Here is a draft timeline attempting to map the relationship between music and politics in Cote D'Ivoire. I am really hoping that it will aid me in my analysis. Notice how dense the year 1990 and the period after 2002 are? This is finally a graphical way to illustrate my argument. The problem is that I am not even close to being done!!! This is going to be so much work but I am very excited!
http://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/467423/Ivory-Coast-MusicPolitics/
Wartime Hymns: The blog
Saturday, 23 May 2015
Tuesday, 19 May 2015
Processes of social embodiment in Ivorian popular dance music
Dance
is many things. Across cultures and peoples, it has often functioned as a
salient instrument of expression and even at times communication. Undeniably,
with its cultural codes and its symbols, dance has interested many researchers
who have approached its study and analysis from a multitude of perspectives.
These approaches have ranged from semiotic to psychological, and objects of
study have varied from classical to folk dances. But before any serious
analysis is undertaken to examine dance as a subject, it may not be redundant
to recall the primary instrument through which dance is performed: the human
body.
More
than being a simple chassis onto which muscles, organs and skin are attached;
the human body is an intricate whole, which is formed by the world but
simultaneously also serves to form the world. As such, the body becomes an item
that constantly evolves and is made subject to numerous societal influences and
could be argued to be a reflection of the culture in which it has evolved. Thus
the body is a testimony of the setting in which it has been engendered, a
glimpse of the realities that shaped it. We can consider it to be the most
universal and basic tool of identity creation, more important than personal
names, nicknames, passports driver’s licenses and other forms official and
non-official nomenclatures that assist in establishing our selves. It is hence
with the body that we affirm our identities, constantly meandering between our
desire for individual assertion and the laws or forces that regulate communal
behaviors. As the body does not offer unlimited pliability[1], our helplessness
in the face of conceding to the givens of a particular body – its physiological
trappings – have often been the causes for great individual and societal struggles.
Moreover as the self is captured within a physical body, the physical body is
in turn also victim of the physical and cultural world and its incessant
pressures. At times these pressures are deposited on the body, and can trigger
reactions or require channels of evacuation. From a physical perspective it is
obvious that certain triggers such as physical trauma elicit very specific
somatic sensations such as pain or shock. But if as argued earlier, our bodies
are as equally shaped by the world as they are able to shape it; how does the
body respond to the pressures of the world? How does it express itself when the bearings through which
it previously identified itself are vigorously shaken? How do certain bodily
practices serve as traces of culture and inform us of the world through which
they have been crystallized?
These
questions are particularly poignant in the context of dance, and its ability to
be as Hanna (1979) states “a more effective medium than verbal communication to
express needs or desires, or to mask intentions…”. Dance is therefore, as posited by Hanna a meta-communicative
medium that takes various forms depending upon the setting in which it is
presented. Moreover Glasser (1991)
argues that dance could serve a political function, in addition to its other
purposes such as entertainment, recreation, aesthetic expression etc. In what
instances can a non-verbal communicative medium such as dance, serve to express
political views and could certain dances ever be seen as an attempt to subvert
political power – a form of resistance, or perhaps resilience? Yet in fear of
being too general, it may be helpful to specify the spatial and temporal
context with in which I propose to locate my analysis of dance – the urban
landscape of Abidjan, the Ivorian capital in the years that led to and followed
what has been defined as the Ivorian crisis. Of interest to this work are two
specific musical styles/dances that emerged in the context of political turmoil
– they are namely Zouglou and Coupe-Decale, two ubiquitous genres dominating
the urban soundscape of Abidjan to this very day.
While
considered by many to be at diametrically opposite ends of the music/dance
spectrum, leading to much contention and inner tensions between adepts and
performers, it is my argument that these styles actually form part of the same
continuum and that one (Coupe Decale) could be considered to be the evolution
of the other (Zouglou). Prior to advancing any further in the discussion, it
would be useful to provide a quick contextual overview of the conditions in
which these dances emerged. In a previous discussion, I try to explore Zouglou
and its semantic implications by considering the origins and meanings of the
terms and its trajectory from the days of inter-school sports cheerleading
competitions (Wôyô) to the university protests and demands in the 1990s - a period conterminous with a wave of
democratization of the political field that swept across many African
countries. Kamate (2006) describes the Zouglou dance as "a set of jerky steps
with handwork that form a tense combination between incantations and street
fighting. The dancer flexes his/her legs and performs a zigzagging advance
while his/her hands cross each other akin to a knife-edge slicing through an
imaginary body". Moreover in Zouglou terminology and amongst adepts of the
genre, it is often repeated that “one does not dance Zouglou, but rather
releases/liberates through Zouglou” (on ne danse pas le Zouglou, mais on libere
en Zouglou). This semantic appropriation of the verb release as applied to
Zouglou dance implies a primary cathartic purpose of this music/dance. Bilié
Didier in his seminal 1991 song “Gboglo Koffi” provides the audience with a
very overt reading key to deciphering this dance and its erratic and uncoordinated
motions.
Ah!
Student life is beautiful.
But
there are lots of problems.
When
you see a student, you get jealous.
Always
Sapé[2]
Beautiful
boy, without any Ghanaian products.
But
one needs to step into his environment
To
appreciate the misery and hardship that the student faces.
Oh!
Dear God, what have we done to deserve such a fate?
And
it is this manner of imploring the Lord that has spawned Zouglou.
A
philosophical Dance which allows the student to meditate and somewhat forget
about his problems.
Let’s
dance Zouglou then.
