So before I get started I want to make a quick comment that will seem to most people like
an irrelevant technicality. So feel free to skip ahead straight to the words of wisedom, but... I think it is
interesting and, if you are trying to gain some understanding of West African
culture and society (I mean who knows?) from these words of wisdom here, then it's pretty important.
And
this is just that, if you think way back to my post What's a Jaxanké?, you may remember that
"Malinké and Jaxanké are the same language, but culturally and
historically very different peoples."
The
difference, to make a long story less long, is this:
The Jaxanké
people are culturally and ethnically descendant from the Sarakulé, or
Soninké peoples, who (were) converted to Islam earlier than virtually any other
group in this part of the world (Western West Africa), around the 11th century.
Jaxankés split off from the Sarakulé in the 14th or 15th century and migrated
down to the periphery of the Futa Jallon Mountains (ie. around here), where
they have lived as a fairly insular, scholarly, and religiously autonomous
people ever since. When they arrived in this part of the world, the Jaxankés
came to live in proximity to the Malinké people, among other groups, and so
gradually adopted the Malinké language, dropping the Sarakulé toungue.
Although
various dialects of Jaxanké retain certain amounts of Sarakulé terminology and
phrasing, Jaxanké and the dialect of Malinké spoken around here (Generally
refered to as Western Malinké) are, for all intents and purposes, the same
language.
The Malinké
people, on the other hand, are the descendants of the rulers and citizens of the Malian
empire, which is where the name comes from. Ké means man. Mali + ké = man of
Mali, just as Jaxanké means man of Jahxa, which their mythical city of origin.[1] While the ruling class
of the empire was strongly Muslim, the citizens of the Malian empire, composed
of various 'Malinké' groups, spanning a vast territory of West Africa, were
only nominally converted, if that. In fact, most Malinkés did not adopt Islam
in any real way until the end of the 19th century, during the last of
the Pulaar Jihads. Even today, in many cases, the religion does not have as
strong a foothold among the Malinkés as other groups in the region. (Although
in many cases it does, have no doubt.) Some Malinkés around here are known, for
example to still enjoy wild boar (which is harem), and while I often run
into Malinkés at the local palm wine bar, you would never find a Jaxanké there.
So,
the point of this preamble is to say, simplement,
that these are Malinké proverbs, and not Jaxanké proverbs. I live
with Jaxankés, whose proverbs you could find in the pages of the Koran. But
studying these Malinké proverbs has been a great boon to my language
acquisition, and although they might not all be relevant to a Jaxanké standard
of wisdom, they almost always elicit a chuckle, or perhaps a frown, at the very
least, when I share them with people in my village.
Anyways,
to get to the subject of the proverbs themselves. These are all from a book
called Proverbes Malinké, (Fleuve et Flamme, 1985, Paris), an amazing
book/publisher to which I want to assure all due credit is given.
I
think that these proverbs, especially with a little bit of background, are a
fascinating insight into the culture and mentality of the Malinké, a people
of the southern Sahel, which is sometimes a place of great abundance, and
sometimes, great scarcity.
I picked out the best ones from the book. More to come, there are more than 300 in this book.
5.
Sòlimaa mèe í nùxun nùmoo má.
One
who is about to be circumcised can't hide from the blacksmith.
Background
: Blacksmiths traditionally do the dirty work in circumcision ceremonies
Pretty
simple, you can't hide something from someone you are close to.
17.
Í bòri wó bòri, í mèe í jùo dàn.
No
matter how fast you run, you can never pass your butt.
-This
is for people who are always too rushed, someone who gets to a party way too
early.
19.
Síla kíliŋ té síla tí.
A
single road, is not the road. (Road in this case is synonymous with way, or
path, like chemin in French)
-This
is to remind people that there are many possible outcomes, possibilities. Don't
think that the way things are will always remain the same. Expect diversity in the world.
23.
Fúuta tàxa kíliŋ mèe mòxo ké Jállo ti.
