strip of white cloth, into which the seven emblematic eagle’s feathers
and the parrot’s tail were fastened. He explained that he could not yet
wear the full Juju dress of white baft, because he was not entitled to
don this until after the third year of his priesthood, which period
would not be ended before next harvest. His predecessors in the office,
so far as his personal recollection went, had been named Eyinda,
Omeneyin, Wana and Azunda. He himself had been a small boy when Azunda
died. ‘These,’ said he, ‘were great men of our house. Now of them all I
alone am left to carry out the rites of the Juju, which is so powerful
that death falls upon every man who offends against its laws.’
The rule of this Juju is very good, much like the law of
the white men. By it, it is decreed, that no fighting or
quarrelling, no seizure of property--above all, no shedding of
blood--may take place upon Eke day.[20] No priest of Aya-Eke
may eat of the new season’s yams. All the harvest must be
garnered and the festival held. Then, though others may eat,
I may not until all the new farms have been cut and planted.
Only when the last of the seed yams has been laid in the ground
do the people bring me those which yet remain over in the yam
racks. These I eat, calling the first of them ‘my new season’s
yam’ though, in reality, it was garnered at the last harvest
about seven moons before.
Our visit chanced to be paid at the beginning of April, and Eleche told
us that nine days earlier he had eaten his first yam of the year.
‘All the people of Elele bring offerings to me,’ he said. ‘When
the yams finish they bring plantains and I begin to chop those.
Also they bring me much tombo. It is a very strong law of the
Juju that no yams, save such as are old enough to plant, may be
eaten by a priest of Aya-Eke. None has ever broken this rule;
for, should it be disobeyed, the seed yams would die in the
ground, bearing no increase. All the great men of our family
have kept the law faithfully. Now no more big men are left in
our house; but I, though but a small boy in comparison with
those powerful ones, also hold to this rule.’
Hereupon one of our party asked if he himself had power to appoint
a successor, or in what way one was chosen. No sooner was the word
‘successor’ uttered than Eleche raised his arms over his head twice as
though to ward off threatened danger, while his head wife, who kept
close to him throughout, shrugged her shoulders violently over and over
again, repeating in an agitated voice: ‘Mba! Mba! Che! Che!’ (Let it
not be! Let it not be!) Meanwhile the crowd of retainers took up the
cry, low but angry, like the rumble of distant thunder, waving hands
outward as if to drive off the ill-effects of such ominous speech.
Eleche answered excitedly, the words tumbling over one another in his
agitation:
‘No successor is needed; for I shall never die! It is forbidden
even to mention such a word! In the beginning of things, when
I came out of the world, it was arranged that I should not be
as other men but should live very long--looking after my people
and bringing them prosperity. The fate of common men is not for
me!’ Thereupon, like a Greek chorus, came the response of the
crowd: ‘Oda! Oda! (Forbid it! Forbid it!)’
The head wife, who had seated herself so soon as her husband did so,
although all the others remained standing at a respectful distance,
was a youngish woman evidently holding a position of more than usual
importance. Later, we learned that it was customary for this head
wife to die ‘about the same time as her husband’; but all attempts
to extract more definite information were met with professions of
ignorance.
[Illustration: FIG. 44. Chief Eleche with his head wife, standing by
memorial pillar of the late Head Priest of Aya-Eke]
The most important ceremonies of the cult are held at the time of
the new yam harvest, when a great sacrifice is made and, as already
mentioned, every man, woman and child of Elele brings a gift to the
house of the priest. Before leaving, we asked whether no other rites
were observed in honour of Aya-Eke and were told that early in May,
_i.e._ at the beginning of the rainy season, all the inhabitants
gathered to witness a wrestling match held in the open space before
Eleche’s house. This is continued on every big Eke day, _i.e._ each
eighth day, for about three months until the new yam festival, during
which the feast of the ancestral spirits is also celebrated. Later, all
go to Chief Woyike’s compound in the Omopo quarter and there wrestle in
honour of the new corn Juju, Mbara (Lord of the Town), of which he is
priest. After his festival is over, all wrestling finishes for the year.
No sooner had we learned this than we set out for the new shrine.