For
many West-African societies catharsis is a very important instrument to manage
and regulate social tensions. From joking relationships, to satire and dance,
West-African societies created through some of these behaviours and rituals,
mechanisms to release mounting pressures and used them as a frame to pose a
critical gaze onto society. In addition, catharsis as understood by the Greeks
was a form of purification of repressed emotions through the arts. In the context of Zouglou music, this
same process could be said to be taking place as the dancer through their body
finds a way to discharge the accumulated stresses that their world would
deposit onto them. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to even define stress in this
context in its engineering sense as the ratio of the forces applied on a body
to its surface area. Viewing the human body as a whole to which only finite
amounts of pressures can be applied before rupture occurs, it may explain why
an imperative existed for some societies to devise ways to rid their bodies of
these pressures fearing that an emotional or physical outburst would occur.
With a body constantly being affected by the tensions of the world of which it
forms part and which it forms, it concurrently creates an impetus for release
through bodily practices of expression and the performance of social dances in
a context of social or political oppression. In the case of Zouglou music, it
may be necessary to look at the political landscape of Cote D’Ivoire in the years
that sustained the emergence of this particular genre – the early 1990s.
By the beginning of the 1990s, a decade had already passed since Ivory Coast had been subject to structural adjustment measures imposed by the Breton Woods Institutions. In the
face of systematic mismanagement of funds and endemic instances of what Paul
Bayart has termed “politics of the belly”, the Felix Houphouet Boigny
government was forced to implement drastic austerity measures through all
layers of society. Students who had until then benefited from full bursaries
from the state and enjoyed a rather satisfying lifestyle were now hardly even
supplied with semi-bursaries. Moreover, university campuses suffered from
chronic overpopulation as flocks of students arrived in facilities that had originally
been designed to accommodate a significantly fewer headcount. Of importance to also note is a key
speech that has significantly marked the imaginaries of many Africans.
Delivered to African presidents by Francois Mitterand, then president of France,
in the coastal city of La Baule in a post-fall-of-the-Berlin-wall context, this
speech stressed to African leaders that the only way to achieve sustainable
economic development was to democratize their political field as excerpted
below:
But
I want to say this: just as much as there is a vicious circle between debt and
underdevelopment, there is another vicious circle between economic crisis and
the political policy. One feeds the other. Therefore it is appropriate to
examine together how we could, on the policy level have a number of
institutions and ways of being that could help restore confidence, and at times
trust between people and their leaders, and also between one State and other
States, in any case trust between Africa and developed countries.
…
We
need to talk about democracy. It is a universal principle that has just
appeared to the people of Central Europe as absolute evidence to the point that
in the space of a few weeks, regimes considered as some of the strongest, were
upset. The people were in the streets and in squares, and the Old Power feeling
its fragility, ceased all resistance as if it knew that it already was, and for
a while now, emptied of its substance.
…
We
must understand that this wave will go around the entire planet. This is something
we know very well: the occurrence or glaciations or warming on either of the
poles now affects the whole world. This is a reflection that should not remain
in the realms of climatology; it also applies to the society of men! ... At
last, we breathe, at last we hope, because democracy is a universal principle.
…
If
there is dispute in a State, well, have the leaders of these countries discuss
it with their citizens. When I speak of democracy, I am tracing a path, I am
saying that it is the only way to reach a state of equilibrium when the need
for greater freedom arises. I obviously have a scheme ready made which consists
of: representative systems, free elections, a multiparty system, freedom of the
press, independence of the legal system, the rejection of censorship etc. Such
is the scheme that we have at our disposal.
Even
if on the surface this speech exalted the importance of democratic systems for
African nations; it was also connoted with a message implying that from this
point forth, France would establish a selective aid policy favoring those
African States which had implemented an effective democratic system of
rule. Nonetheless, the
aforementioned events served as catalysts leading to an increase in demands for
an end to the single-party ruling system in Cote D’Ivoire, and the university
of Abidjan’s campus served as the primary locus for the formation of many
anti-regime ideologies. It is also in these years that the FESCI (Student
Federation of Cote D’Ivoire - Federation Estudiantine de Cote D’Ivoire),
emerged as a dissenting voice against the MEECI (Students and Pupils Movement
of Côte d'Ivoire-Mouvement des Etudiants et Elèves de Côte d'Ivoire), believed
by many to simply be an extension of the PDCI-RDA – Cote D’Ivoire’s only legal
political party. It is also in this climate of political turmoil, that the
Zouglou dance formalized its own ideologies and acquired a definite form.
From
this illustration, we see how spatial (university campus) and temporal (1990s)
influences from their world have affected the precursors of Zouglou to generate
empowering dances containing narratives of subversion. If the Zouglou dancers
ended up imploring a higher power (God) in order to liberate their selves from
their problems, it is because they felt their government failed to meet its
obligations. With its eccentric motions – qualified by some as resembling those
of a disjointed puppet – and its self-mocking name[3], Zouglou embodies a
spirit of derision already present in ancient forms of African orature tracing
their roots back to the Mali empire and its famed griots. This recurring idea
of the emancipation of suppressed feelings through the act of dancing is once
again connotative of the cathartic function I mentioned earlier.
But
these emblematic early 1990s along with their climate of world agitation and
their winds of democratic change were not eternal. By the year 1993, Felix
Houphouet Boigny was no more and
left behind a political scene that hadn’t been prepared for his succession.
