Yam Festival and Good Juju
Today was the annual Yam Festival, a pure traditional feast signaling the beginning of the harvest – or at least it used to. Every festival is always an exciting day, usually complete with animal slaughtering, different practices and no needless work.
The Yam Festival, a celebration of yams and a call for rain through the remainder of the harvest, has slowly lost some of its steam in recent years in Tamaligu. It was the smallest festival yet and work still carried on, maybe because it fell on a market day and the short notice. The atmosphere and explanation of events was that of years gone by, and it seemed to be more of a ceremonial ritual than the engaging festivals I've seen so far. Despite its lower level of participation this year, its significance is still recognized and important not to skip.
Perhaps I should note that yams, in this case, are not sweet potatoes as we sometimes call them. Yams are a lot more like regular potatoes and are a major food here, but they still don't taste quite like potatoes.
I first heard about Yam Festival from a nearby PCV whose village celebrated it nearly two months ago, more properly, I suppose, when the first yams of the season were harvested. I love the festivals here, so I wanted to make sure I wouldn't miss it. I asked Jacob when ours would be. Indicating he had no idea, he said it would be “very soon, maybe” – a common way to describe something upcoming in the vague future, but it would be coming late this year due to the lack of rains pushing harvest back. Holidays almost never seem to share consistent dates in villages. Many Muslim holidays are dependent on when a new moon is, but that's not as straightforward as it sounds when you base it off of sight than a calendar. Traditional ones, like Yam Festival, only have a general sense of timing and are up to a locality's discretion. Cities will plan and set a aside official days, but not in rural areas. Whenever it would be, he would surely inform me since it starts early in the morning.
Yams showed up and no festival came. Several chop bars began selling cheap fried yams. I forgot about the feast, and I think the village did too. I've accumulated enough gifted yams in my house to live for a couple of weeks.
The festival was indeed late when the night before, Jacob came over that he just got word from a nearby village that yam festival would be tomorrow. They would begin preparations early, so I should come over at around 7. That sounds like a typical holiday: tomorrow!
I show up at Jacob's house, Wulayili, which means Wulana's house, Jacob's grandfather. Households have names. For example, I live in the much smaller Bualayili. Bua is goat in Dagbanli, so I was under the impression that I lived in the goat house until I learned that a bua lana is not limited to selling goats, but any animal. A bua lana is a butcher, so I live in the butcher's house. Eh-huh! Or, you can refer to my house as the wosa wosa house since the Bualana's wife is known as the wosa wosa (a local yam-based food) seller in town, earning the title among several others.
The Wulana is the highest sub-chief in the village, and their family is enormous, suitable for their sprawling compound. At least 70 people live there. Not only that, but nearly all their neighbors are extended family – those who moved out when they married like my other counterpart, Lawyer. Whereas my compound is a simple block, theirs is like a small town of mud structures dominated by a large rondavel in the front – where the business with the Wulana is traditionally done. When I arrived at 7 and made it through the maze to Jacob's room in the far corner, I learned that he went to farm to harvest yams. You can't be surprised. After all, he said “preparations” would start at 7.
By 11 it had started, and they were doing more traditional practices than I've seen before, which was really cool to see even though it appeared somewhat basic. A simple outsider could never grasp the history and explanations for all of the parts of an event like this the first time. My overly-simplistic explanation doesn't do it justice, but here's the basic idea that's worth sharing.
Outside their compound, they had stuck a big stick up out of the ground next to a calabash of water overturned to call for rain. I should say this blessed or spiritual calabash of water was dumped, covering the water next to the rain stick, trapping the spirits in the ground and up the rain stick, who thereby summon the rain.
A variety of freshly picked herbs, containers holding juju medicine and a few yams are piled near the rain stick. Yam Festival is mainly done on a family-to-family basis rather than on a community level, with larger families or sections of town each doing their own thing. The Wulana usually performs the libation call for rain, but he's become old and handed this year's task to a younger brother. When we start, we each eat some roots from one of the herbs called ticahili. It tastes earthy – a lot like dirt because there was dirt on it, but it's taken to give you good health and life for the coming year. Pito, a local beer-like drink and water are then sprinkled on the pile while muttering some words. Then, two chickens are slaughtered directly over the pile for the purpose of draining their blood over it. Of all the animals roaming about, chickens are preferred for ceremonial sacrifices – in the traditional sense – when some sort of libation is performed. Additional animals are sort of like a bonus, and many of these sorts of sacrifices were done when the rainy season started late. The first sacrifice is now complete with water, pito and chicken blood all enriching the yams and medicine.
Traditionally, following this short event we take a break and the first yams of the year are cooked to make fufu (boiled yams that have been pounded) – the ones that were sitting on the pile. The herbs are gathered and boiled to make medicine. The family would eat fufu for the following week before dieting on other foods to satisfy the previous yam-less months.
