Oral Literature in Africa (45 page)

The verse and the leitmotive now fixed in the composer’s mind, he sits at his instrument [xylophone], over which his hands wander with expert deftness, and picks out the melody …. After a while, during which his right hand becomes accustomed to the new tune, his left will begin to fill in the harmonies or contra-melody with
¹
well-understood sequences, punctuated with rhythmic surprises suggested by the ebb and flow of the words. Now the right hand will wander away from the melody,
mapsui
, into a variation,
kuhambana
, and as he sings the words over to himself the contrapuntal accompaniment will begin to form under his hands ….

They now have the
primary
melodic line of the poem—the subject or leitmotive—and the
secondary
melodic accompaniment—the orchestral sentence—which fits the words contrapuntally, with a number of variations and sequences …

(Tracey 1948
a
: 2–3; 4–5)

Though the lyrics and their music are topical and relatively ephemeral, they are certainly not totally impromptu; in describing the process of their creation we can more suitably speak of artistic inspiration coupled with studied technique than of ‘improvisation’.

Something of the same process occurs with several song types in Zambia (Jones 1943). Among the Ila and Tonga there is commonly an interest in the personal ownership of songs: individuals are often expected to sing one of their own songs—a young man on the day of his marriage, for instance, a young girl on the day she is allowed to wear adult dress. Among their many
types of songs are those called
impango
. These are sung by women only, at beer drinks or at work, and each woman must have her own personal repertoire of
impango
songs to sing as solos. One woman stands up at a time and sings her song in a very high and fast style. Meanwhile her intimate friends or her relatives may get up from time to time and interrupt the song with praise and small gifts.
Impango
composition is known to be difficult, and in every village there are a few women who are especially skilled in this art. What happens when a woman wants to make an
impango
is that she first thinks out the rather lengthy words—it may be praise of herself, her lover, or her husband—and then calls in some of her women friends to help her. Together they go to a well-known maker of
impango
songs. After hearing the woman’s ideas, she then, often over a period of several days, composes the complete tune for the whole song. She calls a party of women to practise it each evening after supper, and they continue until the
impango
is complete and has been mastered by the whole party. The group is then disbanded and the woman who ‘owns’ the song continues to sing it on her own, knowing that if she forgets at any point she can ask one of the practice party to help her. She is now fully mistress of her
impango
and proud of her accomplishment. Whenever she is invited to a festival she keeps ‘singing it in her heart’ until it is finally time for her to stand up and sing it in public

(Jones 1943: 11–12).

The composition of another type of song, the
inyimbo
, is a simpler matter. The same sort of procedure is followed, but as these songs are shorter and simpler, the process is quicker. There are three main forms of this type of song, and the correct one must be used. The typical occasion of performance is for people to gather and sit down, and then start clapping or beating with sticks. A man or woman then stands up and dances; and as the owner of the song sings it right through, people pick it up and then sing it through themselves several times, followed by the owner again, then back to the group. There are also other types of song: the
mapobolo
song is characterized by brief words and a short tune that a woman first composes herself (working out at least the words or the tune), her friends then helping her to complete it before the actual performance in antiphonal form; while the
zitengulo
or women’s mourning songs are composed completely by the individual, with no help from others; she starts to sing little by little and gradually adds the words and melody until the song is complete

(Ibid.: 13–15).

There are, then, many different forms of song among the Ila and Tonga, and each has its own recognized mode of composition. What is striking is the emphasis on the care involved in composition and on the idea of personal ownership.

Song composition in non-literate cultures almost necessarily involves co-operation, particularly where there is an accompaniment by chorus, instruments, or dancing, and where, as so often in African lyrics, there is an emphasis both on performance and on participation by the audience. But that there can also be a purely personal element of the greatest significance in moulding the song is clear from the Chopi and Zambian examples.
³⁰
How far this personal contribution is recognized by the people themselves seems to vary; even within one group certain songs may be regarded as the property of named individuals, while others are not.
³¹
But it is quite possible that further investigation of a topic that has hitherto been ignored will show that many other African peoples besides those mentioned engage not only in the art of improvisation but also in a process of long-considered and reflective individual creation.

