Not too long ago the people of a subdivision of my village A (it is required that we do not post the names of our villages) decided that they too were a village on their own, a village with an approximate population between 400-600 people. I’m not quite sure the need or advantage of having two small villages instead on one; but to the people of A2, it was essential. Of course members of village A were against the decision and forbid anyone from A2 from crossing the border. This dispute lasted a few nights with out me noticing anything until I was told about “la guerre” or the war as it was called. I was in no harm for I am neither considered village A or A2- I am both, but during the trifles some were sent to the hospital with wounds from beatings and one person even lost an eye from a thrown rock.
As with most family disputes la guerre didn’t last long and being their own village, A2 established their own market, a few stalls where people gather to chat, and they elected a King. The King selected comes from a royal blood line and is one of the oldest in the village. He is well respected and highly regarded even though he has little former education and is of the same occupation as most of the villagers. After being chosen he was required to remain at his home for a period of 9 weeks. After his “probation” was concluded there was going to be a three day celebration. As with most celebrations, people purchased “même tissu,” or same fabric and t-shirts that were made with an imprint of the King’s face. So, early on a Friday morning the celebration began, the King left his house and with a train of people following him, he made his way through the village to the newly established market which just happens to be outside my front porch. Noticing the commotion, I left my house to get a better look. Before I knew it I was pushed to the center of the mass of people where the King, dressed in the traditional “bomba” and wearing thick red beaded necklaces, prayed for me as he tapped me with his wand made from an animal’s tail.
The cluster of people soon broke apart as people sang and danced their way back to the King’s home. I too went along and looked back at the remains of the cluster to see people dipping their hands into a mud puddle created by water spilled by the King. It’s “girs-gris” they said or protection from evil. At the King’s home the women and a few men took off their sandals (that is if they were wearing any) sung and danced to the tapping of drums and bowing to the King ever so often. (The proper way to bow is to get into a pushup position and remain there until the King gives permission to rise.) After a while I was in need to wash up and eat something, but was informed to hurry back.
On my way back, the delegate, or elected representative of village A2, spotted me and dragged my by the arm to the King. There I removed my sandals and bowed (not an official bow, but my American attempt) as he prayed for me the second time that day. Afterwards the delegate beckoned for “Chou” a beer made from millet with a bit of sweetness to it. So, not wanted to be rude I took the drink and then I was whisked away by the delegate to go pay our respects to a family who’s “vieux” or old man recently died. There we were giving liquor (have I mentioned this was still before noon), I tried to politely refuse but he wouldn’t accept. So I slowly sipped the glass of liquor hoping he wouldn’t notice if I left the glass full when it was time to go. After this, the delegate was satisfied with my actions and left me to enjoy more of the festivities that day.
On the second day of the celebration, as well as the first, people would unexpectedly break out into singing and dancing while preparing food or waiting at the water pump. That afternoon there was a soccer game in which the players wore shoes that didn’t fit or no shoes at all. The King was the honored guest and made an entrance accompanied by the wise Mamas whom also wore the thick red beaded necklaces. The game ended in a tie and that gave enough cause to celebrate, again. (At the soccer game: kids crowding to get in the picture; drummers)
As with most family disputes la guerre didn’t last long and being their own village, A2 established their own market, a few stalls where people gather to chat, and they elected a King. The King selected comes from a royal blood line and is one of the oldest in the village. He is well respected and highly regarded even though he has little former education and is of the same occupation as most of the villagers. After being chosen he was required to remain at his home for a period of 9 weeks. After his “probation” was concluded there was going to be a three day celebration. As with most celebrations, people purchased “même tissu,” or same fabric and t-shirts that were made with an imprint of the King’s face. So, early on a Friday morning the celebration began, the King left his house and with a train of people following him, he made his way through the village to the newly established market which just happens to be outside my front porch. Noticing the commotion, I left my house to get a better look. Before I knew it I was pushed to the center of the mass of people where the King, dressed in the traditional “bomba” and wearing thick red beaded necklaces, prayed for me as he tapped me with his wand made from an animal’s tail.
The cluster of people soon broke apart as people sang and danced their way back to the King’s home. I too went along and looked back at the remains of the cluster to see people dipping their hands into a mud puddle created by water spilled by the King. It’s “girs-gris” they said or protection from evil. At the King’s home the women and a few men took off their sandals (that is if they were wearing any) sung and danced to the tapping of drums and bowing to the King ever so often. (The proper way to bow is to get into a pushup position and remain there until the King gives permission to rise.) After a while I was in need to wash up and eat something, but was informed to hurry back.
On my way back, the delegate, or elected representative of village A2, spotted me and dragged my by the arm to the King. There I removed my sandals and bowed (not an official bow, but my American attempt) as he prayed for me the second time that day. Afterwards the delegate beckoned for “Chou” a beer made from millet with a bit of sweetness to it. So, not wanted to be rude I took the drink and then I was whisked away by the delegate to go pay our respects to a family who’s “vieux” or old man recently died. There we were giving liquor (have I mentioned this was still before noon), I tried to politely refuse but he wouldn’t accept. So I slowly sipped the glass of liquor hoping he wouldn’t notice if I left the glass full when it was time to go. After this, the delegate was satisfied with my actions and left me to enjoy more of the festivities that day.
On the second day of the celebration, as well as the first, people would unexpectedly break out into singing and dancing while preparing food or waiting at the water pump. That afternoon there was a soccer game in which the players wore shoes that didn’t fit or no shoes at all. The King was the honored guest and made an entrance accompanied by the wise Mamas whom also wore the thick red beaded necklaces. The game ended in a tie and that gave enough cause to celebrate, again. (At the soccer game: kids crowding to get in the picture; drummers)
I was told that the third day was when I should were my outfit that I had made. So wanting to become well integrated I put on the meme tissu and went in search of where I should be. I found my neighbors, Prisca, Blandine and Dione (ages 11 and 12) feasting at the King’s house, but none of the Mamas that I was looking for, so I continued walking. Soon enough I was spotted (quite easily considering I’m the only white person) by the Mamas, the same Mamas from the New Year’s fête. They were in process of preparing the food in honor of the King and directed me to have a seat with the men. I noticed that the men were wearing the outfits from New Years, but I was assured I didn’t have to change because the women would be wearing the King’s tissu. Then the first Mama arrived, she was wearing her New Year’s bomba, almost immediately the response was take Rachelle home so she can change. The gesture was welcomed for it made me feel like an actual member of the “association” as they call us.
So I ended the King’s celebration eating pâte rouge, drinking cold beverages, listening to music, wearing même tissu with the people who have accepted me most into the community. A great way to end any weekend. (Me with Mama- my counterpart's wife, Pascaline, and their daughter, Amidath)
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