Just five years ago they say the festival was larger, where four chickens were slaughtered for the libation and more sheep, goats and guinea fowl than they could eat. It was more of a neighborhood ordeal, and I can't yet find a convincing reason why it's smaller now. Meat is a delicacy and generally only consumed on festivals or special occasions, and when they happen, there's meat for everyone. One doesn't eat meat on any Sunday night – it's only for a purpose (Meat sold at chop bars could be eaten on any Sunday night, or if a small girl comes around one evening with fresh fish covered in flies, but this is different. Chop bar meat is usually unaffordable anyways – at least twice the cost of a regular meal for some small, strange cuts. The meat is often purchased in a larger town, but never chicken.) But today they've all eaten their share of yams already and they tell me they will only have fufu for maybe a few days straight instead of the traditional week-long fufu marathon.
As the women start pounding fufu, the men chase down some goats that will be slaughtered next. There's no plan as to how many they'll kill, just however many they can find and slaughter before it gets dark. Jacob guesses today would be at least two but no more than five, and it would be just goats today unless someone else shows up with something different – like if Lawyer brings over one of his rabbits.
But again we are delayed. We've received news that a troop of donkeys has been disturbing a family maize farm, eating and knocking down the plants, so off they go to scare them off or bring them back to town or something. I didn't ask, but went home to wash my clothes and bought some fried yams on the way. I came later at around 2 and they just slaughtered their second goat and were wondering where I went. I'm handed more ticahili.
The calabash next to the rain stick has now been turned over, filled with flour-mixed water with another smaller calabash floating in it. The kids beat the small calabash and it makes a little drum through the water – another ritual call for rain. A scary looking juju object now hangs from the rain stick, which is simply called saa, or rain. It makes sense, when you want it to rain, you bring the rain out. I learn that there are two such objects – a conglomeration of dead animal bones and feathers all tied together. This one hanging is the male one, and the female rain is left inside Wulana's rondavel.
Living in the butcher's house, I've seen goats slaughtered before so I didn't miss too much. People hire the butcher for special occasions, such as naming ceremonies, special visitors or weddings. Still, slaughtering a goat is exciting to watch. Their throats are cut and the blood is always directed into a small hole in the ground. After the blood comes out, they tie a rope just under the slit and make another incision on their lower back leg. A stick-like thing that I think is hollowed out is inserted up the goat's leg and they blow through the cut, surprisingly making the goat very inflated, and its legs stand up straight. The leg is tied above the cut and making the blown up goat's hair easy to burn and scrape off before butchering. A goat can be butchered in 20 minutes – and just about everything is eaten, including the head.
They ended up slaughtering three goats, of which I was fortunate enough to get meat – too much as per usual. And they gave me more yams of course. I cooked some of it for my family since they didn't do a Yam Festival. Instead, they were busy working on the timely process of making wosa wosa for the market.
There's a lot of questions in the rationale of these events that even with my constant asking of “why?” I still don't feel like I get enough answers, or answers that don't make sense to me or lead to more questions. But something tells me that it doesn't have to make sense – it's just the way it is. I think a lot of people in town share the same feelings as I do, seeing these events and not knowing why or not asking questions – spreading mystery over traditional “small gods,” juju and bad juju-witchcraft. Whereas with Islam, someone may be better equipped to explain a particular belief, or at least this is what I think.
Though Jacob said the major reason why Yam Festival has lost its popularity in just a few recent years is due to Islam, I'm not so sure I believe it. More education could be another factor, and more believable for me. Most Dagombas have been Muslims for centuries, and the faith has entwined itself into the language and culture. Although Islam may be “newer,” Islam and tradition have existed alongside for many years, and in fact some festivals claim to have roots in both, so Islam is also tradition rather than the new thing stealing tradition. Yam Festival, however, has no Islamic connection.
There's a prevalent belief in the supernatural that's not related to Islam or Christianity. Juju, witchcraft and traditional gods are as real as Islam or Christianity and are believed just as much. This is why there are cases of witchcraft and the remainder of a glass of water is flung onto the ground for the ancestors. While most snakes are automatically killed upon sight, certain green snakes aren't because they're believed to be sacred. There are many taboos unrelated to major religion.
My 16 year-old Muslim neighbor, who's about to begin high school, laughed at Yam Festival's call for rain. He doesn't believe slaughtering a couple of goats and chickens can summon rain. He didn't seem confident in it, though, stopping to ask whether I believed as if just to be sure. People don't seem to know as much about the traditional beliefs, making them seem mysterious.
As I write this the night of Yam Festival, it's raining. The rains slowed in recent weeks and its getting warmer and drier. This is the first measurable rainfall in a week. As goats were slaughtered and kids beat the little rain calabash next to “the rain” hanging on the rain stick, rain clouds were forming over the late afternoon horizon. Perhaps the festival was planned today because of the slowing rains, so it wasn't late but used when the need arose. I'm not the only one who believes it was a success. The rain has been summoned!
