Another misleading generalization is the idea of the 'intense religiousness' supposed to characterize the peoples of Africa and their religious texts (Dieterlen 1965: 20). On the basis of their oral literature this seems doubtful. In any one culture religious poetry is not necessarily the most developed or valued—one need only mention the instance of the Southern Bantu among whom panegyric of human beings (not gods) is the most specialized and prized. Ifa divination literature might perhaps be cited as a counter-example, being the most largely conceived scheme of Yoruba literature. But, quite apart from the question of whether this means it is necessarily the most complex or valued type, one could hardly say, in view of much of its content and context, that it really offered definite proof that the Yoruba were therefore a highly 'religious' people in any obvious sense. In any case the religious significance of a poetic product can only be assessed with a detailed knowledge of its social and literary background, for only then can one grasp its meaning (or meanings) for composer, reciter, and listeners.

It is true that a few general remarks can be made about African religious poetry: the prevalence of the hymn in various forms; the relative lack of significance (apart from Islamic verse) of didactic and narrative religious poetry; and the spread of recent forms influenced by Christianity. But apart from such obvious generalizations few general points can be established. Indeed perhaps they are not worth searching for at this stage. What is now needed is much more detailed collection and analysis of religious poetry (including recent Christian-inspired forms). The whole subject deserves far more study than it has as yet received. In particular it needs to be analysed in terms of *literature* (and not just social function) and presented not as isolated snippets but in relation to its proponents, listeners, and social context.

## 8. Special Purpose Poetry— War, Hunting, and Work

*Military poetry: Nguni; Akan. Hunting poetry: Yoruba ijala; Ambo hunters' songs. Work songs.*

Some subjects are of particular significance in African poetry. Besides the subjects already elaborated there are others that could be discussed. There is poetry associated, for example, with secret societies,1 various types of associations,2 initiation,3 begging (e.g. Fletcher 1912: 62–3 (Hausa)), masquerades (e.g. Gbadamosi and Beier 1959: 38–49 (Yoruba); Egudu 1967: 9 (Ibo)), and there are also the very common songs to do with cattle and cattle herding (e.g. Ba 1950: 175–9 (Fulani); Kagame 1947 (Rwanda); Beidelman 1965 (Baraguyu); also Ch. 9). But war and hunting are topics of particular interest for many African societies, and have frequently given rise to specialized poetry; while songs to accompany work are so common throughout Africa as to demand treatment by their sheer quantity.

In treating these genres we are faced with one difficulty. Some of them, at first sight at least, so closely tied to the actual occasions on which they are performed—whether war, hunting, or work—that they seem to approach a fixed formulaic utterance with little room for variation, and change and innovation are thus at a minimum. How far then can they be treated in the same way as other, more innovatory, genres of oral literature? We are reminded here of the difficulty of making a clear-cut distinction

1 E.g. the songs of various Limba societies.

2 E.g. the songs of the various associations in Dahomey, which extol their own worth and the aid they give to members (Herskovits 1938, ii: 331).

3 E.g. Lambert 1965 (Kenya); Driberg 1932: 14–15, 29–30 (Didinga and Lango); Schulien 1965: 59ff. (Cameroons Fulani); Alnaes 1967; Dieterlen 1965, part ii; Krige 1968; Von Sicard 1943 (*AA* 18.645).

between literature and non-literature in oral cultures. (Ch. 1) One needs to remember, however, that this distinction is clearly only a matter of degree; some of the examples mentioned here are evidently as much 'literature' as examples in earlier chapters. Even if we make a rough division between innovatory and non-innovatory genres, with hunting and work songs in the second category, lyric or topical songs as pre-eminently in the first, we still find that even within these categories there can be distinctions on these same lines. Among hunting poems, for instance, Yoruba *ijala* poetry clearly provides much scope for variation and composition, whereas Ambo songs, it seems, do not. The same might be said of work songs, depending on the amount of variation by the leading soloist (see Ch. 9). A second point is that our attitude to such examples must depend not least on the *local* evaluation of these pieces. Too often this is something we are not told about, so that in the meantime all we can do is to present the pieces and hope that more research will elucidate their background. Finally, some of these poems are not nearly so closely tied to their occasions as they might seem at first sight: detachment and insight, so crucial for literary expression, are also involved.

