Children belong to the father...or do they? Part 4

"Hey people, can you see that I stuck my finger in my own eye the day I pulled this bright girl from school and gave her in marriage?" Sirima snarled as he pointed to his daughter.
"Sirima, your blood pressure. Please, calm down," one of his wives advised.
"Sirima, God recompenses each one of us for our deeds. You did a good thing," Madinah said. "Marriage is a woman's dignity and you did what any good father would --."
"Nonsense," Sirima interrupted her. "The girl was smarter than all the boys in her classroom. Maybe all girls are not meant for smoky kitchen. Don't you all go to the maternity ward? Who is the nurse practitioner there? I thought it was a woman, hum? Maybe I should have listened to Hawah's teachers not you people. My daughter would be a nurse today, with everybody respectfully calling her Madame."
"Sirima, God has a different plan for everyone."
"Madinah, don't add to my pain. You people always invoke God to excuse your failures. You all got me into this."
"Okay, but there is no reason to despair. Let's send a delegation to Tandja. I'll join it so we can apologize to Tandja for Hawah's shortcomings and she will reenter her marriage," Madinah offered.
"No way. She is not going. Not back to a marriage to that halfwit. I was the one who disregarded talks about their son's mental unfitness. Look how they pay me back. My daughter is going nowhere."
On that, Sirima rose from his seat and stormed out of the room.

Children belong to the father...or do they? Part 2

Before sundown that day, the dust-covered minivan carrying Hawah pulled into a swarming auto station in the town of Kani, toward the northern edge of Cote d'Ivoire. She climbed down and hung her luggage straps to her shoulder. It was a single satchel containing all she now owned in this world, two sets of clean clothes, an additional pair of shoes, her national identity card and a CFA 500 francs bill safely tucked in the folds of a weathered clutch. In the clutch, she also carried a folded envelop, a letter from her in-laws - ex in-laws - to her parents.

She walked the three mile distance to her parents' home where her unexpected arrival sparked a joyous clamor quickly followed by concerns. She showered, ate and remained in the room she once shared with her sisters. It now served as a storage and occasional guests room. Right after sunset prayer her father sent for her. She reached for the letter in her clutch and inserted it into her bras. 

Outside, a small assembly had already formed. Her mother and her sister wife - her father's other wife - sat side by side, a similarly afflicted demeanor on both their faces. Beside them, Madinah, one of Hawah's aunts mouthed a greeting and invited her to the stool near hers. Her paternal uncle was present along with another man from the community. 

"I invited you people here today as family and also as witnesses because I think something grave has happened," Sirima, Hawah's father began. 

"May God protect us," his brother replied. 

"Ameen!"

"Hawah has arrived here earlier today. I haven't heard from our in-laws ahead of time and none of us has called for her. So something is going on." Sirima paused and turning to his daughter, he asked, "Hawah, did they commission you with a message?"

"Yes," Hawah mouthed. Slowly, she reached for her camisole and pulled the envelop out.

"You are the literate one, so read it!" her uncle said.  

Hawah's arm folded reluctantly back toward her. Her trembling fingers fumbled and scrunched the paper until it finally opened. She cleared her throat, planted her elbows into her lap to gain control over her tremors, then she began. 

Strength

Being strong is having one's feet firmly planted in the soil beneath us, our values, mores and customs. Hence, the sky becomes the limit.

Male Ear Piercing in Africa

A woman without ear piercing doesn't exist in my culture. Perhaps I need to be less categorical. Members of my ethnic group, the Soninke, have spread to far reaching corners of the world. I have cousins in Szechuan China, Sydney Australia and God knows where. I heard of a relative in Norway. I wonder how he survives; our roots are in the sweltering Sahel Desert and it's hard enough for me to survive the "play-winter" in North Carolina.

Back to our subject, ear piercing is a must for women in my culture. By their seventh day of life, every little girl takes a trip to the mean lady who runs needles through their fleshy lobes  and the ones of rare little boys too.

So yes, I lied to fend off repeated request from one of my sons. I told him piercings are forbidden for boys in our culture. He knows the truth now and understands it. Boys' piercings have special meanings and are generally a single hole to one ear. They do not wear a ring in it.

The only pierced man in my family was my father's oldest brother. Sometime during early childhood, he was said to have been struck by a deadly disease. His ear was pierced as a ritual to cast maleficent spirits away. He lived well into his eighties sporting a pierced right lobe envied by the males in our family's younger generations.

Male piercing for most ethnic groups in West Africa is a sort of talisman performed only in critical situations to avert evil and sometimes to attract good fortune. It's never for looks!!!

OSUSU, A Traditional Way Of Saving In Africa

Growing up, I knew it as tontine - the adapted french word or parri  a local word for this age old practice on the African continent. A friend told me it  was called Osusu in Nigeria. I immediately liked how the word sounded, hence the title of this post.

For generations, women in Africa have assembled in clubs - small or large - once a week, once every two weeks or once a month. It's an opportunity to socialize over good food and music, more importantly to collect contributions for members.

The contribution amounts are set and equal for everyone. They are generally nominal - 500, 1000, 2000 CFA - amounts reflecting the financial means of the women in the club, roughly 1 to 4 US dollars. They can be much substantial for women of more capable means. Some clubs collect wax print fabric instead. All the collection for one meeting is remitted to the person in line on a predetermined order tracked by the administrator and president.

Parri, as I've known it since childhoold, is a traditional mean of saving for African women. Women use the monies or fabrics collected to begin businesses, clothe their children and themselves, and save for the future of their families. Nowadays, the system has expanded to include some men clubs and has developped in big business in many African countries.

