Dan Ge Performance: Masks and Music in Contemporary Côte d'Ivoire
236
Dan Ge Performance: Masks and Music in Contemporary Côte d'Ivoire
236eBook
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Overview
Ge, formerly translated as “mask” or “masquerade,” appears among the Dan people of Côte d’Ivoire as a dancing and musical embodiment of their social ideals and religious beliefs. In Dan Ge Performance, Daniel B. Reed sets out to discover what resides at the core of Ge. He finds that Ge is defined as part of a religious system, a form of entertainment, an industry, a political tool, an instrument of justice, and a form of resistance—and it can take on multiple roles simultaneously. He sees genu (pl.) dancing the latest dance steps, co-opting popular music, and acting in concert with Ivorian authorities to combat sorcery. Not only are the bounds of traditional performance stretched, but Ge performance becomes a strategy for helping the Dan to establish individual and community identity in a world that is becoming more religiously and ethnically diverse. Readers interested in all aspects of expressive culture in West Africa will find fascinating material in this rich and penetrating book.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780253028303 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Indiana University Press |
| Publication date: | 12/22/2021 |
| Series: | African Expressive Cultures |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 236 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Daniel B. Reed is Director of the Archives of Traditional Music and Assistant Professor of Folklore and Ethnomusicology at Indiana University, Bloomington. He is co-author (with Gloria Gibson) of the CD-ROM Music and Culture in West Africa: The Straus Expedition (Indiana University Press).
Read an Excerpt
Dan Ge Performance
Masks and Music in Contemporary Cöte D'Ivoire
By Daniel B. Reed
Indiana University Press
Copyright © 2003 Daniel B. ReedAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-253-02830-3
CHAPTER 1
On the Road to Man
On a hot dusty January day in the small city of Man, Nicole, Jacques, and I were looking for a place to live. The harmattan — the dust that blows south from the Sahara — had arrived late this dry season. People walking the streets and riding in taxis covered their mouths and noses with handkerchiefs to block the ubiquitous dust swirling in the wind. The three of us, along with several other friends, were walking along Rue de Lycée, one of the many major dirt-road arteries in Man, choking on the heavy dust being kicked up by passing taxis, anxious to find shade.
Suddenly, I heard a sound — a repeating rhythm — approaching from the opposite direction. Through the dusty air, a form appeared — someone playing a gourd rattle and singing. As he came closer, I saw he wore a tall curved leather hat in colors of red and cream, covered with cowrie shells. Then, as we continued toward him and he toward us, it became clear that he was a ge — the first I had seen during this trip to Cöte d'Ivoire, which had begun just a couple of weeks earlier. Noticing our interest, he stopped before us, dancing and singing. His blue-and-cream-striped Dan clothing and light raffia skirt swayed with his body's movements. His dark wooden face featured thin slit eyes outlined in white and delicate cheekbones descending into protruding red lips. His muted voice buzzed and growled as he sang through his wooden face, "ba nin a Kpaclöclö" (I am Kpaclöclö). With a gourd rattle in his hands and the ankle bells on his dancing feet, he created complex layered rhythms to accompany his song. His feet moved side to side and back and forth in quick rhythmic steps, while his torso remained upright and stiff, jerking occasionally along with the rhythm. He stopped for a moment, then shook my hand before dancing and singing for a few minutes more. I dug some coins out of my pocket and gave him a gift. Then we continued on our separate ways.
I was thrilled and immediately began firing questions at Jacques, my pocket notebook and pen in hand. This was a trukë ge, a kind of ge who travels around from family to family, entertaining people with song, dance, and humorous stories. In this context, the trukë ge was something like a cross between an American street performer and an Irish mummer (Glassie 1975), though also, like all genu, a sacred phenomenon. What most surprised me was that we had experienced this ge on a busy city street. Nothing I had read or experienced during my initial visit to this area in 1994 had led me to expect that Ge performance could occur outside of village settings. Previous literature on the subject of Dan masks portrayed them exclusively in village contexts as a part of the functional workings of village life. During my first trip to Cote d'Ivoire in 1994, although I had slept most nights in Man at the compound of my research assistant Tiemoko Guillaume, we had done all of our "research" in nearby villages. Without asking, Guillaume had assumed that I would want to go to villages to learn about genu. It had never occurred to me to ask him whether genu ever appeared in Man. Only at this moment did I realize that amid the streets lined with shops and bustling with traffic, against the backdrop of the Islamic calls to prayer, among the diverse multiethnic populace in which the Dan likely are a minority, genu perform.
