SCI-CULTURA

Keeping in with the Afro-Latino theme from my previous post, the London Lucumi Choir will be performing at the Royal Festival Hall on 12th October 2008.

Having taken part in their workshop during the recent Open Rehearsal Weekend (part of the Cultural Olympiad), I have no doubt it will be an exhilarating experience to be in a room awash with animated songs of praise to Orishas (deities) of the Yoruba tradition, to a rhythmic accompaniment of Afro-Cuban percussion including Batá drums.

The word ‘Lucumi’ derives from Yoruba and is how the Yoruban people used to salute each other in Cuba in the early days of slavery: it roughly translates as ‘My friend’. These days, the word Lucumi is used to describe the practitioners of the religion Santeriá or Regla de Ocha (the rule of the Orishas), a religion now spread worldwide which has its roots in West Africa.

The fascinating thing, I find, is the literally and metaphorically arduous journey that frequently ill-understood Traditional African Spirituality that was exported from West and Central Africa through the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, took to Latin America, was absorbed and integrated by virtue of the strength of the bearers and descendants of this tradition, and inevitably evolved and manifested into distinct but related forms – Candomblé in Brazil, Santeriá in Cuba, Haitian Voodoo, amongst others – through the organic syncreticism of a ‘pure’ African practice with the then current local culture and tradition, which constituted the indigenous populations (aka ‘Indians’) and the Roman Catholic faith imported by the Spanish Conquistadores.

These newly formed, unique religions in their own right (aka New World religions), have since been exported by significant numbers of the Latino and Caribbean diaspora, e.g. to the USA, thus inevitably spreading their practice to non-Caribbean / non-Latino converts. Interestingly, on the African continent, Benin is the only country that recognises Voodoo as its official religion.

If it hasn’t yet been assessed, it would be a fascinating ethnographic enquiry to explore the exportation of these Afro-Latino / Afro-Caribbean religions to Africa or their practice by Africans in the diaspora. Afterall, the merging of Christianity with Traditional African Spirituality is not a novel concept in post-colonial Africa. (Any ideas Native Anthropologist?)

Quoting Anani Dzidzienyo whose sentiments accurately resonate with mine,

That these institutions moved from the clandestine to the marginal to their present day status as national institutions [in Latin America] is indeed remarkable.

For me, the survival and proliferation of these syncreticised religions with African roots is even more jaw-droppingly remarkable as I reflect on my personal circumstance as an East African who went to a Catholic primary school in Nairobi and had a short stint in not-overtly-Catholic-’modern’ Spain, participating in a West African-via-Cuba spiritual tradition that emanated from a region that was historically colonial French West Africa (i.e. Dahomey), conducted in an archaic West African patois that has since evolved, in the former HQ of the British Empire. In addition, the London Lucumi Choir is itself a cosmopolitan mestizo of various nationalities. If this is not a powerful attestation to globalisation, then I don’t know what is.

The annual Osun-Osogbo festival in Nigeria has been and gone, but it is inevitable that next year will bring the recurring topic of corporate sponsorship and its increasingly larger role in this 600 year old ritual that pays homage to the Yoruba Orisha (Goddess) of the Osun River. One of the sponsors, the phone company MTN has previously defended its involvement to be driven by corporate social responsibility (CSR) as opposed to a marketing strategy. Hmm, not convinced. But it is the quote by the promotions manager of  Seaman’s Schnapps – the self-acclaimed “number 1 original prayer drink” – that left me speechless. So much so that this may be my shortest pensive post to date.

“When they use Seaman’s, over time [for libations], it has been proved that it serves as a conveyor of original blessings for them….When they use this drink, it delivers their expectations.”

Source with slideshow and video clip.

Clearly there is a trade-off here for the festival organisers to contend with simply because:

No money = No festival
No festival = The regrettable demise of a popular, age-old tradition

A seemingly frustrated and now resigned curator of the grove said

“I like the money that comes in and makes the festival happen. But the money will bring in negative impacts, they will say: ‘We need some hotels here’, or ‘Let’s have rest areas here, fast food joints’, and before you know it they are taking down trees for a car park. It will happen, just watch.”

What’s next, McDonalds? Osun forbid.

More about the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove, a UNESCO World Heritage site, and a personal account of attendance of the festival here and here.  

