Feature Article

Griot’s Battle Song

(Fighting to Keep the Story Straight)

-Corey Highberg Mar, 2020

Griot’s Battle Song

(Fighting to Keep the Story Straight)

The Griot is a storyteller that fills many different roles. They originate in West Africa and are often cited as the ambassadors to royals, guardians of history, and entertainers for the public.[1] Since the founding of the Mali empire in the 13th century, the performers, who call themselves jalolu (jali singular) have been part of West African historical traditions and an integral component of the griots. The jalolu are the name common to the Manding griot, and the Manding themselves are known by many names based on the region and dialect that they herald from. They are known as the Bamana in Mali, the Maninka in Guinea, and in Senegal they are known as the Mandinka (or Mandingo)[2]. They are all descendants of the Mali empire and the griot helps keep the record of their tale.

While it is not necessary for the griot to be a musician, (as West African griot Sibo Bangoura describes[3],) without the music, he is only telling part of the story. The jali of different regions typically specialize in one instrument. The female jali, (sometimes referred to as a griotte[4]) usually plays the ne or ngarinya, which is a long tubular bell meant to produce a loud, festive clanging. The male jali typically play one of three instruments. In Guinea, the instrument is the balo or balaton, a xylophone style instrument. In Mali or Senegal, they play the kontingo, a five string, slender-bodied lute. In Gambia and the southern part of Senegal, the instrument is the kora, a 21-string harp with a large gourd at the base. The griots are part of the history of caste system that still has influence today in the Mande people. This system is defined by the groups of freeborn, slaves, and tradesmen. Of the woodcarvers, blacksmiths, and tanners, the griots are considered the most dominant of the group, as they deal with world of words, and therefore command a great deal of influence[5].

This influence did not wane in power until the 19th century. Up to that point, leaders had large courts and often employed several griots to record the genealogy and keep records of the ruler and their deeds. After the 19ths century, lost wealth and exploitation of the colonial period left many of the musicians of the Mali region to work as individuals and continue the job of musical historian through private hiring and performances for special ceremonies. The melodies used are passed down through the tradition and have little change, but the words are generally adapted to meet the needs of the story being told. As Roderic Knight comments, “No great emphasis on the composition of new music, but what is very common is the composition of new words for existing melodies.”[6] On the whole, there are specific lines and phrasings that are used for the foundations of much of the repertoire, while the griot, throughout the ages has adapted new lyrics to continue the tale of the figure and deeds that they are vocalizing.

The griot music tradition has a long history of favoring this type of storytelling and placing it of a higher rank then purely instrumental music in regard to the caste system. The jali of the Mali kingdom are the keepers of lineage and legend of the royalty, and their roots are foundational to the region’s culture. Their music helped transverse the Atlantic Ocean to influence evolutions of genres in the Americas, and the exchange continues to this day. As influences return to Africa a cycle of musical development rejuvenates the expressions throughout the world.

Narratives in the Gambian practice are categorized into two periods, (1) the times into the Sunjata and the Mali kingdom (1200s), and (2) the times of the last mansas (1800s). I have taken two examples of modern griot performance of the kora and correlated them to the complications of the griot’s relationship with their role in West Africa as historians and storytellers.

This story begins after the forging of the great Mali empire through conquests and trade routes that connected Europeans to Southern Africa, the Eastern Kingdoms of Turkey, and Asia. These complex passages would also develop new influences from the Islamic cultures, and as the Muslim world began to assume rule after jihads overthrew many of the Mandinka rulers, the griots often found themselves in conflict. Many scholars depict the jali as being in direct opposition to the spread of Islam in the 18th and 19th centuries and resisted Islamic influences well into the colonial periods of the 20th century[7]. During the 1800’s however, the jali remained a key part of the rulers of the area, making sure to document their tales, and to recite the ancestral roots of the Mandinka legends.

The music of these storytellers can be viewed in three parts: lyrical content, instrumentation, and rhythmic component. During the 1800’s, the lyrical content still followed the primary poetic foundations, but included new texts specific to the ruler they may have served. Regardless, the underpinnings remained the same. Some of the lyrical structures included the following examples of topics:

· Islamic fatalism: “Before God created life, he created death.”

· Moral judgements: “The talkative kings are plentiful, but men of great deeds are few.” And “Misery is hard on a woman; shame is hard on a man.”

· Advice: “the world is ever-changing. If someone doesn’t know your past, don’t tell them your present affairs.”

· Observations: “Life is nothing without conversation.”