Here, at the opposite extremity of the town, lies the compound known
as Obakere, inhabited by Woyike, priest of the rival Juju. The chief
received us with simple friendliness and seemed willing for a
visit to his shrine. Nor, after the first shyness had worn off, did
he show any reluctance to speak of the Juju, concerning which a few
carefully-careless questions brought out the following information:
When the wrestling at Eleche’s is finished, all men come here
to witness mine; after which the whole town must cease from
such contests, which may not be held again till the next
season comes round. We think that this ceremony will help the
crops to grow strong, overcoming evil influences and bearing
much increase. The reason why the wrestling is held first at
Eleche’s place and then mine, is that his Juju Aya-Eke is wife
to my Juju ’Mbara. The first is feminine and looks after the
yams; mine is male, the spirit of corn. When the first green
shoot pushes through the soil, I make ready and, on the coming
of the young cobs, my Juju proclaims a four months’ peace.
During this time no one may fight with another nor seize any
person or property. Should a man offend against this rule six
manillas and a goat must be paid to revoke the Juju for him,
otherwise he would die.
When the time comes round, I go forth and announce that if
anyone does anything to annoy the Juju I will not allow him to
take part in my ceremony. To me no gifts are brought like those
borne every year to Eleche; but when the season comes round I
make a great feast for the people, giving them much food and
palm-wine in abundance.
The priest was old and somewhat worn-looking. Round his shrunken ankles
were bound little bones, pierced through at either end and fastened
by black cord in three rows. These, he said, were a powerful medicine
to keep off rheumatics and other ills which beset the aged, but had
nothing to do with his Juju.
‘How indeed could such a thing be possible,’ he queried,
since ’Mbara is a male Juju and the bones are those of
Tortoise, who, as is well known, is proper only to feminine
cults? By the place where I usually sit a tortoise was impaled
years ago for protection; then, when it was decayed enough, I
took the little bones out from the shell and, after they had
been cleaned, strung them into these anklets, as you see. There
are three Ale shrines in our town, by each of which Tortoise
is impaled. Also before the shrine of Aya-Eke a shell may
naturally be seen.
Towards the middle of May we found ourselves back again in Elele and
enquiries brought out the fact that the first wrestling of Aya-Eke was
to be held about noon on the morrow. The hour seemed a strange one to
choose for such a purpose, under a tropical sun; but before mid-day
drums began to beat in the distance, summoning the people with the
unmistakable rhythm only used for such occasions. So soon therefore as
court was over, we set out to follow the call.
It was 15th May and a day of blazing sunshine; yet crowds had already
collected and sat, the elect in a circle many deep round the compound,
while the rest almost blocked the road along its front. Three sets
of drums were playing; first Eleche’s household band, secondly one
supplied by a neighbouring quarter, and thirdly, just before the
shrine, that which bore the proud name of ‘The Juju’s Own.’ This
consisted of six drums, three tall and upright, three long and oval.
Opposite the door of the principal shrine a little group of offerings
was to be seen, backed by the branched sticks of the Thunder God.
Questioned as to this, Eleche said:
Amade Onhia is kin to my Juju. In many towns the biggest Jujus
have the habit of sending to request him to come and stay by
them. Aya-Eke did this and ordered that his shrine should be
placed opposite to her own, saying that when ceremonies were
made in her honour they should be performed for him also.
On being asked as to when the wrestling would begin, Eleche
answered, with true African placidity, that this depended upon
the arrival of the combatants, who would probably not appear
until the sun sank lower in the heavens. He explained that
he had told us the play began at mid-day, because by ancient
custom the summoning drums must start at that time.
Now, according to widespread West Coast belief, noon and midnight are
the special times at which ghosts walk abroad. Among Ibo and Kalahari
little children are warned never to throw sticks or stones when the sun
is high overhead, lest they should inadvertently injure one of these
wandering spirits and thus draw down its wrath upon themselves. With
Mbolli and Etche Ibo--as usually in the Ikwerri country--seed yams and
corn are stored in the shrine of the ancestors, _i.e._ beneath the
guardianship of these beneficent friends, much as was the seed-grain
of ancient Rome within the sacred Mundus. Chief Eleche also told us
that the Egu Nda Madu, the festival of the forefathers, is always
held at the same time as that of the new yams and, were these rites
neglected, the ghosts would cease to exert a protective influence upon
the next season’s crops. It is probable, therefore, that the reason
the drums must start to play at noonday is to call the attention of
the ancestral shades to the fact that the ritual wrestling is about to
begin.