Apparently, the black hair industry in North America alone is worth approximately $4 billion, possibly on par with the “ethnic” cosmetics industry. I suppose this is only a natural progression from the not-so-long ago past where the use of oils, dyes such as red cam wood, perfumes such as lavender, frankincense and sandalwood and ornaments such as beads, shells, seeds, coral, amber were ubiquitously used traditionally to adorn African coiffures. Sisal fibres used to make braids have now been replaced with synthetic extensions of various textures as well as human hair. Wigs, which have been identified as far back as the time of the ancient Egyptians, are now similarly synthetic or convincingly human hair.

Interestingly, although there has been a proffesionalisation of hairdressers and the use of more sophisticated tools to manipulate and negotiate hairstyles (with the exception of the irreplaceable afro comb), unlike the tradition of having hair styled by a friend or relative, hair dressers and barbers alike have maintained the social aspect of creating a space for exchange between stylists and clients. Today hairdressing salons typically nourish an environment for gossip and banter.

The West has inevitably influenced the evolution of African hairstyles and headdress. The now ubiquitous headscarf was in part linked to prudish / modest Victorian (late 19th Century) values, as well as straightening with the use of heat or chemicals. Many hairstyles have persisted and others been fashionably created. Just like the fashion industry, the hairstyles that are in vogue ebb and flow. A jheri curl wearer may be subject to rib-tickling taunts about smearing windows and staining pillows, whereas back in the day it was the “fresh” style of the 80s and early 90s. I confess I was a cool cat back then with my wet curls ☺ Although not so much with my cornrows, which are certainly more fashionable now than they were during my childhood in the 80s.

There is a vast amount of discourse around hair of African ancestry – from its artistic attributes (see beautiful images by JD Okhai Ojeikere; inset by Samuel Fosso) (double hat tip Kamau), to its role in shaping identity, to the rights and wrongs of wearing it natural or chemically processed, but to cite a few. A powerful element of self-expression from the choice of hairstyle that cannot be evaded is that hair may be used as a means to convey a political message. The legendary 1960s Civil Rights / Black Consciousness Movement that emanated from the USA was inexorably linked to the grand and perpetually fashionable afro. African men and women in my parents’ generation wore afros – some to express their fashion sense and others to express the feeling of pride in newly decolonised lands. As a child, I clearly remember the black power fist plastic afro combs that were ubiquitous in Kenya, although at the time I didn’t appreciate the statement they made.

The same could be said for locs (aka dreadlocks), which were previously strongly associated with being a Rastafarian or a rebel, such as the Mau Mau freedom fighters against British colonial rule in Kenya. Today in Kenya, despite the earlier association with the Mungiki (a now illegal politico-religious group), it is apparent that society is becoming more tolerant to this choice of hairstyle, with many hairdressers in Nairobi tending to locs, which are being increasingly worn by men and women alike. Again, just like the ‘fro, locs are being worn as a message of Black Consciousness or simply a trendy fashion-sense.

Despite their renaissance, unfortunately, I still hear of corporate employers in North America, Europe and Africa who have a problem with the choice of these natural hairstyles despite their neat appearance. It’s quite remarkable how hair is so strongly weaved into our socio-political fabric that it evokes such strong reactions and resistance to the transformation of hairstyles’ image in people’s minds. Regardless, African hair will remain a hot topic of discussion for a long time to come. As far as I am concerned how I wear my hair is an expression of self, but it does not define who I am.

Hair has been a unavoidably dominant feature of African art and culture since time immemorial. Hairstyles have been coiffured as aesthetic expressions much like other temporary adornments such as body paint, which bear a sharp contrast to permanent expressions such as scarification or skull elongation that was practised by the Mangbetu people of what is now Democratic Republic of Congo.

Typically, in many communities, far beyond a tool for an individual’s expression of self, symbolic and distinctive hairstyles were also used to reflect specific characteristics such as age, sex, social and religious status. Hair in these contexts is elaborately explored within specific communities sparsed across the African continent in a fascinating book whose title is derived from an exhibition, Hair in African Art and Culture (available from Amazon) in the Museum for African Art in New York City. This beautiful and enriching, glossy, photo-essay coffee table book successfully encapsulates the rich variety of hair arrangements in both men and women, boys and girls, that have had a central place in African life and art. The blurry lines and intimate entwinement of life and art are presented by photography and sculpture and elaborated with text, including anthropological accounts.

