reality), 102, 843 W Wabende, Kimingichi, xxiv Wagadu, 189, 199 Waje, 899 Waka music, 897 Walker, Alice, 803–805, 807 Wall, Cheryl, 803, 809 Wallis, Mick, 55 Warner-Lewis, Maureen, 783, 792, 796, 798 Warri, 11, 629, 630 Warsame, Mohamed Ibrahim, 335 War songs, xiv, 437–446, 448, 449, 589, 796 Washington, Mary Helen, 803, 812 Washington, Teresa N., 620, 621, 623, 659, 811, 814 wa Thiong’o, Ngugi, 337, 340, 687, 810 Waziri, Adamu, 870 Webster, J.B., 404, 410 Webster, Merriam, 52 Werner, Alice, 764, 770, 775 West Africa, x, 3, 23, 36, 38, 86, 93, 112, 115, 183, 189, 243, 255, 281, 282, 301, 320, 321, 382, 439, 455, 459, 462, 510–513, 529, 579, 603, 611,

1025 686, 748, 768, 779, 785, 808, 850, 867, 869, 885, 892, 894, 896, 897, 901 White, H., 407 Wideman, John Edgar, 807, 813 Wildlife Society, 901 Williams, Raymond, 61 Willis, Roy, 217 Wizkid, 898, 899, 904 Wodak, Ruth, 610 Wolayita Zone, 515 Wolof, 23, 93, 189, 281, 457, 463, 706, 707, 709, 795 Womanism, xiii, 358 Wonderboom, 901 Woodson, Carter G., 809 Worawora, 107 World Health Organization (WHO), 292 World War I, 663 World War II, 87, 100, 672 Wudil, Shehu Sani Danmarayan, 895 X Xhosa, viii, xiv, 30–34, 77, 93, 99, 101, 110, 241, 430, 455–458, 463, 466, 489, 611, 928 Y Yabuku, Madam, 27 Yaka, 218 Yam festival, 107, 108, 111, 112, 511, 512 Yamvais, Chief Mwata, 107 Yarriba, xx, 784 Yazan, Sayf ibn Dhi, 188 Yennayer, 512 Yerima, Ahmad, 175, 687, 698 Yinrenkyi, 107 Yirenkyi, 107, 111, 113 Yoruba, vii, viii, xii, xx, xxv, 6, 16, 18–20, 22, 38, 87, 93, 94, 100, 107, 112, 115, 128, 173, 174, 236, 237, 239, 240, 242, 255, 281, 282, 285, 287, 289–292, 299, 357–359, 370, 371, 377, 379–381, 383, 392, 459, 577, 593, 596, 597, 618–621, 623, 624, 626, 633, 657, 686, 689, 690, 694, 695, 702, 722, 725, 726, 732, 735, 738, 740–746, 751–754, 779, 782– 785, 791, 793, 795, 811, 824, 883, 886, 896–900, 911, 912, 914, 927, 976, 984, 987, 992, 998–1000, 1004, 1008

1026 Yorùbá Babaláwos, 786 Yorubaland, 92, 100, 336, 379, 620, 692, 791 Yosemite, 57 YouTube, 176, 664, 823, 826, 891, 893, 899 Yugoslavia, 31, 662, 942

Z Zahan, Dominique, 213 Zaïre, 381 Zambia, 7, 107–109, 111, 235, 255, 464, 465, 529, 883 Zamora, Celina González, 793

Index Zango, Adamu S., 895, 896 ZANU-PF, 460 Zaria, 37, 380 Zayd, Abu, 187, 188 Zazzabi, Sadik, 895 Zeitlyn, David, 215 Zimbabwe, xiv, 235, 241, 460, 484, 529, 901, 911, 913 Zimbabwean war songs, 441 Zulu, viii, 29–31, 33, 93, 199, 242, 382, 424, 426, 443, 456, 457, 463, 530, 900, 977, 978 Zuma, Jacob, 462, 466