First, one or two youths stepped out, at long intervals, from the ranks
of patient spectators, to dance round in wide circles, always from left
to right--in the contrary direction to the hands of a clock. Later, as
the shadows lengthened, more and more joined in the pastime, till from
twenty to thirty were dancing almost continuously. Nearly all raised
eyes and hands to heaven at a point, roughly speaking, halfway round
the circle. Most of the performers wore necklets of knotted palm, while
a considerable number bore in addition a single vivid bloom of the
scarlet Akpane Besin--the old Ekoi wrestlers’ challenge--stuck in their
black locks.
In the midst of the circle danced a strange figure, wearing a tail of
skin behind and a long strip of blue native cloth falling before. Round
his waist was a girdle of brass bells; a band of cowries, three deep,
was fastened beneath the knee, while a cloth of leaf-green silk was
tightly bound round the loins. In his right hand he bore a horn, black
and twisted like that of a bushbuck, the open end filled with a tassel
of long fur. This, when stationary, he sometimes drove point downwards
into the earth or, while circling round with the other dancers, bore
it raised over his head. Chief Yellow explained that such was the
traditional wrestlers’ costume.
During the dances several ‘masters of ceremonies,’ bearing bunches of
palm-leaves, went up and down, keeping a clear space--driving back the
circle of spectators by striking these on legs and feet. Suddenly
the performers scattered, leaving two of their number alone in the
centre. These bent and touched the ground with their fingers, then
almost immediately gripped and after a struggle, which caused the
wildest excitement among the spectators, the taller and slighter of
the two flung the other to earth and seated himself firmly astride the
prostrate form--to be lifted upon the shoulders of a friend and thus
borne round amid the plaudits of the multitude.
[Illustration: FIG. 45. Wrestling to make the yams grow. Chief Eleche’s
place, Elele]
So it went on, couple after couple struggling till one was overthrown.
Occasionally, if they were deemed ill matched or thought to be growing
angry, friends rushed in, as is usual in such contests, to separate the
combatants. What struck us as unusual was the short time allowed to
each pair. Should one not succeed in throwing the other after the first
few minutes the spectators flung themselves between and bore them apart
by force. This was explained to be ‘lest they should become exhausted,’
and was possibly done with the idea that such a result might, by
sympathetic magic, have an ill effect upon the crops.
These wrestling rites are carried out amongst nearly all the Ibo in the
Division, though held in greatest importance among the Ikwerri. The
same ceremony is customary with the Mbolli, whose head chief told us:
‘When the season comes round for the festival of Mbiencha,[21] we make
sacrifice to her of fowls and goats. After the sacrifice has been made,
we start wrestling. We do this for children, farms and health.’
One evening, during our stay at Elele, we heard the sound of a far-off
tom-tom, beaten with a queer insistent call. The method of playing was
new to us, so without a word to any one we set out to investigate.
There was no need to ask the way, since it was easy enough to follow
the beat of the drum. This led through the market-place along the Omo
Dioga road; then, after a sharp turn to the right, we found ourselves
in an open space, upon one side of which trees tossed dark branches
against a sky of scuttling cloud.
The moon, nearing her third quarter, was climbing up the heavens,
shedding a cloud of misty silver radiance upon the scene beneath. By a
fortunate chance our shoes fell soundlessly upon the soft sand; so we
stole in unnoticed, shadows amid a multitude of shadows which flitted
to and fro ‘now in glimmer and now in gloom’--in swaying, everchanging
lines of a dance impossible to describe.
My companions were wearing white, as was nearly every woman and
most of the men present. The latter mostly wore long flowing Hausa
robes, bought or imitated from the fashion set by Chief Ododo,
the enterprising Hausa who, following in the steps of a mighty
elephant-hunter of his race, settled here and made himself chief of the
town.
At once, on realising what was going forward, we slipped into a pool of
shadow, cast, it seemed, expressly for our convenience in a spot where
we could see everything but ourselves passed for a while unnoticed.