· On Wealth: “Wealth is not a tonic for life; wealth is to save you from disgrace.”[8]

The “douga”, as sung by Sory Kandia Kouyaté, is an example of a griots music that transcends the ages and whose moral tale is still respected by the recipient of its moralities, today. This lyrical example exonerates a celebrated man whose is a person of principles that observes the rules of their profession and possess high dignity through thought and deed[9]. Sory performs this song on the kora and in his recording from “L’Epopee Du Mandingue,” Traditional Songs of Africa illustrates the mesmerizing call and long-note chant style that the vocal sings. The feel of the music is overpowering, grandiose, and leads the listener into a reverence for its intended subject. Nicholas Hopkins tells us that the person the griot would sing this tale to would have to take precautions prior to its “incantations”, to protect themselves from the evil genies that it would inevitably invoke.

The kora in this musical example is plucked, as the instrument is a bridged harp, with 21 strings tuned in reference to the song that they are played for. In the “douga” as performed by Sory, he tunes the kora in series of notes that include quartertones, similar to the pitches of the maqams in traditional Arabic music. The plucking is somber and generally not set to strict rhythm, although there is a tempo associated with the overall performance. The “douga” example is one that does not include percussion, which seems somewhat counter intuitive to western views of what African music generally consists of.

A second example of this style of storytelling comes from Sibo Bangoura, singing “Nan Fulie” during his Ted Talk in Sidney Australia[10]. This song also carries a long held traditional melody imbued with updated lyrics to continue the historical record. His kora performance is more upbeat, with rhythmic remnant of the Caribbean styles that would later emerge as a result of the Atlantic slave trade. The pulse is consistent simple meter retaining syncopations on the upbeats of the second beat. Bangoura relates his long family rituals to the tradesman lineage he is a part of, noting that he is a griot because his father, and his father’s father was before him. Bangoura’s example is different then the Sory example as the tonality is in the familiar western intonations. Also, the rhythmic structures follow a 2 / 4 pattern, in contrast to Sory’s performance of “douga” that are in a 3 / 4 pattern. Sory’s performance is darker and more somber, involving a feeling of ceremony and magic, compared to Bangoura’s far more festive presentation.

The griot today is relevant as an entertainer and relay of West African history to the communities they serve, but also as an important service to the tourist industry. Their role as educators and protectors of the past continues in the cities of Guinea, Mali, and Senegal. The movie “Keita: Heritage of the Griot”[11] does an excellent job of complicating the role of the griot with westernized ideals of history and preservation of knowledge. The story catalogues a young boy’s quest to understand his family record. His father begins to chronical their tale to him, and tells his son of the great Kouyate and their service to the kings of ancient Mali empires. The boy becomes so entrenched in the story that he begins to slip away from his western studies. His mother and his schoolteacher stand for a westernized education and believe that it will offer him the best chances for success, but he wants to know the description of his past as told by his father. He is more attracted to the romance of the griot and his place within it then his lessons at school. The movie is from 1995, and it intersects the accounts of 13th century history as recorded by African traditions with the academia of modern state accepted historians. This controversy still stands today, as griots are outside the world of record keeping, and position themselves in the modern era firmly in the telling of memory. As Nicholas Hopkins notes,

“The question of whether these reciters are historians or poets came up at the Manding Conference held in London in 1972,…Both jeli and academic historians are interested in the past, but their attitudes towards their knowledge and its use contrast. The historian is based on what he can display of his knowledge, … the jeli is based on what he is believed to know but does not say, and what he does say is in the context of performance, and a performance is not a seminar.”[12]

The legends of poetry that the griots sing their lineage through, their unique African instrumentation, and the important traditions they preserve make them a critical part of the culture of Guinea and surrounding regions. As these songs and musical forms traverse the globe, their complicated story grows and becomes more inclusive, further stretching the boundaries of authenticity and appropriation. It is amazing how much this music has retained of its past and exciting to see how much it has evolved. Sory Kandia Kouyaté’s renditions permeate the traditional mysticisms of the old centuries, while Sibo Bangoura carries the old world to new ears, adopting his story into the new narrative of griot legend.

Griots also have a fascinating connection to how their culture incorporates language into means of power. The contributions this sector makes to balance peace and conflict within their own ranks, in addition to the bonds that they foster in the social dynamics is fascinating. The griot society uses their wordsmith to craft alliances, create peace, and avoid battle by fighting each other with magic, songs, and music.

Merchants from South Africa, Europe, Egypt, and Asia mixed and bargained for gold and the exchange of exotic goods. The city of Timbuktu, (along with the rise of wealthy warlords) built the Mali empire, and from it, griots would craft legends to honor their lords and weave the genealogies of their reign to the masses. The griot became emissaries and the only people permitted to raise their voice in diplomatic meetings. Modern historians searched for ways to create African textbooks, and griot helped chronicle the historical record as compiled for the modern nations of Gambia, Mali, and surrounding regions.

