On the way to Wéli-Wéli (Part Two)

Alas! No sooner had he escaped from the quicksand flats, he came across a village of porcupines where at that very moment a throne council was sitting. An unusual council to be sure: it was more like a tribunal. Strangely enough, the accused was the king himself.

The hearing was held in the public square where, every seven years, a big fair was held. The whole population was invited to the session. The king, tethered like a bundle of wood and transported like a common animal carcass, was placed in the middle of a circle, which had been formed there to conduct a preliminary interrogation.

What crime had the king committed in order to be thus mistreated and shamefully brought before the court of his people? He had ordered, one day when he was in a bad mood, to kill all the monkeys that populated his kingdom, because, he said, they were undesirable foreigners, parasites that sucked the country dry and that they impoverished the natives.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé could not believe his ears, let alone his eyes. A king remanded before a court of his people, that much might be admissible; but to appear trussed up like a bundle of dead wood and, moreover, because of monkeys which by all accounts had nothing to do with porcupines at all, that beggared belief! But things are the way they are and you have to know how to adapt to them. If the custom of the times is that guests rub their bellies before eating a meal, then those who do not rub their bellies before eating may get indigestion, and they would only have themselves to blame!

The griot among the porcupines had seen Bâ-Wâm’ndé. He walked towards him and said:

“Who are you, you who are not a porcupine? You are not from this country. Where do you come from? And where are you going so carelessly? I think you lost your reason somewhere along the way and left your luck hanging on a branch in your village grove; otherwise, you would not have come here today. Indeed, every stranger who sees what you have just seen must perish this very hour and this very moment. You, oh stranger and son of Adam, the king you see tethered in this way is still no less king. He wields power of command over any foreigner until his ousting, the verdict for which has yet to be pronounced. Moreover, he has commanded me to spear you to death. Walk ahead of me! I will conduct you to our execution site, and there I will brandish my quills and launch them at you all at once. They will pierce you and you will die!”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé obediently took the lead; his would-be impaler followed him, guiding him with his voice. When they arrived at the spot, the porcupine shook vigorously and its quills sprang out like arrows towards Bâ-Wâm’ndé’s body. But, what a miracle, they all fell short of his body and stuck in the ground, forming a sort of hedge all around him. What, then, could have stopped the quills in this way? Had they ricocheted off a mysterious shield, a shield that no eye could see? ... At that very moment, a hedgehog sprang out from invisibility and said,

“Ahoy there, porcupines! If Bâ-Wâm’ndé had perished this day on your account, you would all be exterminated by a male death.”

The porcupine king, though tied up like a bundle of wood, asked him, “Who then is Bâ-Wâm’ndé? When and where did you come to know him?”

The hedgehog recounted:

“I knew Bâ-Wâm’ndé on a day of great misfortune, a day when I found myself stuck in the middle of a bush fire. The fire, crackling angrily, advanced rapidly towards me; its flames devoured voraciously everything within their reach. I felt such great fear and my heart pounded so hard that my legs became paralysed as if suddenly swollen. Bâ-Wâm’ndé, who noticed my predicament, jumped over the flames to join me. He took me, put me in his bag and launched himself at once over the fire to get out of the danger zone. Then he left me securely in a hollow. It was in recognition of this good deed that to protect him my hedgehog brothers formed a circle around him invisible to your eyes. Each one of us stopped one of the quills thrown by your executioner and stuck it in the ground. As for you, porcupines, you know the magical power that we as hedgehogs are capable of. If you do not gracefully smooth over your fault, we shall inflict a severe punishment on you!”

Thereupon, a one-eyed porcupine, with half-broken limbs, advanced painfully, dragging his dilapidated body. He straightened his neck and vomited a fôgi fruit (38). “O Bâ-Wâm’ndé,” he said, “Take this fruit and put it in your bag.”

Then he addressed the other porcupines: “You always had a bad opinion of me. Every time I gave you advice, you refused to listen to me, taking me for a fool. But being ugly and having a deformed body does mean I am a simpleton; this outward state cannot extinguish Guéno’s inner blessing which was once given me.”1

“O Bâ-Wâm’ndé,” he continued, “eat this fruit as soon as you are hungry, and then keep the stones in your sack. They will be useful to you on a difficult day, and that day will be upon you soon since you are going to Wéli-Wéli.” Bâ-Wâm’ndé thanked the hedgehog and took leave of the porcupines, whose bad intentions he graciously forgave.

Continuing on his way, he arrived at the banks of a river. The river had grown so big that it was beginning to rise out of its bed and threatened to flood part of the plain. Already, it had caused the collapse of part of its high banks, uprooted many trees and drowned the brush. Its high tide had almost swallowed the wooded groves of the islets, which were half-submerged. Under the repeated crash of the waves, a frothy surf had bleached the river’s lips,2 like the dried lips of a thirsty man who has spoken too much are covered with a whitish foam.

In truth, this river was different from all other rivers on earth: it was Gayobélé, the magic river of the Fulani.3 It fed into great lakes and reached to enormous depths in places. Each of its pockets of water contained countless varieties of fish of all shapes and sizes. The large fish that lived in the deepest waters fed on the medium fish that cast their shadow on them. These, in turn, ate the smallest fish swimming above them, the siiwuuji. During the moonless periods of the cold season, the siiwuuji would leave their water pocket and swim upstream. Their journey continued to the so-called “jujube-tree pond”. There, they took advantage of the river’s high water levels and flooding to spread out across the plain, each female knowing exactly where she would deposit her eggs. The withdrawal of the water coincided with the hatching of the eggs, so the young fish found themselves drained towards the river’s bed. They went back downstream, separated from their mothers, and went on to live their adult lives, each one retreating into one of Gayobélé’s 113 water pockets, at the exact depth that was characteristic of their species (39).

