The Masks Come from the Bush

July 24, 2013

Here is where I am now.  Here is where I had vicious, vicious diarrhea when I woke up this morning.  It’s a village of 528 people called Iwol, located at the end of a two kilometer path straight up a mountain from the nearest dirt road.  After communicating that I needed to go number 2, I was directed to a large pile of boulders on the outskirts of the village.  The views to the surrounding valleys from the mountainous toilettes are stunning.  We had forgotten to pick up any toilet paper, so I made do with some friendly looking leaves.  Then we made our goodbyes (“Ke do ba! A wa!” in Bedik) and hurried down the mountain and 7 km down the dirt road back to Bandefassi (where we had stayed the night before), a relatively cosmopolitan village that boasts a small campement offering such modern amenities as a toilet (no running water), electricity (at night for a few hours), and bread.  I’m hanging here for the night recuperating while the Cipro kicks in and Juliana visits another more remote village nearby.  Bachelor night away from the old ball and chain!

Back to Iwol, though, and the 18 most anthropologically significant hours of my life thus far.

With the minor additions of cell phones (reception is astonishly good), cement, and t-shirts advertising golf tournaments in Connecticut, life hasn’t changed much in Iwol in centuries.  Everyone lives in circular huts (15 feet in diameter maybe) with dogs, sheep, goats, and cows wandering throughout.  This village primarily grows peanuts, and we happened to be in town for seed-sowing time.  And that means, Sambubu.

What is Sambubu, you may ask?  Well, let’s back up a few steps.  If a Bedik man needs a lot of work done in his fields, he can activate a most creative system for mobilizing and motivating the village labor force to come to his aid.  First, he promises (and provides) ample food (maize mush with green pasty stuff dug into the center, served in a calabash and eaten with the hands) and booze (some crazy fermented wine substance) both during and after the cultivation.  He also contacts the village family responsible for managing the Sambubu (Masks), and pays them 5,000 CFA (~$10, a rather large sum) to request the presence of the Masks that day.  The young initiates of the village then guide the Mask in from “the bush,” where he/it chants in a growly voice while dancing behind the workers, exhorting them to work harder and getting up in the space of the slow workers, brushing his perfectly spheroid, tree-like, faceless “costume” up on them.   No photos available unfortunately...wasn't kosher to get up close to the Masks with the camera, so we'll see if any of the photos I took from a distance can be cleaned up.

I say “costume” in quotes because the Sambubu were emphatically denied to be human.  Also, it should be noted that the work being done was exclusively performed with hand tools, and yet the 50ish participants managed to plough and clear two rather large hillsides in an afternoon.  The event continues in the evening after dinner, when the Masks return to dance and drink (with the help of the initiates) with the villagers.

It was nuts.

Oh, and the language situation continues to get crazier.  Out here, French and Wolof are less common, as the local (and I mean LOCAL...you walk three kilometers down the road and they speak a different language) tribal languages are still dominant.  We’ve been staying with the Bedik, but passed through Pular villages on our way to Iwol, and there are Bassari nearby as well.  A lot more Toubab (White guy) gesturing required, although I’m trying my best to learn at least a few phrases in each culture we visit.  I.e. in Bedik, “Ah [pause pause pause] yeh” means “I’m fine.”  But say that to a guy in the village next door, and they’ll look at you like you’re crazy.

Time to say a tearful goodbye to my wife for the night and see if I can track down the Spanish NGO down the road...apparently they’re hosting a village soccer game soon.