Men and women danced in separate lines, approaching and retreating.
To our surprise we saw that many of the latter wore not only white
robes but white coiffures as well; for their crisp, dark wool was
covered with a dressing of native chalk or pale-tinted clay, while the
faces were often streaked with white lines, giving them an appearance
indescribably ghost-like. To and fro, backward and forward, co-mingling
at one moment and the next in clearly defined lines, moved the dancers
to the monotonous tom-toming of their strange orchestra, which somehow
managed to suggest things beyond the power of words--the fall of the
first rains upon the parched earth; the enfolding of soft mists, from
whose gentle embrace springs a stirring and quickening, changing her
barrenness into fruition; the swelling of grain and root crops in the
dark ground; the first feeble upward striving of young shoots, later
to spring into radiant verdure in the free air above; the passion of
pride, of life and strength and love--all that is poignantly felt but
can seldom be expressed save perhaps by the monotonous beat of the
tom-tom, the strange soughing of elephant horns and thrumming of savage
lyres on such a night as this.
Only one air evolved by a northern musician gives any idea of the
effect of these weird African melodies--that is the Braut March in
_Lohengrin_, which, written on so few notes, yet beats with a strange
persistence on certain fibres of the human instrument. In this, too,
the theme is much the same--the bringing of the Earth Bride to the arms
of her mystic bridegroom. Each thema, monotonous in itself, changed
imperceptibly into another equally monotonous but built on different
notes and shadowing forth a very infinitude of meaning.
In and out among the dancers crept strange shapes, elaborately
coiffured and with whitened faces, much in the style of some Ibo masks,
at the time of unknown origin, which wandered into our collection
several years ago. These have since been explained as typifying the
moon, much after the manner of the so-called Isis masks of the Pangwe
Moon Goddess So; or again as representing those strange wanderers from
the ghost realm, the spirits of beneficent ancestors who watch over the
harvests of their descendants.
Hardly daring to breathe, we watched the strange phantasmagoric figures
pass to and fro in the intricate mazes of the dance--the lines merging
and separating in oozy triangles, squares and circles such as those
woven by Ka for the perdition of the Banda Log.
Suddenly a change came over the scene. The tom-toms sounded a series
of sharp insistent strokes. The moon, emerging from friendly clouds,
shed a brilliant light upon the place where we had hitherto remained
hidden in shadow, and the crowd, grown aware of our presence, began
to scatter. We withdrew with all possible speed since nothing further
was to be learnt by delay. After our departure the mystic dance began
once more and continued, as could be heard from the far-away drumming,
almost till the first rays of dawn.
On 26th July chance led us to pass by Chief Eleche’s compound while a
ceremony connected with the Aya-Eke cult was in progress. Under the
Obiri shed, a band of various drums, together with a particularly
sweet-toned xylophone formed of cork-wood slabs laid upon fresh-cut
plantain stems, was playing. To the sound of this music danced the
chief of Elele Aliminni (Ale by the water) with his three principal
wives. Two points were specially noticeable in the performance; first,
the intense solemnity of the dancers, and, secondly, the way in which
their oneness of purpose was emphasised by gesture. This is the only
West African dance witnessed by us in which the performers continually
linked arms, or twined these round one another’s shoulders and waists.
When Chief Eleche was questioned as to the meaning of the ceremony,
he said that it was performed in order to draw down the blessing of
the great Juju Aya-Eke on the chief of Elele Aliminni, his family and
crops, before beginning to dig the first yams of the year.
A few weeks later came one of the greatest disappointments of our
tour. By means of much planning it had been made possible, though with
considerable difficulty, to arrive at Elele on the day before that
fixed for the great yam festival, which we were anxious to witness.
As ill fortune would have it, however, a runner came in in the late
afternoon to bring tidings of trouble which was thought likely to break
out in a far-off corner and to prevent which the presence of the white
man was needed. To hesitate under such circumstances was of course
naturally impossible. So the crowning ceremony of the year, the Aya-Eke
harvest festival, was perforce missed.