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1 Generally speaking, a person with a disability is supposed to be inhabited by spiritual vitality and endowed with hidden power. The belief is that the disability is compensated by magical force.

Notice that it is almost always an old, sick or disabled animal that gives Bâ-Wâm’ndé a wonderful gift. This is to be compared with the Kaydara story where the god Kaydara always appears to Hammadi in the form of a little old rascal with a deformed spine. Hammadi will be blessed because he does not despise what at first glance looks repulsive. It is necessary to learn to recognize what is behind appearances; that is why it is said that one can find in a small pond a pearl that one would not find in the ocean. 

2 By lips, this means the banks.

3 Gayobélé (from gayo: “it is here” and bêlé: “lakes”); this name also designates the Gambia River, which the local Fulani people named after their mythical river.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé entered the magical river and set about swimming across it with his sheep. Ngoudda, the short-tailed crocodile (40) that lay resting nearby, saw the kobbou-nollou and its master swimming towards the opposite bank. In excitement, the great aquatic reptile with the benefit of thick body armour thought he had found within reach of his teeth a sufficient supply of food for many days. Clenching his jaws tightly, it straightened up what was left of his tail and entered the river. His snout, which pointed to the surface, split the water like a knife cuts through cloth. Two wide white stripes seemed to move apart in his wake after he passed through. He moved quickly, determined to grab either the sheep with the multi-coloured eyes or its reckless owner, or even, why not, both at the same time. Bâ-Wâm’ndé and his sheep swam peacefully, unaware of the danger that threatened them. Just as they reached the shore and were about to get out of the water, the aquatic predator with brown skin and saw-like teeth caught up with them. He opened his mouth wide. Although his tail was shortened, he bent it back and hurled it to hook Bâ-Wâm’ndé and his sheep in one fell swoop — after which all he had to do was to drag them into deep waters to suffocate and drown them.

If Ngoudda the crocodile had been able to foresee how his manoeuvre would turn out, he would never have embarked upon it with such eagerness and decisiveness. Indeed, Ngabbou the hippopotamus happened to be stationed nearby. And when the crocodile threw his tail forcefully, instead of grabbing Bâ-Wâm’ndé and his sheep, he was himself grabbed in flight by Ngabbou’s two powerful jaws. The great amphibious quadruped of the rivers closed with a single bite of her two immense bony mandibles, as strong as iron, that supported her teeth, uttered a terrible grunt, and firmly holding her prey, hastened back to solid ground. The poor crocodile hung from her mouth like a baobab fruit, his tail hanging like a stalk.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé came out of the water trembling. He and his sheep had just made a narrow escape! Ngabbou the hippopotamus swung the crocodile and tossed it as far as she could. Poor Ngoudda, soaring like a stone thrown by a slingshot, was stopped in his flight by a baobab tree planted a few meters away and he remained hanging between its branches. In falling on the baobab tree, he dislodged one of its fruit, which clattered to the ground, resounding like a bell. Ngabbou the hippopotamus cried out:

“O Bâ-Wâm’ndé! Gather the fruit that has just fallen and open it!”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé hastily took the fruit and opened it with a stone. The fruit did not contain the usual monkey food, but miracle of miracles, it contained a skull, yes a skull! Indeed, it was the very skull that Bouytôring had placed in the central compartment of the hexagram and that had recounted and foretold this tale (41)!

Ngabbu exclaimed, “O Bâ-Wâm’ndé, you lucky man! If any other fruit had fallen, it would have foretold your death. Take this skull and put it in your bag, for it will serve you on a day when you are in trouble. Ask him, and he will answer to you as he answered to your ancestor Bouytôring and his son Hellêré.

“What have I done,” exclaimed Bâ-Wâm’ndé, “to deserve to escape the great danger that threatened me? Without your intervention, Ngabbou, the brown-skinned carnivore’s sharp teeth would not have missed me!”

Ngabbou, who was in fact a mother hippopotamus, answered his question:

“One day,” she said, “while I was nursing a tiny baby, I went to forage in the rice fields of your village. Hunters on the lookout were preparing to kill me, but you stopped them, reminding them that it is forbidden by custom to kill a nursing female, even a mother hippopotamus.”

“Earlier,” she added, “I saw you enter the river with your sheep and I knew that the greedy short-tail croc would try to kill you. So, I positioned myself in the right place, which allowed me to catch his tail before he grabbed you or your sheep.”

Bà-Wâm’ndé warmly thanked Ngabbou the mother hippopotamus. Then he picked up the skull, put it in his bag and took up his journey again towards Wéli-Wéli.

After half a day’s walk, he entered a rocky plain where he saw what no eye had ever seen and no ear had ever heard. In this plain, spider’s eggs were crushing the rocks! As soon as a stone was touched by an egg, it was reduced to dust and became like earthen flour. Bâ-Wâm’ndé was bowled over in astonishment observing this extraordinary phenomenon. Indeed, what can be stranger than spider eggs, the very symbol of weakness and fragility, crushing stones?4

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4 This new example of reversal of phenomena (see note 24) shows that Bâ-Wâm’ndé has entered a world that escapes natural laws. In this alternative world, we find there is fire which does not burn, ice which heats up, etc.. It is the world among “parallel worlds” where the rules of nature are annihilated (see l’Éclat, p. 53). The scene also indicates that a fragile thing can sometimes be more powerful than something that appears to be solid. It is said: “It is sometimes a banal thing that destroys a kingdom.”

A great black spider (42), suspended from a tree by an invisible thread of its own making, said to the traveler:

“My good man, where are you coming from and where are you going to?”

“I come from the country of Heli and Yoyo and I am heading towards Wéli-Wéli, the magic city of Njeddo Dewal.”

“And what do you seek in Wéli-Wéli?”

“I am looking for Siré, the great deaf-mute-one-eyed man, brother of Abdou, the little one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback.”