All in all there is no real solution to the problem—except to point to it and to suggest further research. What we particularly need to know about are both local attitudes to these forms and the amount of innovation and variation that *actually* take place.

#### I

Poetry about both hunting and war seems to involve the same ideas of romance and glory. Sometimes the same genre of poetry is even used to deal with both, like the Galla *gheraera* or boasts, universal among warriors and hunters (Chadwicks iii, 1940: 548), or the Adangme *tegble* poetry used both for war and to honour a man who had killed a leopard with a spear (Puplampu 1951: 141). But even where there is no such direct association, the two subjects seem to be related. Both involve action that is out of the run of ordinary everyday pursuits; in both there is danger, triumph, or heroism; and boasting, challenge, and specialized ability (sometimes supplemented by magic) are frequent elements in both.

The sorts of occasions on which war songs were sung are not very thoroughly documented—I suppose one of the conditions for the collection and study of such songs was in fact the ending of widespread warring but it is clear that they were by no means confined to the field of battle. The excitement and emotion associated with military exploits are often expressed in poetry beforehand. In this way both poet and audience can be stirred up to declare war or to prepare for battle. So we have the Shona:

Delafosse, when an administrator in West Africa, was similarly addressed by an Agni chief and his warriors who came to offer him their help against a rebel, urging on him and on themselves the attractions and urgency of war:

Donne-moi de la poudre et des fusils: je partirai demain. Je veux leur couper la tête: je partirai demain. Ils ont des femmes qui sont jolies: je partirai demain. On dit qu'ils ont de l'or: je partirai demain. Aujourd'hui il faut que je fasse des balles: je partirai demain. Aujourd'hui il faut que j'offre un sacrifice: je partirai demain. Je veux leur couper la tête: je partirai demain. Donne-moi de la poudre et des fusils: je partirai demain. (Delafosse 1900: 180–1)

Such war songs in fact are sometimes more an expression and reinforcement of the militant strength of a group than a direct incitement to the fight or a part of the battle itself. Several of the military poems recorded for the warlike Nilotic peoples seem to be of this kind. They involve glorification, the expression of high morale, and, very often, refer to cattle—among the Nilotes there is a very common association between war and cattle raiding:

Great bull with testicles has been killed It is Divinity The dark clouds and the morning rain blow up My mother abuk, Divinity my father, help me My father garang, help me Divinity my father If we sleep abroad,4 the white cow of my father Will bring us cows Avoid the spear, my age-set Mayom, avoid the spear An affair of the great spear (a great fight) O my club! The spear-haft in the man's back quivers deng kur is a powerful divinity. If we sleep abroad, it brings cows White cow of my father, I did not start the fight

4 i.e. as warriors on a cattle raid.

The bulls meet head to head! Cow which gave peace to my father Cow bringing cows Make peace as the Kongor tribe did with the Agar Last year's fighting is ended Last year's fighting thus is ended (Lienhardt 1961: 88–89; cf. also Tescaroli 1961, Ch. 3 (Shilluk))

The same associations with cattle come out in another Dinka war song where the 'feast' or sacrifice implies war and hostility to enemies:

Though the tribe holds a feast against me I shall not fear, Though all the people hold a feast against me I shall not fear, O my tribe, I am a bull with sharpened horns, I am a maddened bull . . . (Lienhardt 1961: 282)

Some war poetry, then, is rather the expression of the general values relating to war than an immediate part of an actual military expedition. But other poems involve more direct participation, at least in the preliminaries and aftermath of war. The Ngoni of Malawi, for instance, had two main branches of war songs: first *imigubo*, those specifically intended for singing before going out to fight; and secondly *imihubo*, sung on their return. The first type was still being sung in the 1930s, danced in full war dress with shields and spears, and performed in the Paramount Chief's village, the traditional place of mobilization. The women too join in the dance, and the tempo works up and up to inspire the men with the lust for battle. Many of these songs seem brief, but much of the tune was sung to meaningless though rousing sounds—*inyo ho*, *oya ye yayo* and so on—and they were added to by the varied accompaniment of stamping feet and the clashing of spears and shields. (Read 1937: 29) Similar war songs from Malawi are mentioned by Kidney. When sung they are accompanied by small drums, by the brandishing of spears, and by bodily movements signifying courage and defiance, which stir up warlike feelings:

Fight now! Come and fight now! Slay them! We'll brandish spears! Straight forth doth speed your arrow. Tremble! Yes! *They* tremble! When *we* draw near, And *far* they'll flee as we approach them!