Beginning with the elections of 1995, boycotted by most of the opposition
parties, the country began a descent into a state of increasing political
turmoil. In 1999, a mutiny that turned into a Coup D’État deposed President
Henry Konan Bédié of his function, placing the General Robert Guéï as temporary
head-of-state in a bloodless military operation. Termed by many as Santa Claus
in fatigues, Guéï initially enjoyed unanimous popularity since he – as he liked
to claim – had only come to sweep the house. However, his discourse quickly
changed and he soon announced his decision to bid his candidacy for the highest
office. Riding on the xenophobic ideology of Ivoirité already put to use by his
predecessor, Guéï further modified the electoral code to disqualify most of his
opposition believing it would ensure him victory. However, it was not Rober Guéï, but Laurent Gbagbo – one of
Félix Houphouët Boigny’s most vehement opposants – who won by universal
suffrage. Two years into his rule, on September 19th 2002, Gbagbo and Cote
D’Ivoire were once again victims to another coup attempt. Rebels probably coming from southern
Burkina Faso failed to capture Abidjan, but managed to take a hold of strategic
cities the northern part of the country such as Bouaké and Korogho. In Abidjan,
a general sentiment of fear reigned as curfews were put into effect.
Announcements on TV and on the radio informed the population of the advance of
the assailants[4] aggravating the general feeling of anxiety already present in
Abidjan. In the words of many Ivorians, it was a period during which they were
“too sad” – a time of extreme anguish. Inhabitants of Abidjan who had until
then developed a festive culture, started feeling the oppression of their
situation. For the first time in its history, all of Abidjan was plunged into a
slumber by 6 pm.
It
is in this context of deep societal anguish that Douk Saga, a young Ivorian man
who had been residing in Paris arrived in Abidjan, bringing with him a
flamboyant dress style, peculiar dance steps and a musical style reminiscent of
Congolese Rumba and Ivorian Zouglou. It is thus that Ivorians discovered Coupé
Décalé, a neo- popular dance music genre with a very clear message: Let’s
dance! Let’s party! Let’s be joyous! But how does one dance when one’s country
is experiencing its most debilitating military and political crisis? Does being
joyous at such a grave juncture imply a form of irresponsibility? Would it have
been a more appropriate response to participate in the patriotic surge that
encroached the spirits of so many Ivorians during that time? It is impossible
to even attempt to shine to glimmer of light onto these complex questions
without first realizing that West-Africans, and Ivorians in particular, use
fundamentally different tools to cope with suffering. This dawned at a very unexpected occasion which I am hoping to illustrate through the following
anecdote.
A
couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine who’d lost his dad invited me to the
funeral. We had met a couple of weeks earlier for an interview and had developed
a bond. It was very important to him that I attend, and I, fearing to break
some courtesy code cleared my agenda for this event. I arrived late with a
friend, cautiously making our way across the open-air plaza. Chairs had been
laid out on both axes of the stage offering guests a central view of the action
unfolding in front. Above us, a streetlamp tinted the scene in golden shades
with its soft shimmers of light. We sat as the sermon was coming to an end. As
the preacher left, leaving his final benediction behind, the stage opened a
Wôyô orchestra. Soon, the patrons’ faces which had until then been sealed with
expressions of grief loosened up. A gentleman in a red T-shirt leapt unto the
stage, beginning an energetic performance to the sounds of the drums. Never
once expunging the grin on his face, he filled the space tracing winding lines
as he went from one end of the stage to the next. Soon, women dancing in the
same manner followed him and a dancing rainbow made of men and women donning
bright garments formed onto the stage. This approach to mourning profoundly
puzzled me, and I queried my friend Willy.
“Why
are they dancing?”, I asked.
Pausing
for a moment as if to gather his thoughts, he replied “Well it is to accompany
the deceased”.
“But,
isn’t a funeral supposed to be about mourning? This looks more like a party to
me.”
“Yes,
but we were sad earlier when the preacher was there. We cannot always be
sad. There is a time for mourning,
and there is a time for rejoicing.”
Through
Willy’s words I realized that Douk Saga’s attitude of joy in the face of
military or political hardship was neither irresponsible nor unpatriotic. It
constituted a form of resistance against forces attempting to disturb the
existing conditions. Using music and dance, Douk Saga and Ivorians have managed
to, as Mbembe so eloquently put it, use “music as a celebration of the
ineradicability of life, in a long life-denying history.” The Coupe Decale artists surely managed
to use their lifestyle to affect the imaginaries of Ivorians such that their
music “expressed, in the most haunting way, a raging desire not only for
existence but more importantly for joy in existence – the practice of joy
before death” (Mbembe, 2001). It is thus through this lens that Coupe Decale could essentially
be considered as a mouvement de joie (joyful movement). Dancing during hardship should then no longer strike us an oddity, but rather a necessity. It is in periods of great grievances that the body needs to express itself the most, it is also in these periods that dancing becomes paramount as an instrument to battle forces attempting to contest our very humanity.
[1] even though current advances in the fields
of medicine and technology have pushed the limits of the dynamics of bodily
alteration)
[2] Sape: Société des Ambianceurs et
des Personnes Élégantes (The Society of Merry and Beautiful People). An
acronym and culture which emerged in Zaire in the late 70s and was a form of
protest against Mobutu’s regime. Today the term is used widely across
French-speaking Africa and is synonymous with "well-dressed”.
[3] Origins of
the term Zouglou remain blurry. However, the preferred etymology alludes to the
Baoulé term Zuglu which means garbage, odd, or junk.
[4] This is the
term which has been used to designate the rebels throughout the decades that
shaped the Ivorian crisis.