One
trip to the Futa Jallon Mountains does not make you a Djallo.
Background
: Djallo is the most common name in the Pula Futa ethnic group, who originate
in the Futa Jallon mountains.
"You
spent a week in Texas one time and now you are calling yourself a cowboy? Come
on!" Or, "You go to Paris once and suddenly you're an expert on wine
and cheese? Get outa here!"
28.
Bàa xá tùruma dómo.
The
goat ate the hyena.
-You
might say this if you were very surprised about something. Or if you witness an
unexpected reversal of roles. For example, if one time the men in your village spent
the whole day cooking and cracking peanuts and watering beds of mint and
nursing babies and pounding corn and sweeping, and doing laundry, and gathering
firewood, and the women sat around reading the Koran and drinking tea, you
might exclaim something like, "Holy mackerel! The goat ate the freaking
hyena!"
34.
Kèebaa sìgiriŋo sé méŋ jé, dindiŋ lòoriŋo mèe wò jé nòo
An
old man who is sitting can still see things that a young boy who is standing
can't see.
-This
is a classic, one of the most commonly recited proverbs I've known in Senegal.
It fits neatly into the highly ageist culture that is common to most every
ethnic group I know of here. Old men are taken very well care of, and their
wisdom and knowledge are venerated unconditionally, whereas little boys are
almost demonized for being little boys, and made to pay for it by constantly being
charged with petty tasks and arbitrary reprimands, or just being put onto the
street to beg for their meals.
I think
that the urban Talibé system is a manifestation of this mentality.
To
be clear, there are Talibé in Dar Salaam, but they, through the leadership of
my host dad, the imam, adhere more closely to the original idea of the system,
which is to nurture important, practical skills in farming, and develope an
advanced knowledge of the Koran. The urban Talibé system, which now dominates
almost every city of any size in Senegal is a fairly new phenomenon, and is
basically based on taking advantage of the tendency for good Muslims to be
generous alms givers, although it does vary considerably. The boys have to beg
for all of their food, and turn over at least a given amount of money every
day, or they get beat.
This is a society that seems to be designed to
make life as hard as possible for young boys. I've seen villages where the
animals are numerous and plump because their owner uses the money he gets from
his brother in Spain to buy lots of feed and more and more animals, but in the
same village, the Talibé street kids look rough, emaciated, like they are
clearly suffering.
And
suffering, I think is part of the crux of this cycle here. Everybody has
suffered and does suffer here. Especially previous generations, who therefore perpetuate
this cycle that you can't be a man till you've gone through hell.
53.
Ní í xá kúmbiriŋo fórse dùŋ ná í lá kùmba kòno, láa à lá kó à mèe líi láa.
If
you force the bee into it's hive, you can be sure it won't make honey.
This
has a pretty nice message; forced labor won't be good labor. But I can't say
that I've witnessed it's reality. People, like women and Talibé are forced to
work all the time, and they do, and they do a good enough job that whoever is
running the show gets enough honey that it is worth it to keep forcing them to
work...
59.
Yego la taro mee loŋ jio xoto.
We
don't know if fish sweat underwater
If
you asked me what it was like in Guinea, I might tell you this, since I have
never been there.
60.
Fúla hìnki wó hìnki, à x'á lóŋ né kó nónoo mú féŋ géyma lé tí.
No
matter how blind the Pulaar is, he knows that milk is white.
Background:
Pulaars are a historically nomadic people, and they continue to prize their
cows and their milk, even if they are settled. Thus, milk is so engrained into their
culture, that even blind Pulaars must know what it looks like.
An
old person, who can no longer farm might say this proverb, and something like:
"I don't farm anymore, but trust me, I know a little something about
corn."
[1] There is a second etymological
construction that I try to use in order to avoid being sexist by default, which is adding the word ŋo instead of ké to
the root word. Ngo, or ŋo means person, and everybody understands Jaxaŋo or
Maliŋo. I try to use this construction whenever possible, but Jaxanké and
Malinké are much more widely used terms.