Sharpen keen your arrows! Brave heads upraised and shouting Loudly our defiance.

All they who oppose us. Quickly our spears Shall pierce their breasts. They will be scattered. (Kidney 1921: 26)

It is common for songs celebrating military success to become highly developed after the return home. For example, the Kamba of Kenya make the return into a triumphal procession. Special honour is ceremonially given to a Kamba man who has earned the high title of *mutiaetumo*, i.e. one who has personally killed a Masai warrior. Such a man leads his triumphant band round the villages. When they approach a village, they strike up their songs of victory. The hero is praised but his comrades' help is not forgotten:

You wonder: he who sings the song of victory, who is he? He is *mutiaetumo* X (here follows his real name), who has fought with the men of cattle [Masai], but if we had not helped each other, he should not have come out of it successfully, *aaaaah!* (Lindblom 1920: 199)

The women play their part by greeting the warriors with shrill cries—*lili, lili, lili, lili!*—their normal way of expressing joy and delight, thus adding to the display and to the men's sense of heroism.

The use of war poetry in the actual face of the enemy is best documented for certain peoples of North-West Africa. The Galla *gheraera*, warriors' boasting, is often in the form of a challenge, sometimes hurled between two armies (Chadwicks iii, 1940: 548–49). The Somali *geeraar* also played an active part in war. Challenges to another clan to fight at an appointed place used to be delivered in this form, and it was also used to insult the enemy before the battle, at the same time raising the singer's morale. The *geeraar* is characterized by a note of urgency and rapid movement and was traditionally recited on horseback (Andrzejewski and Lewis 1964: 49). Among other groups, however, such as some of the Southern Bantu, the convention was to utter certain set war cries rather than songs at the time of the actual charge.

War songs are possibly also sometimes sung in triumph on the victorious field of battle. This is supposed—perhaps speculatively—to have been the case with an old Bemba war song more recently sung only round the camp fire, but originally, it is said, it was sung by warriors dancing round the slain brandishing their spears. In it the chief is described sending out his warriors; on their return they

Sing songs of victory, saying,

'Sompa, sompa, sompa, sompa, sompa', with the heads of the slain.

But there are not, in fact, many references to singing at the actual moment of victory. The most frequent occasions seem to be as the war parties depart or return home, at later celebrations after victory, or, occasionally, as challenge and insult before an actual battle.

Figure 14. Ceremonial staff of Ogun, Yoruba, 25 ins high, top figure on horse 6 ¼ ins, probably late eighteenth century [detail]. Ogun is the Yoruba and Haitian god of iron, hunting, politics, blacksmiths and (the users of iron weapons) warriors. He is shown here, as often, on horseback, holding a spear (for further details see information in http://www.mamiwata.com/ogun.html).

Also common are poems in which the events of war are touched on in retrospect. The exploits of war, together with religious topics, are the most common themes of poems associated with the Islamic tradition, as among

the Swahili or the Hausa. It has already been said that, apart from Islamic influence, narrative poetry is not a typical form in African oral literature, and it is not surprising to find that in many of the poems about war the element of narrative is overshadowed by that of glorification, so that one cannot always draw the line between war poetry and panegyric (including praise at funeral celebrations). The praise poems of the Southern Bantu, discussed in an earlier chapter, have war and military prowess as one of their main themes, and the same blend of praise and interest in battle heroism can be seen in the 'heroic recitations' of the Ankole Hima. (Morris 1964) In Ruanda, Kagame describes military poetry as taking two main forms. (Kagame 1956–7, also Coupez and Kamanzi 1962) The heroic *ibitekerezo* (the conquests of Ruanda) are preserved by the court bards as a type of 'classical' military poetry. When young men are being trained in the military arts, they have to learn these poems and try to compose others in the same style. In these, it seems, the narrative element is the more marked. The second type, however, is much more in the form of panegyric. These are the lyric odes termed *ibyivugo*, composed by the court bards to exalt the exploits of heroes. There is no exact correspondence with real acts, for the point is to celebrate high and often fictitious deeds rather than to record ('c'était de la Poésie; oeuvre d'imagination'), (Kagame 1956–57: 119) and the descriptions of battles are decorated by the frequent use of praise names glorifying the hero and his companions—'Prodiguede-blessures', 'Chagrins-des-pays-étrangers', and so on. Contemplation and description of battle after the event seem inevitably to be expressed as glorification and praise.

