MODER N PHILOLOGY Volume 122
Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society The Tabwa -arrative Tradition
Robert Cancel
F.dilorial Polley
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society The Tabwa Narrative Tradition
Robert Cancel
University of California Press Berkeley • Los Angeles • Londo n T h 1.e
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Allegorical speC*ibtion i.n an OJAI 50Ciery: the Tabwa namtivc tntlition I Robtn Cancel.. p. an. - (U.C. publicatioas in modem philology: v. 122) Bit>liogn:.pby: p.
IS8N O·Sl0-0!1'139-4 1. 'l'abwA. (African poople)-f.ol.k.lore. 2. Onl r;ntditiQti-Za.mbia!Uputa DirtricL 3. T a!c-7,.a.mbia-Klrputa District. (. Tille. IT. Series: Univen ity of C~li!
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For Donna, Midwcl, and Daniel
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Contents
List o{IUtwrations, vi Notes on the Per(ormance Texts. vii Acknow!edgments, ix Toward a TI1oory and a Method A Fonnal Approach and lhe Tradilional Con1ex1 The Petfonnance Context: Techniques and Style Lion/Men and Human~: The Evil Wilderness Rumer, Lion, Cobra, and Human: Natural and Structural Reciprocity Helpful Lizard and Destructive Dancer- Hoording of FoodCila:latan Diviner 7. Recreating the Wortd: Pelfonnance and Socialization of Socculation I. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
Glossar1, 209 Bi bliogropliy, 21 1
v
I 23 55
92 129 161 195
List of Illustrations
1. Area where research was carried out 2. Area ofTabwa residence. and neighboring ethnic groups
3 4
FIGURES I. 2. 3. 4.
5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. II. 12. 13.
Mime. Ingenuous hero speaks to monitor lizard Mime. Intrusive monitor lizard in.~tructs the hero Mime. Helpful bin:! rocks the baby- and uses ~~e child as a shield Mime. Husband tries to shoot helpful bird Mime. Divination Mime. Haughty arrogant malden turns down a local suitor for a stranger Gesture. "How many? One" formula Gesture. Open hand on closed list indicates a completed action Gesrure. Chief Kaputa's historian enumerates line of chiefs Gesrure. "How many? Two" formula Gesrure. Something is happening "right there" Gesture. "How many? Two" formula Mime. Description of how a divining stick is made
vi
68 68 69 69 70 70 71 72 72 73 73 76 189
Notes on the Performance Texts
Most of the narrruives contained in UtiS study were recorded on audio tape in 1976. Their tr.UIScription and translation was a combined effort of local Tabwa as-
daia I wanted 10 generate for Ihe purposes of this Sludy. I have chosen to keep several Tabwa tcnns umrmslated for matters of artistic style and my failure to come up with equally evocative English glosses. I translate most of the-<:e terms in the body of the book and include the more common ones in the glossary. Tile numbering of the nanativcs reflects ~1cir relative importance in the chapters for purposes of analysis. Tales wi~l "NP" designations arc more directly related to the ongoing theoretical discussions in e.ach chapter. These are sequentially linked in the book. Narratives designated "N" arc cxaJnplcs of a certain perfonner's style or oeuvre, or they rellcct clements of the more centrally importmt performance texts. The photos in ~te text arc taken from Still-fi"o1111CS on a television monitor. They are not as clear as photos taken .at the time of perfom1ance. but they more effectively i.llustmie specific techniques because of the advantage of choice and hindsight. Finally, I choose to refer tO Tabwa performers in the same fo1111al way !hat they address each olher, that is by "Mr.", "Mrs.", or "Ms." (Utis Iauer term is my own modification}. Though this may at times read awkwardly, it seems a small price to pay in o rder to cmphasi%e the importalll formality and respect that names connote in this society.
vii
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Acknowledgments
Over the last twelve years, many people and organizations have been extremely supportive of my work. There are literall y too many of tbcm to properly thank in such a smaU fonnat Anyone who has conducted field research knows the great debts accrued over years of travel to and from the area of research and in the area itself. For those who have provided transport. bospiwlity, cooperation, and information I must acknowledge most of you with a simple but hcanfcU thanks. More specifically, 01e Tabwa people are the obvious focus of this study and the most directly responsible for allowing my family and me to live and work among them. Their unfailing generosity of Lime and material goods will always be treasured. I hope this book in some smaU way repays their faith in me. Among those who were most helpful, I must single out Mr. Rabbon Chola. who not only assisted me in much of the transcription and collection of the tales but who also became our great friend and neighbor. Mr. Paul Nsama provided us hospitality and advice over the years. The three Tabwa chiefs, Nsama. Kaputa, and Mukupa Katandula, were helpful in all phases of Ute research, especially in providing me access to their very knowledgeable advisors, mcs.<;cngcrs, and historians. Mr. Brilliant Kaungu and Mr. Olristophcr Kasonde were extremely competent assistants in the initial translation work in 1976, and most of the narratives included in this book took their final fonn wiUt Ute invaluable aid of Dr. Mwelwa Musambachime of the History department at Ute University of Zambia. Others in Kaputa district, Northern province, and Lusaka who provided aid and comfort include Dennis and Jo Huckabay, Bill :md Margaret McKenzie. John McDonald, Viv Shone, Hans and T hea Sallacns-Tricnekens. Frans and Wicke Banen-Doevendans, and Bill and Joni Rau. Employees and representatives of the Government of lhe Republic of Z:unbia were always eou"cous and cooperative. These include Fisheries officers. the Rural Council workers, Game management officers. and village. ward, district a111d provincial officials. tn Lusaka. I was supported in my work by an afftliation w'itlt ~tc Institute for African Studies, under the directorship of Professor Mubanga Kasltoki. Dr. Robert SerpcU, and Dr. Stephen P. C. Moyo, respectively over the last t<:n years. Mrs. lise Mwanza was panicularly
resourceful in securing study pe.rmits on time and organizing other vitaJ aspects of my affiliation with the Institute. The University of Zambia, besides housing
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AC'kJt(JW/edgments
colleagues and old friends who were invaluable consullams. allowed me the use of the library :liid other facilities. The Archdiocese of Kasama. in the form of indivi· duals and mission stations, eon.~istcntly provided us with lodging., food, and the experience of many years working among and studying the Bcmba-spcalcing poople. Here in the United States. several people were instrumental in developing the guiding ideas of this study. My dissena.tion advisors. Harold Scheub. Neil Skinner, Magdalena Hauncr, Jan Vansina and Linda Hunter generously shared their expertise and thoughts. Allert Roberts, whom we first met on Ute shores of Lake Tanganyika, was a careful and demanding reader of several versions of the man1.1script. Here in the Department of Literature at U. C. S:an Diego, Steve Ca.~~cdy read several drafts of the man11script and helped me with !he French translations, Jaime Concha, and Donald Wesling provided honest and helpful commentary on late r drafts. Literature students Marguerite Bonous-Hammanlt and Mark Chapman helped enter material into my word processor. and Robcn Mahan did excellent work in unearthing bibliographic material. The depanment also paid the costs of preparing the manuscript. and Michael. O'Hagan of the Computer Cemer provided U1c expenise to set the for· mat of the book. At U. C. Press. my editors Rose An.ne White and Edith Gladstone were 11nfaili.ngly supponive and impressively professional in guiding me in the preparation of the text. Finally, without two very different types of suppon, this stu.dy would have never been carried out. FinaneiaUy. nwo Fulbright grants (one for dissenation research and the other for faculty re.sc.arch). an award from the Joint Commiuce on Africa of the Social Science Rc.
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1
Toward a Theory and a Method
It is not without reason that the old Mandingo bard has mocked the "paltry learning which is ccngcalcd in dumb books." (Okpewho 1983: 236) The Tabwa oral narrative, or inshimi, tradition is an amolgam of formal relationships, performance dynamics, and sociocultural threads. It would be impossible to trace and interpret C\'ery thematic nuance and cognitive affect of even one narrative
performance. It is possible, however, to break down the study of this oral tradition into several are.as of research and to set out a me.rbodology that acccunts for some of the most significant factors that shape any stot)1elling experience. In this chapter I discuss U1e several concerns that led me to choose certain meU1ods of analysis over others. The examination of oml tra.<Jition..o; has been appropriated by numerous dis· ciplines over the last cenrury: determining a particular method for analyzing Ute Tabwa insllimi tradition eventually comes down to a matter of choice, an educated choice based on what one perceives as the defining characteristics of this tradition but nonetheless a choice. At all times, my guide has been the appropriate fit between theory and the Jiving and af fe.c.tive namre of the data Jcollected.
Let me begin with an anecdote. one that suggests the tenuous relationship between theory and actual fieldwork experience . At a very smaU viHage near rhc capital o f Kaputa district in Zambia. I recorded the historical ruminations of an o ld
"headman" (Utere is no more graceful translation of Ute tenn, which in Ute Bemba language means literally "owner of the village" [mwine mushif). As is common, he was attended by his advisors and colleagues, who acted as witnesses to his veracity and who occasionally helped to deJineate a particularly important event or point. The main speaker employed a difficult style of Bemba, much closer to the Zai'rcan Tabwa language Kitabwa.t He tended to slur and otherwise torture his wordsI Although language is often a key dcto:nninant or the ..ethnic ity'' of groups in Africa. there arc at Jcasl lh:rcc principal languages spoken by people calling themselves Tabwa. In Zilmbia. the Tobwa say they speak Bcmba. lhat is. the language o( 'the pn:eoloninl 1..-ingdom lhat dominated whal i.s today lhe Northern province. B.emba. in varying dinJcclS, is spoken among most people in the Northern and
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
owing, I think, to his advanced age. I knew that I would have to plumb the meaning of most of what he said by listening and relistening to the tape recording of his words. and my thoughts wandered. As I glanced from the speaker to the village e nvironment, to the narrow path that crossed into Zaire over a small dry streambed, my attention was caught by one of the headman's more astute advisors. He managed to listen carefully to all that was being said while devotedly perusing the pages of his Bemba-language Bible. Seeing this, I began to formulate hypotheses fur Lln; du:ie illlt!ra,Uuu or (U'alily
au ~l li tewcy
in Lhis patticulal' COnLt:Xl Models Rn
memory storage in oral modes came to mind, as d id c laims by Walter Ong and others about U1e basic incompatibility or oral and literate modes. On my next visit to the village, the same advisor sat next to t1e headman, reading his text while commenting on what the speaker was saying. I had planned to ask him about his reading skills after the session and was formulating various questions about remembering history and ritual practices through memory and through books. I was also interested in his religious background and how he managed to reconcile Christianity with othe r seminal beliefs and practices that still inform much of rural Tabwa life. Before we finished, however. the advisor very delibef'Jtely ripped an entire page out of his Bible. tore it into eighUt~. and used one o f these small recta1gular sheets of paper to roll a cigarette with the tobacco he carried io a pouch. It was appareot that we two were looking at the same action and objects in completely d ifferent frJmes of re ference. To borrow from Ong, we differed in our conceptions of what constituted "the Word." It is this inappropriate application o f our idea~ from outside with what we may sometimes bavc thought were ideas from inside the culture under study that I would like to avoid. or at least Luapula provinces and is a lingua franca in the Coppcsbeh region o r mining cities. North of the Zambian border, along the shores o f Lake Tanganyika. the Tabwa speak Swahili as their primary language, a language that also acts as a lingua franca ln both 7..a.fre and Taru.ani.a. Inland. west of the
lakeshore, the Tabwa aiM) c.alJ themu lvcs Berta Marungu, or ..people-of the M31Un;u m.a.ssiJ," and spt-ak a language they call Kirabw-a. Malcolm Guthrie-(1948: 80) cla.uif:ie s both Beml)a a:nd Kit:tbwa
in the $JlrrH~ eroup, MGroup 40" of hi$ Zone M, 4 1a. and 42a.. respectively. A}t})Q1gh the written languages seem clearly similar (soc White Fathers 19S4: De Beent 1895, and Van Acker 1907). the spokn1 languages oonta:n dramatic. though regular, sound shifts that make their pronunciation difficult lO recognize even in cognate words.: the effect is something like Spanish cognates in spoken Ponugues-e. This divergence of languages occurred as a rcsull of the mililani actions by the precolonial Bemba stab.! and by oolonial rulers in lhe Tab"-'a area. Bcmba. a ma,or langusgc in liChools, lil er~ture, tutd official oornmunication. exerted a strong influence over the economic and political hist<>ty of ll•e T3bwa in Zambia (A. D. Rolxrts 1963, 1967; Wright and Larry J97 1). whereas the Tabwa in Zaiie were part of a defacto "Christinn Kingdom" (A. P. Robcru 1980. 1986:t) and lhcir language remained mme or less intact. The lakeshore 'fabwa found Swahili most convenient as a language or trade and culwrc in the tnuru.tlly d\.")X'mdent area:~ :;urroundi.ng ~e TMgnnyika. Each tangusgc rc8octs historbl fsctors that .influenced respective segmcnlS of the-Ta.bw11. pc:ople. For the sake of convcnjcncc I ...,oi.U refer lO the 131\gu.age spoken by the2Aonbian T
'Tabw3/Bemba."'
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Toward a 17zeory allli a Metlzod
3
comexluali7~
in a way that makes the potential pitfalls clear before analysis begins. The people who call tllemselves Tnbwa Ji ve i.n nonhcm Zambia in the area between Lakes Mwcru and Tanganyika and in southea.\1em Zaire in lhc corridor runn.i.ng between the Luvua River 10 tl1e west and Lake Tanganyika 10 lhe cast (see maps I and 2).
' .... ..... N ORTHERN
P ROVIN C:E
I '
LUAPULA PROVINCE
f
I I
I I
•
/
•Manso
I
\ Map I. Area where research was carried ou: (roughly demarcated by n:<:·langlc).
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
4
T
A '
\~
L
EMBA
~ I ( J
I I M~p
2. Area ofTabwa residence, and neighboring ethnic groups.
''
Toward a Theory and a Metlwd
5
Most of my research has been canied out among the Zambian Tabwa, who include some twenty-four U10usand people, or roughly one-third of U1e Zai·rean Tabwa population. Since beginning my doctoral research in I 975, and in two subsequent visits, I have lived approximately two years among the Tabwa. As any serious scholar would agree, this is barel y enough time to learn a language, let alone a culture. ln the difficult task of writing about a narrative tradition I have been aided on the one hand by models forrucd in similar studies,2 and on the other by ethno· graphic and anthropological rc.~arch on related groups in Zambia and Zalrc.3 In the remarks that follow, I will exami ne questions of how to ponray living, changing, vibrant societies. Because an oral tradition tends 10 be polysemic, viewed as an and on broader cul tural levels, we cannot use any single approach to its structure and function. With no wriucn history, philosophy, social science, and pedagogical instruction, an oral society fullills many cultural needs with its store of traditional narrative imagery. I will develop a view of this oral tradition that grows out of three disciplines: literary criticism, folklore, an
through numerous philosophic.~ of science and an, permeating in tum virrually aU epistemological bases of social science and humanities. Most of what I sa.y applies to a number of fields, but I want to focus spedficaUy on the tenets of literary criticism that are applicable to examining or.t1 narrative-. Litcr.uy c.riticil>m has developed an array of models and U1eories of poetic language and composition. \Vhethcr ordl or wriuen, all fictional narrative has cenain constant.
Livin.gstone Institute group, which includes Cunnison (1959). Turner (1957 and 1967), Watson (1958). R.ic,hards (1940, t969 and 1982), and Lehmann (1983). Let
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
6
how exactly to determine tlJem. Northrop Frye 0957) included myth as an important mode in his critical anatomy. and though he helped to reverse some of tbe purely religious or rirual associations that have been added 10 the tcnn over time, he d id not satisfactorily treat iiS nexible or•l creative qualities. Evolutionist and religious frame.~ of reference ~pplied to oral narrative persist.4 despite the effons of Richard Cha.~e to restore the notion of myth to its initial Greek denotation, mythos (story).S Nigerian scholar Isidore Okpewho has most succe;sfuUy taken lhe idea of myth as a creative endeavor and applied it to all perfonned oral narrative, categorizing it on a qualitative basis, in a spectrum of story types from the fictive to the historical (1983: 59-71). Literary scholarship. which I defme here as an approach that discerns the aesthetic principles of a work, has been helpful in revealing the commonality between works teo conveniently treated as written lilerature and those lately, too simplistically, considered '"oralliteraturc.''6 Scholars of narratology draw on a history of work from Aristotle onward and in all applications carefully study the numerous dynamics of plot and story. The search for a true unit of narrative continues, with specific tenns depending on the system set out by the individual researcher (Propp 1968; Banhes 1974; Bremond 1973). ln addition to methods of narrative dissection, literary scholars have developed a vocabulary to deal with symbolism and the symbolic framing of imagery. Srudies in metaptor and allegory arc panicularly relevant in considering
oral narrative performance,, Moreover. these imagistic processes form the links between written and oral am and. along with studies of nanative proper, give us the best tools for seeing the Tabwa oral traditi.on as a transfomative an. By transformative, I mean that the storytelling activity creates for its panicipants a sense of process, an experience of fresh and meaningful percept.ioos of well-known material. A key development in the study of verbal an took place when Milman Parry and later Alben Lord examined the congruence between the styles of composition and perfonnance of Yugoslavian guslars and Homeric epic (Lord 1960; Stolz and 4
s
See, for inst:l.nC
secret among folklorists and tnthropolog:ists: only Okpcwho (19t:3) uses Chase's insightful discussions on the h.is.tory of myf\ scholarship and il.$ essentially crcati.ve, and n3J'Tative. character.
Two of Chase's wOrks im.medi3te~· relev3nt to 1h.is Sft.ldy 1re The Q~Sl fiN Myth (1969) and "No~s on the Study of Myth" (1966). 6 When lhc oral nature of ~orytclling allracts anc.nlion, description of the form's ''literary charncteristics loses rigor. To trcal oral narrati\•c as spoken d.iscourse a!o:'lC is too simple a solution. It is a form of discourse and it is spoken, bul il is also a SlOT}'telling activity. We mus1 treal the nn.rrative dimension of performance. We run a risk: in applying a model from soeiolinguisitic:s to the material. wherein we say interesting things sbout languagc and human interaction to the exclusion of story, ptot. character, and theme. an part of tJ:.e storytelling process. Sy contrast,. older approaches tended to lean too heavily on the lit.!rste side of the equation, without caking into scoount the- frames o( living perfonnance and contexrual relationships linking a ni\rr:uive tradition. with it$ :tCtive p:utic-ipant listeners.
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Toward a Theory and a Method
7
Shannon 1976). One reason that these studies were so widely re11d and d iscussed is that until a century ago the study of litcruture meant the study of classics: Greek or Latin writings of poets and philosophers. To find that some fundamental worlcs of Western civilization were in fact o rally composed and performed was of profound irnpon. (For some reason-and we can only speculate as to tbe factors that i.n.fluenoed tbe various schola.r s-it look longer to acknowledge the presence of similar forms of composition and creativity in Africa as wcU.)7 These findings Jed to broader studies. suc-b as tbe work of Brie Have loc k. In Preface to Plato (1967), Havelock investigated the underlying ideas of Plato's Republic, which opposed notions of poetry, as an affective performed an. and philosophy, as the detached anal)1ical logic of the ideal lite rn.te citizen. At around the same time, Marshall
McLuhan and Walter Ong produced stimulating and influential works that described the differences between o ra.l and literate cultures 8 For the first time schola.rs were recognizing the real dynamics and complexities of oral art fonns, but they were also
moving away from crucial aesthetic relationships. Though these scholars identifie d the problems involved in simply treating material of o ral o rigin as literature, they tended to divide up the world into two discrete modes of communication. The oral was somehow romanticized, whereas the literute was ponruyed as an inevitable and necessary evil of technological evolution. An example of a stimulating but Oawed application of Ong 's ideas is Kevin Maxwell's study of Bemba Myth and Ritual: The Impact of Literacy on an Oral Culture ( 1983). MaxweU remarks on the nature of the Bemba as an oral society: Its peoples arc intensely aware of tbe power and action wllich their sounded words connote. Memory is the centra.! act of their knowing powers and tlteir knowledge is mnemonically formulated: successful knowledge is precious and has to be preserved fo r all practical purpose-s. Their Otougbts and expressions tend to be simply additive rather than complexly subordinate; the existential Oow o f na rrative cannot be encumbered wi th reasoned struclures. (xv) Oral knowledge is relatively rigid, typical and concrete. both in itS expression and in its conceptualization.... Bemba knowle
Chinweizu. Jemie, and Madubuikc. (1983). 8 Marshall McLuh.m's scholarly wor-ks we re numerous, but his writings on "typographical m M" (1962) set l.he basis for much of the discussions of oral ''ersus literate societies. as his claim that media were the "massage" {1967} set up a new critique of cloctrnnic media in western culture. Ong's innue.ntial works run from the rhetoric of Ramus (1958). and his seminal description of the oral "sensorium" (1967), to a primer on orality vers.-us literacy (1982).
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society speculation. Answers to questions
~-eem
almost prefabricated. . . . Wizen Bemba respond to cultural que.ttlon.<, they speak for everyone and to everyone abollt perspectives which every adult already knows and scarcely dares U) question. And so. the Bcmba repeat what others say, or correct it only according to w'bat tbey know the ancesual tradition (others) says. They are not concerned to say something original, but to confirm anti recall what has already been said. (9; emphasis is mine) This is an overly rigid view of an oral society and is, at least in pan. contradicted! by Maxwell's statement that the "meaning of a word cannot be detennined by appeal.ing to a d ictionary. An oral cultu:rc seWes the meaning in the speaking. The meaning is negotiated in the dialogue and renegotiated if the circumstances warrant it" (8 1). This image o f Bemba Hexibil ity is further echoed in the very theme of Maxwell 's book. that writing has caused a solidifying, a congealing , of various religious concepts !hat were Ouid and variable before tlle advent of writing and the coming of missionaries among the Bcm!Ja. Literary scholarship, with its considerations of oml and literate frames of composition and dissemination, moves the study of o ral traditioos to more promising ground only to leave it in the dichotomy of fonnulaic versus Oexible relationships? Though there is true merit in acknowledging d iffere nce or space between Uterate and oral cultural fonns. there is also the danger of building a wall ratber th.an opening u p a common ground between the two modes of representation. We must
turn-and li1crary scholarship has been moving a.h.is way- ro social sciences · concerns with living and shifting realities among symbol-makers and their audiences. Historical thinking has helped to contex tualize not onl y spedfic litemry works and their times but also the act of writing itselfl O We must note differenr
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Toward a Theory and a Merlwd
9
the renn itself was coined later, folklore study and methodology began with the work of the Grimm brothers in Germany. And though we may question their methods and ideology (Luthi 1982: 108·- 11). we may also say that the Gri01ms were with.o ut peer in collecting and defining the material provided by sto ries and other items of lore in their native land (Okpewho 1983: 59-60). Spurred by intellecrual currents of the Victorian age. antiquarians took to the roads and paths of their rural areas and !bose of !be nonwestcrn world to gather the expressions that were to be christened "folklore.'' 12 Fieldwor!( became an important tenet of the folklorist; analysis, a crucial task for the anthropo logist, was a secondary concern. For over a century, most folklorists collected, catalogued, and tried to define their data. Today the most enduring work in this massive effon is the Motif-Index of Folk Literamrc (1955·1958). edited by StiUtTitompson. The initial impulse to catalogue was no doubt based on what was considered to 'b e solid scienti fic method, wherein the naming of the objecL~ of study wa.< a paramount lirst step. Scholars devel.opcd the designations "tale-type" and "moti r· to :identify the two smallest units of folk l.itcrarure (Thompson 1946). Underlying their efforL< was the faith in diffusion o f tales and oUter oral genres from a central source to Ute rest of Ute world: for :how else would we explain the amazing commonality between tales from distant and diverse societies? Even after the death of d iffusion theory was proclaimed by no less a cui· ogisl than Slitlt Tbomp.<en himself (1958: 176), the compiling of motifs :md types has only slightly abated.t3 Moreover, within the last decade, Alan Dundes has lamented the "reluctance of folklorist.s to attempt interpretations of their data" (19&0: viii), especially when they maintain collection and definition stances. Of course, folklore has always used the methods of other d isciplines. Amhro· polo.gy. with its evolutionist, functionalist. and fieldwo rk Ji:amc.s was an early and convenient ally.l 4 Another early inlluence. pcmaps a source of the impetus towards classification and d iffusion theory. w3'S classical German philology, which some seh<>lars used to promote the "disease of language" theory of myth and tale. l5 Later Sli.ll. psychoanalysis, botll Freudian and Jungian. was adopted by some rc.o;carelters (E. Jones 1965; Bcnelheim 1978: Dundes 1975). Structuralism of the variety derived from linguistics, Russian fo rmalism and Uvi-Strauss's anthropology bas also been a convenient tool (Propp 1968; Dundes 1962. 1964). Now notions of 12 The lenn was coined in 1846 by William Thoms; see Dorson (1968a: 1). 13 The i.ndex.i.ng of motifs and tale--types for African ma~.e,.."riaJ. like material from other pariS orthe nonweseem world. hu.s been sketchy al best T0o date, indexes have been compiled by Arc:wa (1980), Braden (1926). Clarke (t958). Haring (1982), Kl.ipple ( t 93~~ L:unbre
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Allegorical Specu/a:tion in an Oral Society
event and enaconent developed in social science, added to aesthetics of narrative and textual studies worlced out in the humanities, have also become pan of the folklorist's repertoire of ideas and methods (Abrahams 1972, 1983; Bauman 1977a, 1986). But a look at the writing comi ng out of folklore fields suggests tllat the majority of works are still devoted to collection and uncritical description (Dundes 1980: vii-xi). The pattern has been that scholars in other disciplines examine folklore for their own purposes. Though it may seem simplistic to point to the name of the enterprise as its central problematic, I am inclined to do just that. TI1e notion of "folk" recalls the ideology that dominated the era in which the discipline was born. It has an implicit dichotomy of us versus them that cannot easily be remedied. Dundcs (1977) defines the tenn folk in an article tltat goes over most of the pejorative connotations the tcnn has acquired over tlte last century,. where it is f'requenUy misunderstood or misapplied. In analyzing contemporary culture Dundes's own work uses folklore methods and idea.s that have very successfully revealed the folk in us all. Yet there is someUting imprecise in a definition that states. '''folk' can refer to .any group ofpeople whatsoever who share at least one common factor" (Dundes 1977: 22). Dundes shows that many aspcets of life fall under the purview of folk interrelationships, especiall y as they take the fonn of humor (Dundes, 1975: 177-91; 1984; 1985). Why then use Ute tenn at all? Since it has such wide applicatio~Dundes says at one point that it can refer to a nation or a family-why not drop the appeUation and simply use the second part of the compounds: tale for folktale, medicine for folkmedicine, lore or law for folklore, and oo forth? Taking Dundcs's convincing argument to its logical end, we can simply identify the univer· sal activity to be examined; the "at least one common factor'' that unites the group
under study, or the cultural enactment that the group participates in. The data would then be demystified and relieved of the.ir homey connotatiort.'i. I am not sugw gesting U1at folldoristics has failed to give scholars valuable and original approaches to the study of oral traditions. On the contrary, the newer emphases on performance in context and on the text of or:tl perfonnance can be traced directly to folklore researchers. In fact, as scholars in the social sciences and humanities take up the challenge offered by Clifford Geem: in his "Blurred Genres" es.say (1983: 19-35) they will fmd many of the concepts and methods of folklorists to be imponanttools. My reservation.~ stem from the assumptions that underlie folklore research and how these affect lhe interpretation of data. There is too much of "the Other," as opposed to the rcsea~cher and b.is or her readers. that goes into interpretive dfons of many folklorists. These reservations do not extend to some of the innova1ive approaches folklorists have developed. Max Luthi is a scholar who stands somewhere between folkl<>re and literary studies. Luthi sets himself the task of carefully describing the European folktale (1982). His concise and thorough study isolates traits that also apply to Tabwa oral narrative. The basic characteristics he enumerates include: one-dimensionality.
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depthlessness, abstract style, isolation and universal interconnectedness. and subli· mation and aU-inclusiveness. Luthi concludes that the charJcters of folktales are not developed to any t:reat degree of psychological depth; little is made o f motivation for actions, and characters ofien seem not to know wby they are on a quest or even exactly wbat they are looking for. The most gruesome events and situati.ons stand side by side with tbe most mundane. There is little depth of description or commentary in folktales; the elements of real life are Oattened out and denuded of direct referential import. '"The folktale iL'>Cif no longer understands iL~ own meaning. For all its motifs. from the numinous, magical, and mytltic, to the sexual and erotic, to the ordinary ones of daily life, are equally emptied of their substance" (71). Lutlti argues that this very thinness of character and motivation allows the fo lktale polyvalent meaning: "Not only is ·i t capable of assimilating and sublimating any element, it in fact reOects all essential components of human existence" (76). And, finally. Luthi identifies the poetic elements in the folktale that resist interpretation: A folktale can be interpreted, but any single interpretation will impoverish it and will miss what is essential. By being sublimated, all elements of the folktale arc so fully divested of their separate characteristics and so completely removed from the spheres in which U1ey originated tlJat they come to symbolize other spheres as well. (94) The weightless figu res of the fol ktale have the property of not demand· ing a specific interpretation. 111cy actually prohibit specific interpretations and al.low for (even call for) diver.;e ones. (95-96) Luthi's description is perhaps the most accurate and thorough yet written o f the folktale. However, his d iscourse reveals a Sil,'nificant omission when he differentiates between his subject and the "narratives of primitive tribes" (108). Further· more. he dismisses the efforts of stOT)~ellers who embellish tl1eir tales, claiming th.e ir addition of depth goes against the nature of the folktale. aearly, by denying the vitality of the oral perfom1ance. by framing its origins in an evolutionary scheme whereby earlier poetS or aJ'l!ists created the stories that less talented racon· teurs tben preserved and disseminated. Luthi creates a needless stratilication of oral tradition. Anthropological research will help here in investigating the context and functions of the living enactment that is SIOT)1elling. Anthropology grew out of U1c Victorian era, which saw European economic and political power expand throughout the world in unprecedented ways. It applied a scientific method, a postromantic rationalist discourse that sought new levels of objectivity, to the study of human societies; th.e enterprise coincided with an evol utionary view of biology that expanded to include social organisms as well. This evolutionary innuence was prominent at the birth or anthropology and the coincid· ing exploration and colonization of much of the nonwestern world. From tbc begin· ning, the approach of us and them was inherent in the postulation of "savage" as a category of social development. Savage peoples were those who exemplified our
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own earliest stages of evolution. Even as the vocabulary altered over the decades, the notion of studying "the Other" would remain. !6 From the beginning of my fieldwork I focused on tllC stol)~clling efforts and commentaries of Tabwa acquaintances :for my core data and collected ethnographic infonnatioo as a by-product of my interaction within the village. Simply put. I considered the oml rmditioo to be a complicated enough target of study without devising a sociocconcmic description of the Tabwa.t7 I fmd Russell Banks's observations in his novel The Book ofJamaica. particularly apt in their cautionary description of the barriers that a participant observer in a foreign culture encounters: Assume an increased ability to understand and speak Jamaican patois, an increased tolerance for the crisp fire of white rum. . . . I learned tlte names of the trees and the flowe.rs and the foods that surrounded me. lealllCd how to play dominoes as ferociously as a Jamaican, and even learned how 10 talk with Jamaican women sufficiently for them to forget for whole long momenL~ the tremendous economic position I represented. so that they would now and then briefly cease trying to tell me only what they thought I wanted to hear. This docs not mean that I then understood what they said to me. (1980: 27-28) Even such simple interactions as Banks describes are subject to numerous and complicated fonns of cultuml static and mis'llnderstanding. This is not to say that ethnographic description is impossible or undesirable, only that such efforts are fulllime projce,ts to be carried out by specialists. Yet. perhaps because of the long association between anthropology and the functional smdy of oml tradition.~\:, it is the rare work that treats only the aesthetic dimensions of African narratil'e traditions (e.g .. Scheub 1975; Okpewho 1979a, 1983). The earliest anthropological theories on oral traditions were inevitably tied to evolutionist notions of progress from primitive magic to ritual to religion to science (or some sequential variation thereof) and, in a similar way, from folktale to myth to dran1a to Uterarure (Raglan 1936; Frazer 1911 -1936; Eliade 1964). There are varied hypothese,~ concerning oral tales and their roles in human evolution, but it would be fair to characterize these theories as functionalist in nature. The fonnolation that still stands at one end of the spectrum of antllropological thinking on verbal an is Bronislaw Malinowski's notio:n of myth as "social chaner," as the unbending and holy compendium of tales that codify history and social organization (1948: 101. 107-8). Little room remains for creativity or spontaneity in this equation. l6 Sec Mine:r's humorous use of anlhropolog.ical jargon lO dcscnDc American culture in "Body Ritus] among the Naccrima.. ( 1956). l7 A sood dc,:tJ. of the literatur~ Of\ the Z:aifeotl\ T.s.bw:~ i$ applicable C() the. Zou:tlbiOO't Tabwa tiS well, but tl•ere are differences based on ecolog)'. history, and cum:nt economic development that also
distinguish them (""'my di=tation [1981]; ond A. F_ Robe.ns [19W. I983a, J983b. I983c]).
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which did n01 attribute such characteristics 10 !he enterprise or, by implication and often by outright claim, to !he people who engaged in it (97).1 8 Roughly comemporary with Malinowski's sem.inal findings are those of Franz Boas. who is often credited with establishing ~te branch of American an~tropology. Boas found that oral rraditions were not as fixed or as strictly functional as others had claimed. He concluded !hat !he model of a savage phase of social development was an overly restrictive one. 1.1te Native American peoples he studied showed variation among themselves and, especially, between societies. He saw that oral traditions and otlhcr forms of social and public enactments ("riruals") were meant not only 10 prescr.•e instirutions but also to question them and to accommodate change. 19 If Boas's multivalent functional model of oral traditions does not seem a ~oreal improvement over a monolithic functional model. its importance must be acknowledged because it ascribed to !he subjects of research a degree of choice and creativity in !heir practices. The methods have changed little since Malinowski invited his readers to "step outside tbe closed study of !he theorist into !he open air of !he AnlhropologicnJ field" (10). Utereby seuing out !he enduring model. There is first of all !he coUection of data-the rite of passage for the ethnographer-in a fieldwork sirualion. Tite data have to do with economic practices. kinship relations, settlement patterns -o f villages, various rituals of seasonal and personal passage, and close study ·Of language and its uses. This infomtation is gaUJCred while tile researcher lives among people who become, in some cases, friends or at least acquaintances a"d neighbors; Ute researcher takes time 10 Jearn the everyday patterns of interaction and cooperation !hat constirute !he data. If !his has been the established mcthnd of collection, a second tenet of anthropology has also been in effect for over a cenrury: the organizing and interpreting of data. This latter phase constitutes a form ·o f writing-in both the older and posL~Lructu ral is t senses-that inscribes originally scattered impressions into a systematic description. a theoretical construction that "invems," to use Roy Walllter's tcrm (1977), a people for the researeltcr's scholarly audience. AU this is as it should be for the endeavor which is antltropology; but in the last two decades the enterprise itself has been thrown into question. Anthropologists have been noting that vocabularies and models persist only slightly modified from the period of c
funetionul e lements of narrative over others. and lheir 'o'icw predominated. One very interesting anthropological docwncnt is Malinowski's persona) diary v.Tiucn in the field (published posthumously in 1967), where he c-xprc.s.o;od his dQubu ao; tQ the validity of hi~ effort~. 1~ See Okpewho (1983: 1·59) ror alortger d:iscussion or antluopolog.y's role in tlu: s.~udy or mylh.
:utd Boas (1938, 1940) ror a more flexible ..,jcy,· of mylh ond its
~;o.tcJ:;oricoJ
inter.1ction with rolktodc
among Native American storytellers.
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explorers. and scholars.20 My question-and it stems from a frustration in org:mizing my perceptions of the Tabwa into an effective model- focuses on the sources of infonnation and on how that infonnation is then generalized and applied. For instance. it is true to say that the Tabwa. like many peoples in this region of centr:ll Africa, reckon kinship matrilineally. This reckoning. as described by Turner (1957), A. F. Robens ( 1980). and Pocwe (1981), at ceruin times cau se.~ ceruin domestic problems. There arc inOuences stemming from economic, religious. and cultural developments that threaten the tenets of matrilineal organization (Poewc 198 1; Marks 1984; A. F. Robens 1980). The con.Oicts arc intricate in their underlying pressures and complex in their actual manifestations. The ethnographer must depend, even with strong language ski Us and access to conf:dants willing to explain the situations, on an elaborme form of gossip in order to gather information on these cases. The discerning researcher is aware that sources of this information have their own biases and roles to pia;• in U1cse confiicts.21 Where are we left in interpretinc the data? Do !hey hold true for all Tabwa? Is the conflict endemic. or can people go entire lifetimes wilhout experiencing iL~ pressures? I assess these questions from a fairly smaU sample of data. Fieldworkers. unless they lind themselves in truly extraordinary situations, must limit lhemsclvcs to pockets of information. microcosms of even so numericaUy smaU a group as !he Tabwa are in Zambia. In Kaputa district alone there arc numerou.~ stratifications and dynamics !hat make description. let alone formalization. of data difficult, though I agree that one of the things culture does is to create the lines of commWJication, the webs that bind these groups into an entity that is Tabwa. 20 DeU Hymes ( 1974) edited a volume that consisted of a thorough and widely based critique of anthropology and ilS political underpinnings. Moreover, in a self-styled polemical set of essays. Joh.aMcs Fabian (198~) critically uamine.." lhe. very epistcmolog'ical ~urc~ of anthropological study.
He treats the history of an thtopo~g.ical practice in $0tnewh:u the same '4'3)' that Edward Suid 0979)
did when he impaled the concept of "orientalism.. on its OYm vocabub.ty and origins. A similu study by Ch.risrophe:r Miller (1985) uuU.nes 1M origiru o( Africanist disc.:outse in the r-rerw;h lnngun.gc. I admire the direction of Fabian's ctilique. bot he does not provide enough infonnation about .Utt"mative techniques or strategies of elhnog:-nphic im·estigation. To an e:d«~l. I em incorporate into lh.is study two of his concerns; 1 agree with his contention that the primacy of the events and contexts of the n:searcher's experience is somehow lost in most formal writing. h is fl>)t my intention to star in my exposition, but I do not go lh.rougi1 stylistic contonions to remove myself from descriptions when my presence was an obvious fact. Allolhc.r point fabi an raised, c:it.i.ng Benve-niste (1971: 205·22). i.s lhe use of the third person pronoun in cthnog.r.~ph.ic de.scri_J)tion. He fin& tlHu when tl1is pronoun is overused, it tends to isolate it.o; s-u~ject. ll\.ough I canMt eliruin3te he, st~-. or llle)' from my writing, I try to keep a balance of proper names and their ponouns in most dcscripioos so that the rc3d~.( rarely loses sight of the sisnificd. 21 There is., of coorsc-. the prob:em of local informants dclibc:ratcly g.iving the researcher misleading 0( compleu:ty in:tppropri ~te infonn~ ion. Chrlstophcr MiUcr cites A, Hamp~te Ba on this very
situation (Miller 1986: 296).
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When we come to oral traditions, we face the same problems. It is common for anthropologistS to 1reat the we and its performance in a functional way. Lately, we have seen a Jess literal approach in the myth-as-problem-solver model, in which storytelling highlights social problems in a pacific way and aUows people to allude to them in constructive, nonconfrontational frames. A byproduct of storyperformance in Tabwa society, it is but one factor among other possibilities, as anthropologist Michael Jackson suggests: According to this view the fabul.ous is a kind of re-presentation of the mundane. an allegorization whiC:h enables people to think more objectively about immediate social concerns. Considered in this way, narratives about fabulous beings and events are really imaginative accounts of social relations. This view contains a great deal of truth. but it leads quickly into error if it fails to accommodate the ways in which alJegorization inspires a richer expanse of meanings than is ordinarily suggested by the bland conventional description.< of social reality. In brief, the meanings to which a!Jegorical narratives give rise cannot be reduced to the social matrix even though tbey owe their origins to it. (1982) Most often, story-performance is a forum for showing off. in a good-natured way. At other times. the telling becomes a test ofwiUs between an audience that does not want to hear the story and a performer who insists on telling it anyway. One perception of storytelling relegates it to Ote formal exchange of didactic tales among adults for Ute education of children; and some adults disparage the entire practice. There arc, obviously, numerous socially determined dynamics informing any stof)1elling session. I have witnessed a number of these interactions and can say. for instance, that gatherings of elders, <>ver fifty-five years in age, tend to exhibin a froer mixing of men and women. Gender tensions and divisions. at least during such sociable gatherings. are minimized; and stOries, songs, and conversation include alJ who want to panicipate in an atmosphere of good-humored, often bawdy. repanee. Titis situation is not common among younger adults where men tend to sit wllh men and women witfu women. Storytelling sessions among lhis group tend to be dominated by the men, whereas women usually speak and perfonn more freely at sessions where they fonn a sizable majority. The reasons for this division were never clearly explained co me, l.hough I would guess that at an older age the paniclpants have economic and domestic roles that arc no longer competitive or antagonistic. Their sexual. child-rearing, and social self-images arc less aggressive than those of the younger, more productive group. These social divisions bad an effect on the sharing and composing of narratives during my own research sessions. I can suggest that this is a significant variable. but without a good deal of information about situations that di d not include stol)1elling it wou.ld be hazardous to extend this observation. to the ovcraU workings of the society.
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
Since the time Clifford Geenz described his escape from a police raid on a Balinese cockfight and declared that the cockfight was above all an an form-an aestlletic even~ a story Balinese ten themselves about themselves-symbolic anlhropo logisL~ have expanded their concepL~ of rituals or social enaetJmcnts to include artistic activity proper (Gcen.z 1973). Roy Wagner declared culture itself to be a creative activicy, and said that "we must be able to experience our subject matter directly as alternative meaning ·rather than indirectly. through literoliuttion or reduction to the terms of our ideologies" (1977: 504). Bruner and Turner edited a volume titled Tire Anthropology of Experience, which stressed the idea that expressions "are constitutive and sbapi:ng, not as abstract texts. but in the activity that actualizes the text" (1986: 7). In an effort to rum the spotl ight onto the producers of culture and away from the abstracted equations of the scholar, some anthropolo•gists are seeking adequate ways of humanizing (or more properly. "'humanitie.s·izing") what earlier researchers had labeled a social science. Again and again, scholars of this newer bent have applied the terms of literary criticism and :linguistics to social events, to texts (RJcoeur 1971), though it seems to me that the meaning of this latter tenn is yet to be properly fixed; and perhaps this is a good thing. 'This opening up of ethnographic description is a positive development in many ways. We not only acknowledge. that people create symbolic and ambiguous enacttnentS but also suggest that interpretation of these events is a necessary scholarly task. But I am uneasy about the overly broad guidelines our interpretation empJoys. I do not think, despite the carefully frnmed caveats and contextS. that any interpretation is as good as another. We should be careful that we do not once more put words into the mouths of our subjects when we have just accomplished the formidable task of proving that they have something important to say- to each other, if not necessarily to us. Crapanzano is, I think, overly critical of Geertz's revelations of the Balinese cockfight.22 but he performs a setvicc in pointing out the dru~gers in saying that the Balinese, or the Javanese, or the fill-in-the-blank are this or that. Even if tbc statements arc true, proof for such declarations is difficult to muster. Funher, the interpretive approach may have found many eager proponents but the fact of its dissemination docs not necessarily guarantee its flawless social science use. In fact, in the case of the Tabwa in particular and Zambia in gener•l. we must utiliz.c the ground-breaking ethnographic work of other anthropologists. Though I might question the ideological perspectives of such studies and try to refonnulate their impact on the cultures described, the empirical obsctvations they made are higlily relevant. Nevenheless, I intend to augment this earlier material with several ideas and models developed in later symbolic, interpretive. and reflexive studies in 2:2
Sec Crapam.ano 0986) and also Spiro (1986) Cor re.actiOIU tO l.he kind$ of anthropo-logy Spiro
tti'Ms !!cultuul reb.tiv~ft\.!! t liti'Aetfflliftg tlit work: orOeettz Mid those who use his methods.
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order to describe the Tabwa inshimi tradition. Further. my overall approach to the storytelling tradition will weave i:n the findings and methods of the d isciplines described above. Any theory must acknowledge the propenics inherent in its object of study and its methods must set o ut proec
See Chinweiz:u. Jemie-, and Madubuik.e, Toward the DecolonizaJion ofAfrican Literature ( 1983).
1ne term ha$ been adopted by seventl Airi<;Mi.st literlll)' !l(h\))ars (Ngugi 1986; Ngate 1986), but it
c.arrie$ a certain ide<>logic:al bagg<Jge, b~sed princ:~Uy on the aulhor.s' strong polemic intentions. I fully agree with thelr assertion thnt Africwt oral art fonns arc oqui\·alcn.t to western writll!n arts, yet I see no reason to invent a new word to count.crbalance this histories) inequity. Equivalence would result £rom including the £onnal qualities of the wcU-wroughtspok€.n word wit.h.in out definition of dte noun literature or the adjecti\'C literary. lot Sec.• for instance, Van.si.na's use of lhe tcml (1985) and Schcub's (1985).
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Allegorical Speculalion in an Oral Sociery
Since tbe.re is no single level of access to the telling and internalizing of story pcrfonnance, I use an approach that anificially isolates dimensions of file tradition in order to understand their concened roles in the system. Following the basic model proposed b~ Alton Becker for exploring Javanese shadow llleatrc,lS I usc modified tenns fonhe several relations be sets up in his analysis. These include the linguistic presentation of the narrative, or what I refer to as itS verbal rexr (Becker calls this "file coherence of the text"); the intenexrual relationship between the dcvc.lopi.ng narrntivc and the other norro.rivcs and imagery within the tradition, or
the tale's rradirionol conrexr (referred to as "speaking the present or the past" by Becker); and the living conrexr of the pcrfonnance itself (which Becker situates on one side of the communication relationship as "the intent of the t=xt-builder"). Obviously, it is in this last dimension that techniques of observation and panicipation, developed by anthropologists and folk.lorists. are most usefut.26 The success of any pcrfonnance depends on the expcrtise-Bauman (I 977a) would caU it "con:pcteoce"~f storytellers in using these dimensions. All three contain options for creative activity. Any one narrative depends on what precedes it to provide the basic stuff of story creation. Since it constitutes an isol:lcd cxtcmalization. a single selection from a traditional store of imagc.ry and idca'i, the tale is a subject on it~ own for fonnal literary analysis. The criteria for such an analysis derive, however, from a knowledge of the second dimension, the traditional context. This comprises elements of composition, types of structuring or patterning. specific content. and Ute ways these can be combined, most often creating or connoting allegoric.al reference. By considering this uadition:U context-through a process of variant analysis-t1e investigator can glean !he more common pieces and devices of the tradition and, in many cases, avoid making inexact interpretations of indivi~ dual items in the verbal text. The single tale can be assessed by the way it combines narrative elements to tell its story, by whether the narrative develops dense detail or moves along in a sketchier manner. The fonnal organization of tile narrative can be examined, including itS principles of balance and symmetry and irs degree of closure or opc.nendedness. An ovc.r.tll evaluation will comb:ne these factors to judge the tale as tale. as narrative entity. At another dimcn_~on of analysis, the traditional context, the talc can be evaluated for its imovativeoess and resonance. "speaking the present or the past," as Bc~kcr puts it. Tbcsc criteria arc based in knowledge of the tradition, in a history 2S Set- Becker (1979~ And Ctert~'s c;sve:.t regarding th.i.s noo-ph.iloklgic;AI •PJ:ron.ch to living enac&me:tlts (1983: 31-'32). 'Though I employ similar tenns,l have not based my analytical dimensions on Dundes's "text,• "texture.• and "context'" (1964b). 26 Bec-ker delineates a fourth relationship, "reference,.. whteh focuses on the meaning or lhe enactment out~ide of the immediate ~sthetic (ramework. I will treat this dimension. without mn.king it a. tenet or my analytical model. as a referenti::sl component of a nmative-perfonnnn~·s connotative, often unspoken. relatior-~Sh.ip 10 actual sociO<;Ullural facts.
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of story-performances and the various possibilities for confirmation or irmovation in a living stof)1elling session. Comparing the Tabwa stof)1elling tradition to a game, say baseball, we can say that its panicipants usually Jearn th.e various rules and, on reaching a ccnain level of expenise, arc able to work creatively within that game. After mastering the basics. the ability to tell and retell stories or to hit. field, and run, the artist emerges when the con:ventions are somehow stretched or even ignored in order to achieve a desired effect:. Some storytellers begin with commonly told narratives and contrive tO change their endings or lampoon 0\eir usual themes, the way that a gifted pitcher will throw a dangerous hiner an unexpected pitch in a crucial situation or a manager will order b.is weakest hitter to swing away when everyone is expecting a bunt. AU these acts are fo rms of risk-taking that, in the hands of an anJst, arc less liable to fail than :i f an unskilled performer were to ancmpt them. When we consider the traditional context of a narrative, we are looking at it with reference to similar tales or other versions 27 We can ask whether the current rendi· tion is much like the preceding ones or whether the performer has made changes, perhaps even attach.ing it to another narratjve to make a longer tale. Techniques of repetition, the most prevalent means of structuring o ral narratives. must also be identi fied (Forster 1927; Kawin 1972). Is action, dialogue, or, most commonly, song simply repeated literally? Or is the repetition more figurative. reiterating categories of action rather than identical acts? Categories of action can consist of repeJted nickery, repeated task-fulfillment, repeated violation of interdictions, and so fonh. Is action toned down in favor of dialoj,'lle (Babcock 19n; Bauman 1986)? These are options for the development of a talc and can be gauged by comparing the single narrative to Ole repository of narrative imagery. How docs this panicular martifestation compare with similar tales? with similar themes? After these evaluations, there is still the crucial context of the living perfonnance to contend with. Here Ole imerplay of tradition, individual presentation, an.d audience dynamics forms tbe experience, the meaning o f Ole performance. It is in performance that a storyteller makes a talc his or her own. Even if there is IitUe in the verbal text that is new or surprising, the fleshing out of imagery depends on ingenuity in perfomlan{)e. Here, though most tales are seemingly told again and again, the individual is .able to place a personal stamp on a narrative. This notion of shaping a tale (some would eall it reshaping, but to isolate the definitive version of a narrative would be d ifficult) goes counter to what Luthi claims is the real nature of a folktale. He refers to digressions and the layering of l''l ~pending on whom you read. one sc:hohu's ·v'--rsion" might be another's "'variiUlt." I will use version to mem 11. tale l.h.;lt is very similar in plot and content to other tales. Folklore ttrm.inology might suggest that ver5ions are the same tale-type(s) perl'onncd at di.(fcrent times or by different S1o.ryreUets. I hope tO minimize confus;ion by avoiding the term ~·ariant. indicating instc~d that <1 lale is. not dose enough to another to be a version o f it but h~ si.rnilar elementS or plot, ch~3Ctet<>r formula.
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
details as "empty embellishment." calling the results of such effons "completely unlike the true folktale" (1982: 102). Luthi's dependence on wriuen texl~ instead of living performance) causes him tO overlook the storyteller's various prerogatives. The coloring of character c~ be a complex operation. with voice and gesture giving depth to what is often predictable dialogue o r declaration. The singing voice can inspire audience.s to partkipate in the most pedestrian of tales. The use of descriptive detail. even in obvious d igressions. can add texture and vividness to any basic plot. Is the storyteller expressive in voice and gesture? \Vhat is lhe tcllcr•s rela-
tionship to the specific audience during that session? Is the tone of the tale humorous or seriously didactic? How does the teller's personality shape the perfo rmance in context'! When the perfonner is not only in command of his or ber stage presence but also m inventive embellisher of narratives, the results can be both entertaining and tr:llsforming. One of the most accomplished storytellers I recorded is Mr. William Musonda. whose pcrfonning skills arc exceeded only by the high degree of deference shown him by his neighbors and relatives. In tbe tale I examine more closely in Chapter 6, Mr. Musonda weaves a lengthy. textured narrative using a fairly basic oickster pattem~ where.in a clever character keeps fooling olher, more powe.rful characters. to his overall benefit. He makes the story complexly evocative through several instances of elaboration, digressions (Basgoz 1986), where he details what certain characters arc Utinki ng and plantting or where be describes someone's status or condition in soclety. These elaborations arc forms of metacommentary, whereby narr.uion goes bc)Ond the b!l.sic advancement of plot to commenting on cxtranarrJLivc themes, the at."t of storytelling, or even on events going on during the performance (l3abcocl:. 1977; Bauman 1986). We can appreciate the high degree of creativity in such an effort only by evaluating it within the three dimensions of analysis. Another performer, Mr. Chota Chilengwc, is known as a powerful raconteur. His skills are formidable in t9mposing his verbal text and in delivering it. As much as the imagery in tile stories. Mr. Cllilengwe's personality and persorul history are factors in the tales he telll. These traits emerge in an examination of the performance context and in the themes of his stories. Calling himself a "oepbew of Tanga," who was an early Tabwa chief deposed by the current ruling Bashimba (known as Zimba. a genet C..'\l in the Luba language, in Zaiic) clan, 01ola
Chilengwc o ften pauses in his narrative.s tO give the exact time of cenain events in tlte tales. On occasion he will provide both "English" and metric time designations. ~-uch as saying some charJCter arrived at "two o'clock," then adding "(ley say fou rteen hours in current English usage." Though storytellers often situate place and time in their taies. this constitutes a particular case of sbowing off; it is purely performer-orchestrated, something to impress his audience with his knowledge of the complexities of timekeeping in contemporary life. Though such digressions
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Toward a Theory and a Method
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may have little impact on the unfolding plot, they have a direct and almost visccrJI effect on the communication that is perfonnance. To identify the range of possibilities for constructing narratives and for externalizing them in performance we need criteria for the strategies involved. '11te living or performance context can create what Ronald aod Suzanne Scollon refer to as "focused" or "oonfocused" situations, wherein storytellers either promote or d iscourage audience input (Scollon and Scollon 1984). A focused approach is demonstrated by performers like WiiJiam Musonda, who rarely engage their audiences directly in commentary or the exchange of questions. By contrast, some stol)1cllcrs welcome such commeniS and queries from their listeners, often incorporating their contributions into the ongoing narrative. Similarly. the tales can be framed in ways that sociolinguist William Lahov calls "internal" and "external" (Labov 1972). An internal strategy moves the talc along with little or no reference to iL• thematic or moral message. and an external approach keeps such messages on the surface of the unfolding story. continually reminding an audience of the point of the narrative. AS we examine the tale-texts that follow, we will notice Ute way different performers employ these strategies, sometimes even using all four strategies at different moments of the same performance. Though usually identifiable in the verbal text, these strategies often appear in tone of voice or some other nonverbal marker, they are best perceived in the performance contexl
I begin my organization of data from the Tabwa storytelling system with
3
formal description that is not unprecedemcd in either folklore or literary study (Thompson 1955-1958; Lord 1960; Nagler 1974; Scheub 1975). The Tabwa oral uadition is by no means a closed system, though I resist facile interpretations that simply point out the real elements of any story. James Boon (1986) has formulated a helpful model for looldng at the relationship between cultural enactment and society as a whole. Boon uses Barthe's distinction between a "work" and a "text" (1977). and sets these forms side by side with what he labels "Machineries" and "culture". The structures and relationships of machineries. or self-regulated cultural subsystems (or enactment genres such as oral narrative traditions which I consider here) are by no means structurally congruent with culture, as they do not necessarily directly represent real situations. Boon claims that these systems were never intended to exhibit sucb symmetrical correspondence with each othcr28 Tiley arc vehicles of cuJtural argument and praxis, ways in which change is examined and
dther integrated or rejected. There are, therefore. inherent clements of paradox on systemic levels that are crucial for the lively and enduring exchange that is culture. I 1t "Y« Bati·s plentiful Mach.ineric.~~: oF saws symbols do not simply slack up; nor should we presume lh.:lt they e\'et did. R:uher, they seem made (or conu-adiction and variable constructions to satisfy difFerent parties., e:.ch interpreting, 10 itS own Qd~·.mw.ge" (Boon 1986: 246).
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will consistently refer to Utis relationship of structural friction or conflict when analyzing the referential elements in the narratives which follow. The next chapters set out Ute dimensions of analysis and Utcn apply Utcrn to the tales and Utcir contexts. I must point out Utat SCs.'tiOn.~ where tales were recorded were rarely spontaneous events. Cenainly my mere presence could have altered any number of the conditions of pe.rfmmance. However. having been a partidpant ob,ervcr in storytelling enactment~. and having listened to sessions Utat Tabwa friends recorded on their own for me, 1 do not sec a great variation between the elicited and Ute spontaneous event, lhough my presence would obviously affect the focus of narrative messages; performers often felt the need to explain or emphasize the moral o r lite point of their stories fo r me o r my wife. Chapter 2 sets out a formal method for looking at the way Tabwa narratives are constructed. A discussion of metaphor and allegory will inform my description of a model of composition. Otapter 3 focuses on the techniques and situations of performance, isolating a number of devices and dc.s cribing some performers who usc selected devices to create their individual styles of narration. Chapters 4 lhrough 6 examine sets of similar narratives, from the point of view of the dimcnsioru> earlier de.~cribcd: verbal text. traditional context. and performance context. Each analysis also incorporates referential material that is situated in Tabwa society, though this too, as Luthi suggests, undergoes a good deal of flattening or thinning out fo r usc in narrative imagery. Chapter 7 concludes the s tudy by summing up ideas developed in the
analyses and suggests ways that the Tabwa oral tradition perpetuates itself and in the process continually reinvents Tabwa culture.
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A Formal Approach and the Traditional Context
Once upon a time there lived in Berlin, Germany, a man called Albious. He was rich, respectable, happy; one day he abandoned his wife for the sake of a youthful mistress; he loved, was not loved; and his life ended in disaster. This is the whole StOry and we might have left it at that had there not been profit and pleasure in the telling, and although there is plenty o f space on a gravestone to contain, bound in moss. the abridged version of a man's life, detail is always welcome. (Vladimir Nabokov, Laughter
In the Dark, 1969: 5) Tales may be told at almost any time and in any context; what makes them stories rather than simple conversation is their formal composition and fictional nanu-e. Though Tabwa speakers often ignore the boundaries between imaginative tales, true stories, and conversation when they employ verbal or physical techniques of perfor-
mance, we must isolate 11ctional narrative from conversation to concentrate on the way it is composed from a pool of plots and imagery. 1 Its construction adheres to princ iples of composition common to all na!Tative storytelling, and these can be derived by examining a number of tales. Over time, th.is traditional context, the memory of past performances and narrative possibilities, takes on a crucial role in the appreciation of stol)1elling events, but we must first consider this context as the source for the image.s and plots of individual tales. Tite Tabwa inshiJni tradition of oral narrative cxtemali7.cs and combines ancient and contemporary images in perfom1ance. Image is the basic unit of the 1 Bauman (1986) conducts a detailed and rcvc3l.i.ns study of ot'31 narrative pcrfom1.mccs th:u include personal n.:srrati..,c. lies, :snd uU tsle~:. His fi:ndi:ngs are sig.nifK"a:nt but m:ty not :'IJ>ply tO most in.~himi narrative performances boc.ausc these: buer :are fiction, but not necess.:vily lic.s1 the truth of 1.1\c .stoti.es is rarely in question. F\utht.'t, the intt.-rpcrsomd dyrnunic.s in lhe nnrr;ttivcs Bauman studied are csrcfully framed in vatious eoonornj e and social situ:n.ions lh:u rnay :SPJ>ly tO $0me comcJtts of Tabw-a natrati\'e petfonnance but not gcncr:tlly !(I those I witnessed and recorded.
