Our engineer, Sauzereau, meanwhile was busy putting the Davoust together, an operation the difficulty of which was greatly increased by the fact that several of the sections had got bent and twisted, either on the road or during the time when she was left at Badumbé. In her case also we had to resort to various ingenious contrivances, supplementing the original metal with pieces of wood or iron rods. On November 19 we launched her, but the water rushed in in floods through the badly fitting joints, and our unfortunate vessel seemed more like a huge strainer than anything else. Well, we must tighten the bolts somehow! So in somewhat primitive costumes we armed ourselves with turn-screws, and with our feet in the water did our best. Taburet especially distinguished himself at this work, and was so full of zeal, that in his too eager efforts he even broke off some of the heads of the bolts. We were obliged to check our good doctor’s ardour a little. At last, what with blows from our turn-screws, and the use of plenty of putty and a little tow, we succeeded in draining the boat.
PROCESSION OF BOYS AFTER CIRCUMCISION.
We made two straw couches on the Aube, and—unheard-of luxury!—we covered over the plank ceilings of the Davoust with pretty yellow mats made in the country, the colours of which harmonized well with the light grey of the wood.
Whilst we were thus at work we were able to make our observations at our leisure on the life of the village. We happened to have arrived just at the time of an annual fête, which is the delight of all the natives of Bambara, except perhaps those on whose account it is held. I allude to the ceremony of Buluku, or circumcision, which is performed on male negroes at the age of twelve, whilst young girls of a similar age are subjected to an operation of a corresponding but more barbarous kind. Male and female blacksmiths, who, amongst all the Sudanese tribes, are a class apart, are the operators. The victims are taken outside the village to a wood considered sacred, and there they are compelled to dance and shout till they are exhausted with fatigue, and reduced with the further aid of copious draughts of libo, or millet beer, to a state of semi-insensibility. The operation of circumcision is then performed with a sharp little knife, on a mortar for grinding millet turned upside down. The poor children must not utter a cry or even moan, although, judging from the expression of their faces, they suffer a good deal. The young girls undergo a similar treatment, but whereas their brothers are all right again two or three days afterwards, they are ill for more than a month. During the period of convalescence the children are not allowed to return to the huts of their parents. Under the care of the blacksmiths they are to be seen going round and round the villages in small parties singing, and during this march they are allowed to take anything they fancy without paying for it. All this time the girls are covered by big white veils, whilst the boys wear a cap of a peculiar shape; both sexes carry a musical instrument made of pieces of calabash, threaded on a thin branch of some tree, the clinking of which is heard a long way off.
THE SACRED BAOBAB OF KOLIKORO.
At Kolikoro, the year after this ceremony, the girls who have been operated on give a fête called the Wansofili. In the centre of the village is a huge baobab tree many centuries old, which is held sacred by the natives, and is supposed to have the power of making women prolific. The girls alluded to above gather about this tree in groups and rub their stomachs against the trunk with a hope of thus ensuring offspring. The ceremony winds up with a debauch, during which scenes occur which have perhaps more to do with the perpetuation of the race of the Bambaras than even the venerated baobab. One evening when I had gone to witness a Wansofili, I was obliged to imitate the example of Jacob’s son and to flee from the daughters of the village, lest my dignity as Commander of the expedition should be compromised. It was too hot for me to be wearing a mantle, otherwise I should certainly have left it behind me.
On the occasion of the Buluku a certain Kieka-Sanké came to give us a tam-tam of his own. Kieka-Sanké, I must explain, is a member of the Koridjuga tribe, a caste with its own special customs and its own dancers and singers, I might almost say composers.
Sanké was an old acquaintance of mine, and his mummeries had often amused me. Moreover, the information he had given me had often been most useful, for the right bank of the river was then still in the power of the Toucouleurs, and I had neighbours at Guni, and in Sanké’s own village, on whom it was necessary to keep a vigilant watch.