These then are some of the occasions on which poems described in the sources as 'military' or 'war songs' were (or are) actually performed. It seems clear that the romantic picture of the 'natural' occasion for savage war songs—as mainly confined to the actual heat of battle, or its immediate prelude or aftermath—is an exaggerated one.

How over-simplified this popular picture is will emerge further from a glimpse of the military poetry of the Nguni and the Akan peoples. These peoples, in particular their sub-groups the Zulu and the Ashanti, were well known to their European opponents of sixty or seventy years ago for their military qualities. The Nguni case must be pieced together from various passing references to their military poetry in the past. For the Akan we can look at the equally interesting way in which a type of poetry regarded as military survives in the contemporary situation.

The Nguni-speaking peoples of southern Africa are famous for their military organization and warlike ethic. The best known of all are the Zulu,5 welded together into a great military system by Shaka in the early ninteenth century. But others too of this group have also been noted for the same all-pervading military spirit—the Swazi, neighbours of the Zulu, the Ndebele, and the Ngoni of Malawi who formed part of the great Nguni dispersal of peoples moving north as a result of Shaka's expansion.

From Shaka's time the whole nation was organized into a kind of military camp, and war was the main centre of interest (Krige 1936: 261ff.). The stress on military glory, on triumph, and on the possibility of attaining honour and position through achievement in war comes out both in the praise songs discussed in an earlier chapter, and also in the Zulu war songs (*iziqubulo*, *amahubo*):

Oye oyeye! Seek out the cowards, The lion-conqueror strikes. Come, let's march into battle; No more the time for boastful arguments. What, sayest thou the time for boastful argument is over? Begone! Who told the news that wranglings have ceased? The house of Qolwana set we on fire. We make no jokes, no lies tell we.  Oyeyiya wo! Come, see us set aflame the house of Qolwana. On whom will you make war If you wipe out all the nations thus? Ho! Ho! . . . You who defeat the foes And conquer the nations. If you wipe out the nations thus, On whom will you make war? Yea, what will you do? You have subdued the kings; You have wiped out the nations. Where and what next, O Conqueror? E! E! E! (Dhlomo 1947: 6)

Under Shaka, the Zulu were reorganized into regiments of 800–1,000 strong, making up an army of perhaps 20,000, maybe more (Krige 1936:

5 The most convenient summary is that in Krige 1936.

262). There was a centralized standing army, an unusual feature in Africa, and unlike the Nilotes and similar peoples, the Zulu showed an interest in conquest and territorial expansion as well as mere raiding for cattle and other movables. Internally there was rivalry between the different Zulu regiments, expressed in competitiveness in battle and in dancing and singing at the royal kraal. Each regiment had its own regimental songs, dress, and war-cry, which distinguished it from others, and it was only in the actual heat of battle that the national war-cry was used; before that, as they set off, only the regimental war-cries were shouted. Each regiment also often had its military kraal, separate from others and under its own captain. Even in normal conditions the men were expected to serve for at least two to three months a year, and, if there was no war, they were engaged in various communal tasks. Even in peace, the military spirit was paramount. There was stern discipline, and military dances and songs fulfilled the function of drill.6 Many of these dances were based on military manoeuvring and amounted to a kind of sham battle. The desire for glory, the excitement of war, and national and regimental pride could be instilled within the military kraals even in peacetime.

War songs were also sung on more colourful occasions. The most striking of all was the annual first fruits ceremony held in the presence of the king, when the army of the nation gathered, regiment by regiment, to display its might in public. Several of these nineteenth-century displays are described in early sources, summed up by Krige:

The most spectacular and imposing of all Zulu dancing was . . . that of the regiments of warriors in full regimental dress; and the annual dances at the royal kraal, just after the Feast of the First-fruits, must have presented a most brilliant and colourful sight . . .