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Societ)l
inshimi tradition. It is the visualization of a character, action, or rolationsh.ip. Images aro emotionally charged with memories of pa.~t performance.~; which a storyteller elicits in sequence, following the dictates of a plot in a cause and effect continuum, a movement from confiict to resolution.2 Plot provides the temporal tissue
for a narrative's numerous elements: characters. actions, and their inte.rrelationships. Repeti tion of these elements and relationships creates fonns, and these forms organize the emotional responses that adhere to the narrative images. Images, ordered by the developing forms, are manipulated by moving characters into the various relationships that roveal theme. The meaning of these relationsh.ips, the theme, is not entirely evident until the conclusion of Ute individual performance, and sometimes not even then. Theme, found in the organization of narrative ele· ments, is most often revealed as an allegorical relationship between those clemcnL~. Theme is usually deeper than the simply stated moral that seems apparent from the surfaoc movement to resolution. In most cases the moral is quite obvious: a girl turns down local suitors and manics a stranger who is actually a disguised malevolent creature wanting to ldll her. Or a father keeps food from his family during :a famine. Arroganoc manifested in the rejection of local suitors in favor of ~tr:l111gers is bad; keeping food from your family is bad. These simple truths do not rcqu·ire UlC complex processes and clements that constitute the narrative system? as Nabokov suggested in this chapter's epigraph. Even the simplest themes acquire form and depth from the rolationsbips that underlie the narrative surface. Any nwnbe.r of movements, repetitions, inve.rsions, and convolutions of action and character, wrench dynamic meanings, new experiences, from familiar plotS an.:I images. These operations are orchestrated by a storyteller to reveal the intended theme through allegorical comparison. But none of this activity is possible without plot. Plot provides the events in a narrative with a continuum, movi.ng them from beginning to end. There are numerous ploL~ in the communal inshimi memory. They consist of action outlines, indicating rather than specifying possible images, acts,. characters, conflicts, and resolutions. A specific plot is similar to wllat Aame and Thompson defined as a "talc-type.'•4 It can exist on its own as an entire narrative or can combine with other plots as part of a longe.r ta1e. However. since the 2 Bynum points out that the "sanction of fable is a tradition of ~Uing $tOries. not realil)' or anyone's actual cxpcric-oce. Those other tales he hu heut·d collectively inform tn Unwlamba (a Lamba person) as to how he should underS:und 'Wh;1t a Link Thing Did' [a narral.ivc from Doke's wlkx:o:ion (1976: 192-201)), Without thai same knowledge of E..amba !.ales, we who are not Awalantba can hardly e.xpoc;t to understand aright either this or any other single Lamba story"' (Bynum 1978: 53). l This point is made ag.a.in and again by scMlars questioning simplistic and literal func:t.ion:dist intetprecations of tales and social t!.n3Ctmcnl,.; for instances, soo Luthi (1982: 90) and Oeeru (1973: 448). 4 See Stith Thompson (1946: 41S) for basic dcfi_ njtions or the tcnns so important to Ute indexing acth·tty: talc-rype and motif.
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A Formal Approoch
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exact details in any one plot can vary considerably. it is not necessary to seek the specificity that indexing of types attempts-for indexing implies that a comprehensive catalogue is possible. Whether or not this is a realistic goal is secondary to the fact that the basic analytic value of sucih an endeavor lies in compiling a sizable list· ing of types.s If anytlting, tile effon is subvened by the reatity that story1elliog. t110ugh based in a communal context, is often an individual expression that creatively composes new stories or at least fosters the illusion ofnovelty. 6 During performance, tO give the plot defmite form the storyteller supplies the details from a communal nexus of images and plots. This traditional context pro· vides an audience with a good deal of insight into the development of a panicular plot (Havelock 1967: 41·42; Bynum 1978: 28, 53). Cenain situations lead tooth· ers. Any person going out into the wilderness to gather wild food or to hum is nearly certain to encounter a problem. People on a long journey usually come upon some obstacle to their progress. An audience responds to the familiar images rrnd developments of plot by anticipating more or less what will happen next. From Lbe time the performer selects and externalizes a panicular plot, the oprions for action begin to narrow considerably7 Each d-evelopment allows an audience to anticipate from a smaller set of possible occurrences. A pcrfomter. well-versed in the tradi· tion, can open up new setS of possibilities by introducing twists of plot to frustrate the audience's expectations. Plot U1erefore provides Ute basic surface and direction
of narrative movement as well as a means for a performer to channel and control expectations. This potenrial for manipulation is important in the creation of allegory. 5
Lee Haring (1982) h3$ 1.3ke.n an exciting St-ep to re...it.1lizc inde.xi.ng by combining the compillllion of •n~s and motif$ wil.h stc\l(;tw-aJ designations. He uses Aame and Thompson's standard system o£ rwmb«:rin.g motifs and tale-types and li$1$ them in ordt:r of appearance in ellCh nmali...e. He also describes the structure of e:a<:h namti,·e by employing the strue-nnaJ t)'J)CS. developed by Oen.ise Paulmc for African .narratives (PJWlme 1976). Though [ qi)C.Stion $0mc spoci.lics of \his approach. il does bring analytical rele...ance back &O the ne.ar moribund !.ask of indexing. 6 Ctta1ivity in oru.l m•.rralive performance has been seen as the relationship between lhe anist and the m.dition; com;ming. as Bed:er puts it. how much of the past or present is being "spoken" (1979: 227·28). But I would argue that aU artists work within a tradition and VIU')' in the degree to which they adhere to established forms and criteria. Some frames within the Tabwa narrative tradition. at the e.xtreme ends of lhe creative specaum. may e:.:cccd or upend most of lhe p:ll3meters 1 identifY. 7 Propp's Morphology oft~ Folk1ak (1968) examin~ the formal propcrtiC$ of plol. «;·haractcr, and action i.n onl nllrrative in genesa). ~ in Rw~: i11n fAiry lll.lcs s poci.6c:ol.ly. He dearly ilJUJitrntc:s n rclationsh.ip of eausc and effect in the ovcrallrnovementtO resolution. He dcli.rle:tQS. for one specific function. how a number o[ request$ lc~d tO a $1C:\dily diminishing number of possible consequencces. depending on lhc nature ot eac:h request (47). Ahhough always free to <\lter the narrative-'s direction, a
perform('.t rnuu attend to the evenls that pr(!(;ede the new development and to the l.imit.ed nwnber of
po$Sible w nS
fot~ow.
Claud<> Bromond hones this notion 10 dcsorib<:
of rebted actions that usc bintu}' options for continued narrati\'C development (DrW\ond
197;): 131·38).
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In seui.ng out lhc plot. a SlOI)1cll.er mu~t observe lhc minim.a l principles of narrative development, based on a logical movement from a stale of disorder or conflict to ome of harmony or resolution. Logical movement in this case means pro· gress from cause to effect, wilh acti·o n motivated by existing conditions and developing lin response to lhc initial action.8 This chain of motivatc
Wbat de> we req~~ire , , , in e>rdcr to fcc! that a ste>ry is cgmplcW!? In some cases we feellhat a story has not really ended; what is responsible for th.is impression? ... Shklovsky investigates some types of parallel· ism which seem to produce structurally satisfying plots: the move from one relationship between characters to its opposite. from a prediction or fear to a realization of that prediction. from a problem to itS solution, from a false accusation or misrepresentation of Ulc siruation to a rectification. (Culler 1975: 223)9 Cul.ler is referring here to audience expectations and lhe way a plot must in some way gratify lhcm. He mentions parallelism and describes inversion. processes lhat depend on S)1fimelrical relationships between images. A problem that is intro· duced must be solved. but lhc solution should develop from lhe relationships men· tioncd by Culler. Images that do not l:it into the plot progression are distracting. Aristotle remarked on irrelevant images in a plot: "a thing whose presence or
absence makes no visible difference. is not an organic pan of lhe whole" (Butcher 1951: 35). To suppon whatever message underlies it. a plot must move toward formal and literal hannony; it develops its structure in inverse or pataUcl symmetry. Culler suggests that a plot that moves in lhese simple yet universally applicable directions fulfills this minimal requirement; JO satisf-ying audience expectations it I Among lhc numerous ways lO treat the d cvelopmcn.t and
study of narrative StrUCtute is lhc
$UCci_nct work on the methods of NtratolOS)' b)' Rim.mon. Kenan, Narrarive Ficri()n: C()nlempor(J;ry Poetics (1983); it excellently details the ~ncmu of narrative srudy arxJ includes a strong annotated bibliography. 9 Some Tabwa namth·cs conclude with contmdrum or dilemma endings, generically considered 10 be imilwnbe: Fr0$t (1977) discU$$es; this genre. AU 1ypes of n3.tU.li\'e depend to some t.K.tc.:n1 on the s.t.rucrural retat.Lonships Culler describes h~. Consider, for example. N4"2, anulyZ«< in chap. S, where the performer ends the narrative with a d.Uwssion of il.s theme. He conlndicts w.h-lll was obvious in the orglniz.ation of the perform~ thus adding another dimension of meaning that does not aeeurately reflect lhe tale he told. The oonundrur.n or ditcmma frame ls one that accommodates. in fact encout3.ges for the sake of argument. oonlradicloty intcrprelD.tion.s. Donald Cosentino (1982: 144163) discus$¢$ the interesting and dynamic relationships among thcm:uic and inu:rprctive contradictions lhat competition inspi_res in narra.tive pc:tformance. 10 Okpcwho refute$ Aristotle's conwntton of "'wholeness," as it applies to orlllly composed epic n:urative (1979a: 8 1-83, 181). Although in a serue he misreads Aristotle's intent .IIJ'Id underestimates
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A Formal Approach
sets up a situation then symmetrically alters it. It eods with a logical culmination of narrative events. But this does not mean that a performer simply stimulates. Olen gmtifics the hopes of tile audience in an obvious plot development. Performers may introduce several of the situations Ouller describes into one narrative alone, producing a complex interweaving of expectations. which they solve in various ways and at different points in tlle plot's progression. In many cases performers deliberately l'rustrate the audience's cxpccrJtions l t To construct narrative. all performers must use the tradition. ancient images which are stored in communal memory. These images arc often associated with songs, sayings. chants. or actions that are given tifc in a story through the addition of details. These stable traditional images can be considered fonnulaic, using the arguments that revise Lord and Parry's definition. 12 Fonnulae achieve fullness in the specific context of a tale, often constituting an cpisode.n Their development c:m take several paths. Most commonly. a fonnula is literally repeated. Depending ou t.he specific narrative performance repetition serves several
function.~.
It can
move characters along by repeating an action that pushes tl1em toward its resolution: someone Oeeing a villain continually sings a song as he approachc.s home the abilities and fonnal sensitivity of oral n ~tive pe.rJonncrs, he ootrectl)' notes the. prcdom.in.snce of lhc "pl ;~y(ul" nature of lhe oral perfonmmce. I I As happens in dilemma or conundrum tales. Meyer (1956: 39-40. 86.81) combines Gestalt and music thcot)! 10 examine the notion of txpcctaLions and affcc1. 12 Rmh Finnc.gan pointed to the main problems of a (onnula: "If one takes a nll.lTow definition-in te.nns say of idcnticall)• repeated word patterns- then. as hss often been pointed out, this docs not a.lwsys easily apply to l.itcr:J.tures olhct than c.JlOse- in which j t was fust 'discoverod' by Lord :w.d Parry. While if one lakes a wider dcfinition~e in effect implied not only in later extensions of the theory but also in earlier statements like Lord's 'every line and every part of a line in oral poetry is "formulaic..·' .. . then the. specificity o( l1te concept secm.s to evapot;1tc and one is left wi.l1l nothing very proc.ise. despite the statistic" (quoted in Stoltz and Shannon. 1976: 160). Her point is a convinc-ing one, and I agree with Fi.Meg:m that deciding cxacdy what a ronnu1a is in every ca.o;c is all but i.mpossi.ble. J would suggest that some ete.mcrus in the Or'3l ttadition are mote fixed. and therefore mQre fOrntulaic, th:sn others. I us.e the adjcx;1ive j(Jrmulaic to sugges' \h.i.s n:lali.,·c fixily IUld conlinuily. npplyingjOI"mula to e lements obo.·iously repeated in more or less unchanged fo rm between tales. These fo rmulae oonsist o( songs. sayin~ cen.ain actions, and phrases or dialogue (contemporary l.ingui.sL'> studying discourse acknowledge the "(onnul..aie" quality of even everyday speec-h; sec Deborah Tannen (1982: 2 5)). 1"hcsc clements pcrsi.c;t over ti.me i.n the. ttadit.ion. Thus I avoid the term m(Jlif, which connotes the indexing activiry. 13 Though tenn.i.nology has btt:n and continues tO be problem.atic in its disparity and de-finitions. a devolopc.d fon:n.ula need not constitute an cntiru opbodc-, tJtOugh it oftun is its ecnlflll olcrnent. In my initial mn.ly&es, I Klentify episodes thai. are rather oompact, dustcring around formulaic clements. In 1Mt:r analy$CS, episod-es reft:r 10 hu·get sesmoents of n.arntive:s., doser to the PrQppia.n "move,.. or what Br~mond and Paul.me n::fer 10 a.s a "soquenc;-c" (DrWnond 1973; Paulme 1976}. Both my uses of lhe tenn cQinc:We fairly <:losely wi.lh Luthi's "episode" (1982). My use or the term theme will consistently relate to the "meaning" or "message" of a talc.. not the term as used i.n Homeric scholarship. later adapted by some folklorists (Okpcwho 1979b; Br&nond 1977; and the writings. or the Rcsca:rch group on oral literature from the French Centre. nationa1 de. Ia rccherc-l)e scien.li(iquc tO ideruify c.atcgorie.s of action in talC$. 4
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society
(N195, chap. 3): a repeated saying frustrates a uoublesome monitor lizard as he steadily draws nearer to his seemingly dense adversary (NPI). At tbe same time,
repetition stops the narrative in a freeze frame, which unavoidably impresses the detail~
of the images in tlte minds of the panicipants. The emotional effect of this repetition is to prolong suspense or anxiety. Suspense resuhs. in this case, not only from the audience's desire to learn the fate of the pani,ular characters framed before it. but also from curiosity as to when the storyteller will end or alter the pattern. The number of repetitions of a narrative element depends on Ute skills of tbe performer, the nature of the formulaic clement, and its relevance to the developing story. Conversely. a formula can appear in compact form. without repetition. or with repetition that is implied ratl1er than literally carried through. 14 Undeveloped formulae are often used to introduce a conflict or to link expanded formulae. In some narratives undeveloped formulae are strung together episodically to develop a larger pattl:m of actions. IS Even in their compact form. they connote for an audience the potential for repetition. In past performances these compact images may actually have been repeated or expanded, serving the needs of a panicular theme. Situations often arise in which one compact and a second developed formula are experienced as coinciding aJ!egorical panems; the rbythms of repetition realize potentialities for allegory even in images where nothing seems to be repeated. The repetition of formulaic eleoents commonly creates allegory in narrative performances.
At this point I want. to i.ntroducc allegory and mct.'lphor as key processe-s in the inshimi tradition. Beginning with a view of allegory as "an extended metaphor." we can look at some of the basic qualities of metaphor, which we can apply to a more
detaile
IS See "pan~mOO image-s~t" W natratilo't!-NPS below, i:n ttU.s chapter. !6 Mark Johnson has ttrested the "inreractive" approach to the $rudy or .mct:tphor in Philosophical Perspecti~s on Metaphm ( 198 1) m.d in Jolulson and Lakoff~ MeJJJphon We Live By (198-0). These authors illusttale metaphorical relationships that much oJ language and thlug.ht inhtrontJy oontains.ln his study of Kuranko oral traditioM, Allegoriu ()/the WilckrneJS (1982), Michael Jackson does not adequately clMify his use of the terms met;tphor IIJld ~Jiegory, but Is« them in an allusive m<:ne than a discunive mO<.Je, closer lO what J&tkson calls aUegory lhan what Mu Black (19n) C:J~lls metaph<>t. My emphasis is always on lhe oompan.live and oontnastive process of imagery in n:un tivecoruuuclion. "'PAt:tllelism.." 1t.8 i1 relates IO lhe various im.._ges A.00 scquen.ces or a n.Atrative, m3y be a more appropriate ltnn; it l:u:b the: sense of transcendence. however, of c:onnotint something gte:ner th3J1 itS constiruc:nt parts, thai meJ.aphor and allegory suggest.
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A Fonnal Approoch
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metaphor," wherein he opens up oarTower conceptions by considering metaphor as a process rather than simp!y as the result of a process. We can comment upon the metaphor, but the metaphor itself neither needs nor invites explanation and paraphrase. Metaphorical UlOught is a distinctive mode of achieving insight, not to be construed as an ornamental substiMe for plain thought. (Black 1962: 236-37) Paul Ricoeur further ties the metaphorical process to both cognition and emotion: We have to understand the process by which a cenain production of images channels the schematization of predicative assimilation. By displaying a flow of images, discourse initiates changes of logical d istance, generates rapprochement_ Imaging, or imaginin g. thus. is the concrete milieu in which and through which we sec similarities. (1978: 147) He follows this intellectual process to the point where UJOught becomes emotion. A feeling is a second order intentional structure. It is a process of imeriorization succeeding a movement of intentional transcendence directed toward some objective state of affairs. To f eel. in the emotional sense of the word, is to make ours what has been put at a distance by thought in its objectifying phase. Feelings, therefore. have a very complex kind of intentionality. They are nor merely in.ner
st~t<'S
but interio.rized
thoughts. (154) My paper suggests that there is a structural analogy between the cognitive, the imaginative, and the emotional compo nent~ of the complete metaphorical act and that the metaphorical process draws its concreteness and completeness from tbis structural analogy and this complementary functioning. (157) Ricoeur emphasizes a process by which somctlting exterior to Ute subject becomes integrated by touching (not necessarily in this order) the intellect, the imagination, and the e motions. Thi.s constitutes a process of discovery that parallels the experience and appreciation of the wcll·told tale. t7 Although Black referred to a strictly defined "metaphorical statement," found in a sentence or phrase (1977: 442), the principles and dynamics that he describes are directly applicable to the metaphorical process that constructs allegory in oral namtive. The notion of an i11teracting set of subjects is an important one. In oral namtive, subjects do literally interact, as characters, as acts, and as repeated 17
See Deborah Tannen's rem:uks on the lack of differentiation be1wccn klgical accord and a conclusion one agrees with (fannen 1982: 2·3); she also reiterates Eric Havelock's analysis of the. PlnlOn:ic •nack on poetry bec~u:se of iu d'fcc;u on lhe emotions at the expense of the intellect. My point here is to stress lhe combination of i:ntcUoctual and e ntenainmcnt dimensions in the per(orm.sncc and construction of oral narratives.
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Allegorical Spec11/ation in an Oral Society
patterns. And this ;me.raction develops the similarities between the subjecl~. drawing from and creating the "implicative comple<" that ultimately unites them in a metaphorical way. An audience ("hearer" or "reader") and a performer ("~'J)Caker") cooperate in "selecting, organising and projecting" Ute specific clements. from a repcnoire of remembered images and performances. which they apply to tbe developing narrative. 18 Tbis active selecting and organizing requi.res from the audience "uptake, a creative rcspon.~e." in order to shape Ute overall experience. If metaphor is a c.ognitivc joining of lik.c images, aUc.g ory i:s its ncccs.sary out·
come in the Tabwa storytelling tradition. Though Angus Fle.tcher's study of allegory (1964) is by far the most wide-ranging and thorough I have encountered, 1 fmd it a bit too broad in its application. 1 prefer Gay Clifford's "compromi se" view of allegory (1974: 5) as something existing between the narrowly defined modes of medieval and Renaissance literature and Fletcher's nearly all-inclusi,•e description. One of Clifford's most imponant statements relates allegory 10 the use of symbOls, and it is wonh quoting at length because of its relevance to the perspective I develop in this chapter. The use of symbol5---{)bjects or events or persons standing for something other and generally greater than themselves-is fundamental to allegory. but its authors need to know when to abandon il If a sense of
the concrete and visual is nece..~o;ary. so also is a sense of narrative coher· ence. A symbol in allegory has to be susceptible to the son of description that tells us what it means, but it should not suggest so many meanings that the dramatic continuum is shattered. for it is on this continuum that the overall sense of the allegory depends. The strength but also the limitation of symbols is that they tend to be static, with all the ramifications of meaning foc used within the symbol. In allegory, the concern is always witb process. with tbe way in wbicb various clements of an imaginative or intc.Uectual system interact. and with the effects of this system or Structure on and within individuals. To express change and process allegorical action often takes Ute form of a journey, a quest, or a pursuit: lhis becomes the metaphor by which a process of l~aming for both protagonists and readers is expressed. In the course of thei.r adventures the heroes of allegory discover which ideals are wonh pursuing and what things arc obstacles to that pursuit. The narrative action thus gradually establishes a hierarchy of value and dis-value. It a!so provides a means for expressing-via dramatic relationshi P-~ and imagery. 18 S tudies in narratalogy have de\•clopcd ways to distinguish the various n:urative voiccs -
"author,"' "implied author," "implied reader," "reader," etc. In an oral uadition. the lernls must be altered. but distinguishing between \'O~ in a narrative pcrfonnancc can be valuable i;l undcrs.tanding the degree of tcxrurcor :omplcxity a storyteller atuin.s.
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A FermaI Approach for cxampl~ complex pattern of connection.~ between various idea.~ and abstractions . .. . But aU these are concerned with the way in which the characters go about aclUcving thc,sc objectives as much as with actual auainment, the conclusion of the narrative. It is this process which symbols on their own cannot express, for symbols are primarily static and allegory is kinetic.... The kinesis of an allegory, its narrative movcmcn~ is d irected by tile major objective and by the author's desire that readers should perceive what the objective is. This limits tbe symbolic meaning that any object or event may have. (1974: ll-12)
For our immediate purposes, this description effectively links up with the interactive view of metaphor earlier dev-eloped. It suggests how "narrative coherence" supersedes the meaning of any one symbol in a tale, and how "real" objects or relationships are "sublimated" or "thinned" out (to use Luthi's terms) in oral narrative. Modifying the functional thought .-d emphas\z.(:li l.he imporlmce of repetition in oral nmalive, in particular UmbWldu otal trndili<ms from Angola. in a ''Comparative Analysis" thai introduces a groupo( tales collected and cdilcd by Mctlin Ennis (1962: xiii.xx.i"),
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AUegorical Specularwn in an Oral Society tcratcd, just as temporal discrcpanoies between perform:mces of an identical act are suspended. ( 1972: 92)
Formulaic elements and their consequent episodes-in fact all narrative elements-are compared by repetition. A performer can juxtapose diverse images and lhen relate lhem to each other by some shared repeated elemen~ usually an act The degree of affinity between episodes is proponiooate to the similarities suggested by repetition, reinforced by the storyteller with details and lhe lheme of lhe entire performance. An image is identified as undergoing patterning similar to thM of a previous image. Characters arc defined in narrative by these repeated acts; and different characters are compared and contrasted on the basis of the patterns they follow. As longer narratives employ more acts and patterns, the forms generated become more convolule.j, more textured.20 The resulting allegorical relationships can be composed of many images and emotions coming togelher on lhc basis of coinciding patterns of repetition. Al lhough formulae and the plots that aniculate them form the basis of these repeated acts and patterns, the repeated units may also be clusters or sets of patterns. The movement to allegory through repetition, in various forms of parallelism, can become a complex interweaving of elements. In every case, repetition and rhythm, rhythm consisting of repetition with variatlon,2 1
produce the dominant configuration that organizes the various images into thematic relationships. Working in concen with the performer, the audience carries out their "uptake" roles in perceiving the often intricate organization of a narrative. The perception of congruent patterns, so vital to the inshimi process, stems directly from an audience's ordering of past experience. Well aware that images are brought together to evol:e a certain theme., an audience searches for relationships among them.22 Repetition solidifies these impres.>tion.•, but audiences inevitably race ahead of lhc developing images, imposing organization in their perception of what will follow. As Max Black pointed out, audiences are
(t964b). 2-l That repetition. paralldlsm, and rhythtn ue rcl:l.tcd processes i.s sug.gcs!AXl by the ovc::rl~ of definitions between Forster (1927: 168). Brown (1978: 7), Kawin (1972: 47). and Bauman (1971a: 18· 19). 22 Michael Nagler (i974) even suggests lha.t the basic elements o( oral narration arc '"preverbal gestalts. .. mental framewotks that suggC$l ponions o( narrative and oral poetry to pcrfonncrs in the genetalive mannc:r, liter Choru kian linguistics.
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anxiety within an audience. By altering a familiar plot development, or breaking a developing pattern, a performer thwans the audience's cxpcctations.23 TI1is increased anxiety creates a desire for order that the performer then supplies, ciUter by returning to a familiar paucrn or by revealing a previously obscured rclationsltip between Ule narrative images. A feeling of completion, of discovery, o f finding the way after being lost is produced within the audience. In oral narrative perfonnance, this device---()pening a chasm beneath an audience th.en pulling down a convenient plank to bridge it increases the aesthetic pleasure of the experience. Uncenainty alternates with the equaJJy atttactive, though more common, familiarity where images and action move precisely in predictable directions. lnshimi narrative construction expresses communally held formulaic clements in the form of 6cshed-out episodes. These episodes derive their specificity from lhc imagination of a storyteller, who either draws them from or sets them in a plot. a temporal context that goes from conflict to resolution. Plot allows for the extemali7..alion of the episode and iss spccHic details, which a perfonner arranges into pat· terns using various fo rms of repetition. The final organization of the talc, the per· ceived relationship between its elements, often constitutes an allegorical renderi.n g of the central !berne. Tbe success of the metaphorical p rocess depends on Ule strength of the organization of narrative clements according to the principles described above. Episodic development allows for a r:tnge of approaches to narrative construction and audience affect. Traditional perfonuance techniques ensure physical affinity with the audience, also providing the nonverbal whetStones with which to sharpen and detail images. The tradition also provides several basic structural models that serve as templates fo r the diverse narrative forms. The two most common models are the expansible image-set and the pancmed image-set.24 2:3 Denise PIUJbne gi"'es an example: '""The n.a:rrator who bears that his own pleasure and thiU of his :wdicnce is being prolonged may also have r«::urse to a simple devtce, namely that of redoubling. For example. the hero. hAving committed an imprudence, has gotten himself out or serious danger, lOOt not without some hann.. The story is about to e::nd, but lhe stoi')'U'Iler invents a new interdiction lh.a.t is no sooner pronounced lhan violated. The infraction entails further trials app~tly no less insunnountable lh:tn the fi t$t ones, OOt we know in adva.nee that lhe hero will tSCi!pe. There are thu.s all sorts of combinations l.hnt a good storyteller can invoke without !hereby modifying the gcn«al progression of the story" (Paulme, 1976: 2S. my tr3n.Slation). ihc performer is at liberty to make C\'t:n more radical di.screcionary aJ~rations in a L'llc. tl1e main criteria being thcit uhimate reception by l1te AUdience nnd their relevance to lhe desired lhcm.e or effect. 2-' The 1enns upansible image nnd poltcrncd image Me borrowed from Scheub (1970, 1972a. 19?2b. and 1975), as is my basic notion of ualc construction; in his definitions they suggest formal models (or organizing narrative imagery. TOO tcnns are analogous lO those o( various scholxrly approaches, such as Lord's (and subsequent clssskists') ''story patterns.· or Cosentino's "narrative blocks." I prefer Sc heub's rerms because they connote a generative rather than a fixed quati:ty. Paulmc's seven 'Types" or natTative siJ'UCmrc, for example., at~ valu.able for identifying the siJUeture of a comple1e talc but not necessarily for dcscri!:'li.ng the composition of the narrative. Hc:r basic model is cyclic-, derived from Propp (1968). Oundcs (l964a), Md Br\:mond ( 1973), whjch posiLS tlte
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An expansible image·~ consists of a literally repeated fo rmula and its related details, composing the epirode. In a simply constructed narrative. an expansible
image-set will be the central organizing element. A conftict is introduced in a sen· tence or two, or in one or more compact episodes; then the image-set moves thenar· rativc to its conclusion. As an effective symmetrical construction. UlC repeated images reveal or consolidJte the relationships that coltoote the performance's theme. Compact episodes are potentially expandable; the storyteller quickly dissi· pates this initial anticipation or tension, setting narrative direction, rhythm, and form and allowing the audience to settle into the image-set. This model's greatest cffectivenC-'l~ resides in the fact that it focuses the audience's auention Uuough its stabilizing repetition. It is also an ideal vehicle for the "parallel" or "inverse" com· parison of narrative elements. But structuml models are subject to the same altern· lions and inversions that characterize most of the traditional elements of composi· lion. A storyteller.may at OilY time decide to change direction and renew audience anxiety. The patterned image-set is another structural model used to frame narrative images. It consists of a series of acts, usually sketchily eeveloped tasks or tests. which move one or more oharacters toward resolution. One pauerned group of similar actS may end the performance, thereby generating its theme tluough Ute comparison of the characteiS and their acts. Or. as is most common. a second pat· tern begins that duplicates L1e events of the first set of images. This second pattern will usually contain at least one new actor not present in ttJC first, and the outcome of this latter image-set is somehow altered or inverted. 1bemc and allegory may result from the perceived overlapping of the two image-setS, overriding the plot's temporal progression and foregrounding the resultant perceived eontrasts.25 Another form of patterned image develO[>~ longer e-pisodes that repeat the same type or category of acts. with the differences between tltcse corurasted episodes evoking theme. Repetition, and the ensuing rhythmic relating of images. is again the major catalyst of comparison, fonnalized here in this patterned model. An audience easily remembers and anticipates o~crly structures. well· proportioned form. and searehc.~ for this type of regularity in each performance. PlotS. formulaic elements. and structural models are repositories of potential form. They anchor a performance in time and memory by providing remembered characters and acts in symmetrical relationships. These stable clements interact with each other and with the details that a performer uses to give them a specific image in combinations of movemenLS in a narrath·e sequence. from lhc poitu of view of its protagonist(s). Uhim.ately, however, the types t<~y only lh.at things ge-t bcucr or worse for lhe main ch.aractcr, depending on the story. and lhat ttis can happen in approximately seven manifestations. l:S See Paulmc's dc5Cription oflhc most common fonn of this sttu.c!Ufe, wh)eh she cans "'Mi.nor Suucwte" (1976: 38-41).
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A Forma/ Approach
lime. But time, as it is represented by plot movement, is fractured by repetition and lhe relationships that emerge beiWcen narrative images. The coming together of diverse images, as shaped by a storyteller, produces a cumulative yet atemporal movement to theme. This allegorical product is inextricably bound to the dynamics of performance technique, the phy~ical and aural rhythms of poetry, song. and lhe living human context to provide immediate response to lhe perfonner's efforts. The versatility of the tradition is paradoxically expressed by the way seemingly inviolate models can be altered. combined, or obscured to heighten audience expectation. Examining these fonnal relationships in narrative verbal texts and comparing lhem with the traditional context, we can thus note in.~tances of "speaking the present or the pasL" Pcrfonnance: NP I, Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree Pcrfonncr: Violet Mwaasha, female, age 14 Date and Time: 29 June 1976. approximately 3:30P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 4 adults and 15 children
[Perfonnance Note: This was the first tale told in one session
ofstorytelling. My tape recorder picked up the din ofseparate conversatiollS that preceded Ms. A1waasha's narrative. It was difficult to make out any one conversmionalthread. bill it was
possible to hear Ms. Mwaasha at on~e point say, "Let me think, so dtat I may begin." Anod1er woman said, "Yes. Let's start."
Around half a minute later, the performer began: ]
There was a little thing. People live{! in a great village. There was a large palace. The chief lived inside. Now there was a tall palm tree, where there lived a . . . what-do·you-call-it . . . a monitor lizard. Now that lizard just caUed out whenever people weot to the bush [to relieve themselves]. As t11ey went to the bush-Audience member: "Bring some water here." (Spoken to a young child . . . some audience members snicker aJ the dis.tracrion) lizard called after them. he said, "Yaku. this person who's sitting here ee!" [More laughter from audience] Just like this. all were shouted at. Now that chiefAudience member: "It's difficult for you to speak." [Referring zo the noisy audience]
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Yes it is . ... Now that chief had a very beautiful child. [More comments and noise interrupt p erfomrer, but she ignores them and goes on] ... Her name was Kasuba. Now that chief said, "I will marry my child to the one who removes the monitor." Now mukwaf,26 every person who came failed, everyone who came failed. Then came bow many persons? One. He brought a goat and a dog. He said, "Isn't there anyone here to marry?" They said. "There's the chief's child." He sa.id, "How much is the brideprice?" They said, "No. there's no bridcprice . . . It's, what-dO· you-<:311-it ... it's only removing that monitor lizard over there." He said, "Oh." The}• prepared ubwali21 for him; he ate. he slept. The next morning they m ade him ubwali. He carried the ubwali and soft grass. that was very smooth. He went and look<:d at the base of the palm tree. He sat down. The monitor began to too k at him from the top. He came and got ubwali; he came and gave it to the goat, the soft grass he gave to what-do-you-cruJ-it .. . the dog. The lizard said. "You person. get the soft grass and give it to the goat. and the ubwali you give to the dog." The per· son again came and broke off a piece of ublva/i; he gave it to U1e goat. the soft grass he gave to the dog. It began to get agitated; it said. "You' re a fool, aren't y.ou? You dog!" Where he was. the person said, "You have to be close to a person to show him something:·U The lizard then wem down, he got a little closer. He came and got lihe soft grass; he gave it to the dog. the ubwali he gave to the goat. Again the monitor spoke, he said, "You. big person. where you came from. didn't you say goodbye?29 I've told you, I said, get the what-do-you-call-it ... get the soft grass and give it to the goat. and tbe ubl•·aU you give to the dog." He said, "Mukwai, grandfalher, you have to be close to a person to show him something." The lizard C3Jl\c a little closer. Again he did the same thing; again he began to shower him with. insults. Now finally, that monitor lizard came to tbe ground. He stabbed it and stabbed it He stabbed it. Right there, the attraction that drove the girl and young man together is something unknown. He took her and married her. They lived [together happily]. And tltis kashimi is over. NPI, "Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree," is a well-detailed. tightly woven narrative. It is composed of four episodes. UlC last of wl\ich is an expansible image. A compact episode introduces the initial source of conflict, the 26 Mu.kwai, a polite term of address, m e~ sir or m:sdame., singular or plural. In oral narrative texts, the word takc.o; on. various meanings; when combined with l.he word Qwe Oilcrally ..no• ) it can indicate di.r:ect add.(ess 10 an auditmce or act as a m~ker, a p:~use, in lhe now of words. AS a storyteller might say "Wt!ll .rir . , . I'd never seen lUl)'lhing lik:c it before'" or MSo tf..en . • . he went" "l7 UIJwali is the Tabwa sl3plc f(l()d. made of flour ground tiom C3$$3va or matte; it has the
consistency of stiff mashed potatoes and is eaten wilh viftually every meal U A well-known saying advocating learning by clos.e observation. 29 A c:orrunon saying implying you lad propcr training in etiquette.
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troublesome land monitor.30 There is an implied repetition of the creature 's disruptive acts, since all the community is s:ubjected to indiscreet comments. A second episode coma ins tbe offering of the chief's daughter to any suitor who captures the monitor. Here, too, repetition is implied when the storyteller informs the audicn<:e that "every person who came failed." A third episode details the arrival of another suitor. who turns out to be Ole hero of t:he narrative. This scene is a fmc transitional sequence. since it in.troduces the hero who, along with his goat and dog, will usc the ubwali that is twice prepared for him to break Ute implied pauem of failure. All these elements are essential to the fou:nh episode. providing imponam material to fuel the listeners' expectations. All elements come together in the expansible image-set, which details the tricking and killing of the monitor. The repeated formula is the saying, "You have to be close to a person to show him something." Two previously introduced sets of acts come together in the expansible image. The first is the lizard's indiscreet exclamations and the second is the failures of the anonymous suitors. They arc merged when the hero plays on the monitor's pen· chant for verbal intervention, tricks it, and breaks the pattern of failure. An al.lego-ry is shaped when U1e pauem of the hero' s clever action is compared to the pauem of failure and to the land monito r's seemingl y unassailable freedom to disrupt the community. This relationship is emphasized and reemphasized each time the moni· tor inches down the tall palm tree. The expansible image contains the action Ulat
resolves Jhe plot and structurally relates Jhe preceding images to evoke Jhe Jheme.ol The performer of this narrative, Ms. Violet Mwaasha, reveal.s a solid grasp of story development. She externalizes a fairly basic plot, but her images arc well detailed and bound by strong linking elements. The monitor lizard's talkative nature provides a fine m:uch of conflict and re-solution. the problem providing: a means to its solution. 1l1e chiefs dau_ghter is named Kasuba ("sun" in the Bemba language), connoting ber great beauty and desirability. 1l1e transitional image of the hero's arrival presages vital clements in the concluding set of images. His inquiry about a wife indicates his ignorance of the set task and situation, as well as establishing his sincere inclination towards marriage; the image clearly evokes the fonuitous coincidence, a fine symmearical plot development. The many details used to describe the hero's arrival also provide him with a de facto advantage over the anonymous suitors who preceded him. Many of these details do not readij)y cling to thjs specific plot This performer supplies Lhcrn to provide her images w ~lh 30
The Tabwa word imbulu idetltities what is probably the Sooth African land monitor H-zurd (vatanus examhemaric:us). Tiu:: water mon.ilor ~ called insamba by the Tabwa and is a main character in nanativcs N56 and N43 in Ch::tp. 6. ll In Paulme's structural descriptions, lh.is la~ wou)d 1;lc "Type J," which sM c;;l.]J$ M~n®My,"
or a progresston of improvement for the hero. Note how ll\e same basic e:xpwuible imag.e struccw-e renders in NP4, a (Type U) "O¢scendancy" model and ln CJ1ap. 4. a (Type VI) "Hour Glass" sl.ructu:re. I diSCO$$ my reserv:uions nboul these c<~1csorics in Chap. 4.
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some depth and to properly emphasize the intended relationships. A well-detailed plot creates a pleasurable surface movement while considerably fortifying the effectiveness of the developing allegory. The metaphorical intersection of Ute image relationships is mirrored in the resolulion of the community's problem and the hero's acquisition of a wife. It also suggestS the chiefs good fonune in finding such a clever son-in-law. Pcrfonnance: NP2, Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree Pcrfonncr:
w. M. K. Kingfred, male, age 15
Daic and Time: 24 June 1976, approximaicly II :30 A.M. Place: Muktupa Katandula Audience: 2 adults and 4 children I will tell a IIL•himi. I am W . M. K. Kingfred. I live at Sllilonde, and the headman is Mr. Sllilonde. There was a. little thing. People lived in a great village just as we do now. There was a chief who wanted a land monitor lizard: he said, "I wiU give my child in marriage to whoever goes and removes the monitor from the large palm tree." They said. "No. Really?" "Yes." So all the people came there; they went. llley said, "We'll remove tbe lizard." No, they couldn't, they failed. It just remained !here. Now anolher young man carne; he came wilh a cow and a dog, witb ub>va/£ and sofl grass. So, he set out there, he stanevali to tbe cow. then he gave the dog the soft grass.. The monltor lizard stood up; he said, "No, you don't know. You give ubwali to tile dog and you give soft gr•ss to the cow; that's what you do." He said, "Oh, you person, you have to be clos:e to a person to show !lim something. Could you come. like that and show me?" It said, "No, give ubwali to Ute dog and give sofl grass to tbe cow." Titat one gave the cow ubwa/i and he came and gave soft grass to the dog. He said, "No. tbat's not it. You give ubK•ali to the dog and the soft grass to the cow." "No, I don't know. Just come closer, so that you can show me." "No, just do what I told you." He went and gave ubwali to tbe cow; be took soft grass and gave it to the dog. He said, "Ala! No, that's not it." So there the monitor jwst descended the palm tree. He just came down. He S3.id, "No, take this ubwali and give it to the dog, and you give the soft grass to the cow." He said, "Oh. me, I will just do it tbis way. Jost come closer. you must be close to a person to show him something." Finally, the lizard started coming down while still arguing. He came and told him, "No, do this, take that ubK•ali and give it to the dog, and Ute soft grass you give to the cow." So, itlinaUy came down.. He gave the ubwali to the dog and the soft grass to !he cow, and he grabbed the monitor. He said, "So, I'll take it to the chic.f." He went to the chief. He went to tlle chief there and the chicJ gave him the woman. He said, "So, truly
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you removed tltc monitor lizad from the palm tree." So, they stayed there; they stayed. Then one fine day. they set out. He said. "I want to go see my parents. where I came from. That's where we'll go." She said, "O.K. Let's go." So, tbey went; they went. They arrived at tbe in-laws . . . [Background noise has grown in inten· sity; one woman keeps asking a child to do or get something and the audience is breaking into separate conversations. The performer probably repeatS the next clause to reestablish attention anttfind hts place in the tate] Tney arrivca at Ute in· laws mukwai. They went tbere to the in-laws. They said. "Greetings." "Yes mubvai." They said, 'This is your wife?" He said, "Yes, mukwai, yes." So muJ.wai_. they lived very nicety right there ... [The audience noise again grows loud] They just lived. They had a child. So mukwai. !he child grew old enough to walk.32 They j ust lived well. She said, "Now I want to go see my father who rules !hat village. That's where we will return." They went; they went right tbere. That's where they went to Jive for the rest of their days. This kashimi is over. I am the narrator, King fred. NP2 strongly resembles tbe previous monitor-in-the-tree perfonnance. It illustrates !he way in which a tale can be altered and left open-ended to accommo· date a new plot movement. Two of !he three episodes that make up this narrative are also found in NPI. The first is the suggested pattern of suitors failing to bring down the monitor; it is introduced by one sentence, 'illere was a chief, who wanted a land monitor l.izard ." A second episode is the expansible image contain· ing !he duping of !he lizard. This pattern dirccUy follows !he first pattern. with a
one sentence transition between images: "Now another young man came. he came with a cow and a dog, with Jlbwali and soft grass." A cow replaces !he goat of NPI as !he grass-eating animal that is fed ubwali. A final episode introduces a new plot movement i.nto the narrative; it includes tl:1c journey to the in ..taws, the couple's period of residence, !he birth of a child. and the concluding return. No repetition is implied in this episode and, as far as satisfactory plot development is concerned, notl1ing of interest occurs. The initial compact episodes compare hero and suitors. As tbe expansible image is repeated. as tbe monitor lizard inches down the tree, the hero is shown to he the clevere~t of aJI t~ ~n i ro~ . Rre:1kine the p:lttc:m of failurE>., the hc.ro th.en marries !he chiers daughter. There is no dimension of communal resolution, as was established in NPI by the lizard's insolence. Instead. for unspecified reasons, a chief desires a monitor lizard. The connections of suitor's pattern and hero's trick are preserved. but !he motivation for capturing !he monitOr in !his case docs not provide the delightful link between its indiscreet meddling and !he means of resolution. 3l This step usually signifies thst lhc husbsnd has fulfilled his oblig;nions of service to his in·laws and can move elsewhere if he chooses.
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The tltird episode introduces clements lhat must be weighed in tlte discerning of the Oteme of this performance. This relationship is difflcult to determine; the section establishes no real patrems, except pemaps the journey back and forth to the in· taws. The only apparent connecbon.~ ocrwccn me 1magc and u-c rest ot me narrative are the chiefs daughter, who is offered as a prize, and tbe hero who wins her. Continuing the tale after what seemed a satisfactory resolution, Kingfred
stimulates a new set of expectations in h.is audience: where will this movement end? what will happen on the journey? will the in-laws treat the wife properly'! The questions prove more exciting than the uneventful answer. The last episode is, in fact, a vestigial appendage, adding liule to the unity of the earlier images. Hearing about realistic in-law relationships holds little interest for an audience if it adds nothing to tlle unity of the perfonncd work. At this point it is worthwhile considering litis perfomtano! in relation to the traditional context. If canons exist in oral traditions, they develop within litis context of past perfonnances. The !raditional context is not necessarily a storehouse of oral knowledge and ancient wisdom, though in many ways it can be exactly that. What the tradition acrual y contains is the communal memory of stories, songs. sayings. riddles. and whatever other forms of formulaic imagery are preserved by the society. It is bits and piece.s of these fonnuJaic clements that are externalized and interpreted as knowled!,'C or lore and law when they are applied to specilic problems or rites. Regarding the narrn.tivc tr11dition, any of thc:sc fonnulae eom be: put forth in tbe context of a talc. Memories of past story-performances and formulaic items create the potential for expectation that the storytellers exploit. Through the com· positional methods that constitute a type of narrative grammar, perfonners and
audience share in a talc's construt:tion. As much is said in a tale a~ may go unsaid. as familiar characters and situations evoke the givens while stcryteUers lill in the details they feel are essential. In NP2, the performer reveals a seam or joint that Unks one sequence of actions to anotllCr: tbe capture of the monitor and the marriage of the hero give way to a journey to the bride's in-laws. Expectations are raisod fo r further action, which are then ful filled on a mundane leveL Culturally, certainly, the visit to in-laws and the birth of a child are importllntlife occurrences. In the world of narrative, of magic and fantasy, they coru.1itute unremarkable events. Yet because tbis Iauer episode is ordinary and uninteresting. tltc perfonncr highlights a scam in what is often meant to be a seamless proces<. ;1orytelling. The audience, no maue r what its opinion of the talc, is forced to accept litis tepid form of closure or perhaps to fill in alternative developments or e ndings. Further on in this discussion such alternatives. based on the same situation, journey to in-laws by newly weds. will beCOme apparent. Suffice it to say that the performance provides surprise tltrough anticlimax, stimulating then more or less dcOating expectations. One Larnba narrative, "The Story of the Chief and His Councillors,'' (Doke 1976: 150-53) employs an cxpan.>ible image tltat closely resembles the tricking of
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the monitor lizard in NPl and NP2. This image is contained in a narrative that develops a different plot and theme. In brief. a chief bas all the old men in his country killed. An ogre appears and begins to devour the remaining people. Without elder councillors, no one knows what to do. One young man, having hid· den his father in a cave. secures the chief's promise that no hann will come ro the old man if he is summoned to solve the problem. The old man sits by the chasm where the ogre hides and begins feeding grass to a dog and nsima (ubwa/i) to a goat. The ogre keeps trying to correct lhis procedure. inching closer until people catch and kill him. A black ant is consulted aboul what to do ne
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It is possible to discern from the preceding narratives several significant points. When images are juxtaposed there is always the potential for allegory. The chief and ogre are compared on the strenl,'lh of the coinciding ac1S they perfonn; the final episodes buttress this embryonic allegory and give it depth. The familiar trick assembles the conflicts of the chiefs thoughtless decree and the ogre's crime with the wise elder. all the elements needed to resolve the narrative. The same assembling of conflicts for the purpose of resolution occurred in NPI , -.hen the land monitor's nature is turned back on him to break the p:mcm of failure and solve the
problems of tbe ccmmunity and the hero. The effectiveness of the final image of the ogre narrative contrasts dramatically with the final sequence of events in NP2. Consulting animals and rescuing people from the ogre's stomach seems a uniquely suitable resolution. The perfonner has satisfactorily integrated into this performance an image that bas a pantraditional usage.33 This fonnulaic episode recurs in two very different narratives in the same collection of tales (Doke 1976: 65-71, 139-41), where the storyteller/scribe carefully details the story's events and uses a finely baJanced plot movement to develop allegorical connections between the images. The performer of NP2 adds a final image that simply serves no real purpose and consequently weakens the narrative qua narrative-though its subtext is interesting in the way it relates tO the traditional context of expectations. Artistic improvisation is possible and indeed desirable in the inshimi system. 111e constraints it imposes on the selection and organi1.ation of elements are m3inly those of balance and unity, characteristics of a logically developed plor.34 Expansible images in the ogre and lizard narrntivcs illustrate the way a struc·
rural model applies effectively to various narrative contexts. The fonnulaic image of the clever trick. which consists of feeding animals improperly, possesses a certain symmetrical chann; the trick and related fonnula. Ute saying about being close to someone. can be repeated as often as desired. Each repetition both moves toward resolution and reiterates the clever action. A double symmetry, the pleru;ure of the image and its repetition. creates satisfyingly balanced perceptions for an audience. This remembered episode is the keystone of these three diverse narratives. Precision of development is a storyteller's responsibility. but !he evocative potential and thematic versatility of this model make it quite functional. Developed images can be molded onto this frame in order to connote. in some cases even denote, allegory. The perception of fam.iliar, balanced fonn imposes order on o ficid of diverse images. If the diverse images exhibit !heir own organization. !ben lbe combination "See Scheub t975< 220·27: Callaway 1970: 55·72. t81·2t7: Thea! 1970:
78~8:
Ill contain the
image of people cmc:rging from the body of a slain monster. l4 I am speaking ha-e in a fonnal, compositional sen.~e. Pcrfonn.e:rs muu also be sensitive. tO tlte
audience's mood and dcsi.res. The. actual performance may develop lm.:.ges :.nd wopcralively.
rendered songs lhat carry lhe performer away from an i.nre:nded natrative-direction, Out a pereepci\'C and resourceful storyteller hl$ some control of these developments.
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is even more satisfying. In more complex narrntivcs. a dominant scheme of rhythmic organization may order numerous expansible images.35 Performance: l\'1'3. Chief Has Elders Killed Perfonner: Mwenya Mwape, female, approximate age 92 Date and Time: 19 June 1976. approximately 1:30 P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 10 adults and 20 children A chief built a very large village. He built a village. There were many peo· pic. Then the chief spoke, "No, I want only young men." So, be called them together; he said, "AU of you. kill your fatllers, so that you remain alone." So, they destroyed their fathers. They destroyed them, they destroyed, they deStroyed. So, one said. "Could I kill my fathe(l No." He hid him in a burrow. He just took him a linle food. He kept tak.ing him [some!. As that chief and one of his pages were drinking beer, a sn3kc crawled into his belly, uhm ! So, only its head stuck out, just doing this [weaving from side 10 side] . He said, "Yangu, the chief!" He (the chief) called, "Yangu, you people! " They went on trying evcl)'llling to cure him. They tried until sunset. They went on trying until sunset. "Yangu, farber, yes! Healers, healers [arc needed]." This young man (said], "Let me go to my father." So he went to his father. He said, "Father, ala, the chief's stomach is swollen. Before the sun sets he will die." He said, "What is it?" "A sn3ke c.mered Ius stomach, and sticks out only its head." He said, "Don't you see'! My child, 'To take a white wonn from a chicken. one must move cautiously.' Go and dig up a small rat, find a stick and tie it to the rat. When you do this you'll sec the snake will be followi ng the rat so that it comes out from the chief, and they will kill it." So he arrived, "Move [out of the way]. Move." So. he was going. So, that's where be arrived inside that house. The snake was just looking. It followed the small rat. It followed the rat. It followed tbe rat. Then it wem far enough to come out of the Stomach oompletely. So, they killed it. So, that extraordinary deed has put him on their shouldcrs.36 So, they made porridge for the chief, he d rank it and in th e mom.i.ng he said. "Call that young
man." He said, "Young man, what of this wisdom of yours, where d id it come from? Today they nearly buried me." He said, "Mukwai, if I speak it will be bad said, "No, just do it." In this manner, the people of the village carried him on their 3!5 See tales NP8 11, NP19. and NP2 L 36 They carried the young m.an around to honot hi;n. 11\iS is a common means of praising someone 4
in public.
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shoulders. So. they cut the coumry in half !giving it to) his father. And that one [the chief had) the other side. So. these were old men, if not for the old IJ(:Ople the chief would have died. This kilshimi is finished. In a pantraditional way, NP3 seems to bridge the monito r and ogre narratives. f our episodes constitute this performance. The fmt includes the chief's d.ecree, its implementation, and the young man's e fforts to keep his father alive. The second episode describes the snake's enrry into the chief's body and the pan.i c th.at ensues when no one can be fo und to remove it. A third episode delineates the successful removal of the snake by the young man, who is acting on his father's instructions. A final episode celebrates the young man's deed, reveals his father' s role in the solution, and rewards Ute old man with half the kingdom. This plot closely resembles that of the Lamba ogre narrative. Its precise theme, however, varies noticeably from the Lamba tale. The initial episodes here do not parallel one anotller, as they do in U1e ogre narrative. Instead, tlle chief's evil deeds are turned back on him: it is his life, not the life of the country, that is imperiled. 37 Although possessing the same deadly qualities as the chief. the snake suggests an image of retribution, striki.ng down the cruel monarch. The second episode leads into the third when no one can be found to cure the chief. l11is third section brings the previous images in.t o thematic conjunction by reusing the original conf:lict to solve the second. However, the actual trick is carried out by the son, using the father's ad\·ice. The formula ·o f lhis image is the saying, "To take a white
wonn from a cllicken. one must move cautiously." A founh episode completes tile alignment of clemen ts that reveal the thematic metaphor. When the young man is hono red, he reveals his fatltcr's whereabouts and Utcn the old man is similarly honored. This fmal image emphasizes the thematic thread that runs through tbe various images. The young man's role has great significance: he saves his father' s life, he carries o ut the necessary actions:, and finally he shares his newfound acclaim with. the wise elder. An interesting form of repetition in tbe third episode highlights the relationship between father and son. The falhe.r provides ins tructions that are actually a scenario of what will follow, and tllc son faitllfully carries them out.38
Fath.e r and son are exhibiting in this narrative the proper roles of young and old in 31 In th~ pu.st, the chief was the "life" of his subje<:ts. Tabwa chiefs stiU act as crucial mediators bl;twoc.m their people and lhe various nature or earlh spirits (ngulu) that inhabit the area and must be propiliatcd in order to ensure good harvests, p rofitable fishing, and successful sa.lt.mak.ins (A. F. Robc:ns 1980; Cancel 1981). Note the nurnctous t.1les with the chief s he.a.hh or behavior as a major plot concern in !he following c-hapters. 3& This fonn of repetition, wh~ :t chat:tetcr ,;-eccives in.SIJ'UCiiOI'I$1hat du~ storyteUcr repe~ts exactly in. de..1"cribi.ng tllei.r implem~n:nion. i.s a common one in folktales lhroughout lhe world. It recurs in
some. of th ~ n3fr'3tivcsllere. especially NPJ6.
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the SOC·iety, age providing wisdom and )'Oulh actually implementing Ute advice. The chief initially threatens half of this complementary relationship. Father and son succeed in restoring the chiers health as well as emphasizing the necessity of wise leadership in the proper functioning of society.39 111e proper conduct by the father and son counters the patterns of disnrptive actions by the chief and the snake.40 Perfonnance: NP4, Humans Marry ifiwa Performer: Judith Kabwe, female, age 17 Date and Time: 17 September 1976, approximately 1 P.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: 4 adults and 2 children There was a little thing. It lived like that. A chief nded a large village. In that village a woman bore children: Bwa!lya and Ngosa, girls. Only girls. Those girls refused men. Wben a man came there, they refused. Men came, they reJused. No mukwai, uhnn. So ghosl~ heard U1e news, they s:lid , "The girls refuse men,'" So mukwai, the next day. the ghost.s came, very well dressed. 111ey came to the village. They arrived at the young men's meeting place. They said, "MuJ.wai, in this village are there any girls to marry?" The people said, "Uhhuhn! My friend, in this village there .:rc only how many? Two girls. But those girls refuse men. I don' t know if they will accept you." So mukwai ... so mukwai, he sent a youngster; he s:lid, "Go and call those girls." He went and called them. So muhvai, they came. Right away. almost without seeing them, U1ey quicldy consented. So mukwai, uhnn, justli.ke that! He sa.i d, "So, let me return to my village. We will go and arrange the wedding.· They left all tlte moncy.41 They went and were blessed [by their relatives]. He said, "Yes father, g;o and marry well." So mukwai, ulmn ... As sooo as they arrived they did not delay. and they married. They stayed only one week in tile vilnage. They said, "We will go tomorrrow." The ghost said, "Bwalya, remain." She said, "No. I will not stay, I will follow. Now that you've married me why should I remain behind?" He said, "No. stay." She said, "No, we will not stay." He said, "Stay. we will return next week. We will 39 A Bemba nllJTative in Dorothea Lehmann's collection (1983: 61.10) actually complements the pantraditional relationships between the Tabwa and Lamba tales
prc~ntcd
above. l_n lhat story, a
duplicste of \he monitor in the tree pto1, tlll! hero firs-t remnls to his
v ill;~ge tO
ask his rath.cfs counsel
on how to capcure the lizard. 40 Not surprisingly, lhis tale is often told by older performers. Mrs. Mwcnya Mwape. who performed the above nsmnive, was Q\'Cf ninety years: old ;U the time of the-recording teSJiiM {1976). ln a pctforn:aance- pre.sC!r'VOO on v i doocass.~t.e. Mr. Po.-lifcr Mup.w:nba told 1bc S:o\n.e u1c when J\e wM neorly 80 ye31s old (1983). ~I The bridcprice.
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not be gone long." She said, "No, I won 't stay. I will follow." So mulcwai, uhnn .. . The ghosL~ were forced to agree. They said, "Lei's go." 111ey wem aod went. They walked. They walked. They walked, they didn't arrive. They slept at a shelter4 2 They slept. The uext morning, they woke up early. She said, "Wheo will we arrive?" He said, "We are about to arrive." They went. They went. They went. They went. They arrived. Tiley found only graves of people, in a graveyard. Only these. So mukwai, they anivcd. lie said,
"~.fy
friends, this is our home." Tho.:sc girls were afraid. One
said, "Yah! We've married ghosts." Next, they saw a ghost. It said, "Let's go in. Let's go in, the mythical pygmies." [magical chant] 43 Kulubyuu! They entered the graves. So mukwai right there. ubnn! They saw a small ghost come out. Chiii! It came out. [l began a song, it said: The in-law hovers race to face. The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hovers f-ace to face. The in-law hovers face to face. Here you've come, face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. We subsis1 on mud, face to face. Tile. in.law hovers face to face. Slap! ... face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. Slap! .. . lace to face. Tile in-law hovers face to face. No mukwai, uhnn! That little ghost slapped them. It slapped them. It went back in. There came another one: The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hove rs race to face. The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hovers face to f11cc. Here~ you've come. faoe to face. The in-law hovers face to face. We subsist on mud, face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. Slap! . . . face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. Slap! • . . face to face. The in-taw bovers face to face. They were just slapping them. The husbands had gone (below). There came aootllCr o f her ir.-laws. He said: The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. J-lere. you've come face to face. Tile in-law bovers f3ce to face. We subsis1on mud, face to face. The in-law hovers face to face. Slap! . . . face to face. Tile in·l3w hovers face to face. Slap! . . . face to face. The in-law hovers face to face.
42 Umutanda is a temporary dwelling. built by hunters. travelers. or people who work gardens far from their village: il is the kind of shelter the humans and 1KmJmcn share in the set a( tales in Chap. 4 . 4 ~ The specific rnesning of lhis chant was not a.scen.aincd.
