Jusqu'a la mort!

I heard the sound of the bells on their ankles and the whistles in their mouths long before I spotted them. People crowded to the edge of the village in anticipation. Before long, I saw the line of men snaking through the woods, approaching the village. What before had been a cacophony of noises soon became a cadenced rhythm as they came closer - stomp whistle stomp whistle stomp. These men - recently welcomed to manhood - with their goathair leg warmers and jelly shoes - were passing the torch. A new group of men would be initiated this weekend.

These people are Bassari and this means one important thing to a Peace Corps Volunteer: as Christian animists, they have no taboos about drinking. And it is this unique cultural experience that compelled 30 Americans and 1 Spaniard to sit in a hot bus, just to arrive in the village of Egath hours later covered in red dust.

Later, as the last of the whistles died away (they would be back and going strong until well past midnight, I soon found out), I sat under a tree with Josef, a Bassari man who works at the Baptist Mission in Kedougou. He told me about his initiation back in 1985 and how - now with pride in his voice - his two oldest sons recently went through theirs. He explained the confusion that ensued when a matrilineal society became colonized by a patrilineal one, and how he avoided some of this confusion by marrying a woman with the same last name. And then Josef outlined how the rest of the night would proceed:

Visitors walk from house to house, greeting the people of Egath. In so doing, they are given a cup of honey wine (or palm wine or millet beer). That first day, the alcohol would be free-flowing; the next day we would have to pay.

"Wow, so by the end of the night, after visiting every house in the village..." I trailed off.

Josef looked at me and smiled.

Chip, Janet, and I were in a language group together during training. It seemed fitting that now, a year later, we should have a reunion. The three of us broke apart from the rest of the group to tour the village together. And that's when our lives would be forever changed: we met Albert.

Chip, Albert, and Chrissie

Albert was a man about half my height. He carried a stick and had tucked something into the back of his pants to make a tail. This tail would swish as he swayed back and forth - something he did more and more often as the night progressed. Also, Albert was already three sheets to the wind at the time we met him and asked him to be our unofficial guide to the festivities. He was only too happy to oblige.

Albert was funny. He was dramatic. He would caution us to watch our step as we approached a leaf. ("Attention!" he would gasp.) Inbetween houses, we would throw our heads back and proclaim to the stars "We will drink palm wine jusqu'a la mort (until we die)!"

By the time we reached the last house, a small group of our friends had attached themsevles to us. In the circle we formed, passing the cup of honey wine, an old woman came out of her house and began dancing. She was so cute, I couldn't help myself. I danced, too. Sometime later I asked if she would be my Egath mom. She agreed. She said to come back the next day. I promised I would. Sometime even later, I fell asleep under the stars.

The next day was the day of the wrestling match between the older boys and the new initiates. Women are not allowed to attend this match, so as the men went off to the spectacle, the artisans rolled out their goods and the women went shopping.

I decided this would be a good time to visit my new host mom. I bought a pack of beignets and headed to her house. She was as sweet as I remember from the night before - offering me refreshment and a really delicious powdery concoction of pounded peanuts and sugar. There was only one thing I hadn't noticed before - my new mom and I didn't share a common language. Not a word.

They say blood is thicker than water, but is it thicker than palm wine? Could we traverse our differences? Could I tell her stories about my real mom in America, or she tell me about her childhood?

The answer is no, but it doesn't matter. I would visit her five more times that day; each time, the portion of honey wine and peanuts would become more and more substantial.

That day before leaving for Kedougou, I said goodbye to Josef, goodbye to my mom, goodbye to Albert - who was still wearing his tail, and goodbye to this experience I would remember jusqu'a la mort.

*Special thanks to Ashleigh Baker for contributing photos for this blog entry.