AN INVITATION TO A GEGBADË PERFORMANCE
The reason Jacques, Nicole, and I were walking the streets of Man in the first place was that I had changed my mind about where I wanted to locate my study. When planning my 1997 trip, I had proposed a field location a bit farther north, near Touba, in the ethnic borderlands between the Dan and Mau peoples. My goal had been to study mask performance as an arena for interethnic interaction. But when I arrived in Touba in 1997, I learned that in the Touba region, nearly all active mask performances were those concerned with sorcery conflicts. The thought of studying something so serious and conflict-ridden did not appeal to me. Fieldwork of dance and entertainment genu was challenging enough. I doubted whether people working out sorcery accusations would welcome the intrusion of a team of researchers. I had been telling myself that I wanted to study only things that people were excited about, that they wanted to share with me. The potential ethical and practical difficulties involved in researching situations in which people were being accused of killing one another seemed like something to avoid. So we happily returned to Man, where genu of many types were abundant.
Back in Man, Jacques, Nicole, and I eventually found a place to live, in a house owned by Jacques' uncle that was perched on the side of a steep hill overlooking Man and the lush green mountains that encircle the city. I focused my research on entertainment genu, and in particular on a dance ge (tanke ge) based in Man named Gedro. Sparked by that initial meeting on the road in Man, I had become intrigued by entertainment genu, who, being lower in the sacred hierarchy of Ge, could wander the streets and perform widely in this multiethnic, polyreligious city. Studying these more accessible and public genu seemed an ideal way to learn about what Ge means for people in the diversifying context of Man today and how this old performance complex relates to their contemporary lives. But five months into our stay, I received an invitation that would alter my course and broaden the research beyond what I had initially imagined.
During this period I began drum lessons with the master drummer for Gedro, a young man by the name of Goueu Tia Jean-Claude. One rainy-season day in June, Jean-Claude arrived unexpectedly at our house. "You are invited to a manifestation," he announced, "of a powerful ge for whom I drum. His name is Gegbade." Far more sacred than Gedro, Gegbade was a zu ge — a type of ge who heals, offers divinations and blessings, and solves problems of sorcery. I had fled Touba to avoid sorcery genu, and here I was again encountering this discomfiting phenomenon. Again I had to confront my feelings about it all. I was apprehensive, even a little frightened at the prospect. Frankly, it did not sound like much fun. I could easily decline, especially since there were so many choices. Genu were everywhere in Man. I was not lacking in research opportunities. And was this really something that people would want to have studied?
But I had been invited to study this ge. The leaders (gedëmcn; lit., "fathers of the ge") of this sacred house had sent Jean-Claude as an envoy directly to me, asking me to attend and record this event. Everything I had done up to that point had been with entertainment genu; I knew little about more sacred genu. It was an offer I could not refuse.
On the day of Gegbadë's manifestation, Jean-Claude led Jacques and a still somewhat reluctant me to Grand Gbapleu, a village on the edge of the city of Man. Grand Gbapleu has effectively become a neighborhood of Man, having made this transition in just the past ten to fifteen years as the city has grown outward, following the valleys between its steep craggy hills and mountains. We exited a taxi on the relatively recently paved road heading east out of Man and walked downhill on a dirt road, past mud-brick and concrete-block houses. We passed women pounding grain with 6-foot-long wooden pestles in large goblet-shaped mortars, children playing chasing games, elder men seated on benches watching the afternoon fade. Finally we arrived at the compound of Oulai Théodore, the man in charge of the sacred house of Gegbadë. Jean-Claude greeted us warmly and instructed us to sit on a wooden bench in a courtyard between several buildings. As we sat, we noticed that the door of the building behind us was concealed by a wall made of woven dried raffia — the unequivocal marker of a sacred house.