Thursday, 30 April 2015
Zouglou! A first draft
Zouglou! C.I (Cote D'Ivoire!) Present on the Ivorian music scene for almost 25
years now, Zouglou has certainly now
imposed itself as a leading musical genre in Cote D’Ivoire contributing to the
formation of the country’s cultural identity. Through its creative melodies,
humorous lyrics and defiant allures, Zouglou
slowly positioned itself as a medium through which marginalized youths have
asserted themselves as a group, and have created a discursive space to communicate
their demands for social inclusion and intergenerational justice to a national
audience (Schumann, 2012). Prior
to my arrival in Abidjan, many skeptics had warned me that Zouglou had lost all its ground to newer genres such as Coupe
Decale and Nigerian Afropop.
However, today as one tours Abidjan, it is all but impossible to miss
the numerous Maquis proposing live Zouglou
or Wôyô at least once a week. Every weekend, the sounds of Zouglou drums saturate the neighborhoods of the city as patrons
gather in Maquis to socialize, drink and “liberate” (dancing in Zouglou terms). So how does Zouglou remain so popular to this day?
What were the conditions of emergence of this music? And to what influences has
Zouglou been subjected to produce its
current form. In order to fairly elucidate these questions, it is critical to
look at the origins of Zouglou, and
analyze its trajectory through the Ivorian socio-political field throughout its
years of existence.
Zouglou: Origins and
meanings of the term.
To Bilé Didier, singer and dancer to whom some people attribute the
paternity of Zouglou Music, Zouglou is the “expression of a set of
behaviours and a way of thinking through gestures" (Adom, 2013). In one of the first songs in the genre,
“Gboglo Koffi (The Hyena) (1991)”,
Bilé Didier loads the Zouglou dance
and genre with meaning by
describing a “philosophical dance”, a form of corporal expression for students
and a way of “implore the Lord, and meditate so as to forget their problems”. Yet,
research amongst scholars demonstrates that Zouglou
itself may have existed in other forms and with other purposes prior to Bilé
Didier’s opus. Indeed one has to go back some 20 years earlier to the days of
inter-school sports competitions organized by the OISSU (Office Ivoirien des Sports Scolaires et Universitaires – Ivorian
Office for School and University Sports) and their cheerleading orchestras
known as Wôyô (according to Adom,
this word means banter in Djula) or Ambiance
Facile (Easy vibes) groups. Usually composed of a lead vocalist, some
backup singers and some instrumentalists (a djembe drum or any surface that
could be struck and a bell or a simple bottle), these student groups often
toured the country with their sports teams and eulogized their own teams or
denigrated their adversaries through their vibrant songs. In addition, these
artists were also often called to perform at weddings, baptisms, funerals and
other ceremonies due to their ability to captivate their public and the general
popular nature of their songs. This attractiveness to the genre from the public
could be justified by alluding to Wôyô’s sense of déjà-vu due to it being a
music that heavily borrows from other styles (such as Aloukou in the Gouro
ethnic group, or the Gbé Gbé amongst the Baoulé etc.) present in the diverse
cultural landscape of Cote D’Ivoire (Cote D’Ivoire is made up of more than 65
ethnic groups, spread over at least 5 large cultural groups.). Consequently, Wôyô
artists are often accomplished polyglots capable of fluently speaking in
several other languages aside from French.
In the 1980s, several of these artists had completed secondary school
and while the more fortunate found themselves studying at the prestigious
University of Abidjan, a lot of them found themselves in situations that did
not permit them to further their education. Oscillating between odd jobs and their
performances, many of these artists kept to their Woyo traditions even as it
was no longer practiced in the context of inter-school athletics. Yet, in to Bilé
Didier and to many of the Zouglou
connoisseurs that I have had to speak with, Zouglou
is often described as not originally being a musical form, but rather being a
set of specific dance steps. Several
theories and genesis stories exist regarding the conditions of emergence of
this dance. One theory posits that these steps are attributed to a group of
students namely Gogoua Christian aka Joe Christie, Bakary Ouédraogo aka Esprit
Bakry and Bruno Porquet aka Opokou N’Ti (Lokpo, forthcoming) who may have developed their dance as a form of
mimicry and/or mockery of a philosophy teacher who accompanied the delivery of
his lectures with very articulated gestures. Another one claims that the origins
of the Zouglou posture takes from the
Baoule statues which represent a deity known as Gboglo Koffi (or Gbokrokofi). Tchimou describes the statue
as follows “Gboglo Koffi personifies the
hyena. It is usually represented by a tall statue; it has a human body mounted
with a hyena head. The knees are bent and the hands hold a small cup at chest
height, to receive offerings.” (Tchimou, 1996). It is worth noting that there is a striking resemblance
between the Gboglo Koffi statues and the typical Zouglou stance (see illustration below).