Footnotes

1
   In particular the work song which could have been treated under the present heading.

2
   See Lomax 1962 on the general contrasts in this respect between Africa, Europe, the Orient etc.

3
   For other examples of marriage songs see e.g. Beaton 1935 (Bari); Leslau 1947 (Harari), Dufays 1909 (Ruanda).

4
   i.e. a boast by the (Johannesburg) dancers that no one can dance better than they—their reputation has even reached Durban!

5
   Nearly all collections of poems include some dance songs. See also Stappers 1954; Emsheimer 1937 (not seen); Beaton 1940, 1938; v. Funke 1920-1; Clark 1965; Traoré 1942; Littmann 1926; Vansina 1955; Nketia 1957.

6
   On which see below.

7
   On the function of songs in stories see Ch. 13: 385. Also Belinga 1965: 55ff.

8
   Apparently nonsense words.

9
   Meat is often pounded in a mortar, then moulded into balls.

10
  A fabulous river.

11
  i.e. won all the prizes.

12
  The line division is not quite clear in the text and I may have interpreted it incorrectly in places.

13
  The shout given when the hare jumps up from its lair.

14
  Animal songs also occur in Central Africa (Lamba) where they bear some resemblance to Southern Bantu prises (Doke 1934: 365).

15
  See Mayssal 1965: 81, on Hausa influence on the Cameroons Fulani.

16
  Loeb’s general interpretation, however, is highly doubtful.

17
  I write in the present though in fact these songs are now a thing of the past. The description is taken from Owuor 1961.

18
  Owuor 1962: 53. Other references on love songs include Tracey 1963: 19–20 (examples and general discussion); Knappert 1967
a
(Swahili); G. Schürle and A. Klingenheben, ‘Afrilcanische Liebeslieder’ (Duala and Zaramo), ZKS 3, 1913–14; Chadwicks iii, 1940: 668ff. (Tuareg); E. Von Funke, ‘Einige Tanz-und Liebeslieder der Haussa’, ZES 11, 1920–1; Tescaroli 1961, Ch. 4 (Sudan); E. Cerulli, ‘Poesie di guerra e di amore dei Galla’,
Arch, antrop. e etnol
. 5, 1942 (reference in
IAI Bibl
. (A) by R. Jones, North-East Africa, 1959: 33)’; D. Earthy, ‘A Chopi Love-song’,
Africa
4, 1931. For other discussions or examples of ‘lyrics’ see J. Vansina, ‘La chanson lyrique chez les Kuba’, jeune Afrique 27, 1958; T. Tsala, ‘Minlan mi mved (chants lyriques)’,
Recherches et etudes camerounaises
2, 1960 (Beti); L. Longmore, ‘Music and Song among the Bantu People in Urban Areas on the Witwatersrand’,
Afr. music Soc. Newsletter
1. 6, 1953; and references in following sections. For written Swahili forms see Knappert 1966: 128f., 136.

19
  I draw heavily on Nketia’s analysis here: though he is working primarily on Ghanian music, his analysis has a wider application; see also Rycroft 1967.

20
  The children’s singing games quoted in Ch. 11 include some examples of this basic form.

21
  The emotion of love is, as often in Akan poetry likened to that of suffering and death.

22
  For recent general discussions, see Merriam 1962, 1965; Jones 1959, Ch. 9; Rouget 1961; Tracey 1964; Adande 1952; Nketia 1964.

23
  Though see Tracey 1948
a
(Chopi); Jones 1943, 1949 (Zambia), 1959 (Ewe); Nketia 1962 (Ghana); Brandel 1961 (Central Africa); also further references in Merriam 1965 and Gaskin 1965.

24
  Similar points have been made by other writers: e.g. on Ewe ‘tone and tune’ see Jones i, 1959, Ch. 10; Igbo, Green 1948: 841, Wescott 1962; Yoruba, King 1961: 38ff.; Bantu generally, Westphal 1948; West Africa, Schneider 1961; Chopi, Tracey 1948
a
: 4–5; Ngala, Carrington 1966/7 (reference in
Africa
38, 1968: 110); also general discussion in Wangler 1963.