The performance to which we had been invited was ostensibly being held for two reasons. First, Gegbadë was to provide a consultation, or divination, to a man of Mau ethnicity (a northern Mande group just to the north of the Dan) named Djomande. Djomande, who like nearly all Mau was Muslim, had traveled from his home in the Touba region, about 100 kilometers north of Man, because his wife was afflicted with an illness that he did not understand. Aware of Gegbadë's reputation, he had come seeking advice about what to do. Second, Gegbadë was performing to announce the imminent departure of his group. A local governmental official had come to Théodore, asking him to take his ge to the village of Bofesso — about twenty-five kilometers north — to solve a sorcery conflict. In such a situation, the ge and his group cannot just pack up and head out of town. Rather, Gegbadë must announce to the village chief and other powerful elders his intention to leave. So the second stated purpose for this performance was for Gegbadë to tour Grand Gbapleu, visiting the chief and elders to deliver this news. As on many days in Theodore's compound, however, other people had come as well, seeking help. Theodore's compound was regularly full of people waiting their turn to discuss with him their problems and their requests for his services. On this day, parties from two other nearby villages — Zagoué and Glongouin — were also present, seeking help from the renowned healer (zumi) Théodore and his zu ge.
As we waited for the performance to begin, Jacques, Jean-Claude, and I chatted. Gradually others joined us on the benches in the courtyard before Théodore's sacred house. Gegbadë performances do not begin at fixed moments in clock time but rather follow a negotiated sense of time. Only when the necessary people have arrived and the required spiritual preparations are completed does the first stage begin: playing music to call the spirits (yinannu; sing., yinan) who accompany the ge from the spiritual realm. The manifestation of the ge occurs not at a fixed time but when the spiritual energy has reached a necessary peak.
Time passed, and people came and went. Théodore and other initiated members of his group wandered in and out of the sacred house, each time removing their shoes before they entered, just as Muslims do when they enter a mosque. Shoes, Théodore later instructed me, must be removed prior to entering any sacred space to respect and maintain the boundary between the pure and sacred and the earthly, the human, the everyday. "[Shoes] go everywhere," Théodore instructed. "They are dirty, so they are not worn when a ge is doing serious business" (Oulai 1997a). The ban on shoes is just one of several "totems" (tiyin) or rules that performers and audience members must follow before and during Gegbadë performances. All such rules are followed in order to create an environment that maximizes the potential spiritual efficacy of the performance.
Various people arrived, among them a jovial elder man named Gonëti. Wearing a navy blue suit, a T-shirt, and bright blue plastic shoes, Gonëti would serve as principal singer (geatanbomen) for the event. Shortly thereafter, Jean-Claude, assuming the role of master drummer (baakpizëmen or baadezëmen), began playing the master drum (baade), accompanied by two apprentices playing the accompanying drums (zikri and baanëyakwade) and by the elder Gonëti playing the gourd rattle (gle).
Gradually, while still playing, the musicians moved toward a space near the door of the sacred house, and the energy of the performance began intensifying. The elder Gonëti began singing, as did some of the drummers and others who were being drawn to the performance site by the sound of the music. As the rhythms and melodies of getan — the musical and dance aspects of ge — began floating through the air, bouncing off the concrete and mud-brick homes of Grand Gbapleu, people began gathering in the courtyard, some watching, many joining in by singing, clapping, and dancing. For many Dan, older songs such as those typically performed at a Gegbadë manifestation evoke a profound sense of Danness; these songs get people up and inspire them to participate. Eventually, a crowd of roughly fifty people had gathered, forming a large semicircle, which had the effect of enclosing the courtyard, creating a bounded performance space. In the part of the semicircle nearest the door of the sacred house, where the drummers had first gathered, a "performing nucleus" of about fifteen people gathered. Along with the drummers and the elder lead vocalist, this core group consisted of several young men, five or six young women, and as many young girls who sang the responsorial chorus while they danced and punctuated the repeating rhythmic patterns with artfully placed clapping accents.