One of the most powerful accounts is that of the Sunjata, an epic that depicts the lineage of the Mali empire as told by the jeli of Gambia[13]. What is more important than the story itself, is the dominant role that griot have in shaping the medieval record of West Africa, and their power position in leadership communication with the other castes. In the 1960’s, government officials attempting to create a literature narrative for education and transmission developed a complicated bargaining with the area’s jeli, a group that was consistently problematic because of the necessity to pay them in order for them to reveal their oral accounts. They were especially frustrating, because they would often reveal small sections of their tales, demanding compensation to tell the rest. The tradition of presenting gifts is part of their function and is not out of greed. The griot was known to perform ceremonies, administer religious rites, and conduct debates, and it is customary to provide offerings for their craft. They saw this administrative state need as part of their cultural role, and it betrayed their profession to give these stories freely. It would have been out of context to their role.

The Griot are important “praise-singers”. Known as fasa dali among the Maninka, Bamana, and Dyula, it is more than a matter of voicing kind words. These performances are charms. They play a special role in advocating for power dynamics of the person they are sung for[14]. While the griot is critical in maintaining accounts and advocating for nobility, they hold an interesting reputation. Many are resented and have a negative stigma because they spend so much time talking the praises of those they serve. Therefore, they typically earn the spite of the opposition. They hold the curious position of being needed while simultaneously being despised. They can be feared for their proficiency in using language and are known to have magic capabilities. The griot seems to consistently navigate this line between being “parasites and sycophants, and artist and preservers of culture”[15].

Within their ranks is a fascinating dynamic of power struggle. In 1984, Barbara Hoffman conducted field work recorded in her book, “Griots at War”[16]. In this narrative, she studies as a griot apprentice. She is the only European present during a great council in the city of Kita, Mali. This was the largest collective of griots in modern times and marked the passage of a new leader for the griot caste. She spent three days at the convention. She spent the next 10 years unravelling what happened. Her accounts unlock troubles with language, translation, and complications of race as viewed from the “white person’s” eye. In one account, the first day of the convention, she recalls an epic that tells how “white language” cannot express the culture of the Mande. It goes on to talk about how the siya fila, (or race distinctions), defines the four different intersecting tribes as a unified group, bound by their regional histories. During the rest of the gathering, these groups praised, criticized, revered, and denigrated each other, all in an effort to unify under a new leader. The griot is a critical force in the culture of the Mande and surrounding people. The power struggle, that on the outside appeared to be celebration and ceremony, underneath was, “in fact also a battleground where forces beyond my reckoning were engaged in mortal struggle; where scores, some recent, some centuries old, were being settled and upset again.”[17] The most powerful bards in Kita came in armor, and the women carried special twigs protruding from their mouths to help ward off harmful energies.

This is a performative warfare, using the tools of poetry and music. Those that herald from Gambia play the kora, as mentioned previously. The kora is a 21-string harp[18]. It is a male-only instrument, and there are several suspected reasons. One is that perhaps it is a descendant from the hunter’s bow. Another reason, some suspect, is because of its suggestive phallic appearance when played. All of the griot sounds and accompaniment provide for a primary goal in the modern ceremony. Beyond settling disputes internally, they also seek to keep the “white man” out of the affairs on Mande society. Hoffman goes on to describe the recital of El Haji Yamuru Jabate, one of the principle participants from Kela:

Yamuru’s History of the War of the Kita Griots

The matter of the Hall, if you see

that a war arose from it,

Ever since the time of the whites,

the griots of Kita have gathered

together,

In order to,

each, on their own side:

the Dangon griots,

the Tunkara griots,

the Kuyates,

The Sumanos,

every griot,

the Jabates,

they all met together.

They all spoke with one voice

“Let us build one Hall.” they said.

“So that our disagreements never

reach the authorities again.

When griot factions fight,

we will sit in that Hall and discuss

the conflict until it is over”

That is the kind of wisdom.

That gives people intelligence.

The whites knew it too,

that we were really in agreement on

this matter.[20]

There is so much more to tell about the complexities of conflict within this caste system that has evolved to contain its struggles within its own order to avoid the confrontations of outsiders. This short glimpse captures a complex incident of power dynamics among various leaders in a musical tradition. The griot of the Mande, and the griot that carry the history and genealogies of a long catalogue of Mali descendants protect their profession and their culture through these complex gatherings and a battle of words. It is a legend that passes beyond the written phrase and captured in the magic of an African bard. Griots carry the tune, on.

(Click here for references)

Musical/Media References:

Here are links to the two musical examples I chose to analyze and the link to the short clip from the movie:

Sory Kandia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58kLVY97Xgk

Sibo Bangoura: https://youtu.be/QdrPmZwsXiM

Keita: A Heritage of The Griot: http://newsreel.org/video/keita-heritage-of-the-griot

- CHH, May 2020