“Take a supply of my eggs,” said the spider, “and bring them with you. On a difficult day, their power will serve you well.”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up a good supply of eggs, wrapped them up, and put them in his bag.

Now he had seven unusual things in his haversack:

— droppings of locusts surprised in their mysterious saraband;

— a shard of turtle shell containing a little clay

— dried rheum from the eyes of an old sick dog, mixed with bitter kohl;

— a miraculous stone vomited by a toad.

— a yellow and ripe fôgi fruit offered by a deformed porcupine;

— a bare skull that had emerged from a baobab fruit

— and finally, eggs offered by a mother spider.

Indeed, these were the seven more or less extraordinary things that were in the large bag that Bâ-Wâm’ndé carried slung across his shoulder.

Continuing his walk, Bâ-Wâm’ndé came to a plain that looked like a huge forest, but instead of tall trees, it was planted with narrow, rocky peaks that were as sharp as needles and seemed to want to pierce the clouds. On each point, an egret stood on one leg, gazing meditatively at the horizon. Some were ash-coloured, others of a purple hue, others still a brilliant white. The bundle of feathers that adorned their heads were smooth as silk and shiny as a gemstone. From each strand of down that lined their ruffles or flanks hung a pearl that could have served as a dowry for a queen.

At the sight of Bâ-Wâm’ndé, all the egrets (43) spread their wings and cried out, “Hail to Bâ-Wâm’ndé! Hail, hail, and hail once more to Bâ-Wâm’ndé, the kobbou herdsman. But, O Bâ-Wâm’nde, where are you going to like this?”

“O Egrets of the Village of Egrets!” Ba-Wâm’ndé replied, “I am going to Wéli-Wéli, the city of Njeddo Dewal.”

“Bâ-Wâm’ndé!” exclaimed the graceful fowls. “Then you are heading towards death, for Njeddo Dewal toys with the life of the young. You are not too far away now from your goal.”

Not much further along, nesting on some craggy spires, white-bellied black storks were busy stuffing vipers and rats into their fluffy, straw-like baby offspring. When they heard Bâ-Wâm’ndé declare that he was on his way to Wéli-Wéli, they snapped their beaks. They said, “What have you been forced to swallow that makes you want to die? Because going to Njeddo Dewal the wicked is going to certain death.”

By way of reply, Bâ-Wâm’ndé answered: “O storks of good omen, tell me where Wéli-Wéli is, and for the rest, let Guéno’s will be done!”

“Wéli-Wéli is behind a mountain not far from here, answered the long-beaked birds (44); but this mountain, whose crest skims the clouds, is an impenetrable wall. Therefore, when you reach it, dig in your bag and consult the skull that your ancestors consulted. It will tell you what you must do to overcome this obstacle.”

Bâ-Wâm’dé thanked the storks profusely and went on his way. After a few hours of easy walking, he suddenly found himself at the foot of the mountain-wall. He therefore took the talking skull out of his bag and beseeched it:

“O skull, counsellor of my ancestors! I implore you, in the name of the baobab from whose fruit you were extricated, tell me what I must do to be able to cross this impenetrable stone wall.”

“Seek fôgi wood,” answered the skull, “and use it to light a fire. As soon as you get some burning embers, place them in the shard of tortoise shell, pour in the grasshopper droppings, burn it all and you will see what you will see!”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé went in search of fôgi wood. He quickly found a root of this shrub surrounded by a few dead branches. He snapped them into pieces and gathered them together, and, with his flint, ignited the dry wood. In a short time, he obtained the necessary embers.

Opening his bag, he took out the shard of turtle shell and grasshopper droppings. He put the burning embers into the shard and threw in the dried excrement, which caught fire. A whitish smoke rose up into the air, thickened, solidified, and rounded at the end like a digging bar.

The huge, miraculous rod began to pound vigorously against the stone wall. After several blows, it pierced an opening wide enough to allow Bâ-Wâm’ndé and his sheep to pass through, and they immediately entered. The underground passage that opened up to them was long and dark, but its crossing demanded more time than toil for the two travellers.

Endnotes

38. Fôgi: landolphia-owariensis (foogi in Fulani, nzaban in Bambara). This plant, attributed to the moon and to Monday, is a climbing liana whose flower takes a year to develop fruit. When one wants to use it, one greets it with the formula: “Flower this year, ripe next year!”

The fôgi, which is a plant with many virtues, also represents flexibility and suppleness because it marries another plant by wrapping itself around it.

39. The journey of migratory fish: Exactly the same process has been observed in the migratory fish of the Niger River.

40. Crocodile with shortened tail: These crocodiles, which have lost part of their tail by accident, are reputed to be the most vicious. In Bandiagara, the village where I was born, a crocodile with a shortened tail lived, with its fellow crocodiles, in a pocket of the Yamé River, called the “crocodile pond”. He was the only one who wounded the animals; the other crocodiles never attacked men, children or animals.

41. Baobab: It is not by chance that this sacred skull inherited from a very distant past, and which will play a capital role throughout the tale, comes from a fruit of the baobab tree, sacred tree par excellence, symbol of longevity and antiquity, wisdom and generosity. Indeed, in the baobab as in the bovine, everything can be used; this is why it is said that the baobab is, among the plants, what the cow or the ox is among the animals.

42. Spider: prototype of the weaver (see note 83).

43. The egret: a kind of white heron, is in harmony with the Fulani because it is the heron that, under the name of “cattle-pricker”, accompanies the cattle to eat the parasites lodged in their skin.