As the crowd gathered, the music became more and more joyful and intense, as getan generally is. Volume raised, tempo increased, and vocal and percussion improvisations became more frequent and innovative. The performance, which had begun so casually, developed more focus. Many of the performers smiled often and had rapt expressions on their faces. When moved to do so, a man or woman left the group to enter into the center of the semicircle to dance, bending at the waist, turning the shoulders, moving across the ground with subtle quick turns of the feet. Sweat began dancing off people's bodies. Gradually, several people whom I would later meet and befriend began appearing in the performance space. Gekia (assistant to the ge; pl. gekianu) Louan Dominique emerged from the sacred house, followed a few minutes later by ritual specialist Seri, a Bété man who had become an important initiate in this sacred house. The norm is that Ge is a family affair, with only family members participating in performances of genu who come from their own family's sacred house (and only select families in any Dan settlement have a sacred house). Théodore himself, however, has left his natal village and his immediate family; thus, he has been required to attract people with the necessary skills to produce his ge performances. Even many of the Dan members of Gegbadë's group come from communities other than Grand Gbapleu. The diverse origins of the members of Théodore's sacred house reflect the mobility of so many Ivorians.
Seri and Jean-Claude both wore mud-brown bubus (Dan shirts) that had been dipped in yet another medicinal wash to make them resistant to attacks of negative sorcery (duyaa). One of Seri's primary responsibilities was to oversee Gegbadë performance events, to keep people in line. He included Jacques and me in his purview, at one point chasing curious children away from the camcorder. Then Seri began playing the bells called d??ga, occasionally giving them to a young man named Patrice when he was needed back in the sacred house. The penetrating sound of the d??ga raises above even the volume of the drums, in order, Théodore later explained to me, to Jet everyone present know that a powerful ge is arriving. The elder lead singer Gonëti danced and sang joyfully, all the while playing the gle, tastefully embellishing the standard patterns, which inspired me to offer him a monetary gift. Between songs, he made a brief speech, thanking me. Seri and Dominique continued going in and out of the sacred house, occasionally delivering messages to Jean-Claude.
After ten or fifteen minutes, Seri stepped out of the sacred hut with a large plastic pitcher of palm wine. The elder Gonëti shouted for joy, causing laughter to break out in the crowd. Patrice began ritually pouring gourd-cupfuls of palm wine for the performers to drink. Holding the pitcher in his left hand and pouring into the gourd held by his right hand, Patrice tasted a sip to ensure it was not poisoned, then offered the gourd properly, with his right hand, to Jean-Claude. More than once, Jean-Claude sipped the gourd cup with his right hand while he continued drumming with his left. When he handed the gourd back, he drummed a signal of thanks: "Barika barika! I gwë gu, i gwë gu" (Thank you! May you live long). Palm wine is always present at Ge performances, usually in great quantities, which, my consultants explained to me, helps sustain the vast amounts of energy required to perform at this level of intensity for long periods of time.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Dan Ge Performance by Daniel B. Reed. Copyright © 2003 Daniel B. Reed. Excerpted by permission of Indiana University Press.
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Table of Contents
Preliminary Table of Contents:
Acknowledgments
Notes on Language
Cast of Characters
Introduction: Talking about Ge
1. On the Road to Man
2. Coexistence, Cooperation, and Conflict in the City of 18 Mountains
3. "When a rooster goes for a walk, he does not forget his house": "The Tradition" and Identity in a Diversifying Context
4. What is Ge?
5. Manifesting Ge in Song
6. Drums as Instruments of Social and Religious Action
7. Gedro at Guehave
8. Gegbade at Yokoboue
9. Pathways of Communication and Transformation
Glossary
Notes
References
Index