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So mukwai. all the brothers and sistcrs io-law slapped them. Then C'lmc the mother-in-law: 4
Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. And here. you've come face to face. Mother you hover face to face. We subsist oo mud, face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Slap! .. . face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Slap! ... face to face. Mother you hover face to face. She went back. The father-in-law came: Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. Mother you hover face to face. And here, you 'vc come face to face. MoU1er you hover face to face. We subsist on mud, face to face. l.n-law you hover face to face. Slap! ... face to face. In-Jaw you hover face to face. All the ghosts joinod tile father-in-law. All of them beatlhem. Finally they d ied and rurned into gbos1s. They aJJ descended !here. And there they stayed. This kashimi is over. Charac1crs are again compared and comrasted 10 reveal theme in NP4, ''Humans Marry /ftwa." Three episodes form !he basis of !his narra1ivc. The first comains the fonnulaic action of lhc refusal of suiwrs by the girls Bwalya and Ngosa. This paucrn is broken when ghosts arrive in human form and arc immcdi· ately accepled by the girls. A second episode includes the journey home by the ghosts, lbeir return, the marriages, and a prolonged argument with !heir wives over accompanying them 10 the gllO.~l~· "village"; the formulaic element in !his sequence is the repealed phrases of the argument The final expansible image-set begins with the journey to the in-laws and ends with the death of the wives. A song is repeatedly sung by the terrible in-laws. The initial episode eslablishes a paltem of refusal that is resolved by what the audience knows is a false resolution. Becoming betrolhed to ghosts docs not bode well for the unsuspecting women.44 Another pancm is introduced by the journey in the second episode. When tile husbands seck 10 repeal the journey, an argument ensues. As the audience is well aware, it is a quarre.l that lhc girls should have
avoided. They arc unwittingly insisting on going 10 U1eir dealhS. The argument also fil~ their arrogant refusal of suitors, indica1ing a dominant pauem of improper behavior. As the wives join Ulcir husbands on !he path to the in-laws. the final expansible image is introduced. A similar journey to the in-laws was quite uneventful in the land monitor narrative NP2, bul in this instance Ule trip proves more U1an 44 lftwa (iciwa, s.) are makvolcnl ghosts of humsns believed to have died an ignominious death who have relumcd to plague the Jiving: for more dcuils sec Maxwell ( 1983) or Rkh:uds ( 1982).
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interesting. The final repeated song. a parody of polite in-law hospitality, inexorably moves the wives to their doom and freezes in time the information that emphasizes the kinship tics between human.~ and ghost~ who '"sub-~ist on mud.'" This image-set invens proper behavior. parnlleling the improper behavio r exhibited in the girls' acts. The dominant pattern of this performance, emphasized but not embodied by the repeated song, is impro~r behavior. The girls arc arrogant at; maidens in their refusal of sui tors and argumentative. almost shrewish. in their roles as wives. The episodes move th.e girls from maidenhood. to marriage, and finally to death. In the first, ghosts act improperly. at least according to standards of human behavior. The spiJits are in fac t acting quite correctly in the context of their own inhuman world. An at egory equating th e girls' behavior with that of malevolent ghosts is initiated in the second episode when the husbands. sincerely or not, try to d issuade their wives from accompanying them. The argumentative, spoiled wives win out over the ghostly husbands who had been acting more like humans than the girls have.45 This ghost/human comparison is solidified when the husbands disappear in the final episode. leaving the horrible deeds that follow for their relatives to carry out. By the erJd the wives actually become ghosts when they are k.illed. literally underscoring '"'at the imaged relationships expressed. The ghost/human allegory is felt by an audience; theme is experienced. Repetition o f similar but not idc.nticlll act.", combined with an
o rganh~ing
expansible image. has been an integral pan of all U1e performances examined above. Indeed, the performances show tl>at even dissimilar acts can be fom>ally combined and made to appear homogeneous on some level. Repeated similar acts find their formalized extension in the patterned image-set. Performance: NPS Lion and His Nephews: Bushbuck and Kalulu46 Performer. Japhet Chibale, male. age 23 Date and Time: 7 September 1976, approximately 4:30P.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: II adults and 25 children There was a little person. A lion had two nephews, Bushbuck and Kalulu. Now when Lion set out he said, "Let me go and marry." He went, he went, he went. he went all alone. He arrived there. He married. He found that his father-in-law 45
A variation on lhe character of the arrogant maiden occurs i.n the lion/man 1ales anal)"l.Cd in Chap. 4. Except for the crucial addition of the younger brother i.n the later tales.. NP4 is very similar. ~ A bushbud: is an antelope of medium sil'A'!·, lcnQwn for itS spotted coat and portnycd in tales as a simplebn. Kalulu i.s the Tabwa uickstc.r h:ue. known for his cleverness.
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A Formal Approach
kept a lot of cattle. Now lions like eating cattle. Now when he arrived there he thought, "How can I cat my in-law's cattle'?" He went back to th: village. He came and took one nephew, Bushbuck. They went. When they arrived at the path, ublvatt was maae !'or tllem. They couJa not fintsn 11. ·me uncle wrappea up Ule Je.ft-over ubwali and his nephew also wrapped his up. They went. They went. When they arrived at the river, which they were crossing, tl~ uncle said, "My nephew, let's throw away these spoiled lelt-<>vers, since we 'll eat ubwali at anot11er place." He was just ly'ng to Ius nephew. because there was no ot11er place to em ublva/1, cxcep! wbere he had married. Then that uncle got a rock and threw it in the river. And his nephew took that ubwali that he W3S c:arrying, the le.ft..overs, and tlU'cw it in tlle river. Then they went. When they arrived up ahead, tltey were very hungry, so they rested That uncle lOOk his left-overs and said, "Let's see who threw away the left-overs. As for me, I'll begin eating." So. he started eating: he denied his nephew. He didn't give him anything. Bushbuck !aid, "11tis is some
uncle! " Again they went and wcnL They found a ripe mpwufutree.41 It was very ripe. So they staned picking, but he told his nephew, "Let's get these green fruits. They're the ripe ones. If you pick these ripe ones. they are rotten." That uncJe
picked tbc good ones that were ripe. The nephew picked the unripe ones. The uncle was picking the ripe ones. the nephew the green ones. Then they went. Again they walked. Agajn they fc.IL hungry. Tiley began to
cat~
they anivcd at a
tree. They began to cal. They ate. 11tat uncle began to eat those ripe ones. 11te nephew bit into tl•ose others and tasted their sourness. "Let's see who picked the green ones. As for me, let me start c,ating my ripe mpundu." "\Vhy is my uncle doing these tllings?" Then they wenr. They went. 111ey arrived around evening time at tltc inlaws' village. 1ney arrived. In the everting, a chicken was S!X-Cially prepared for tbem. 11tey said. "Yes, so you've returned." They said, "We've returned." So mukwai, they prepared that chicken fo r them. He went and got that sieve from dl.e house. He said, "My nephew, go and draw some water so that we can wash our hands to eat the ubwalf." Then his ncpltew wenr to t11c river with Ute sieve. He arrived, he drew water like this. The water just passed through. fhe uncle who had stayed behind ate all the ubwali, uummpf! As the nephew came. he gave up: he was just tired. H.e said, "No uncle, I wenr and failed." He said, "Oh. And these people came and what d id they do? They ate the ubwali." He said, "Huh?" "Yes." So. be put him in a room. that's where he went to sleep. So. when darkness came he went to the kriUJ/.4 8 1ne uncle cbanged into a lion. He went to his father47 A wild-growing tree wih t.vt fmi1. 48 A c~~.nJ e enclosure the pcrfonner c:o~llc:d icinhl, Th~.o-re Me, of course, no caule in lhe Tabwa area because or the presence or t.s<:tse fly.
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in-law's kraal. He entered. He kiUcd five cows. He ate and rc1umcd with lots of blood. Aniving at his nephew's he wiped his bands on him. He spread [the blood]. He spread that blood aJJ over tbe blanket. ao<1 he remained clean. AU the blood was jUSt sprea
this was an enemy." Now as he stayed there, he again wonied. He said, "Now lhat be's dead. bow shall! cal cows again?" So then he set out. He was about 10 return home. He said, "My wife, I'll be returning to my home." So. he anivcd at U1c same home where he went to gel the bushbuck. Now he took Kalulu along. Now when they set out they went, they went. They arrived where they had had ubwali prepared for them. And again they made ubwa!i for them. They couldn't fmish it. Ttot uncle said, "My nephew, let's wrap up the left-overs; we are going very far." When they wrapped tbe ubwali tbat remained, they canied it. They anived at that same large river. They were moving like this on the
~mall
path. The uncle said, "My nephew. let's
throw away Ulis ubwa/i; what good is it? Jl's gone bad." The uncle fetched a rock and lhrcw it in the river. the ubwali remained. And lhat Kalulu threw a rock; the ubwali remained. They went. They went. When they arrived over there. he said, "Let's sec who threw the ubwali away and remained with a stone." And that litUe nephew of his said, "Hah! That's an old uick, my father." So. he rook out the ubwllli and ate it. The uncle looked at him, "This person also lhrew a rock there." He said, "Yes." So mukwai, right there they set out. Again they went, and found a ripe mpundu. Right there tbey found it So mubvai, the uncle said, "My nephew, you pick these that arc whitish (green). The ripe ones arc roucn." So, the uncle was picking. and that one was picking ripe ones, and Ute uncle wa.s picking ripe ones. Here the uncle was picking ripe ones and lltcrc the other one was picking ripe ones. Each canied a pouch. They went. They anived up ahead. Again he spoke. "Let's sec who picked Ute green ones." And Kalulu said.• "Let's sec. That's an old one, my father.'' So mubvai, he ate and ate. He ate. Now when tbcy were right there, he branched off imo the bush .. . his uncle also went into the bush [lo relieve them· selves]. He went and found some 1uminous insect-, clustered on a tree. He carried them and put them in his bundle.
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They went. they went, they went. They arrived right there at night, at the house. They prepared a chicken for theom, again. They said, "So you've returned." He said, "We've returned." He came and got a sieve. "My nephew, take this sieve and go draw water at the river." When Kalulu came out he arrived at the courtyard. He came out of there and went to that house [Perfomu!r indicates places where action took place]. He said, "Give me water, mukwai." So, they gave him water in a bowl. He returned inside. He found his uncle eating the ubwa/i. So that one arrived, waShed with water and began eating. So mukwai, right here the uncle was puzzled. He said, "Truly, I've come with a man!" Now night came. This night he did not go out to eat cows. In the morning, linle Kalulu had an idea. He took beeswax that night wben it got dark. He spread it on himself, he spread it, he spread it. He stuck on all the luminous insects. So. when it got dark, the uncle came out, he went to cat He ate ten cows of his fatherin-law. Then, in the morning the watchman spoke, he said, "Oh! They've eaten the cows." He said. "Oh!" His father-in-law came and said. "Who ate t:hem? What ate them?" [Performer says to audience: ''Ah . . . so I forgot something"]1ben tbcre. that one. what's his name, when he ate the cov.rs, he set out into the night. He said, "Let me go to Kalulu. Let me spread tllis blood on him." When he said. "Let me spread this blood ... ," those insects d id this,fivaa! He ran away, l>c said, "Oh he's awake." As he tried, it happened [again]. Finally at daybreak that watchman came shouting. he said. "They've eaten the cows!" He said. "They've e aten the cows." His father-in-law came and sald, "You begin searching." So, his uncle covered himself with the blanket and did oot come out. Little Kalulu had alrcad y come outside. He said, "You, they've eaten the cows." He said. "Wbo is it?" He said. "Ah! My uncle, you have not yet come out, look they've eaten the cattle of lhe in-laws." "I'm sick to my stomach. Go tell my f~ther-in-law that I'm sick to rny stomach." 49 So all went tllere [to lhe kraal]. The lion never came out. "Well, let's go and pull that son·in-l.aw out" When they forced him out, he was covered all over with blood. And be said. "So it's that one who caused lhc bushbuck's death." He said, "Yes." So. they dragged him out and killed him. They fetched tbat one's wife and gave her to Kalulu, who' was so clever. This kashirni is over. NPS. "Lion and His Nephews" is framed by a patterned image-set. Six compact episodes make up the spine of this performance. Individually, the episodes do oot develop patterns of repetition: lhey simply describe two larger sct.s of eventS. An initial c.pisode presents Lion marrying a human wife. coveting his in-laws' 49 The intended v-ictim$ or lionfmen llu$.b3nds use ll'u: S<~me excuse in the narrative$ in Chap. 4, one
of lhc.m immediately preceded tltis tale at Lb.: ~";•ual time of perConnance (NP 10).
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~ttle.
and returning to bis village of birth. A second episode delineates U1e trick Lion plays on his nephew Bushbuck, causing the unsuspecting relative to throw away his bundle of ubwali. The image ends with the befuddled Bushbuck saying, "This is some uncle!" Causing Bushbuck to pick unripe mpundu fruit makes up U1e third episode, which ends with Bushbuck 's less than perceptive musings, "Why is my uncle doing lOOse things?" Events in the village that constituiC the fourth episode include Bushbuck's trying 10 draw water in a sieve and end with his accep· tance of Lion•s explanation of where the food went while he wa.s gone. The patterned set ends with the sixth episode: killing cattle and spreading blood on th.e sleeping Bushbuck, thereby implicating !he dullard nephew in the crime and causing his death_so The same series of acts begins again as Lion informs his wife he is re.tuming home. His traveling oompanioo on this journey is Kalulu, tbe Tabwa trick.~tcr hare. All goes as before, with !he notable diffe.rence that Kalulu turns back every trick initiated by his uncle, shrugging off the unsuccessful attempts with phrases such as, "Hall! That's an old trick. my fa ther." Kalulu introdtccs one new action into the pattern by collecting luminous insects, which he later uses to kce.p tbe Lion from smearing blood on him.Sl A patterned image·set develops a repetition of similar types of action. Episodes. each developing a single action movement, become U1e repeated elements. Tix: type or action that is repeated through each image-set defines the rela· tionship between the characters who carry out the action. The fim set of episodes, therefore.• oompares Lion and Bushbuck. The resulting !hematic relationship is a straightforward renection of !he plot movement: Bushbuck is fairly naive and slow-witted and his uncle has no trouble setting him up as U1e scapcgont for the killing of the catlle. Their actions personify and define stupidity as it oontrasts to cleverness. When the second pattern is sct against the first. the same relationship is drawn. This time. Kalulu emerges as the smarter participant in the pattern, not only countering Lion ·s attempts but initiating a ruse of his own to cause the uncle to fall victim to his intended trick. The linked pauemed image-sets are virtually identical. When Kalulu enters the second sct, he actually replaces Lion as the dominant character, moving !lis uncle into the dupe role previously played by Bushbuck. Two thing.s happen simul· taneously because of this shift. First, Lion's tricks. so effective earlier, are negated Uy his dcvcr u~;phcw. Second, the narrative's focus moves from Lien and Bushbuck. to oompare Lion and Bushbuck witlh Kalulu and Lion.52 Cleverness is taken SO Note, inei.dcntaJiy, that eiiCh task or trick ean be expanded or developed into an ll~tion, wherein Kalulu pb.ys lricks on Lion and Bushbuck that cause the death of the t..shbuck.
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from one level to a higher one. and this symmetrical shift, carried out within the frame of the two patterned sets, parallels the plot and thematic development. Lion deceives Bushbuck. Kalulu deceives Lion; U1e second set of deceptions resolves the conflicts from the first set: Bushbuck 's llOjuSt death. the killing of the cattle, and Ute human's marital union with Lion. Kalulu literally usurps Lion's role, just as he structurally replaces him in the patterned set. by acquiring his uncle 's wife: "They fetched that one's wife and gave her to Kalulu, who was so clever:· 53 The storyteller, Mr. Japhet Chibalc, uses his details well in describing actions and adding depth to the characters by providing their comments on narrative events. Bushbuck's comments fall into the category of dull·witted victim. Kalulu scorn· fully remarks on Lion's feeble attempts to trick him. Lion marvels, after the third time KaluJu thwans his efforts, "Truly, I've come with a man!" The performer makes an instructive mistake just before the final trick of the narrative backfires on Lion. After· telling the audience that Kalulu auaches lite luminous insects to his body with beeswax. he describes Lion's auack on the cows and the discovery of the crime by the watchman in the morning·. He is so set into the initially established panem of action that be forgets to describe how Lion's attempts at smearing blood on Kalulu are thwaned by the luminous insects. The audience, recalling the imagery from the traditional context, knows the insects' function and probably assumes this new panem's completion. However, the perfonner wants to stress the interconnectedness of these imageS-moSt likely for the benefit of the foreign researchers recording the tale. So be goes back and describes Lion 's failed attempts, completing the rhythm that stan.< when Kalulu finds the i nsecl< and then later on attaches them to himself. We can d raw several conclusions from our discussion. Tite insliimi tradition is preserved in memory by fom1ulaic elements and plots that undergo different fonus of embellishment during performance: expansion. compression • .Sl As norod earlier, Paulme calls this model a mirror strucl\lre. UnivcssalJy found in n:liTativcs \hat oompare good/bad or clever/slupid cllanctcrs, this patterning often <.:Ompru'eS an obedient, wellintentioned child and his/her greedy, surly sibllng. One child sets out on a journey, encoun1cring various characters who ask hinuher to perform subservient aasks, which the good c.hikl performs faithfuUy; lheu c.haracters eventually aid lhe. child to achieve wcahh and happiness. Seeing the prosperity o( the good sibling, the jealol.l~ one goes off on the same path. This child acts impolitely lO the same dlara.cccn along !he way, sooming lhcm and their menial tasks, nlc jealous child, of course. is not successf ul and is rewarded only by some retributive punishment (see P:rulme 1976: 38-41; Rattray 19 13: 130 -61; Schcub 1975: 366-73; Broderick 1976: 150-57: Thompson 1968: t50~57 [or similar tales). tion, Bushboc.k. ;tJXJ Ka.lulu oompllc.:ue this b;).Sic pauem by moving 1he s:..me character
tltrough l.h.e p3'1tetn twice. as vtelimhct th1.-n
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fragmentation, inversion and repetition. An audience knows the familiar images being externalized and the many ways in which they can be combined. A nexus of images and plots. the traditional context, exists in the communal memory; combination of image.s intersects in several ways with this nexus: familiar plol'i, episodes, pauems of repetition, characters, and U>emes. A skilled storyteller draws from this nexus of images and emotional associations to smisfy or to prolong the audience's
expectations or anxieties. Repetition is the key clement in this constructive p:ocess, repetition of the familiar combined with the new-in order to make it seem familiar to the audience and to make allegorical links between identical or simil:rr actions. A performer builds allegory by aligning the desired elements, which ar. linearly distributed by the plot movement, into atanporal configurations, dravm together by repeated acts or relationships. These associations allow the audience to t:erceive form in all combination.< of image_< and respond to stimuli ordered by U1e t:erformer into symmetrical, regular orgartization. Repetition, its inevitable rhythms of images. and performance techniques provide the poetic dimension that underlies this constructive process. Expansible images a:e the simplest structural models that generate regular form; when juxtaposed to lcs.< overpowering configurations, expansible images impose their own form on !llem. Pauemed images arc anolher generative structural model, a combination of episodes unified by a single type or class of action. T hese patterned sets of episodes can be developed in several ways, always based on the repetition and comparison of similar forms to evoke theme.
There is no oral narrative experience without performance. in which an audi.. cnce experiences fonnal relationships between narrative images and derives pleas.. ure and meaning from the ways the storyteller develops oombined images. Alternately frustrating and satisfying the audience's predictions of where the tale is heading, performers produce themes from the emotional experience of form (Lan):er, 1953). Aware of the many possibilities of narrative development, an involved audi· ence is especially receptive to the ways storytellers extend the boundaries of tbe tradition through technique< of composition and perfonnance. Each time a perfor· mance manages to capture an audience physically and n:cmally, !be tradition is reexperienced as new, buaressed. Each storyteller empl·lYS a personal style to achieve this transcendence; !be resulting pauems of action and image are paralleled by the audience's emotional perceptions of intersecting forms, the experience of metaphorical movement to allegory. As Shklovsky points out, "In an. it is our experience of the process of construction that counts, not the finisbed product" (Scholes 1974: 84). But how do we derive this experience? We mu~t rum first to ways in wh.icb "meaning" is drawn from the nonnarrative, nonliterary clements of the living performance event, the performance context.
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3 The Performance Context: Techniques and Style
"The duende is not in the thrOat, the duende comes up from inside, up from the very soles of the feet" 11131 is to say. it is not a question of aptitude, but of a true and viable style-of blood. (lorca, in Rothenberg and Rothenberg 1983: 44) Since I sought a practitioner-cemered view of oral narrative pcrfonnance, I often asked storyteUers about their effons: what arc stories for? arc they meant to educate? to entenain? what kind of story did you just tell? what does it mean? how docs it compare with tllis other story I have here on tape? Most stol)1ellers were not comfonable with these que>-tions. 1 Pan of their initial discomfon was caused by the novelty of having a white stranger pose such que~-tions in poorly a rriculated Bcmba. Later on, as I became less a stranger-though strange nonetheless-and my language skills improved, the discomfon remained. People simply did nOt spend much time looking in such an abstract or decontextualized way at what they d id (Okpewho 1979b: 173-74). However, being polite, they d id answers these questions; and what was most striking was the variety of views and assurances they gave. Tills variety characte.rized Lhc answers even of the few perfonners who
seemed to give a good deal of thought to their c raft, and who were acknowledged to be One storytellers. Mr. Chola O tilengwc said that he knew only two StOries, and they were not so much imaginative tales as "history" (he used the English word)though their immediate historicity was not readily apparent. Mr. William Musonda assured me that his tales originated mostly in his imagination (amano). By contrast. 1 See Okpewho'$
'"Rtl.hi.nking Myth" (1980lC 10~11). where he discusses the reaction of
SIOI'ytelJei'S to a reSearcher's questions. Sc:heub
~ys
!hat more than once storytellers replied to his request for an explanation saying lhey would have to tell Lhe tale again (1975: JS- 19). My O'Wil e.xperienoc. was similar to theirs: storyteUCTS would have varying interpretations of a performance or lhe)· would simply retell portions of the story to explain it. Sec the Sections' use of contexts and self· evalu:uion. in vertions of a personal narrative. and lhe nurrator's reactions to audience and recording
fnltnC$ (ScoUon md Scotlon 1979: 15·39).
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Mr. Stephen Mukono claimed that all his narratives were learned from others, mostly elders. and that these tales were meant to e.ntenai.n. Stories were meant tO educate both young and old, and the more compact and brief the more effective they would be, claimed Mr. Stanley Kalumba. Though Mr. Musonda agre•d that tales were mostly educational, he pointed out that they worked best if they entenained as well. He offered no opinions as to the ideal length of narratives; h.is own were usually quite long, often embedding one or two frame tales within a single story. As for generic dcsign:nions. answers v:1ricd when people were definiog the difference bet:ween the two acknowledged types of narrative. Most felt that inshimi oontalncd one or more songs, and imilwnbe did not. This basic distinction was often augmented by the insistence that inshimi were not really "serious" stories. that they were meant mainly for children and for women. whereas imilwnbe were important tales told among adults, often only males. Mr. Musonda suggested that men do not like to sing in telling stories and simply leave out the songs associated with certain narratives. At times, men chose to chant rather than sing tbe associated songs. Some supported the distinctions made by western scholars of Bemba-people's oral traditions, saying that inshiml are more like fairy tales and imihunbe O)incide with parables.2 lmilumbe. I was told, have explanations at the end. whc.rea:; i11shimi do not. William Musooda added to my growing oonfusion by claiming that really the two tenus were the same. that one was a Bemba word and the other a Tabwa word. When it came to asking for an explanation or the meaning of a cenain ule, I usually came away with more than one answer or view. Sometimes people seemed to be referring 10 matters well beyond the talc in question. This obvious flexibi.lity, or at least plurality, of views parallels the characteristics of the oral tradition in generaL Most tltings. as they say, arc negotiable. What makes them so is the oonditions at the disposal o f storytellers. which often range beyond the boundaries of performance as a marked event and spill into everyday speech and gesture. In fact, integral to this llexible and evocative oontext are the qualities of the Tabwa language itself, which we can catalogue before placing them into specific contexts and matching them to actual personalities. The Tabwa inshimi tradition consists of t:wo sets of elements, the traditional oontext of ancient images and plots that exists in the communal memory and the various techniques that externalize these images and plots io performance. A perfanner utilizes u vo.rying number of thc:-.c techniques, the surn of which constitutes
individual style. lnshimi performance is most successful, most vital when an audience expe-riences a strong emotional and intellectual involvement with narrative events; both mind :llld spirit are stimulated by perceiving fresh and meaningful 2 See the- Whi~ Fathe..rs' Bcmba dictionary (1954) and Frost (1978) concerning these generic
distincUom.: Coupez and Ka.manz.i (1970) noted $imilar di\'isioM. Ook:e (1976) comments on genre in
Lamba on.lltadittons.
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relationships between the familiar images of the trJdition, A StOf)1eller employs the various techniques to shape a specific e
tion by interacting with their material environment, then oral narrJtive pcrfor· mances are. next to sleeping and feeding. among the earliest regularly repeated experiences for Tabwa children,3 At three or four years of age a child, may perfonn simple narratives; The youngest storyteller I recorded was a seven-year-old girl, Judging from the five narratives she told, her repertoire was already quite developed, Children's tales tend to consist of a VCf)' basic plot movement and a few stylistic techniques. Weti Mpala was eleven years old when she perfonncd this version of the man-denies· food-to- family narrative.
3 Sec Rkhard< (1969): 31ld Piagot (1968, t972)
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Performance: Nl95, A Man Denic.~ Food to His Family Performer: Weti Mpala, female, age I I Date and Time: 13 July 1976, approximately I I A.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 4 children There was a little person. He lived in a large village just as we all live. There was one vi.Llage that was large. Now .. • now a man went to marry, and he married. Now this woman bore many children. Now a famine broke out. Wben it broke out, he went. The husband went to the bush. He found a very large ilibrmgu4 uce. He climbed it and climbed. He picked. He picked. He picked. He ate and ate. After he ate, he went to the village. Again he came. The next day he came again. Again he w.c nt [back home]. This is what his child said, "Father I will follow." "No," he said; "stay. It's too far." So mukwai, he slayed. And then the child followed behind him. He went. He went So mukwai. uhn! And then he arrived. He climbed the tree. He picked an Wbungu. The child arrived and picked it up. He (the father) came and ... he jumped down, and his shin remained [in the tree]. So mukwai, the child ran quickly. He ran quickly. And his father c-a me and ran quickly. The child stood still. He began to sing a little song. He said: Father go and dress. I don't survive on your ilibungu, I don't survive. Father go and dress. I don't survh·c on your ilibungu,
I don't survive. It's in my hands. it's in my hands. /flilibungu/IR,
I don't survive on your
I don't survive.
So mukwai, the child ran quickly. He ran quickly. He ran quickly. The child •. . the chi ... his father r.m quickly. He ran quickly. So mukwai, the child began to sing again: Father go and d ress. I don' t survh•e on your ilibungu, I don't survive. Father go and dress. I don't survive on your 1/ibungu, I don't survive. It's in my hands, it's in my hands. I don't survive on your ilibungu, I don't survive.
So mukwai, he arrived. He went mui..'Wai. He arrived at the ... he arrived at the house. He came and put the ilibungu on the veranda. And Utis kashimi is over. 4
A wild.growlng. iart-ias.ii.ng fruiL much )ike the mpu.ndu mentioned in NP5.
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Accompanied by two friends :and dressed in her school uniform, Weli Mpala was noticeably nervous as she perfonncd this brief, somewhat fragmented narrative. She s.ketched out a basic conflict and moved it toward resolution in an expansible image cha.~ scene built on the repetition of a song. Th ere was certainly no development of extraneous, or evc:n important, details, as she breatltlcssly raced through the talc, eyes fixed on the tape recorder. No information, save for the traditional context of similar tales, indicated what exactly happened at tl1e talc's conclusion. Yet even this skeletal prescmation reflects the basics of performance technique and compositional practiceS A young stOC)'lcllcr learns and continues to learn during the many evenings, from ch.i ldhood to adolesceoce. spent at home listening to relatives and friends performing. Even primary schools these days encourage the development of storytelling skills as a means of "preserving traditional culture.· Plots, images, and techniques of composing narrative are e$Sayed and refined in an aunosphcrc of constructive commenJary by the audience. famil y or peer group. One evening. a Bcmba woman who had been our language tutor anived at our home to perform narratives witll tltrcc of her children. First she told a story: then she encouraged each child in tum 10 tell one. She closely observed each performance. supplying a word here and an appreciative commcot thcre. We witnessed a more extr<:me instance of this son of encouragement when an old Bwile man supplied vittually every other word fo:r his nervous grandson's talc. On many occasions. parents fell it imponam to have tbeir cllildrcn cootribute narratives to this collection. One parent. a ward councillor, tried to keep the audience, his family, from singing along with the storyicUer. thinking that they were somehow interfering with the purpose of the rescareher•·s recording. The frustration of the storylellcrs and audience, almost literally fo rced to sit on their hands. was relieved only after I assured the anxious father that I wanced the audience to respond as they normally did. Tite obvious pride parents took in such cffo n.~ reflects the esteem in which all Tabwa hold the skillful use of language and the performance of narratives. These developed skills, the contexts of pe rfo rmance. and the ways in which individual storytellers cxllibit U1eir performance styles arc Ute foc us of the remainder of Utis chapte r. Evoking images through voice, mime. and gesture. storytellers using the Tabwa language have a resource th.at is especially sympathetic to the performance o f ontl namuivcs.6 Tabwa/Bemba i:s a tonal language, which means that it allows S Two longer, more mature ven;ions or thi$ ~ale will be examined in chap. 6 below. C.M. Doke perhaps overstates the case in his descriptjon or Ba.nru L'lnguages in gen¢ta.l, bm he is not tOO far off: ..Bamu, as a language system. lends it.self to tlle development of oratory. Fl~nt. telling s:pcech, depending as it does for ilS force upon npt repetition. exne-titudc, poise and counter· poise of words and propositions, is readily· achieved in Bantu. The dh•ision of nouns into so many 'classes', with the concord system permi tting of exact rcJc:rcncc, provides a striking means of oratorical effect: the g.reat development of the Santu verb, too. in iu: inJlexion for conjugation and dcri,vuive forms, gives wonderful nexibHity :tn
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even the least expressive perfonners melodic variation in the pitch of their voices. Melodic propenies of language are in themselves rhythmic and musical, approllimating song and poetry. Perfonners can also use these melodic qualities to special effect in emphasizing various pans of Uteir narratives. Storytellers will at times accentuate the tonal pitches of words in order to express excitement or emphasize a poinL7 In one tale (NPll} the perfonner cxploiL~ the tonal qualities of the language in two ways. She first overemphasizes tonal distances in words to heighten the eAdte...nent o f
Ll ~e
pleas of an armgam gitl Lt)'illg LO convince het pteviously
despised brother to save ber from !be lion/man she has unwittingly married.
Yangri rata ndeefwa. Wee kntali ntieefwa, tara, Lesa, eee' Yangu, my father, I'm dyi ng. It's my own fault that I'm dying , fathe r, God eee! The first exclamatKm was made in a regular speaking voice. tonal. yc.t not really
accentuating the pitch differences. In the second statement, she uses a false no voice and injects panic into Ute words by lengthening Ute e in "wee," falling from an initial high tone 10 midrange all in tbe same syllable. She lets the next words. kaltlll ndeefwa, remain "' a mid-range, then usc.~ the high tones of the Ia.~! syllables of "rata. Lesa" to return to tbe previous very higb pitch where the semcnce began. She ends the sentence with a falling, yet still relatively high- pitched tone to eee. to suggest the sister's hopelessness. Senrences in Tabwa. as in Bemba. tend 10 fall in relative tonal pitch (Hoch 1962; Kashoki 1968; Oger 1963). However. in the same performance described above, the storyteller alters this nonnal tendency to good effect at times of excitement in the tale. Perhaps the most interesting use of this technique is tbe description, at several points in the narT'dtive, of how a magical drum rises in the air and settles in a tree: Aalishapo nil mbii: Kaarolokti akal)lnd ku cimutW
He beat it, mbil. The drum jumped up into a tree! As the drum rises, so docs the storyteller's tonal pattern. While she maintains a relative tonal distance between syllables. she keeps raising the absolute pitch of the sentence to approx.inate the drum rising up the tree. 'I be noun-class system characteristic or Bantu languages. adds a poetic aspect to narmtive performance. Noun class detennines the prefi.x.es that are uniformly applied to verbs and qualifiers in the phrases they appear in. For instance, Abaana band', mwe bantu, abalecuula saana.
(My children, you people, they arc suffering greatly.} 7 Rulh F"mncgan (1967: 81-82) describes Umba storyu:Uers' use of this styl.istic tecimique.
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Elo aalccsbiika filya. filya na alwoni. Na akcesa fye kale akaafika na akeekala no ku cimuti ngefi. (As he buried it, a lillie bird [was observing bimJ. Tbe linle bird just arrived and sat on a large tree. like this.) This repetition of simUar sou.nds constitutc.s a buill-in, alliterative, rhythmic com· ponent for speech. In narrative, this alliterative aspect combines with tonal melody to connote a song-like poetic semblance. C. A. Okafor. describing the narrative uaditioo of the Tonga of southem Zambia, chooses 10 refer to tales as "c.ante-fables" as a way of acknowledgjng their mu:sical and pOetic charactcrislics.s This move to poetic expression is an important one in the examination of an oral society and its narrative traditions; it implie.s that the properties of the o rally composed narrative owe much to their performance in a living context. Tedlock proposes calling oral narrative "dramatic poetry" or "poetry" outright. His reasons are several and compelling. PcJbaps most convincing is his suggestion Utat "Spoken narratives evoke emotions rather than describe them," and that they contain "panemcd repetition on various scales. ranging from words to parallel phrase.~ to whole episodes. and U1at such pauems arc more typical of what we caU 'poetry' and 'song' than of written prose" ( 1977: 513). The argument tempts one toward a blanket acceptance of the premise; yet why fall into the quanda.ry of trying to separate poetry from prose? In any case, the arguments that favor prose or poetry are not central concerns here, though we can e,asily agree wilh scholars who see oral narrative as exhibiting poetic characteristics. (Luthi 1982; Scheub 1975; Okpewho 1979a) What we can say with cenainty is that in stories as in everyday speech. speakers are never compelled to use what a grammarian would c.aU complete sentences. Few people normally are. anywhere. Furtltcrmore, the pacing of a talc or the emphasis on certain words. phrases. or dialogue can often override any sense of fonn:U completion in sentence or phrase structure. The inshimi tradition is commonly externalized io a rhytlunic manner. Sentences and phrases tend to be grouped in regular. though not stricUy metrical. lines. The following transcription of NPl. "Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree" (see chapter 2 for English translation of this talc) illus[ratcs the way a storyteller can group her words. NP l, "Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree" I. Paatiile akantu. 2. Abanru baaliikeele mu cimba ca mushi. 3. Paliko no . . . no muswnba ukalmnb<J saana. 4. Imfumu 8
tl-.1!
emo yaleeikalfJ.
See O.kafor (l983) and tlte work. of Ok:.afor'$ mcnt.or, David Bynum, p:u1icuLvly The Daemon in \\'ood: A Study t>f Oral Narrath'e Paucrns (1978).
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5. Nomba kwalikQ 11a kambili aka akatali. 6. UkQ kwine ekQ oaikee/e . . . nanlkane . • . lmbulu. 7. Nomba imbulu iiya ya/ecita fyc umuntu uwaya ku mpanga. 8 . Cilyafye ku mpcngaSa. [Audience member:] Leta meenshi kuno. 9. C ilya fe ku mpar.ga .. • aati . . . aikala imbulu yaimba ukulabilikislw. 10. Aati. "Yaku! Uyu mumu uwikala apa cc!" I I . Nangufyc ni-ify<J fme ukulabilikislta.
12. Nomba imfumu . ..
J2a. [Audience member: ] lfi cakasa muku/anda. 13. Ee. Nomba inyiunu ilya
14. yalikweteko wnwana umuswno saana. 15. /shina lyakwe c.ali ni Kastlba. /6. Nomba imfamu ilya ya/1/andile 17. aati, "Ukuupa mwana wandi
18. kano aakasamr.na imbulu." 19. Nomba mukwai kuJi onse umuntu waisa. 20. aafilwa. 21. Onse waisa, 22. aafilwa.
23. Aaisafye umuntu unga? Umo. 24. Aasendele ib/11, 25. imbushi 26. 11a imbwa. 27. Aafika, aarl. "Muk;wai takwaba aba ukuupa?" 28. Aati, "Epo aba umwana wa imfumu." 29. Aati. "Uiupiya ni lunga?" 30. Aati, "Awe, Uik~·aba ulupiya. Ni . . . nanikanc .. . cfyo ulmsamunafye imbulu ilya yaba kulya." 31 . Aati, "Oh." 32. Baamunai/a no bwali, 33. aalya. 34. aasendama. u~·uceelo mailo baamunai/a. 3 5. Aasenda ubwa/i 36. na ifyani mulcmfwe 37. ifyatcleia. 38. Baayajik.amona mwisamba lya kambili. 39. Aaikala. 40. lmbu/u ilya yatampa ukumu/olesha ku mtmlu. 41. Aaisabuula ubwali aaisapeela lmbushi, 42. imi/emfwe aaisapeela . . . nanikane . . . imbwa.
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The Peiformance Comext 43./mbulu yasosa yati, 44. "We mtmtu 45. buu/a imbulu-Aia! [noting her error}-
63. Nomba ilishalileko 64. imbulu ilya yaisa napa nshi. 65. Baailasaula na ukwi/asau/a.
66. Baailasa. 67. Apo pene apo ne . .. na icimishe wnukashana ni . .. lumllumendo ni cimbi lei.
68. Aamusenda no kwnusenda, 69. aaupa no nnvanakashi.
70. Baayaikala. 71. Na akashimi kaapela. Each line of speech indicates lhe grouping of words by lhe perfonner. In most cases, a line represents what could be considered a sentence. or at Ica.~t a clausc.9 Lines 27·31 indicate a conversation between characters. Lines 16·1 8 illustrate llle division of a single sentence into three lines. which are each clauses of llle chiefs proclamation:
Nomba imfwnu i/ya ya/ilandile Now that chief said ? They are not. strictly speaking. the same as "bn:::u.h gro ups~ found in pn1ise p~ry and olher chanted genres. because they most often involve chos.cn pauses. rather lh.m · running out of breal.b."
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aati_."Ukuupa mwana wandi be said. "I wUI marry my child kano aakasamuna imbulu.·· only to the one who removes the monilor." Even without a detailed linguistic analysis of sucb phrnsing. it is evideot that this performer is establishing a rllythmic flow of language. A similar rll)1bm or Oow. though a more basic form of repetition. is often associated with the use of ideo· phones. especially those thai imiiaie a continuous action Hke running, ihereforc approximating a repeated verb. The following, for example, arc noises made by lions in various narratives: puku puku pufm
nse nse nse sebwe sebwe sebwe
mo momomo Tone. alliterative noun-class construction, mythmic phrasing, and idcophones are aU clements inherent in the Tabwa language that performers can exploit in the poetic extemalization of narrative images. Voice is another elemeot that a storyteller can use to imbue a narrative with immediacy and drnmatic life. Voice •emphasizes certain details and phrnses, bring· ing important parts of a narrJtive into relief through the use of histrionics. Mrs. Rosemary Mwaasha. in "Man Denies Food to Family" (NP21), adds an ironic, biller edge to bcr voice when desc-ribing the way in which Lhc greedy husband chooses nor
to sha.re the magical fruit with his family: "It is they who will suffer. This eye has germi nated only for me." ("ce balccnya. Ne [ye iliinso iii lyamena inc mwine.") Depending on individual style, a performer may take on the voice of various narra· tive characters, whispering at times of heightened tension or whining in moments o f fear and supplication. These drnmatic uses of voice are often supplemented by speeding or slowing the rate of speech. depending on tlle effect desired. Skilled storytellers add dimension to the events and chamcters in a tale and suggest nuances that sharpen and focus the developing images for an audience. Voice best cxploilS the melodic and rhythmic aspects of language when a performer sings a song within a tale. A good singing voice inspires panicipation;
melodic harmony involves perfom1cr and audience in bolb an emotional and physi· cal affective response. Emotionally, the sounds are pleasing; and the collaborative effon brings the audience furthe r uncler the spell of the performance. Each repeti· tion of a song in a narrative aUows tl1e audience n1embers time to adjust and improve the musical quality of their responses. adding to the sense of coUaborntion and growth within the exposition. Performers control the U!)C of song by providing the initial version for audiences to learn and tl1en usc cues to let them know when to begin or end a chorus. For instance Mr. Samson Katai introduced a song intO his narrative about "The Chief Who Broke His Own Law" (N 13).
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Mwine mushi watunine imbi/a. Kamusansa mbelebele. The head of llle village made lihe law. Kamusansa mbelebele. Le/o wanya walaba. Kamusansa mbelebele. Today you shit, you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebele. Lelo wanya walaba, kamusansa mbelebelee.
Today you shil. you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebelee. In Ibis song, llle storyteller sang the first half of a line. and llle audience joined tum in lllc chorus. Atlllc last syllable or a line, the pcrfom1cr began U1c next line, while tile audience held llle last vowel for an extra beat. Wilen he wanted llle song fO end. Mr. Katai ~i mply held U1e last syllable of U1e chorus; and everyone ended when he did, in a drawn out hannonic note. When the song was rendered a second time and a third time. the performer sang th.e last verse twice. letting the singers know he would repcatllle line by begi1ming it as U1e chorus held U1e final syllable of "mbelebeleeee. • These cues call panly on memory of past performances and otherwise on knowledge ofTabwa songs and mus ical structure. A complex use of song can be demonstrated in a tale that employs more than one song. This occurs in "Lion/Man Marries Human" (NPS), wherein Sara Mwamba used three songs and a saying to frame a chase sequence. Her audience. a mixture of adults. adolescents. and children. was able to follow lllc various changes in lyrics and melody with liule dif!lculty, quickly picking up even the th.i.rd song, which had little in common with Ute first two. At one point, she even joined two songs end to end. never losing her audience in lllc changeover. Ms . .Mwamba wa~ able, after introducing lllem individually. to combine llle two songs by simply beginning the second one after signaling the end of the ftrst. Again. sl:te used the length of lllc final vowel of a verse to lead her chorus. 1. Kainge tuzbuta kandwne yaru/i, ee /elyo muscleiJende. If not for my little brolller, ee lelyo muselebende.
Nga nnlala mwisando, ee lelyo muselebende. I would have slept in llle wilderness. ee /elyo muselebende. Mu mpanga yapwa bart!l(. ee lelyo muse/ebendee. In the wilderness willl no people, ee /elyo muselebentlee.
2. Bukwe ee, ktu>rnn kaliweme. Brothcr-in·law, l.hc fine little drum. Bul..'lve ee, knoma kaliweme.
Brolllcr-in-law, the fine l.ittle drum . Mbiti mbiti, kaoma kaliwemee.
Mbiti mbiti, tl:te tine little drum.
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Allegorical Speculation in an Oral Society 2+1. Bukwe ee, kaoma kaliweme:.
Bukwe ee, /aroma ka/iweme. Mbiti mbiti. kaoma lulliweme. Mbiti mbiti. kaoma knliweme.ee. Nga aabula kandume yandi. ee lelyo muselebende. Nga nalala mwisonde, ee lelyo muselebende. Mu mpanga yapwa bantu, ee le/yo muse/ebendeee.
3. Nto ntwala Chilombo kwabo. !take Chilombo home.
Nto ntwala ChiifJmbo kwabo. Chilombo. I take Olilombo home. Chilombo.
Aalobe/a rnu matenga. Chilombo. She's lost in the swamp, Chilombo. Aalobcla mu matengaaa. She's lost in tbe swamp.
For each song, Ms. Mwamba intro<Juced a line, the audience learned the chorus, then she changed the verse while the audience joined in the chorus. She ended each song by staying with and lengthening the last syllable of the song. When sbe combined !he first two songs end to end, she ended the fi.rst song, just as she ended each song, !hen immediately began !he second. Language, voice, and physical gesture come together in a technique that is simple yet effective in stimulating audience response. Reaching a point in a narrative where somelhing must be enumerated, a storyteller voices a question and gestures in answer. One or more fingers are held up as the question "How many?" is asked. The audience members respond with !he appropriate answers:
icilindi citifye cinga? Cimo . .. how many game pits were !here? One ...
nkwata ifilambu finga? Fiblli. how many rewards do I have [dlle me]? Two. Often a performer uses voice only to achieve !he same efJect. tO A descriptive sentence or phrase will be halted before completion, accompanied by an interrogative pause. The audience, if it is following tbc story. will complete the sentence:
10 Whether simply spoken or w,ith accomp:ltlyi.ng gcStUfe., the fonn.uls is common in ever)'day
con\•ersation as well as storytelling.
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The Perfommru:e Context Aaleelunga ukulunsha imbwa mu cisanso mu kufwaya mu-? munani.
He was hunting wilh dogs away from Ule village in Ule wilderness searching for m-? mcatH
umwana wa-? wa imfwnu. the child of- ? of lhe chief.
tuposa ic<-? cimutembo. Jet's Ulrow down tbe 1-? the load. These incomplete sentences usually elicit a response, ensuring audience involve· mem and adding another line of interaction between them and the storyteller.12 Depending on personal style, the perfonner can carry out both the "How many?" fonnula and Ulc incomplete sentences while waiting fo r an audience to respond, or simply a.~k the question and immediately provide an answer- techniques !hat speed up_. slow down. or in some way influence the audicnce·s response and participation. The elements of language and voice have their physical counterparts in mime and gesture. Mime. or acting out character roles. is an inten.ncdiate step between vocal dramatics and physical gesture. more abstr.lct. It concretely rcprcscn~~. or imitates, some action in Ule developing narrative image. The fantastic creatures and density of action in any narrative provide the framework for the various fon.ns mime can take. Like all perfonnancc techniques, mime adds texture to the developing tale, providing data that focus audience auention on the storyteller's interpretation of narrative action and imagery. Over time, mimed act~ become stereotyped- loosing an anrow. paddling a boat, or striking something with an axe. Most commonly mimed are facial expressions of story characters; surprise or shock, fear or pain and other intense emotions fmd expression in facial mime, which often carries more information than the verbal text of a narrative. Depending on personal preference and individual style, some storytellers are quite energetic in acting out events from a tale. while others are much more restrained and subtle.
II In Bcmba, wnunani rcfus to 41\)' relish. meat, fish. or veg.et;ablc, p~pan:d with <'I sauce and e:Hcn with the starchy staple. ubwali. I uanslatc it as "meat"' because Lhc character was hunting game at the
time. 12 l_n 1983 and again in 1985. some of my English-speaking Tabwa friends were using this incomplete style in their conversations with me. It was reassuring that they thought enough of my language skills lO test my responses to their English usage but. as in Bcmba, I was quite slow to fmd
the word they were uying tO elicit..
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I. Mime. Ingenuous hero speak.~ to monitor li7.ard ("Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree," Chongo Alison)
2. Mime. Intrusive monitor lizard instructS the hero ("Young Man Brings Monitor Lizard down from Tree," Chongo Alison)
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3. Mime. Helpful bird rocks the baby- and uses child as a shield (NP7, "A Bird Cares fo r a Woman's Infant," Stephen Mukono)
4. Mime. Husband tries to shoot helpful bird (NP7, "A Bird Cares fo r a Woman's Infant."' Stephen Mukono)
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5. Mime. Divination (NP22, "The Charlatan Diviner," William MulOnda)
6. Mime. Haughty arrogant maiden rums down local suitor for a stranger ("Lion/Man Marries a Human," Monica Da.1icl)
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Gesture is the most common nonverbal element of perfonnance, consisting of Ote expressive usc of hands and body to suggest, ratltcr titan imitate, narrative evems and to communicate visually and concretely with Ole audience. Most often a single hand, with index finger exte nded, is used to indicate the nearby location of imaginary events, to point at audience members. to emphasize a point, or to wag at an imaginary character in admonition for some misdeed. Both hands are used to describe the shape, or to indicate the size, of imaginary objects, at times punctuated by the verbal indicator "so" (borrowed from English). In most perfonnanccs I observed, gesture was confined 10 subtle, or explanatory movements. A set of stylized gestures is also used in common conversation. These gestures are, in a sense, physical ideophones, illustrating concepts such as finality, difficulty, emptiness, or some other abstract state. Altimes gestures will include the actual touclling of audience members in order to get their attention or to make a point. Gesture is more audience-directed than mime. Whereas mime ultimately reflects a performer's interpretation of a character, gesture directly channels the drama from Ote performer's body to the audience. Gestures used in everyday speech often coinCide with narrJtive performance gesttures though, like language, they are framed for special effect in narrative.
I
?
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7. Gesture. "How many? One" formula (WiUiam Musooda)
C pyngilte J ma 'li!l
8. Gesture. Open hand on closed 6st indicates a completed action (NP7, "A Bird Cms for a Woman's Infant," Stephen Mukono)
9. Ge.
C pynor
10. Gesture. ""How many'/ Two·· lonnula (Chisclc Chuulu)
II. Gesture. Something is happening right there (Sophia Mweshi)
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Language. voice, mime. and gesture arc elements first observed, them adapted by each perfonner into an individual style that externalizes Ute perfonner's repertoire of narrative images. Skill in perfonning and in appreciating- for in Otis society appreciating a tale is pan of the perfonnance process-relates directly to the overall experience of audience and storyteller. The location, time, and oompOsition of the audience for a perfonnance sess.ion a.re another set of variables that a performer must resolve to succeed. 13 Most of the more than one thousand narratives I collected for this srudy were mid- or late-afternoon perfonnances. Because they did not interfere with. work or preparing dinner (and because. in 1983· and 1985. evening video-recording needed ijghting) these hours were most convenient for capturing perfonnances on tape. At these sessions, adults and children competed with one another in telling stories. Cert:ain sessions drew audiences of well over one hundred people, usually in the proportion of four children to one adult. Always in danger of becoming fragmented social events, with children running about and making noise, and adults clamoring to be recorded while expressing their impatience with other perfonners. audience-s of this size put a great deal of prcsst1rc on storytellers. Group dynamic-s moved between attempts at orderly participation in the ongoing stories and anarchic reactions to the attempts at narrative perfonnance. In many ways, Roger Abrahams' observations of the clemems of "play" and "nonsense" in St Vincent "wa.ke amu:sements" are borne out by the carnival atmosphere at some recording ses~ions (19&3). Certainly the need to seize the stage and draw attention from the group wa_~ evidem in the behavior of some participants. On one occasion at Mukupa Katandula, over sixty people showed up at our hom,e for a storytelling session. A young man began by telling two long. broadly hllffi,orous, and drawn out tales. At times he lost his place. at others he would stop and giggle as the audience interrupted and sarcastically critiqued his efforts. His audacity in beginning a second talc after an obviously ill-received first narrative set the .audience to even harsher harassment Rather than harnessing the crowd's energy, the young man distanced him:self from i~ attention became diffused by other distractions. He was immediately followed by an o lder man, who wandered in from a beer-drink and had obvious difficulty speaking. let alone relating a narrative. Again, Ute crowd responded less than charitably. After several otlter failed attempts, the lack of interest was more or less complete. and the session fragmented into separate conversations, argllfficnt~ and song. It resembled a Broadway cattle call, with the many hopefuls singing, dmcing, and warming up before the director called the audition to order. Ordy two people were able to draw any direction and cooperation from this audience, a young man and an old woman who used stylistic 13 Sec Kwcsi Yankah's aniclc-s on notions of sucCC$$ i.n oral pe:rformMC~ (t98S. 1986).
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clements of voice, gesture, ana story composition to stir part of U1e group to respond to their tales. The incident raises several issues of storytelling and contexts of performance. In fact, without a public ceremony---1:uch as a wedding, funeral or ritual preceding the fishing, fanning, or salt-making seasons- it is most difficult to harness the individual energy of a large group of people, as some performers do in West African professional "griot" activities (Innes 1974, 1976; Okpewho 1979a). It is difficult to assess the effect of my presence on these occasions. Virtually all the stof)~elling session.~ I recorded were organized for my benefit, U1ough I did not choose performers or the stories they would tell. People would invite me to their homes o r drop by my house, to have their effortS taped; no doubt this intention often brought a competitive or highly charged atmosphere. Whether this factor inhibited or spurred creativity depended, I think, on the performer and the audience. Certainly these conditions altered the "nonnal" context of story-performanoe. AI other times. rituals or festivals drew both comm.,nal and anarchic energies omo Ule stage. 14 Y ct certain storytellers, danocrs, or si ngers can galvanize such potentially unruly groups; they exhibit tbe aura of the 1rue public performer. Although any number of people-young, old, male, or female-can wield these skiUs, here the person displays the t.raits of creation itself. what Lorca bas referred to as the duende. The duende, then, is a power and not a construct, is a struggle and not a
concept. I have heard an old guitarist. a true vlnuoso. remark. "The duende is not in the throat, the duende comes up from inside, up from tbe very soles of the feet." That is to say, it is not a question of aptitude, but of a true and viable style--{)f blood, in other words; of what is oldest in culture: of creation made act. (quoted in Rotltenberg and RoUtenberg 1983: 44) All ans arc capable of duende. but it naturally achieves its widest play in UJC fields of music, danoc. and the spoken poem, since these require a living presence to interpret tllcm. because they are forms which grow and decline perpcrually and raise their contours on Ule precise present. (46-47)
Elements of presence and creativity can at any moment supersede aspects of narrative composition or any other formal consideration. At these times the ancient and comc.mporary come together, as do the emotions of audience members and perrorm· ers. This is why the written version of a narrative at best dimly recaptures scenario of the event. The memorable performance is not necessarily characterized by bombastic presentation. During one session I recorded at Mukupa Katandula in 1983, two 14
Se.c:. A. F. Roberts (1980) and Cancel (1981} for descriptions o( riles and festivals practice.d by lhc Tabwa.
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pcrfonnances before a large audience were both effective and subtle. Mr. Friday Kampalala, a man or around sixty years or age, was known as a humorous storyteller. His reputation preceded him, as the audience began lillcring at his first words. He possessed a completely dead-pan delivery, his face reminiscent of the older Buster Keaton. As his tale became more outlandish and his dialogues hilariously underslilted. his face never changed its somber, almost puzzled expression. Obviously afflicted by advanced artllritis, his large-knuckled, stiff-lingered hands lacked any look of sofmess or flexibility. Yet he used t11esc hands to gesrure, waving and pointing them like detached props, in shaping his pcrfonnance. The smooth movement of his narrative exhibited an effonlessne.ss that seemed the inverse of h.i s physical condition.
12. Gesture. "How many? Two" fonnula (N930. "Man Denies Food! to Family." Friday Kampalala)
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Soon aftetwards, Mrs. Falina Makungu joined the session and perfonned a version of "Lion/Man Manics Human" (see chap. 4). At first she seemed com· plctely out of her depth. She appeared to be (and no doubt was) a shy, soft-spoken woman. The large and at times boisterou.~ crowd seemed capable at any moment of drowning her out and dismissing her· efforts. However. she used this obvious vulnerability to dr•w from the audience a sincere, polite hearing. identifying with her earnest effons. As she softly moved tluough the tale, she twice mentioned and nearly began a song before going on to other events in the narrative. When she reached a point where the song bad to be introduced. timidly she asked if the audi· enoe would help her to sing it Pcop:Je around her affinned that they would indeed help. By the conclusion of tlle narra.tive everyone had involved themselves in the singing; the performance, modest as it appeared, had been quite successful. Mrs. Makungu had managed to control and entertain the nearly one hundred people. Large and unruly audiences were more the exception than the usual experi-
ence. Most common were groups o:f ten to fifteen people, for whom storytellers were able to compose more subtle and complex narratives. Audience members consisted mostly of family, friends. or neighbors who were more wiUing to discourage or stifle noisy distractions for the sake of the developing performance. As the story· teller worked further into a good talc. d.istractions tended to disappear almost entirely, while people fell further under the spell of the story. A woman from the Kaputa area, Mrs. March Mulenga, performed an intricate version of "Lion/Men Marry Humans" (NPII) under fairly disruptive conditions. After sitting for some time in an ea~ly afternoon session among the audience. she began her performance before a group of seventeen people-some adults, a number of adolescents and a few children-amid numerous distractions. Her voice and gestures indicated a nonchalance, as if the performance were not especially important to her. As she continued. however, her voice and delivery became more animated and expressive. The familiar plot o f the narrative began to take convolutions not usual in renderings of this story. She intrOduced these details and created an interest in the tale's development. Furthermore, she drew in the initially indifferent audience by miming characters, using various voices. laughing at her own occasionally scatological images, parrying comments from her peers. and even carrying on brief conversations concerning matte;rs that were entirely unrelated to the ongoing tale. She used her· voice and the tonal element~ of the language 10 good effect. espe. cially when she described tl1c flight in the magical d rum (discussed above). By the tale's conclusion the audience. at first bored. wa.~ thoroughly involved in that rcso· lution (in chapter 4 I analyze this perfom1ance). Approximately one tenth of the tales recorded for this study were collected in the evening among small family groups, optimum conditions for creating highly personal, evocative narrative-performances. After the evening meal, families, often joined by a few friends. would sit together outside their homes and discuss the day's
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events. At Mukupa Katandula, on several evenings Mr. Samson Katai and. his family performed tales that were recorded for this study. He, his wife. Rosemary Mwaasha, and her sister. Aida Musonda competed and cooperated in the creation of some excellent narratives. IS At the time of our initial sessions, Ms. Musonda was living with tbe Katai family, which included the married couple and their 'two chll· dren. a boy around four years old and an infant. All three adults had lively, though varied, storytelling styles. and often supponed performance effons by sin.ging 6ne haonooy oo the songs and offering appreciative comments. Most of the sessions progressed along the same lines. Inevitably, the atmosphere of repose and contentment which followed the evening meal would permeate the StOrytelling time; cooler evenings in the cold season would draw people closer to the intimate comforts of the bunting heanh ncar the house's veranda. Anentive, then dozing off after an hour or so, the young boy followed as much of the storytelling as he could. The glow of the fire cast flickering shadows and light over the group. heightening the dramatic effect of the various gestures and movements of the storytellers. Cooperation.. familiarity, and constructive competitiveness were the prevalent condition.c; in this intimate setting-an ideal atmosphere not only for passing along but also for eml>ellishing the various images. ideas, and techniques of the inshimi tradition. As far as I could discern. Samson Katai did nOt have a widely or even Joeally recognized reputation as an out.~tanding weaver of tales. However, there is little doubt of the pleasure and skill with which he performed narrative.~ in the •company of his family. His style consisted of talting each plot and wringing as much humor out of it as he could. Performing the talc about Ole chief who breaks his own Jaw (NI3). Mr. Katai carefully de.tails the way the imprudent ruler tries to kteep from defe.cating in the bush. ldcophones describe his P"inful OatuleJ'Ice and, while the audience laughs. the description of the inevitable defecation follows. Mr. Katai relies on his use of voice to convey most of the nuances of his narratives. At times he take.~ on Ole voices of his charactcll'S; he speeds up or slows down his speech, with appropriate adjustments of voice pitch. to convey exciting acts or prolong suspense. His tale of the battle betwee.n two ogres. Kurula and Kashimweshimwc, depends on constant hypeibolc of description and Ule humorous use of marijuana by IS h was not until my return to Mukupa Katandula in 198:3 that I learned that the KauU family had movod away 10 an are.a that, at the time, was impossible for me to visit. By complete chanee, a )'OU03 woman carrying sn infant in a sling on her baclc came selling honey to 1.he local school.house, where I was s taying. During our conversation Jdiscovered that she was i.ndl.:ed Aida Mu.sonda, grown from a schoolgitl into llle rnother of two c.ltildren. As OA•e ch:mod. she toki me that wh~.o"tl the Katai fwnily first in\lited my wife aM me to visit and reoord taks. mos.t of lhe people in the village were frightened of u.s and s·uspicious of ow- intmt!ons. The Katu.i fwnity, also unsure of us but c:onfidcnl in their skills as storytellers. took lhe lni.tiative of inviLing us into' lheir home. Aida Musonda's reactions to hearing the tape o f her ''oiee. from seven years earlier, was not WlCOmmon, m3lly people who had performed taJ.:s in 1976 had since grown. married. and had c hildr.:n. She, like Sara Mwamba at Kaputa. r.emarked at ihe gi:rlish voice and carefree attitude by s.aylng, ••MuukaJhana , . •" ("H•s a young g irl [mn.i<.knj , . ,•}.