44. Storks: It is the storks that show Bâ-Wâm’ndé the way to Wéli-Wéli, because of their quality as migratory birds.

Translation from Amadou Hampâté Bâ, “Contes initiatiques peuls”

Illustrations: Tsingy de Bemahara in Madagascar

On the way to Wéli-Wéli (Part One)

This is part of a series: Njeddo Dewal, Mother of Calamity

On the way to Wéli-Wéli 

Bâ-Wâm’ndé thanked Abdou as he ought and then returned home and prepared for his journey. Early the next morning, with his bag slung over his shoulder, and pulling the kobbou-nollou sheep behind him, he left his house and took the road to Wéli-Wéli where he was sure to find Siré, the deaf-mute-one-eyed man to whom he had to hand over his sheep.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé walked and walked. He walked from morning until noon until the sun at its zenith poured down such an exhausting heat upon the earth that it forced every traveller to seek shelter.

He sought refuge under the shade of a tree with thick foliage. He had been there for barely a few moments when he saw a great flight of locusts approaching. The short-horned grasshoppers invaded the shady area and began to dance around him.

“Bâ-Wâm’ndé, Bâ-Wâm’ndé, Bâ-Wâm’ndé, Bâ-Wâm’ndé,” they chanted, “Where are you off to like this?”

“I am bound for Wéli-Wéli, the mysterious city of Njeddo Dewal.”

“And what is it you seek there in that detestable and infernal city, devoid of women except for the seven daughters of Njeddo the Calamitous? The wells of Wéli-Wéli flow with blood. Its ground burns hot as fire. And every day, Njeddo Dewal finishes her meals by drinking the blood of adolescent young men.”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé replied: “I am bringing this kobbou-nollou sheep that you see here to offer it to Siré, the deaf-mute-one-eyed man, brother of Abdou, the one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback. Yes, kobbou-nollou will be the sheep of salvation for the deaf-mute-one-eyed man. Only Siré and his brother Abdou can stand up to Njeddo Dewal, for Siré holds the secret that will nullify the potency of all the witch’s powers and deprive her of the means that have enabled her to wreak havoc on Heli and Yoyo.”

“Yes, by the power of her spells, the people of Heli and Yoyo are plunged into an indescribable misery! The children there no longer run or play. Everyone is exhausted as if they had spent the day lugging a heavy load of dead wood. The people of Heli and Yoyo work tirelessly without respite, accomplishing exhausting and fruitless tasks, only to return home to find no meal awaiting them. Njeddo Dewal subjects them to a fate like a man asked to knead dry clay without moistening it.”

The oldest of the grasshoppers cried out,1 “Ahoy! Bâ-Wâm’ndé! We have been created by Guéno who united in us the characteristics of several animals (34). Allow us to tell you something:”

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1 The talking grasshoppers: from the start of his journey to Wéli-Wéli: Bâ-Wâm’ndé enters another world, the world of “the hidden”. He gains access to new faculties and can understand the language of animals.

This intimacy between man and animal is also a common characteristic of African tales.

“One day, we took off in flight, assembled in a giant cloud. We landed in your family’s field and in your personal lougan plot, and we devoured everything there. We did not spare the leaves of a single fruit tree. We dug up the ground in your field and deposited our eggs there so as to ravage it again the following year. However, despite this, the day when you found children mishandling little grasshoppers without wings, who were therefore defenceless, you came to the rescue of our offspring. This act of generosity with which you repaid the harm we had done to you obliges us today to show our appreciation. We know that you are going to Wéli-Wéli. The perils of death to which you expose yourself are not insignificant. So, we offer our help to you. Take some of our droppings and keep them carefully in your bag. One day, they might be of some use to you.”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé followed their advice. He filled a little sachet with their droppings and packed it in his bag. Then he took leave of the ravagemongers and continued on his way, pulling his sheep behind him.

On the second day of his journey, Bâ-Wâm’ndé came across a bale of turtles. The population of turtles was so dense that he could not pass through. The oldest of the turtles addressed him.

"Oh sheep man! Have you lost your way or have you lost your mind? What ill-fate has caused you to venture to this forbidden realm? It is well-nigh certain that your fate is cooked and your death is predestined, else you would not be here today.

Upon this, a little turtle, who was the daughter of the king of turtles, stepped forward and said to her father:

“O father! I take Ba-Wam’nde under my protection and guarantee his life and safety. One day, this man found me languishing in a ditch where I was dying of hunger and thirst and from which I could not extricate myself on my own. But well! He interrupted his journey to rescue me from my prison and transport me to a pond that joins up with our river. There he waded into the water and put me down into the depths I wished so that I was out of reach of possible predators.”

The king of the turtles proclaimed: “Hark, drummers! Play my royal anthem in honour of Bâ-Wâm’ndé with a lively and resounding tempo, molto allegro!” And as the rhythmic hymn swelled joyfully to its crescendo, the King of the Turtles grasped the hand of Bâ-Wâm’ndé, lifted it high and, shaking it in a friendly manner, he cried out:

“Praise be to you, Bâ-Wâm’ndé, saviour of my only child and heir to my crown! We know that you are going to Wéli-Wéli, the city of Njeddo Dewal the Calamitous. Be wary that terrible trials await you if not certain death.” (33)

Having said this, the king had a shard of turtle shell containing some clay brought to him. He handed it to Bâ-Wâm’ndé:

“Here, take this! Put it in your bag, do not lose it, and make sure that it is always close at hand. On a day when you are in trouble, break it and throw the pieces into fire. This offering we bestow to you is a token of our appreciation for your benevolence and generosity.”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé greatly thanked the king of the turtles.2 A path was opened up in their midst and he resumed his walk towards Wéli-Wéli, accompanied as ever by his sheep.