Moreover, as
pointed out by Tierou (2014), there is a close relationship that exists between
sculpture and dance in African traditions. Tierou’s hypothesis alleges that all
forms of African dance emanate from a basic somatic posture wherein the knees
are flexed and the chest is more or less straight. Just like a Gbokrokofi
statue, the Zouglou dancers keep their
knees bent and their hands held out, hoping and imploring the Lord, searching
for a means to better his/her situation. The group the Parents du Campus explains:
First
of all, Zouglou is a dance of misery,
a dance of hardship. When dancing, one lifts the arms towards the sky; it means
that the student is imploring God, asking for a blessing from our Lord because
he has many problems. When we bring down our arms toward the bottom, it’s to
show that the student after all of his studies, is blocked, because he cannot
find any work. (Man and Kraidy 1991: 10 – cited by
Schumann, 2012)
Would it be too far-fetched to claim that a parallel exists between Zouglou and these Baoule sculptures? Furthermore,
it would be worthy to also outline that in addition to being a Baoule deity,
Gboglo Koffi is also a prominent villain archetype in Akan folklore. Using such
figures to deliver social commentary was already present in the songs of the
celebrated Ivorian group Woya who had previously recorded a song named Kouakou Ananze (Kweku Anantse). In this
sense, it is as if artists named their songs after familiar folk figures such
as the hyena (Gboglo Koffi) or the spider (Kweku Anantse) to buttress the function
of these characters as vectors to educate and provide social commentary.
Nevertheless, my exploration thus far has yet to reveal any real
meaning associated with the word Zouglou.
According to the artist Poignon (on the precursors of the genre), the word Zouglou was simply an onomatopoeic interjection
void of any real meaning. Yet,
with time it appears that the term has been inflicted with meaning. As Soro
Solo hypothesizes, Zouglou is a
Baoule term that means “garbage”, “junk” or “rubbish”. This has been confirmed by another
informant who adds that Zouglou is a
pejorative term in the Baoule language which refers to something that may be
“dislocated” or “strange”. A strange dance that Joe Christie and his friends
used to practice with its jerky motions and peculiar steps, unlike anything
that anyone had previously seen. At a party on campus, seeing his friend Joe
Christy and his odd dancing form, Opoku Nti mocked him claiming that he was
“dancing in Zouglou” (Adom, 2014). The term caught on and with a slow but sure evolution and
this dance became engrafted to the Wôyô rhythmic basis to form this new
“philosophical” genre. Many observers have read this form of corporal
expression along with the themes articulated in Zouglou music as a direct
reflection of the condition of Ivorian society during the 1990s. In this sense,
it is important to note that in Zouglou (and in Coupe Decale as we will later
see), the nexus between dance and music is very present and intermingled – yet
not inseparable as it is often claimed is the case with African music/dance (See
Tierou, 2014). My informants have constantly affirmed that more than anything
else, they listened to Zouglou music
thus implying a certain passivity, but also a form of maturation of the genre.
On a rainy evening in Paris, Yode and Siro told me “You see, today if you go to Abidjan you will notice that it is Zouglou
that people play to attract people to their maquis. And today on the Ivorian
market, it is only Zouglou albums that still sell” (Personal communication,
2015). My own observation of live Zouglou in spaces such as the Maquis (open air restaurants) and Bars
Climatisés (air-conditioned bars) of Abidjan have revealed that unlike
Coupe-Decale, these spaces are frequented by people who have, to borrow Borrow
Koenig’s terms, graduated from the social
cadet status. It is through backing from this social class that artists
ensure their survival today by means of live performance.
Much like its fan base, Zouglou has also established itself today as a
“mature” music genre still expressing the distresses of a marginalized youth,
but surviving mainly through the patronage of a bourgeois sphere which has managed to establish and assert itself
in Ivorian society.
Saturday, 18 April 2015
“Cet autre que je ne suis pas” (This Other that I am not) - Reflections on a slam poetry night in Abidjan.
The last time I had been to a live
poetry recital was in Toronto when I still fancied myself a poet. Then, I
was still involved with the Parkdale Street Writers and we occasionally
performed at the Gladstone at least once every year. Despite promising myself
that I was going to attend a least one slam poetry session in Paris (there is a
very vibrant scene over there), things were just too busy. However, never had I
imagined that 1) Abidjan would offer me my first live slam poetry recital and
that 2) it would be so good! It helped that I was already at the Institut
Goethe where the performance would take place in the doing some work that
afternoon. From the library, I could already overhear the sounds of the
rehearsal permeating through my earphones. I paid no further attention.
A few hours later, I found myself in the middle of one of the most interesting poetry gigs I’d attended to date on an powerfully controversial topic: Homosexuality. However, the sheer brilliance and complexity with which it was tackled left me completely stunned. Not because I didn’t believe in the talent of these poets, but because my own presuppositions precluded me from believing that such a delicate topic would be tackled in a fair and sincere manner. The results were way beyond my expectations.
Homosexuality in Ivory Coast,
just like in the West, remains a widely controversial issue. As countries
slowly embrace more liberal approaches towards the issue, a certain level of
apprehension is still present in all communities on the basis of religious,
moral and societal underpinnings.
However, this apprehension more often than not has caricatured the
debate presenting the very two extremities of the question: homophobia and
“tolerance”. Nonetheless, the debate is often significantly more nuanced.
People not supporting homosexual marriage are not necessarily intolerant, they
are occasionally torn between societal and religious pressures and their own
moral codes.
As Amina Meliane Bamba’s piece
demonstrated (even if presented more eloquently than this), “God does not hate
gay people, but it is against his scriptures. And He simply hates it when we
stray away from his scriptures”. Upon first hearing these lines and the crowds
loud cheers, I couldn’t help but impose my own precipitated judgment on the
piece and label it as “homophobic”.
But it was not until I heard the following recitals that I understood
that the tolerance/homophobia dialectic often present in most of the debates on
the issue fails to capture its cultural complexity. As an example
Olili Armelle Renée Zako’s piece mostly recited in Bété, showed that culturally
the word “homosexuality” simply does not exist in the language, thus
illustrating the incredibly foreign nature of the concept and the tension that
one could face while trying to come to grips with it. Another poem presented by
a gay poet certainly shocked some with its graphic content but appealed to
everyone through its lyrical complexity. It received identical cheers and
ovations.