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the calc's hero. 16 Mr. Kacai's efforts unfailingly pleased his family/audience, who aided him by providing an intricate and beautiful harmony for lhe songs in his narratives. In concrasc co her husband who combines bombastic style and humor in his narrative plots, Rosemary Mwaasha brings a calmer, more subcle persona into he r performances. Where Mr. Kaca.i prefers verbal hisuion.ics and an occasional mime, she continually relies on subtle gestures and ironic dialogues between her characters co sbape her developing narrative, especially in her splendid version of "Man Denies Food to Family" (NP21 ). At one point. when the greedy husband has lied co his wife about clle germination of her planted eye, she reacts to the news by saying. "Tch! Tepa bubi wnu.sango ifyo. mwe'" ("1'ch! That's a cerrible thing!"[lit. "That's noc half bad!")) Ms. Mwaasha plays the wife's sincere d isappointment against her husband's calculating deception. Throughout, internal monologues as well as dialogues e mphasiw the deceptions that firs t the man then his family practices; the comments help co shape characters and cllc audience's perception of themY Ms. Mwaasha also develops plots and lhemcs thac focus on marriage and child-rearing, as in Chis calc and in a story abouclhe young molher who carelessly entrusts lhe care of her child to an old crone.IS Such lhemes. evoked in an effective and entertaining manner, are not lost on M r. Katai, the children, and the soon to be married Ms. Musonda. In her performance style Aida Musonda combines elements of Mr. Katai ·s farce wilh Ms. Mwaasha's irony, and adds a youthful zcsc; she uses many local adolescent slang words. such as referring to friends or peers as boi (bonowed from lhe English, "boy."). Buc she also enjoys performing the more traditional conundrum style imilwnbe, as in "Getting Oranges from Monkeys" (N230). Ms. Musonda's version of "Humans Court Lion/Men• (Nl4 in appendix for chapcer 4) is a carefully constructed, ironically phrased cale about an adolescent girl who defies peer and parental pressure to avoid disaster. Ms. Musonda 's performance style combines subtle and emphatic gcsrurcs and emphasizes verbal dramatics in narration; her d ialogues arc usually understated and at times ironic. The way she contrasts the credulous girls and the sharp-wilted heroine in lhc "lion/men" calc is a good example of her approach to narrative imagery. She repeatedly shows how lhe d im-witted maidens ignore cll e clues co the lion/men's identities: chc pawing of lhe girl~ by l.he suitors and their revealing song. TI1cn she shows how the heroine immed iately perceives something wrong: "Bushe. nangufye abontu beene, efyo baaba maa/o ukulepo umusc.r.so ifi?" • Arc these real people, with long nails like lhesc?" !6 PerfOrmance N228 in my collection. See reference to Ms. Mwwha's u.sc of \'oioe <Wlier in this chap. and detailed discussion of th_is perfonnance in chup. 6. tl Performance N12 i.n my colJec[ion. 17
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Allegori<'ai SpeculaJion in an Oral Society "Alai Bushe,lfi ba/eeimba ..." "A/a! What is it they're singing . . ."
Ms. Musonda uses her fine falsetto to color her performances wilh songs in which members o f her audience pan:icipate. Together, Samson Katai and his family produced consistently excellent narratives at each recorded session, consulting togethe.r before beginning, paying attention to nuance and their craft.19 At Nsama. Mr. Stanley Kalumba enjoyed performing short and openly didac:tic narratives. Like several other performers recorded for this study over the last nine years, he is a man with experience of the world beyond rural Tabwa country, who worked for many years on the Zambian Copperbel~ and returned home 10 live out his life.20 He is a rural council mailman now and has a funelional command of English. For the most pan. however, he performed and explained hi.s tales in Bemba in a mild and unprepOssessing, almost scholarly manner. He told his tales in a soft and well-projected voice and he used gestures that were very Uuid and evocative, most commonly waving a languid arm to indicate movement and using bottil hands to describe actions and locations. Mr. Kalumba was the first storyteller I videotaped. He showed a notable case and confidence performing before such an alien presence; only at the end of his first narrative did he reveal any tension at all by taldng in and expeUing a deep and soundless sigh of relief21 Later on, during several evening visitS I made to his home, he performed rather obtuse imilumbe, which he would conclude by asldng me to explain. Inevitably, I would express puz.. zlcmcm and ask for help, which he patiently provided in careful and repeated explanation, using analogies and examples to make his paint. He was fairly comfortable wilh my presence and understood lhe significance of my effortS to preserve lhe inshimi tradition. He chose the short, compact tale, wilh an ending !hat needed a response or explanation. One evening. after listening to a young man go on at Jenglh in a loosely composed and repetitious story. Mr. Kalumba asserted his preference by saying, "Mwaposa iruhita fye" ("You're just wasting time" [lit. "You're justlhrowing away time")). Mr. Kalumba is a Sevenlh Day Adventist M long standing, and rarely failed to include some moral homily in his narratives, as in lhe story of a helpful duikcr (a small antelope) who cared for a woman's child wllile she harvested finger millet. (NP6 in appendix). On one of my ~apes, they discuss the central saying in the narrative about ogres who battle over a scorched land: il another session. they practice a song before pcrfonning it in a TWTative. 2(l See William WaLSOn's classic study, Tribal CohuiM in a Money EcontNny (1958), which deta.i~ this pauc:m of migrant Jabor followed by a rerum co ll•e rural home of birth. l l ..Oral Nanativc Performance$ of ihe Tabwa or bmbia," is a set of subtitled videoc::assene:s 19
(availablo from the aulllor).
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When we compare Mr. Kalumba's version of this tale with one by Mr. Stephen Mukono (NP7 in appendix).• we discover a powerfully conveyed and important relationship between the verbal text. traditional context. and perfonnance context of a narrative. Mr. Mukono, a man from the Kaputa area who takes a decidedly playful approach to llis stories. perfonns a tale very similar to the duiker narrative. Instead of a duiker. the helpful animal is a great bird and. aside from a few differences of detail, both stories tell of the ingratitude of the human beneficiaries toward the animals' largesse. Though the verbal texts are quite close in content, with slightly different thematic emphases. tllC perfonnancc comex.ts could not 'be more disparate. Mr. Kalumba's somber presentation emphasizes the tragic nature of the tale and its moral of ingratitude. Mr. Mukono uses the climactic scene. where the bird rocks the infant to comfort it while the child's father takes aim and tries to shoot the crearurc. to create a humorous burlesque effect. He mimes the man trembling with his rifle (Illustration 4.). while be also acts out the bird's movemen.ts. simply rocking the infant then rapidly rocking (lllustration 3.), almost shaking him. Since no dialogue conveys what is ha:ppening, a reader would not realize that !he bird is using the baby as a sllield, making it impossible for the father to get a cle.u shot at it. Simply listening to a tape of the perfonnance, wllich preserves lhe boisterous laughter of Mr. Mukono 's audience. one would wonder what on earth is so funny about a father accidentally shooting his own child. About the only clue to this scene's humorous context is the rJpidity and fervor with wbieh the perfonner. as the helpful bird, chants the song established c:lJ'lier as a lullaby to soothe the crying infant. Although storytelling cannot be. reduced to a living event, a performance before an audience, we must acknowledge that its context in perfonnance. the living event, is a roost vital dimension of the inshimi tradition. The world around. the immediate environment of a performed tale. can provide much. if not most. of the meaning of that event. The composition and details of a narrative provide the formal base. the verbal text for the perfonnance. We must strike a balance betwc.en these clements. verbal text and personality and skill of the storyteller. and recognize the intricacies of the weD-wrought tale in the relationship between !be individual verbal text and its traditional context. It is important, then, to note how a basically identical version can be rendered in different ways by two perfonners. Mr. Ka1umba uses it to make a moral po~nt. and Mr. Mukono. though aware of this point, plays with the story's traditional context to wring humor out of what is normally a tragic, or at least pathetic, series of events. Viewing the performers would also reveal how they differ in their storytelling techniques and personas. Mr. Kalumba CQIIUllands a quiet respect, an almost completely silent consent from his audience. Mr. Mukono breaks the illusion of absolute authority and moral correctness by seeking. really courting, the humorous. His perfonnances are punctuated by audience commerus, often good-humored barbs. On one level, he maintai.ns a
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it by showing his ironic or sarca.')tic reactions to both his tale and his listeners who are sparring panners. The tale of the help:ful animal. therefore. contains a constant. the verbal text, and displays tbe variable, the performance context. The dimensions that performance context adds to the verbal text appear sharply in two other examples. One is a version of the monitor-in-the-tree narrative that on paper would seem deadeningly repetitious. Yet as Mr. Otongo Alison. a man in his early twenties, tells it in per:son (and on videotape), it is obvious that he goes on repeating the exchange between liz.ard and hero because his audience Iauglls at the repanee. Looking up as he speaks the hero's lines and down as he acts the monitor, he is carefully reproducing the scene as it exists in his imagination. Aoo:lher tale I recorded contains a character the storyteller ponrays in a quavering and very deliberate, almost painfully slow, m3ruler of spealdng. I assumed that the audience's burst of laughter stemmed from the humorous nature of tbe voice. I was partly mis!Jlken, as I found out the next. day at the somber funeral of a young child. I turned from my seat among the elders to locate the owner of a distinct.ive speaking voioe; an old man spoke in precisely the same manner as the voice the yo ung man parodied the previous day. No one coUJld detect tltis lampooning without. the contextual knowledge that came from living in the same viUage as that elder. In making distinctions of narrative style and strategy. we can tum to terms that sociolinguists and psychologists usc in studying cognition in conversation and storyteUing. The Scollons' recognition of "focused" and "nonfocused" approaches to storytelling ana conversation (1984) would Indicate, In pan, the diJferenccs between Mr. Kalumba's and Mr. Mukono's performances. Kalumba feels the need to make a moral point, even going S<> far as to explain it at the end of the tale. Mukono takes that point as an almost uninteresting detail; he asks his audience to appreciate anotber element of the tale by presenting the actions in a humorous way. He removes the constr.Unts that a serious renderi.ng puts on interpretation and allows tlte audience more input, not ol!lly to comment but also to create. We can draw another stylistic differentiation here with Labov's fixing of styles i~ storytelling and conversation as either "internal" or "external." Ao internal style would characterize Mr. Mukono's assumption of his listeners' prior experience of this tale, probably as a serious. cautionary narrative. and their interpretation of his humorous efforts. Mr. Kalumba Ulkes a more ex.tcmal approach by guiding his audience in understanding the story, even explairting its meaning. I occasionally use tltese categories to situate elements of both verbal text and performance context. Not all storytelling anempts are successful; not all storytellers are skilled. Although the Tabwa value verbal dexterity, memory, and creativity, not everyone can tum these skills to storytelling. Sometimes the beer that makes a hesitant individual loquacious will hinder another onl y marginally competen~ as I frequently obse,IVed at beer-drinks. Here I had opponunities to note the ways storytellers serious or authoritative demeanor but
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deployed techniques of performance. Sometimes, when words were failing, memory was jumbled, or simple linear development of a plot seemed nearly impossible. !hen gesture, mime, or touching audience members helped a performer to getlhrough lhe tale (Cancel 1984: 61). At other times, overflow crowds, disruptions, or discomfort over mysterious-looking recording equipment would inhibit even proficient story· tellers. During the video-playback of one session, the performers critiqued their own efforts as substandard because of nervousness (insoni- lit. "shyness"or "embarrassment"). One woman told me that these videocassette.~ should not be exhibited at the University of Zambia because they were not good enough. She recommended that I buy beer for U1.e storytellers before tbe next recording session, s.incc Utis would lessen their inhibitions. (Cancel1986b) Ultimately, this turned out to be a generally beneficial ~11ggestion; the performers seemed more sclf·a.~urcd at the next session, and the organizer of the meeting bad enough cash to buy beer for the storyte llers and some left over for herself. Among the numerous performers who contributed to this study. Mr. William Musonda stood out impressively. He had lived and traveled widely in East Africa for some Utirty years, during whlch he became literate in Swahili and chose to read hls Bible, as be did frequently when we met. in that language. His family, the fam· ily of Chief Kaputa, bad summoned him at the time of the last Kaputa's death. They wanted hlm at home both to help choose the next chief and to Jive out hls
remaining days among them. Mr. Musonda had been quite ill before we met. Suffering from bean disease and wlhat was probably cirrhosis of the liver. be spent most of hls days lying inside his small house or sitting in the sun on his verJnda. A eommon friend insisted that I come and Speak to Mr. Musonda, a kind and gracious man who was known as a fine storyteller. His narrauves tended to be long, at times employing the compositional tccbn
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AUegorical SpeculaJion in an Oral Society of allusion and construction. which caused his audiences to pay strict and respectM attention to his words. Even when he seemed in error, in rcfcrrir.g to the definitions of inshimi and imilwnbe, there was no doubting his sincere and sagacious approach to complex questions. "1be Charlatan Divine(' (analyzed in cllapter 6). is ample evidence of his skill as a storyteller and of the manner in which Mr. Mu.~nda asks and answers questions that touch some of the deeper levels of his society. 22 The act of storytelling relies upon a personal and communal set of interactions and objectives. Despite the many changes in cultural comcm and comext in Kaputa district over the last hundred years. and especially over the last thlny years, there remains a symbiotic re lation.~hip between these social clements and the storyperfonnances that are totb mediated by and in tum moderate tl'em. In the fol.lowing appended narratives and analyses. I will show some of the levels of this communication and some of the criteria of the well-tOld talc.
21
See Jack Goody's remarb concerning the activitte.J and characu:ristics in ~l1ectuals in Qral
societies (1917). Though Goody ascribes original and uansformative lhougtu only
1(:1
people lilce
di.vinen and doc10n. one mijht argue for the suwyteUer ti an in~rvreter of social values as weD as a simple chroniclc.r or upholder of a-adition.. I nut this idea more thoroughly ia the conclusion to th.i.s
>tOOy.
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Appendix Narrative.~
for chapter 3
Performance: N230, Getting Omnges from Monkeys Pcrfonncr: Aida Musonda, female, age 18 Date and Time: 18 July 1976, approximately 7:30P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 4 adults and 2 children ln this umulwnbe there was one coumry. In that country Lhere wac; a very
large river. Now in the center of this river, oranges grew. 111erc was a small monkey with those oranges who ate many ·o f them. Now the people wanted ... they wanted very much to cat those o ranges. But they were afraid of that little monkey. So, bow did they cat the oranges? The answer is this: in order to eat those oranges, they threw Stones; they began to hit the li ttle monkey consistently. Now thatliule monkey was on lhe river, and be did not have Stones with which to hit the humans. So he began geui.ng o ran.ges. plucking and throwing them at the people. And those people picked them up. Just like that, he was hitting them, until he had thrown many (omnge.s ]. They picked them up and ate them. This little umulwnbe is over. Pcrfonnance: N l3, A Chief Breaks His Own Law Performer: Samson Katai, male, age 28 Date and Time: 17 June 1976, approximately 8 P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 6 adults and 2 children There was a little tlting. People lived in a great village. just as now. Now, there was a very large country. At that palace, a chief brought these words, "Whoever defecates in tbc bush will have a case brought against him . Everyone must dig
a latrine." Even t.hose hunting, even those who have gone anywhere. however far. should hold it in and come back, even if one couldn't breathe properly because of
the pressure. So ... so there was no going out to shi~ if one was in the bush he could not defeute there because the chief had ordered that he return to tile village
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to !he pit latrine be had dug. And !he chief made !his an official law. [Performer greets a passer-by: "£e<J, mukwai."] There, because of !hat chief, people had to inform on anyone !hey knew had shit in !he wilderness, and he was t:aken and killed. Mukwai, on arriving he would be killed! In !bat way. tbe people suffered greatly. One fine day. !he chief, !he one who made !he law, set out to go for a walk in !he wilderness. Oh, in no time at all his stomach made noises as if it were in a parade. Mukwai, it had digested everything. No, !he ruler tried to hold it in. Oh no mukwai, fans are all !hat came out, continually like this: bwa! Like this: bwa! Fans. Now he looked towards !he village wbere he'd come from, and it was far away. He said to himself, "It's me whe> made !he law. What if I sltil here and !hey see me? What will !hey do to me'? I'll be killed." So mukwai. he tried holding his bunocks tog:ether. No mukwai. he couldn't. He was trying 10 force it back up, but it didn't help. After a while he felt like he would burst. He said, "Let me just sit down." So, he llid himself in a shrub. No. he shit. He shit and shit right !here. His stomach emptied out and be felt much li:ghtcr. "Now what will I do? I'll hide these feces." He buried !hem; a little bird was observing him. The little bird arrived and sat on a tree. It was looking at him . looking at llis discomfon. So, !hat chief, mubV<Ji, dre..~~ed himself [again] and set out to rerum to !he village. As he left !he fcc.cs, akl mubvai, !he little bird began a song: The leader of !he village made the Jaw. Kamusansa mbelebele. 73 Today you shit, you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebele. Tooay you shit, you forgot. Kamusonsa mbelebelee. The chief said, "Akl! You disrespectful linle bird, you." He took a stone to hit it wilh. But mubvai, it just said "Mbbbbbb." I! went and sat in a tree. I! again stared aJ llim. As he walked a few steps, it again followed him. mubvai: it followed. The leader of !he village made !he law. Kamusansa mbclebcle. The leader of !he village made !he law. Kamusansa mbelebele. Tooay you shit, you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebele. Tooay you shit, you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebelee. So !he chief said. "This is very embarrassing. If !his bird follows me to the village I will lose my respect. I've killed too many in !he village. Again, !hat law was decreed by me. Yangu! Father, wbat will! do?" So, he sat down. and !hat bird sat down on a tree. I! just followed him. It sang !hat song. He went, it sang. Mubvai, he went. it sang. So, he arrived at !he ouL~kirts of !he village. He SLOpped. not knowing wh.at to do. "Let the sun go down. The disrespectful singing of !his bird is not goC>d." When !he sun went down he lhought !hat the little bird had remained. 1'3 Th.i5 chorus.. probably an archaic pan of lhc song, could not be translated.
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Ala mukwai. it wasn't to be. He stood up, wanting to sneak into !he village. but it now sang louder:
The leader of !he village made the law. Kamusansa mbclcbcle. The leader of !he village made the law. Kamusansa mbclebele. Today you shit, you forgot. Kamusansa mbelebele. Today you shit, you forgot. Kamtuansa mbelebelee. So mukwai, as !hose people slept soundly. one over !here lifted his head and said. "Ala! Mother of Kampanda. have you heard !hat?" She said. "No. it's unbeliev· able." So, all !hose in !heir houses woke up, mulcwai. And the little bird continued to sing, in a way in which no other b ird had ever sung before. So mukwai, as the chief was about to enter his house, it !lew around his roof. As it sang. it Oew around the house. He came out, trying to drive it away. It continued singing. No. not even one person in the village slept. It continued singing; it continued. At sunrise the cock crowed, "Kokoliko! Kokoliko!" As the people came out. it continued singing. So, in the end it said, "The cltief ha~ shit in the wilderness. This chief, the one who finished people here in the viUage. It was he who made the law. Today I've come to bear wi mess that he shi 1." The people said. "Gather around." So. they gathered. mukwai. at the palace. When !hey cal.led !he ruler, mukwai. he was so embarrassed that he came reluctantly. When he came out. !he people had nolhing to say. And tllatlittle bird sat on the palace [roof] and questioned the chief. "All of you. gat11er around." "Yes, we've galhered. little bird." The chiefjust hung h.i s head. It said, "Give this one the same sentence of deatll as you gave others. This one shit in the bush, where we came from yesterday. The law he made says that whoever shits in the wilderness will be killed. And he killed people, so he must be killed." Mulcwai, in no time at all. everyone caught hold of him and. tore his clothes off; he was beaten with axe handles and was soon dead. And they left him there. No mukwa/, they killed that cltief because of the law he himsel f brought. It returned and turned on him. Mukwa/, tltis koshiml is over. And thatliale bird caused !he chiefs death. And the chief caused his own death. This koshimi is over. Perfonnance: NP6, A Duiker Cares for a Woman's Infant Perfonner: Mr. Stanley Kalumba. male. age 60 Date and Time: September I 983. approximately 5 P.M. Place: Nsama Audience: 3 adults, 9 children This is another mulumbe.1A There was
3
liale lhing. A chief had
3
very large
2A Mr. KaJumba had fi_ rsl told another, rath(!f humorous, tale about how Kalulu, the trickster h:ve. fools Lion and Bushbuck.
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village. He ruled many people. 1hat chief. Then there . . . there was a young woman who had no children, for some time. So then, that very woman lost the family that bore her: her mother died and her father d.ied. She had no family at aU. So she lived with her husbmtl. They lived Ulere for some time. Tl1en, because GOO Is merciful, He gave them the good fonune of a child. So they ~.ad only one child. The husband went to the garden to clear brush ... at ... very far away at ... ? At the village ruled by that chief. When he cleared the land. be planted finger millet, and it grew. By tbe time of tbe month of "April"21 the miUet hat ripened very well. Now 1hat woman worried, "I have a child but have no one to mind him so that I can harvest the finger millet. Well, that's all right." She went over there to the field. She arrived. When she began harvesting she picked only a liUic before the child began to cry hard. So she sat on a tree stump. She thought, 'Oh my. How can something like this hap;>en to me? I have no one to help me look af1er the baby. I have no mother. I have no father. I don't have any other family. So, what can I do?" Then a duiker emerged from the bush, running quickly. P:ukuru. Plukuru. It came running. So lhen it arrived at the plot. It said, "My mother. why are you talking to yourself?" She said, "My friend, I am talking to myself because I have no one to watch the baby. Now this child worries me badly. I'm not able to harvest lhe millet." The duiker said, "Fine, mukwai. Give it to me; let me help you look after this child." Then that girl Silid, "Yangu u! You? You're jus-t an animal. You
can't look after a baby. No mukwai, you might eat the baby." It said, "No m.u.twai. Just give hJm to me. I won't eat him. AU is well ." She said, "O.K. Fine." So mul.,oai, lhat mother gave the baby to the duiker. Then she begm harvesting finger millet. And that duikcr came out of the shrubs. and sat elsewhere, where it was comfonable. It began to sing a song. It said:26 Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you? Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you? So that young woman harvested. She grew tired. SI:te said, "Mukwai, give me the baby." So the duikcr gave her the child. She carried him on her back and went to the village. Then three days passed, and on the fourth day she went again, as before. She arrived. She harvested. She talked to herself. When lhe duiker arrived, it said, "Mukwal, bring the child. I will care for hlm. Mukwai, bring lim so that you can do your work properly." She said, "No mukwai." It said, "No mukwai, don't give it 1S Mr. Kalumba used the English word ra.lhct than the Bemba word, Shintk, for this month. 26 Mr. Kalwnba chose to clunt rather than sing this song.
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a thought. (Do you think) just because I'm an an.imall would eat your child? No. I will just care for him very well." She said, "Oh, all right, mu/..wai." She gave it the baby. It took care of him. It sat while the mother harvested. And it sang a song. The duiker said: Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you'/ Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you? So she harvested. That woman got tired. So she got the baby. She canied him and went away. Now, unfonunatcly. she went and told her husband. She went and told her husband. "You, my husband, over at that place where I go to the fields, where you planted, there is an animal who comes to watch tbe baby. But it says, '\Viii they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you?'" The husband said, "Oh. My wife, that's very good, that meat We will eat it. It's very good." He said, "Does it always come to watch my child? Now that an.imal is j ust dumb to come so close. So it says, 'Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you?"' The husband said, "O.K. Fine. So, my wife, let's go so that you lead the way tomorrow. Wben you lead us there. you will give tlle duiker tllC baby. As for me. when I arrive I will hide near by. Then I will shoot it with my bow and arrow." She said, "Oh. All right" So that young woman went in the same way. She arrived. Sho compl:llncd to
herself. The duiker anived. Pulu. Pulu. Pulu. Pulu. It said, "Mu/..wai, bring the child so tllat I may care for him." "Oh." She remembered her husband was coming. She said [to herself]. "Oh. My husband is coming behind." So she got the baby. She gave him to tlle duiker. So it cared fo r him just as before. It sang a little song. Will they laugh at me? Will they laugh at you? Will tlley laugh at me? Will tlley laugh at you'/ So tbe husband, in tllat manner, drew closer and closer. tie got up, mukwai. He drew back the bow. He had an arrow that was poisoned. He drew it back like tllat. Mpaa! No, be speared the baby! The baby fell down like that, and died. So the duikcr jumped up and stood like tllat. It said, "You see; my motller7 It's you I was singing the song for. I said, ' WiU tlley laugh at me? Will tlley laugh at you?' Now it's you who is laughed at As an animal from the bush, I showed [you] kindness, because I was concerned tbat this child not trouble you. (I said] 'Let me first take care of the baby.' But because you saw that I'm an animal you can eat. you went and tOld your husband. Now you see you've ldlled tlle child. I, the duiker, I've gone." 11tis ktlshimi is over.
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Al!egorical Speculation in an Oral Society
Perfonnance: NP7, A Bird Cares for a Woman's Infant Performer: Mr. Stephen Mukono, male, age 60 Date and Time: November 1983. approximately 9 A.M.
Place: Kaputa Audience: 7 adults and 30 children Before I begin, you youngsters just sit quietly and listen to what comes from my mouth. Do not impede the meaning of the kilshlmi I will tell 10u. There was that little thing. People lived in a land just as we do. Now it was time to work the fields. So. truly, the men set out to clear the fJCids. They burned the land then planted fmgcr millet They returned and waited. Now the millet ripened. They said, "Friends." "Yes?" "Let us go harvest the millet" "O.K. My mother, we will soon be drinking millet beer. Ha!" So the women set out in single file to harvest finger millet A path wound through the fields. Now there was one wbo .. . [aside to noisy children:) Eb! Eh! I'll soon have to burl insults at you! Child: But it was this ooe making noise. Another child: No, it's you! It's foolishness. So then one of these women came alone. "Is this one alone?" She said, "Yes I am." Her baby began to cry. He cried and cried. Then the woman rose. "So I'll have to care for the child. My motber and my younger siblings are aU dead. So what will I do? This finger millet will never get harvested." So she sat and cried. A large bird came along. It had a huge beak. It arrived. Kupu-kupukupu. It said, "Bring the baby here." She brought over the chilli. Then it soothed the child in its great bealc: Will !hey laugh at you'! Will !hey laugh at me? Shh! Child, don'tcry. The little baby calmed uown. So his mother harvested lhe crop. One said, "Let's go." They all set out She said, "Bring the child so that I can carry him home." So she carried lhc child. MY grandfalher. now the next day it sang: Will they laugh at you? Will they laugh at me? Shh! Child, don'tcry.
It returned lhe baby to her and she carried him to the village. Things weru on this way. They went on this way until tte crop was nearly completely stored. She told her husband, "This bird who cares for our baby is very
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big. If you could kill it we could bring it to the village." He said, "Really?" She said, '' Yes." "O.K. Tomorrow morning·." So they went back with their companions in the morning. Al.l were working when the child started crying. The bird who cared for the child carne down and sat. Will they laugh at you'l Will they laugh at me? Shh! Child. don't cry. So it received t1w child, and watched over him. That's all. The woman gathered all the remaining finger millet. [The task] was flllishcd. "Let's go my friend." "Let's go." This husband came with a riOe. So it began to do this: Will they laugh at you? Will they laugh at me? Shh! Child, don't cry. Then it shifted. [Performer begins gestJtring rapidly up and down, suggesting that the bird is using the baby as a shield against the husband's rifle) Will ~ley laugh at you? Wil.l they laugh at me? Shh! Child, don't cry. So .. . it tossed the child. Tile husband aimed the gun right over there. The bird saw him: Will they laugh at you? Will they laugh a1 me'l Shh! Child, don' t cry. So !hat was it. Mpoom! It held up the child, who cried ou~ "Wah! Wah!" "Oh my
dlild! Oh my baby!" '!ben it flew up. Kupu•kttpu. It landed in a large tree. "What is it?" She said, "He's killed the baby!" "Oh, wee! Oh, wee!" The news spread to the village. "Oh! A baby's dead! He's dead!" So the bird arrived and sat on a roof. Wbat did it
won·· , stay to bury your child." Then it !lew off. This kashimi. mukwai. is over.
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4 Lion/Men and Humans:
The Evil Wilderness
Come and look! Let us take them for the purpose for which they were made. To the cinkQiobondo. I have been given to my lion husband, Come and look! (soog from a Bemba women's initiation rite [cltisungu ); Richards 1982: 189) Of the six narratives analyzed in chapter 2, five used a single expansible image-set as a structural center. One or more stock situations introduced a conHict, an expansible image :focused the narrative's elements on an action or song that led to resolution; in some cases another episode completed the namtive-perfonnance. Several of these nacratives developed from an expansible image structure into evocative thematic explorations. Structures become more complex as the tales take on conflicts, cnaracters. and action. The narrative-performances in th.is chapter form patterns that grow out of expansible image models, but these individual image-sets are in tum organiz.ed by another set of repeated acts or patterns. Images organized by a pattern, expansible image or something more intricate, give a specific narrative its overal.l shape. Complex patterning results when several expansible or patterned image-sets are developed in a single narrative. t All patterns
are built from repetition and its coincidillg relationships. A number of basic pOlarities or oppOsitions were set up in the narratives examined in the previous chapters: clever hero/troublesome land monitor. wise elder/destructive chief (ogre); arrogant girls/"good" ghost husbands; clever lion/stupid bushbuck and very clever Kalulu/clever lion. 1be exact oppOsitions are I IR:nise Paulme U$e:J the tenn "Comple:ll'" &
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defined in each narrative from the details of action and cl:nracter a performer provides. Several sets of polarities may develop in a single narrative, to compare the lion, bushbuck, and Kalulu in NP5, or to pit the hero explicitly against the monitor but also more subtly against the suitors wbo failed to remove the troublesome creature in NPl and NP2. The narrative about the girls wt<J married ghosts moves the inhuman husbands toward a positive human pole and the human wives into a negative category of "inhuman-ness." These polarities are based on the acts that define characters as good/bad, smart/stupid, gratefuVungrateful, etc.2 Another means of establishing oppositions in a narrative is through spatial associations. A bush or wilderness setting commonly connotes danger, inhuman creatures, and disorder; the village gives safety and human comfort. This opposition is especially clear in NP4, when the arrogant wives move inevitably from the village toward their deaths in the wilderness. Action or spatial polarities are developed at the discretion of a performer and provide J narrative with a grid of possible thematic associations. Patterning sets narrative elements into specific relationships by organizing them within a particular set of polarities. Denise Paulme designates the term "Hourglass" paue.rn in her set of pauems for African oral narrative plots (1976: 41-43). In this pauern, two heroes (main characters) begin at different ends of some moral or material Spectrum, interact, then end up with diamelrieally different fates. This sounds like something E. M. Forster described years ago (Forster 1927: 150·51); it would, I suggest, be applicable to the tales I am about to examine. Oddly enough, in her version of the narratives we examine in tllis chapter, Paulme sees it from the sole perspective o f the arrogant maiden, the heroine. By taking this view she categorizes the narrative as "Cyclieal" (1976: 32-36), whereby the hero begins in one state or condition, moves 10 its opposite, then finally back 10 the original state. This worlcs, up 10 a pOint, for the narrative's heroine but not for her brother. In the versions c.xamined here the brother moves from a lightly, if not maliciously, valued family position to a respected one. In fact, I ar~c that he and the lion/men are the central protagonists and the arrogant maidens ate the prizes over which they battle. Basing plot structure on the acts of one character may lead to confusion waen we consider a more intricate narrative. By noting the generative, or pallem-making, elements in a tale we can discern its composition and theme. The four narratives examined in this chapter constitute a set, an armature.3 They share a similar struCtural framework, the same basic polarities, characters, 2 See Rinunon· Kcnan, on ch.anctcr and .action (1983: 6-43). 3 I use the tctm armaJure a.~ a modification or Uvi-Suauss's usage in The Raw and lhe C()()ked
(1969: 199), retaining the 5ensc d a network or nexus of similarity of action. character, and plot but without :rpplying: tl•e scm~ or an llnconsciously detenninod sttucrore. IU leaSt not for a tAle commonly told.
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plot, and action. Several formulae and expan.~ible images are distributed within and organized by more intricate patterns. These panems provide the narratives. and the set, with their basic shape, somewhat like Paulme's "Hourglass" model. In the case of oral traditions, "here there is no fixed text, performers can work wilhin a general armature to explore themes, altering the details or compositional elements, from one version and th!me to another. The following performance exhibits the form and details truu comtitute the basic shape of this set of narratives. Performance: NP8, Lion/Men Marry Humans Performer: Sara Mwamba. female, age 16 Date and Time: 7 September !976, approximately 10 A.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: 5 adults. 6 adolescents. and 8 children There was a little thing. There was a person ... there was a chief who ruled a very large village. So. he ruled a large village, which had many girls. These girls liked to bathe in the river. Now some were saying, "Why don't you girls marry?" They replied, "No, we will only marry someone from far away." "Really?" They said, "Yes." When someone came, they refused. Someone came. they refused. Then came young men from far away, but they were lions who O)uld become humans. They wamed to marry them [the girls]. They agreed. They were excited. exclaiming. "This i<: what we said, that we'll marry people from far away." These young men even carne with the automobile they had stolen. They wanted a wedding immediately. Mul:wai, he said, "Tomorrow we wiU take these girls away." He said, "Yes?" Audience member: "Better be careful." [Comment comes from perjomer' s brother, who previously to/4. a story at this session] He said. "Take them. You are already married. That's how simple it is." At sunrise they took the girls. Their little brother said, "Let me come along." They refused him. "Stay." The other [sister] said. "Let him come along." "No. he "ll go and embarrass us. This one is just too talkative:· She said, "'No. let him come along." They took him along to the mother-in-law's place. They went They went. They went. They went. They went. co·;eriog a long distance, and arrived in the wilderness. They found two small shelters. One said, "Let's sleep in here." "How far from here are we going?" He said, ··we will arrive, [but] it's still far away. we must sleep on the way." Mukwai, they stopped for the night. They found a few pots inside. She said. "Yes. So there are people here." "I don't know who built it." They stayed. They stayed one week. She said, "Why don't we go quickly to the in-laws?" He said. (Performer uses a deeper, masculine
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voice here] "We will take meat for them." So mukwai, uhn ... they killed game. When they went to the veld, they changed into lions and killed game. They returned. So mu~wai, one day her litlle brother saw them. "My sister. you've married a lion." She pinched him. saying, "You're a liar! Ala! So you think that we've married lions? You're just lying." S~e said, "That's what I told you, he'll just go and embarrass us." Her brother went to his brother-in-law, he said, "In-law, do you have a little animal hide?" "What for'/" "I want to make a little drum, I'm feeling
so lonely." "Oh, I'll bring il for you Iomorrow." He wem and carved a drum, he put on the hide. He put it away. When ttis brothers-in-law went to the bush. he struck it, mbii! The little drum went up. It returned, it fell. He said "Oh. it's just fine." He hung it in a tree. He returned. One [lion/man) said. "So. tomorrow we'll eat them boi." He said, "Yes." So mukwai, uhmn . .. as they were sleeping. they came. "Let's eat this one?" "She's not yet fat enough." "Let's cat this one'!" "She's not yet fat enough. Leave them. we'll eat them tomorrow." The sisters saw that; they began trembling. One said [Storyteller whispers]. "Mother. we will die." They pretended to have diarrhea. but it was fear [that made them quake]. So mukwai, at sun.risc they went to the veld. He said. "We are going to hunt far away today." Her little brother staned packing meat in the little d rum. [Someone in audience stifles a laugh] He said, "Let me leave space here for the people." [petjonner begins 10 giggle at this point, probably a symptom of nervousness. then coruinues) So mukwai uhmn .. . be put the humans in.~ide . . . first he got in.~idc alone. He beat it, mbii! The drum went up. it carne back. It new away with his sisters. It sat in a tree. So mukwai. the lions came. they said. "Ob. they 've gone. we've missed them." Now they carne as lions. So mukwal'. with his (good) sister, he put her in . . . and they went. He sang with Ute little drum. And these lions tried harder to catch them, Utey scratched hard. And that little d rum moved out of reach, and his sisters in the drum began to sing: lfnot for my li!Oe brother, ele /yo muse/ebende. I would have slept in the wilderness, ele /yo muselcbende. In the wilderness with no people. e/e /yo mJL<eleberuieee. It went. the litOe drum went, moving evasively. And that litOe brother of hers struck it. He began to beat it. He said, Brother-in-law. the fmc little drum. Brother-in-law. the ftne little drum . Mbiti! Mbiti! The fine li!Oe drum. So mukwaf, this little drum went, it went, it went. Those in the vill3gc said, "Listen. minstrels are coming there." They gathered. They looked at where the drum was coming. They said, "It's up above." And then those lions increased their ferocity. They increased their ferocity. tie (tbe lion/man] said, "If your friend does you
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wrong, then you do him wrong. If y<>ur friend does you good. then you do tlim good." [Performer laughs while pronouncing this saying, as tU> some of the audi· ence members who recite it along with her] So mukwai, it went. it we11t. [Performer again guffaws before continuing I The drum Oew on. Brother-in-law, the fine linle drum. Brother-in-law, the fine little drum. Mbiti! Mbiti! The fine little drum. Mbiti! Mbiti! The fine little drum. If not for my little brother, ele /yo muselebende. 1 would have slept in the wilderness. ele /yo muselebende. In the wilderness with no people. ele /yo muselebendeee. That little drum Hew high up in the sky. And those lions continued to chant, "If your friend does you wrong, then you do him wrong. If your friend docs you good. then you do him good." [Audience again helps the storytelltr rtt/te thi! !aying) So mukwai, those lions changed into people. They began to sing, I take Chilombo home. I take Chilombo home. She's lost in the swamp. she's lost in the swamp. And they arrived right there at the girls.' place. The people dug a bole in lhe [floor of the] bouse. They prepared ubwall and chicken and put it down right on top of the pit. The lion/men didn't know. It was covered very well. Just as they sat down, they feU into the hole. The people buried them there. So mukwai, that's where I fmlsh, I'm going. 'This perfonnance consists of eight fonnulaic elements that, in tum, delineate four episodes. A central set of oppositions is established between the world of humans and the realm of evil inhumans. as represented by the lion/men husbands. These polarities are developed through the competing characters, brother and inhuman in-laws. and by the spatial designations of human's and lion/men's villages. TwQ conflicts are explored: the marriage of humans to lion/men and the relationship between the heroic brother and his sisters. The two patterns that organize tltis narrative develop from the action of the lion/men and the action associated with tbe hero. Tile first pattern dominates the two initial episodes and the second dominates the f.inal episodes. Two fonnulaic elements comprise the first episode: the girls' refusal of local suitors and their refusal of the brother's request to accompany them. The first repetition is halted when the disguised lion/men are accepted as husbands, and the secMd is stopped when the ~-ympathetic sister intercedes on behalf of the young brother. The second episode is built around a single fonnula; the debate of the lion/men over eating the humans: "'Tulye uyu.' 'Awe, taalanoona"' (""Let's eat
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this one.' 'No. She's not yet fat enough'''). The debate is presented only once in !his episode. but it is associated wilh lhc nights spent in lhe wilderness and lhe daily hunting forays by lhc lion/men. The third episode consists of three expanded fonnulac: lhe brolher's praise song for his drum. lhe sisters' praise song to !heir brother. and lhe lion/men's ch3nt about doing good to !hose who do you good. and vice versa. The final episode includes two fonnulaic elements: the song about bringing Chilombo home and lhc trick of sitting on a mal and falling into a pit. Each of lhe patterns or potential patterns associated wilh lhe fonnulae in lhc narrative is related to actS of lhe lion/men and/or lhe humans. In the first two episodes lhe girls marry lion/men: lhe brolhcr is insulted by his sister; lhe humans move to lhe wilderness viUage; and lhe lion/men debate lhe fate of lhe humans. 1bese actions all favor lhe viUains at lhe expense of lhe hero. Not only have evil inhuman.• insinuated lhemselves into human marriage. but human in-laws have also been lured to lhc lion/men's wilderness stronghold. SpiriruaUy and spatially lhe arrogant girl has moved toward lhe evil inhuman pole set up in lhe narrative. The hero must move his sisters back from that exli'Cmc to lhe proper human world. In the last two episodes he docs precisely !hat. The sisters sec the truth about lhe lion/men. They reconcile wilh !heir brolhcr; they all escape. and finally kiU off lhe evil creatures. Two patterns-the acts associated wilh dominance of lhc lion/men and !hose associated with dominance of !he hero-arc neatly meshed so lh3l lhe first diminishes while the other grows in inlluence.
The pivotal act of lhc narrative is the brother' s carving of the magical drum, which overlaps episodes two and three. As a fine touch. lhe hero asks his in-laws to provide the animal hide for the drumhead. He setS up his dominance over lhc creatures by tricking them into providing the means for escape; this trick laiCr rcmaterializes in a diffe.rent fonn when the humans trick lhc lion/men into falling into the game pit. After the drum is carved, episode two comes to its actual end when the girls wimess lhe deadiy debate. Episode lhree develops the lhree formulae around lhc action of !he magical drum, a pattern of stans and stops as Ole drum is tested. packed with meat. takes up each sister in tum. and outdistances !he pursuing lion/men. The drum is significant in several ways. It is most obviously an escape vehicle. It also establishes !he relationship between lhe brolher and his sisters. Although the acts arc not clearly developed. lhe hero takes up the sister who two
times earlier defended him from lhc olhcr's 3nimosity; 4 he thus rebuffs !he arrogant sister and rewards lhe sympa!hctic sister.s The dnun is also a vessel !hat carries 4
At fim. the perfonnc:r seems to be \U\Surc about who is inside the drum.
S This relationship between kind and cruel sister is a nanath·e subset that is sometimes developed
and sometimes ignored; it is an ernbedded version or lhe good siS:terft>ad sister, or cLever hero/stupid hero pauem diseussed evlier. Ch::spter2 di.seusseslhis pallcm, wtU¢h Puulme c;alls "Mirror Image.-
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away the lion/men's game meat, as well as their intended human game; it breaks the panem of episode two, whereby the lion/men hunted animals by day and debated bunting bumans at nigbt. The act of stealing the meat establisres the hero as protector and provider, ami reestablishes the proper relatioru;hip between brother and sister, between human and human. The songs which the characters sing in this third episode also reiterate their proper relationships. The hero praises his magical drum. while ironically addressing his brother-in-law. The girls praise their brother. repenting their previous act.ions and allying themselves with him. The lion/men chant a saying that suggests what they will do to the humans if they catch them. As if in reSPOnse to this chant the songs of the hero and sisters arc linl<ed sequentially, a union which reflects the newly reinforced proper order. The effectiveness of these songs contrJSts with the lion/men's song in Lhe final episode. They sing of "bringing Chilombo home" in hopes of again convincing the people in the village that they toJ are human. 11tis effort diametrically inYCrtS the events of the first episode. Instead of fooling the humans and ingratiating themselves, the lion/men are tricked and killed by the now harmonious community. Ms. Sara Mwamta moves her characters between the inhumanlbuman poles on two levels. behavioral and spatial. As the arrogant girl acts contrary to proper marital procedure and alienates herself from her brother, she moves ever closer to lhe inhuman pole personified by the lion/man. and joins her bct-.aviora1 shift to tbe physical movement into the wildcmc.'>S. The household the lion/man and his wife set up is a grolesque parody of lhc proper human marriages the girl had carl.icr spumed. The brother must move his sisters away from this sphere and back to their
proper home. The drum is Lhe key to the resolution. since it clearly demonstrates the hero's prowess, provides an e;cape vehicle, and establishes the flight pattern that allows the hero to chastise his arrogant sister. It moves them from both inhuman space and inhuman dominance. 6 The initial episode, which illustrates a succesMul "hunt" by the inhuman suitors. is reprised in their daily forays for game. The brother, by saving his sisters and stealing the stored game, literally takes the meat from his predatory in-laws. In the final episode, the lion/men fall into a pit. animals caught in a game trap. The humans assume their proper roles, no longer the hunted but the hunters. At the same time, the more significant problem. allegorically played out in the domain of lion/men, is resolved. The arrogant girl is chal!ised and properly reintegrated into human society. The events constituting the plot develop 6 The drum is produced l:)' t.slcing wood from a natural environmc:nt and sOOjecting it to a culrural and
ilfti.sti~
proc-s, c.,....ing-11
rc1~ttioru.hip
between lhc bu$h
culrurallhat I discuss later. Bynum (1978) treatS elementS
~tnd
lhc
vill~~otc,
&he rl.M\Ii'Al
a.~\d
the
or this dichotomy th ~t crop up in WOrld·
wide oral narrative traditions
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symmetries !hat create a structure, or shape, wbictl attistically reveals !he narrative's !heme. The storyteller who began this session was the headman of a section of Kapula village. (Attended mosUy by immediate famil y, the session at the Sababas' home was one of my earliest effons at recording in the Kaputa area in 1976.} He contributed a historical sketch of the T:abwa in Zambia and in the Kaputa chicfship ~'J)Cci fically. His son (who was the father of most of the young people present} was the lhird to speak, after a story by th.c grandson; the son presented additional historical material, dealing mostly with hunting and fishing regulations in the area and their enforcement by colonial officers. Ms. Mwamba was the fourlh to perform, and the varied audience received her tale politely, at times enthusiastically. Adolescents are among the most demanding audiences because they make their presence known, almost always looking for ways to be noticed. Ms. Mwamba did a very good job of holding their auention and incorporating most of them into the several songs in the performancc7 The plot is a very common one in the Tabwa area and can, in fact, be found in several pcnnulations throughout the African continentS At Kaputa, where the district goverrunent offices arc staffed by many workers from all over Zambia, the didactic connotations concerning marriage to strangers seem especially vital and appropriate.9 Sara Mwamba. in 1976 a young woman of seventeen years, possesses exactly the age and eligibility of the maidens who are central characters in this ubi· quitous plot. In fact. there is a Bemba saying that is applied during the initiation of young women (chisungu} that adds depth and irony to the evems of this talc. As an image of praise and submission, a song's lyrics claim "Nape/wa na mulwne wa nkalamo. iseni mutambe!." (! have been given to my lion husband, come and look!).10 The new husband is seen as a powerful being who is co be obeyed and honored. t1 (There are other stages of the initiation ceremony, not surprisingly, which do not hold the husband in such high regard.} The theme of marriage to an 7 Discussed in chap. 3. I There are nwnerous variatioN on lh.i$ bas-ic n~U"Jative image \htoug.hout Africa. exemplified in written literanue by Turuola's "'Complete Oendeman" in The Palrn.lVin.e Drinlwd (1953). Similar narratives <:OIIe<:tcd among ZambiiUl cthrUc groups can be found in Doke (1976; 106-1 1, 24649) and Tommd (1969: 159-63); sec Cosentino's "
For a thorough stud)' on the Jion as symbol in Tabwa <:Osmology and political conce.plions, see
Allen F. Robc:riS, particularly "'Pctfect' Lions, 'Perfcx:.f Leaders: A Mewphor for Tabwa Ch.iefship," (J983a}: see al$0 Sruart Madcs ' discussion of types or c.atcgorLes of lion recognized by the Bis.t of
Z..nbi• ((984: 2).
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inhuman being, with all its dangerous implications therefore underscores the reality that any marriage is potentially hazard(}uS when it bridges two families with in-law relati onships. This theme touches on slibling ties. The themes are not accidentally juxtaposed. The characters in this talc have ignored the process of negotiation and preparation that precede any proper wedding; it is the sister/brother relationship, particularly in matrilineal societies like the Tabwa, that in reality aCIS as another suppon or safeguard for women (Vlcu:gels 1972; Richards 1940; Richards 1982; Labreque, 1936a). In theory the brother is the one who must watch over his sister before her marriage, when her husband takes over much of this role. Even then, however, the brother remains close to hlis sibling, occupying the ki nship positional role ·Of father to her children. Ms. Mwamba, at a gathering of family and friends, with her e lder brother sitting across from her, performed this talc in a humorous way. The referential elements of the theme the social imponance of this panicular kinship relation, are understood; they arc a given of both the plot and perfonnance context. Moreover. a key element of the narrative is the character of the lion/man hu:sl>and(s). They are referred to generically as "visanguka," or "changelings." Simply put, sorcerers (or witches) are known to take the fonn of deadly animals. Among the Tabwa they generally become lions, though they might become crocodiles--"lions of the water" (A. F. Robens, 1980: 499)--<>r snakes, and attack their· human adversaries (A. F. Roberus 1986a; Joset 1955; Marks 1984; Jordan 1977). The deadl y nature of the husband therefore allegorically represents the unknown. the dangers of marriage ou·tsidc the immediate village or area. This allegorization also reflects the real tensions between in-laws (Robcns 1980. 1986b: 80-81; Marks 1984: 73). As I have has suggested and as evident also in the following tale, lhere are several thematic foci in this narrative armature. Perfonnancc: NP9. Lion/Men Marry Humans Perfonner: John Mulala, male, age approximately 7012 Date and Time: 21July 1976, approximately 3 P.M.
Place: Mukupa Kalandula Audience: 3 adults. 4
adolcsecnL~.
and several children
There was a little person. A person married a woman. He fat11ercd how many childiren, the youngest l>eing a male? Five. [A.ride to audience wherein the 12 Mr. Mulala had worked for many years in the Coppc:rbalt area of Zambia; several t.cnns
in his
nlllTtltivc oome from a lingua ff'IJ\C:I oommoo among minc:rs, called cikabanga, der'i\•ed from Afrikaans, Zulu, Xhosa, English, Bc:mba and several ocher African languages.
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performer refers to the researcher's desire to learn Tabwa terms:] That's ciBemba. it's ci-Tabwa she wants. Five. The youngest child. the fifth. was a male. There were four ("folo," from tbe English word) girls. Young men used to come to these four women. They refused [to marry]. She said. "No I can't marry an uncouth person." [Performer's wife laughs at the imagery and, perhaps, at the word he uses for an uncowh person "majomini," which is from cikabanga] When another came, she said, "No, I can't marry an uncouth person." Another came, she sald, "I can't marry an uncouth person." Then how many oflhem? Two, told b~r." Heh-Heh. The unooutb people are also good." How many of them got married?
Audience member (Perfom1er's wife]: Two. How many remained? Audience member (wife]: Two. Three. with the male child. Now [two men] set out on a journey. They went out there. They wanted to marry girls. They came to a chlefs village, like this one here of Mukupa. They found these girls. One said, ·we want to marry you." "You wa.nt to marry us?" He said, "Yes." They saw that "so-and-so" were ... they were there. So they arrived there. No. truly they found that they were very beautiful girls. They were radiant, 1ruly extraordinary. So that one said,"] want this one." And the ot11er said, "And I want [this one]." All right, fmc. So. lihcy married. When they married they said, • And where do you men live?" "I live in another place. at 'somewhere."' His friend said, "Yes, that's where we live." "Yah, yah, yah. That's too fat away!" [Performer actually says. 'Too falaway," using the English phrase.] He said, "No. We will go with you, wives." "Good.." she said, "we'll see what the future holds." So mul.wai, they set out there. They followed the husbands. Then this youngest child went and hid, the little man followed behind. He went hiding behind them. "No! Slay. Just stay, just stay, just stay." He just followed them. Tiley went and found a shelter. "My friend, so is this the village you told us about?" He said, "It's a shelter. Sit down. Let us go and hunt here." So, in order to catch game they became lions. Catching. catching. Catching. Catching. TI!Cy returned. They ate. they ate, they ate. they ate. they ate. they ate. In the morning. "Let's go and hunt there." They came back. They ate, they ate. they ate. they ate. they ate. they ate. Now they spent one week there. Then they were like this, one slept here. the other over there, and that youngest child slept ncar the door. [From this point on. the tale ts punctuated by the rhythmic sound of a nearby woman pounding grain in a mortar) Then U1ey said, "Let me eat Ibis ·One?" He said, "She's not yet fat enough." "Let's eat this one?" "She's not yet fat enough." "Let's eat this one?" "He's not yet fa! enough." Ala! Now that young,est male child knew, he said, "Uhmn uhmn. Those brothers-in-law are not human! They're lions." So that day he set out to go
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to the wilderness. He began to carve a little drum. He carved, he carved, he carved, he carved, he carved, he carved. He made it well. Then he took it and tried it. He played it, tidididididididi! It went up, it returned, it stopped, and he hid it Now from where they had gone 10 hunt, the in-laws came back very tired, returning to rest, mo. mo. mo. mo. They came and flopped down there. Night fell. "Let's eat th;is one?" He said, "No, she•s not yet fat enough." "Let's cat this one?"
"No, She's not yet fat enough." The bo·y just passed out in fright after seeing this. Morning came, he said, "You two young girls, my sisters, you are really useless. Those people you married are fierce beasts." She said, "Aa! Heb. Heb. This youngster is lying." He said, "Well, fine." Then this youngster roll.ed a bit of bark rope, like this. He tied this one. He came and tied this one. They went to sleep, they slept When they dozed just as they were about to fall into deep sleep, the lions came and got up. "Let me eat this one?" Those brothers-in-law! "Let me eat this one?" He said, "No, she's not yet fat enough." "Let me cat this one?" "She's not fat enough." Now they were no longer humansAudience member: Lions! They were lions. So now tltese young girls saw everything very clearly. She said, "Yawekwa! The child . .. that good little boy, that very good little male child. Yangwe! So truly that youngster was not lying." She said, "No. be wasn't lying." So mukY.·ai, when the sun rose lhc:y said, "You young women, today we will go hunting very far away to search for meat We want more." They said. "Yes. travel well.'" The husbands began in the morning to go, they were hunting. When they were hunting tllere, those who remained behind organized lhcmsclvcs. He said, "Take this meat." That's what he stored in tile boat.t3 They stacked it in the boat. They stacked it, they stacked it, they stacked it, they stacked. And he tested it Over in lhat place there, the lions had a premonition, they said, "The wives are gone! The wives are gone. The wives are gone. The wives are gone. They've gone!" Now they came running quickly. Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! Ubu! They found them sitting at the top of the tree. The boy said, "Since you've come. we'll be going." It set out like an airplane. plulululu! It went. it went, it went, it went, it went, it went, it went, it went. it wc.nl, it went. Now they were following them. "It's going to fall, we will catch it" Nothing happened. "Catch it, catch it. catch it?" Nothing happened. And into the village, puuunn! They entered. As they arrived, mukwal, they fell ncar their house. "What's there?" He said, "They are lions!" So. the: husbands said, "You barely escaped. Today you would have seen something." So, that father ll Mr. Mulala refers to lhe magical escape vehicle as a boat from here to the end pc:rhO.p$ forgeu.ing he called it a drum 4:"Mlier in lhe narrative.
or the story,
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started to embrace !hem. "You're saved! You're saved! You're saved!" They explained the story just as 1 have narrated it. So. that father and mother were just ululating. That is the meaning of t:he thing they say. "A small man in !he house is good. It is that young man who always sit.' at the ready." This kashimi is over. This performance's pattern. like the preceding narrative, reflects the conflicts of the central plot. The lion/men dominate the first two episodes and the young hero dominates the last two. In the initial episode. the pauem of turning down suitors is developed and broken by t11e arrival and acceptance of the lion/men hus· bands. The pauem acquires a certain depth and texture in the detailed description of lhe five children, and the marriages of two of original four intransigent daughters. The episode ends with an allusion to animosity between the young brother and his sisters. As be follows the newly-weds. the hero is simply told to "stay [sha/a]." presumably at home. The formulaic refusal of suitors is a more clearly delineated action than the familiar. but here truncated. argument among siblings. The second episode revolves around the formula that details the argument between the lion/men (though formulaic argument found in other versions of this talc is not in fact developed here). !he d iscovery by the brother and later by his sisters of the lion/men's identity, and !he daily hunting forays. As in NPS, the carving of the magical dllllll, actually promincru in the third episode, is embedded in the second episode, wllich develops two important sets of details. The daily hunts of the inhuman in-taws culminate wi.lh the family feasting on this game. The performer emphasizes these acts within the overall expansion of the familiar events by twice describing how "they ate, they ate, they ate, they ate, they ate [baalya, etc] ." Fattening up the game with more game sharpens the plight of the humans and highlights the intentions of the inhumans. The second significant development is the rather mild manner in wllich the sisters rebuke their brother for claiming they have married lions. A sister simply laughs and lightly points out that, "This youngster is 1ying." The third episode-the entire tale in fact- has no obvious formula. since it lacks repeated songs and chants. The plot itself and lhe acts tllat comprise it are formulaic or stock situations. Vengeful or rebuking actions by the hero toward his sisters are noticeably lacking. Only the chase. punctuated by repeated idcophones and the evil in-laws' ineffectual comments. constitutes a central repeated image. The e pisode and the chase conclude with the arrival at the village and the lion/men's final admonition of the humans. The final episode is deceptively uneventful save for the happiness of the hero's family and the saying. "A small man in the house is good. It is that young man who always sits at the ready." This concluding saying encapsulates the thematic focus of the performance. Although the improper marriage of human being to beast and the strained
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relationship between the siblings is inexlricably woven into the narrative's develop· ment, the central focus is the llcro's own development and achievements. Sug· gested from the outset when the performer twice tells the audience that the youngest of the five children is a male. his role is dear: the vigilant youngster sleeps ncar the house's door in order 10 protect his sisters; his foresight in carving the magical drum is set against the initial youthful fear that causes him to fairu the second time he witnesses the lion/men debating. This mixture indicates the continued. though diminishing, dominance of the lion/men pattern in episode two. The boy's ingenuity reassens itself in this episode when he makes barl< rope and ties it, we assume, to each sister to awaken them, quite literally, to their danger. The most obvious indication that the performer is focusing on the boy"s heroic acts, and consequently diminishing instances of sibling conOict, is the hero's com· plete lack of animosity toward the sisters who did not believe him . The rift 'between !hem is played down by the gentle way in which the sisters rebuke him and in the manner they later refer to him as "the good little male cllild," and "so truly that youngster was not lying." Rather than admonishing either sister, the boy moves directly to the preparations for the escape-which the performer expresses simply by sa.ying "those who remained behind organized themselves." Even at the: end, no one is taken to task for past actions. The lion/men husbands simply warn, "You barely escaped. Today you would have seen something." The inhuman/human polarities, which provide !he narrative's con.llict and dramat.ic tension, also act as the raison d.' ~tre for the hero's rise to prominence. His trial, overcoming the dangerous lion/men. marks his coming to maturity. Packing the d:rum with game meat is the most significant indication of the bero's success. He steals the meat being used to fatten the human game. By becoming both protector and provider, the linle brother usurps the role of the inhuman husbands. The imponant role of a brother in this society is clearly iUustrated here; and we must also note that the young heroines do not extricate themselves from their predicament. as we might expect if the tale were to focus on their development and matura· tion. As he transpons his sisters home, tlle young hero completes his own transition into a responsible adult. 14 The final saying, referring to the utility of a "sma.U mao in the house," highlights the thematic focus of the narrative and is, in tum, illuminated by the images developed in the performance. The theme also fulfills the storyteller's didactic intentions regarding his audi· ence, especially the foreign researcher. IS Mr. Mulala emphasizes this intent early on 14
Like the Bemba. lhe Tabwa do not have a fonnal procesi of male initiation into manhood. In the nanati'\le we ate considering,lhe development of young het'ou is a literllt)' process lhat does :not reftcct or refe:r lO real forms of initiatton. nus absenoe does not. however, deny the hero's growth in personal and so-cial stature as the la1e unfolds. Rather, as felscph Campbc-U (1949: 37..38) suggests--adding his psychoanslytieaJ insights to Van Ge:nnep's model o( rites of passage (1960}---the hero matures and !~C:el!-d:t in ways thAt reftectlhe growth proeMW llf both the indiVidutl and l.hC larget society. 1s lltis pttfonnance was recorded by Donna Cancel, to whom lhe performer ref en at one point.