IX
ALE AND THE ANCESTORS
Another link between Ale and her human children may be found at Ogu, a
town inhabited by Okrikans, in the extreme east of the District. Here
marriage is only solemnised once a year, immediately before the making
of new farms. The Earth Goddess, locally called Amakiri (Earth of the
town) is the principal deity, and not far to the rear of her shrine
stands that of Ababa, the protectress of marriage. The spot sacred to
the latter is an oval enclosure, fenced round by a wall of rough logs.
Within this grow many Odumdum--the tree which, as previously mentioned,
is looked upon almost all over the West Coast as bestower of babes,
protector against evil influences and purifying agent, as well as in
some cases the symbol of the yam spirit and that of the Earth Goddess
herself.
Thither, before the cutting of new farms, go all the brides of the year
to take the vow of faithfulness to their new-made lords. Libations of
rum and palm-wine are poured out, while the blessing of the indwelling
Genius, Tenye Te’en, is invoked upon the faithful and her vengeance
called down upon any woman who should prove false to her wedded vows.
In the local shrine of Obaji (or Obazi) the god of the sea, we came
across a representation of multiplied, or limitless, birth--eight
frogs carved from a solid strip of wood. Several other slabs showed
designs of the sacred crocodile with human beings laid out before it in
sacrifice.
[Illustration: FIG. 46. Ancestral Tablet]
A frog is often depicted--with probably the same reason--in the carved
tablets known as Nyama Ahia or sometimes Ahia Osimiri (the river
market), which are hung up as ghost-offerings in Ikwerri Ibo houses in
order to remind the ancestral spirits of the need for constant activity
in increasing the prosperity of their descendants. In one found at
Elele, the sacred crocodile and the phallic serpent are shown together
with the hoe, the symbol of fruitful Ale. Again, the central figure has
its tail joined to another hoe, while the tail of the serpent touches
that of the crocodile and is thereby linked with the hoe.
During the making and planting of farms among Mbolli and Abuan--both
tribes of particular interest and distinct type--the rule of strict
chastity must be observed. No man may approach his wife until his share
of the work is over. The labour apportioned to the males of the tribe
at this season consists, first, in cutting and firing bush, after
which women clear away the charred branches. Men again usually dig
the holes into which it is the task of maids and matrons to lay the
yam-tubers. Nowadays, however, both the last mentioned duties fall to
the lot of women. Till every ‘seed of Proserpine’ has been laid in the
dark ground, however, neither wife nor maid may yield to the prayer
of husband or lover; for should the strictest chastity fail to be
practised during this period, the farm of the frail one would yield but
scanty increase.
Among Mbolli, in the words of the Chief Igwe of Ogali:
We worship our ancestors (Okwenji). We sacrifice to them fowl
and fish. Rich men give goats at such times. The sacrifices are
made three times a year--at the harvests; first at the new corn
month, next one month later again and then five months later,
when we start digging yams. We hold this festival in the tenth
month (November) and go to cut farm again two months later. We
start to count months from putting the crops in the ground till
we begin to dig--_i.e._ ten moons.
At the feast of the ancestors we pour out drink, saying:
‘Ebe atena ’mgbom ami, ami ’mgbo nan mwi.’
‘As (my) father got me, (let) me get other child.’
We have already lived two moons in the farm--October and
November. We shall stop another five. While we stay in the
farms, we may not have connection with our wives; for such a
thing we must come back to the town, sleep for a night and then
go back. Otherwise we should offend ’Nkike, who would not let
our crops grow well or send plenty children.
Among the Ale Nsaw Ibo a strict rule as to chastity was imposed by the
direct command of the Earth Goddess. On this point Chief Osu of Obiakpo
stated:
Our people are generally known by the name of Ale ’Nsaw (Ale’s
tabu or the land of the tabu) because in our ancestors’ time
there were many forbidden things in our part. All our women
were sacred to Ale, therefore in olden days no man might reach
out a hand to touch a woman’s leg or foot. Should a man meet a
woman going to bush, he must at once hide his eyes or pass by
another way. In those days it was a very terrible sin for any
man to commit adultery. Should one fall into this crime, he was
not only heavily fined but at once made outcast. Never again
was he permitted to join any ‘company.’ Never again might he
drink or eat with others. As regarded his own family, because
he was of their kin they would help to collect the fine, but
after this was paid off they would have nothing further to do
with him.