If you have knowledge of such associations in other countries, I'd like to hear from you. Please, share they appelation you have for it and how it works. Our world is amazing. It's always a joy to hear about the way other cultures live their daily lives.

Naming a baby in Africa is serious business in Africa

Every African has a meaning or a significance attached to his or her name. First names may be assigned based on family lineage, day of the week when baby is born, order of birth, religious reasons or circumstances of birth. This is not an exhaustive list as the meaning and significance of assigning a certain name to one's baby may be entirely based on parents' subjective circumstances.

In almost all African families, there will be children named after grandparents. Grandma and grandpa on both sides expect this gesture from their children to the point it sometimes becomes a source of contention between in-laws. It's also exerts unwanted pressure on a young couple who had other name choices in mind for their future baby.

Some babies are name after their day of birth. For instance, a female baby born on Friday could be named Djouma by a Bambara family. The Bambaras may also call the first baby Somah if it's a boy. In the Akan tribe in Ivory Coast, Amah is the name for a baby girl born on Saturday, Ndah is for the male twin and Ndablah for the female twin.

Circumstances of birth give ample room for creativity in name assignment but even then, no name is assigned frivolously. My own father was name Banta for his resilience. My grandmother carried his pregnancy under both physical and emotional difficulties. My paternal grandfather was called Houne - twin in Soninke language. Saney is for a female born on a starry night.

Some names are meant to be premonitory. Woody is a baby boy of the Bete ethnic group of Ivory Coast that one wishes to be manly, virile, as he grows, Sanou (gold) for a girl one wishes to glow in life, Fanga (power) for a Bambara boy one would like to become a leader some day.

Most African do not have middle names but when assigned, middle names have for purpose to indicate one's religious affiliation or beliefs. A Christian or muslim name will denote the parents adherence to Islam or Christianity. Similarly, animist parents may assign names to reflect their beliefs in the supernatural and animist deities.

There is always a story behind an african's name. The next time you meet one, ask him or her about the meaning or significance of their name. It more than likely won't be that their parents just loved that name.

The Head Washing Ceremony

The taxi pulled up in front of Mariama's house. One of the older ladies gathered the scarf a little closer around Mariama's face and cautiously led her out of the vehicle. Mariama guessed that she was the matron. A female griot coming in their direction, started singing the eulogies of the bride's family, the family she was marrying into, the past glorious moments of the ancestors. The crowd grew progressively bigger as Mariama was led into her mother's room. Through the narrow slit left where the matron's hand was holding the scarf under her chin, she could see that a crowd of men was already under the big acacia tree. She knew they were ready to tie the knots or as they say around here "tie the marriage".

Blogger's note: The "tieing of the marriage" is one of the most important rituals, if not the most important ritual during this African wedding. I'll elaborate on it in a distinct format in a future post.

The matron sat her on the edge of the bed and with the help of an aunt and another woman she didn't know, they changed her clothes to an indigo Topa long boubou (west african caftan) and wrap set. A matching topa scarf was put over her head. Her aunt brought a brand new pair of plastic sandals. The matron physically put each foot one after the other in the new shoes.
"The sun is going down. We need to go." She said.

Mariama had a vague idea of what would happen for the next seven days but she knew she'd be learning many unspoken things about her culture along the way.

A small crowd of women waiting in the living room, joined and formed a circle around her. There was now two griots singing. She could hear the drums beating louder. Some women were clapping to the rhythm of the drums. In the middle of a big circle, two young ladies were trying to outdo each other with various energetic dance moves. The matron was holding her scarf and a corner of her boubou to prevent her from falling. She slowly led her to a 12 inch high stool in the middle of the women. A new shower bucket containing water was waiting; beside it, a new towel neatly folded in a wicker basket. The only men present at this stage of the ceremony were the two drummers and some boys, curious about what all of this ruckus.

The matron stood her with the stool a couple of inches behind her feet and facing her, she held her by the shoulders.

To be continued...

Kidnapping the bride (Cont.)

"No...I don't." Ami stuttered. She was shaken by the stern voice a few seconds. Suddenly, gaining her usual zing, she shot back.

"What if I did?"

"If you do, you need to bring her back immediately!'

She looked at her friends gathered around her and listening in. Rolling her eyes, she replied to the voice she now recognized as the no nonsense aunt of the groom. Ami is never intimidated though.

"Auntie, I don't have her. I'll let you know If I find out anything about this." She added:"Allo, allo...allo." Then she clicked off.

The girls burst out laughing at this mischievous trick. All knew that this was not the end of it. Amy wasn't phase by the threats. Everyone knew that the bride is never returned without a ransom. They were still talking and laughing away when the cell rang again. It was the aunt, less threatening this time because she too was caught off guard by Amy's boldness. She knew full well the communication did not end earlier because of poor reception.

"Ami, my daughter. I have serious reasons to believe that your friends and you have the bride. We need to have her back. The sun is going down and I don't think you want to bring shame on your family for the being the reason why this wedding didn't happen today. Daughter, do the right thing, bring her back."

Ami wasn't going to give into the guilt trip and also she was a little ticked by this lady's patronizing speech. She wasn't a little girl and intented to go into serious negotiations with the search party but not until they stopped treating them like a bunch of gullible teenagers.

"Auntie, I don't have her. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm getting upset because you're accusing me of derailing a wedding. I'll hang up now." She closed her pink flip phone and laughed, twirling in her cute wax print maxi skirt set.

To be continued...