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when he reminds the audience. and perhaps himself. that the researcher wants to hear "Tabwa" rather than "Bemba" words and wisdom. At this session. with his wife offering occasional comments and unering supporting sounds of approval or amusement. he seems 10 be providing the researcher with a "lesson" in Tabwa social and familial relationships. His wife prefaced this tale witb two narratives that first describe some elements of chiefsbip and succession and then problems of co-wives who do not get along. one trying to outdo the other. Mr. Mulala follows the tale examined here with two historical or informational discourses on hunting around Lake Mweru Wantipa and on problems engendered when people mock one another. Though the siOtyteUing session was organized by Mr. Mulala, it shifted from the focused and external didactic approach he and his wife employed to broader, more superficial themes as younger narrators took their rums and framed much more humorous, self-aggrandizing tales. John Mulala eschews songs or chams in his performance, instead repeating verbs and ideophones 10 create a rhythmic context of narrat.ive action. Avoiding the more familiar formulaic argument of "I will follow," "No, stay," he has the siSters say "No! Stay. Just stay, just stay. just stay"; the repetitions emphasize significant actions: "they ate." "catching. catching," and "tbey stacked it. they stacked it". Though his decision not to employ songs is most likely a personal stylistic choice, t6 it eliminates songs that might focus aneotion on the sisters' reconciliation with their brother and the brother's praise of the magical drum (boat). It allows the audience to consider the hero's personal growth, as the final saying in the narrative suggests. To establish a context for the narrative's plot and thematic development, it will help us, at this point, to summarize Ute preceding analyse~. The basic paucrn, or shape. of the narratives so far examined is of four episodes. with an evil lion/man (or lion/men} dominating the first two episodes and the young hero dominating the last two. It sets up polarities that oppose good and evil behavior-or rather human versus inhuman-and human and inhuman space-or village versus "bush." Simply put. Ute hero must save his sistcr(s) from her (their) inhuman husband(s). bringing her (them) literally from the evil wilderness 10 the positive, human village. Within this basic structure, its armature, each performance focused on one of several possible thematic relationships. NP8 emphasized the human/inhuman polarities by focusing on the reuniting of the siblings and the final episode where the humans in the village join to kiU the evil lion/men. This resolution is an inversion of the initial
episode where lion/men successfully infiltrate human space. The allegorical 16 See Mr. Friday Kampalala's performance of the man-de:nies.food·tO·fam.ily narrative in the appendix to chap. 6. He chose not to sing a song in this tale; when questioned, he fim clairne.d it had none. Women in the audience murmured that lhete wll$ one. Only after I nng a few bats of lhe song. 10 the surprise and amusement of the- si7,.!ble-crowd. did Mr. Kampala.Ia .:.gree !.hat in fact this story usually had a song. I agree wilh William Musonda's claim Uw men generally do not sing in narrative~pe:rfonnances-though singing at beer-drinks. at least by older men, is another matter.
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relationship suggestS !hal marriage to unproven strangers is the same as marriage to deadl y lions. In NP9, the thematic emphasis is on the young boy's growth into a hero. Sibling animosity and collective human action are played down -though au lhese themes are potentially present in lhc narrative armature- in favoroflhe boy's initial uncertainty, developing ingenuity, and frate rnal responsibility. In both narra· tives, lhe same basic polarities, characters, and action arc orehcstrated by performersto sui.ke slightly different chords. The following performance employs lhe same essential clement3. with certain important
variation.~.
Performance: NPIO. Lion/Men Marry Humans Performer: Rabbon Chola. male. age 30 Date and Time: 7 September 1976, approximately 4 P.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: I I adults and 25 children There was a little person. He lived in a large village. That is to say, there were two people. They were living in lhe middle of lhe bush. And lhey were living right there in the middle of lhe wilderness. They were young men, actually. They were about twenty-five years old. As it was. lhey began thinking, saying, "I should marry." And the aher one there said. "I should marry [too). my friend." "But where will we marry?" Then one a.~ed "Couldn't we marry right here in our village?" He said, "No. It could not happen. because it's not good to ma.rry in the village where you're bom." "O.K. We could go a very great distance. Going about fifty miles away would he good." So. they set out. They tied thei r blankets into a bundle. Then they set out on the journey. They went. They went. I think about one week passed. One said, "We could marry right here in this village." No, the other refused. J-:e said, "No, this village is too small, it's not good marrying here, no, because I won't be admired for my styCsh clothes here. and I. Mr. Bwalya. am very handsome. No, it's no good marrying here." Then Ben said, "No. It's good to marry right here, because lhe bush recedes with [lhe addition of] new bouses." Bwalya !.aid , "No my friend. it's not good to marry here. This litUe village is too small, I want a large village." So, they set out. They began the jo urney. They journeyed. Th:y arrived at
another chiefs village. So, the chief received lhem. No, they just refwcd. Bwalya said, "I will soon marry." Ben said. "No. my friend. I don't want to marry in these villages. They arc too small. Life will be hard for us. Mosquitoes will bite us very badly. Don't you sec these villages are nn good?" Bwalya said, "I want to marry in a place like lhis." He said. "No, my friend. let's go." They set out. Now you know that walking 6fty m.iles on foot is a very great distance. They took about three weeks.
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So, they anived at that capitaiP They did this. So m11kwai, they saw some young girls. These persons wanted to marry. In no time at all they both manied. Ben and Bwalya both manicd in that chiefs village. Ben said to him, "Truly, Ulis tittle village is really nice. It would be good to marry (here)." Then Bwalya asked him, "Arc you happy now?" He said, "Yes. Ttlis exact village is very nice." So, they lived there. They lived. You know, their ways were bosed on the place where they C$1e from. Their way of dressing and of working were all from there. At their home of maniage, they said, '"My friend let's go back." He said, "Yes. Let's go back." Where those young men came from was not a village to live in. It was not good. There were only two mud shelters. So. they set . . . they said, "Next week we will go." The wives told their parent~. saying, "And so, our husbands have said next week we will go to their borne. to their home of birth." They said, "Ob. That's all right" So. the week arrived. Mary's little brother said, "I will follow." She said, "No. You. What about tllosc runny eyes? You will not go and embarras.~ me." Her brother said, "No. Let me come with you." She said, "Absolutely not." His brother-in-law said, "Let him come along, my wife." She said, "Absolutely not. I don't want this one. He will go and embarrass me. Look at those eyes. You ... you arc eating Ulis mucus! He .. . I don't want him, no." So, she Oatly refused. And her friend said to her. she said, "Let him come." So. finally she agreed. She said. "Fine. I agree only because you've made such a case out of it. I don ·r want him [along]. He'll go and embarrass me, thi.~ .. . lllis . . . Look at that, he's eating this stuff that's oozed . .. this what·-do-you-call-it ... from his body! I don't want him, no. Of what use is he? He can't even help me." Then her friend said, "Let him come along, this is how people grow up." So, they set out. They went and went. They went to the home of [their husbands'] birth. They lived there for many years. For almost five years. Now those people who had married did not know anything about the nature of their in-laws. Then, one night, tllc husbands transformed themselves i.nto lions. In the midd.l e of the night, they began to debate. "Let's eat this one?" "She's not yet fat enough." "Can I eat this one?" "She's not yet fat enough." "Can I eat this oneT' "He's not yet fat enough." But their little brother-in-law overheard them, that one whose sister Mary despised him. So, the youngster was sick in his stomach. Diarrhea. Then, "Brotller-in-law! Brother-in-law! Help me outside. I must sbil" So. they took bim out [AIIdience laughs at this set of events) He didn't defecate. It was a maner [Woman member of audience tells tJw children w quiet down at this point by saying "Chongo!" (noise)] of fear. 11 The tcnn wnu.n.tmba can mean the chiefs villag.c. his compound (palace). the scat of power, etc. I use "capital- as- a generic gloss as the pc:rfom'W:'::r u.ws it hct~.
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So. he . . . they returned to the house. In the morning, after his brothers-in-law had gone to hunt, he told his sister, :saying, "These people that you've married, they're lions." His sister said, "You l;ttlc fool you. You're stupid. That's why I didn't want you to come along. You have no brains." Her friend said, "No, don't insult him. Take it easy." She said, ''No, he has no brains. Do you hear how he is disgracing our husbands, saying they':re lions? You useless thing you." He said, "Oh line, if you want to call me a useless thing then forget it. I've got an idea. I have a string. I'll tie that string to your big toe. Right there on your big toe. Now, when your husbands begin to roar, as lions. I'll pull the string. Tben you'll wake up." So mukwai, it happened [again) in the night, the lions came. "Let's eat this one." "No, she's not yet fat enough." "Can I cat this one?" "No, she's not yet fat enough." Now, he tugged at his sister, until she heard. So, mukwal, now they !lid the very thing their brother bad done. They were sick to their stomachs. "No. come and take us outside." They didn't do anything. [Audience laughs again aJ this imagery) They didn't shit. They couldn't. So they returned to the house. After they returned to the house, in the morning, the husbands went out, because they were hunters, they went. Now, they were conferring, saying, "So. Friday, on Frid.ay for sure, we wiU cat them." That younger brother of theirs did this: he began to carve. He went and cut down a tree, a mufungulume tree. 18 After he cut down the mufungulume tree. he began to carve. Carving. Carving. Carving. There is no house I can compare to the one they had heaped the meat into. In that house, they had heaped all their belongings. It was that brother of hers, of the wife who despised him. He got that drum. He took all the belongings. He placed them all inside the drum. It was a small drum. But that little drum held all the belongings and all the meat. That is, !be meat !bat was in !be OOODSHED. t9 So then, right there, he began to test that drum: Mbitimbiti, the fine little d rum. Mbltlmbitl, the fine little drum.
When he beat it... when he beat it it went very high up. Then it carne down agai n, rolling, rolling, rolling. He yelled, Mbitimbiti, the fine little drum. Mbitimbiti, the fine little drum.
So, just like that. In that [same] way all the time. So, he tried it and realized that this drum was very fine. He came and put it away. He waited for the day they were supposed to be eaten. ll This local word I could not trace to any specific uee; four or five varieties are usOO in lhe making
of drums. 19 The perfonner uses this exact English word. which signifies a well-stocked storage bin.
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So. Friday came along for that young man. Those in-laws had gone to the bush, and when they were tetuming, he said, "My sister. I won't take you. They will just eat you. You've insulted me, saying I wasn't a man. You were saying I had ' mucus in my eyes.' So. I won't take you. You've reviled me. I'm not a man eh?" So, he took her friend who had defended him. He put her in the little drum. Then their in-laws set out. As they returned to the village. when they were coming very near, about one mile, he heat that little drum.
Mbirimbiti, the fine little dr- [Performer /ea1•es chant unfinished in ordi!r w rush inU> narr.uivc and to CUI off the audiences responding chorus] He took the other one, that sister remained. She remained. crying. "I'm dying! I'm dying!" She cried desperately. So, he went to where his in-laws were. He landed very close by. They said, "Yakwe, we've missed the humans!" So, then they thought they might catch it. No, he beat it. lt leapt up. They said. "Maybe we'll
catch them." Then he beat ~. and it leapt up to a tree, very close by . .. what-doyou-call-it . .. by where they lived, in the back yard of the house. They said. "Oh, they've left one behind." He snatehed her up. He put her inside the drum. Then she staned to sing. What my brother did, r.e mwine wnusclebende. What my brother did, ne mwine wn!L<elebende. Or I would have died in the wilderness. ne mwine wnuselebendi!. In the wilderness with no people. ne mwine wnuselebellde. Tabantc, child of Muyembe, nc mwine wnuselebendl!e. So. he heat the drum. He beat it. He heat it. He beat it. It just went very high up. It returned again to the gtOUnd. It came rolling. It rolled. "Maybe" . . . the brothers-in-law said. "Maybe we'll urab it. Maybe we'll grab it." They had already become lions. They said, "Maybe we '1.1 catch them, we' ll each them." No. nothing doing. It leapt. It settled on the bank of a small river. Now, they were sa)1ng. "Oh, we're going to catch it." They swam across. They swam across. As they got to the other side, he beat it It returned to the other side of the river. Now he began to taunt them. Now, he told his sister, "So. that's it. I'll go. leaving you behind. I'll return you right back there. Let them cat you because you insulted me." She said, "I beg you, my brother,! won't ever insult a man again. I won't do it again. I did in.~ult you, it's true. You've spoken the truth. But I'll never do it again. So, now I know that a man is truly a man." So, she sang the little song: What my brother did , ne mwine wnuselebende. What my brother did. ne mwine wnuse/ebende. Or I would have died in the wilderness. ne mwine wnuu/eberuie. 1n the wilderness with no people, ue mwitte umuse/ebeHde. Tabantc, child of Muyemba, ne mwine wnuselebendee.
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Now. the l.ittle drum was just running. right there, running along the ground. So. as it arrived on the grass. it traveled along the top of the grass. Again it retuned in order for them to just mock his in-laws. They had become snakes ... they had become lions. They were no longer humans. They returned right lhtre. And the meal they [the in-laws] bad killed was there. He went and again loa·led it inside. The little drum was very small. Perhaps two feet in length. and its width was only three feet. So, iL held all of tJtis. Now he su.icJ. ··o.K. LcL·s go." Now l)t:U.iug out, he beat it. Pululu! He beat it: What my brother did, ne mwine wnuselebende. What my brother did, ne mwine umuselebende. Or I would have died in the wilderness. ne mwine wnuse/ebende. In the wilderness with no people. ne mwine wnuselebende. Tabante. cruld of Muyemba, ne mwine wnuselebendee. So, mukwai, it set out. It arrived at their borne in the village. When they arrived at the village. they began explaining to the people about what those in-laws who mar-
ried his sisters did. Then they explained. They explained. They explained. Then the father of that Y•lungster thanked rum. tie thanked biro. And at the edge of the viUage by the riverbank, they [the lion/men) said, "So, you've saved your sister. U not for you. your sister would have died." And IUs sister said, "So. wterever I go. I wiU be with you mr brother. I wiU never again despise a mao like you." This finishes my mulumbe. Tttis narrative is composed of five episodes. The first consists of the introduction of the two suitors and their journey through two viUages before deciding to
marry in a third. The expanded formulaic situation is the bickering between the suitors and their movements to new sites; this pattern is broken when they both agree to marry women from the third village. The next four episodes follow much as did those in the two previous versions of this tale. The initial episode depans from these versions in two ways. The lion/men are intrOduced as two young men who live in a strange viUage in the wilderness and travel from place to place seeking wives.20 It seems as if the performer did not reaUy know where he wanted to ~o when he be~an the narrative; there is little logic 20 In one ve-rsion or litis tale, N348, for reasons not apparent but J>O$$ibly familiar 1n the tnditionaJ conte;\l. the pufonner lntroduces doe tW() arrogMlt mtiitk:ns as coming from a villa~e of "madmen, thieves. witches": lh.is version contains several details-such as the implication Lt..at lhe lion/man husband bad been eatittg the offspring of the marriage--which obviously assume the audience's prior knowledge of them &om olhet perfonnanccs, since they arc not Coreg.rounded in any way in lhe narrative. In a version o( Ibis tale by Mrs. Falina Makunp, the lion/man husband doc:~ eat the children his wife bean.
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in the suitors' arguing over which vill:age was best to live in when. in fact, they wanted to bring their human quany to their wilderness home. In the second episcde, the comments by the arrogant sister are scathing as she denies her brother pennission to come along on the journey. 'The performer gives both episodes. and the balance of the narrative. vivid detai.l and depth: he names some charactersBen. Bwalya and Mary; he carefully notes distances and the passage of time. Taking time even from the climactic chase• sequence the performer minutely describes the size of the magical drum. Patterns developed in the rest of the narrative give the initial episode thematic relevance. This running argument recurs in deadlier fonn in the third episode when the tion/men debate devouring their human family. Just as the initial pattern is broken by choice of the desired village, the second pattern is broken by discovery of the evil in-laws' identity and creation of an escape vehicle. These two patterns of dominant lion/men parallel the argument pauems of brother and sister. First she needlessly reviles him; then she insultS him for suggesting her husband is a lion; finaDy. in the fourth episode. the brother invens the pattern, berating his sister and threatening to leave her to die at the bands of her inhuman husband, a pauern that ends only when the humans arrive at their village. The human/i.nhuman polarities add 10 the symmetry of these patterns of argument. An initial movement from wilderness to village is. later in the l!l3JT3tivc, revealed to be a movement from inhuman to human space; it is reversed wheo hum.ans agree 10 many inhumans. The physical journey to inhuman space is accompanied by a spiritual or behavioral shift to inhumanity by the sister. This pattern is bisected by the friend who also moves into inhuman space but retain.~ her human sympathy for the younger brother. With his action the hero reiterates this bisected pattern, as in NP8, when he rewards the good "sister" at the apparent expense of the bad sister. Wben U>e final episode begins, the movement of human lO inhuman has finally been halted. Only after the long chase and chastisement sequence can this resolution come about, an episode that breaks the negative patterns of both the evil in-laws and the hostile siblings. In the mirror-opposite realms of irnhuman and human, the bickering of the llon/mco over wheo to eat their prey refle.cts the arguments between human siblings. The former argument wi'U benefit the bumans whereas the Iauer seems to benefit the inhumans. This allegorical comparison suggests the appropriate mannc.r of behavior in each sp:.ttial and spiritual
realm. The same tension between opposing spheres creates the dynan>ic context for all the narratives in this set. This particular performance balances its themes of human versus inhuman bein:gs, the young hero's rise to prominence, and sibling animosity. The lion/man and human battle is depicted throughout the narrative; the brother's stc:aling the game meat again symbolizes his taking up the evil husband's role as provider and protector. The young brother changes .from a little boy with runny eyes to a hero
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who is praised by his falher and sister in !he final episode. The sister's song, her pleas !hat she "will never insult a man again," and her fmal repetition of this promise point to !he hero's attairunent of manhood. However. !he alignment or patterns of i.nhuman and human argument, the intensity of emotion expressed between siblings, and the bisected paucm of the sympathetic girl friend combine to suggest that the conOict between hero and sister is the central one. Even the initial episode depicting lion/men searching for a villa.g e in which to setUe beCOmes, in retrospect, a mirror of the sibling conflict to come. In fact, the various conOicts and themes developed in the narrative interact with each other on literal and figurative levels. It is this complex interaction that weaves the several basic themes into a richlytextured performance. In a complex way,the few images and acts of NPIO that do not strictly follow the shape of the previous performances, play the new expectations and anxieties !hey create against the more familiar versions of the narrative. By not revealing the identities of the suitors-initially ponraying them as humans, only hinting at their abnormal home and habits, and having lhe couples live in the lion/man village for a long: time--Mr. Rabbon Chota heightens the audience's interest. Mr. Chota not only keeps listeners off balance with his plot structuring but also keeps full control of the tale. not allowing them to become involved in the singing of songs. He very quicldy sings or chants the songs and never slows down to allow a chorus to join him;21 he thus ensures that his is the only voice heard and that he retains temporal contTOI of the tale's unfolding. This desire to keep control of the talc and its exegesis is consonant with the situation in which the narrative was perfonned. Mr. Oaola bad invited me to his home 10 re-cord narratives but began the session by tel· ling me and the audience his life story. As an extension of that self-focus, the focused str•tegy he employed in the performance kept the attention on his creative oratorical skills. In this frame of reference, his demonstration of control was an effective one. malting him the center of attention.22 Ccnainly each of the preceding performances evidenced a degree of skill in the evocation of narrative images and themes. The basic shape of this set of narratives should be seen as a somewhat flexible paradigm wilbin whose frame varying relationships and themes can be worked. Villains toy with human prey, the 21
The tape of lhis per{onnancc confirms the several aue:mpts by audience members to sing along.
which Mr. Chota cut short: he either quickly ended the song or went on to anothc:r ve:rse without waiting for his neighbors to sing their parts. 22 This perfonnance was followed by NPS~ "Lion and His Nephews," by Japhct Chibale. Mr.
CI10Ja's nephew. Mr. Chibalc inherited a fairly cooperative aOOicncc, Mr. Chota's immediate neighbors and relatives. I had no opportunity co question Mr. Chibalc on his choice or ruttratives; oertainJy bOlh have evil lion clwacte:rs who many humans. As p.ut of lhe perfonnancc oontext, it is interesting 10 note that lhc hero of the second tate is a nephew of lhe domineering lion/man, just as the perfo:rmcr is a nephew of the proccding storyteller.
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Uon/men play the same role in this narrative that they play throughout the set Their desire for fauened human game allows the resolution of the various confliclS as the heroes assen themselves. Observation and positive action characterize the youthful heroes of these narratives. They arc willing to defy their elders by exposing the half-human villains.23 Performance: NPII, Lion/Men Marry
Human.~
Pcrfomter: Mrs. March Mulenga, female, age approximately 50 Date and Time: 28 September 1976, approximately II A.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: 10 adults and 25 children There was that little person. It lived in a very large viUage. Now !hat person bore many children. Very many children. There were six children. They had not married. Audience member: Young girls? There were only girls. Now, there were six girls who had not married. Then. there was only one wbo refused to marry. [There is a constam din of noise/rom the audience as this perfonnance begins, with conversations and children's play making up nwst of the commotion] Her mother said, "Child, men are coming here to marry. But :you refuse. When will you marry?" She said, "I will marry, but I don't want to [yet)." "Oh my. a child of this son could end up married to an old man."24 Now what happened tbcre? This is what happened. A finely dressed gentleman came. "Grandmother, I want you." She said, "Surely. l prefer those from afar. but those from nearby? No." Her younger brother said, "My sister, you've accepted this one from far away, but you spurn those from nearby." She said. "Someone from afar could take me far away, so that I could go and bave fun in bigger towns." O.K. So, now uhmn ... so, she married. When she married she Jived with her bus· band. She lived with her husband. He took her aside. "My wife, let's go to my hom-c. You will go and meet your mo!her-in-law." "Let's go, mukwai." So. they set out The brother said, "I will come with you, my sister." She said, "No. stay. You arc uncouth. How can you go with us tO the in-laws?" So, the husband took his wife and went And that young man went along hiding and foUowiog (hem. He 23
A tale-told by Ms. Aida Muwnda combin.cs lhc pluck o! lhe young brother of !.he. lion/men sct with lhat or lhe maiden who is co\U'ted by lhos.e changelings (see NPI2 in append~ to !.his cltup.). 24 Tlut i.s,a;he might wait too long \o be desi.r>ed by a younger, more attractive man.
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hid and followed them. He hid and .. . they arrived by a tree. A big shelter was there under the tree. "My husband, is this where we have come?" He said, "It's right bere. We will go to your mother-in-law's the day after tomonow. We want 10 obtain some meat for them, because an elder must have meat in readiness." "That's O.K." So, they stayed there. They slept And she was with that younger brother. As they slcpt-[Audience member tells a child, "Come here, you"}-tben the husband got up in the night. He found his wife asleep. And his young brother·in·law was asleep too, as was his other sister-in-law . . . He arose with his brother. Then be said, the eldest did, the very man whom sbe married, he did lhis, "Can 1 eat this
one?Audienoc member: She's not yet fat enough. -Can 1 cat her?" "No," his younger brother said. "No, my elder brother, she is not yet fat enough." Audienoc member: Uh humn. "She's not f:at enough, ch?" He said, "Yes." O.K. Now they retumed there. They slept for two nights then returned 1o lhe village. As they were returning to the village, lhe husband said, "My wife, when we rerum, 1 will continue alone. You will remain, because lhen I will rerum 1o gc't you to go to your mother.;n.taw's." O.K. So, he returned. (Older woman's voice is nwre fWtkeable as she carries on a conversation] "My wife, I'm going for meat."
So, he set out 1o hunt in the wilderness. without a gun. The "gun" was magic. He came to a tree. He stood still. He scanned the plain. He saw a herd of puku (small antelope}. He said, "Yes, see that's where I'll go." He shook himself and became a lion. He arrived right there on the plain. That's wbere be anacked. He attacked. l{e attacked. Then he came a.nd piled up lhe meat. He. began cooking some fresh meat. He skinned it He was satisfied. The rest be carried to the vii· !age. "You, my wife, tell your mother to go and get that little amount of meat there at the edge of the village." When they went. they found lots of meat. "Ala! How has our son-in-law killed so much meat by himself'1" She said. "Mukwai, my hus· band is in the bush, that's where he is staying. But he kills game :llong with others, his relatives." "Re:llly?" She said "Yes." O.K. So, they began eating, mukwai. They were fonuoatc to have such an in-llaw. They feasted until they were stuffed. Since !he went :llone into the bush. his brolher-in-law [said]. "Let me follow lhis brother- in-law!" As he went. his brother-in-law followed behind. He ju.~t followed him. He followed him. He followed bim. He arrived at the tree where he usually stopped. He arrived and shed his trousers. He shed his shirt. He shook himself and became a lion. So, he set out. He attacked a heard oJ water buffalo, mukwai.
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And his brother-in-law arrived and said . . . no .. . he just stared, he said, "Yeyh! Yeyh! Yeyh!" So this brother-in-law began coming. Nse nse nse nse nse nse. Carrying an animal in his mouth. He dropped it down. He skinned it. He skinned it He skinned it. Now his brother-in-law did this with his he~d. He began to do this. "What's this? What's this? Is this the ann that I shake? Is this the he:ad I duck? It's the buzzard that's circling .and going." He staned out. Now he returned to the village. Then that little brothe r-in-law said, "My friend:' His friend said, "Yeah?"' ''Let's play soccer." So, they beg.an playing soccer. He said, "My friends, :Jet's make up sides. some here and me here. Now we're even." He played very well. kicking the ball, mpaa! "Now, what is this that's shaking? Can it be that large leg that I shake? The buzzard is ci rcling and going." Goal! The ball went in. His brother-in-law pondered there, "Is this brother-in-law following me? Maybe he has followed rue?" He sat there silently. His wife said, "What's wrong? You're not. eating the ubwali?" He said, "No, I'll cat later." He called his brothe rin-law. "In-law?" "Yes." "What abotn that praise you were chanting at the game. Where did you hear it?" He said. "My grandfatller, we went to Puta. That's where we went to play soccer. That's where someone said it." "Ala?" He said, "Yes." "Yah! That one knows a lo~ eh!" The next morning, his brother-in-law was there again. He followed him. His brolher-in-law returned to where Ute lion usually took off his clothes. He climbed the lrCC. He obsCivcd how he was dodging his own shadow. He was eating there. tlle lion was e.ating and his shadow kept ruovbtg there! He said, "Yakwel Is it this head I shake? Is it this ann that I've shaken? Is it this leg that I step with? The buzzard is circling and going." He returned. Befo re he arrived, his young brother-in-law ruad already arrived at tlle village. He found him playing soccer. "Is it that head that I've swung 'round? Is it this arm that I've shaken? The buzzard is circling and going." Audience member: And what of his father (brother), the elder one? That yo ...youngest said, "My sister, uh uhn, tllat husband you've married
Audience member: Is a lion. Audience member: He's an animal. "Don 't you see?" Sbe said, "No, stop lying like this you uncouUt idiot. That's what I was telling you. You're uncouth." He said, "I'm uncouth? Haa!" "See? . .." Audience member: This one's mother ... [She said to her mother]"Thls c hild of your.; ..."
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Audience member. There are just lions around. • ... be careful." (It was not clear if the perfonner was still imitating the daughter's dialogue or addressing the old woman in the audience who kept commenting on her storyj2S So, !hey stayed !here. They slayed !here. He said, "Now I won't be following him. He suspeciS now. He knows il's me. He'll eat me." So. wben be set out in !he morning, be wenl alone. He went !here. In lhe early morning, he said, "My wife. now we will go on a journey to my mother's place." She said, "That's where we are going?" "Yes." "My sisler, are you going to !he in-laws'?" She said, "Yes." ''Then I will follow." "You will follow?" "Yes. I wiU follow." She said, ''No, you will stay, you uncoulh clown." Audience member: "She said, she said!!" (Woman is tilunting the performer's repetitive use of this construction to start numerous sentences] "Ala, !hey will eat you, don'tlhink you'll rctum" "Do you see, molher, what he's saying. This one waniS to ruin my marriage. Let me beat him." "Calm down, Ibis youngster is just unruly. Leave him alone, you might harm your brother. Even lhe one you've married is still not of the same blood. In marriage you never get an heir.'' 26 So mukwai, lhe time of lhc journey came. They set out in the early morning. Bakapa-kapa. And that brother-in-law followed. hiding. tie went. He went. He wem. until !hey arrived on the plain, where !here was no village, at a tree. "My mate. this is where we've arrived?" "It's only a stopping place. We will go on tomorrow. Let's sleep right berc.'' They slept there three nights. In lhe early morning, the young brother said, "This person will only undersland when !bey eat her. I will make her see." While his brother-in·law shook himself in the night, he came and grabbed his sister' s toe. Nakwee! And he tied it with a small string and woke her. She found. mukwa/, only lion's manes, they went: Puku puku puku. Puku puku puku puku puku. "Can I cat? Can I cat?" He said, "No, she'~ not yet fat enough." "Can I cat? Can l cat?" He said. "No, she's not yet fat enough!" O.K. Now then. in lhe morning, when she got. up, she defecaled feces in there. [Perfomrer laughs aJ her own image, shares some conspiratorial·sowzding remarks with audience members that are inaudible on tape] "What's wrong. my wife?" She said, "I'm sick with diantca. My stomach hurts me a lot" So, her little brolher carved a small drum. He scraped. He scraped. He scraped. Fmally he finished. He stretched a skin onto iL These brothers-in-law went hunting. They said, "This very lS A$ in NP8. where the perfonner·'s brother says lhe same thing to her during the narration. :M Her mother refers to lhe strong bond between sister and brolhcr in a malrilineal society; it means that her children will inheri.t from lhat same brother.
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day we'll eat her. We'll eat them all, including the brmher. Today they'll be in for it."
Audience member: [A child says this] They got up. She said, "My brother, are we going?" He said, "Who are you going with? As for me, I'm taking this one here. who dlidn't drive me away. As for you, they'll jw.t eat you. • He got that little drum. He got all the goods and all the meat and piled them there. Uhmn! He filled that little drum. He came and placed the other sister in the drum. That's who was inside. lie beat it, mbii! The drum jumped up to a tree. O.K. So he did this. He said, " Yeyh . Yeyh . Yeyh. No. My sister you will just stay there and die today. They are speeding baek wearing manes, it's as if they come back as humans. See the dust." She shit again. [Audience members laugh loudly at this image] "Yangu! Father! I'm dying. [Perfonner is laughing also]lt's my own fault that I'm dying. My Father! God! Ee! My brother, my brother, I beg you. I won't do it again!" When he came down there he said, "Climb in." Just as she stepped in, he beat it, mbii! It jumped up .. . It jumped up. She remained on the ground. She said, "Yangu! Father' I'm dying!" Then she cried, "My brother, I beg you. Whatever you want at the village I 'll give you. Whatever you wan~ I'll even be your servant. I will work for you. Father! My brother!" He said, "Look, now there they are. [Brother's voice is taunting, trying to frighten the sister even more, as audience laughs at these verbal histrionics] Where are they? There at Shimiti's" [Near a section of the village called Sbikapya). Then she watched the dust that was rising up. She said. "No, fath .. . do what you want. [Performer uses a panic-striclwn, pleading voice 10 deliver these lines] Now I'm dying. Just let me die today. Let me die." He said, "Don't collapse. control yourself." At last she saw them. They were as far as Bana Kalcnga's house there. He said, "Come on, you dope!" She squeezed in, but her leg remaioed hanging outside. He said, "Bring in that one too." She forced it in. "Sit inside." So. she sat inside. He perched on top. He said, "Yeyh. Yey!z . Yeyh. No. My in-laws return today. Truly, they return, yes." They were out of breath. When tbcy were right there at Bana Kalumba's, their tongues hung OIJit, ready to eat. He hit the drum, mbiil They flew up to the roof. He said, "You have e~ten too many, you murderers, today we will sec." So, it hopped along. The girl inside said: If not for my young brother, e/e /yo muse/ebende. If not for my young brother, ele /yo muselebende. I would have slept inside the enemy, e/e /yo muselebende. In the bush with no people, ele /yo muse/ebende. Citahanta. child of Muyembe, ele /yo muselebendee. So mulcwal, they said, "Let's catch this lirUe drum here. This one, let's catch it." Whenever they drew near to grabbing it, it rose, mbii, to a tree. [Performer delivers the following dialogue and tf.escribes actions ••ery rapidly, slowing only
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when she uses the ideophanes "fo{o-fo"J He commanded. "Come on now. ·come on. Let's go. Let's go." It moved just above the ground. this extraordinary drum. It moved just above the ground, near the ground. They called, "Give it up." They kept trying to catch it. They kept trying. It rose. It passed. It zigzagged. They tried to catch it. They tri ... And it rose up. "Let's go. Let's go. Let's move away." It went away then, until it perched in a tree. He said, "Let's go. Let's go. Let's move away." It went away theo until it again perched in a tree. He said, "Let's go." When they came they were panting. Fo{o{o-fo-fo{o. [At this point the
perflJrmer responds to a conunent from: the older wpman who has been speaking IIJ her throughout the tale, answering, "Yes. my mother'1 They reached the edge of the village. So. that's where they were. It stopped outSide the village. there at Mowa's place. She began a song; his sister said: If it not for my young brother. e/e /yo muselebende.
lfil not for my young brother. ele tyo museleoende. I would have slept inside the enemy, e/e /yo muse/ebende. In the busb with no people, ele /yo muselebende. Citabanta child of Muycmbe, ele lyo muselebendee. So, they were at the tree on the edge of the village. And those lions came and stopped right there. uhnaa! And, that drum ftew up to a roof. She shit. It was coming out of the drum. They were soaked in it. [Audience laughs) They were soaked in it, [Performer also toughs ) since she had diarrhea. It was coming ou·t looking like hippos. Ala mukwai! No, those people by the lions called, "You, in the village! Save us from the lions. Shoot tlJCse animals. these foolish animals. Look how you wlll be killed in thi~ village." "Come on." They took spears. They tool< axes. They took, whatever. They set out They left. The lions said. "You're lucky to be alive. Don't ever marry a stranger again. Marry only those who you know. You were saved jusl in lime. or we would ha.vc eaten you." This kashimi is over. Audience member: It's over. This performance is perhaps the most complex version of the lion/man set. In the first of four episodes. the refusal of suitors. marriage to a lion/man. and the journey to the wilderness shelter are described. A group of images not found in the previous versions of this narrat_ive occur in the second episode: after aniving in the wilderness, the lion/man and his intended victims return to the viUage for a series of hunting forays; the brother learns the terrible secret and tauntS his inhuman in-law. Episodes three and four continue down the (by now familiar) path of the. versions e>tle taun·tS in the second episode 27 The hero gains dominance. as the movements of the 21
This unusual soccc:r-playing image, with it'\ revealing md incrimin<~.ting chant, oc;cun slightly alleted in Ooke's Lamba coltcc:tion ( 1976: 70·75-).
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magical drum. lhe sisters' song. lhe chastisement, and escape sequences of action clearly demonstrate. These patterns are congruent wilh lhe poles lhat organize lhe performance. Young hero and liontmcn villains arc opposed, locked in battle for the life of the arrogant girls. As forces shift. lhe girls move toward one pole then back again. In the end. ineffectually chasing lhe humans and unintentionally aiding the he ro to chastise his sister, the inhuman in·laws arc reduced to playing the game the hero sets. While human/inhuman and good/evil oppositions remain constant. the hero mediates the spatial poles so that human and natural areas are purged of lhe supernatural lion/men. As the hero and villains battle. a second conJiict plays out. The relationship between brother and sister is an imponant thematic focus of the performance. Paralleling the development of the panerns of dominance, lhe hero begins by having no inOuence at all on his sister's action. then slowly moves to a position of complete control over her fate. At tlle end of the second episode. she so reviles him that their mother must i.ntcrccde. In episode fou r, she must plead for forgiveness and be humiliated before being saved from the oncoming lion/men. The shift in this relationship matches the defeat of the evil husband and tlle lessening of the gap between natural and human realms. The deadly debate and ominous chant give way to the rhythm of the magical drum and the mu~ic of the sister's praise song. Meat, as in the other versions of this performance, substantiates the shifts in dominance. The lion/man is, after all, master of the game he kllls and, initially, of lhe humans he stalks. There is also an ironic tie between the meat the humans eat and the fact that this meat is meant to fatten them up for the inhuman huntcrs2 8 It is also the means by which the lion/man husband feeds the greed of his wife and mother-in-law. stifling such questions as "How has our son-in-law kllled so much meat himself?" 29 When the hero steals the cached meat from his in-laws, as well as their intended human game, he is literally usurping their roles a• the masters of game and false providers. But the theme of meat is more complex here than in the previous versions because it contrasts to the instances of defecation by the terrified sister. This scatological activity, which was alluded to ordy briefly in several other versions (NPS and NPlO). becomes imponant as a theme-connoting element The wife defecates from the fear she experiences afte.r teaming the terrible secret, and again as her 23 Serving food to an intended \'ictim is a common siiUarion in lhis set and coincides with other narratives in this study whc.re providing or denying food is a $tOC:'k element Of course. ll.e lheme is found in tale$ from various areas of ll•e world; pcth~ps the most familiar tO western audiences "Hwuel and Oreul."
29 See NP17, where the wife questions the ungTatC:ful humsn (chap. 5) and N14, where no curiosity is exhibited over lhe lion/men's stntngc dancing and singing (sec appendix to chap. 4).
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brolber taunts her and pretends 10 leave her for the lion/men. 1be final .instance occurs as they arrive home, when bcr feces fill the magical drum. The meat used to fatten the prey and greedily consumed by mather and daughter is literally purged through lhc defecation. This act becomes the inversion of meat and all it represents in the narrative. As her bowels empty, the sister mov·e s closer tO her brother and home. This negation of lion/man's meat is made evident when the group arrives home and the d rum and its contents are swamped with feces, despoiling the meat contained in the magical vessel and leaving only the action of stealing the game as an ind ication of the hero's new role as provider. These humiliating images of purgation transform the girl from an arrogant inhuman wife to a chastised human sister. Thr
clauses. The older woman mocked her by repeating in a loud, high voice "AaJi! AaJi!" This made the audience laugh and, of course, pointed out lhe rhetorical flaw to Mrs. Mulenga. Later on. as the woman continued her running commentary. sbc was both supporting and predicting the performer's words. Performer: ulya mwaice tebele, "We nkashl wandl . .. " that child said, "You, my sister . . . " Old woman: uh huhnm. That's right. (approving voice] Performer: "uyu mulume uwaupwak-" "this husband who you've married-" Old woman: linkLllamo. Is a lion.
30
Unforrunatcly, lhe microphone did not pic.k up mou of lheie rtmarK.s. Wh:n I could ascertain I
reproduce in the wrincn text.
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Mrs. Mulenga: " . .. ni inkalamo." " ... is a lion." Mrs. Mulenga and her respondent were carrying out a technique lhat is common in lhe inshilni tradition. II is related to the formulaic questioning I discussed in chap. ~e "how many?" formula and the incomplete sentence-and stems from lhe basic familiarity lhat people have wilh bolh narrative imagery and lhe linguistic usage of friends and relatives. It is a call and response technique !hat Allan Bums noted among !he Yucatce Maya. People told stories in !heir entirety in a vinual antiphonal style, an ultimate version of this technique.3t But in this performance as Mrs. Mulenga went on she ignored the comments, which were becoming more regular and disruptive, until lhe o lder woman limited her interjections to simply reaffirming lhe performer's narrative: development. This sparring wilh lhe elder, more experienced woman became anolher dimension in an already textured narrative. When combined wilh lhe techniques and style described in chapter 3, lhis per· formance exemplifies lhe many storytelling options open. They can operate on several levels to weave togelher composition and performance techniques and respond as well to the challenges of the performance context. Overall lhen, positive behavior is human in lhis set, whereas predatory or deadly behavior is inhuman. These poles are personified in lhe heroes and villains of each performance. Life, represented by proper conduct and analytical watchful· ness, is juxtaposed to the death-connoting traits of dishonesty, meanness, and glut· tony. Humans constitute potential victims who must move to the proper pole or perish. Within the shape that frame.s the four narrative versions, several themes explore lhe same plot, characters, and patterns of dominance in a humanftnhuman set of polarities. It is appropriate at this point to recall Boon's contention that structures of cui· tural enactments and the relationships they develop do not necessarily hold at olher societal or cultural levels. For instance, the poles of bush and village are not cultur· ally fixed at all times. In reality, fam1ing, fishing, and, especially, hunting can take place in lhe wilderness. TI1ere is a degree of risk or danger involved in such endeavors, but it is not particularly se-vere and is generally addressed through fomts of preventive action-ones we might term precautionary magic (A. F. Robcns 1980: 49-57; Marks 1976: 6H4S) ill reilllife spouses usually oome from outside tlle village, since the usual village is often inhabited by people who are related, in some degree, to each other. The !erosions of matrilineal kinship vinually require husbands to be strangers so that their labor and their siring of children remain dis· tinct from the complex networks of familial obligation and conflicl In times of stress, after all, the husbands and brothers-in-law often exchange accusations of 31
Allan Bums. "Pattern i.n Yueatee Maya Narrative Pcrfonnance." Ph.D. dissenation. Univenily of Washington, 1973 (ciled in Tcdlock 1917: S16).
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witc.hcraft- and these arc usually related to disputes over the sharing of wealth or labo·r (Marts 1984: 72-73; Pocwe 1981: 15-16: A. F. Roberts 1980: 471 -86). Finally, as suggested earlier, lions embody ambiguous meanings for many Tabwa people, who associate them with positive and negative activities. On the one hand, lions arc simply creatures of nature, dangerous but undifferentiated: U1c:y can be tracked and killed by properly prepared hunters. They are also metaphors for chie:fly power (A. F. Roberts 1980, 1983a; Marks 1984}. On the other hand, lion_~ exist as weapons of magic: they can be controlled by powerful humans or spirits, who direct them to terrorize or kill specific human targetS. Though often portrayed as negative, these weapons arc sometimes used to redress social or political injustices (Roberts 1980. 1986a). Because of Ibis ambiguity, in fact. lions serve as appropriate emblems of the religious and political power ofTabwa chiefs. If, therefore, Utis annature of tales establishes a set of oppositions and related themes, it constitutes only one side or viewpoint of a complex of cultural relationships. The referential elements lhat are transformed-as LuUti would say "flauened"-in the set are refracted mlher than directly reflected in these tales. Moreover. the specific performance con.text of each narrative adds depth and texture to the elements of plot and theme. We. can now move on to the next set of performances and examine a different complex of oppositions and themes.
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Appendix Narratives forchaptcr4
Perfonnance: N348, Lion/Men Many Humans Perfonner: Fesha Chishinga. female, age 24 Date and Time: 8 September 1976. approximately 7 P.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: 10 adultS and 7 children There was a litUe thing. It lived in a great village. So, they lived just as we do here. There were many unmarried women living there. No one proposed to them. Now then, two young men set out, looking for wives. So they found a large crowd of madmen, lhieves. witches. from which one of them chose a maiden. The girl agreed, saying, "Yes. 1 accept." And, they cut tobacco for her.32 He said, "We can't stay here with you. Let's go to our home. 1 will take you, my wife. [so that) you will go and know our place." She said. "Yes mu4•wai. let's go." Her lilUe brother said. 'Tm coming along." She said. "No. Stay. How could you know how to travel? Stay; don't go and embarrass me." And he said, "No.1 will come along." "No. stay; don't come and embarrass me." So then she began the journey, going with her husband. The brother went, following behind. They went They went. sleeping on Ule way. And that brother slept nearby; that's how he followed )them]. Then they anived at a spot on the way. They built a sbelter; they stayed there. He said, "It's right here. This is where I've brought you. This is our home. This is where we've arrived." So now she said. "Alai You told us it was a large village." He said, "No. it's right bere. This is our place." So. her brother anived in the evening. She scolded him. She said. "Why have you followed me?" He said, "No. it's no problem. And your [husband's] brother is also on the way." So then he (too] arrived. Now Utere were two couples, two "men" and two women. Her younger brolhcr made three [humans].
So. at daybreak they went to the wilderness. They became lions. They went hunting. They killed large animals and brought them back. Aniving at the edge of tlle village. they became humans. They anived; they brought game to the wives. They cooked and ate it So, the next day. they went and changed, They were lions. 31 A tradition~
gift thou signifies bc::trOI.h:tl.
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One :said, "Can I eat this ooe?" He said, "No. she's not yet fat enough." "Can I eat this one'/" "No, she's not yet fat enough." But their little brother-in-law w-as there, and he woke up to see them. So, the cock crowed. They changed, th.cy were human. They went to the bush and brought [more] game. And so the brolhcr said, "Now listen ... I feel very frightened, my sister, at what. your husband does." "Agh! Get out of here, you're only lying! What did I tell you? You will come and cause trouble between my husband and me. Get out of here, hurry! I want you to go back l:lome." "Ob yeah?" She said. "Yes." That olher lillie sister of his who liked him. she just looked at her. She said, "Don't make a fool of him. he's also a person. We will take him back [later)." So. one fine day. lhey came wilh game,fubu . .. lhey lhrcw it down. It got dark. They slept. They changed into lions. ''Let's eat this one?" He said, "No. she's not yet fat enough." So, the boy pinched his sister on her big toe, and she woke up and saw. but she couldn't even raise her head. She just looked; she said. "So I've married a lion. thinking !hat he's a man." So. he returned [to human fonn). The cock crowed: lhey arose. Now she said, "Tomorrow if I don't escape it's because I'm a fool. I wiU go to my home. So. I've married a lion." At dawn her brother began to carve a little drum. He carved, he caiVed. he carved. Wben he knew it was about twelve o'clock, lhey packed meat into lhe drum. So. he began to .. . be began to carve a little drum. They stored meat inside it. He played it, mbee!! He said. "Good. let's go. let me go wilh my sister. let's go m.y sister. this one who likes me. But you, since you hate me, you'll stay." Now she told him, "No, no, I don't hate you:~ H e said, .. No, you hate me." So, he struck
it. mbii! He said: Mbimbi. the little drum. Mbayane. the little drum. Mbimbi, the little drum. Mbayanc. lhe liUle drum.
So. il rose up. Now he sald, "Lei me allow you in the drum ror only one reason. ln my drum [you can] have a good look at: what your husband does. Today he comes wear.ing a mane. Come and see." So she looked. she said, "Tntly you've forsaken me. jiuSt like that bloodied antelope he's carrying ... Today they will eat me, I'm in for it." He said, 'That's what comes of agreeing to marry those from far away and refusing those from nearl>y." So then they dumped (her] down. Two remained in the little drum, that's where they remained, [he and) the one who liked him. So, she cried . "I beg you, just take me. I'm allso a person. I beg you, I dldn't know. I wouldn't have married him." He said .. "You saw how he was eating your Chi!· dren.:33 You're in for it." 3l l l is dif6cult to ttU whether the pcrfonncr ts merely using a figurative exp-ession or referrin.g to another narrative where lhe husband. or a vilJain, ate hi.11 wife'$ clU.klre.n.
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So. then they put her inside, when they [the lion/men] were very close. So ... they put her in the litlle drum. and he heat it, mbee!! No ... Mbimbi. the litlle drum. Mbayane. the litlle drum. Mbimbi, the little drum. Mbayane. the little drum.
So, t11e lions wem, !hey went They arrived at ... !hey arrived at Chilambc. They dumped down game,jiWu! So ... uh ... this lion threw down meal. He said, "The one who will drink at the stream of Kabaansa is . .. Eene ni walila. Eene ni wali/a Kamba mukundika. Kamba mukundika.
Slutu bliki. Shiwamasala. Shiwamasa/a ngoni.34 So. the young man .. . the girl, was drunk [from fear], watching her husband trying to catch them. She said. "Just hold on to me, my brother. I beg you!" So. they set out; they passed. So then he put her in [securely]. Mbimbi, the little drum. Mbayane, the little drum. Mbimbi. the little drum. Mbayane, the litlle drum.
They arrived at !he top of a palm tree. The lion/men arrived at the fool of the tree. [and] that's where !hey stopped. So, the husbands danced at the base of the tree. They danced. They danced. They danced. They danced at the base, they danced. So, one said, The way you ate lha! one is the way you'U eat this one.
It's quiet. Mother of Kapelclo. wife of the pounder of hom~. ll's quiet. Mother of Kapelclo. the one who mentions you goes. ll's quiet. Mother of Kapclclo_ So, it fell on the husband's head. The little drum came right on it. mboo! So then he died. He died. This kashimi is over.
Performance: N14. Humans Court !Uon/Men Performer. Aida Musonda. female. age 18 Dale and Time: 17 June 1976. approximately 7:30P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandu.la Audience: 6 adults and 2 cllildren
34 1be meming of this song was completely obscure to my infonnants and me. The words might be in Za.frean "Kilabwa.'" since the performer is from Zaire.
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'There was a little person. People lived in a country. So in one country there fell .a great famine. Now there were very many- [Samson Katai admonishes his youngest child, who is fretting, by whLipering "You, stop crylng'l ... young girls. 'They set out, they said. "We are going to pick mushrooms.'' 35 So when they went there to pick mushrooms. they lost the direction of the village. As UlCy wandered aimlessly, they saw smoke coming from shelters. Right over there in the shelters where the smoke was coming from, there lived only lions. Now arriving there at the shelters, they found the lions bad become humans. 'The lions welcomed them, they said. "Ala. young women!" "Yes. :greetings." 'They said. "So. mukwai. Where did you come from. young women?" 'They S
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They tiked us very much. So they told us, 'Come every day and get meat.· And tomorrow that's where we'll be." Their mothers were very happy. "Yes. we have in-laws there." So, mukwai, at daybreak they set out again to go there. They arrived. They welcomed them. That same cook went and cooked. They were very full. They said. "Let's go, we'll begin our game." "Let's go." And the young mco began: You young women ee. you young women, ec oo. You young women ee, you young women, ee oo. At the village where you live. don't go and say, ee oo. We dance with animals, including lions. ec oo. We dance with animals, including lions, ee oo. We dance with animals, including lions. ee oo.
So mukwai, they danced and danced. They were tired, they said, "Are you young women hungry?" They said. "Very much so." Again he went and cooked. They were very full. They said. "Yes mukwai." And they went. Now in that village where the girls came from. there was one young woman, a friend of theirs who did not go with them. She said, "Young women. where you've come from seems very nice. Tomorrow I'll go with you." They said, "We will go." So. she told her mother. "Mother, tomorrow I will go with my friends." She said. "You are just a fool. I started telling you some time ago to follow your friends. and you didn't pay attention. Haven't you seen the things your friends are eating in their homes?" So muJ.:wai. at sunup they went. They arrived. 11tey said. "Ala, young women." "Yes. we've come with another one." They said. "Oh. very good. now we are in pairs, including this one who cooks. He can start dancing with the one you came in with." They said. "Yes." So mukwai. he went and cooked. The young women were so full they could hardly walk. Mul.,vai, they danced. While dancing. they scratched the girls with their claws. they surrounded them. Now this friend who had come staned thinking . ..Ala! What kind of dancing is this, they're scratching us wiU1 their nails? So then these girls and these who dance can't dance very well. .. [Mr. Katai again laughs ] No. Otose young men began to sing, You young womco ee. you young women. ee oo. In the village where you live, don'l go nnd say. ee oo.
We dance with animals. including lions. ee oo. We dance with animals, including lions, ec oo. So. tbat young woman who came with her friends thought to herself. ..Ala! These who are dancing said. 'In the village where you live. don' t go and tell.· No. I can't figure this out. Are these real people with long nails like this? [Mr. Katai begins laughing again] Are these real people with long nails of this type? No, these aren't humans! Uh uhn. Tomorrow it's finished, l won't come here." So tlult same day
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lhe men were scheming lhey said, "Tomorrow when they come, no mukwai, that'll be the end." So. they loaded them up with meat They returned home. That young woman who followed her friends explained to her mother about the song they had been singing. Her mother said, "Agh! You're lying about this. Your friends always go there, now you're the only one who goes and hears these k.inds of words." She said, "Yes mukwai, so tomorrow I won't go there." So, mukwai, the next morning, "Boi, aren't we going?" She said, "No young women, I won't go there." So they went off. They had set a pattem They went and arrived; lhey welcomed them. Since that was the day of eating them, they greeted them well. So now they cooked fat meat for them, so they would get very fat, so that when fat tltey would make better eating. So mukwai, they cooked for them. They ate and were very full. They were very full. They danced. They danced. They said, 'Today young women, we will dance a lot, because you go in the evening." And they said, "Ala! How can we refuse? We wiU dance." So mukwai, dancing, dancing. They were tired, "Let's rest." They said, "Let's rest" They rested and rested, again they prepared ubwali fo r them, again they ate. They danced. dancing. dancing. They said. "Now the time has come!" They said, "Now the time has come!" They counted, "One, two, three, four ... mmhmm." Each one caught his dancing partner, everyone caught his dancing partner, everyone caught .. . Just li.ke that all of tbcm had a share. They started eating them, eating, eating. Then the lions left, abandoning the houses right there where they had lived. to go to another place. So. their mothers there at the village saw the sun going down. They said, "Perhaps they're with the in-laws; they'll sleep there and come tomorrow." The next day came and passed. That young woman who had followed her friends began explaining to her mother. She said, "Mother, what did I tell you? My friends have been eaten." So, the mothers of her friends said, "La's go; you'll guide us to 1he place where your friends took you that day." She said, "Let's go. They went and arrived at the shelters. They found only bones all over; that's all that was left Their children had been eaten. So. 1he mothers just held their chins (in surprise). They went (home and] had a funeml. They mourned ("cried for") them. So mukwai, eventually they slopped. This kashimi is over.
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5 Hunter, Lion, Cobra, and Human:
Natural and Structural Reciprocity
So mukwai, a human is evil. He will smile at you outwardly but inwardly cheat you. The lion worked for his good friend. He gave him a wife. The snake saved him from death. But the human only wanted to see his friend killed. A buman is evil in this world. (conclusion ofNP17 by Mr. Datson Kasclckcla) The performances examined here, like tltose in the preceding chapter, have similar plots and strucrures. Witllin this set, narratives have vinually identical characters and eveniS, yet each performer tells a slightly different story, uniquely blending patterns, episodes and details. Pauemed images comprise this set. As in the story of the lion and his nephews (NP5), the repetition of similar, rather than identical, acts creates the central structure. Whereas the two patterned image-sets in NP5 were based on trickery, the patterned image-sets of the following narratives are based on the return of positive or negative acts .for a generous deed. Each patterned imageset of reciprocal action constitutes a developed episode. to which the storyteller gives thematic focus, using spatial and behavioral polarities. to create the final, often allegorical, organization. The set is a paradigm for a skillful performer to sl!ape. Pe-rformance: NP13, Hunter Saves Lion and Cobra Performer: Roben Mwcnda, male. age 30 Date and Time: 21 June 1976, approximately 2 P.M. Place: Mulcupa Katandula Audience: 10 adults and 12 children There was a little thing. It seems to me. a hunter set out saying, "I'll go hunt· ing in tlle bush." Now as he went, he walked, he walked. So. fmally be got lost.
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Now he said. "What will I do in this place?" He just wandered about. he just wandered. He said, "O.K.• this is d ifficult, now let me look for a shelter where I can stay, because I may never find my way back to the village." So. that person walked and wal.ked. and finally found a cobra in a hole, (A woman in the audience admonishes children against opening the door to the house where the session is taking place; a large noisy group of children outside is trying w get a beuer view of the proceedings) and a lion. Now when they saw him they said, "Yangu! You human, why are you passing here?" He said, "Men. ala, I got lost." He said. [Woman again scolds children. "You, don't open"] "Oh, O.K. We beg you. take us out of this .. • what -do-you-call-it ... this hole." That Kalalampanga [One-who-sleepS-in·thebush) told them, "No. if I get you out, cobra. if I gel you out, what would you do later? You might bite me." He said, "No my friend, I beg you." Then be said, [A wddler begins firful. complaining noises). "Ala, no my (riend. you might bite me." "No." Now what did that person do? He freed the cobra. He came out. [The same
U>ddler calls out "Mama!"] Then the !.ion who remained in the hole said. "Ala, and me too. I beg you. get me out." He said, "No. take you out?" "Yes." "Oh. O.K." He got that lion and took him out. Now the rwo of them staned, the cobra and the lion; the cobra said. "Oh, man. I will not tell you what I'll do for you, but for now, may great God lei you walk safely." That lion said. "O.K. Kalalampanga. when you hear me roar. you'U know that you're called to come and get game." So. they ju.ott walked. Thai person had now lost all hope of returning. he built a shelLer right there in the bush. He just stayed; he stayed. In that way, when the
lion roared [he went and received meat]. He returned. he slept just like that. Again, when he roared, just as before, he went Now one day that lion came. He said. "Man, I've seen that you live alone as a bachelor in the bush. Now what do you think?" He said, 'Truly my strength and wits are at an end here in the wilderness, how could I look for a wife?" "Oh. O.K. my friend, I'll look. for one." So one day that person. it seems to me it was the lion ... there was a wedding, in the village; it was the wedding of the clucrs daughter. So he [the lion] said, "Yes. fine." Now in the morning that lion set out and h.id near the village. It seems to me that it was the time for the bride and groom 10 do what? They came out and were about to make the marriage official. Now that lion jumped o ut, he caught hold of the bride. "Yemwe! A person has been caught by a lion! She's caught by a lion! She's caught by a lion!" They tried 10 follow them. Nothing doing. That person went and went He carried her. So. that lion came 10 that young man. Kalalampanga. He said, "Man, I've brought you this girl." He said, "Truly I thank you. you've wodc:ed well." So, he lived. He just lived, he lived. Now someone in the village went out. saying. "Let me go fmd a bit of honey." So. he set out He walked. he walked. he walked; then he looked. He said, "Yangu' Where is that smoke coming from?
