Elenore Bowen |
Return to laughter |
| New York: Doubleday. 1964 [1954]. |
(pp 114-115)
Then they really arrived. Poorgbilin's senior wife squatted before me to present
five chickens. Udama, afraid I might miss my cue, poked me again and primed
me with the most fullsome phrases of overwhelmed gratitude. The musicians
came to the center. To their gongs and drums the women swayed and shuffled
in a circle before us. Every now and then a solo dancer would perform in their
midst or sally briefly from the circle to dance just in front of me. I thrust
pennies at them. My boys, resplendently clean and pressed, shouted compliments
and now and again dashed into the circle to stick the coins onto sweating
foreheads. Elders gave their children pennies, pointing out the dancer to
be rewarded. Poorgbilin's senior wife stood by the drummers, holding the umbrella
as though she were presenting arms at parade, and shouting praise songs. The
very old women of their homestead marched about inside the circle with leafy
branches, striking at dilatory dancers or those who began to get out of line.
It got hot and hotter. The audience, joined by an occasional resting dancer,
drank my beer dispensed by Ihugh in calabashes and tin cans. The dancing grew
more excited and the music louder. Shouts of encouragement from the audience-and
ever more beer-spurred on the dancers.
Then, just before sunset, Ihugh appeared with the ram. Sunday
took it from him, handed me the lead rope to hold for just a moment, and then
in my name handed the ram -not to Poorgbilin's wives, as I had expected-but
to Poorgbilin himself. Poorgbilin, looking his fattest and glossiest, in turn
called upon the women of his homestead to admire the magnificent beast that
I had so generously given them to eat. Loudly, for my ears, they called out
the anatomical grandeurs of the ram: never before had they seen so fine a
beast. I then stood up and called all present to witness how expertly the
women had danced and sung, how the produce they had given me proved not only
their generosity but their skill in farming, and how the whole occasion was
a sign of affluence and good character on the part of every member of Poorgbilin's
homestead. Then Kako rose to congratulate us both and to demonstrate to
everyone present how everything that had been done had been done well and
redounded to the credit of the whole community. The dance was over, but no
one left until we had finished the beer.
Guests all gone, I idly asked Rogo, "How did you find a ram that pleased them all so?"
"We bought it from Poorgbilin," he said with great satisfaction. "It took some time, because Poorgbilin was so fussy. We found several that he turned down. Then he told us there was a fine animal at Ember's. We agreed as soon as we saw it. So Poorgbilin bought it from Ember and we got it from Poorgbilin."
For the second time I got a bad jolt over that dance. "And if I hadn't changed my mind and bought a ram? or refused this ram?"
"There had to be a ram," Rogo was unperturbed. "If there hadn't been a ram, there wouldn't have been a dance: Poorgbilin's women would have sat at home with angry hearts."
I put my hands to my head; pitfalls safely passed in ignorance make me giddy with what might have been.
"It was well, as it happened." Rogo had no uncomfortable afterthoughts. "Everyone knew how much you wanted to give and how much Poorgbilin thought was right for his women to give."
"Why doesn't anyone ever tell me?" I moaned.
Rogo looked perplexed. "We do tell you. Anyhow, you know things, Redwoman." Rogo amplified this, their greatest compliment. "It was very wise of you to refuse to buy a ram from Atakpa's husband the other day. Yabo would have been furious that you wished to help her, his kinsman Poorgbilin would have had to veto the dance, and Kako would have been annoyed that you gave opinion in a case he will not judge."
It had come out all right. No one's feelings had been hurt. Everyone had a wonderful time and we had all gained prestige in the process. Indeed, it had been the best of all possible events. But just how long would my protecting angels continue to guide my fool's feet?
The fundamental situation of the fieldworker is dangerous: one is always at risk of doing something that might mean the end of the fieldwork. In the danger are the opportunites of being made most experientially aware of what is most at stake among the people one is trying to write about.
(pp. 126-127)
I told Udama about it. She was not interested in the acceptance
of grief. She was entirely taken up with the thought of grandchildren. "Poorgbilin's
senior wife was right. You will soon know it, when you hold our grandchild."
"Our grandchild?"
Udama nodded. "Ihugh's wife is a strong young woman. It will not be long." I agreed. I said it would be delightful, but I still did not see how it brought me grandchildren. "Europeans are queer people," Udama observed to the pipe she was filling. Then, pulling her worn cloth over her thin legs, she told me the facts of life.
While she spoke, I wrote dutifully for my conscience and Udama's pleasure. I had often wondered how to get at a subject anthropologically advisable for me to record, but, except in physiological theory, remarkably the same the world over. People, I had found, are sometimes willing to answer intelligent questions; certainly if questions are to be answered intelligently, they cannot be asked foolishly. And it would have been thought foolish of me to ask what every child knew. However, I had also discovered that almost everyone is glad to find someone more foolish and more ignorant than himself. Udama was not the only one to take my education firmly in hand and embark upon a program of enlightenment referred to as "opening Redwoman's eyes."
I thanked Udama for her lecture. Meekly I said, "Thus Ihugh's children are born and begotten, and you are Ihugh's mother. But I am not. How then . . .
Udama bristled, "Because my son has married and no longer
sleeps in your kitchen, do you deny him?"
