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Fete = celebration. Chicotte = whip.
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10/30/98 Fete = celebration. Chicotte = whip. Tomorrow is the Fete de
Chicotte, a rite of passage ceremony for the boys to be men in this and
many nearby villages. Although I am technically beyond the age of participation,
I have been granted acceptance and relish in the opportunity to prove
I am worthy. At this point there is little to be said as any experience
is best described by retrospect rather than foresight. So as my neighbors
are fond of saying, "belebe - chille," until tomorrow....
10/31/98 As stated earlier, the Fete de Chicotte is a rite of passage
but one that must be witnessed to be believed and, dare I say, one that
must be lived to be understood. It's a complex ritual of courage and cunning
that can't be precisely dated but must be at least a hundred years in
the making. To give the clearest version of the truth, I'll try to simply
present the events of the day in the sequences in which they happened,
and hope the words paint the picture themselves. I'd been telling people
that I was going to participate in the fete for weeks and got a variety
of responses, none of which really demonstrated encouragement. Most people
told me I'd be afraid when the moment came, and many believed that my
white skin was fragile and would be ripped to shreds by the whip. I insisted
that I wasn't afraid, explained that in truth I'm risking my life just
being here, and that I was no stranger to pain. No matter what I said
even to people who know me well, no one believed that I'd do it. I, however,
was determined to prove my mettle and to make believers of the population
I proposed to serve.
I woke up at 4:00 AM suffering from diarrhea, the result, no doubt, of
one, several or many parasites that see fit to occupy my system, and spent
more than 30 minutes on the toilet. At 5:00 AM I made an omelette and
coffee and hoped it would stay in me long enough to prove the strength
of my words and to demonstrate that courage has nothing to do with the
color of a man's skin.
At 5:30, Salami, my friend and escort for the events, showed up and seemed
a bit surprised to find me awake and dressed, in spite of the darkness
of the hour. I told him I'd been sick but that it must remain a secret
because if the mayor and other village elders found out, they'd refuse
to let me participate. He agreed to silence and waited with me as I drank
the anti-diarrheal syrup from my medical kit and tried to gage my internal
reaction.
At 6:00 I decided it was going to have to be a mind over matter situation
and I resolved to put my intestinal qualms aside and focus on the task
before me. Once the resolution had been made and mentally accepted, I
told him I was ready to go. We stopped briefly at his house so he could
take a shower and while he did, I watched the sunrise over the African
morning with a growing anticipation of the moment of truth, the moment
I was supposed to fear.
When he was ready, we drove the last half-mile to the site of the ceremony
where I was greeted by the major's two sons, who would also be participating
in the fete, and a handful of elders who were still in disbelief of my
presence. Here I was given my weapon, a 3 1/2-foot stick with about four
feet of leather cord attached to the end, and a 4-foot stick with a wicker
hand guard that was to be my shield. I dressed myself in the traditional
headset and belt that I had been given and completed the ensemble with
a whistle and ankle beads for the dance.
While my fellow warriors readied themselves for battle by a brief bit
of traditional blood letting, I did the same by making a few jokes and
reassuring myself that the truth was the truth and fear was no obstacle.
When they were ready, we walked the last few yards to the site of the
ritual and instantly began to dance. Initially there didn't seem to be
many other contestants and seven or eight of us circled a massive tree
to the beat of age-old rhythms played by two drummers urging us into battle.
When the drumming stopped suddenly, the mayor's oldest son and another
warrior faced each other with looks of sheer aggression and the battle
began. I must admit that when the first blows were exchanged and I saw
for the first time what I had so readily said I would do, the reality
of it all set in and I had to dig a bit deeper for the courage that was
needed.
Soon after, other bands of warriors began to arrive in groups of 10 or
20 and with each group's arrival a new series of confrontations was launched.
As the numbers increased, the crack of the whips against the shields and
flesh grew louder and fiercer with each altercation. As the crowd grew,
the intensity of the drums did too, and the group of us danced around
the tree as more and more spectators arrived and I awaited the moment
when I would be asked to prove my promise. The moment did finally come
when one of the elders asked me if I was ready and I said I was. My opponent
was selected and we stood facing each other with our weapons raised and
our eyes locked. He wanted me to strike first, but I motioned to him that
it would not be so by raising my shield and standing my ground. He seemed
a little puzzled by my refusal to be the aggressor but accepted my invitation
by raising his weapon and stepping forward. I had no fear at this moment
and was ready for anything but was thoroughly disappointed when he brought
his whip down with only a half-hearted swing. He clearly had been instructed
not to be aggressive by the organizers and after his lame advance had
easily been deflected, I lowered my shield and whip to my sides to demonstrate
my dissatisfaction. He acknowledged my displeasure with his second strike,
which was delivered with more force but still not as much as it could
have been. He'd squandered his attack and was obligated to mount his defense
in spite of his wasted advances.