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O.K.. so let me go there." He set out. he arrived. he came upon the shelter. Now he gaped. "A/a! Isn't !his the chief's child'/ Haal I'm surprised! You young girl, how are you'/" She said, "Oh, just as you see." "Do you live in here?" "Yes." He sald. "Yangu! How are you?" She said, "I'm just fine. and I have these children." He said, "O.K." "Yes." "O.K. my sister, stay well; I'm going." She said, "Won't y·Ou stay to eat some ubwali?" "No. thank you, I'll come and cat another time." So, that honey-gatherer set out for that village. [A woman in the audience says something to a man, Indistinct on the tape, and he answers, "It's a lie." She answers affirmatively, "Uhm hunh": the subject they refer UJ is unclear] When he arrived there he went Stmight to the chief, aniviog at the counyard. "Chief." He said, "What is it?" "Ala, that child you're looking for, ala, I 've found her in the wilderness." "Really?" "Yes." "You've found her'!" He said, "Yes." He sai d, "Didn't you lind her husband?" "No. h.e was in Ole bush." He said, "Have you go:ne mad, saying these lhings?" He said, "Ala, I' m not mad." "Well fine, tomorrow ['ll send my guards to follow you to that young woman." Then. my friend, in the morning the guards set out with some poople who foiJowed them to get that young woman. So, they set ou~ they went and found the young man there. They said, "Yangu! Ccnainly; !his person is a witch. He's a witch! It's you who stole her, tttis one stole the chief's child." And he sa.id. "No mukwai. calm down." They said. "No, lei's go." Then, juSt like that, they took that young man and began to beat him and beat him. Then the young woman said. "No. don't beat !his one. You haven't found me dead, I'm healthy. And I bore these children for him here in the bush. Now bow can you beat him?" They said, "No, this is great witch. " So tben they carried that young man. It seems to me. they walked a few miles; then the young man saw the cobra. He [the cobra] began to beckon to him, "Come here. Come here." [A man In audience warns child against opening the door to the house, "You!", and a woman repeats the waming, "Don't open it") Now that young m;an asked pe110ission of those soldier.;, the guards; he said, "ll'ly grandfathers. I'd like to relieve myself in the bush." One said, "Won't you run away?" "No. I won't run." "Put him in handcuffs or he'll run off." He said. "Ala mukwai. I won't run away. I've got a case against me. how could I run away?" So. that man went to the brush there. He went and saw his friend the cobca. The o.:obra said, "You ... yoW>g man, what's this?" He said. "A/a! The young woman who my friend the lion brought ... tch! _ .. 01e one who he brought is Lhc one who's caused all this. And now I don't know what to do. They attacked me." "It's O.K." "Really?" He said. "It's no problem. Look. in Ole night I'll come and bite the chief. Now after I bite the chief, listen, this is the medicine. these two leaves. You will chew them in your mouth, an4 then ancr you've c!!cwed l!ll!m then you'll rub it where I'll bite the chief." He said, "Oh, O.K. boi, thank you." So. that man went back. They said. "Oh you've come." "Yes." "O.K. Jet's go." So 01ey arrived at that palace. One said, ".So, truly this person. ala. Kalalampanga is a
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witch! Ala, he's a witch! Ala, he's a witch! Ala, he's a witch!" They began to beat and beat him. That young woman said, "Ala, you're just mistreating him." So, then, they went and put him in a litde hut, and poured water in it (to make him damp and uncomfonable]. So, I t!Unk. it was twelve o'clock at night when the cobra came to the ehief and bit him. "Yangu! The chief! Ala! The chief has died! The chiers been bit· ten!" "What son of bite?" He said, "Ala, it's a cobra that bit him." Now they searched and searched. The people dido 't know about medicine. They went and looked far away, they looked for a doctor. They said, "Perhaps t!Us will do it?" But truly they just failed. They said, "No, go and find others." Blit the others also failed. Now one who was seated in the meeting hall said, "How about the one who came, Kalalampanga? Now listen, he spent lots of time in the wilderness. He must have learned everything about diseases. and the medicines for snake bite, because he's the One·who-sleeps-in·the·bush, not in the village." One said, "A/a! He's a witch, he might come and finish him off: he'll finish off the chief. Maybe be's the ooe who bewitched him." And others said, "No. just go and gel him." So. then !bey went to that house, to the young man. "You listen, the chief has been bitten." He said. "Really?" "Yes." "Really. I could try a linle. Now I'm not very hopeful. because it's only an attempt." They said, "It's O.K.. just go and try." So, the man then went there to the what-do-you-call-it . .. the counyard. So. he arrived there. "Yangu! Where was the chief bitten?" Tiley said, "Here." "Oh, O.K." He got the medicine: he began to ehew it, he chewed it, he chewed it. Then he rubbed it where the chlef had been bitten. Right away the chief arose, he got up. Now the chief, ala, was completely healed. When the morning came that chief said, "Fine: and who healed me?" They said, "It's this one, Kalalampanga. That one who came and abducted your child, who 'ldlled' her." "Yangu! Really?" "Yes." "O.K., call him." So they called !bat young man. "Uh huh. my fatber, truly I thank you." Now aU the people gathered. "You people, now come here, I want you. You've seen what my 'father' did. Truly it was the One-who-sleeps-in·the·bush who took my child, who took her to the wildcmcs.~. But he is all right, because he came and healed me. Now, I'll divide the country. All of you who are here. this one is your ehief. And I will rule t!Us country that's here." So, that man was given a country to rule. [Addresses audience] Fine. now I've come to question you. Let's begin with
the lion and the cobra and that one who came out of the wilderness. Now who is th.e one who acted the best? Audience: It was the cobra. Performer: The cobra?
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Aud·ience: The cobra. Performer: Yes, O.K., it came and saved its friend. Now me, I think that the lesson here is that all of them did weU. The way they did weU is this: that lion djd not do wrong. lie was not wrong in this way. As for the lion, Kalalampanga eouldn 't do anything there in the bush, how coulod he marry? Now who was the ·One who showed hlm how to marry? Audience: The lion. Performer: It was the lion. Now we get to the cobra. That cobra is the one who gave hlm the chlefshlp, when they said to hlm, "I'U divide this country of yours." So what did he do? lie gave him the c:biefship. Now we come to that person who went and informed on the one in the wilderness, even that one did well. lie brought that person, the One-who-sleeps-in-the-bush. or he would never have found his way to the village. Now that one helped him because he got him out of the wilderness and brought hlm to the village. So everyone did well. This kaslllmi is finished. Aud·ience: Your name . .. give him your name.
Performer: I am Robert Mwcnda. This pcrfonnance is composed of five episodes and an epilogue in which the perfonner discusses the theme with his audience. 1l1e hunter debates with the tr'Jpped animals in the first episode. The pattern of this argument, with the episode that contains it, culminates in promises of positive reciprocity after the animals are freed. The grateful lion provides the hunter with meat. and in the second episode a wife. Kidnapping the chief's daughter is a formulaic action common to three of the four narratives in this set.t In tllC third episode, the honey-gathering human establishes a question-and-answer pattern by spealdng to the hunter's wife about her situation, then trying to convince the chief of what he has seen. This episode ends with the bunter's capture and his wife's protest.~. The fourth episode depictS the cobra's encounter with the hunter, and the execution of Iris plan, also a constant in tl1ree of the four performances in this set. Calling together his subjects, in the fifth episode the chief explains the humer•s good deeds and gives lhc hero half his coun-
try to rule. The storyteller, Mr. Roben Mwenda, coocludes with a cooundlrum-Uke examination of the narrJ.tive, focusing on lhc question of which character acted most beneficently toward the hunter. 1
The lppelldix tu ch:.p. 5 cont.Uns a fifth member of this set. NPI S. wilh similar polaritte.s and pkH
eletnenlS.
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The interaction of the hunter, the deadly animals h, frees, and the honeygatherer creates spatial and behavioral oppositions. Hunter and animals are bound both by their positive reciprocal action and by the wi.ldemess or bush area where they live. The honcy-gatt.crer and the other viUagcrs in the narrative exhibit unjustified brutality towards the hunter. 1ltis contrast of behavior creates bush/village and animal/human polarities. Moreover, the narrative's st.ructure can be viewed as three episodes of positive reciprocal action and one of negative action. Each episode has one main actor, in rum, the hunter, the lion, the honey-gatherer, and the cobra. Aligned wilhin the positive axis of behavior are hunter, lion, and cobra. contrasted to the honey-gatherer. ln the last episooo of positive reciprocal action, the chief repays the hunter's kindness in the human world just as the animals repaid his generosity in the natural realm. The pancmed image structure of this performance depends on the way characters act within the categories of reciprocal action. Although the honey-gatherer is not specifically indebted to the hunter as the animals are. the performer carefully contrast« his ra.«h behavior with that of the animals. The irony or animals acting more benevolently than humans is an imponant el.ement in developing the behavioral oppositions that delineate the allegory. When !he honey-gatherer visits the hunter's wife, the details of the conversation stress her happiness in the natural setting. By simply informing the chief wbe.re his daughter is, the honey-gatherer shows a distinct lack of sensitivity and discretion. This impetuous human behavior is reinforced when the chiers emissaries beat the hunter anj throw him into a cold, damp ceiL Negative human characters a.re opposed to the hunter, his family, and the grateful animals in what can most properly be called a nature/human set of polarities. And the storyteller moves the hunter into the bo>b, natural space. to ally him with animals who reciprocate his positive behavior. Spatial movements are essential to the narrative's thematic development. By first losing his way in the bush, the hunter becomes associated with the lion and cobra. He lives in a crude shelter and is known by the name Kalalampanga (Onewbo-sleeps-in-the·bush). He survives through the life-giving acts of the lion and cobra. One provides him life-sustaining meat and a wife ,.bo bears him children, and the other not only saves his life but gives him the curative knowledge or medicine in the process. Thi~ flourishing of creative, life-oonnoting skills is oomrasted with the brutal acts of the humans. In Ute overall pauem of narrative movement, the hunter journeys into nature, gains vital life-giving skills, Ow returns to the tainted human society. Nature is the source of wisdom and valuable skills. a model of proper behavior and creativity. Although the chief rewards Kalalampanga for saving his life, the deeper significance of this event i~ the hero's return and rise 10 power. suggesting the coming of a new, more harmonious order, one which can achieve a proper balance between human and natural realms. The hunter. the
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human who routinely moves between both worlds. is best equipped to realize these needed changes. Allegorically matching natural and human worlds, lhc reciprocal action
episodes structure the n3JT'Jtive's lheme.2 The essential irony of animals acting more humanely than humans, makes the final message all the more effective, since their beneficence make.~ lhe human world seem all the more tainted. There is a fme symmetry in the patterned episodes and ~llatial movements, delineating a model for positive action in nature to be transported to the human world. The vivified chief, fmally. measures up to the animals as be too reciprocates the hunter's generosity in the fiflh episode. This mesh.ing of good deeds coincides with the patterned episodic sets. adding to the allegorical power of the narrative. In the epilogue to the narrative. Mr. Mwenda undermines its obvious theme, drawing out the audience and trying to put across his view of the narrative's me3Jling. To understand his view and the reason for his effons, we need to look at llle context of his perfonnanee. The session took place early in my initial stay at Mukupa Katandula; people were beginning to understand and acoept my presence and purpose in their viUagc. Knowing I wanted to record tales, a few women invited me to a beer-drink where several men had consented to perform stories for my benefit. The afternoon session was set indoors to avoid disruption. Amid llle clink and clatter of the metal bowls used to portion out maize beer (karara or, to u:se the more common tenn, chibuku), Robcn Mwcnda was the first to tell a story. His desire to impress and to create a sucoessful performance probably led him to question his peers regarding the theme of the tale. As if responding to a prayer-leader at Sunday service-or to an elder relating an "important" story-the audience reacted politely to the initial question, waiting for Mr. Mwenda to e
in.itlal victor')' is revtJsed by an enemy. only w' tum to his greater advantage at story's end. Thou.gh. this p~lkm illustrntt:s what happens to the hunter in our set, it omits lhe crucial elcmcnL.<J of reciprocity lhat infOS¢ the patlem of gratitude-encounlC:rin.g. and then countering, ingr:uitude. ) William Bascom categorizes versions of tb.is tale·as '"l)'pe• 50:1 -17 (1975; 69-75). Th.i.s, the only
oonu.OOrwn ve.rsion of this story in my rteordin~. is also associntcd, by some pcop1c, with Christian sermons on ingnuirude i\Jld mOrality (when I related lhe laJe to a group ofTabwa strangers lhey began to ask me if I were a pticst or missionary of SO·me sort; perhaps early and contemporary clergy came across this ta_lc and found it unusually appropdate for their various messages). Oddly enough.. lhis dilemma version lacks any literal morn.l. or moralizing clcmeniS.
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Performance: NPI4, Hunter Saves Lion and Human Performer: Nose Njenga, female, age approximately 45 yrs. old Date and Time: 3 July 1976,4 P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 5 adults and 15 children Mulcwal, people lived in a great village. One person was a hunter. huotiog with. dogs. He was hunting [away) from the village with dogs, in the wilderness searclling for meat. Now when he was walking. walking, walking, he found a game pit, lhat they dug a long time ago. They dug those game pits in order to trap game. So now. right inside, he found that right into the game pit had fallen a person and a lion, a lion and a person. Now lhe lion had fallen in on one side, and the person had fallen in on the other side. Now the lion said, ''1bis is a human being: I could cat him." Now what could he do in order to tum around and eat the person? It was difficult. He was stuck here and the person was stuck there; and there was no way of getting out or even looking at each other. So mukwal. !hey just stayed there; they stayed there. Now the lion
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became thin and the person became thin. He said, "How can I eat !his person on my back?" He tried to tum. he couldn't. "Truly, this is a human, this is what I eaL" Now in attempting to eat him ... Hab! [Performer begins kwghing] Audience member: He failed. He failed, because he was stuck, and the person was also stuck. Now there was only one game pit into which they had fallen. So now that hunter was coming with dogs. As he passed, he looked in the game pit, and found a person and a lion ... how many? Audience member: Two. Two of them. That person said, "Grandfather, get me out?" He looked at the lion, "If I get you out you'll come and eat me." It said, "No grandfather, if your friend saves you how could you cat him?" "'No grandf31her, you're very 110ublesome. Ala! Wbat will! do?" He cut down a branch and put it in that game pit. [Performer claps once to emphasize the decision to save the trapped human] The person grabbed iL What did he do? He pulled him out. The lion said, "GrandfaUler, get me out'?" "No grandfather, you're troublesome. You. if I get you out right here wbat will you do? You'll grab us and kill us." "No grandfather. If your friend saves you from the pit could you come and eat him?" He said, "Grandf31hcr, you're troublesome." So they began to argue, that person tllcre and the one who he took. out who stayed with the lion in the hole. "No grandfather, you're troublesome." "No, get me out gr.mdfather." He said, "'No, uhn uhmn. You could tum on me right here, you'll grab us and eat us because you're so thin. You could Cill u.~." He said, "No grandfather." So he looked. He said, "Tcb ... lf I leave him there he'll stay right in here, he'll be saying, 'He went and freed his fellow human . He only freed that human but left me because I'm a l i.on. "' So, muhvai, again ullmn, he threw in the branch. So what did the lion do in the game pit? tie came out. tie said, "Grandfathe.r, [Performer c/aps]thank you. You saved me. In the future I wiU also save you." So, the lion began to stretch, and recover, he said, "Mmmgrrr.'' "Don '1 you sec? It's just as we said, 'you '11 grab us.' Wby are you stretching yourself?" He said, "No [Performer laugh,], heh, I'm only stretching, I was cramped in there. Now what is the bloOd doing?" Audience member: It doesn't circulate. "The blood doesn't circulate. Now th:n's why I'm stretching." So mukwai, there they separated. He said, "What wiU I do grandfather'?" He said, "Stay well." The person said, "We are going." Now th.e lion said, "As you are going ... when you are going don't worry about any rustling up ahead. It won't be an)1hing. Don't
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worry, it won't be anything; you'll wal)( safely." He said "No, what would you do, because you're troublesome? You'D go ahead and grab us." "No my friends. I couldn't do that to you; you've saved me." So !ben mukwai,together with the one he saved, they staned walking. What did the lion do? He went So, the person and the one he lOOk out from the game pit, his fellow human, went to the village. They wal)(ed, they walked, they walked. They found that the lion had stopped abead of them. "Ala! Grandfather. we told you. That's wby you're difficult Why are you [waiting] ahead of us?" He said, "No, I wiU not do anything 10 you. You wiU go and arrive." "No, uhrun. You're uoublcsomc. Why are you going ahead of us?" He said, "No. I'm going . .. I'm going ... you 'U arrive weU. There's nothing at all [to fear] . Although you'D see me it's because I'm protecting you against my friends, who might threaten you. That's why I'm going ahead of you. Go wcU." So mukwai, they arrived at the viUage. "Father of Kmtwa has returned!" So they greeted them. "Welcome back!" "Yaku, the person who was lost! Yaal" They had alrc.ady mourned them in the village. They had organized a wake. thinking the person was dead because it had been six months that they were in the pit So mukwai, they stayed there. Uhmn! Oh, very good. Then after three or four days, the chief's child went and feU in the game pit, tllC same one that the lion and the person feU into. That's w~re that chiefs child went and fell. Right there he fell into the game pit "The chief's child! The chief's child! The ehiefs child is lost." They searched. They searched. Tiley searched until sundown. A week passed and another. In the third one, that one who was saved with the lion said, "Oh, perhaps tllis child of the chief fell in:o the game pit." The people [said]. "How do you know that he could have gouen loot in a pit?" He said, "He could have fallen in the game pit" "So lead the way to tlle pit he fell into." So nmkwai, that person who was taken out with the lion. led the way again to tllat san1e game pit. Truly. they found the chief's child right in th:re. They took him out of the pit. They took out this chiefs child. • Ala! And bow d id ycu know?", tbe chief said. '"That's the one wbo came and pointed out the game pit, the pit the chiefs child fell into." He said, "Yes. And he helped us out, together with the lion." 4 "So call that person who took you out. He's the one who d ug this game pit, he's the one who kil.led the chief's child." And then what happened to the chief; child? He died right in there. They found that he bad decomposed. Tiley took him [tllC chief! the corpse. "Go and arrest the one who d ug the game pit. That one whc dug the pit is the one who took the chiefs child.· So. they got that person who took them out, they went and gmlbcd him. Now the one who reported him was the me who was taken out with the lion. So mukwai, right 4
I hw.J difticuhy kce.ping !rack of lhc pronouns when I tTanslatcd lhis talc. The audience. on the
othc;:.f ho\1-...:J, hod l iulc lt\iuLlc um)w>ta.n..J1ug whu
""Ill'
,;ayiug whal lU whum.
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there they arrested him. They said, "Take him." They took him. They began to beat him severely. He said, "No, don't beat me; don't kill me. I'm not the one who killed him." "It's you who killed him 'because you dug the game pit, o r how C011ld be bave found it?'' He said, "No mukwai, l didn't dig tbe game pit. l oniy went and found them, and then took them out. I found a lion, but I didn't kill the person." He said, "No." So mukwai, they arrested him, they arrested him. They said. "Don't kill him. Don' t kill him." So, then that lion arrived. That lion whom he took out. It said, "Nanganga! Nanganga!" So, the people in the village ran away. "Yangu! A lion's come!" The people entered their houses. One said, "This case will not be properly solved. Let's leave him, don't kill him. The lion's interrupted things, but it's not grabbing JX'O· pic." So mukwai, in the morning they slept Again the people gathered. He said, "You said that the chiefs child fell into a hole; it's you who dug the hole." ''ll wasn't me who dug the hole." He said , "It's you. How did you know? Because it was you who went and took them out." "MuiMai, I only found them, and took them out. But it wasn't me who dug the pit in which the child died." "No. we will kill you." So, again the lion can1e. "Nanganga! Nanganga!" ll roared all day. The people ran away. They said, "No." Then the lion spoke. He said, "No, you people, don't run away. This person you want to kill has no guilt Gather, come back." One said, "No, you'll grab us." He said, "No. I won't grab you. Mukwai, lhls person only saved liS. He is a hunter with dogs.5 He found us [after] we had fallen io., a lion and this person. But this grandfather who h110ts with dogs, found llS in the pit. Then he saved me with that person, me a lion. But then arter he saved us, coming from this village, this yo110g man. the child of the chief, went and feU in the game pit. lie (the man who was saved] said, 'It's U1e one who saved us.' No mu/..~vai. It's this one who dug the hole. He's the one who killed the chief's child. So don't kill this one. This one didn't kill him, tile one who killed him is this one. This one who took us out didn't kill bim, he didn't dig the hole. The one who dug it is this one." So, wbat did they do with the young man they were about to kill? They let him go. They said, "The lion has saved you. • And U1cy all scauercd. It's finished, mui.,wai. Rlur episodes frame this performance. In the first episode, two sets of acts are developed: the lion attempts to eat the human with whom he is trapped, then Ule hunter and lion argue over being released from the trap. This episode ends when the hunter reluctantly frees the lion. A series of accusations and reassuranoes is Ule pattern of the second episode; the two human.~ SllSpect the lion is following them home in order to eat them. The third episode includes the death of the chicrs chiM, s And therefore in hunting he would not use a game pit
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the blame directed at the person rescued from the game pit, and finally the arrest and charging of the hunter with the child's deatll. Tile pattern of action in this episode is, again, the leveling of accusations and the con~quent denials, directed first at the person rescued and then at the hunter. The lion twice enters the village, breaking up the hunter's !rial, and finally convinces the people of the hunter's inno· cence in the founh episode. Though the lion's interventions are its center, the pattern of U1e last episode incJujes the earlier accusations repeated in the hunter's hearing. As in the previous performance, a set of animal!human polarities develops. balancing tbe deadly lion against the human who is also released from the game pit This comparison begin.~ when the lion aucmpts to eat his fellow prisoner and continues into the events of episodes three and four. These latter episodes create another set of polarities based on grateful and ungrateful a:ts. The human betrays the hunter who saved him while the lion defends his berefactor-the reciprocity starkly contraSts with the lion's early behavior in U1e game pit: "Truly. this is a human. This is what I eat." There is a pronounced irony in the fierce enemy of humans aiding the hunter, while his fellow human betrays him. Although humans and lions occupy clearly delimited spaces, no strong spatial polarities develop here. The well-meaning hunter is associated with the wilderness only because he frequently travels into that rellm. Identifying the realms of the good lion and bad human, a bush/village op~osition is secondary to the gratitude/ingratitude and animal!human polarities of the narrative. Several elements in tl:e structure of this performance resemble the panerned sets of reciprocal action of the preceding narrative. Tile episode depicting the hunter's generous act compares with the Hnal episode illustrating the lion's positive reciprocation. However, thi; chain is offset by the second episode, wherein the lion is constantly accused of threatening the humans. A virtuaU1 uninterrupted series of accusations and denials winds consistently through the narrative, set in counterpoinl to the reciprocal pattern. Once the lion's ani tude toward humans is established. the remainder of tbe performance depicts his resolve to repay his benefactor de,;pite his aversion to people. The second episode centers on the discomfort the two humans exhibit with the lion. Echoing the argument he made in the game pit, '1f your friend saves you how could you eat him?", the lion three times reassures the men of bis good intentions. The first two episodes, therefore, reveal the lion's dangerous potential and the misgivings both humans feel regarding his claims of benevolence. In the third and fo urth episodes, people continue their accusation. wlticil they direct this time at the newly-freed person and then at the hunter. It remains fo r the lion to break this pattern with his own paucm of twice entering the village. At this point, he explains all that happened while revealing tll31 the ungrateful person was the one who had
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actually dug the game pit. This last detail finnly sets !he polarity and completes the symmetrical comparison between !he halves of the narrative. As the lion saved by a hunter in the wilderness tr•vels to the village to rescue his benefactor. four episodes become the mirrored haves of categorical behavior. Accusation.< arc directed at !he lion, at first wilh good cause, and a.t !he ungrateful human. also wilh good cause. The lion is later subjected to false accusations just as the hunter is. In bolh halves, people must finally accept the word of the lion in order to resolve a conOict. When the lion clears up the situation after a chief's child falls intO the game pit. this second resolution is the more significant because it sig· nals the end of !he ubiquitous false-accusation pauem. Structurally, episodes one : four and two : three depict positive and negative action. respectively. Although reciprocal action occurs in episodes one, three and four, it is the comparison of narrative halves !hat provides the final ~hape of the perfonnance. Thematically, the key relation.•hip is the comparison of animal and human behavior. Gratitude and ingratitude are the most obvious elements in this comparison. However, undue suspicion and unjust accusation.< are also strongly developed in tlle narrative. The lion's apprccia.tive reciprocation focuses, in fact, on breaking the persistent pauem of accusations. The narrative's conclusion plays down human ingratitude: the hero receives no recompense for his SUJffering, neither a position of power nor the satisfaction of seeing his slanderer punished. lie is simply released and wid "The lion has saved you." Thematically. then, the focus remains on lhc human community that at la.'it believes the lion's explanation. just as the hunter accepts the Jion':s word. Unlike the hunter in the preceding perfonnance. this man is not identified with nature but r.mcr subject to the pattern of su~11icion and false accusations that plagues the vil· !age community. His eventual exoneration is a lesson for himself as well as olher members o f his society. Though patterned episodes stress gratiludc/ingratitudc polarities. the overriding pauem of accusations reveals a deeper problem that must be remedied: the inappropriate flourishing of false accusations and flawed justice. A deadJy animal. once again, provides a behavioral model for human rcla.tionships. The perfonnance context of this narrative itself made an interesting contrast between this tale and the one which preceded it. At the time of its recording, I was on my way to another section of Mukupa Katandula village. A young man called me over to record a tale. He proceeded 10 lCU wh3t I have referred to elsewhere as a
"balumendo" (teen-agers' or young men's) story. 6 The content of the tale includes a great deal of contemporary imagery. The hero is named "John," the heroine "Mary"; the plot takes John into the cit)' to seck worl< as a cook. He procures a job with a "white man" and goes on to have some fantastic adventures ·that include car chases, gun fights and other elements or contemporary pulp fiction or fllms 7 Then 6 1
See Cancel (1986b) for a description or lhese kinds of stOries~ see also Roger Abrahams (1983).
The sources of such dc:mc:nts in Lnle s arc elusive. Some ha\'C atbibutcd them to aeoouniS by friends and rcl.ativcs of what they saw in films in lhc cities, or read. or heard others desaibe from
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our older storyteller, Mrs. Nose Njenga followed !his perfonnance with one that recaptured !he environment and lhcmcs of !he story tradition wilh which she was most familiar. Ralher !han employing the boastful hyperbole and bombast of the young man, she used an internal strategy that simply related the story. using a good deal of dialogue. and let the audience draw its implications without extra com men· tary. Before going on to the next performance, we can twte some of the social
referents common to our two namtives. NP13 and NPI4. They contain literal or implied accusations of witchcr.ift. The hwuer in !he first tale is thought to be a lion/man or at least one wbo controls a magical "lion." and the hunter in the second narrative stands accu.~ed of digging a game pit wilh malicious intent, !hereby caus· ing !he death of the chiefs child. Three clements are significant in this set of events. Fi!SI, hunters are thought to use magical powers in a malevolent way if their success in the hunt is seen to be at tlle expense of tlleir families or neighbors (Mari<s 1984: 73). Second. !he role of the chief in each of these tales is somewhat ambiguous, since he aeccpL~ false accusations and only at the end exonerntes the hunter. Third. !be subtext of false witchcraft accusations involves numerous relationships between people in a village, between people and their chief. and between the spheres of viUage and bush. I wiU return to these concerns as we examine the next two narratives. In the following performance. tbe polarities which have so far charncterized this set arc altered within the same patterned reciprocal structure, creating a new thematic focus. Performance: NPI6. tluoter Saves Lion, Cobra, and tluman Perfonner: Joseph Kasengele. age approximately 35 Date and Time: 4 November 1976, approximately 4 P.M. Place: Nsama Audience: 2 adulL~ and I child Begin again? [Question addressed to the researcher and refers w a tale just told] Again, this one will he similar to that one about the chiers child. This second chief was also a very rich man. He had many people. crowds and crowds. aU over his land. And he lived amongst his people. He falhered a child, a very beautiful novels. There is not in Zambia. as lhere is in East Africa. a popular pulp fiction in local languages. Popular culture spreads rapidly here. as ln all places. but what exaclly it includes is nO( readily l!pparent. As AbrAhams (1983) implies. the perfonnancc of such Unagcry is a means o( self-assertion and, I would guess, wish·fulfillmcnt M well. I hope tO eva.lu;ste these kinds of pedc:mnances in my coUcction and pt:esent my findi.ng.s i.n a fonnal study.
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child, who resembled him in all his benevolent trait<. That was his cttild. This chief was never strict wilh his child: he did not lock her up, he did not guard her. He simply let her do what she wanted co. Sbe was old enough to go alone to draw
water. Now there was a small young ma:n. This young bachelor searched for honey in the wilderness. And that's where he went and got lost. He had no wife. He just lived in the bush. Now one day that "lion" (Performer seems to be riiferrfng to the young man who lives alone in the wilderness) was in the bush. and a person had gone gathering. He said, "Oh, it's raining, I'll be soaked." He saw smoke coming from the wilderness, at a shelter. He thought a perxon was there, a friend. He went and found that there was a meat storage platfonn inside the shelter. [Performer speaks the dialogue of the honey-gathering human in a high. nearly falsetto voice ) "What about this person who kiUs game. where's the one who k.illed this game?" He said, "Let me wait for this person, because the rain might kill me." [This next sentence Is spoken In a husky, deep voice) So. then, sebwe sebwe, this person came after killing game, his fellow human. He put down the meat. ful>u. "I never drop dow.n carcasses of people, I drop down carcas.<es of game. Odi [you in) my house." His friend s.aid_, "Kalibu [come in)."s " What! [Spoken in a high voice. to express surp-rise] I don't want anyone in my house. And now I've found a person here, in my llou.~." He said, "My friend, come in." So. his friend went in, and sat at a dist.mcc from him. "My friend, where did you come from, gr-•ndfather of Bwalya?" "''ve come hunting honey. Then I saw smoke coming up, and the rain soaked me. So where could I run? I mn right bcre to the shelter. Then l found all this game piled up. I said, since I was hungry, I thought this friend might give me ubwali tO eat and he 'II give me meat to take to lhc village." "''ve never met tltis so.n of person." "And so my friend, I waited for you to arrive." "Good." Then his friend said, " Do you think I deal with people?" He said. "Grandfather. take it easy, I can help you. Good. As I've explained to you, my friend, don't think that I'll hatol you." "My friend, I don't usually see any people. I live alone and now that you have found me, you 'U kill me." He said, "No, I won' t kill you; I wiU give you good advice. Tomorrow you'll go and dig a pit. After you dig the game pit, I'll help you. You wiU see what will come into tlle game pit: you 'll see it." So, his friend gave him meat and he went In the rooming he went and dug a game pit He camouflaged the opening. [Perfonner says to a child sharing a small. long stool with Joim, "Move over my friend. so that I may speak"] In a shon while. tltat morning his friend found the trap had been s-prung. He pocped inside and saw there was a lion and a cobra in that game pit. Now be 8 1'he terms "od,- and "k.alibu"' are used &.'1 tbe Swahili "Jwdi" and "Wihu" Ate. When entering 111 house or approac,hing unseen. one perso.n c-.alb out "Odi! .. to a.lert others; the respondent sa;y:J "Kalibu (Come m]."
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peeped in and found a lion and a cobra and a human. "Ala! There arc three of you. There's a lion; if I help you out you'll grab me. If I help out the snake, !he cobra. he'll bite me. Now what will I do? And !he person is a fellow human being. I'll soon find him in my bouse." So the person. his friend. began to speak; he said, "My friend, help me out. I'm your fellow human." "Won't you trick me if I help you out?" "No." And !he lion said, "Human, take me out first. I would belp you more !han he will." He refused. And the CO•bra said. "Human, help me out. I will help you." Fine. The person stretched out :his walking stick; be helped !he cobra out. Again he Stretched out !he walking stick; he helped out !he person. The person told him, "Now look, you have helped me out, [but] people arc difficult." He helped them all out. "So my friend. you will be grateful for what I do fo r you. You'll be grateful for what I do for you." With that, they went off. The cobra went The lion went. The person went. So !hat person went to the village, 10 !he palace, he went to tell what happened. So, !hen just like !hat, !hat person in !he wilderness said. "Now I want 10 marry. How will I marry?" He [the lion] went to the pond, and hid there. he hid. He found this chi.ld of the chief, !hat orte whom the chief cherished . Uhmn! [Performer claps once] The lion grabbed her. "It's the chiefs child, she's been caught!" Tbe lion carried her off. They failed 10 get her back. He took her to !he shelter of the person. They searched until !he sun went down. The drums of the
chief's palace sounded. In !he end. they gave up. "Is the chief's child lost?" "She's lost, yes." So, again tlle cobra went; be set out. He went to !he person. He said, "Lion. look. you have brought !he chief's daughter. Now. I could belp; you could get !he chief's country. Lion. you grabbed and brought this chiefs child here. Now. I the cobra will help you." So !hat cobra said. "I'm telling you. !his is tbe chief's child. Ulis is the one whom you grabbed and brought to the middle of the bush here. When they come here. they'll come to take !he child of !he chief. in order to rerum her to the vmage. So, on the path where !hey take !hat person, !he Onc·who·lives· in·the·bush who married !he chiefs child who was grabbed by the lion. I will come there and they will throw down the load (!hey carry) on a pole. I'll come and atlack them. in order to [later] bite !hat chief." And truly, they came and took the chiefs child. and that person with her. And when !hey arrived in the middle of the wilder· ness !here. the cobra attacked. so that l:le could tell him the plan for saving the girl and young man. They said, "Yangu! This snake. eel" So, !hey dumped the load, that chief's child who bad been abducted. The cobra remained !here. After !hey ran away, they did not return tO take that . .. that chiefs child. The cobra began to speak, "You see, !hat's how I'll help )'Ou. They will come and carry !his person here. Again !hey . .. these !hey . . . tllcy'vc run away [but] they are coming [back] 10 take her away. When they take !his person. you'll go in ... into !he house and I'll come to the backyard. As I've told you, I will help you. So, when . . . when I
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go into the backyard ... and the cobra [Peiformer seems a bit undecided for a nwmentl ... that ... I wW wait there. 'Then I'll go quickly to that chief and bite him as he comes out to urinate. I'll go and bite the chief here, on !he leg." So truly, they brought the chief's child there to the compound. Then, he came out, saying, "Oh, let me go and throw out this water [euphemism for urinate]." Tile snake bit ltim. They said, '"The chief ha.~ been bitten! The chief has been binen!" Tite cobra stayed in the comer. Then it came out of the house; it came outside. They said. "The cltief is bitten! The chief is bitten!" "Go look for medicine! Look for medicine!" They searched. They searched. They just failed. So this young man they tied up was the one who lives in the bush. They said. "What about that young man you brought yesterday. that one who lived there, can't he help us with some medicine?" The cobra said. "When !hey come to get you I'll have the medicine ready to give you. As they carry you. if they handcuff your te,gs and arms. you wW say. 'Mukwai. since you have handcuffed me like this. I am a slave. Doesn't a slave speak here in this courtyard? Although you hate me, in the way you came and grabbed me, can't I go to the chief and search for medicine in the backyard?' You will hear if they ag:rce. they will say. · Ah! He'sjust lying. what kind of person is this? Can he have a knowledge of medicine? Tbe chiefs advisors failed. so can this one find !he medicine?'" "This is enough; the chief is binen and is dead. I know you can give the chief an antidole." He said. "Mukwai. I could 1ry a linle." So. another adl'isor said. "My friends. don't argue too much. This one you despise could help us; perhaps he can cure the chief." He said, "Mukwai, we'll guard him with these handcuffs." His friend. the other advisor, said, "No, ho•W could be help when he's being guardedi?" He said, "So. mukwai, bind my arms and leave my legs untied, and let me try to fi nd medicine here in the backyard, and don't follow me. I won't run away." So trul y. the other advisor said, "You. let tllis person go and try to find !he medicine." That small young man went to the back. He found the cobra. The cobra placed Ule medicine in his hands. He crushed it in his hand, like that. Then he went to the advisors. while the cobra was in the back waiting. He said, "Advisors, mukwai. I found the medicine. now let's go to the palace mukwai. to that wealthy man. Let me try a bit" He uncovered the chief's eyes. then took a paper and rolled some tobacco in it with the medicine. He began to smoke. He smoked.jjloo! One time. He went to !he chief's nostrils. pooj! He blew out smoke. Again he smoked. Then he forced open his mouth, again he forced smoke into him. So, there. the chief . .. "Quiet. everyone." Tile chief finally sneezed. "I'm d)1ng!" They said, "Everyone quiet. Quiet" Then the other advisor said, "Free !hat p<:rson from !he handCMffs, Don't you S¢e, !he chief wasn't sp.:;lklng, now he's begun to speak. Aren't you surprised? The chief died yesterday. It's now around 3 o'clock. we've tried all medicines and failed, and the person you despised is the o ne who cured the chief." So they took off the handcuffs. They said, "Find more
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medicine.· This one said, "Mukwal, the medicine I prepared is sufficient. I don't prepare medicines twice." So truly, they boiled a bit of water to massage the chiers body. The chief said, "Mukwai, I want a bit of porridge." "Hurry and bring the porridge." So, kulwi. kulwi. kulwi. kulwi, .quickly some porridge of aged millet [was brought]. Tiley gave it to the chief in a cup. Kulwi! He drank it. Then another. Now be spoke. "Mukwai, just give it to me, I'U drink on my own." Now he began to sweat. The chief began to dip in the pot and drink: be dipped and drank. Then the chief thought; he said, "You have hel ped me. I would have died. So, what can I give you as a reward? Since you saved me what do you want? I was ncar death. I will you giv·e my child, this one here. In is she you will marry. And it's almoSithe same with me, you'U provide me with food." Audience member: Because he's a hunter. "And you wiU be the one guarding my country . . ." Audience member: " .. . because you saved me." ". . . because you saved me.· Listen to my friend mukwai. [Referring to the audience member who was adding his comments 11> the narrative] That kashimi is over. There :are six episodes in this performance. The first describes the benevolent chief and hi:..c; beloved daughter. The meeting between the honey-gathering hwnan
and lbe humer who lives in the wilderness is contained in the second episode. A pattern of dialogue reveal~ the hunter's discomfort at the honey-gatherer's presence and ends with an exchange of meat for advice on building a game pi I. 'llte next four episodes approximate the events and structure already e>tamined in NPI3. Once again. spatial and bebavioraa polarities are established boetween animals and humans. The wilderness is contrasted to the village, and lhe action of the hunter and she grateful animals is compared with the behavior of humans. How· ever, in this performance these familiar eventS are reorganized. Tile central
thematic focus is on the dichotomy between bush and village. between crude and "civilized." The patterned episodes of reciprocal action structure the narrative, but the polar relationships provide this chain of episodes with a new sigrnificance. The most notable reason for the thematic shift is the absence of negative human or animal characters; the chain of reciprocal actions is almost uniform! y positive. In the second episode burner and honey-gatherer exchange meat for advice, to their mulUal benefit The third, fourth, and fifth epirodes depict the hunter, lion, and cobra aiding one another. In return for the hunter's skills and kindness. the chief rewards him with his beloved daughter and a position as his retainer. The ingratitude and injustice that figured so prominently in the preceding narratives arc not in evidence here. Nor is the per:son who was saved from the game pit. The
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storyteller says only that he returned to the village and told the chief what had occurred. He is not heard from again: hence lhcre is no episode of ingratitude. 'There is. of cours~as past experience and the tradit.ional context would connote 10 the audience-an unspoken assumption that the human somehow betrayed his benefactor. Nonetheless. lhc perfom1er's omission of detail here becomes significant for the thematic focus of the tale. By contra.~t. lhe lion's well-intentioned kidnapping of the chief's daugtuer, also a formulaic action, is thrown into question by the details presented in the first episode. 'The performer, Mr. Joseph Kasengele, links this introductory image to a narrative he had just coropleted.9 He al.ludcs to a benevolent leader and a beautiful and desirable daughter. who have a strong bond of love and share the love of their subjects. (A final common detail reemerges in the fourth episode: the daugtuer goes alone to draw water at "the pond.") 'This initial episode. in effect. renders the lion's action, usually a positive one in this set, ambiguous. His good deed is marred because he does something the hunter claims never to have done: he "drops down" a human "carcass," the popular chief's beloved daughter, before the hunter. Episode two contain.~ several descriptions that compare the hunter to a lion. He lives in tllc bush, away from other people, and he exists by killing game. 'The ideophones that describe his arrival and the throwing down of game meat are usually associated with lions: "sebwe sebwe" and ''fubu" (N348 and NPll). 'The saying he chants about not dropping down human carcasses seems meant to reassure himself of his humanity. 'This animalistic aura is intensified in the episode by his interaction with the human honey-gatherer. Clearly uncomfonable witll his visitor, the hunter claims. "I don't usually see any people." For his part. the honey-gatherer must a~k the hero to provide him with food, a rudimentary form of hospitality. When the episode concludes with the exchange of meat for instructions on building a game pit, the audience is left to speculate on how the hunter had been killing animals before receiving this technologically primitive advice. 1bere is. therefore, a strong correlation between the lion and the lion-like human who lives and hunts in the wilderness. 'The performer all but confirms this association early in the story, when he inadvenently, or purposely. refers to the human as a lion. 'The lion repays the hunter by brutishly capturing the beloved daughter of the chief, and the hunter has di.fficulty distinguishing between his own crude way of life and proper human behavior. Although paired with the hunter because of his reciprocating actions. the cobra is also compared 10 the human honey-gatherer. He initiates and carries through a pauem of clever and effective action in the lengthy fifth episode. Fore· seeing lhc problems that the lion's act will cause. the cobra immediately says "Now, I could help; you could get the chiefs country." From that point on. he carefully 9 Narrative N748 in my coUcction.
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orchestrates the hunter's every act, continually stopping to explain each step of the plan. tO When tbe final step, reviving the strick.e n chief, is carried out, tbe hunter has gained enough confidence in his skills to say, "The medicine I prepared is sufficient. I don't prepare medicines twice." The medicinal knowledge is imponant to the hunter's development here, but even more significant is his new-found ability to live and function in the village sening. Both skills arc passed on by the resourceful cobra. Earlier in the narrative, the honey-gatherer bad instructed the hunter on human etiquene and building a game trap. He even assured the hunter, as the cobra d id, that his counsel was valuable: "I will give you good advice •. . You will see what will come into the game pit" Both cobra and honey-gatherer provide the hunter with knowledge and skills that will aid his reentry into tbe human world. If hunter is matched with lion, and cobra with honey-gatherer, then there is a more complex relationship drawn than simply a human/animal polarity. The central narrative movement is the hunter's transformation from a lion-like recluse to a productive member of human society. In the course of the narrative he acquires the cultural skills that set him apan from the animal world. His human and animal allies, linked by their abilities to move between the two worlds and within thei.r separate rules and values, help him auain this new status. The oppositions here arc bush/village, animal/human and inOexibility/adaptability. There are no good/evil polarities drawn, only proper and improper actions, actually reactions. The hero is moved along by the intermediaries of both worlds. leaving behind the helpful yet cumbrous lion. He himself attains status as a mediator at the narrative's conclusion when the chief appoints him coun retainer, a hunter and soldier who will patrol the periphery of the two worlds. In this final decree, the performer is also confirming the idea that human society is not corrupt; it does not need changing, and the hunter is given the job for which he is best suited. The structure of patterned episodes reflects this thematic focus. The order and balance of patterns and details create the crucial allegorical relationships. Chief and daughter are positively intrOduced, separated by the lion's action, threatened by the cobra's advice. and restored to harmony in episedes one. four, five, and six respectively. Hunter and lion are compared in episodes two and four; cobra and honey· gatherer are matched in episodes two and five. The core of this performance is stiU the reciprocation of helpful action, depicted in the third, founh and fifth episodes. But the exclusion of negative reciprocity, Jbe disappearance of the rescued human, alters the familiar polar relationships. Honey-gatherer and cobra arc the characters who break the negative pattcm~ associated with the bunter's uncultured side, just as the hunter finally breaks the pattern of unsuccessful auernplS to cure the chief. His l(l This intefe.Sting form of repetition. common 10 oral n.amativc throughout the world, is the same framing found in the Lale (NP3. in chap. 2) where the father helps his son remove a snake frQm lhc chief's throat and lalCT in the tale (NPI8. in chap. 6) where Bono must 6nd medicines to cure the chic£.
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newfound life-giving, cultural skills facilitate his rerum to the human world. Moved spatially and behaviorally into the category of the cobra and the honeygatherer, the hunter is able to mediate between the realms of humanity and nature to their mutual benefit. The thematic conccm~ of this talc arc subtly rendered, as they contrast with the more familiar themes of the armature. Mr. Kascngcle performed the narrat.ive for a very small but appreciative audie:nce of three: for me, a friend of his, and a young boy. I can only guess how much he meant the narrative to comrast with the more commonly told versions. His style was engaging, employing a rapid delivery with a soft voice and a few interesting western constructions-the most notable bein.g his usc of UlC term "-lemba lipoti" (write a report). to describe the om! reco·unting of events to the chief. He also, at least initially. linked this seoeond tale to the first one he performed-about the winning of a chief's daughter by a clever suitor. People who listened to a tape of the narrative varied in their interpretations of its theme. One man. who listened first to NP17 (which follows here). said the tales were identical. Another woman recognized with no prompting that this talc had no villaiins and was therefore not concemed with a theme of ingratitude-though she did prefer NPI7 because it "had a good explanation." Obviously, Mr. Kasengele did not feel obliged to make a moral or themat.ic statement at the end of the narrative; he took an internal approach to the performance's theme. On a broader referential level. the talc suggests the ambiguity inherent in the polar relationships, which are presented simply as constant in llle olller narratives of lllis set. 'i!be helpful l ion is ambiguous here because of his nature is crude. The honey·gal.hering human is positive in lllis talc lllough negative in NPI3. Bush and village also lack the strong polarization found in NP13, thereby refuting the good/bad. nature/buman oppositions as well. FinaUy, though he is reintegmted i.ruo human society. the lionl.ike hero is not completely trusted to bc<:ome a ruler, becoming instead a trusted royal retainer and protector. This latter decision by the chief is, in fact, a more real· istic reflection of a chiefly act than was dividing up or giving his kingdom outright to the hunter hero. I discuss lllis role played by the chief following the nex t performanoee, which uses the by now familiar reciprocal episode structure to evoke its thcroc. Perfonnancc: NPI7, Hunter Saves Lion, Cobra. and Human Performer: Datson Kaselekela, male. age approximately 70 Date and Time: 9 September 1976, approximately 4 P.M. Place: Kaputa
Audience: 5 adults and II children
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SbaU [ begin? [Asked of researcMr) The story 11 I bring you is about an evil person. A per.;on is like this. A person lived in a chiefs village. Now, his friends luted him. So lhcy brought words to tbc chief, they said, "That per.;on is a witch. He bewitches people right here in lhc viUage." When that chief heard thM, he said, "Go caU him." When lhey summoned him they drove him away. He went and lived in the bush. Then be said, "So how will I eat? I've left the people, lhey drove me into the wilderness. Let me go dig game pits, because if I kill game, people will start coming to buy meat in thai grove." He dug a game pit. He went there ;md killed game. He sold it in the village. They gave him food. He had to eat his own poor cooking. He bought a little bit of flour so that be could make ubwali. Now one day when be went to check the pit. he found three th:ings inside. He found a lion. He found a cobra, a very fierce snake. He [also) found a person right in there. Three. So now when he arrived and peered in, they began to contest for his favor. The lion said, "You, grandfaw1er, please take me out of the pit. This person is evil." The snake said, "Please take me out of the pit This person is evil." The person said, "How could I be bad? l 'm a fellow human who is better than these wild animals." Now he looked, "How can I save these people?" First he helped the lion out. 1be lion said, "You are my g:o od friend; I'D be coming to sec you." He stretched out his arm and helped the cobra out. He said, "You are my good friend; I'U be coming to see you." He stretched out his ann and helped the person out The person said. "You are my good friend; I will be coming to sec you." AU of them were his good friends, the three of them. The person went home to the village. The lion went to the bush. The snake went to lhc bush, to b.is burrow, or a tree hollow. He went to the pit. He kiUed game. The person came. "Oh, my friend, you've come?" "Yes." "You see that I've just kiUed game; ~e some of this meal." He went back to the viUage. When night fell the lion came while be was a~lccp. He listened very carefully to wbere he slept inside. He heard him breathing. He said, "He's inside." He went back. Tlut's the way he visited, because he didn't like to meet people during the daytime. He liked to travel at night. Anolher day when he was in deep sleep, the snake checked on him; he came to see his friend He listened carefully, he entered at the doorposts; he looked, "Oh. he's here." He went back. He didn't know when lhey came to visit him. But the person he saved visited him during the day. He went back with foocl. Now when he went back with game there, his wife asked, "My husband, where does this game come from? You have no gun, you don't set traps. But you come here with game?'' He said, I mel hunters in the bush; it's they who gave it to me." "Aia1" "Yes." "O.K."
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The per(()T'me:r USC$ the tcon "'il)'ashi.,"' whieh means ·eonvers.uion'" or ·gos:sip."
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Now the lion looked at his friend with pity. "My good friend is suffering-. I want to find someone to help him. He needs a wife to help him with his work." The lion went to the village. At sunset, at dusk there, youngsters played and play.ed. He came and grabbed the daughter of the chief. He carried her off. They said. "A lion grabbed a person! It's the cnief's daughter!" They said, "Yes. Follow the u:acks." They tried to follow but someone said, "It's dark, come back." The lion took the girl to that person. He said, ''My friend, I've brought you a wife. She will help you work. I now reciprocate that a.~sistance that you gave me." And this one told him, "I thank you gr.md father." And that girl was happy, because she arrived at a feast. Her husband was the one who killed game, so she would eat well. The lion
went. They said, "The cnild of the chief is dead." They mourned beCause a li on grabbed her. But they didn't know where he took her. The person came and said, "Let me go and see my good friend.'' When he arrived there he saw the girl; she was coming from the river with a pot on he r head, going into the house. He observed, saying, "Ya.hve! This pcrs.on! So the . .. he's the lion who took the chiefs child! So he's the one who came and abducted her-[A woman begins to scold a child at this point and the performer says, 'What is it, my friends?" She replies, "It's nothing, grandfather; cominue speaking." Another woman says, "Now just continue."] ... I'm going to report to the chief." So when this person saw that, he kept it to himself. His friend gave him me:u. as he usually did. When he arrived at the village and put down the things his friend gave him, without stopping to drink water or wash off his sweat, he set out for the chief's place. [A woman laughs at this image] "Chief, you say that your child was taken by a lion. [IVoman laughs again] That person who you drove away, that witch. he is the one who came and took your child, that's where I went and found her." The ch.ief said, "Gather everyone." They called all the people. Those who [usually] ate his food and worl<ed for him gathered. "Lead the way, you know where it is." He wall<ed ahead. They wem. they went, they went. When he arrived he said, "Now we've arrived." They said, "Oh. Spread out like a net ... [Peiformer pauses while some audience members come and go] . .. Spread out like a net, surround him. And surround IUs little house." Suspecting nothing, he sat there .. . [Peifonner pauses again] . .. They surrounded him. They closed in on nim. Suddenly he saw people emerging from the thicketS, saka, saka. They saw the girl in the house. "Grab him." They grabbed him, [P,rformer clops to emphasize the swiftness of the action] and tied him up. "Let's beat him!" He said, "Don't beat him. He is alone. We are many and if we beat him how wiU he survive? Let's just bring nim to the chief so that he'll see him." They grabbed him along with the girl, and put them in front. They arrived at the chiers place. "Is it this person?" They said . "Yes.'' "And is this the girl?" They said, "Yes." Thecniefspoke, "Put him in the jail. I'll hear his case tomorrow."