The king first of all reviewed the army, seated in his chair of state. On the occasion witnessed by Delegorgue, the regiments of young warriors came, grouped in six great masses of about 1,000 each, made a rapid charge, then became orderly again and began to dance a war chant, the ground resounding under their feet. They marched to within five paces of the king, and formed a kind of serpent which unrolled itself from three rings. Each regiment had its own particular dance and song, and each man, on passing the king, bent low and hurled him a greeting with an air of anger. These evolutions lasted many hours . . .

The king, on one such occasion, took his position at the head and centre of a line of several thousand men, with an equal number opposite them. They began to sing and march, reinforcing their foot movements with gestures

6 Similar Swazi chants to accompany military drill (still being sung) can be heard on a recording in the 'Music of Africa' series (GALP 1041).

of the arms in all directions with wonderful uniformity. Then, chanting and dancing, the column following, the king slowly advanced and the two horns united to form a circle, the warriors finally sitting down in a ring with shields raised yet heads showing . . . (Krige 1936: 342)

The excitement and pride engendered by such ceremonial displays come out too, although perhaps with rather lesser intensity, in the war songs sung before going out to battle, or in triumph after it. The desire for glory and the sense of competitiveness were incited by the stirring war songs and dances, where the words, the melody, and the movement all helped to create a warlike atmosphere. These, like other war songs, were often highly rhythmical and onomatopoeic. An example can be given from the Ngoni of Malawi, a Nguni offshoot who preserve war songs of the same types as do the more southerly Nguni groups. They are known as *imigubo* (songs for setting out to war) and, though short and onomatopoeic, mount up to a high pitch of intensity as the men dance, stamping their feet and knocking their shields:

Ee, ee, ee What are we contending for? What are we contending for In this way in the sky? Ee, ee, ee Oyi, oyi, oyi! The sun is setting.

Ee, ee, ee What are we contending for? What are we contending for In this way in the sky? Ee, ee, ee Oyi, oyi, oyi! (Read 1937: 30)

These songs, once so appropriate to the warlike spirit of Nguni society, are not totally forgotten today. In the 1930s some were still being sung in Malawi; others have been recorded more recently in South Africa by the African Music Society. However, nowadays they are used mainly for ceremonial display or, at times, to pander to romantic ideas about the savage and tribal past of the Bantu. Some of the songs are now sometimes adapted for faction fighting (Tracey 1948*b*: vii-viii), and modifications of the old military forms have been used, it is said, for political intimidation (*Afr. Music* 2, 4, 1961: 117 (Southern Rhodesia)). But these survivals are of less interest than the purposeful development of military literature in the nineteenth century. These earlier Nguni war songs can only be fully appreciated in relation to

their complex and specialized military organization. They are not attached primarily to the circumstances of actual battle, but to the routine and the ceremonies of military activity, developed among a people for whom, even in peacetime, the military ethic was predominant.

The Akan peoples, with their multiplicity of specialist associations, are very different from the Nguni. The Akan have a tradition of warrior associations or 'war companies' that possess their own characteristic form of drumming and poetry. (Nketia 1963*b*, Ch. 9) It is true that these associations no longer flourish as in the past (the Ashanti associations, for example, were suppressed after the events of 1896–1900). But in the southern Akan area, particularly among the Fante, they are still active, and even elsewhere their poetry is still performed. There is an over-all homogeneity in their patterns of music and organization that makes it possible to generalize about their poetry.

There are two main types of Akan warrior associations: companies of the court comprising the highest war leaders under the control of the rulers, and the company of commoners, *asafo*, a term now used indiscriminately for all warrior associations. These war companies consist of all able-bodied men combined under a leader in external or internal disputes. They also act as a group for certain types of communal work and in the enthronement and deposition ceremonies of rulers. In the Fante area where these *asafo*  companies are most important, there may be as many as seven or ten companies in a single town; elsewhere one village or group of villages shares one company. All these companies are highly organized bodies with their own captains, who act as intermediaries between themselves and the political rulers of the state. They are headed by the 'captain of the host' or war leader who is helped by various other officials, among them the *frankaatufoo* or standard-bearer who regulates the march, the *asafo kyerema*, the master drummer who calls the warriors to action, urges them on, and keeps up morale, and the *nnawutabofoo*, player of twin gongs.