But of all the poems performed, it was the ones delivered in Nouchi that I found the most interesting. They were rich in imagery and utilized very complex and imaginative syntactic forms. Most importantly, they powerfully delivered opinions from a very poignant vantage point – that of the everyday man struggling to make ends meet. “Si ils veulent il n’ont qu’a aller grayé Cabri/ moi je cherche Cabri a manger” (if they want they can go have sex with goats/ I am simply looking for a goat to eat). This illustration does not aim to offend or portray homosexuals in a demeaning manner, but rather portrays a form of tolerant indifference, typifying an average Ivorian with too many economic, social and political challenges to face to even be bothered by this "new" issue.
But of all the poems performed, it was the ones delivered in Nouchi that I found the most interesting. They were rich in imagery and utilized very complex and imaginative syntactic forms. Most importantly, they powerfully delivered opinions from a very poignant vantage point – that of the everyday man struggling to make ends meet. “Si ils veulent il n’ont qu’a aller grayé Cabri/ moi je cherche Cabri a manger” (if they want they can go have sex with goats/ I am simply looking for a goat to eat). This illustration does not aim to offend or portray homosexuals in a demeaning manner, but rather portrays a form of tolerant indifference, typifying an average Ivorian with too many economic, social and political challenges to face to even be bothered by this "new" issue.
Friday, 10 April 2015
Joking relationships and Couper Decaler - any parallels?
Joking relationships - The foundation of humour in Cote D’Ivoire?
To any tourist in Ivory Coast, it is all but impossible to not acknowledge Ivorians exceptional sense of humour. Humour entwines itself through all aspects of daily life and often serves as the underpinning for many human interactions. This humour and apparent light-hearted approach to situations has always fascinated me as a fellow West-African. One must note that due to Ivory Coast’s hegemonic position in Francophone West Africa, its urban culture and language has always found a way to export itself to neighbouring countries. Thus, most people on the west coast of Africa understand basic nouchi words, and for many youths Abidjan has long been a preferred city for immigration due to its superior infrastructures and vibrant lifestyle – but also perhaps because of Ivorians legendary sense of hospitality? The national anthem – L’Abidjanaise – depicts this central value very early in its first stanza
We salute you, O land of hope,
Country of hospitality;
To many interlocutors that I have encountered, this hospitality the work of Ivory Coast’s first president, Felix Houphouet-Boigny. “He instilled in us a sense of hospitality and respect for one another”, I am often told. Yet, to an outsider the manifestation of this respect is at times done in a very atypical manner. Between ethnicities, groups, nationalities and friends, stereotypes abound. “You see these Bété people are this way…” “Baoulé people are that way…” “You Sénoufos are just like that!” While this stereotypical manner of categorizing individuals is present in almost every culture (thinking of stereotypes associated with races, nationalities in the West) including my own, the way it is handled in Ivory Coast has always intrigued me. It is only recently that I was introduced to the concept of “joking relationships” apparently very present in Cote D’Ivoire due to its cultural diversity.
What are Joking Relationships
The anthropologist Radcliffe Brown (1940) defines a ' joking relationship ' as a relation between two persons in which one is by custom permitted, and in some instances required, to tease or make fun of the other, who in turn is required to take no offence. He further identifies between two types of such relationships – symmetrical and asymmetrical. These relationships are found among many world communities ranging from Africa to North America. However, the circumstances of their occurrence and their function vary widely. They can occur between the members of the same family, between families (patronymic or matrimonial), or between clans (inter-ethnic). Unfortunately, for many of the instances that occur in West Africa, the term ‘joking relationship’ poorly captures the meaning and function of the phenomenon. Unfortunately the term “parenté à plainsanterie” used in French does not do a better job to capture the depth of the term. This is because, more than mere relationships, these social conventions are often pacts adopted by ancestors of previously warring factions, and in effect resemble alliances or covenants. Professor Urbain Amoa provides a few examples:
a) Nan is the abbreviation for Nanan in Agni or in Baoule. Nanan (grandfather or grandmother or ancestor) yields the phrase "ye nin bè di nan” which means we have a covenant with them"; such allies refer to each other as "nanan" and to each nanan, every person from the other group is "his slave" as prescribed by the practices of language juggling between grandparents and grandchildren.
b) According to Professor George N. Bouah "Toukpê" is an institution from ancient times designed to resolve social conflicts and to manage peace perpetually. "Toukpé, means "tou" as "jump" and "kpè" which means “cut” or “go through”; in other words “Toukpê” means “transcend”. (Amoa,2009)
The term ‘Joking relationship’ or “parenté à plainsanterie” proves too vague to describe the specifics and particulars of these kinds of alliances found all over West-Africa. In terms of function, these alliances through humour, serve primarily a peacekeeping purpose. Amongst the 8 objectives listed by Yacouba Kouadio relative to the rationale for the existence of these alliances, I am of Prof. Urbain Amoa’s opinion when he points out that one of the most important functions of these relationships is the obligation to defuse or make less alarming nascent or existing conflicts amongst peoples observing the pact. Prof. Alain Joseph Sisao further adds to the definition by elegantly noting that joking relationships could be defined as the social management of various sources of possible tensions through laughter. It is a question of evoking linkages to defuse tensions, to play on know-hows to let one know what was or what is, and to situate the Other at the optimal distance, close enough to be the same, yet far enough to remain Other. (Sissao, xxxx). In this sense, Sissao’s emphasizes the use of humour and ridicule as powerful agents in the social management of conflicts and other dramatic incidents such as war or death. Thus, practices such as Sanankuya which is synonymous to Toukpê (previously described) are ways for allied peoples to “play war so as not to make war” and to “act crazy so as not to become crazy” (Konate, 1977). Tense situations then become defused through humour and ridicule in the sense that social communication through humour aims at the rehabilitation of morality when it has been affected by a violent incident or one that is difficult to bear and forget. Insofar as the act to forgive is a decision that is taken by the offended party, the act of forgetting, ever more difficult to make, takes from a constant and continuous social practice. Therefore through play, one magnifies the facts (hyperbole) by voluntarily exaggerating and distorting the initial act to comical or even ridiculous extremes (Amoa, xxx).
