A Bamanan Wedding...

Village women performing a traditional dance around three traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’ Note the brown/red/yellow fabric many of the villagers are wearing. This was the fabric chosen for the ‘kɔnyɔn' and many villagers got clothing made out of this fabric for just this occasion. 

This past week, a young tailor, Omaru, in my village married his first wife. The actual wedding itself, the ‘furusiri,’ took place Sunday afternoon within the village mosque. As per tradition, the bride and groom did not attend. Only men were present, and the groom was represented by his best friend.

The marriage ceremony began shortly thereafter, and is called a ‘kɔnyɔn.’ In preperation, a cow was slaughtered by the groom’s family early Sunday afternoon, and meat was handed out to other men in the village as a gift. I was given the meat from the cow’s head, which my host-mother cooked for me.

People gathered that afternoon to chat, and a dinner of rice, peanut sauce, and beef was served communally.

That night, the real festivities began. The village ‘dɛnmisɛnw jɛkulu’ (children’s committee, which includes ‘children’ of approximate ages 5 to 30) had recently raised money to purchase a stereo system. For the occasion, they brought out this equipment in the open area near one of the pumps and arranged chairs in a circle, forming a dance area in the middle.

Beginning around 9PM, the villagers began blasting African dance hall-style music, which for the most part was similar to reggaeton with its repetitive beat and yeling, but with Malian style synth instrumentation thrown in. They only had one disc of music, through which they manually skipped between about five three-minute songs, each being played more than ten times, until they mercifully stopped around 2AM.

I was rather disappointed when I first arrived in my village to find that after their traditional drums broke several years ago, they have ceased to have traditional music at any of their ceremonies. For this wedding, however, a ‘jɛli’ (griot/singer) and a band of traditional drummers, consisting of a large circular drum called a ‘dunun’ played bare-handed, and two smaller djembés played with a stick in one hand and the bare palm of the other, were hired from another village.

The three traditional drummers: the 'dunun' is in the center, flanked by the two smaller drums.

Unfortunately on Sunday night, they didn’t begin playing until around 12:30AM when I was dead tired (late nights are a rarity here for me). I did wake up around 4AM to find that the music troupe was still going strong.

The next morning, the ‘kɔnyɔn’ continued with chatting over tea and a communal breakfast of rice, peanut sauce, and beef.

At 11:30AM, the traditional drummers came back out and performed for an hour and a half. Many of the villagers got special clothing made just for this event, with the same matching fabric, which they finally donned at this moment. As the band played, women gathered around the drummers in a circle to perform a traditional dance, swinging their arms with pagnés in hand and facing into, then out of the circle, as they paraded around. Despite the organization, it certainly did not lack for energy.

The man in the grey traditional clothing is the 'jeli' (griot/singer), and is backed up by the woman seated to his left with the microphone.

Occassionally, some of the younger men would join in, and I knew my turn was coming. Darada, an eccentric young man who the night before dressed himself in a cowboy hat and trench coat, in the crux of hot season no less, called me up to join in. I was more than willing.

Women dancing around the traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’

As I danced around the circle, about seven women took turns coming up to me, placing a pagné around my neck, and holding up one of my arms, while grinning at me widely. A couple men did so as well, although sans the pagné. They did this occasionally to others, even last night, I assume as a way to congratulate someone on a good dance.

The women included four of the five women on our newly-formed Water and Sanitation Committee, as well as Fatimata, the head of the village women. These women are the ones that I work with the most, and it made me realize some of the strong connections that I have been able to make with many people in this village up to this point. I really felt good about all of this, although it was difficult to dance with seven scarfs around my neck, especially considering the heat.

It was a lot of fun, and I danced for the rest of the songs – the last one being especially spirited as us men formed our own circle around the women, jumping into the air to the music.

Women dancing around the traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’

A communal lunch of ‘to’ and beef was served, then the ‘kɔnyɔn’ ended with groups of men and women chatting over tea.

That evening, the men of the village participated in a very spirited version of their daily evening soccer game. Following each ‘kɔnyɔn,’ the ‘cɛgananw’ (single men) play against the ‘musotigiw’ (married men).

Dramani carted out his sound equipment to the dirt field, which allowed Darada and another young man, Daouda, to call play-by-play for the entire game, with all of the characteristic enthusiasm and breathless witty commentary the position calls for. Only one goal was scored, and spectators celebrated like they had just won the championship, as the kids screamed and cartwheeled onto the field.