25
  On rhythm, see Merriam 1965: 455–6 (and further references given there).

26
  See Tracey 1954
a
: 8–9, on the effect of the environment on the choice of instruments.

27
  One exception is the consideration of the Somali
balwo
in Andrzejewski 1967.

28
  In Tanganyika, for example, the poet seldom composes the time, but is free in his choice of the text; thus it is rare for a tune to be associated with one text only (Koritschoner 1937: 51). I noticed a similar pattern with certain types of songs, particularly dance songs—in Limba; see also Helser 1930: 65 (Bura), Andrezejewski 1967 (Somali).

29
  This is not necessarily the most common method of procedure. Contrast, for instance, Ngoni composition where ‘it is always a single inspiration which leads the composer to find the right words and the right music’ (Read 1937: 3).

30
  Cf. also the Luo
nyatiti
songs mentioned in Ch. 4: 90ff., and the Somali poets who spend hours or days composing their works (Andrzejewski and Lewis 1964: 45).

31
  e.g. Hurutsche (Merwe 1941: 307). For some other discussions of the process of composition and attitudes to it see Babalola 1966: 46ff. (Yoruba) de Dampierre 1963: 21ff. (Nzakara); Read 1937: 3 (Ngoni); Nettl 1954
b
, 1956: 12–19 (general).

10. Topical and Political Songs

Topical and local poetry. Songs of political parties and movements: Mau Mau hymns; Guinea R.D.A. songs; Northern Rhodesian party songs
.

It has been well said that oral poetry takes the place of newspapers among non-literate peoples. Songs can be used to report and comment on current affairs, for political pressure, for propaganda, and to reflect and mould public opinion. This political and topical function can be an aspect of many of the types of poetry already discussed—work songs, lyric, praise poetry, even at times something as simple as a lullaby—but it is singled out for special discussion in this chapter. It is of particular importance to draw attention to this and to give a number of examples because of the common tendency in studies of African verbal art to concentrate mainly on the ‘traditional’—whether in romanticizing or in deprecating tone—and to overlook its topical functions, especially its significance in contemporary situations. There have been a few admirable exceptions to this attitude to African oral literature, notably Tracey and others associated with the African Music Society (see esp. Rhodes 1962). Other references are given throughout this chapter.
¹

The political role of poetry is not just of recent origin in Africa. It is true that the present widespread occurrence of political songs directly associated with modern political parties and national politics did not antedate the founding of such organizations and their relevance in the contemporary political scene. But it would be a very narrow view of politics that would confine it only to the affairs of political parties or the formal institutions of modern nation states. In the wider sense it is certain that there were many political songs and poems in the past. Panegyric is an obvious example,
involving propaganda and support for the authorities, taking its extreme form in the mouth of the official court poet responsible for propagating the versions of historical events authorized by the rulers. Poetry can also be used to pressurize those in authority or to comment on local politics. Songs of insult, challenge, or satirical comment also have a long history, and can function not only on a personal level but also as politically effective weapons.
²

Though such satirical and topical poems will be treated separately from party political songs here, it would be a mistake to assume too easily that there is necessarily a complete break in continuity between ‘traditional’ political poetry and that of ‘modern politics’. It would be more accurate to say that the long-standing interests in oral literature and in politics have, not surprisingly, proved adaptable to the particular political circumstances of the mid-twentieth century.

I

At a local level public singing can take the place of the press, radio, and publication as a way of expressing public opinion and bringing pressure to bear on individuals. This has been particularly well documented of the Chopi people of Portuguese East Africa (Tracey 1945, 1948
a
). Tracey speaks of the ‘democratic purpose’ of their poetry and the way ‘poetic justice’ can be said to be achieved through public singing. Established chiefs can be criticized in this way—the medium of song being used for what cannot be said directly:

You, Chugela, you are proud of your position, yet you are only a chief made by the white man.

Oh, the chieftainship of Nyaligolana and Chugela!

Oh, the chieftainship of Nyaligolana and Chugela!

It is a shame that should be hidden from Wani.
³

Chugela is always asking presents from his brother.

Sitiki is excluded from the council. They say they don’t know him.

The country of Mawewana is full of troubles.

(Tracey 1948
a
: 68)

The lines are from a poem attacking the young chief Chugela who, though only of the junior branch of the family, was being supported by the
authorities after their deposition of previous (senior) chiefs. The poet is also seeking to publicize the view that Sitiki, the best brain of the district and so by rights a councillor, is being ignored by Chugela (as interpreted in Tracey 1945).