Toukpê as a key to understanding the success of Coupe Decale?
Going back to the definition of the word toukpê (synonymous with Sanankuya), Amoa defines it as semantically made up of two verbs “tou” (which means remove, jump, fly, or take away) and “kpê” (which means “cut”, “sever”, or “go through”). According to him, Toukpê would then literally mean “cut” and “jump” (i.e. “break away from” and “get on top of” or “transcend”). Notwithstanding the apparent similarity that already exists between the literal translation of the phrase Coupe Decale (literally Cut and Shift) and Toukpê, other elemental parallels exist between the two. From my discussions with various artists, DJs, producers, journalists and other informants there is an unshakable truth about Coupe Decale: it served as an outflow of social tensions through music and dance, a form of cathartic mechanism shortly after the failed coup of 2002 and the ensuing state of emergency. “You see, before Douk Saga came, we were way too sad” declared an informant, “he really brought us joy”. Additionally in one of his songs, it is noted that Douk Saga “has put joy in our hearts and makes us forget about our worries”. Coupe Decale’s function as identified by its aficionados thus implies a liberating and gathering function through a transcending approach. By at times dramatizing war (prudencia, cacher-regarder concepts by Don Mike le Gourou), or simply evoking the daily (colgata), Coupe Decale, through its pantomimic approach has offered Ivorians during that time more than a simple distraction, but a channel through which social, political and economic frustrations could be released. In addition, as the overt political message often associated with its counterpart, Zouglou, was silenced Coupe Decale crowded dancefloors by welcoming everyone, regardless of political affiliations. Could Coupe Decale and Toukpe thus function in the same fashion as mechanisms of social release and social alliance activated through the social subconscious? It may be hazardous to affirm it without further pushing the research.
Monday, 6 April 2015
An attalaku for Abidjan's Maquis
Yepi sanga Yeip sanga - Ei Maquis é...
The
Maquis can be considered the nexus of social life in Abidjan. As such it must be celebrated. Its wooden or
metal truss structure over which a cloth, sheet metal or thatch roof is laden,
offers a refuge from the unforgiving blaze of the sun during the day and a
sanctuary for party-goers at night. Commanded by their thirst, the Maquis’
clients seek its shade, its good ambiance and its cold beers. The main road,
often never too far constantly affirms the presence of the city with its
unending parade of vehicles: orange taxis, yellow taxis, luxurious and diplomatic
SUVs, run-down Gbakas all speed across only leaving behind the fumes of their
exhausts and the echoes of their engines.
The
Maquis’ floor surface is often a concrete slab or bare sand over which a dozen
or so seats and tables are disposed. Depending on the time of day, the tables
feature food, drinks or both. Lunch options may not be very varied but are very
popular and can be quite scrumptious. Garba, the people’s favorite is a dish of
cassava powder (Attieke), fish and freshly diced vegetables (condiments). The act of eating is rarely solitary
and as such often becomes a social and collective experience.
Assembled
around a central dish, two or more people banter about and aloud. Two bowls of
water (soapy and clear) often precede the food and are used by the patrons to
wash their hands pre- and post- eating. With one hand (never the left) digging
into the food and the other manning the beer glass or chasing away the
undesirable flies, eating requires effort and dexterity; it becomes a form of
work/skill that must be perfected. Its work facet betrayed by the beads of
sweat found on the clients’ foreheads after the meal. In the words of Francois
Kouakou N’Guessan, “The word “Maquis” in Cote D’Ivoire evokes a reality that is
simultaneously gastronomic, cultural and political… the commotion, shouts,
interpellations and discussions give to the maquis an exceptional ambiance
which transcends its primary gastronomic function, and turn it into a true
cultural centre with all the implicated human interactions, reflections,
discourses and projects” (N’Guessan 1983).
If
in 1983 the culture of dancing in the Maquis hadn’t yet gained prevalence, the
failed coup of September 2002 in Ivory Coast, and the crisis that later ensued
surely changed the social dynamics of the Maquis. As curfews were declared in
Abidjan (sometimes starting at 6 pm, other times earlier), social angst swelled,
insecurity levels augmented and the climate became tense. However, “Just like
the Messiah came a young man, with his battalion armed with joy and gaiety” His
name was Amidou Doukoure Stephane Sagacité aka Douk Saga. With his Coupe
Decale, his flashy attires and most importantly his constant “Travaillement”
(the art of rewarding fans with money), Douk Saga crystallized himself and his
Coupe Decale as a new model of success for Ivorian youths. Moreover, Maquis
owners and patrons found innovative ways of circumventing the state of
emergency by opening their doors in the mornings or afternoons and offering
patrons the opportunity to liberate some of their worries to the hypnotic
sounds of Coupe Decale music. The Maquis thus became the terraneous grounds
onto which Coupe Decale music took its roots.