The sun dipped over the horizon, but Bâ-Wâm’ndé pressed on nonetheless. He did not stop walking until the first crow of the rooster. Then exhausted, succumbing to sleep, he collapsed to the ground. Was it a dream? Was it reality?3 He saw a great pack of dogs circling around a termite mound. The dogs on discovering him began to bark. With snarling lips, fangs bared, they surged towards him, ready to tear him to pieces. It was then that a big shepherd dog emerged from the pack and cried out:

“Stop, my brothers. This traveller is called Bâ-Wâm’ndé, a man full of goodness and charity. One day he found me taking refuge in a hallway, sick to death, infested with scabies and voracious ticks which were sucking the little blood I had left and making my life impossible. I had been chased everywhere because no-one likes a sick dog. Well then! Bâ-Wâm’ndé here took me in, led me home and gave me food to eat. “Take cover under the roof of my granary,” he told me. I took refuge there and all the time I remained there, he never let me lack anything, whether it be meat or milk. I ate until I was full and rested to my heart and soul’s content. Bâ-Wâm’ndé looked after me and when I was better, he assigned me to look after his flock of sheep and large goats. That is how I was able to regain my health and vigour until the day came when the desire came over me to come back to you. Even then, he made no effort to impede my departure.

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2 See note (18).

3 Traditional Fulani exclamation in the face of a somewhat unusual or extraordinary event.

“Oh Bâ-Wâm’ndé! We warmly welcome you to the land of the dogs who circle around the marvellous termite mound. (35) My uncle, king of my people, will come to greet you.”

At that, an old sick toothless canine came forward all trembling, his eyes welling with tears as a long gloop of drool hung from his mouth. He licked Bâ-Wâm’ndé’s hands and feet and said, “He who has just spoken is the child of my sister. You were good to him. I owe it to you to show my gratitude because among good folk, the repayment of good deeds should never be anything but good deeds in return. I know that you are going to Wéli- Wéli. Yes, Njeddo Dewal the calamitous built that hidden city, which she called Wéli-Wéli (Sweet-Sweet), although she should have called it Héli-Héli (Shatter-Shatter).

The old dog (36) took the secretions that had coagulated in the corners of his eyes and handed them over to Bâ- Wâm’ndé. “Take this,” he said to him, “Wrap it in cloth and hide the packet in your bag. In heading to Wéli-Wéli, you are heading without realising it to a man’s death. One day when you are at a loss and out of options, it may be that you need to put this in someone’s eyes, having mixed it with bitter kohl, the substance which I am to give you (37). So saying, he added to the packet some powder of bitter kohl and some cooking ashes.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé accepted everything gratefully. He warmly thanked the king of the dogs and then he took his leave and continued on his way.

After some time, he unexpectedly came across a knot of toads. The anurans who were in carnival spirit lept about in all directions. Discovering the presence of Bâ- Wâm’ndé, they cried out:

“What’s up with you, sheep man? Where are you going like this? Is it that you’ve reached the end of your life’s thread? Otherwise, you would never think of going to Wéli-Wéli, and certainly you would not take the path that crosses our domain. You will pay with your life for your audacity or your carelessness.”

A young female toad approached Bâ-Wâm’ndé, hopping up to him.

“Don't you recognize me?” she said, “I am indebted to you for the good deed you bestowed upon me one day; it is now my turn to re-pay you.”

“I don't recall any more having met you,” said Ba- Wâm’ndé.”

“It is usual for the author of a blessing to forget his good deed, and this is acceptable,” replied the young toad. “What is reprehensible and unspeakable is that the beneficiary of this good deed forgets it. This is not so in my case.”

“One day when the heat was overwhelming, dying of thirst, I was in a state of torment. I saw a clay pot filled with fresh water in the shade of a tree. Full of hope, I approached it to quench my thirst, but the opening was

too high and too narrow for me. Each of my jumps to reach it ended with a tumble. I slid down, rolled over and fell onto my back, seeing only the sky.”

“It was then that a fat boy came along, probably the son of the pot’s owner. He found me exhausted, lying on the ground, almost dead. I was panting like a thirsty dog. The fat kid grabbed my limbs, tied them with a rope and squeezed them so tightly that my ears buzzed. He lifted the rope from which I was hanging upside down and started to run, swinging me around. And, believe me, that swinging was not like a rocking motion to put a baby to sleep. It was more like a shaking to make the insides vomit! My belly filled with air to the point of bursting, my bound feet swelled up. The kid was thrilled to bits to see me in this miserable state.”

"It was then, Bâ-Wâm’ndé, that you intervened and rescued me. You untied me and scolded the boy, forbidding him to do it again. I don’t remember how you settled things with him, but I know that you gave him something. What I cannot forget is the noble act you did for my sake and which kept me from perishing.”

The mother of the young toad emerged from the ranks and, haphazardly pattered up to Bâ-Wâm’ndé. She vomited between her feet a round white stone the size of a bird’s egg.

“Oh benefactor of creatures great and small, showing compassion even for the tadpoles in noxious waters and muddy ponds. The animals, terrestrial and aquatic, the beasts, in cities and forests, are grateful to you, and all

the birds chirp your praises, in the fields and in the branches of the trees in the high bush!”

“O Bâ-Wâm’ndé! Take this stone and put it in your bag. It will serve you for something on a difficult day that you are heading towards without realising it, because going to Wéli-Wéli is going to death!”

Bâ-Wâm’ndé put the stone away in his bag. He said, “As the adage goes, he who is grateful should have as much merit, if not more, than he who has done good, for ingratitude is characteristic of mankind.”

Then he thanked the mother toad for her kindness, greeted all the assembled anurans and continued on his way.

It was still early morning. The air was cool. Still pulling his sheep, Bâ-Wâm’ndé walked, he walked hour after hour, taking advantage of the morning coolness. The sun was veiled by clouds, but when it rose into the sky to the height of four large spear lengths, its fiery rays pierced the clouds and spread such an unbearable heat that it seemed to immobilize the atmosphere. Not the slightest breath of wind! Bâ-Wâm’ndé began to sweat profusely. Despite the heat that suffocated him, he kept moving forwards, but with great difficulty because in addition the path became worse and worse, sometimes undulating, sometimes cracked, winding, uneven, or walled in so narrowly on either side that he wondered how he would get past with his sheep.