Another Chopi poem is designed to put an ambitious man in his place, an instance of mild political propaganda. Fambanyane had tried to throw his weight around and exaggerate his claims to the chiefship. He was regarded as a public nuisance because of his threats against the other candidate, Manjengwe, and was eventually arrested:

We are saying,

We have reason to say we believe

Fambanyane would have liked to be Chief.

Fambanyane was brought before the judge,

So now he can’t threaten Manjengwe.

He has lost his chance of wearing chief’s uniform.

We are saying,

We have reason to say we believe

Fambanyane would have liked to be Chief.

(Tracey 1948
a
)

The Chopi are not alone in the use they make of song to attack unpopular public figures. Among many other instances one can quote the effective Somali poem addressed to a sultan who was ignoring the clan assembly and trying to assume dictatorial powers. The sultan—no match for the poet—was deposed:

The vicissitudes of the world, oh ‘Olaad, are like the clouds of the seasons

Autumn weather and spring weather come after each other in turn

Into an encampment abandoned by one family, another family moves

If a man is killed, one of his relatives will marry his widow

Last night you were hungry and alone, but tonight people will feast you as a guest

When fortune places a man even on the mere hem of her robe, he quickly becomes proud and overbearing.

A small milking vessel, when filled to the brim, soon overflows.

(Andrzejewski 1963: 24)

Pressure on those with or aspiring to positions of power can also be offered in the guise of flattery. Some instances of this have already been noticed in Chapter 5 on panegyric. Again, one could cite the piece of Yoruba advice to a pretender to the Alafin’s throne:

Be the king at once my lord,

Cease acting
like
a king

(Beier 1956: 26)

or, in a rather different context, a poem praising Olorum Nimbe, then Mayor of Lagos. Cast in the form of a piece of popular dance music, it yet proffered advice and instruction:

I am greeting you, Mayor of Lagos,

Mayor of Lagos, Olorum Nimbe,

Look after Lagos carefully.

As we pick up a yam pounder with care,

As we pick up a grinding stone with care,

As we pick up a child with care,

So may you handle Lagos with care.

(Beier 1956: 28)

This indirect means of communicating with someone in power through the artistic medium of a song is a way by which the singers hope to influence while at the same time avoiding the open danger of speaking directly. The conventionality of the song makes it possible to indicate publicly what could not be said privately or directly to a man’s face. To take only one example: when Merriam was collecting song texts among the Shi of the Kivu area in the Congo some were sung to him while he was with a plantation owner. It turned out that the girls working on the plantation were using these songs to express their dissatisfaction with the owner. They felt it impossible to raise this directly with him, but were seizing the opportunity to convey it indirectly. They sang, for instance, of the way the employer had recently stopped giving them salt and oil:

We have finished our work. Before, we used to get oil; now we don’t get it. Why has Bwana stopped giving us oil? We don’t understand. If he doesn’t give us oil, we will all leave and go to work for the Catholic Fathers. There we can do little work and have plenty of oil. So we are waiting now to see whether Bwana X will give oil. Be careful! If we don’t get oil, we won’t work here.

(Merriam 1954: 51–2)

Not all criticisms of superiors are equally indirect. One could mention the increasingly harsh and direct innuendo of the unsatisfied Hausa praise singer (above Ch. 4: 94–5) or Hahn’s description of the Hottentots in the nineteenth century. He reports how unpopular chiefs were lectured by women in sarcastic ‘reed-songs’ (a habit ruefully commented on in the Hottentot proverb about women—’They cannot be as long quiet as it takes sweet milk to get sour’) and describes one occasion when the young girls sang into the chief’s face telling him

that he was a hungry hyena and a roguish jackal; that he was the brown vulture who is not only satisfied with tearing the flesh from the bones, but also feasted on the intestines.

(Hahn 1881: 28)

In all these cases the oblique and limited nature of the attack is maintained by its limitation to a medium with its own artistic conventions or to specially privileged singers, sometimes allowed to perform only on particular occasions.