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When n ight fell, the snake came. "Let me go see my good friend." He arrived. He .found all quiet [Performer whispers this description], not even a fire burned. He entered. He looked around. His good friend wasn't there. "They've taken my good friend." He followed. Buu! He slithered and slithered because he's a very fierce cobra. He did lhis; he foun.d his gond friend. in what? • . . in jail. He wem lhrougn a small window. He carrioo medicine in his mouth. %en he arrived, he said, "My good friend, why are you here?'' He said, "They came and grabbed me." "AU rigllt, take this medicine. Now, I'll go bite the chief. The people will struggle to cure him. Now with this medicine I give you, you'll oome and cure the chief. The people will be struggling to bring all sorts of medicines. and then you 'U put your head in lhat gap •.. it's called a "window" !Uses English word) ... you'll say. 'Ala. as for me. can I try too?" [Pe-rformer j1unps to actual events of trying to cure chief] Finally lhcy heard him. They said, "Listen." "Ala, can I try too?" [Per-
former acts out the dialogue of the hunter in a tlltn, frail voice, causing people in the audience to laugh) He said, "I can also try." "Let's go." He caiTied lhe medicine. Audience member: And lhe people insulted him very badly .•. . . . because they believed he was an evil man, and he knew evil things. When he arrived. all tl:le people moved off so that he could try. The chief was unconscious. lhere was no movemem because the snake's poison stops lhc blood from flowing and the person appears as if he's dead. He had the medicine because lhe snake had told him, "He-re, if you chew the medicine, spray it in the nostrils and in lhe moulh and eyes, an.d on the palms, the feet; you '11 see he will be revived!." "Step back. Step back. Step back." Everyone moved off; he took the medicine., he chewed i~ blowing it into the chiefs nose, and spre.ading it on the eyes and in tbe mouth and on the palms and feet. The chief snce-ud. He was revived. Now all the people stirred. (Woman in audience says something to the performer and he answers, "Ee" (Yes)) He sneezed again. He sneezed again. Three times. He had closed his eyes. and now he opened them. "Tbe chief has come back to life." Now they looked at
that person. They looked at what he did and they began to feel ashamed. When the chief was cured, he looked around, "Who revived me?" They said, "lt was lhis ooe, the same one the chief drove away." The chief said, "Oh. T ruly. "It's because of this knowledge that the people hated him. They carne and lied to me, saying he was a witch. Fine, treat him well, now take rum out of that jail. Take care of his wife, my child. also. Treat them well. Now I am not yet strong enoug!l to come; my body is still cramped and my eyes have not yet begun to see well because of the medicine." [Performer pauses as he is wracked by a coughing spell", and a woman says some1hlng to him) In two days he was strong enough to call all the people together. "Gatber." "You people. you came and told me he was a witch. That's what you told me. And
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I drove this one away into the wildeme.ss. When he went into the bush, the lion had [more] kindness !ban a human. This is what they said. the lion said, 'If I assist a human he is evil.' [Performer says "Ee?" reacting w a slig/u disturbance, as a woman tells a child, "Go outside. Go outside"] The snake said, 'If I assi~i a human he is evil.' 'The human said, 'No, I can't be evil, because I'm your fellow human.' But he only lied, it was simply a lie. Now you know this is the person who said, 'He's a witch.' and drove him away. And you. you're the one who said, 'I've found the clliefs daughter. He carne and abducted her there.· Come here." Audience member: Things grew tense? Now things grew tense. "You carne to me and said, 'He carne and abducted the chiefs child. He went and kepi her in the wilderness.' You are going to die in his place, because when they went and grabbed him we wanted to kill him, saying 'He stole the chiefs cllild.' What he did was good. But now it's you who wiU die. Take him and cut off his head. He's a liar, that friend who was assisted out of the pit. The kind ones, Ute lion and snake, revealed his evil nature; even the wild things of the bush have more kindness than his fcUow human. So now that person has returned. Good. This person is now my in-law; today I wiU give him a place to rule." He gave him a ... section. And! those others who Jived there were to remain there in the small viUage. And together [they would) make up the small viUage. "Here is where you will live. And some of you people stay with this person, so it becomes a viUage. Now you all will live with him, all that you will procure, either fish or whatever you cultivate, you will worl< for him and provide food for hi.m. Don't bring anything to me. He is now my in-law, because he restored my life how many times?" Audience member: Two times. "Yes." So mukwa/, a human is evil. He wiU smile at you outwardly but inwardly cheat you. The lion worl<ed for his good friend. He gave him a wife. The snake saved him from death. But Ute human only wanted to see his friend killed. A human is evil in this world. I've finished mukwai. He wasn't buman at all. Audience member: This kashimi is finished. Another audience member: It's over. This performance is composed of seven episodes. In tbe first. the hero is unjustly expelled from the human community and establishes himself in the bush as a hunter. The familiar debate and fre~ing of the game pit captives are depicted in the second episode, with both animals warning of the evil nature of the captive human. In episode three, a reciprocal pauem is established. as each of tbe former
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captives honors the pledge made when he was freed, to visit the hunter. In the fourth episode, the lion further reciprocates by kidnapping the chiefs daughter and presenting her to the hunter to "help you with the work." When the human continues his visits to the hunter in episode five, he discovers the chiefs daughter, accepts his daily ration of meat, and informs on his benefactor. who is subsequently arrested. Continuing his pattern of nightly visits to the hunter. th.e cobra discovers his frieod is missing, locates him. and carries out the scheme to bite and then to heal the chief in episode six. In the seventh episode. the chief recovers, summarizes the events of the narrative, punishes the ungrateful human and gives the hero pan of his kingdom to rule. Animal/human polarities arc developed to coincide with grateful/ungrateful and, finally, good/evil behavioral oppositions. A set of spatial oppositions, bu.~h/viUage, is also delineated, witll the hunter, lion, and cobra representing the former and humanity the latter. Evil acts by humans drive the hunter into animal, or natural. space, and positive acts by animals assure his successful return to the hwnan realm. 1bese polarities are defmed by characters' acts and by the patterned chain of six episode-~ alternating evil humanity and benevolent nature. Each episode depicts, as its central action, the doings of a specific character. In the first six episodes. a pattern of evil alternating with good is established. Episodes one. three, and five depict the evil done by the human who is freed from the pit: slandering the hunter. visiting the hunter to receive meat while not revealing its source to the community, and resolving to inform on his benefactor, after lllking the generously provided meat. Episode.s two. four, and six describe the beneficent deeds of the nature-related characters: freeing deadly animals from the game pit, finding a wife for the destitute hunter, and carrying out the scheme that resolves the narrative. Episodes two and three develop two impollant panems that also reftect this structural comparison of good and evil. The animals in the game pit wam of the evil of their fellow captive. while the captive llwnan ironically claims, "How cao I be bad? I'm a fellow human who is better than these wild animals." When that debate ends. the promises of visiting the hunter presage the paucrn that generates the reciprocal action of the next four episodes. In episode three. as this promise is carried out the pattern again reveals the differcnoes between the animals and the human. The deadly creatures visit secretly, modestly checking on Ute health of their benefactor. whereas the human visits during the day in order to extract gif\s of game meat from his "friend." During these visits. in episodes four. five. and six, each former captive repays the hunter. The episodic chain of alternating reciprocity and the patterns of behavior of the main characters form a symmetrical meshing, a coming together. of elements thai illustrate the thematic shape of the narrative. The performer. Mr. Datson Kasclekela, carefully details narrative events so that there is little ambiguity as to the motivations and nature of each character. The hunter is obviously wronged by his human contemporaries. wbo cause bim to be
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driven from the village to eke out a meager existence in the wi.ldemess. Despite his embittering experience. the hero frees the prisoners of the game pi~ then unquestioningly agrees to supply the ungrateful human wi!h meat. The evil human is shown to be especially greedy when he waits for his ration of meat before informing on !he hunter. In the final episode, tltc chief reveals that it was tltis same person who originally slandered tlte hunter attd caused his expulsion from human society. nus revelation is similar to the lion's re.trospective claim in NP14 !hat the ungrate· ful human not only slandered !he hunter but was, in fact, !he person who dug llte game pit. These details all come together to make vivid Lhe rclation.o;hips revealed in !he narrative's structure. The attimals arc likewise depicted as selfless allies who protect and provide for their benefactor. Thematically, then, this narrative Lo; carefully constructed to reveal the clearest possible interpretation of !he sentence that begins the narrative: "The story I bring is about an evil person." In his final Sl!lmmation, the chief literally states what was made obvious in the performance's organization: "Even these wild tltings of !he bush have more kindness than his fell.ow human." These same attimals each told !he hunter, ''This person is evi.l." As if aU !his evidence were not sufficient, Mr. Kaselekela himself reiterJLes what he states at the beginning of the narrative: "So mukwai, a person is evil. He wiU smile at you outwardly but inwardly cheat you.'" Mr. Kaselekcla is quite obviously determined to make his point about human ingratitude in this perfonnance. His talc comes during a long session of storytelling, where six performers have already had chances to entenain their friends an d neighbors. Mr. Kasclekela was the eldest of the group and, judging by the way he was treated and his tale received, highl y respected. liis external strategy of keeping the point of the narrative always in view was partially explained when he followed the performance with a brief autobiography. In halting English, he revealed tltat he was educated by missionaries and ordained as a minister of the African Methodist church. His narrative, a favorite it seems among preachers in church, was th,us given another level of meatting, framod in a religious or moral context by tltis biographical epilogue. If the traditional context generally connotes a tlteme of human culpability and ingratitude for !his narrative armature, Mr. Kaselekela has rei,nforccd the paradigm in the strongest way possible. leading his audience carefully and deliberately through this familiar homily. Considering the five tales of this set. it is clear !hat the bush is ponrayed as a positive element throughout What must, in each narrative, be adjuSted is the manner in which humankind interacts with nature. Tite l ion in NPI4 irtitially plays the role most familiar to humans; he tries to eat his fellow captive. His "conversion" is stim\lla~d by the same ac! tha! is CI'!!CiaJ !0 cacll sc1; the hY!!!Cr'S fn;cing or the game pit prisoners.t2 Compassion is, henceforth, rewarded with compassion, at 12 Doke's L.amba collC<:~ion contains a rwra.live. (1976: 98-101) that dcpici.S 1.hc din: consequences of freeing a deadly lion from a game lrap. Among my narratives sec also two told by Mr. Isaac
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lellSt by the freed animals. 1be lesson teamed by the animals must. in four of the five ·examples, be learned by the human world. Lessons are, therefore, exchanged in each version. Negotiation, argument, and carefully considered acts are the positive elements of the set, and it is failure to live up to promises, greedy exploitation, and impetuous decisions that constitute the negative values. The hunter as mediator is the ideal character to interact with nature on behalf of humanity. Unlocking the secrets of the wilderness, he can provide food and medicine to society. Knowing and keeping the rules of order in the bush, which the hunter and the residents of that realm negotiate among themselves, the hero is able to guide his society along a harmOidous and prosperous path. He exchanges compassionate, honest behavior for the privilege of tapping nature's resou rces. The set reveals the bounty found in nature in practical and metaphorical terms, meat and medicine literally, and proper behavioral models figuratively. 13 Recalling Boon's ideas on the variation of fixed or consistent relationships of meaning in cultural frames, we can sec that the set of polarities which infonns this set of tales shills as it is considered against referential infonnation. For instance, slander or jealousy in the narratives is coupled with the notion of ingratitude. Yet, in actuality, the capture of a woman by a lion, and her connubial union with a suspicious hunter. would cenainly raise questions of the nature of both lion and huntcrpanner. This clash of .real and imag inary situations is funher complicated by the ambiguity that clings to the use of lions by sorcerers. On the one hand, it is a negative ac~ endangering or actually killing people. On the other. it is a practice which often comes to the fore at times of social stress and oppression (A. F. Robens 1986a). Added to this mi xture of forces and contexts is the role o f the chief. Although he is called the "life of the people," a chief is also known as a skiUed sorcerer. ADen F. Robens distinguishes between the Luba and Tabwa by comparing their conceptions of chiefs: Lakeside BaTabwa did not have the precolonial paramount chiefs of the BaLuba. Theirs are and probably long have been leaders rather than rulers. 1llese same are also considered the greatest sorcerers in the land. Kanyangala in 1976 and 1983, versions of the tale where a devoted mother begs a crocodile to spare her life to nurse her infant one last time. When she returns as she promised. he-is so impre.$$ed by her honesty that he lcLs her go. 13 Steere has an int.ercsling version of this n31Tat.ivc (1906: 42'2·31. c.aalogued by Ba.sc<>m It$ type SO: IJ:). l recorded several perfonnance$ in lhe Tabwt uea that were strikingly similar to S~:ecre's tales from Zanzibar. A Swahili-descended m W1 at Sumbu performed, in Swahili, a remarkable., nearly
verbatim version of "The Washc:nnan's Donkey" (Steere 1976: 2-9). Though the Lamba have a version of this narrative (Ooke 1976: 274-77) aM I have-recorded teveral Tabwa versiom (N159 and N187' in my cotloction). none to my knowledte conuin lhe "'Washennan's Donkey" fnme tale that is found in lhe more familiar shark and monkey (erooodile and monkey in Zambia) story. The performer at Surnbu not only retained both l4!les but also used lhe shark and monkey characters, even though the neAte;&l sh.lttla til! OVti'
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Such opposed traits are kept in balance in the leader's person, as are the cosmological principles of which they are a social manifestation, in other contexts. (A. F. Roberts 1980: 5) In this context, which our set shares. the bunter is one who balances the same destructive and creative forces as a chief does. But yet we uncover ambiguity if we 1ry to son out exactly whiCh aets are destructive or creative, referring tO the traits inherent in the chiers social persona. Titerefore, the characteristics and polarities clearly established by most performances in tltis set are blurred and reevaluated when oonsidcred outside the frame of stories in the traditional oontcxt. NPt 6, where the poles are intentionally distorted, furtltcr suggests the potential for redefining commonly known thematic structures even witltin an armature of the traditional oontext. We can further see that within lhe traditional context of possible stories, this armature diametrically invcns the thematic elements of !he liontman set. Here the wilderness is a source of good tltings instead of a stage for evil deeds. The lion/man character is an evil mediator, a half-human who traverses bolh worlds in pursuit of animal and human game. NP16 depicted a humer who was too close to being a lion tO retain his humanity. The focus of that narrative was !he hero's shedding of bis lionncss in favor of a more human identity. Lions and cobras in !his set are clearly bosh creatures who interact with humanity only when necessary to aid their friend. The lion/men of the previous set are seif-scrving predators. who do not establish a proper nature/humanity relationship. Rather, they create an unnatural inhuman/human channel that is in all ways negative. They demand a degree of dominance of one domain over the other, whereas the lion and cobra arc oontent to remain in their own environment and establish a symbiotic relationship with humankind. Though the two sets employ rcmancably similar situations and characters, their thematic evaluations of these clementS arc reversed. In one, a hero is falsely accused of being a lion/man, or witch, who abducts a chief's daughter. In tlle other, a chiers daughter willingly goes off with a husband who actually is a lion/man. When a lion kidnaps a woman and brings her to live in a wilderness shelter it is a positive act. When a lion/man docs vinually the same tlting, through the acceptable procedure of courtship aJld marriage, it is negative. The exchange of meat between lion and human. and between human and human. is a good thing in
this set, a sealing of mediatory bonds; but in the earlier SCI it signals impending disaster, unnatural and revolting relationships that must somehow be purged. In tllc hunter narratives, human society too ra$hly assumes the hero's guilt, whereas in the lion/man series humanity is generally too slow in discerning the villain's identity. In the lion/man set the young hero must actively break, or at least gain control of. a deadly paucrn; but in tltis set the older hero establishes a benevolent pattern that must be continued by others who aid the passive hunter to a positive resolution.
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If the themes of these two sets seem to contradict each other, their anistic arguments are in fact complementary. Their varying messages diversely interpret the traditional context of clements and ideas; reshaping similar images is pan of the tradition's versatility. Because most clements arc similar, their continuity and fami~ li3rity please their audiences. Because. there are new permutations and thematic explorations. the complementary clements of surprise, anxiety, and shifting interpretations increase the audience's enjoyment of the unique performance experi· ence. Moreover, the plurality of references for these arguments accommodates ambiguity and points of view within the human community that these narratives figuratively depict As I suggest above, the underlying references of this group of stories coMote relationships in the real world: human to human, commoner to chief, and human to nature. A set of narratives, an armature, is a somewhat delimited group o:f plot and structural expectations, that a performer can narrowly adhere to or, as in NP16, play against the more familiar versions (visions). This plurality suggests. as well. that static categories or polarities can be revised not only at other cultural levels and frames but also within the armatures of the trad itional context. There is actually no such thing as a wrong or contradictory version of a narrative. 14 Ultimately the performer's skiU at shaping the experience, controlling compositional elements, and capturing an audicn.c e determines the success of a performance. The following Chapter CK:tmines narratives that grow out of U1e several structural models and elements found in the performances discussed so far.
1• Though some versions arc more popular or more resislant to change over time. a pe.rform.e:r ean select elements from any nwnbcr of previous performances: an audience will accept a well-crafted performance o-n it.<~ ov.Tl merits. By contrast. l have witnessed performances where an •udience continually coneeted or even ridiculed novice or nc::rvous performers for not getting the delai.ls "righL" In mOst CII.SU. t.hi& seemed more a oorrunenwy on lhcir performing skill& than on lhcir memories for del.ails, but one: old man literally lOok over a performance when another man groped unsuccessfully for the plot strands of a narrative he had obviously (orgoucn or perhaps never IO'lew,
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Appendix Narratives for chapter 5
Pcrfomtancc: NPI5, Hunter Saves Lion, Cobra, and Human Perfomter. JiUJ1eson Kapusa, male, age 18 Date and Time: 5 November 1976, approKimatcly 3 P.M. Place: Nsemiwe Audience: 23 adults and 28 children [Performance Note: Tale was recorded during a wedding ce/ebrarion, where the seuing was noisy and festive. Nsemiwe is a village near Nsama that was established in the mid-I BOOs by s/MetrOlfers from the East coast. To this day, many men preserve the Swahili language and think of themselves as MllS/ims]
A person dug a game pit When he dug the game pit a cobra, a lion, and a person fell inside. Now the owner of the game pit was at the village. But that lion asked a person, "Human, get me out." He said, "No. If I free you, you'll cause problems. You might eat me." He came to the cobra. "You, cobra, I won't free you. No grandfather, if I free you you'll cause problems. You might bit me." He told tbe person . .. "I won't free you." He said, "Yah! If I free you, you'll cause problems. You might spear me." Now tihe owner of the game pit came. He freed the lion. He did this with the walking stick. The cobra ciUJ1e out. He did this; the lion came ou1. He came and freed the person. Now when he had freed them ... the cobra told the person, "Truly, human, we will give you a reward, since you saved us." And this Lion said, "You. human. we will give you [a reward]." Now when the person returned 10 the village, be set out 10 go to the chief. When he arrived he told llim, "Chief. lhat person dug a game pit 10 kill people." Now then, when the chief heard that. he scm out his guards. They went and beat him and bound bim . So then, tlle cobra saw Ulat, "Yah. It's that one whom we told 'We will save you.'" So now he set out quickly, moving uprighl and vibrating. They [had] dropped the person therel5 He [a guard) said, "Human. you'll be safe U This ima:ge-. where lhe oobra tclJs the hunter his plan. was not clearly developed; t.he petformer seemed distracted by lhc Large audience and wa~ ne-rvously speeding tlvough the stOry.
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where we've left you." "You listen to the idea I have. When they come to take you to the chief, I will go ahead there because they will take you to the chief to kill you. I will go ahead. When I go to the chief I"ll bite him on the knee. That's where I'll bite the chief. Now, when I bite him I'll go to the back of the house. When I go to the back, come there. I"ll show you the mC
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6 Helpful Lizard and Destructive DancerHoarding of Food- Charlatan Diviner
"If that Boni comes to dance here. it wil.l be very bad, Chief, you might even die because of the little dlild of tbe monitor lizard," The cllicf refused, He said, "No. I can't die. I can't die." (from !\'1'19 by Chola Chilengwe) In many ways, an oral narrative performance is an argument, Performers seek to impose their thematic visions onto familiar plots and images and convince their audiences that they arc experiencing something freSh and vital, The themaJic argument is composed within the verba>! text and tr3ditional context of the in.shimi system 3lnd extemaliz.ed in the performance context Elements in the developing narrative arc aliegorically aligned to reveal theme. The organization of elements can be as obvious or as subtle as the skills of an individual performer can make it This chapter illustrates the complex ordering of de.tails within an overall structural frame. and how the conlfOI of these dements can create a rich narraJive texture, a layering of evocative images, Pcrfonnance: NPI8, Bono and the Water Monitor Lizard Performer. A Bwile man, age 43 I Date 3lnd Time: 26 June 1976. appro"imatcly 11:30 AM, Place: Puta (Luapu1a province) Audience: 7 adults and 10 child ren
1 I was no1 able to record this performer's ·name. We coltc«cd this taJe in 1976 during a throe-day visit lO l.he Shilu and Bwile people who live a}()ns the shore or Lake Mweru.
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I begin the mulumbe about Bono, that person who was destroying other people's things in the land. That person's name was Bono. So this person had two drums which he liked; he played them and danced at the same time. That person. when he danced with those drums of his, he would dance in the area from Mununga's village to here at Puta; that's where Bono was. That person. now when he danced like that with his drums. he found that all villages liked him. So when he realized this he said, "Oh. so people like me." Chief Kazembc called him; he said, "Come and dance here a my place." Audience member: Like Katomene?2 Yes. Now when be set out to go to Kazembe,3 he found when he arrived at the village that Chief Kazembc was iU. Now since Chief Kaze!OOe was sick. it was said that, "No, this person cannot dance while Chief Kazembe is ill, so all you citizens of the country. begin looking for medicine." So tbe entire country set out to search for medicine for Kazembe; the search failed, a.~ the chief's illness worsened. So now when tltey saw that. all tlte people stopped looking for medicine i.n the eountty; then they went to that person who dances. "You pcrsoo. ala. the chief is near dcatb. So perhaps you, wbo are so clever at dancing. might have this knowledge to heal that chief." Then he said, "Fine. So let me tty a little." So the young man set out and went to the wilderness to fin.j a very large tree. Now that's the tree where be used to get the medicine to cure people. So now he took the axe and struck it, mpoo! Then he saw a large water monitor lizard come out of the tree. It said to l:tim, "My friend. why don't you ask first? You are cutting down my house." Now, his friend said, "No, what I want is medicine. I want those leaves to go and cure the chief." Now that one refused, saying, ' No, if you want to cure the chief, go and pick from that tree over there; this is my house." So now the person began to go. "Is it this one?" He said, "No." He asked about another. He said, "No. it's that one." So the monitor lizard showed him, "Oh. This one, it's this very one." So, he picked the leaves and then carried them back. Then he went On arriving at the chief's, h~ prepared the medicine. He recovered completely. Now they said, "Oh, tomorrow we will celebrate." So. in the evening, then tbcy said, "Today we will begin to celebrate." No, that young man whose name was Bono refused; he said, ' No, I won't dance today, because I want you to go get that chief who is in the wildeme.ss. He must come and be present when I dance." Audience member:
nux one cured .. .
2 Katomene wu • very pcpulll.td.aneor who trAv~lcd from vil1:1g~ C.;) vill~g• 4urin,s lh• m.id 196~.
3 By using the name of an acmaJ chief, the tX'tfonner is introducing a utiric.al thread into his nnrralh'e.
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"lbat one cured this person, because I lacked the knowledge for curing him. That's where the other chief is, in the wilderness. the one who gave me the proper medicine so that it was he who cured this person. • Now that young man. sent out the messengers to go call hlm. He refused. "No. Truly I !hank you very much. chief, but because of lhat person Bono who came to your village, I can't come because I lhink he's troublesome." His friend said, "No, as far as I'm concerned I won't dance unless lhis person comes here, beCause he's a great doctor. Again, he's lhe chief who gave me lhe medicine." So now that friend sent other messengers of lhe chief. And lhat chief, that one in Lite wilderness, again refused. "No. I won't go because Bono is there." So the next day !hey sent four messengers. They went and pleaded with the water monitor lizard until they brought him. w:hen they brought him. now what did !hey do? He said, "Oh. tomorrow we'U start to ccle· brate. we'll stan to celebrate." In a little while lhey came ouL~ide. just as we are sitting on lhese soools, and !hey gaU1ered in a file. Audience member: Now he looked troubled. And the young man who dances sat right there on his drums. And that large monitor lizard, that monitor lizard sat just like the chief; lhey had installed him on a hign stool. And that large monitor lizard was this big. So now, right then, he play-ed just like this. He danced, he danced, he danced. No, he just came and played, and Ute drum split. The young man came back, he yelled, "No mu~~vai, I began dancing long ago, at least twenty years ago, and my drum never split before. Now I don' t know what caused my drum to spliL What sort of skin should I put on Ulis. I don't know if it should be a person's. So now my dancing has been interrupted." Now as people looked at the .. . whal ... the drum, they said. "Thai s kin they put "" it is from a monitor lizard."4 Now there his friend the water monitor lizard said, "My friend, do you hear that? That's what I told you. 'At your village is Bono, and. I've come here to die.' What this person desires is to kill me." So now the people said, "No, we ... want Bono. Let them killlhe monitor lizard. we'll take Ute skin so he can dance." Now that chief said, "No, we can't kill this one. This ooe is my friend: be's a chief and we won't kill him." So they killed Utan morlitor lizar:d. Mmm! [Chops hand into palm i Titey took the monitor lizard and killed it. They put it on the drum, aod the cllief died. This mulwnbe is finished. This perfonnancc consists of four episodes, wilh the first two mirrored and. inverted 4
Monitor lizard skins arc actually used ror drum heads.
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by the second two. In the first episode, Bono and his destructive dancing are introduced. as is the pattern of trying to cure the chief. Traveling to the bush and being aided by the water monitor lizard, Bono finds the proper medicine and cures the chief in episode two. The repeated effortS of Bono and the chief's messengers to bring the lizard to the celebration culminate in his virtual abduction in the third episode. Episode four depicts Bono's deadly dance, the breaking of the drum head, and the killing of the monitor for its skin, an action that also causes the chiefs death. Two obvious formulaic siruations ate the chiefs illness and efforts to find a cure and the skinning of the lizatd to repair Bono's drum.S The four episodes of this performance form two segments wherein the chief is healed in the first and killed in the second. These two resolutions. both focusing on the chiefs health, chatacterize the parallel development of the narrative's episodes. Bono successfully procures the medicine when all efforts have failed by allowing himself to be guided by the repeated directions of the helpful monitor lizard, a positive outcome based on Bono's proper relationship with the benevolent reptile. In the second set of episodes. Bono destroys this relationship by not heeding the crearurc's advice. The chief, guided by Bono's insistence, keeps sending his messenge.rs to bring the animal "chief' to the celebration. This patterned refusal to believe the prescient monitor's warning in the second half of the tale leads to the events of the ttagic end·
ing. forfeiting the chiefs health along with the life of !he benevoleru creature. offsetting or negating eatlier gains. Behavioral polarities contrast Bono and the monitor li~ard. In the first two episodes. they interact in a positive way, whereas in the Iauer segment they diverge in a destructive manner. Since the wa·t cr monitor's benevolence. prescience. and curative powers are consistent throughout the tale, it is Bono wh<> reverses their relation.mip, moving from a pole of posi.tive action to a negative one.. The chief act~ as a batOmeter of this relationship. his state of health reflecting first a positive then a negative situation. The central pauems literally illustrate the same polarities. the first being cooperative and instructive and the second argumentative and de~1ruc
tive.6 Spatial polarities directly coincide with the degenerJtion of the initial positive relationship. Medicine is to be found only in the bush; that is the realm of the monitor lizard. Bono act'\ the role of a mediator. as he searches for the proper leaves and allows himself to be guided by Ute helpful Uzard. "that chief who is in the S See the hunter set in chap. 5, where the chief suffers a poisonous snakebite, and in chap. 2 the tale where lhe chic:( h~ a snake lodged in his thro:J.L Of course, note the following ta~ (NP19, in lhis clulp). 6
Because ll\e hero of the first p:lll of the namnive becomes i\s villain, Puubne would designate the
suucture of this tale "Complcx" (J976: 43-44).
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wilderness." The chief's cure is assured when Bono. heeding !he repeated series of d irections. locates !he proper medicinal 1ree. Conversely, when Bono auempts to remove !he monitor from his environment. he disturbs lhe appropriate spatial, and behavioral, order. Disregarding lhe creature's dire predictions, lhe chiefs messengers capture and transpon 01e natural "chief" to !he viUage; lhe move sacrifices !he tizard and !he human chief dies. Bush and village are compared in the two pairs of episodes, !he first illustrating a harmonious interaction and !he second a dissonant one. The wilderness/village opposition is the narrJtive 's central tension. Nature stands in a fixed relationship to human endeavor. In tltc wilderness, nature provides the curative sources for the village inhabitants. But in !he viUage. nature is subject to the power and caprices of humanity. When the water monitor refuses to attend Bono's dance. its central concern is that ~he human is "troublesome." At the outset. lhe performer notes that Bono "was destroying other people's things." Both the prediction and assessment prove accurate as Bono's broken drum requires the skin of the reptile "chief." Just as a tree, the lizard's habita~ must be hewn to make a drum. so too tltc monitor's skin must complete the instrumem of dancing and rite. The demands of culture prove to be oppressive, in truth fatal. to the natural creature when he is in the village. At tltc same time. installinent of a monitor lizard as the honored guest at a celebration sets the creature into a direct comparison with the human chief. Bono is a powerful force who is constructive when properly contained, as when !he monitor guides his steps. By aUowing Bono to e"ercise his whim, the chief does not control this creative force and it turns malignant Ignoring the advice of his benefactor, the chief aUows a second "chief' to be placed at the mercy of Bono's force. lie jeopardizes the proper link between natural and human worlds and in the end destroys his own link with good health. The monitor is depicted as a chief properly acting in nature, while its human counterpan fails to control Bono's force in the village realm. Since tltcre arc no con.~istenUy good/evil oppositions in the narrative, the theme seems less focused on Bono's culpability than on the change in the previously harmonious relationship between bush and village. One realm can harness Bono's power towards creative channels while the other aUows him too free a rein (reign?). with destructive consequences. flono;s movement to a destructive pole is, therefore, a result of improper guidance on the pan of the human chief. The ru.l er's efforts ro save the monitor prove ineffective, as his subjecL~ become obSessed wi th Bono's dance and reject his authority. Formally and JiteraUy, the narrative reve.als the consequences for both realms of a lapse in the exercise of proper judgment. This talc was performed by a Bwile man on the shores of Lake Mweru in Luapula province. near the village of Chief Puta. The situation was a rJlher chaotic one, with a large crowd of people straining to hear what was going on and trying
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also to get a closer look at the two white strangers with the tape recorder. The storyteller here is a relative of Mr. Jameson Mpundu. a friend from Mukupa Katandula. Mr. Mpundu is the maio respondent in the tale. making appreciative comments and occasiollally aski11g a question. This perfon11ance follows the personal mrr&tive told by the headman of the village we were visiting, and Mpundu had just made it clear that we preferred to record imaginative narratives (imilwnbe or inshimi). Under these confused and distracting conditions. the talc is remarkably coherent and effective. It also reflectS, in an interesting way, some clcmcnL~ of the preceding personal account- wherein the teller dcserihcd how his wife had been bitten by a crocodile. The monitor lizard in Bono's tale strongly resembles a crocodile; the dangers and consequences of the crocodile attack coincided with the danger posed by Bono to the lizard and the chief. Another inl£resting link to real events is Mr. Mpundu 's initial question about Katomcne. an actual traveling entertainer famed for his dancing, like the fictional Bono. The character Boni provides the following narrative wi th a similar though more mysterious persona. Pcrfonnancc; NPJ9, Chicfship Chews Water Pcrfonner; Chela Chilcngwe. male. age 45 Date and Time: 21 June 1976. approximately 3 P.M. Place: Mukupa Ka~andula
Audience: 10 adults and 7 children I bring this little lushimi of chicfship chews water (nothing is denied to a chiefl. Then this is why chiefshlp chews water. There was one person. That person is "Mukonga-who-does-not-lie." Then, there was his friend, and he was "Boni-where-he·dances-nothing-remains." So there was a person who was that chief they call Mununga. Then that chief became ill. So he became iU and contin ued to be sick.. He was sick. He was sick. Mukonga never visited him. He was sick. He was sick. He was sick. He was sick; and they began to take him to big modem hospitals, where even one injection can cure a person. But the chief did not become well. And so Mukonga came from there. There was a day when Mukonga-who·does-not-Jie set ouL "Let me go visit
Mununga because he's been two years without rccupcmting." So that young man, when he arrived there, came to the palace. The chief was in the house. Maggots were falling from his side. He anived at the courtyard's lawn. He clapped. "What is this, Mukonga? You are just clapping at the lawn, without seeing anyone? Don't you know the chief is ill?" He said, "I didn' t know that the chief was ill. because my name is Mukonga-who-does-not-lie. If I had known that the chief was ill, then I would have come to visit him." So. then .. . then that person Mukonga, spoke with the e ldest wife, saying, "I want to meet with the chief face to face." They said, "The chief does not rise from bed." [A1ide llJ audience: "I am speaki11g about how cl!iefship chews water. I who
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am speaking am Chola Cllilengwe. deputy Q{ Tonga"! So. then. tllat young man. Mukonga-who-does-not-lic. sat right there. He said. "I want to meet with the chief." They refused that young man' s request ten times. or even twenty times. The chief di.d not rise. He dripped maggots. Tbcn he again said. "I want the chief. • So they went and called the child . .. the child of lhe chief. So. then they called the cltiefs eldest child, they said, "Listen to what Mukunga-who-doc.s-not-lie is saying." Then l:le came to Mukonga. "Mukonga. are you the witch who has bewitched my father?'• He said, "No. I'm not a witch. I'm Mukonga-who-does-oot-lie. I would never lie to a person about anything." "But why do you come now when father has been sick for so long?" He s.aid, "I just came saying, 'Let me go see the clticf. "' So Utcn ... so. his child asked him, "He has been sick fo r so long; why didn't you come and sec him?" He said. "No. today it occurred to me, I said 'Let me go sec the chief.' because I've been bearing about his illness. The chief has been ill for two years. But I dido 't come until I said today, ' Let me go see the chief; perhaps he is better."' So they fmally said to that young man, "Just go away." And he said, "No. The chiefs illness is not serious. I could cure bim in three days. In about two days he would still be sick; o n the tltird day, he could come and get my walking stick or get my bicycle." Tbat child of the chief said, "Ala! Go on. How could my invalid falher do that with maggots falling from bis body'! How could he come and get the walking stick?" He said. "He cenainly could cor:ne and get it 1 am Mukonga-who-does-not-lie." He said, "Oh, fine. Now lhat we know you are really a doctor. find lhc medicine. In three days father must be cured. alive and well." Then Mukonga-who-docs-nOt·lie asked him, "When I cure your father, what will you give me?" lie said, "We would reward you with all lhat you want. We work at ''cry good jobs. and we cam lo ts of money. If it's money you want, or a store, or any son of tlting, or even an ai rplane, we could buy it for you. As long as my father is well." He said. "All right. That's good. So let me go get the medicine." So lhc young man set out. He went and anived at a river. That river he anivcd at was the Mofwe, the Mofwe of Tabwa country,1 He bcg11n til fQI)Qw Ule Mofwe to the source. Then reaching the source tbcre. he walked, be walked. he walked. He found a water monitor lizand with seven children. He said, "You monitor lizard, can you lend me one of your children?" Theo that monitor lizard said. "No. you humans are troublesome. If I lend you a child you will go and kill it."
"No, I won't kill the child. I will rerum .Your cllild to you in good co.ndition. Again, I will not go and kill it, no. He will work only for fou r days. After he works for 7 TOO Mofwc River joins tho:: southern e:nd of (..a):e Mweru Watuipa tO the Kalungwi.shi River; it is associated with the followers of the old Tabwa chief Tangs. Tile petfotmer U$1:$ :actual plACe n:ame& lhroughoutlhe pc:rfonnnnce.
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four days, on lhe fifth I will return him." So then. the water monitor lizard said, "Fine, and if I lend you lhe child, what reward will you give me?" He said, "Only I know what it is." Oliefship chews water. So. coming from there, lhat young man was given lhe little child of lhe water monitor lizard. It was lhe mother who gave it to him. And he carried it. Kalakata, Kalakata. Kalakala. Kalakala. He went and arrived at his place, at lhe house. When he arrived at his place. at the house, he washed. His wife gave him water. He washed very well. He put on a very nice suit and tie, and be put on a hat He took tbc little child of the monitor. He put it in his coat. He went back, arriving at lhe chiefs place. He said, "Your highness, M!d.wai. I've .. . child of lhe chief, I've brought lhe medicine; this is it. This child of lhe monitor lizard. Don't beat it. It will stan licking your falhc r this very day. Just as I've brought him he's already staning." He brought it at two o'clock. (Aside: 'The people say 'fourteen hours' in modern English"] Then, right from !here. lhat child of the monitor li1.ard began lhe job. It was licking. It was licking the chief, licking. By the time it was six o'clock. that person who was dripping maggots began to sit up. It was licking, licking, licking, licking. By sunrise that person who was dripping maggot~ began to walk with a staff. By sunset, the chief threw away the staff. He was just walking. Early morning ... It was licking in the afternoon and sunset Early morning on the third day, he began strolling to the office where he usuMiy never went And from there he was going to visit elsewhere, to Kalabwa, to Puta. to Mukupa and to Nsama. He staned SIIOlling on the third day. Mukonga set out in the afternoon. (Aside: 'Two o'clock we used to say"] Then, be went, and when he was arriving, the chief rushed out from the stockade, to go and take the bicycle of Mukonga-who-does-not-lie. He said, "Give me the bike." "No, you are a chief; you can't walk my bike. I will walk my bike because I'm a commoner." He said, "No, give me the bike." The chief took the bike. He walked it and leaned it against the house. "You, my wife Dangaliya, bring a stooL" The elder wife brought a stool, Mukonga sat on it. He said, "Chief. how are you feeling?" "Re.a!Jy, I'm feeling just fine. Very healthy. but my knees remain shaky." Then Mukonga said, "The knees still shake because you've been sick for two years. Now I want only the litlle child of the water monitor lizard. That's what I want. That little child of the monitor lizard is wbat I want so that I can return it to its mother where I borrowed it. because I am Mukonga-wbo-docs-not-tie. Chief, Boni is at Puta. That Boni has a dancing style of swin&~ng hips. As you know, 'Where Boni donees nothing remain.s.' If that Doni comes to dance here, it will be very bad. Chief, you might even die because of the little child of the monitor lizard." The chief refused. He said, "No, I can't die. I can't die." "No, you could die, chief. I want the little child of tbc monitor lizard." He said, "No, Jet it tick me for just two more days."
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So the;n he set out. Mukonga returned to his place. When he returned to his place he listened to an infonnam who bad come to him. "II is certain today about Boni; if he doesn't come today, thro he will arrive tomorrow about 10 o'clock at Mununga ' s village." He thought; he said, "No. let me go get the little child of the water monitor, because if Boni comes to dance nothing remains." He returned right over there to the palace. He said, "Chief, give me that little thing, because if Boni comes to dance in this palace, it will go badly." "No. calm down. l will find it for you." He said, "No, it will be very bad. If that person comes to dance here in the chiefs village, you could die." "No, I can't die." So then he gave up. He said, "I'm going back." Very early in the morning, he arrived at the palace. When he arrived at the palace he said, "I want the child of the water monitor lizard. Yesterday we did all the arguing. But today I know Boni will arrive in this palace. I want that little cbild of the monitor." That chief Mununga said, "No. I won' t give you the small child of the lizard." "Why not?" He said, "No, I won't give it to you." And that Boni [Mukonga] said, "No, give it to me." "No." "Let's agree.3 You give me a reward. because if !tile smal.l child of the monitor lizard dies then I'll have some cases. As for you. I heaJed you and you haven •t p aid me yet As for that small child of the lizard, its mother will have a case against me if I don't repay her. Then I have two rewards due me. Let's agree." Then (bat cbief Mununga spoke. ":Really, if Boni comes to kill tbis lillie child of the monit or lizard, I will give you my entire country." He said, "Call the eldest cltild. I won't accept it. As we sit here with your elder wife and these little cbildren, I won "t accept it Call the eldest child." They called that eldes t child, !be one they had called earlier. He came and sat right tbere. When he sat there, then Boni [Mukonga] said, "This is wltat we agreed on here; know the reward you will give me, because I haven't yet been rewarded for healing your father. He is walldng. So now this little child of the monitor lizard is all I want to take." So his father said this, "No, really if the little cbild of the lizard dies and I die, it's all right for you to rule the country."
Then thai yo\lng man rc1umcd to bis place. At around nioe o'clock. lila! young man Boni a rrived with his troupe and twelve drums that he danoed on: four amarumba [varying beat], and cightjibitike and base11sele [rhythm]. So then they gathered there at the playground on the other side from Mununga, by the school. They began Boni 's dance. He began to dance. As he danced to get the rhythm in hi.~ legs, the drumskin split So then tn>cy said, "Really, Boni does not dance on eleven drums. They must be twelve." He said, "No." The C·ltiCf tl1ought, "Tile 3 Mr. Chilcngwe uses an interesting English borrowing here for lhe verb "to agree." He aclunlly says "Tusaine (Let us sign}," which indicc8les a commonly held \•iew of writing's powerful association with govemmc:ntat authority and law.
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stores are depleted; I haven't a gi 1\. I do not have skins. What skin do you use on the drum?" He said, "The little child of the water monitor lizard, Lhe hairless skin of the monitor lizard." So then that .. . that young man went to fetch the little child of the monitor lizard. They sent people to go and fetch it "I have it" Then they fetched it 111cy killed and skinned it They began to hammer the skin on. When they hammered in just one nail. mbaa. to put the skin on the drum, the chief feU from the stoOl and died. They said, "TilC ehief is dead. The chief is dead." They tool< the chief up. They carried him to the house. Then Mukonga said, "You, child, isn' t it as I told you? I am Mul
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unremiuingly obstructive md untrustwonhy. Mukonga is forced 10 run lhe gamut of guard, wife, and son9 before being a!Jowed tO tre!tween the abode of lhe royal family and Mukonga's home. The hero resides at a place between chief and wilderness. He slops aJ his home to wash and change on returning with lhc young monitor. tO Mukonga was apparently at his home for the initial period of the chief's illness. and it is between home and palace thai he moves during the debate over the faJe of lhc miraculous crearure. It is 10 his home !hat he fmally retreats after making lhe fatal bargain wilh lhe chiefs family. remaining !here while the deadly eventS of Boni's visit play lhemselves out. Spatially. then. Mukonga is not only an intermediary wilh natural forces; he also maintains a physical distance from lhe corrupt and corrupting acts of lhe royal family. lt Removed from tbcs! activit.ies. he is able 10 assume power untainted by !heir disturbing aura. The spatial and behavioral polarities that contrast hero and chief also com ph>· ment each olher. By literally endangering Mukonga's agreement with the monitor lizard, arrogantly insisting on possessing the creature, tile chief is pamdoxically divorcing himself from tl-.e life-giving force tllat revived him, tile bond of mutual benefit between man and nature. Causing the de~th of the monitor is a thoughtless betrayal of lhe original bargain, a re latiort~hip mediated by reliance on Mukonga 's credibility. When lhe young reptile dies it literally cuL' the chiefs, and figuratively lhe community's. lifeline. The haste to find a new leader, depicted by Ule cry, "The 9 The tale admits of some confusion here. A c:hicf would not be succeeded by ttis son in the Tabwa matrilineal system. Although the pcrfonncr consistently referred to MmK'atta wa mfumu."' ('"tbe child of lhe chjcr'). tho temt "mwana m/uttW" (a contrac,tjon form literally me:tl:i.n_g "child chier') is commonly applied to n chi-ef's eldest sister, whose ddtst son is in line for su:u.s.sion. As ncar as I could ascertain. the c:hiers actual son ls the character depicled in the tale, thou~ in uuth he would have link to do with succeeding his father. 10 In NPI1 of chap. S. the unvatcful human foregoes the normal cti=tuctte of stopping to wash and
change bc.foro vi,-iting the chief,llleteby revealing once again his base a.ad evi.l nature. II Allen P. Roberts (1980) discu~ the location and sp:uial orie:nt.sion of the homes (palaces) of lakeside Tabwa chiefs in Zaire.
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country is not Stable, let's find a successor." expres.~ the unease c:lused by the rup· ture of the curative harmony between nature and village. And Mukonga's ascension assures the restoration of that relationship. A spatial link is restored. as is a behavioral one, with the man "who-docs-not-lie" coming to power, a positive force succeeding a negative Ot'l!. The curative and destructive oppositions embodied by Mukonga and the royal family are also dcvclopod between the child of the water monitor lizard and Boni. The young monitor is a beneficial agent who succeeds in healing the chiers infection when human scien;e cannot. This creature comes from Lie natural world, brought to the village by Mukonga 's mediation. Because propriety has been observed, the lizard fulfills its taSk as Mukonga predicted. Boni is a human fon;e, coming from another area and carrying the praise name "where-he-dances-nothingremains." Finding the exact situation Mukonga reared. Boni cances his deadly dance and causes the foretold deaths. Death and destruction are Boni's compan· ions. and be departs just as suddenly as he had come. The child of the monitor and Boni connote life/death polarities, with the former acting as the agcot of nature and the Iauer coming from lhe world of men. One is unobtrusive and beneficial; the other's infamy precedes him, his dancing art being linked to a destructive rather than creative capacity. Yet bolh characters serve Mukonga in their own way. Boni is in many ways an undifferentiated power, spreading destrucdon randomly, just as the monlcor Is a regeneradve soutcc in both natural and human sphc;cs. The chief is brought down by his arrogant failure to control either force. Mukonga comes to power because be knows and responds properly to the same f01ccs. Creativity and destructiveness therefore complement each other in Lhi~ performance, both serving Mukonga 's cau.~. The narrative's overall structure consists of two parallel episode sets. the lizard developing a positive outcome and Boni a negative. The comparison of these sets points to the behavior of the royal family as the reason for the shifting fortunes. consistently undermi.ning Mukonga's positive behavior by royal anogance and shortSightedness. The ~latial communicalion between natural and human realms is jeopardized by the polarized actions. Binding this parallel imagery is the consistent thread of Mukonga 's mediatory and prescient powers. To1ree patterns of negotiations revolve around th.e persuasive capabilities indicated by Mukonga's praise name: with the royal family. the water monitor lizard, and the chief. The thematic focus of the performance is on the saying, repeated seveml times. "cbiefship chews water," or the chief must have his way. The potential abuO>o of power suggested by this saying is amply illustrated by the chief's actions. Always contrasted with the evil
rul~ r.
Mukonga provide.s the positive fotcc that triumphs through the negotiated final agreement. In fact, much
of the narrative consists of dialogue.~ of argument and mediation. t2 After cau.~ing 12
This emphasis on dialogue over action suggests one way storytellers add depth co wh31 Luthi (1982) and others see as a. fairly flanencd. schematic model that $el$ action above di.:tlogue.
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lhe rift between nature and humanity, the chief actually heals it, his dealh signaling at lhe same time the end of a corrupt li oe and lhe rise of a new order. Judiciously wielding the powers of life and dcalh, Mukonga is lhc ideal successor, possessing lhc mediatory skills to balance the creative and destructive elements of boll! realms. The parallel episodes therefore reveal both sources of dissonance and foundations of harmony. This performance is particularly expressive and impressive, not only within its verbal text but throughout its perfonnancc context. As I mentioned, Cbola Cbilengwe is a performer who brings to eaeh storytelling effort a personal llistory. He is a powerful. almost intimidating performer. In this circumstaroce, he followed the cxccllem rendering of the hunter, lion and cobra talc by Robert Mwcnda, NP13. If Mr. Mwenda 's explanation of his narrative attempted to mute tile culpability of chief and subjects in tllat story, Cbilengwe sought the opposite effect in the story of "Chicfship Chews Water." Early in tile performance. after introducing the tale's ccntml confiiclS, he pauses to remind his restive audience of his stature as a "nephew of Tanga. • When quiet is restored, he goes on to depict a tale that mentions variou:s sections of the Tabwa area and their chiefs. The monitor lizard who lends Muko,nga the curative offspring lives near the Mofwe River, an area where many of the former followers of Tanga lived. As it develops its action and relationships, the narrative takes on a surface of satire, examining UlC arrogance of power within a royal family that does not honor its agreements. Cbilengwe's well-known d issident position adds dimension to this theme. intensifying its meaning through lhe specifics and tone he provides to the verbal text and its performance. The satirical aspect. in fact. was the most obvious element mentioned by several explicators of the narrative, when they heard the tape some years after tbe actual performancel3 Though very similar, tllis perfonnance differs from NPI8 in two important ways. The hero and villain arc delineated in separate characters here, allowing for a clc~rer organization of their acts and motivations and for the hopeful resolution_ Perhaps the more significant difference, this performance builds an interesting relationship between the monitor lizard as creator and Boni as destroyer_ Although they are contrasted on the basis of their acts, they are also paralleled by their interaction will! Mukonga. They become complementary halves of a single j"dicious power. illuminating· Mul
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family. Resonances of creativity and destructiveness accrue to this magical pair, and this pairing in tum reOects tbe complex relationship between humanity and nature, and between commone.r and chief. The monitor's curative propenies are replicated in Boni's creative anistic abilities. whereas the crearure's animal side is reiterated when its skin is taken for Boni 's dangerous drum. It is up to Mukonga, finally. to balance the forces that led to U1e tragic events ood to ensure the mutual benefits of future interactions between men and narure. Mr. Chilengwe develops the monitor and Boni into more complex and evocative narrative elements than the similar characters in NPI&. Here, they form a second level of allegory, depicting tbe ambiguous narure of cbi~Oy power: beneficent provider and dangerous sorcerer. This refe.rential image is of oourse quite close to the acrual perception of a chief. In tbe following performance, an expansible image-set frames the narrative's images. Performance: NP20. Man Denies Food to Wife Performer: Dorothy Mutoono. female. age 27 Date and Time: II June 1976. approximately 6 P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 4 adults and 9 children There was a little person. People Jived in a village just as we Jive. So, in the village a great famine fell. When tbe famine fell, those who lived in tbe country did not know what to do. \Vhat was there 10 eat'f Now there was, hOw many'! One per~
son and llis wife. He said, "My wife, hunger is ovenaking the children. They have no food to cat. So, my wife. pull out an eye, and I will pull out an eye. Let us plant tbem. If we plant tbem they will blossom. The children will be saved." His wife said, "No. my father. should I take my eye out and remain with one'/ No, I refuse." "My wife, you refuse?" "Yes." So, the husband said, "Ob. No problem. I'U gouge mine out"'
So. he went and went. mukwai. He gouged out his eye and planted it. And after he planted it, it grew. It staned to blossom. So. mukwai, he began now to go there, tbe owner of the eye, the husband. He found t11ey -.ere ripe on the tree. He said, "What luck; I will survive after all." He began to sing a song: Mother nsera Mutung.Ju. t4 Mother nsera Mutungulu. Nseti wriggling and plentiful. Mother nseta Mutungulu. Nseti wriggling and plentiful. Mother nseta Mutung~
We ooukl no' lranslatc either "nse.ta Mutungulu· or "n.seri" in this pcrfonnanoo. ..Mutungulu" seems to be a name. and il recurs in NP21.
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So tl1ey fell. Lukululwlukulukulu! So mui,vai, he began to gather them. He ate,. He ate. He took some to his children at the village. The next day. he again set out. The wife never had any, no. He wasn't giving her anything because she had not planted her eye. So mukwai, again he went and arrived. He climbed the tree. Again h.e began singing: Mother nseta Murungulu. Mother nseta Mutungulu. Nscti sways and blossoms. Mother nscta Murungu/u. Nseci sways and blossoms. Mother meta Mutungulu. So, they fell and fell. He ate. He ate. He left some outside the village. But one small child, the eldest, stirred things up. He took what he had eaten with his father to his mother. He said, "Mother, listen, this is the thing father has eaten to make him fat; look. 1bis is it that made him fat." So. he started to eat with his mother. The next morning. &he said, "We must also go !here." That was his
mother's idM, since his father had gone elsewhere. So, that mother said to tile child. "Let's go." They weot and went They arrived somewhere over there. at the tre". They arrived. They shook the troc: Kupu. Kupu. Kupu. They did not drop. Kupu. Kupu. Kupu. They did not drop. "So my child, speak as your father did. Why don't !hey fall? You. youngster. hurry: let's eat. Ala! They look v.ery good." So lhe child said, "Mother let me try what father does." So muiMai, he began:
Mother TL.'feta A1utungulu. Mother nseta A1urungulu. Nserl sways and blossoms. Mother nseca Mumngu/u. Nsecl sways and blossoms. Motllcr nseta Mumngulu. No, aU of them feU down. Even the unripe ones. And tbe large tree dried up aod died. So. they wcot to the village. with baskets overflowing. They wcot aod arrived. They ate. They ate. The father. the owner of the tree. came, "How are you?" She said, "Just fine." .. Yes?" She said, "Yes." So, he set out, sneaking aw.ay. "Let me go e.at at the place where l cat." When he arrived he found that the tree was already dead. He returned. "My child, who told you to lead your mother the.re? She refused to gouge out her eye." He said. "No mukwal. it's not me. She for.ced me to do it." He said, "So it''s you! Today because you've destroyed the tree, I'll just gouge your eye out, and make you plant it. It must grow, and I will eat its fruit." The wife said, "No, it wasn't me, my husband. It wasn't me, my hus· band. It's not me." He said, "No. you must gouge out your eye." Finally he gouged out her eye. In her case, it oozed out. It oozed water. No. it was com· plelcly useless.
Th.is ko.shimi is over. This talc is composed of four cp.isodes. witll the journey to the wilderness for frui t constituting the centr.!l repeated image. Using a gouged eye as the seed for a frui t tree is an imponant formulaic sit'Uation. and tile song sung to the magical tree
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is the seminal formula that rcOects the central pattern. Each of the four episodes coincides with a journey to the m:uvelous tree. In the first episode, the father plants his gouged eye after his wife refuses to gouge out hers, sings the song, and shares the food with his children. He repeal~ his journey and the sharing of food in the second episode. In the third episode. one child reveals the secret to his mother; they journey out to the magiccl tree and cal all the fruit after the tree dries up. The final episode depicts the father's discovery of the tree's dessication. his investigation, and the final retribution of gouging out the selfish woman's eye. The falhcr and molhcr constitute positive and negative beh~vioral poles. He sacrifices his eye for lhe sake of !he cllildren. !hen keeps !hem supplied wilh food. Thai his relationship with the wilderness is harmonious is evidenced by !he way in which his eye grows into a nutritious fruit tree during a famine. The wife. con· vcrsely. refuses 10 donate her eye to the family's cause. Her discoldant t.ie 10 nature is iUustral£d by her failure 10 make the tree drop its fruit, !hen by her destruction of Ibis only source of food. When her eye is forcibly removed by the falhcr at the narrative's conclusion it proves 10 be "completely useless," in coo1ras110 his own fertile eye. These actions develop a selfish/sciOcss and infcnile/fcnile set of oppositions. Spatially, the wilderness. or nature. is associated with the father's positive mediation. whereas the molher breaks Ibis vital link with her self-serving mediatory attempts. The expansible imagcascl depicts a series of positive hamtonious 3(..'tions by !he father. Two episodes iUustrale his successful petitioning of !he magical tree and the sharing of food with his children. This pattern is broken by the selfish wife. who uses her child 10 oblllin !he fruit and in the process l
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Mrs. Dorothy Mutoono perfonned this lllle in an evening galbering that consisted mainly of family and friends. She began the session, then gave way to performances by a number of children, three of them her own. The childrcns' efforts were curtailed to some extent by the storyteller's husband, Jameson Mpundu, who for some reason was trying to keep all but the storytellers from singing the songs in the narratives. This led, as described earlier (in chap. 3). to some discomfort and complaining by the participanL~. Only after I asked him to let the audience sing along did the storytelling seem to get back onto a comfonable tack. Soon after, Mrs. Mutoono told the above tale. She took advantage of the obvious pleasure the chil· dren experienced in singing along with ber songs. which they rendlered with some tine hannon.y and gusto. The talc of the wife and mother who drove her husband to deny her food is, in the perfonnance context, rather self-deprecating, especially given the intrusive nature of her husband's panicipallon in the storytelling se.~sion. The following narrative focuses on the more common situation in this am>ature,tS a husband seWshly keeps food from his hungry family. as it maintains the same polarities but switches the characters who pe<Sonify them. Perfonnancc: NP21, Man Denies Food to Family Performer: Rosemary Mwaasha, female. age 23 Date and Time: 18 July 197(i, approxima~ly 7 P.M. Place: Muk:upa Katandula Audience: 4 adults and 2 children There was tllat little person. People lived in a very large village. So. there in a village a very bad famine began. People picked only small mushrooms; that is whal they ate. Now, a husband set out to go to his parentS' place. They provided him with ad.vice. They said, "You will go to your wife wben you return to UlC vii· lage. You will gouge out ber eye. and .YOU will gouge out your own. You will go and plant them. In that way, they will sustain you. They will bear fruit, and you can eat them." So. the husband returned. He told his wife. "My friend, listen to what my family taught me." She said, "Really?" He said, "Yc.~.· He gouged out his wife's eye, aod he ,gouged out his own. He went to the bush. He planted those eyes. So, the eye of the husband rotted. The eye of the wife is the one that germinated. Now, whenever the wife questioned him in the house, "My grandfather. so what about those things you planted. have you been checking tllem?" He would say, "No, my sister. they all rotted. Notlllng has germinated there. My father misled me." "Really?" He said, "Yes." "Tch. That is very bad." IS
See performance N930 by Friday Kampalala in the appendix to lhis chap.
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They picked only small mushrooms. That's all they ate with their children. So the wife's eye just grew tall. It Dowered and bore large frui t. which were sweet and glistened like water. When he ate just one. the deceiver was very satisfied. He did not go and say to that wife, 'The eye bas borne fruit." No. Selfisllncss. He went to the small mushrooms. He picked these for them. They ate them. "My grandfather, you do not eat'/" He said, "No, my wife, the children lhemselvcs are eating; if I can provide for them lbat'sgood enough." "Ala! [she replied] We adults are worried about you." 'These vel)' children are the ones I worry about. Because of them I will only drink water. Keep giving these to our children." They ate. Again the next day, he reiUmed to the tree. He gathered, bringing none to his wife. But, one day a small one said, "My father. I will follow where you go. where you pick mushrooms." He said, "Ala! Go? Stay." Now the father set out. The child bid himself. He followed the father. He just went. So, the father arrived there. He began a song. He said: Fall Muwngulu. Fall Munmgulu. You've taken my eye. lfutungulu. I remain with one eye. I will be laughed at. Fall Mwungulu. So. an eye feU. He pi:ked it up. He ate it Then he was satisfied. Now he loosened the waistband of his trousers. It has provided for just one person here. He leaned against a large tree. He said, "It is llley who will soffer. This eye bas germinated only for me. Grca1 God bas given it to me. I'll keep giving them these mu.~brooms." His small child there in the shrub was listenir.g intently. No mr&:wal. he said. "Let me pick one so I can cal it in the evening if I feel hungry." So, he sang the song. He said: Fall Mutungulu. Fall Mumngulu. You've taken my eye• .11utungulu. l remain with one eye. I will be laughed at. Fall Mutungulu.
It fell. He put it in his pocket and passed by the small mushrooms. He picked them. So mukwai, he carried them. His small child, there io the shrub wbere he sat. just watched bis trickery. So he returned 10 the village. "They will suffer. I will grow fat before all that fruit at the top of the tree is gone. They will be sorry." So mukwal, ulln! He arrived at the house. His wife took. the mushrooms and cooked them. "\\'here is Njoni [Joha]?" She said, "I don't know. is he there at his friend's place?" So where that little cffild remained, he went back to lhe large tree. And that one began to sing, just as his father had sung: Fall Mutungulu. Fall Muttmgu/u. You've taken my eye. Mutungulu.
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I remain with one eye. I will be laughed at. Fall Mutrmgulu. They feU down. They fell down. Ohn! They were frrJshcd, not even one wa.< left. So, lhe small child galhered !hem into bis shin. He placed them into a hole he dug. He galhcred all !he eyes. just all of !hem. Ootl And he hid !hem [inside]. So muk,vai, he passed by a different palh, !hat's where he arrived from. "Has Njoni returned'/" His motl1er asked, "Has Njoni returned?" He said, "Yes mukwai. I've rerumed. I just went to see my friends !here. to visit." "Those little mushrooms are on the plate; fmish them up." Her child got those rniL~hrooms and fmishcd them. His falher said, "I'm going to check !he bird traps this afiemoon." So. he called his brothers and sisters and his mother together. "Molher.· She said, "Yes?" "Come and look at what father does. And this is why he is fat. You see how his stomach has grown so fat; so, he has a secret." So mukwai, he said, "Look at these eyes, mother." She said, "No. this husband of min(' is a br:.uen p!'tSOn." She gave Otl(' to
each. They ate. They were content. They drank water. Soe said, "Did you shake all of them down?" "Ala! Mother, I've already shaken town all of !hem." She said, "WeU done. God is great. wherever He acts. My dead molher, you've guided your grandson. 16 We are sa·ted." She said. "Since he is planning to go home to his parents, my children, we will go and gathcrthem." They said , "Yc.<." So mukwai, his father returned. He said, "Why are they looking so woeful? Haven' t you given them the leftovers?" Sbe said. "Muk.vai. I've already given !hem. They ate tl1em." "TC:1. My children. they are suffering greatly. So, it would be beuer that I, an elder. suffer instead of having !he children go on suffering." And that wife just thought to herself; she said. "You will pay for !his." So muhvai, uhn! The next morning, "I want to go to the viUage of my falher, to see him and my mother." She said, "Go and arrive well, my grJndfather. In this same way. the children will continue gathorins liuJc mushrooms from the out&kiru:
of the village. We wiU survive." So muhvai, the deceiver went and went. Just when he left, !hey began to transfer the eyes in tllC evening. They moved them. They moved !hem. They moved them. They moved them. They placed them into large gourds in the house. That's where they placed them. Two gourds tbey brought to lhc village leader. They carried !hem there. "Listen. Listen. Chief, about that husband of mine . .." He said, "Really'/" She said, "Yes." "Don't worry when he comes b:l.Ck we will just drive him away."' So. those days passed for a week. Those children gpt fauer and fatter. He finally returned. "Yah! So, you've become very fat already!" She said, "Yes, it's these mushrooms we have picked !hat fattened us up .. . our bodies are content." "That's uue. Tomorrow I will go !here to those mushrooms and I myself will pick 16 She refe-rs to the way benevolent anocstors guide their living desc:e:rd.unLs.
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them." She said, "Yes my grandfather. you left us this task. In this time of famine you camot just sit around. Our only food is mushrooms." So, he set out in the early morning. He went, fmding nothing at all at the large tree. He began singing the song: Fall Murungulu. Fall Mutungulu. You've taken my eye, Mutungulu. I remain with one eye. I will be laughed at, Mutungulu. Fall Mutungulu.
No, truly, nothing feU. Not even one. He was very frustrated. When he felt his trousers slip, he pulled them up. "Oh me. this is really bad. So where have they gone? Could it have been these people? Tch! This is not good." He muttered to himself. He muuered. He muuered. He sang again: nothing. He went 10 the mushrooms. He got those lit~e mushrooms. He returned home. "Hurry! Hurry! Mo ... Mother of Musonda. Hurry. right away!" "My busband, why are you rushing? Before you refused these mushrooms, saying, 'Give them to my children.' So what is this?" "No. Ju.e five repeated journeys to the magical tree correspond 10 this talc's live episodes. The husband sets the central pattern in the first episode by implementing the advice of his parents. He plants the gouged eyes, lies to his wife, aod hypocritically denies himself mushrooms. In the second episode, the son argues about accompanying his father, observes the secretive acts, learns the magical song, aod waits as his father returns home with more mushrooms. Control of the magical fruit switches from the evil father to th.e family in the third episode, as the boy sings the song, collects the fruit, repons to his mother, and parcels out the nourishing food. The founh episode depicts the fathe r's second journey to his parents' home, the caching of the fantastic fruit by the famil y, and their return to good health. In the fifth episode, the {ather discovers the loss of his magical food, ravenously eats mushrooms, and is finally banished by the chief. As in the previous performance,
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journeying to the magical fruit tree is the central expansible image. Several formulaic elements not found in NP20 inc.lude the consultation of parents in solving a problcm,• 7 the argument atx>ut following the father, IS and :he consuming of mushrooms as a food of famine. Father and family are consistently comrasted in a polarized relationship. From the time his eye fails 10 germinate to the point where he is exiled. the father is painted in dad< colors. His unnatural denial of food 10 U1c family is compounded by the hypocritical manner in which he refuses mushrooms. The performer leaves little room fo r doubt as she describes how the evil father's stomach grows f"t and the moment when he gloats, ""It is they who will suffer. Tills eye has germinated ordy for me." On the other side, the family is depicted as lon8·Suffering and tru.~ti ng. The wife does not hesitate to contribute her e ye to the planting scheme and later expresses bcr concern over the way her husband seems to te denying himself nourishment, "Ala! (she replied] We adults are worried about you." Their son is contrasted to the father by the way he immediately Shares the fruit he finds at the magical tree. The contrast comir.ues as the family turns the father's deception back upon him to cause his downfall. The spatial relationship established between wilderness and village alters as the narrative progresses. Mushrooms and magical eye-fruit grow in the bush in time of famine; the former is transported to the village while the latter is not There is a faulty link between the two realms, and that discrepancy is personified by the father, a corrupt intern1ed iary. As the central pattern, the journey between areas, comes under the dominance of the family, foods and charocters are finaUy propitiously aligned. Control shifts from pole to pole and restOres the relationship between the two realms to its proper order. By Shifting control o f the central journeying pattern, the perforn1er alters the expansible image toward the final rcsolution. 19 Tills twist is provided by events in the third episode; once the 9>Cret is discovered, the father's deception remains to be inverted. And this is precisely what happens in episodes four and five. Eye-fruit he had boarded is brought to the viUage and cached; the family grows fat on the magical fruit and deceives the father by telUng b.im they bave been eating "mushrooms." He must now devour the same musllrooms he had Shamelessly used to give himself the semblance of seiHcssncss. This panicular scene d iametrically reverses his deception. as the wife cunningly puzzles over why he suddenly feels the urge to eat
mushrooms. "My husband. why are you rushing? Be fore you refused these 1'
18
See Ooke {1976: 150·53): w his sis..:rs in the lion/m.an
t:des. l9 10c lion/man set shows this paucm of reversal when thC' yow1g brolher takes over lhe hunting and purSuit p;~ltem from his evil in-taws.