To crown his misfortune, he saw in the distance, on the eastern horizon, a vast cluster of clouds like mountains stacked one upon another. Some of these clouds were whitish, some indigo black, some tinged with blue. They moved slowly like sheep grazing on the plain. No doubt a tornado was brewing, for Bâ-Wâm’ndé saw great flashes of lightning illuminating the heavens. The sky was about to open its floodgates and inundate the earth.

Suddenly, the wind blew. It swept through the foliage and inflated Bâ-Wâm’ndé’s boubou robe, which did not make his walk easier. In order to advance, he had to lean so far forwards that he seemed on the verge of falling on his face at any moment. He bent his head as if to fend off the fierce blows that violent gusts were targeting at his temples. Pulling his sheep with his right hand, he used his left as best he could to press the ends of his boubou robe against his body to prevent it from puffing out further.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé raised his eyes to gaze at the horizon. Serpentine flashes sparked horizontally between two clouds, then a great forked arborescence illuminated the firmament. Undoubtedly, a storm was about to break.

It was certainly not the time for him or his sheep to get soaked. Exhausted, unable to continue his journey while his inflated boubou hindered his steps, he took refuge under a tree and began to pray:

“Oh Guéno! Please make the sky stop pissing it down on the earth! May it go away and come again another day.”

The wind continued unabated its furious onslaught. The tree under which Bâ-Wâm’ndé had sought shelter stood in a wooded hollow of thorny bushes. Birds with ruffled feathers clung tightly to its tender branches. Depending on the whims of the wind, these branches would rise like raging waves or plummet into the void like a foundering vessel. With each plunge, the wind ruffled the birds’ feathers and fanned out their tails.

Was the prayer of Bâ-Wâm’ndé heard? It so happened that the lightning sheathed its incendiary arrows which threatened to set the world alight and the wind calmed down. As if to show his concern for the man whose heart was full of charity, Guéno did not want Bâ-Wâm’ndé and his sheep to get soaked. The thunder died down and reduced to a distant echo. The winds chased the rain away and dispersed the storm. The great dark clouds that only a moment earlier obscured the sky became as clear as a cup of water. They thinned and spread themselves out, dispersing in waves like sandy dunes. Small clouds followed them, twisting and turning away as if to make a winding path.

Bâ-Wâm’ndé therefore left his shelter and continued on his way with his sheep towards Wéli-Wéli. No sooner had he left the narrow winding path,4 he unexpectedly came out onto a plain that was even more difficult to cross – it was a huge expanse of very fine sand. The walker found himself up to his knees in it. At the slightest breath of wind, grains of sand blinded him and bit his skin like thousands of enraged ants.

By Guéno’s grace and with his help, Bâ-Wâm’ndé after much effort and suffering, managed to cross the deadly quicksand which in their time had swallowed up more than one man and more than one mount.5

____________________

4 Whenever, in a tale, one encounters a winding path, a river to cross, a mountain to climb, it symbolises a test or a step to take on the spiritual path.

5 The sand flats: it is the country of initiation. If no one guides you, you get stuck there, no matter how fine or clever you are. To get bogged down is to fall into the traps that are scattered around. It is the illusion, the divine mirage (makarou in Islam). One takes for the goal what is only a decoy. One thinks one has arrived when one is just stuck. Hence the need for a safe guide. Bâ-wâm’ndé can advance in this dangerous area only because he is protected and guided by Guéno.

Endnotes:

34. Grasshoppers: The grasshopper is generally regarded as a symbol of plague and destruction. Here, it is presented in its hybrid aspect, as realising a kind of symbiosis of several animals. It is said to have the head of a horse, the horns and eyes of a gazelle, the neck of a bull, the breast of a caiman or scorpion, the abdomen of a worm, the wings of an eagle, and the legs of a giraffe. Its green colour is a sign of cold weather and its yellowish hue augurs drought.

35. Termite mound: The termite mound is considered to be the first masonry of the earth. The art of architecture is supposed to have been taught to men by termites, who are therefore the masters of masonry just as the spider is related to weaving.

The termite mound is supposed to be the habitat of spirits. It is also often used as a place of conservation of ritual objects and religious ornaments. In a very large termite mound where a man could live, a cavity is dug where these objects are placed. The termites build up everything around them and these objects are thus hermetically protected.

36. The dog: In Mandé mythology, like many other mythologies in the world, a prominent place is reserved for the dog. Indeed, the rooster, the goat and the dog are considered to be the guides of disembodied souls.

Independently of the fact that the dog is sacrificed to the six great traditional Mandé gods (N’tomo-woulou, komo, nama, kono, tchi-wara and koré), the dog is sacrificed to the earth to produce and also to be the “light” for the bodies of the dead. It is also sacrificed to ward off bad luck during eclipses.

Since the dog is considered very familiar with the invisible, its skull, like that of man, is used in divination rites. In some initiatory societies in Mali and Niger, some parts of the dog - notably its head - are used for possession dances.

37: Rheum from the Dog’s Eyes: This is used to provoke premonitory dreams. It is also said to allow vision, especially when added to kohl, made using a plant that has the virtue of improving vision and curing conjunctivitis.

Translation from Amadou Hampâté Bâ, “Contes initiatiques peuls”

Painting: “Swarm of Locusts” by F. W. Kuhnert 

The Annunciation Dream

This is part of a series: Njeddo Dewal, Mother of Calamity

The Great Quest of Bâ-Wâm'nde, The Good Man

The Annunciation Dream

In the village of Hayyô,1 located at the foot of one of the seven mountains of Heli and Yoyo and whose leader was Hammadi Manna, there lived a very good man named Baba-Wâm’ndé: “Father of Happiness”. He was called Bâ-Wâm’ndé for short. Most of the inhabitants of the Hayyô region had not sinned, but without a doubt Bâ-Wâm’ndé was the wisest and most virtuous of them all.