Songs are also directed against opposing groups or individuals. These can take many forms. There are, for instance, the half-joking ‘moqueries de villages’ among the Dogon, exchanged between individuals of the same age, between villages, or between different quarters of the same village. Some of these are only short phrases, but there are also longer texts, and, within the conventional form, ‘l’imagination fertile et l’ironie acérée des Dogon ne se font pas faute d’inventer sans cesse de nouvelles plaisanteries’ (Calame-Griaule 1954
b
: 13). The faults and customs of others are ironically commented on or their accents parodied and ridiculed. Of a more serious and poetic nature are the songs reported from the Ewe of Ghana. There, when two villages quarrel, they compose abusive songs against each other, usually directed against the offending elder of the opposing village. Some of these are very elaborate and can last, without repetition, for as long as half an hour (Gbeho 1954
:
62).

Similar self-assertive songs by groups can equally take place in an urban environment. Mitchell has analysed the songs of
kalela
dance teams on the Copperbelt in the early 1950s (Mitchell 1956). Each team boasts of its own distinctiveness as against other tribes and jokingly derides the customs and languages of others, Yet the content of the songs themselves not only reflects the preoccupations, events, even language of life in the towns, but also, paradoxically, by its very attacks on other ethnic groups recognizes their significance for the singers (for a parallel with the
kalela
dance see Lambert 1962–3
a
).

Again, songs can be used to assert the unity of trade union groups. The following examples from Tanganyika bring out the distinction between employer and employee:

We regret that the employers should trifle with us,

We are deprived of our rights, indeed we know nowhere to eat.

We do their work, bring them in their money,

Clothes sprout on them through the efforts of the workers.

Give the workers’ organisations freedom

We don’t want the law to break our Unions

In a free Tanganyika may the Unions be strong

We don’t want to be despised

So let us unite and triumph over the employers.

(Whiteley 1964: 221)

Lampoons are not only used between groups but can also be a means of communicating and expressing personal enmity between hostile individuals. We hear of Galla abusive poems, for instance (Chadwicks iii, 1940: 549) while among the Yoruba when two women have quarrelled they sometimes vent their enmity by singing at each other, especially in situations—like the laundry place—when other women will hear (Mabogunje 1958: 35). Abusive songs against ordinary individuals are also sometimes directly used as a means of social pressure, enforcing the will of public opinion. Among the Chopi, for instance, we hear of a verse directed against a young man who was trying to seduce a very young girl:

We see you!

We know you are leading that child astray.

Katini (the composer) sees you but keeps quiet.

Although he knows it all right he keeps quiet,

Katini, the leader of
Timbilas
⁴

We know you!

(Tracey 1948
a
: 29)

A group of Hottentots took the same line against an old man who married a young girl: her friends sang ‘The first wife is dismissed, his only great thought is the second wife’ (Hahn 1881: 29).

Such songs can even be said on occasion to form part of semi-judicial proceedings against individuals. This is particularly clear in the case of the Ibo. For instance, in one area (Umuahia)
oro
songs are sung at night by groups of young men and women who go to the houses of those they agree have offended, and sing against them as well as causing physical damage to their possessions. A notoriously lazy man is lampooned:

Ibejimato, Ibejimato, it is time now. Woman asks you to wrestle with her but you carry your cutlass and walk about; it is time now. (Madumere 1953: 64)

Ibejimato is so lazy and fearful that he does not even dare to fight a woman; in fact they remind him that when he did once get involved in a quarrel with a woman, he actually ran away, his cutlass on his shoulder. The song is to make him realize his laziness, and make him feel ashamed and turn over a new leaf—and is supplemented by damage to his possessions. On another occasion abusive songs by women formed part of the procedure of collecting a fine already imposed on a woman for false accusation—’the execution of justice’ (Green 1964: 200). The women went in a body to the house of the offender to sing and dance against her. Both songs and dances
were quite explicitly obscene and the episode had the effect of making the victim undertake to pay her fine (Green 1964: 199–205).

It is possible to exaggerate the functional aspect of such lampoons. Sheer enjoyment plays a part too. As Green writes of the episode just mentioned:

As for the women, I never saw them so spirited. They were having a night out and they were heartily enjoying it and there was a speed and energy about everything they did that gave a distinctive quality to the episode. It was also the only occasion in the village that struck one as obscene in the intention of the people themselves. Mixed with what seemed genuine amusement there was much uncontrolled, abandoned laughter. There was a suggestion of consciously kicking over the traces about the whole affair. (Green 1964: 202–3)