I was a bit miffed that my presence wasn't truly being accepted and refused
to show my adversary any mercy simply because he'd been told to go easy
on me. I readied myself for the attack by making sure my whip was tangle-free
and trying to calculate the distance between us. Being right-handed, my
first blow went to the left side of his body and he blocked the whip with
his shield, grinning at me as the score was officially still even.
Having played sports all my life. I instantly adjusted my plan of attack
for my second strike. My opponent knew I'd never done this before and
would only be expecting more of the same in the second effort. I raised
my whip the same as before, stepping into the swing with the exact same
motion. As he raised his shield and whip to defend himself on his left,
I changed my attack in mid-swing and brought my whip down and across his
right side with a crack. As the blow struck him on the shoulder and down
his back, the crowd let out a scream and instantly things changed.
I was surrounded by the other warriors who chanted and cheered for me
and the drums resumed, as did the dance. The elders quickly informed me
that it was over and that I could dance all I like but no more fighting.
I, however, was a little disappointed with the whole thing and knew that
in reality I had only proved cunning and shown nothing in the way of courage.
Some 30 minutes later I had accepted the fact that it was over. I watched
as the younger contestants battled each other and danced with the group
as the drummers pounded away.
It was in such a state of reluctant complacency, in the midst of the dance,
that I found myself face-to-face with my former opponent who had his weapon
raised in challenge. I immediately accepted his challenge by raising my
shield and locking my eyes on his. The drumming stopped and the crowd
parted as we circled each other. I, again, invited him to strike first
and indeed he did with all his might. His experience prevailed in this
encounter and his whip ripped into the skin on my left arm with his first
blow and into my right with his second. My retaliatory strikes were effective
but not as damaging as his had been, and I accepted his victory with a
smile. Again, the crowd burst into a scream and the others circled me
and cheered.
The moment of truth had been lived and witnessed and I was the happiest
of all. And so it was that two men met on the field of battle to prove
they were as brave as they said they were. One man was black and the other
man was white, both bled red and, in the end, it turned out just right.
Interview with Mayor Biao
11/1/98 in an effort to capture the historical roots of the Fete de Chicotte
and to provide a reactionary point of view to my participation in this
year's ceremony, I conducted a brief interview with the mayor of Ouake.
Here is what learned from him the morning after the event.
Volunteer O'Keefe (VO): What is the traditional significance of
the Fete de Chicotte?
Mayor Biao (MB): The Fete de Chicotte is an initiation ceremony
into the beginnings of adult life and adult responsibilities. It is meant
to build courage and endurance in our children so that they are prepared
for war and the realities of life. Simply because there really is no more
war does not mean we should forget it exists. If it returns, our children
must be ready to face their enemy. It is not just at the ceremony that
we must practice this. The technique must be taught within the family
as well to assure that the family is well-represented in public.
VO: For how many years has the tradition been practiced here in
Ouake?
MB: That is very hard to say for sure. From our traditional stories
we learn that the ancestors decided to start it after the second great
war. I am more than 50 years old and I did it and when I was a child I
knew men who were more than 50 years old who had done it as well. So it
must be at least a hundred years of tradition but, at this point, nobody
really knows exactly when it started.
VO: What is the significance of the whistle in the ritual?
MB: Well, the idea behind the whistle is to signal in advance to
your enemies to say you are coming. If your enemies fear you, they will
flee and you will win the battle without endangering yourself. Before
the whistle, people blew the horn of an animal. This was also a way to
alert the village in times of danger.
VO: At what age do children begin to participate in the fete?
MB: Children start between seven and nine years old. It is important
to teach courage very early because in times of danger, every member of
the village must be ready. So children begin very early, even if in the
first year they only learn to attack and are not asked to defend themselves.
VO: Why is it important to maintain the traditions of the past?
MB: We are obligated to guard our traditions because our culture
is disappearing in the face of modern cultures. Here in the bush we have
problems that can't be regulated by modern means. If I am only familiar
with someone else's culture, I am obligated to seek the other in times
of distress. If he is far away, or unwilling to help, I will have no culture
of my own to rely on.
VO: What is the effect of my participation in this year's ceremony?
MB: Well, today I went all around the village listening to what
people had to say. They were amazed that you had the courage to do it.
We have never seen this before. Some people said that you were not really
a white man, but one of our dead ancestors who returned in a white man's
body. It was noted that you managed to trick your opponent by changing
your motion in mid-swing. This has never been done before. Basically,
you have changed our technique forever. People understand that an educated
opponent is more dangerous than a strong opponent and, without ever having
seen this ritual even one time, you managed to apply what you learned
in your education to the challenge of battle. And, in fact, you are considered
the winner.
VO: What is the effect this will create for me here in the village?
MB: It was a chance for you to penetrate the population in public.
This is what you have done. People will know who you are and, more importantly,
people will know that you are serious about being part of our population.
And for the people of Ouake, it means that our culture and our traditions
are important, important to the point that an outsider would want to participate.
VO: Okay, thank you, Mayor Biao.
END
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