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mushrooms, saying, 'Give !hem to my children."' The founh and fi.fih episodes are bound in an invened way to lhe first and second by lhcse events and by such welldeveloped details as repetition of lhe falher's trip to his parents' home and lhe fact !hat his trouser belt is now too loose on his !binning stomach. The husband's collapse marks the shift of polar dominance, and also the shift of the spatial relationship between the two types of food. In fact, once the secret is discovered, we can argue that lhe final two episodes arc developed in order to set the foods into their proper location a.' well as to send the viUain into exile. The eye-fruit and mushrooms arc depicted as metaphorically opposing objeciS: one is a fruit of the viUage, of plenty; lhe olher is lhc food of lhe wilderness, of famine. Mushrooms are the wild-growing, meager food source that is used as a last reson. From the beginning of the famine, "People picked only small mushrooms; that is what they ate." Once the father begins visiting the magical tree, mushrooms become tbe literal embodiment of bis deception. He substitutes the UMourislling food, with hypocritical self-denial, and keeps the eye-fruit for himself. This magical fruit, oo the olher hand, comes from the eye of the long-suffering wife. Tbe performer lavishes a good amount of descriptive detail on its wondrous propenics: "large fruit, which were sweet and glistened like water. When he ate just one, the deceiver was very satisfied." Eye-fruit, a physical product of the mother, must be supplied to the family in the viUage, whereas the mushrooms, the "fruit" of the father's evil, must be returned to the wilderness. To move lhe correct foods to the proper location requires two stages: bringing the eye-fruit home in lbe foun.h episode; gcuing the father to cat mushrooms in the
last episode. Irony is a powerful pan of this transfer as the family claims to grow fat on the famine food provided by the villain wllile the father grows thin without the fruit and must cat the same mushrooms he had earlier rejected. The spatial transfer of fruit to viUage and mushrooms to wilderness is completed when the father is exiled from his home, rtnally forced, apparently, to subsist entirely on the food of famine. Quite literally, the food of plenty is returned to the positive pole and the food of famioe is bound to the negative force. Eye-fruit and mushrooms are developed by the performer into a pair of symmetrically invened metaphorical elements, whose rllytbmic growth and final alignment in the performance reflect the allegorical organization of the narrative. There is a generational theme that also colors this narrative, originating in the two visits the husband makes to his parents. He obtains advice from his parents about planting the eyes to survive the famine. Later on, he rctum~ 10 visit them as l1is children and wife scheme to ovenum his evil acts. The heroic wife of the tale mentions in passing that her clever son resembles her own deceased mother, claiming !hat her mother's spirit is alive in the grandson. The image of good seeds and bad seeds, embodied in the fruitful and barren eyes, respectively, therefore also carries through Ole notion of good parcniS and bad parenl~ influencing the growth of
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!heir offspring. Alllhese relationsltip.-secds. eyes. fruil/musbrooms. parents. and children-refiectlhe !hematic concerns of lhe perfonncr. Rosemary Mwaasha galhcrs all lbesc !breads convinci.ngly in her tale and utilizes an excellent singing voice and an understated dramatic capacity to bring the images tO life, before her intimate audience: her husband, children, and sister. Even a cursory review of this tape reveals Samson Katai's amusement and affinnation of the narrative at various points in the perfonnance. In the perfonnance context. the narrative follows Mr. Katai 's humorous and hyperbolic tale of two giant ogres battling for control of an entire country (N218), Aida Musonda's talc about an orphaned boy seeking his remairting relatives by singing an identifying song (N229), and Ms. Musonda's brief dilemma tale about how monkeys on an island were tricked imo throwing oranges over to the people on the river bank (N230).20 Aller Mrs. Mwaasba 's inuicate perfoi;T11ance, which reHccted elementS of each preceding talc, the family concluded the session by singing a song in three-pan harmony. Although this talc resembles NP20, it bas several notable differences. The father is tbc villain here. causing the mother and ch.ildren to suffer because of his greed. There is less ambiguity here, as details carefully describe clearly motivated acts and thematic values. Yet both narratives build on expansible image-sets. which they resolve. by breaking a beneficial pattern in the first and breakimg a destructive one in the second. Altl10ugh their structures are virtually identical, tile crucial difference is !hat NP21 develops a greater number or theme-connoting details. The father's hypocritical acts serve to foreground his villainy and to create the dramatic opportunity for his family tO reverse his evi.t deeds. These acts also oppose mush· rooms and eye-fruit; objects in the narrative embody its thematic concerns. These concerns move beyond the obvious food hoarding acts-in themselves they reHect the actual, serious. scarcity· occurring at certain times ·o f year-to the kinship relationships discu.'l~ed in carlie< chapters. It is significant, for instance, that the mother of the heroic son acknowledges her own deceased mother at one point of the story, thereby reinforcing U>e dc.o;ccm ideology that traces the lineage lhrougb !be mot11er's ancestors. The husband's family, by contrast, is a source of the central problem. By al.lying chi.tdren and mother against a greedy fathe,r, the ta.le also alludes to the ambiguous role of husbands in Tabwa society: valued for U1eir abilities as providers but ultimately removed from the longtenn benefits of inheriting or passing down their wealth within the matrilineage. Tite n3JT3tivcs sugge,st these
tensions wit:hin the allegorical frame of the denial of food. Denial and scarcity cause other tensions in the following tale.
20 All tales i dentified by number lwc at~ in my collection.
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Pcrfonnance: NP22, 1bc Charlatan Diviner Perfonner: William Musonda, age 60 DaJc: 8 November 1983. approximately 3 P.M. Place: Kaputa Audience: 5 adults, 8 children There was a poor person. Again. he was useless. And he suffered from lack of food. He had no siblings. He had no wife. And he'd never married, since the time of his binh. This little person was very useJe.ss. Most of the time he went hungry. His food was just what wa.s in the bins where they threw rubbish. Right in these he could find a bit of bread. He would open [the lids]. He picked. He ate. This is how he was. He just suffered. He just suffered. There was a large village, filled with people. It was full of wealthy people; wealthy people just filled the village. It was not a village where there was hunger. It was a village of food. Now one day, in the morning, that poor man just went [there] planning to rerum He found a chief sitting on a stool in the early moming, very early. They had brought him waJer. He was baJhing. He had taken the ring from his hand. [Aside: Now in 8emba they say "ring" (indaminwe). j2l He had put it on the ground. He washed his face. Finally. he fmished. stood up. and just left. So now there passed a rooster. a chicken who eats anything. Because of the way the ring was shining ... ee! He pecked iL Ah! He swallowed iL So that little person saw the chicken !tad swallowed the chiers ring there. But he said nothing. he just went off. "&?" The chief began searching for the ring. "Ring! Ring! Ring! My ring. My ring. My ring. My ring." He called his elders and advisors. "Find the ring, wherever it is." That's where they looked for the ring. The diviners, and others also helped. They searched and questioned people. No, nothing. They did not hear anything of the ring. "So you are not villagers or elders of the chief. So I rule only fools who do not know anything. The ring was just lost without a trace? No, this doesn't please me." So tile advisors of the chief began to look embarrassed, saying, "We're disgraced." Days passed as they questioned themselves. Now that little person who was suffering greatly, he began his lying. saying, "People are not difficult to cheat I will cat and be satisfied. There is really only one path people prefer, especially we Africans, we like medicines; those that can be sniffed, those worn round the waist. and !bose tied anywbere. with a shin worn on top so that I appear like a person but inside there are bad things. They would laugh at me. 'Those things you wear, those things. what are they fo(/' 'No, they are to protect my life.' That's whaJ people like. For them, their lives are protected by cham1s. If I stan to dig for roots and 2·1 Up to this point MU$0nda had used the term for ring borrowed from English. "ilingi"; during the remainder of the story, he allC:mates lhe the English with the Tabwa term.
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make holes in the roots and put things in with beads, then I'll be eating quite well. Now they'll see that I'm a doctor [diviner], an evoker of spirits." He did this to a sticlc he hollowed it out well and drew something on it, then he tied beads and a head scarf and a hom around it and smeared it with oil and other things. When !he stood it uprigb~ it just dripped water and oil. He said, "Now I'm a diviner." People said. "You were born and grew up here. Where did you get these magiC31 powers?" He said, "You know a person tr3vels all night in an airplane; I travel on binds, that's bow I travel. I'm a doctor. I dreamed that ghosts carried me into the bush. I could even locate that thing [the ring]. To find that ring. I'd locate it" They said, "Yo·u? It was impossible for these people to lind it Bow could you?" So tbe chief eventually heard that there was a little person there. The chief said. "That person. is he a doctor?" "Yes. He says that ghosts carry him off to the bush at night" He said. "Well go call him." So they went and summoned him. "Can you find it?" He said, "Yes. I ca-n find it" Taking his wallcing stick, he said. "Where were you washing, chiel7" He said, "Here." [Peiformer acts out dlviiUltlon by banging stick on ground and growling as if possessed] "Puum! Ruurahr. Puum! Ruurahr. Kokoliko! [cock's crow]" He began lying right there, because with his own eyes he'd seen that roos1er swallow the ring. "Puum' In the chief's rooster is wbere the ring is. It's shining here. It's shirling here." The chief said. "Yangu eel My rooster is one I like very much. Is the ring inside him?" He said. ''Yes. it's in there." "Truly young man. you arc just lying. You will die if they cut open the rooster and find nothing inside; you will die with the rooster." He said," Now chief, it is the rooster you will give me as a reward so that! can usc it to m:ike my medicines." "If it's true. catch the rooster." (Peiformer imitates the clucking of the rooster as It moves about then is suddenly snatched up ] Kwe. Kwe. Kwe. Kwe. Kwe ... Ebnn! So they cut off its head. they cut it open. They found the ring in i ts stomach. "Truly litis is a doctor." "Hell. Hell. Hell." Tile news spread to all the people. That little person ate and was full. He had the respect of the chief. He wa.~ no longer useless. This was a person. The chief said, "This litlle person is a doctor." So he stayed on and lived with the respect he'd gained in the eyes of the chief. Days passed. Days passed. But one day he dreamed that, "Tomorrow very early at the first cock crnw, then the second, and the third, and the fourth. and tlle fiflll. and the sixth. and at the seventh I will set out to treat that person. Now !hat I'm a doctor I can just lie, because peo,ple just believe lies. One has only to believe
that I can treat him." He slept. until morning. There were some thieves who broke into the chief's treasury and stole seven sacks of money.22 Now they feared using the money. "We 'II just refrain from spending for some time, until things quiet down, Then we will stan to spend: ' They went and dug a hole; as lhcy uicd to l2 Musonda uses
111'1
Engli$h borrowing to indicate tllc storage p13oe of the chiefs money, "sefu
(sole)".
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throw in one sack. the rooster crowed. Then that little doctor who lies said, "One!" There those people whispered. "Have you beard that person? He said, 'One."' "I've heard It's that powerful doctor." He said, "Hutun. That one has his own concerns. Throw the rest in." They threw in another sack. The rooster crowed a second time. "Two!" He counted as he had dreamed, and there there were seven sacks of money and the rooster crowed seven times. Tbe last was the seventh. So they buried the money. They said, "That doctor's very bad. Let's go to him. Let's talk him into keeping our secret" So they arrived atl!he door and knocked. Kun. Kun. "What is it?" "So, we've come doelor. Just open, up, we waru 10 lalk." He opened up. They entered. "What is it? E
ing ground) He arrived just over there. "Here. This walking stick of mine is a friend of dcmons. Eh! Heh-hch-heh-eh-hch. Ah ..." So they dug. 'They found that money. "And we want those who stole the money." He said. 'They are DOl here. They have gone far away." He protected them. "They are very far away. They went ReaUy, if they were nearby you could catch them." "Well. it's over, since the money is recovered." The chief carried the money back. So. again the great respect for that person increased. He was called the Chief's advisor. and the chief's doelor. He was the chief's advisor. moving from suffering to eating well. So they liked him. He married a young woman. and they Jived very well. But th:u !other) advisor of the chief lost U1e respect of the people because he did DOt know anything. He spoke only within his hean, "Yangu ee! This Little
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person. who was born here. what son of gbosts '<:.'lrry' him?" As be thougtu hard abolOt that person, he finally figured out Ute story. He said, "Oh. When the ring was swallowed by the chicken. he saw the chicken e:tt it. Isn't this right? As for the sacks," be said. "that one is a thief. Don't you see. he even protected his thieving friends in order to gain prominence?" h just = e into his head. So, one d!ay he sat with the chief Wldng about that little doctor. "What could we do for him? He can't be simply the cbiers elder. He wants to be the chiers advisor." So the person, the advi:sor. said, "Chief. be very cMeful. Did that person not grow up here? You know him; and his father grew up here and died here, as well as his mother. AU of them. They never did this son of thing in their family. so how can this one do it?" He said. "It cou.ld just come to him. God could help him in many ways. He's a very powerful little doctor." "That very day he saw the ring being eaten by the chicken." "Yes? Could it have been like that?" "Yes. It could be." "What about the money?" tie said. "You can't overlook him . He might be a thief. He was in with tbe thieves. Don't you see. he 's hidden his accomplices." "Truly, you speak well. Now in order to prove be's re3lly a doctor I will look for a test." "What son of test?" "I'U lhink of a plan; it's no problem. Let's go to my sugarcane farm and relax." They went and went. They found a little insect. That large insect was walking. He said. "Oh, now I'll find out if that one is a doctor. l'U catch this insect that'·s wallcing. this praying mantis. When I catch it I'll hold it in my hand. You go and call him. so tbat he comes and tells me what I have in my hand. If he says it's a praying mantis ... [Pause while a new bauery is inserted into recorder] • .. I will prove that he· s a doctor... Now that chid followed Utat large insect. When he tried to catch it, it ran away and stood somewhere else. [Performer mimes tire chiefs attempts to capmre the mantis in his handl The second time he tried to catch it. it Dew away and landed elsewhere. The third time he tried, he <:.'lught it and they staned returning to the village. He arrived and sat on his Utrone and called au his advi:sors, elders and all the people. "Go and call that doctor. Today I want to prove where his power comes from ... because people are complaining about him." So U1ey went and summoned him. "You arc called by the chief." So he went. Chitichi. Chilichi. Chiti. His walking stick [made Ulis sound]: Chitichiti. He anived at the chief's. He said. "Uh ... today (we) wiU make known your lies or your truths. because you've lied to and tricked me enough (times]. So now just tell what I am holding. What it is? tf you can divine what this Lhing is. I will know that you arc a docoor." So that little person lost weight right there. He just kept quiet. So the problem wa.~ that he did not know its name. ln the case of someone who is wo.nhless. people don' t know his name. Just as wiUl chiefs. The y don't know the chief's name. They ju.•t say "chief." "Tllat one is a chief,'' that's all. Drivers arc known only as "driver." They have no names. Their names are already known. just as with true doctors. The chief said. "Jus:ttell me what's inside." That doctor thought; be said, "No. today my time is finished; this is
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my last day.· So as he staned sobbing. he said. "Hhm. I'm telling you. I'm really a poor person.. The first time 1 escaped from the chief's handS. And the second time I was saved from the chiers hands. Now I'm reaUy teUing you I'm a pOOr person ... this third time I'm in the hands of the chief. I Kak:onkote, I'm dying." So the chief ~100<1 up, "You see. this is a praying mantis! It's a praying mantis you see! This is a dOCtor!" [Performer gleefully opens his hand to exhibit the imaginary manris] But he only cried out his name. It was Kak:onkote, but they did not know his name.23 He was the owner of that name, Kak:onkote. ''I'm a poor person, Kak:onkote. I've been caught for the third time." "You see. this is a praying mantis!" The people applauded. '" He's a doctor! He's a doctor! He's a doctor!" He gained that chiers re.~pect. 111e chiers advisor was removed from the stool. And he was the one who (now) sat on the stool. He ascended to prominence by these lies that came true. Mukwai, this mulwnbe is finished. Three episodes comprise the basic structure of this talc. The first details the poor man's condition, runs through the disappearance of the chiers ring, and ends when its recovery provides a new status for the "diviner." In the second episode, when lhe chief's money is stolen, its recovery raises the status of lhe tricksterdiviner. A final test..-{jetcrmining what the chief has in his han~d its successful, if accideotal, completion constitute ·!he third and concluding episode of the nar-
rat.ive. Although the performance has few obvious formulaic elemen!S - song, chant, saying, or familiar action-we can note !hat trickery and false divination are the ccnt:ral aGlS lhat recur lhroughout this set of three paucmcd imagcs.24 The ta'le's performer, William Musonda, begins by detailing the uucr destitution of lhc s:oon-to-be diviner, stating several limes !hat lhe man is a "poor," •useless" person, wilhout a family and relentlessly undernourished. Then follows lhe incident where !he ring is swallowed by a rooster. 111c remainder- of this episode and the next one depict U1e manner in wltich !he clever hero plays the diviner for his chief and neighbors. The first episode sets a pattern, which is duplicated and !hereby reinforced in !he second. In lhe final episode, a double inversion brings the narrative to its humorous and ironic conclusion. When the jealous advisor and the chief conspire to fool lhe hero, we have a ease of lhc trickster being tricked. A 2-l The Bcm ba word for praying mantis is J::a.konkote. Z4 Another obsu cle to locating an obviouS! formula stems from tho Tahwa audience's basic wUamiliarity with the narrative plot. I found no version. or eve-n a close approxim~ion, of lhis tale in cilher the n.aJTa.tivcs I recorded or the published collections of Zambian Wes. The tale is very similat to a European fotktate (type 1641), on.en ascribed ID Italian contexts by halo Calvino (1980: 74-7S) and Stith Thompson ( 1968: 418-19). Mr. Musonda may ha\'CcneounlC:red an oral or WJ;iucn version of the story during his travels. Speculation of this sort is hazardous. but let me carry it a bit further by suggesting the talc m-ay have come to £ast Africa through Italian source$ in Ethiopia or Somalia.. A
less likely, !hough inlriguing, route may lnvoh•c tho numerous ll:lUan rosd.buitding teams wor)cjng in Zambia and neighboring countries.
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seco·nd twist materializes when fate steps in to aid tlle hero in his moment of neardebunking. The Uttle man who uses his wits to pretend he has magical divination powers is saved by the fact that his name coincides with the insect whose name the chief seeks. Coincidence, tl1en, serves as an able substitute for guile, reinforcing boUt the luck of the audacious charlatan and the overall gullibility of his neighbors. Like Kalulu, whO turns the tables on his uncle's tricks. Kakonkote defeats !bose who try to unmask him. Yet, unlike Kalulu, Kakonkotc not only u.ICS wit but benefits from a charitable fate. The three episodes effectively set up the ironic ending. since they create a cenain expecmion after the second episode and tum it around and then around again in the tltird. No obvious spatial dichotomies develop in this performance. The humor of the narrative is, in some ways. secondary to the tale's exposition. its telling. Several factors make the StOry particularly interesting. Mr. Musonda spends a good deal of time discussing three tl\ings: the hero's poveny. the clements involved in divinatioll-<)r its semblance-and the use of Status or occupation to name people. All three discussions are germane to the narrative's development. yet the sheer weight of detail makes tl1em stand out from tl>e simple data necessary to move the plot along. Kakonkote is desperately poo.r. as tl1e imagery carefully conveys; Mr. Musonda goes so far as to describe him taking food scraps from a rubbish bin- something fo r the most pan unknown in tllis area, since mosl refuse is reusable and what remains is generally burned or buried. 11\is
13. Mime. Description ()f how a divining stick is made (NP22, "'The Charlatan Diviner," William Musonda)
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extreme povcny is eventually relieved by the pmctice of false divination. That same power. or its semblance, is the potential cause of the hero's downfall. By going from :poor man to powerful man, he jumps in status but the move between extremes causes jealousy and suspicion. Fonunately for him. tbis same move means that no one bother.l to fmd out his real name, calling him instead by his social title. The explanations and descriptions fuel the ironic elements and social commentary· of the tale and its perfonnance. On another level. these same descriptions create another fonn of irony. William Musonda's exposition on magic is especially effective because of its great detait In providing Utis detail he undennincs his literal declarations that magic is actually trickery, sometlting "we Africans" unfortunately belic,•e. Though he dismisses th.e practice. he has a great deal to say about how medicines are created. hidden, and wom These detai.ls and the fact that fate seems to be oro the charlatan's side in the tale undercut his moral declaration that the hero "came to prominence through these lies." In siroi.lar fashion. his description of how chiefs, paupers. diviners, and "drivers" arc all known by their occupations sets the hero into a con· text of o vercoming social strictures to b·ring himself out of a nearly hopeless condi· tion. tlis charlatan diviner. through magical skill or luck- and pan of tbe message seems to say that these a.re strongly related elements-{)vcrcomes great odds to become the chiefs principal advisor and diviner. tO sit next to the scat of power and mediate between !be spheres of men and magic. On a referential level, of course. the association of the chief with diviners and magical power adds another level of irony since, as I describe above, the power of a chief is balanced between his abili· tics as wise and benevolent leader and his various channels into realms of magic, deadly and beneficial. Probably the most interesting dim ension of Utis tale is the perfonnance con· text itself. As I mentioned in describing his technique, Mr. Musonda 's infirmity often limited his storytelling; he was generally not strong enough to gesture and move easily in delineating his narrative imagery (cf. chap. 3). Perhaps over the course of storytelling for the video camera Mr. Musonda at some point decided to summon his strength for this p:uticular perfo rmance. Whatever the reasons. this effort was the most physically expressive of his sessions. Beginning the tale in his usual reclini ng position. elbows propped on the veranda of his house. Mr. Musonda occasionally turned bis attention to the walking stick that lay panly on the ground and partly o n the vcmnda-it was, in fact, in the same reclining position he wa.~. I had decided to try to emphasize his subtle use of hand gestures in this perfonnance and had focused the camera lens down to frame his hands early in the tale. My plans were thrown off when Mr. Musonda suddenly grasped the walking stick to describe how diviners carve. decorate, and usc it in their work.. His unexpected movements took him out of the camera frame, which I quickly enlarged to record his cffons. After Utis scene. he pushed himse.l f up to his knees and banged the stick onto the
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grou:nd 10 act out Lhc divination process Kakonkote used as he made believe he was discovering Lhe location of Lhe chief's ring. This effort Lired Musonda. He again recli:ned on Lhe veranda as he told Ute ta:lc, stopping when he was wracked hy a persistent cough. However, he again rose to imitate Lhe actions of Lhe second divination, striking Lhe stick to Lhe ground and growling as Lhe diviner in Lhe story did. As Lhe lenglhy performance went on, and Lhough his strenglh steadily waned, Mr. Musonda continually gestured and acted out Lhe events in Lhc narrative. His vigorous mime was of the chief, trying· to catch the praying mantis and then excit· edly revealing Lhe contents of bis hand to U1e crowd after Kakonkote 's fortui tous lamentation. On aU levels of communication. verbal text, traditional context. and especially performance context, William Musonda created a Lhoroughly entertaining and affective experience. The physical exenion he put himself througb became anolher connotative element of Lhe performance, one which the audience, quite familiar with his frail condition, bad 10 appreciate as an inspired effort. The dJ<ende, as described earlier by Lorca, had definitely manifested itself in Mr. Musonda's rendering of Otis ironic tale. Even Lhc most superficial comparison of Lhe narratives in Otis chapter reveals the options open to performers within l he !raditional system of compositi.on; Utey can work through conflicts on any number of levels. The performance is not simply an e:xposition of problems and their resolutions. ll is a means of creative inte rplay between performers and audiences, based upon their shared remembrances of past performances. Seemingly unimponant elements introduced into the basic movement to resolution can be worl
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Pcrfonnance: N930. Man Denies Food to Family Pcrfonner: Friday Kampalala, age approximately 60 Date and Time: October 15, 1983. approximately 2 P.M. Place: Mukupa Katandula Audience: 20 adults. 20 adolescents. and 60 children One person had married two wives. Now those be married were tbe elder and the younger. The younger had six children; the elder none. But he liked the elder more. Now a famine fell. When the famine came, he said to hifi younger wife, "How will we feed six children? They might die of hunger. Give me one of your eyes, my wife. Let me go plant it" The wife plucked out one eye and gave it to the husband. So. when sbe gave it to her husband he set out to plant it far away in the bush, so that the wife who took out the eye could not see him. Then that eye grew in the bush. As it grew it began to bear fruit. When they began to ripen he went and sat under the tree. He said, "You. eyes of my wife. drop some down so that I may eat them." They fell. Lukuru /ukuru. He brought a basket near. He starred packing them in the basket. With bis friend he packed them; and they picked it up. Now, he did not take them to the eye's owner. He took them to the elder wife he had married. They ate. For those children he only brought little mushrooms. His wife asked. "So wbat about that eye. did it ever grow? Didn't it grow?" He said, "It dried up a long time ago. It dried up; there's nothing." The wife said. "Yangu! My eye! I wish I hadn't given it to you. I remain with only one eye." Then one day a small child followed his father. He went biding. When his father arrived tbere he saw they were ripe. The father sat beneath the tree. He said, "You, eyes of my wife, drop some down so that I may cat some." They fell. Lukuru lukr~ fall so that I may eat some." So they feU. Lukutu lukutu. The youngster could not take them all. He ate and was full. So he made a basket. He returned to the village. When he arrived at the edge of the village. he left it. He went to his mother. He said, "Mother." She said, "Yes?" "Yangu ee! So your eye. motllCr, is still over there. Father just lied to you. He said it was lost. Come and see." So. 192
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goin,g to sec. they found a heap. His mother said. "It's O.K." They carried it; they went to feed the children. Then one day that's where the "grandfather" went. He went and harvested baslcctfuUs. When he left, llis wife who owned tile eye came and arrived with the children. She said, "You. my eye. d rop .some down. But if you arc not my eye. then you will not drop any down." So it went. lukulu lukutu. They carried the baskets and left them near the village. So when they finished harvesting she said, "You, my eye. dry up. just dry up." lt dried up. When that "grandfather" came out from the villa.ge he found there were none left. He said, "Yangu' Yangu!" Then he went to the village. Then llis wife told him. "You've tricked me. You said the eye dried up, but you've lied to me right here. This is where our marriage will end!" So, they went to coun and they awarded tile case to his wife. They said, "Truly, you made a mistake. You should not have done that." This kashimi is over.
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Recreating the World: Perfotmance and Socialization of Speculation
Igbo proverbs bring out this duality of existence very well. Take any proverb which puts forward a point of view or a 'truth' and you can always flnd another that contradicts it or at least puL~ a limitation on the absoluteocss of its validity. (Ohinua Achcbe. backnotc to his poem "Misunderstanding," 1979: 65·6f>) The social energy of the Mende is expended in maintaining the balance of all Ute confiicting entities which ... make up their cosmos. They play off the extremes of any argument, charging each pole with just enough energy to insure that its antithesis will not prevail. The process turns Hegelianism on its head. It insures static antithesis ralher than synthesis. for neither pole triumphs and arglllment is eternal. (Cosentino 1982: 32) The folktale is the 'glass bead game' (Giasperlenspiel) of past ages .... The folktale, imbued by poetic faith, presents a provisional view of humankind and the world as a whole. As pure literature, it remains on the level of pure potentiality. (M
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perfonnance. As the anthropologist Bruce Kapferer emphasized when discussing the relationship between structures of a text and the particulars of its enactment, "A concern will! the bones ignores lbe Ocsh and lbc blood. lbe spirit and vi.tality of fonn. But a concern wilblbe spirit alone disregards the skeleton around which the fonn takes shape and which directs but does not determine llle chru'acter of spirit and vitality• (1986: 192). Hence, I began will! a formal analysis of na rratives before con~idering their traditional and performance contexts. Allegory is the process that joins often disparate elements to create a. cultural argument or statemeot, which is not necessarily a literal statement As he was devel oping his ideas on an event-centered theory or performance, Roger Abrahams said that the performance model counters the attitude of most contemporary social scientists that an fiUs only a mimetic or documentary function in life. Ralller, this view places the worlc of an at the center of cullurc because it both embodies the pri· mary motives of the group and epitomizes them through stylization and performance. (1972: 78) Funber on. he states, Creativity, in Ibis view, is the ability to excite imaginative sympathy :for perceptions of order and directed energies. Creativity is the ability to give such order to experience (whethe-r lbe orders are traditional or not) that the audience will be drawn actively or vicariously, into the performance while at the same time judging the C..'i:sential justness and profund ity of the order and the process by which the ordering bas been presented. (1972: 78) Abrahams funher acknowledges-at a point where context-centered llleories often
rum in other direelions-tllc imponance of metaphor in !his creative activity. Schobrs, aside from a few such as Abrahams and Scheub, have largely overlooked mcta:phor and its broader application in allegory as an oral process. I have tried to tak.e this idea funher by applying i< formally to the composition of story· perfom1ance. Kapfcrer makes the important observation that perfonnance "is the strueturing of structure, and it is this critical feature which makes perfonnance essential to the analysis of ritual and other modes of symbolic action" (1986: 202). The legacy of social science usually requires a social and contextual analysis of oral traditions. Allbough symbolic anthropologists clearly believe that cultural enaclmcnL~ are symbol-making activities, lbeir underlying concerns are with deducing the meartings of these symbols to reveal their social sigrtiOeanec. I suggest that deciphering lbe deep meanings of these symbols is a daunting task; 1 but even if we I One outstanding example of research lh.:u r.c.achcs this difficult goal is Tumer's cb.ssi.c study of Ncicnibu ritual. Th. P«est of Symbols (1967). Roberi Farris Thompoon in A/ric.,. A.rl in Moiion (1974) also achievc:s an admirable dcplh of u.ndcr~t«ndi.n8 and detail in eJtploring O;C.St.hcties of West
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isolate and identify U>ese meanings, we must acknowledge that the crucial activity is their presentation, their perfonnance. In tbe introduction to this study I s.uggcstcd tbat the methods of social science may create a gap between re.~ers and the people UJCy work with. The study of literature has increasingly moved toward using the methods of social science in studying culture;2 it is appropriate to consider a similar application to the study of the iJLSitimi tmditions as well. Because it is important that we do not simply apply social facts to the tales in a literal way, I have suggested James Boon's distinction between machineries and cu.l ture as one way to look at tlle relationship between narrative and Tabwa social facrs. 3 As we examined tlle rates in chapters 4 tllrough 6, it became clear tllat the narratives generally treat only one perspective of culruml relationships in each rale. Furtller, tllese relationships are more often than not subtexts tll31 the tales do not directly eJtamine. Stories contained instead rat11er obvious morals promoting good or ililtelligenr behavior over its opposite. Nothing prevents us from noting the cultural relationship: marriage to a lioll/man, or a lion. symbolicaJJy suggests tlle dangers and concerns of any marriage i:n which tlle groom must come from outside t11e lineage. Yet tllis relationship is ultimately an advantage for tile family because tlle husband is expected to counter the sometimes stultifying demands made by his wife's lineage. We therefore noted one set of tales that condemns mamiage to a lion/man and another set that condones marriage to a lion·like hunter. Similarly, altllough tlle hoarding of food examined in tlle eye-frui t narratives is clearly a nega· tive act, it has its realistic complement in the necessity of holding on to vital food stocks at times of scarcity. At t11ese times of high social tension, familial diplomatic skills must be employed to balance tlle needs of tlle nuclear family with the demands of needy relatives. Views of chiefsbip are connoted, if not denoted. in seve ral of the tales we examined. Here too, the identity and role of chiefs are simplified, tl10ugh underlying tlle simplific3lion is a knowledge tllat chiefs are tied to spheres of activity tllat most people fe~rfully avoid. Yet we cannot take a single rale .ahout lion/men or chiefs and make direct ~1atements tllat sum up even a single undeniable cultural fact. The system of tales and tbcir perfonnance is geared to a plurality of views, and only by looking at many tales can we see the ways in which these at times dialectical ideas fonn a totality of cultural self-examination. In this fmal chapter, as in the introduction to this study, I recount an anecdote from m)• fieldwork. In 1976. early in my initial stay at tllc village ofChlefMukupa African dance and riwal forms. 2 See Foucault's C-all (or an ..arch:teology or the human science," (1973) and ChtislOph.et MiJJer'$ (1986) prclimin.at)' desc-ription of a ''literary anth:ropology" to investigate Afrkan.literarute. 3 A si.mil:ll. p..<>rhaps even more appropti:u.e, equation can be found in Piaget's Stnu:luraJi.sm (1970); he conclude$ that llle relati(mSI:Up of fonn o.nd content CAA be S«n <~S an cver.Qeveloping strucrure, in which Conn becomes the cont.:nt of a larger structure. itself enveloped by an C\'CU more
inclusi•·c structun:, and so on (1970; 35-36),
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Katandula, some Tabwa friends, my wife, and I took a lhree-read of culture, popular or otherwise, really knows no limitations even in a so-caJJed isolated oral society. We cannot overestimate the many channels of this Oow, just as we have no one method to accurately account for its many manifestations. For all the scholarly declamations of the essentiaJ1y conservative nature of oral traditions. we must in this study emphasize the equaUy prevalent variable and innovative char.u.:teristics of the system. It is. in the end, interaction between these factors that keeps the tradition Jiving and vital. It is not simply preservation of knowledge that takes plaoe but also creation and recreation, reevaluation of knowledge, lhcme, and context Otat undergird the telling and receiving of stories. When Occrtz ( 1973) suggested lim lhc Balinese cockfight does for Bali what Lear and Crime and Punishment do for us-actually for specific cultu.res in Eli.z abethan England and czarist Russia. respectively--his point was to relate an, text, and event in a way that suggests the rich symbolic and playful nature of culture. I would modify his observations and update them for contemporary American society by adding any number of popular television sbows or (ilms that have come to be the rapid communicators. and in more than a few instances inventors, of culture.• For we cannot apprehend the inshimi tradition if we try to put it into what Wagner (1977) rcfe.rs to as a "wax museum" of culture. As rapidly as stories can be transmiued, so can styles and ideas be introduced into Tabwa oral narrative4
As anlh.ropologists and 01.h~r social sc.icntisrs study television in America, we are gaining an important insight into what comprises t1te culrut:ll sclr· i.magc of many Ameriearu. I do not espouse the set view$ that u:tcvision eilltct invenl$ \IS d3.ily or l.hat we invent it. TIICre is rather an interesting give and tak¢, a complex process. that b«:.om¢5 <:learer as we study it. On a different economic and
technological le\'CI. the same prOCeSS is invoh·ed in numerous cultural interactions. Obviously, the immedi ;~te a.nd pe:rson.:1l Ceedbaek of smaU-scale c;ultural enactments is lacking in lhe eiC(;Ironic fonus of communicntrnunieation without scpo.raling ''pOpular• from "great" cultur;~l works. See Espinosa (1982). Adler and C>tot (1976), and H;nunc ls~in (1984).
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though there is no guar.mtce these innovations will be preserved in the tradition. But today dte reference points are more varied than ever before. Where some StOry· tellers see themselves as preservers of wbat is correct and moral, others seck to introduce and explore the new. Hence, my notion thm the play and byplay that go on in storytelling are a fonn of speculation tbat can go in vinually any direction. This speculation intimately depends on the tradition of storyte!Jing-4he same store of images and ideas that feeds the oldest rites and laws of Tabwa socie ty- but it also depends on the living and breathing resources of perfonner and au
ccms song and the audience it involves. A ulushimi talc includes song and is often perfonncd for ch.ildren. The songs have strong mnemonic qualities that may add a didactic as well as a highly entcnaining dimension to the children's storytelling 5 Note the newer c:mphllSi& on artistic and pcrsonll.l concerns in Jan V.msina's rev.ision of his sc:minal study (1961) on historical orallf3dition (1986: 11-12, 34-39). He s1rosses the importance of mc:,lphoric:lll iLlhuionz 111d \he. inun,diuc:y o( th~ }Xffonnancc ~vrnt.
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experience. A umulwnbe tale lacks song; its audience is adult because its entertainment value is more cerebral. requiring more concentration and interpretation.
Be<:ause of its questioning nature, the umulwnbc also tends more toward metareference and open endings. Having said this much, let me undermine these categories by suggesting that the second level of definition generally negates the boundaries of the first level: storytellers are usually not concerned with adhering 10 specific formats. They are concerned with telling ualcs that show their talent or knowledge. Unlike an essayist choosing a "scnccan" model over a "cicerian," the oral performer has guidelines that are made to be broken. Therefore, virtually all the hunter-saves-animals versions I collected among the Tabwa are not dilemma tales, though Bascom (1975) has found them to exist in other partS of Africa almost exclusively ill dilemma form. Chola ChiJengwe can, for example, ch
narrative system. This traditional style docs not make their tales uninteresting or ineffective--we have only to look at the performances by Sara Mwamba and Oatson Kaselckela to verify the erucrtaining results of such stOI)1clling. In many ways. they are expressing themselves in these more familiar forms. Other performers choose to use the tradition as a starting point and intelject their own views and personalities into their tales. March Mulcnga. Joseph Kascngele. Stephen Mukono, and William .Musonda are storytellers who bend the system to their styles and intentions, playing with the usual perceptions of the traditional context rather than using it as their guideline. For this latter group, the question of genre is not importantthough they may still hold opinions as to what those genres are. The expertise and expectations tbat give stories meaning begin with the relationships developed over time in the traditional coruext.7 In the preceding ' Bauman ( 1986) offers insight into how genre and conte.JU inter~.et in 1he verbal teJLt of storytellers. Tilough he wol:'t.s mostly wilh narrative genres that are narrowly ei.n:umscribcd by situation. his obs.ervation.s on performan(:e hold crue for some instances in our study where petforr.ncrs were reacting dire<:tly 10 audience or contextual influences. 7
David Bynwn emphuiu.s the primacy of this interaction: "In traditions of oral fable, meaning resides in variety or multifonnity of expression; above all else, motifs mem what lhey have in common wilh each other" (1978: 65). This i$ not a Uvi.Straussian declaration that appl~ these
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narratives, this context is evident in the many variations of similar plots found in chapters 4 through 6. Buttbe intercoiUlected elements of the tr:ldition can be traced in other images as well. Cenainly the character of the chief recurs in various transformations in these tales. In some (NP3 and NPI9 for example) be injudiciously abuses his power and is made to pay a penalty. In other perfonn.ances. be acts. as an arbitrator of the conflict at tale's end (NP21. NPI2-17). His character Ouctuates between that of active parti·cipant and deus ex machina. He is a!Inost never "the hero" of a narrative. though. at times he is the villain. What seems most constant is his position as a focus of power and responsibility. and not his character. In almost all cases, either the chief's position defines wbat is light and proper or somehow it must be altered. perhaps by his death or unseating. to set the world into it' most harmonious mode. Expectations surrounding a chief in tales can take many forms but almost always have to do with the judicious or corrupt exercise of power. He o ften sets the taSk to be fulfilled or· c.reatcs the circumstances in which the hero will set things right again. As opposed to the chief, the hero is much more versatile and moves between tlte realms of village and bush. between human beings and animals, between the ordinary and the magical. and between the gullible and the clever. The Tabwa depict two types of hero. Tbe most common is the active, clever. often young hero. He brings monitor lil.ards down from trees; he is the brother of the arrogant girls who marry lion/men. the plucky son who follows his father to the magical fruit tree, and even the trickster diviner of dubious character. The bero is not alwa)'S a male. We must not forget the girl who perceives the danger of couning lion/men suitors. AU ·these heroes initiate action to achieve their ends, often outwitting opponents or acquiring magical aid to accomplish their tasks. The other kind of hero is one who more passively attains the same results: tlte hunters who are aided by the grateful lion o r cobra, the boy who seeks his father's advice to save the chief or accomplish a task; and Mukonga-who-does-not-lie, whom monitor lizard and destructive dancer move eventually to succeed the c.hicf. Among the heroines. the wife who plucked out her own eye to feed tllc family would be counted among the passive. mediatory protagonists. Rather than being clever. these heroes are sincere and honest. Because of their ba~ieally decent naJure. the elements around them conspire 10 help them succeed. 8 relationships to the ways paopte Wn.k about or unoonsdously experience their societies. Bynum refers hero 'lo storytelling machineries., IUld not o\her possible cultural references.
I Two tales here poruay ch.arac,tcts who move. within one na.m.ti\·c. between the roles of hero and villain. In NP14 the lion first wanu to eat the- h:uman also \nipped in the gttme pit and ends by saving his human benefactor. NP18 &:~cribd S
wam.i.ng.s.
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Both heroic types receive the generous help of natural or magical allies, though active heroes do not hesitate to impose their will on other characters in their adventure while the more pa!Sive heroes let allies and enemies follow the paths they themselves choose- in the end both heroic types emerge victoriou.~.9 They are compared to chiefs in several ways. though for the most pan the active hero takes more license than the prudent chief, and the passive hero is less assenive than that leader. The hero who takes the conciliatory role of mediator often succeeds the evil or foolish chief, while the active an:l asscnive hero is simply rewarded with a wife or with praise. Among the Nyanga of Zaire Biebuyck makes a definitive comparison of "Hero and Chief" (1978: 104·5, 112-13)_10 These categories within the Tabwa sphere arc not so clearly set. However. we often find in the thoughtful or passive hero a successful mediator. one who allows others to believe they arc acting in their own beSt interests. This mediation nearly always benefits the society. Tbc young active hero may exhibit cleverness and pluck. But. as Jackson (1982: 91-92) points out for the Kuranko, cleverness is an ambiguous trait, a ntixed blessing that may advance the lowly over the wealthy and powerful but can also work against innocent, less clever adversaries. Since this active hero rarely succeeds a chief, often marrying the ruler's daughter and in consequence-in Tabwa matrilineal organization- siring a future heir, he would seem to be a less wonhy leader than the hero who can balance power with judgment and diploma•:y. Here we are dealing in stories if not in actuality. In fact. a powerful chief is one who balanoes benevolence and compromise with raw power. political and supemarural. It is not to recognize his benevolent nature that people still lmeel cr lie prostrate before a Tabwa chief. Extending the links in the traditional context. the mediatory role seems to be a crucial one for the spheres of human beings, spirits. na1ure, magic, and the powers that balance them. Tbc chief who cannot cban. if not actually regulate. the movements of his subjects into and back from the bush/wildemcss-and currently between town and viUage-is one who has lost his positive role in society. Therefore, the comic tale of the chief who forbids his people to defecate in the bush is only one step removed from the more serious tale of the ruler who has all the elders killed: these leaders are thematic doubles of the chief wbo easily believes the slanderous accusations leveled against the hunter and banishes him to the bush. Characters like the young brother who saves his sister, like MLkonga who brings the 9 One avenue of rt:Scarch only touched on in this study is lhe role of gender in narrative performun<:e md th~:matic roles of characters in stories. I suggested lh:J.t gcndcr msy h.ave tics to the types of nmatiw~s people petfonn. such as inshimi being considered gtnres (or women. Howc\•et, thete arc more considerations here and. for purposes of space and focus. I have not e.x~ored them in
depth. 10 Sec Ok.pcwho's review cssey (1980b) of Biebuyck's book with a more general critique of anthropoJosic:~.l methoW: ut¢d in or~ u~ i1io r\$; Schuu~ .;J,o r•"'i•wc lh• b,ok ( 1981: lOS 25).
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curative elements of !he monitor to the chiers coun, and like Kalulu who reveals !he grave disjunction brought on by marrying the evil lion. all act in positive mediatory roles as they set the various realms into proper conjunction. 11 Even Kakonkote. the charlatan diviner, in Musonda's richly realized tale. serves the vital function of linking !he world of humans to !hat of real or supposed spirits who must be properly interpreted in order to betp humankind. Though usuaUy seen as evil, the ifiwa who marry the shrewish women act in mediatory roles that ullima!ely place those human miscreants into the dubious arena that most readily reflects their combative per· sonalities. When the husband plays the role of an improper conduit between llle bountiful eye-fruit rree, it becomes necessary for the young child to take up that role hi mself. replacing inadequate mediation with an honest and appropriate mediato·ry channel. Power on the levels of chiefship, family, magic, and nature seems to rest with the characters who can strike Ole most fonunate bargain, bridging the many gaps between areas of action in mutually beneficial ways.l2 Again, 01is balance o f assertion and compromise, of prccoci.ousness and judiciousness, seems to be an underlying !hematic concern of all the tales exan1incd here. We can tmcc these thematic threads funher to individual sources of specul!a· live activity. AU storytellers come to a performance with knowledge of themes and 01eir various social implications. Storytellers' rreaonent of 01cse themes show us how they view, or perhaps how they would change, the related social norms. Ambi·
gulLy and the inversion of re:ll nonns in fictional 1alc.s consliLuLe their mean.q or exploring and evaluating; they cre~te frames wbereby machiocries are contrasted to 11
The uickster hare. Kalulu. is the subject of an entire body ofTabwa traditional stories. Kalulu is found in vnr1ous lraditions in «:nlml Africa among aU the Bcmba·languagc groups and numerous others. The Swahili. and by extension East AfTic-an. Sun£uta and Hlak.anyana of the Xhosa arc two other tricbtcr h3tcs who oon\e most readily
10
m.i.nd. Like 1.hc spider Turc of &he Z\ndc {EVW1S•
Pritch.:ud 1967). Kalulu is portr;tyed mo.stl)• as a:n atnor:d tricksier; a.t times he s~s to be:. <m ordiiW)'. positive hero, even 3 "cullw-e hero:· These variations in Ka!ulu's persona wlderscore my thesis 1b.at the tt:sdition is indeod very fti!Xible and depo:nels in gn:;u pMt on the. int.cntions of the pcdonncr. In NP5, though he is indeed a. trickster. Kalulu not only avenges lhc death of the duikc:r but also performs the s:ame-heroic role that the younger brother eru:aclS in lhc lion/mWl set. I have considered only NPS from the hundreds of Kalulu lales I recorded. tbut I hope to include some others among Tabwa oral narrative perf<>nnu.nces in a book ploutncd (or the ncm- future. 12 Kalulu tales IUC difficult t.o plnce ln lhese patterns: implying almost complete license, they work at a double remO\'e from rea) or morAl themes. Imaginative fantastic stories, like most tales, lhey are ,~~Jso heavily we ighted by the ex-pectations lhat accrue lO the trickster narrative: expectations aro geared lO the k:lnd of trickery to be perpetnted and tO me uhimate victOrs. AJ trickster. K.alulu mil)' Ul.k:c mediatory roles, ahhough his mobility or action and ex.ac• ehanlcteri.u tic>n are limited by tht::$e audience expectations. The tales where Kalulu plays roles more akin to the usu~ human hero are unusual r.tther than commonly depicted situations. The fasciruting differ~nccs in African oral uaditions between hero and uicl:stcr, like those between hero and chlcf, are well beyond the scope of thi$ study. On hero a.nd trickster see Scheub's n:marks (1985) <e> wc:llu.s Pelton's (1980).; Cor Cunber information on trickster!> see the-now cl3.$$te srudies by JW1g ;md Kerenyi (1963). Nonnu.n 0. Brown ( 1947), Paul Rad;n (1972), Md Jan de Vr;cs (1933).
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culture in order to highlight certain problems or paradoxes. For storytellers and audiences alike these problems are, I feel, understood h1 exist in the fictional context-in all their contracictions and complexity. As Cosentino and Achebe point out in the epigraph of this chapter. there is great leeway in determining the conflicting problems as weU as the proper moral for tales. This jockeying for the "truth" is a vital form of speculative activity that under~irds much storytelling activity. Actually accepting such truths is in most cases secondary to the process by which they are examined. It goes beyond stating a moral because it involves the creation of an initial argument in the form of image-organization. allegorical relationships, within the tale. The effective storyteller weaves a powerful argument. a good story, It is not a coincidence that children often tell stories about heroic children, or !hat adolescents who live wilhin lhe liminal social sphere between lhe adult's and child's often create stories filled with youthful heroes. wish-fulfilliDil images of guns, car chases. succc.~fUI bank robberies, !1ld easy successD Nor is it surprising that old people recount narratives about lhe value of elders in society, nor that married people perform tales about lhe duties of marriage. In many instances, therefore, the ~10ries and lhemcs people perform reflect !heir stage or status in life. But these too are only the most evident social manifestations of speculative activity. The in.shimi tradition is a broad field of possible styles and approaches lbat allows tbe assenive to make themselves heard. The fmely wrought story endures while the poorly composed or performed talc fades in lhc social memory- just as Kaonde songs did in the cases cited by Han Bantjc ( 1978). t 4 Part of what makes the tale attractive is its message, its vision. If the vision is not initially shared or subsequently adopted by an audience, if it docs not ring true. it is soon forgoucn. In all cases. verbatim or not. oral memorization is subject to variation from direct social prcs:sures.
N~to rs
narr:uc wh:)t audiences call for or
tl See my reference to ballln'll!MD stories i.n chap. 5. I agree with Bynum's asserton that the "basic utility of narration U memorial; it enabl~ men to share memories of things which lhey may have never personally ex.pczienced'" (1978: 36). A major re3SOn for the longevity and great attraction of or;d nmat.ive is. I sus~t. that it help5 c::reatc a "cultural memory," a StOre of images. and information linked in narrative or story strands that may be used as law and lore or to m1.11k ritu ;~l; see Ynnkah's discussion of Akan proverbs in legaJ cases (1985). Of telling StOries, Bynum says.. "Fabulous nmTative enjoys its own special sanction in the custom of story ~telling, whkh a~5urcs it an ~:>pportunity of being n:told indc:Onitetyon a re.gular, recurrent social 14
occasion belonging spec-ially to it when an impressive array of emotional, rituaJ, poetic, and musical habit$ convene to sus.~.Un it , . • . f.lbles tend to be immemorial, breeding not on history but on rernembr.\r\Ce of other fabulous Lab that have preceded them at prcviow stoty·tc-llings in a r('grcs:sion suetching bac:k beyond rc.membcfod lime"(S3). In his n.arralive types (a distinc-tion of ritual or formal COnteXtS from those ~lowing more creative and performing license) Byrum is less convincing thatJ in describing the way Wcs feed on each other in d1e traditional Cooh:.xt A narrative tnd.ilion is the culmination of this activity~ buikts upon iiSclf, wilh individual input and memory.
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will tolerate. When the market for a printed book declines, the presses stop rolling but thousands of copies may remain. When the market for an oral genealogy d isappears. so does the genealogy itself, utterly. A• noted above . .. tbe genealogies of winners tend to survive (and to be improved), those of losers tend to vanish (or be recast). Interaction with living audiences can actively inlcrfere with verbal stability: audience expectations can help fix themes and follllulas. (Ong 1982: 66-67) l.n western culture the anomalies and vagaries of time arc visible in some of our older literary works and in our more recent films. In oral societies time becomes the ultimate cultural arbiter of an and its value so that what no longer fits drops out of the common usage. We can assume, fo r example, that as Chota Chilengwe and his generation pass on, the claims of the followers of Tanga will also fade, a.• will the memory of that panicular chief. Specific additions are difficEJ!t to isolate in oral traditions because the ·images are based on a rural world that still in great part exists. Yet we have noted several instances where contemporary language usage and a few added pani.culars of detail have made themselves constants in many tales. In any even t, we need not focus on Ute contributions of tlle contemporary or urban milieu: the remove from "reality" is advantageous to tile development of speculative activity.tS There is an abstract quality to the way ideas and personality come together in pcrfomtance. manipulating the traditional context and creating new or at least fresh relationships that confinn the store of wisdom and at tbe same time evaluate it. As the individual uses memory to fonn personal selfimage, the Tabwa use the narrative tradition as its memory and communal imagemaker. The storytelling experience is filled with meaning-making opponunities. This versatility gives it meaning in ritual contexts; providing the storage and externalizing mechanisms of social lore and Jaw with the illusion of fixity. As Bynum notes:
Oral fable is so ingenious an instrument that it is capable of many uses. but like other instruments it is not the same as its applications. And if it is to be thought of as an instrument of culture or social behaviour, then its instrumentality is that of a highly adaptable vehicle giving conveyance and mobility to many ideas of many kinds and having a bener ts Luthi describes lhis advantage most effectively: lhe foU::lllle loses in concreteness and rcalis:m. in nu.an~ aod in fullness of corw:nt, an ability to express the deeper dimension of human experience and relationships, but it gains i.n fonnaJ ddi.nition and clarity. 'Emptying' (Gutleerung) also means
sublimation. All clements become pure lig.ht, 2nd tnn.sp:trcnt and join in an cffonlcss interplay that inclu~s all important themes of human exisll!n.ce .. , , 11le foUaale's power of sublinution aJJows it
10 incorporall!lhe world" (1982: 73·74). Thoug,h h• undi!r..,
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Allegorical Speculalion in an Oral Society record of service 10 the negotiation and exchange of ideas lhan 10 their selection or enforcement in panicular sySiems of lhought (i 978: 79)
But the contexts will vary. Undoubtedly lhe most common occasion foc performing tales is still the private galhering in the home after the evening meal. Here, as children develop !heir language and argumentative skills. as they come to understand lhe thinking and framing processes lhat define verbal acuity and wisdom, lhey are able to assen themselves within the fantily group. This process extends to wider groups of peers and imo several spheres or Jile as individuals grow able to take on intellectual image·making. Precocious youth to respected elder to irascible provocateur, each can put fonh his or her vision for consideration. If, lhcrefore, the narrative tradition ~t first comprises the syllabus for education in an oral society, it later forms a platform for individual expression and argument in both intimate and public forums. The early educational tales emphasize basic norms and truisms but also teach the skills or organization and argument that lhen serve :!Cul ts in good stead. And since most storytelling occasions arc aucnded by young a1d old, these events arc recycled into lhe educational mode. which synthesizes informationtaken from sources as varied •• primary school texts and lessons, radio broadcasts. newspapers. urban experiences. films, and television-that permeates images and viewpoints at such gatherings. Humor and horror pass through the filter of fiction. and can eilhcr be dcrecUy read (more likely sensed) as penaining 10 a specific situation at that time or a.~ connoting more general applications to sociocultural life. That most of this lakes place in the form of entcnainment allows for tbe vibrant atmosphere of transmission. The anful exposition of theme exists in the many styles and fonns lhe messages can take. and in lhc often subversive views of sociall y acceptable truths. The play or fonn, which is based mainly on tile traditional context and panly on lhe personality of lhe storyteller, is the most intricate and exciting clement of the inshimi tradition. It is probably this quality Utat led Luthi to refer to lhc folktale as "lhe glass bead game:·tS World-making takes place at several levels in Ute storytcUing experience: reaffinnation, repetition, questioning, and reinterpretation. These activities are both 'isceral and cerebral. vibrations of sound and image that link the panicipants in the event. There is no possible dccontextualization (in the sense that reading removes people) from lhe environment oflhe narrative perfonnancc. J6 Luthi rcrcrs hera to the intellectual game that Hermann He.s~ invented and d~cribes here:
'These rules, the sign language and grammar of lhe Game. oozmirutc a kind of highly Cevcloped secret language drawing upon several sciences and ans, but especially ma.themstics and music (and/or musicology), and capable of expressing and establishing interrelationships between !he content and conclusions of nearly all scbolu ly disciplines. The CW.S Bead Oame- ls d1us a mode of playing with the total contents and vducs of our culture: it plays with them as. say. in lhe great age of arts a painter mightluve pbyed with Lhc co)ors on his palate" (Hesse 1970: 6).
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The creation and pcrfonnancc of oral narrative become a social fonn of thinking aloud. Allegory on various levels approximates or parallels cognition itself; sense-making in public becomes worl.d-making. The astute audience will not lle long in predicting various developments in tales. but the equally astute pcrfonner will make this tendency toward prediction another dimension in developing that same talc. Reenforcing or thwaning such expectations is a very potent pcrfonnan.ce technique. Funhennorc, inteljecting personal or detailed observations makes for greater texture of presentation and continually adds questions about these seemingly ancient and traditionally fixed narratives. The many variables o f storytellimg become, then, tools for the anistic exploration-or cnwtciation-of the relationship between individual and society, between past remembrance and present reality. The inshimi tradition reflects and connotes the world, which in tum comprises the atmosphere and substance of UJC fleeting storytelling event. That in tum shapes the images the Tabwa bave oflheir world.
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Glo.ssa1y
inshinti (ulu.shimi. s .• akashimi, dirn.): Nan·aLivc-s Lhat usually contain songs.
3lld arc often told to and by children. The root of Ute noun is the verb ....shimika, whic.h means to tell stories, preach, or converse. imillunbe (umulumbe, s.): Narratives th3l usually do not contain songs, arc often told among adults. and at Limes have dilemma or oonundrum end-
ings. mukwai: A polite tenn of addrcs.~. this can be singular or plural and applied to a man or a woman, "sir'' or ''madame". ubwali: The Tabwa staple food. it is usuaUy made from cassava Oour. but ruse from maize or finger-miUet flour. It has the consistency of stiff
mash potatoes and is generally eaten with some son of stew (meat. c:hickcn, or vegetable). ifrwa (iciwa, s.): Malevolent ghoSl>, usually o f people who die ignominious deaths, that remain close by-mostly along bush paths- to cause hann to Lhe living.
rnpundu and ilibungu: Two similar types of tart-w.sting fruit that grow wild, they arc boUt commonl y eaten by travelers along bush paths, and supplement people's diets durin.g times of scarcity. visang.uka: Generically. the term rc.fc.rs to changelings, humans who can become animals, or vice versa. Among the Tabwa and Bemba, these usuaUy take the fonn of lions or crocod iles. In some tales they can also become snakes. kraal: A South African tcnn, meaning a con·al O l' cattle enclosure. mwi11e mushi: Literally Lhc ownc.;r of the village. the tcJm •efcrs 10 a tradi~ional ~1ost
leader whose status is somewhat below that of a chief (imfumu). often Lhc term is approximated by the value-laden gloss "hcad-
nlan".
209
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Glossary chisungu: The tenn given for female initiation into adul01ood among
Bemba·spcaking peoples. boi: Borrowed from the English word "boy," the term is used as an appclla· tion between friends, male or female; usually among adolescents.
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Univertllty of Ca.llfomla Publlc:otlons In Modem Philology Vul. Ill Carrull ll. johruon. Inside Oramt111 do A(frrmclx•. l~llN 0-52()..{)9630-3 Vol. I J 2 Ann,alcc C. Rejhon. Ctiu Rolulll· 1bo .\1t:tllc 1t'lJil'-~·lsh \ler.o.'iOn (/ rhe St>ug of /lok"'d ISIIN 0-52:0-09997·4 \ ol l14 EJault: C. TennanL 1be Hal>sbury (..banur,-l.anRUagt! hi Perspectftl(>~ ISIJN 0·5ZO~-(l Vol 11 S. Ow01.yne E. Ca.rpenter. Alfou.ro X and llx•}eu~ An F..dllton ofand Oun,u.•,tury· CHI Sicte Partida.'> 7.24 *Dt.•/(Jrj jtUhh.t; • 1!-ol.l]'; 0.S2()..()99Sl-6 \'t~ 116 Jo:ocpbJ Duggan. A Frng,...m o{V..., l·nf•~~«"> ""'en .\arwnal Ubrory r;.: as t1 llotknr 1\>d .1 c;nrrca/ a111l Compumhlt> Stud). ISB~ O.;Z!).09"' 10-6 \ d II~ \lark Pre(fllur\3. &pfJ<' Ferrf111.11<1 tiiUf Ft'llllsh /JI<'t'rJ/1111' A Stud_> of lb<> W.nter(IS 7'rcmslator. IS8:\ G-5»09'721 ~ &
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