Nowadays
as night falls, vibrant music emanates from the Maquis and usually does not
stop until at least 6 AM. Savvy owners append night-clubs or air-conditioned
lounges (bar climatises) to their Maquis and offer their clients a fashionable
décor in which to spend their nights. Special Zouglou or Coupe Decale nights
are featured on big banners and serve to attract either one crowd or the next. If
N’Guessan had previously identified 3 categories that characterized the Maquis,
today a fourth can certainly be added: entertainment. Moreover its popularity has now become transnational as the word exported itself to counties as remote as Paris' Chateau D'eau and Chateau Rouge districts. The Maquis is no longer an Ivorian phenomenon, it is now international.
Friday, 27 March 2015
You think you know? …but you have no idea!
Abidjan isn’t what you think it
is. It is better. The trip from Charles De Gaulle started awkwardly. I found
myself in an adventure involving excess luggage, hustlers selling me jute bags
for 10 Euros (when it would have normally cost me about 3) and having to
abandon my carry-on suitcase in the terminal. I successfully managed to board
my flight without any additional incidents. My seatmate was a young Ivorian
named Jean, who had just left a Swiss city and was a manager in an expensive
watch store in a local Abidjan mall. He showed me pictures of his store and the
mall in which he worked. First thing that struck me is how closely it matched
the malls and stores I had seen in Canada and France. Unfortunately, despite my
own firsthand experience of West-Africa through Benin (2 years ago) and Ghana
(10 years ago), these two places have come to crystallize my vision and have
frozen my view in those specific times and places. There were no malls when I
left Accra 10 years ago. There are still no malls in Cotonou. However, Abidjan
has at least 3 that people have told me about.
When Jean told me the prices at
which designer watches in his store were sold – and they seemed quite exuberant
to me (then again I am not much of a watch guy) – he mentioned that there was a
huge market for these things (especially at Christmas and on Valentine’s Day).
“Can you see how quickly we absorb things?”, he said, “20 years ago, no one in
Abidjan knew anything about Valentine’s Day. Now we can’t go without it”. Right
before our landing, he exclaimed “Zota!”. This immediately caught my attention.
Was this the Zota aka La Petite Zota – i.e. Serge Beynaud’s dancer (arguably
the biggest Coupe Decale star) he was referring to? Yes it was. I immediately
chased after her (from my Economy seat all the way to Business Class) and
obtained her number! Moments later, the pilot announced “We are about to begin
our descent in Abidjan. The outdoor temperature is 28 deg C with clear skies.”
The research forecast appeared hot and quite promising!
Customs were smooth and completely painless. As we arrived,
medical staff systematically sprayed everyone’s hands with hand sanitizer
reminding us that Ebola is still a very real threat. This offloading didn’t
resemble what I had become used to in Cotonou, materializing through the heat
and rude border police. My host picked me at the airport and brought me to his
house. It had been 15 years since I’d last seen this city and all of its glory.
We sped across the brand new highway (le pont d’ADO as it is locally called),
with the Plateau (Abidjan’s business district) gleaming like a jewel in the
darkness across in the distance. Yet, the thick veil of the night had not yet
been pulled over Abidjan. It is in the districts of Marcory, Yopougon or Mawu
that the action happens.
An array of elegant lounges called
“bars climatisés” are interspersed across the city. Each of these lounges
features a typical interior layout consisting of mini-living rooms and a
central, but relatively small dance floor. The dance floor always features a massive
mirror that dancers face as they move to the music. It is my reading that this
mirror, along with the copious amounts of alcohol consumed in these places,
provides a certain sense of confidence to the dancers. This is in stark
contrast to other clubs and entertainment venues I have come across both in
Canada and Europe. Yaya Kone, a professor of anthropology, explained this to me
when we met in Calais “you see African people dance to express something and
they need to be seen. It is a communicative event. In order to do this they
need an audience. This is why Maquis in Abidjan are laid out in that way.
Dancing in Western clubs is very different because everyone comes to enjoy
themselves in a very individualistic manner”
It is in these places that
Abidjan’s nightlife distills into an intoxicating brew of dancing, alcohol and
sex. The parties start around 1 AM and can go up to 10 AM. As a resident of
Ontario, it was quite unimaginable since last call is usually about 2.30 AM. As
I appeared incredulous, a friend jokingly said “That is because you guys work
the following day!”. Gazeurs
(revelers) who are apparently also brouteurs
(literally grazers. But it is a term to designate cyber-criminals) turn up to celebrate life by ordering buckets of
beer bottles (1 bucket has about 10 bottles) accompanied by beautiful women in
their entourage. I have learned that some of these women are often discrete
escorts known as Kpoclés, who to the
unsuspecting eye blend in perfectly with the rest of the party. A trained eye
can also easily spot brouteurs from the clothes they wear, their demeanor, the cars they drive and
the way they perform the “travaillement”.
On one of my very last trips to
Chateau d’Eau in Paris (a place with a high concentration of West-African
immigrants), I was told that Coupe Decale was dead and was being overtaken by
Nigerian music. While this may be true in France, the Coupe Decale scene in
Abidjan seems very much alive from what I have witnessed so far. Over the
course of the following months, I believe that my primary challenge will be to
retain analytic distance, scientific neutrality and enough soberness to retain
all the information I am learning!
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