He was not among the wealthy of Heli and Yoyo, but was renowned as a model of integrity. He never cheated anyone and he never scrounged from anyone. Many of the poor came to him asking for loans,2 but he never called on them to pay him back. Meanwhile, he never took on debts himself although very often, since the coming of the great misfortunes, his little family had spent the day without eating and gone to sleep without supper.

The companion of Bâ-Wâm’ndé was named Weldo-Hôre: “Sweet-faced blessing”. She was called Welôré for short. She was even more patient than her husband, and some said even more accommodating and generous. Pure like a saint, she combined in herself the four qualities that are considered to make a woman perfect and she could never be supplemented by a second wife. (31) She was not envious and never nagged her husband.

One night, Welôré had a dream. She dreamt that she was eating a dish whose rice she had cooked in the sun and whose sauce she had cooked in the moon.3 Once the dish was finished, she saw herself give birth to a little bull-calf, white as milk.

1 This is both the name of the village as well as of the countryside around it, just as Heli and Yoyo are both names of cities as well as of the country around them.

2 This was not necessarily for money or its equivalent, but could also have been about livestock. 

3 The meeting of the complementary poles of sun and moon (masculine and feminine, gold and silver, day and night) implies here an idea of totality, therefore of harmony. It is not unimportant to the story since it is symbolises the announcement of the future birth of Bâgoumâwel, the predestined child who will be sent by Guéno to fight against Njeddo Dewal and defeat her. While the latter is an instrument of evil, she is incomplete, unbalanced, because she is composed solely of dark elements.

She was very much intrigued by this dream and told her father about it. Her father sought out the great soothsayer Aga-Nouttiôrou (32) who was a wonderful interpreter of dreams and told him his daughter’s dream. Aga-Nouttiôrou listened closely and then leant his chin on his right hand. His face lit up and he began to laugh. He laughed for a long time, then said to Welôré’s father:

“Your daughter Welôré will give birth to seven boys and a girl, but none of the seven boys will have offspring. Only the girl will conceive a male child who will be a boy whose destiny is foretold. Before his conception, this mysterious child will first incarnate into a large star. Every evening, this star will appear in the east as the sun sets in the west and every morning it will disappear in the west as the sun rises in the east.4 As soon as your daughter is pregnant, the star will no longer appear at sunrise or sunset. He will be in the womb of your daughter, where he will be incarnated as a boy.

“He will be a predestined boy, for his destiny is to fight a bitter battle with Njeddo Dewal, the Great Calamity. Their conflict will last seven years. During these seven years, the country will continue to suffer the great misfortune Njeddo Dewal has inflicted by withholding the beneficent rains so they may no longer revive the plants and pastures, preventing the animals from reproducing, drying up the rivers so that even a thirsty traveller cannot find a single sip of water to quench his thirst or give the animal he rides to drink.

But after these seven years, the earth, made so hot by Njeddo Dewal’s breath that even the cacti try to run away, will begin to regain its freshness.

The trees will no longer fly this way and that at the mercy of every wind, as if they had wings. They will not shake and thrash their limbs like giant beasts, but suddenly they will sink their roots deep into the earth and begin to lose themselves in it.

Because of the spells of the great sorceress, the thatched roofs, no sooner woven, would bristle up their straw like the quills of a porcupine’s fleece, allowing the scorching sun to invade the interior of the hut; but now the shadows which had fled from the interior of houses will return and the atmosphere will again be breathable and restful.

When Njeddo Dewal enchanted the country, she enclosed the great Fulani fetish (33), their source of powers, in a metal gourd; she inlaid this gourd in a stone, buried this stone in a mound of earth, and then placed this mound in the middle of an island. Then, she threw this island into the centre of a huge salt lake5 which she animated with furious waves higher than high mountains and which flung asunder all who tried to land there.”

4 We see here the recurrent theme of the star that heralds the coming of age reappearing, which is also represented as a kind of pre-incarnation of Bàgoumâwel. Appearing in the evening in the east, disappearing in the morning in the west, it is like a substitute for the sun, a presence of celestial light in the heart of night.

5 This suggests a very great expanse of water, like a sea or ocean, which makes it impossible to measure. Were it not other-worldly, it may be immense or impassable for some while easy to cross for others. Njeddo Dewal hid the source of these powers in the heart of the ocean of the netherworld, where no-one was supposed to be able to reach it.

Informed by his father-in-law of the meaning of this dream, Bâ-Wâm'ndé, the husband of Welôrè, asked Aga-Nouttiôrou if there was a propitiatory sacrifice that could prevent Njeddo Dewal from aborting his wife when she became pregnant. Aga-Nouttiôrou drew up a geomantic theme which he examined carefully. The results of the sixteen houses of the theme agreed.

“This is the sacrifice you must make,” he said. “You shall look for a kobbou-nollou sheep and give it in charity to a deaf-mute-one-eyed man.”

Bâ-Wârn'ndé was somewhat embarrassed because he did not know what such a sheep could be. “I pray,” he said, “would you be so good as to explain to me what a kobbou-nollou sheep is?”

“The kobbou-nollou,” Aga-Nouttiôrou replied, “is a sheep with a white coat and two eyes of different colours: one is brown, the other milky.”

“Is this the only definition of this sheep?”

“No, it is not. Its coat must always be white, as well as one of its eyes, but the other eye can be either brown or red.”