"Huh? Well . . . You mean?" I am not coherent in my own language
when I am besieged by gradual realization; in a foreign language I twitter
feeble-mindedly. "Nol I don't. You mean Ihugh called me mother . . .
"You feed Ihugh, therefore you are his mother." Udama corrected me firmly but quite patiently now that she saw I meant no insult. "Listen, Redwoman, if a woman dies, do her children become motherless? Is not the woman who feeds them and cares for them their mother? Therefore these are not merely matters of birth. They are matters of deed as well. You and I, we are both Ihugh's mother; therefore his children are our grandchildren. But there is more. Kako has put some of his youngest wives in my hut, for me to watch and care for; therefore they are my wives as well. Ihugh's wife I treat as I treat them; therefore she is my wife and she is your wife, and her children are our children."
Dazed, but convinced I was struggling along the right track, I ventured a deduction. "Then, if Rogo calls me `my mother,' it is because I feed him. But if he calls me `my mother-in-law,' it is because . . .
"Because he respects you, but must nevertheless say to you things you will not like."
"I sat on a teak root." In my own ears this did not sound very coherent, but Udama followed it with the same facility Rogo had used in the original connection. "And some young man told you you must not," she finished. "Therefore of course he called you `mother-in-law,' or it would have been rude."
Udama meditated into her pipe. I wrestled with the implications of this dual aspect of kinship, by birth and by deed. She was the first to rouse herself. "You must learn more of these matters, Redwoman, or you will be like a child among us, a child who knows nothing of life, nor of death, nor of birth." She scrabbled among the ashes looking for a coal to relight her pipe. "You know Ava and her wives?"
Most classical in anthropology is the situation when the informant teaches 'the facts of life'--that are precisely not the same in their social and cultural import around the world: the physiology of birth offers no guidance about what human beings can do with them--thus the need to remain open about the obvious, and the difficulty of remaining open
(p. 236-237)
"Does he?" I asked. "I do not know what to believe, Kako. Until
this morning I have not asked"-I meant accuse now-"because at Amara's
funeral you did not ask me. But now I do ask. Is Ikpoom's wife to remain mad?
Why do you deny your knowledge? Is it because you wish me to think you cannot
bewitch her?"
"I am no witch. I have a good heart." Kako again had himself in hand.
"Why, then, did you drive her away to wander alone in the bush? Was it not so you could kill her secretly and in secret greed eat her flesh alone?"
So serious an indictment must be answered with violent indignation. Kako sprang to his feet shouting protest. Habit was as strong as I had prayed it would be. The elders also jumped to their feet to shout. As soon as some of them began to defend Kako, their enemies swung over to my side. "You ask well, Redwoman." "Let us hear your voice, Kako."
"Never would I do such a thing. My heart is good, I tell you. You, why do you make this accusation? What proof have you?" I let Kako shout. I had learned much from Yabo. They would be curious. I waited till everyone was quiet and then, like Yabo, accused from my chair, speaking slowly that each question might sink in.
"Indeed, Kako, I hope I am wrong. But if I am wrong, why do you pretend to know nothing of the Doiyor ceremony? It can only be to avoid helping Ikpoom's wife. Nothing else can. Or can it be because you really do not know? But so ignorant a man should not be chief. Or do you wish to insult me? Are you seeking a quarrel with me, Kako?"
It was an attack Kako could not ignore. He could not assent to any one of my accusations without giving ammunition to some of his enemies. If he did answer, he would have to admit he had been lying to me. We waited, I with some anxiety, for Kako was a slippery opponent.
Kako gave a hearty laugh and sat down. Again he was wearing his paternal, benevolent expression. "Seek a quarrel with you, Redwoman?" His voice made the very idea incredible. "Never. But we saw that you are young and a woman, therefore we spoke carefully before you. But now that we have all seen you have a strong heart, a heart strong enough to bear such knowledge, we will tell you what you wish to know. Of course Aghegh is coming to do the Doiyor for Ikpoom's wife. Shall I spare expense or trouble for my brother's wife? The ceremony must be performed behind closed doors and at night, but you shall sit beside me and watch it. Shall it not be so?" He looked at the elders.
Over their chorus, "It shall be so," I grinned at Kako and got from him a look of amused appreciation. I had finally won his respect. Kako, I suddenly realized, was one of those men who made friends only among potential enemies who might be dangerous. That was just as well, for I intended to press my advantage. I addressed them all. "You know I have come here to learn your ways. You know I visit all those who teach me. Thus it is that I visit Yabo. You are all of one country and brothers. Who am I to decide if you or Yabo are right? When brothers quarrel, does a stranger intervene?"
I paused for the inevitable "Of course not" produced by that proverb. Yes, I must remain a stranger. That was my answer. Meanwhile, I looked first at Kako, then at the elders who liked him least.
Kako, correctly interpreting my glance, assured me that
this was my only correct position. Paternally he added, "Go to see Yabo,
my child. He has never sought a quarrel with you. None of us seek a quarrel
with you. We are all glad to have you here."
With bland and fulsome reassurance, we took leave of each other.
Within a day, everything was as smooth and cordial as it had ever been. Only
my heart had cooled and withdrawn.
In this episode, Bohannan is using her knowledge to reconstitute her position as a foreigner. She is using a Tiv discourse to get herself out of the position that the chief has set for her. Note that she is resisting: her goal at this point is not to 'disappear' but rather to appear in a particular way.