It is a fascinating read – Within various groups spanning the African continent, hairstyles were significant as they were used to mark and express together with meaningful cries or ululation significant life-changing events such as mourning or initiations. Hair had a voice and the eyes in the community “heard” the message of the wearer. For instance, in women thick long tresses symbolised fertility and strength; disheveled hair a state of disharmony such as a bereavement; and plaited hair a commitment to social order. Interestingly, the fact that hair was entrusted to another person, usually of the same sex, created and flourished a social bond between the stylist and the wearer. Something that undoubtedly carries on today.

Hair was also used to breath life into masks, that were used in ritual. The same sacrity was given to hair used in juju (i.e. charms) that could potentially be used to harm or protect the owner. Consequently, hair was disposed of with great care.

My next post will be on the somewhat contentious subject of contemporary African hair.

I was recently excitedly reacquainted with a book I had when I was in primary school aged 10: Swahili Sayings from Zanzibar by S.S. Farsi. I’ve always been intrigued by the use of methali (the Swahili word for proverbs) as well as metaphors as they add flavour to speech. They stir up the creative mind, reminiscent of pidgin or sheng, whose words or phrases, when traced back to the root, usually reveal a rather clever deduction.

In the bilingual preface, Farsi acknowledges the need for recording of customs and traditions before they are forgotten.

Proverbs are very useful for inculcating moral lessons…They are indeed disappearing very quickly. Until recently, children were not allowed out-of-doors after sunset…For the period between sunset and bedtime they sat indoors and enjoyed listening to the old women who told them riddles and fairy stories. These stories always had a moral and educational purpose.

As I flipped through this small but significant treasure, a methali caught my eye:

Kimya kingi kina mshindo mkuu.
A long silence is followed by a mighty noise.

Coincidence or prophetic?
We shall soon find out.

Colourfully ornate Dutch Wax or Wax Prints are big business for women traders appropriately referred to as Nana-Benz in West-African countries such as Togo, Benin, Nigeria and Ghana by virtue of the affordability of the German car. The intriguing history of these mobile canvases of art-work ubiquitously reputed to be the quintessential African fabric and a proudly-adorned symbol for African solidarity / black consciousness is perhaps not that well recognised. Originally a cheaply produced imitation of Javanese batik by the Dutch in the 19th Century in a bid to penetrate and in an oh-so-colonial way take over the market, and unsuccessfully so might I add, the Dutch Wax prints landed a more favourable market in the Gold Coast (as the Europeans called it then). The rest as they say is history. Today, in West and Central Africa and further afield in metropolises like Nairobi or Cape Town, Wax Prints have been embraced as a fashionable, back-to-the-roots attire, effortlessly reflected on the streets, catwalks and glossy women’s magazines.

Interestingly (well, at least for the techno-enthusiasts), the misleading name Dutch Wax or Wax Prints was a fabrication (excuse the pun) intended to compete with the hand-made Javanese batiks that were laboriously depicted with the use of wax. Apparently the Javanese women drew the motifs on woven cloth as a form of meditation – how beautiful is that! Conversely, the European machine-made fabrics used dye-resist resin to design the motifs. The Dutch Wax “brand”, however, is used to this day and sought after in colourful stacks of folded textiles in market stalls as a symbol of quality. Initially a unique commodity as the sole European production purely for export to the African market, this is now changing with production as far as China and closer to home in Ghana and Nigeria. Naturally, the lower prices of the Chinese-made fabrics have raised a lot of concerns for local producers as has the contestable quality in some instances, for consumers.

What is fascinating is that this once upon a time purely European production was quickly appropriated, embraced and integrated as a means of self-expression. It is a possibility that this was only so because the Dutch were viewed as well-meaning traders as opposed to colonial masters in their West-African niche. Therefore trading with them as opposed to the British for instance, was probably a rebellion of sorts. Regardless, despite its history, this style of fabric has been integrated and achieved local meaning in the design and hierarchy of its styles that it is unquestionably African. This is perceptively asserted in an interview with Nina Sylvanus, a social anthropologist from UCLA, simply but ingeniously with the phrase “the use is its meaning”. An example to illustrate this is that spaghetti’s origins are inarguably a copy of Chinese noodles since the days of the Italian explorer Marco Polo. However, no one would query spaghetti as authentically Italian. On a complete diversion, I was intrigued to stumble across Dr Sylvanus’ work and can not imagine the looks I would have got from my parents had I proclaimed I would be embarking on a PhD to research The Fabric of Africanity. Actually, who am I kidding – even if I knew people were actually researching this, I would not have dared. It simply would not have crossed my mind as an option…And then we are left wondering why non-Africans appear to be more interested in examining and documenting our culture? Alas, that is a topic for another day.