Bâ-Wâm'ndé warmly thanked Aga Nouttiôrou, then returned home happy as a newly-wed. He took a supply of cowries and went to the sheep market to look for a fleshy kobbou-nollou of a beautiful white color.6 He was fortunate enough to find the animal he was looking for very quickly. Contrary to custom, he paid without haggling, and led off his kobbou-nollou attached by a cord and began to look for a deaf-mute-one-eyed man. This was certainly not an easy kind of man to find, but when prayers are answered, the rarest things can come to hand because the heavens have a say in it! After a few hours of wandering through the streets and alleys of the city, Bâ-Wâm'ndé met not a deaf-mute-one-eyed man, but a one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback. He greeted him with great respect and said to him:

6 White as the colour of milk (the sacred liquid par excellence for the Fulani) is a symbol of purity and therefore beneficent.

“Brother, can you give me some information?”

“Why don't you laugh at me like people who meet me always do?” wondered the one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback.

“And why laugh at you?”

“Because I'm badly built and my curious shape is seemingly hilarious. Don’t you think it funny? Don’t you see this as an opportunity to roar with laughter? Why don't you scoff at me like other men?”

More inclined to pity than to laughter, Bâ-Wâm'ndé, replied with tears in his eyes: “My brother, you did not make yourself, and you did not buy what you are in the market. He who laughs at the appearance of a thing indirectly laughs at the one who made it. For my part, I do not see in you a man to be ridiculed, for you are as Guéno wanted you to be.”

The one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback burst out with a happy laugh and said: “What information do you have to ask?”

“I'm looking for a deaf-mute-one-eyed man.”

“What do you need him for?”

“To offer him this sheep that Aga-Nouttiôrou advised me to give him, to him alone and to no one else.”

“Can you give me a kola nut to get my teeth into and a pinch of snuff to clear my nostrils?” asked the hunchback.

As luck would have it, Bâ-Wâm'ndé was carrying a packet with a few kola nuts and a snuff box filled with almou'njalla, a very finely ground and flavoured snuff. Instead of giving just a pinch of tobacco and a single kola nut, Bâ-Wâm'ndé gave the whole snuff box and the whole packet of nuts to the hunchback. The latter opened the biggest of the nuts, splitting it in half, and each half was enough to fill his mouth. He took one of the halves, chewing on it voraciously, and handed the other half to Bâ-Wâm'ndé, inviting him to do the same. Then, with his mouth full of kola, he grabbed Bâ-Wâm'ndé's right hand and dragged him into a corner.

“Let's sit down here,” he said, “no matter how long we sit, it is always more comfortable than standing. It is more restful.”

The two men sat on the ground, facing each other. The one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback then opened the snuffbox that Bà-Wâm'ndé had just offered him. Between his thumb and index finger, he then took a pinch of snuff that he inhaled at length through both nostrils in the characteristic way. Two tears flowed from his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his left hand and said:

“So, you are looking for a deaf-mute-one-eyed man and you did not think it beneath you to ask me. Did you do so because I myself am a one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback, or for some other reason?”

Bâ-Wâmndé answered: “How many times has it happened that a rare pearl is found in a small pond when one has searched in vain in the great ocean.”7

7 This answer proves that Bâ-Wâm'ndé never tries to minimize anyone. He is not superb; he is just considerate and open minded. These are qualities of Bâ-Wâm'ndé that the tale will constantly emphasize and that every neophyte should possess: humility, benevolence, integrity, respect for others, and above all else, charity.

“Well, Bâ-Wâm'ndé! He who does not despise inquiring from everyone is sure to find what he is looking for. Your benevolence and consideration have obliged me greatly. So, I will tell you where you can find the man you seek.”

“Njeddo Dewal, the calamitous, mother of misery and desolation, has built a mysterious city called Wéli-Wéli, “Sweet-Sweet”. There she holds my twin brother Siré, because he conceals a secret that could be her undoing. Now, just as I, Abdou, am a one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback, my brother Siré is a deaf-mute-one-eyed-man. Njeddo Dewal keeps him in a room where she wanted to imprison us both, but I managed to escape. She has put my brother in irons, and to be sure he cannot escape into the streets of the city, she leaves him completely naked, without boubou robe and without trousers. Thus, naked and in chains, he is whipped half to death every day by the servants of Njeddo. So, it is in Wéli-Wéli that you will find the one you are looking for.”

After revealing to Bâ-Wàm'ndé all the occult secrets relating to his brother Siré, Abdou the one-eyed-lame-knock-kneed-hunchback took out from one of his pockets a talisman. “Wear this around your neck,” he said. “It will allow you to go to Wéli-Wéli unharmed.”

Endnotes

31. She could never be supplemented by a second wife: According to a traditional saying, “He who supplements a perfect woman will neither sleep nor rest. He will suffer one hundred and eleven ailments, because his ancestors will come to torment him.” The four qualities of the perfect woman are: to be virtuous, to be beautiful, to be a good mother, and to be a good lover.”

32. Aga-Nouttiôrou: Literally, “Shepherd Pincher”. This may suggest that he had a habit of stealing children or students. Nouttiôrou also means “He who roams around a bit”; so perhaps he was a man who “pinched” or “took” a little from all kinds of knowledge.

33. The great Fulani fetish: A fetish is an object that through ritual was spiritually “charged” to become the support a force. Such an object becomes the tool or vehicle of the force of a spirit or god, which is itself only an emanation of the primordial force of the supreme God, the sole creator of all things. Here, as we shall see later, it is one of the 28 gods of the Fulani pantheon, whose force is thus enslaved and imprisoned by Njeddo Dewal to serve her destructive endeavours. In principle, each of the 28 Fulani lares or gods (cf. note 53) has such a support, which also serves for sacrifices, usually of milk and butter as sacrifices are rarely bloody among the Fulani. Guéno and Kaïdara are the only ones who do not possess a “fetish”. Also, the burning of perfumes and plants happens in all the rites.

Translation from Amadou Hampâté Bâ, Contes initiatiques peuls

Painting: Arthur Hacker, Annunciation (1892)