A History of West Africa by West Africans
Very little literature of West Africa was written down prior to European imperialism in the nineteenth century; instead, literature and culture were handed down orally. This passage, a selection from the Epic of Sundiata, was passed on by oral poets called griots. The Epic of Sundiata covers the life of Mali’s first ruler, Sundiata Keita (ca. 1217–
At the home of the king’s old aunt, the hairdresser of Nianiba6 was plaiting Sogolon Kedjou’s hair. As she lay on her mat, her head resting on the hairdresser’s legs, she wept softly, while the king’s sisters came to chaff her, as was the custom.
“This is your last day of freedom; from now onwards you will be our woman.”
“Say farewell to your youth,” added another.
“You won’t dance in the square any more and have yourself admired by the boys,” added a third.
Sogolon never uttered a word and from time to time the old hairdresser said, “There, there, stop crying. It’s a new life beginning, you know, more beautiful than you think. You will be a mother and you will know the joy of being a queen surrounded by your children. Come now, daughter, don’t listen to the gibes of your sisters-
During this time the festivity was reaching its height in front of the king’s enclosure. Each village was represented by a troupe of dancers and musicians; in the middle of the courtyard the elders were sacrificing oxen which the servants carved up, while ungainly vultures, perched on the great silk-
Sitting in front of the palace, Naré Maghan listened to the grave music of the “bolon”7 in the midst of his courtiers. Doua,8 standing amid the eminent guests, held his great spear in his hand and sang the anthem of Mandingo kings. Everywhere in the village people were dancing and singing and members of the royal family [evinced] their joy, as was fitting, by distributing grain, clothes, and even gold. Even the jealous Sassouma Bérété took part in this largesse and, among other things, bestowed fine loin-
But night was falling and the sun had hidden behind the mountain. It was time for the marriage procession to form up in front of the house of the king’s aunt. The tam-
Sogolon walked in front held by two old women. The king’s relatives followed and, behind, the choir of young girls of Mali sang the bride’s departure song, keeping time to the songs by clapping their hands. The villagers and guests were lined up along the stretch of ground which separated the aunt’s house from the palace in order to see the procession go by. When Sogolon had reached the threshold of the king’s antechamber one of his young brothers lifted her vigorously from the ground and ran off with her towards the palace while the crowd cheered.
The women danced in front of the palace of the king for a long while, then, after receiving money and presents from members of the royal family, the crowd dispersed and night darkened overhead.
“She will be an extraordinary woman if you manage to possess her.” Those were the words of the old woman of Do,9 but the conqueror of the buffalo had not been able to conquer the young girl. It was only as an afterthought that the two hunters, Oulani and Oulamba, had the idea of giving her to the king of Mali.
That evening, then, Naré Maghan tried to perform his duty as a husband but Sogolon repulsed his advances. He persisted, but his efforts were in vain and early the next morning Doua found the king exhausted, like a man who had suffered a great defeat.
“What is the matter, my king?” asked the griot.
“I have been unable to possess her — and besides, she frightens me, this young girl. I even doubt whether she is a human being; when I drew close to her during the night her body became covered with long hairs and that scared me very much. All night long I called upon my wraith10 but he was unable to master Sogolon’s.”
All that day the king did not emerge and Doua was the only one to enter and leave the palace. All Nianiba seemed puzzled. The old women who had come early to seek the virginity pagne11 had been discreetly turned away. And this went on for a week.
Naré Maghan had vainly sought advice from some great sorcerers but all their tricks were powerless in overcoming the wraith of Sogolon. But one night, when everyone was asleep, Naré Maghan got up. He unhooked his hunter’s bag from the wall and, sitting in the middle of the house, he spread on the ground the sand which the bag contained. The king began tracing mysterious signs in the sand; he traced, effaced and began again. Sogolon woke up. She knew that sand talks, but she was intrigued to see the king so absorbed at dead of night. Naré Maghan stopped drawing signs and with his hand under his chin he seemed to be brooding on the signs. All of a sudden he jumped up, bounded after his sword which hung above his bed, and said, “Sogolon, Sogolon, wake up. A dream has awakened me out of my sleep and the protective spirit of the Mandingo kings has appeared to me. I was mistaken in the interpretation I put upon the words of the hunter who led you to me. The jinn12 has revealed to me their real meaning. Sogolon, I must sacrifice you to the greatness of my house. The blood of a virgin of the tribe of Kondé must be spilt, and you are the Kondé virgin whom fate has brought under my roof. Forgive me, but I must accomplish my mission. Forgive the hand which is going to shed your blood.”
“No, no — why me? — no, I don’t want to die.”
“It is useless,” said the king. “It is not me who has decided.”
He seized Sogolon by the hair with an iron grip, but so great had been her fright that she had already fainted. In this faint, she was congealed in her human body and her wraith was no longer in her, and when she woke up, she was already a wife. That very night, Sogolon conceived.
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