Drumming plays an important part. Drums and gongs are played with a few members of the company leading the song, the rest acting as chorus. Among the most important songs are the calls. These are rousing cries to the company that, nowadays at least, precede or interrupt a cycle of songs but show clear marks of their once fully military character:

Fire!7 Fire! Fire! Asafo Kyiremu.8

7 Sign of danger hence = alarm.

8 The name of an association; any other such name may be substituted.

Fire! We are not afraid. No, not a bit. Asafo Kyiremu, We are not afraid of anybody. (Nketia 1963*b*: 107)

Different companies often have their own special calls and responses, sometimes partly 'spoken' by the drummer, and these mark out their identity as distinct from others and 'engender the mass feeling that is so important in the activities of *asafo*. (Ibid.: 108)

This feeling is further intensified by the frequent songs celebrating particular companies, combining boastfulness with insults to their enemies. Thus one song about Apente (a court company) runs:

Osee, man of Apente. Osee, man of Apente, We shall fight battles for our nation, There was a battle brewing; Osee, But the army of the enemy never arrived. We did not feel their presence. You are children of ghosts, and nocturnal fighters. Night fighters, You have laid them low. Osee has laid you low. The night fighter has laid you low.4 (Idem)

Another such song refers to the Ashanti wars with the British and praises the deeds of Apagya, a royal military company among the Ashanti:

Hirelings adamant to rain and scorching sun, Members of the Apagya company, There was a cannon mounted vainly on top of the fort.9 The cannon could not break us, The trusted company that engages in battle. Hail the helper! (Idem)

The Apagya company is also exultantly praised in

He has killed the Southerners. He has killed the Northerners, It is Asafo Apagya, The Umbrella tree. The Umbrella tree has branches above and below, The crafty Umbrella tree.

9 Refers to the Ashanti wars with the British.

Not all military songs explicitly glorify war, however. Some also exhibit an awareness of the dangers and cost of war. There are always casualties, for 'battle never goes hungry'. The warrior leaves in the knowledge that he may not return but that he goes to do his duty courageously:

Kwaakwaa10 accompanies me to the front. Man of Apagya, if I die in the morning, no-one should mourn for me. Yes if I fall in the morning, Okoromansa accompanies me to battle, no-one should weep on my account.11 Yes if I fall in the morning, If I fall in the morning do not cry. Yes if I die in the morning. (Ibid.: 109)

Members of the association are also summoned to battle by a drum-call giving the association's name, praise name, and other characteristic marks that distinguish it from others. One of these

Bodyguard as strong as iron, Fire that devours the nations . . .

is quoted in full in Chapter 17. In another the various names associated with the company are given, then the ordinary members are stirred up for the fight:

Members of the Advance Guard, I mean you. The leopard goes hungry If it pounces on a tortoise. The leopard should never be considered old and feeble. The leopard walks in the thicket: The thicket trembles and shakes violently. Come hosts; come hosts; come hosts! Come in thick numbers. (Ibid.: 111)

There are also 'songs for conveying a dead member to a place of burial, songs for parading in the street, songs of insult, songs of incitement and so on'. (Ibid.: 110) Besides these there are also some characteristic types belonging to particular companies or groups of companies. The No. 1 Company of Cape Coast, for example, has several styles of drumming, each used with a set of songs designed to accompany different kinds of action.

10 The god of a certain Apagya company.

11 As interpreted by a member of the company: 'If I fall in the morning of my life, do not cry'.

A high-spirited style accompanies a display of bravery in leap-dancing and strutting action, and a gentler style is used for normal dancing. Associations also sometimes create their own recreational music and dance as well as the more traditional types. All the regular songs are characterized by their emotional quality and by the specially stirring effect of the drumming, achieved largely by the peculiar timbre of the leading drums. Within this general spirit of the military songs

the leading role is . . . played by the cantors who may vary their styles. Sometimes they sing long sustained notes while the chorus is held in suspense; sometimes they use a recitative style, interpolating pauses in the chorus responses with calls, short phrases or shouts, while others animate the performance with occasional whistling and catcalls. Everybody lets himself go, singing at the top of his voice and with great feeling. (Nketia 1963*b*: 110)

Are these military songs still significant? Obviously the directly military functions of warrior associations have been superseded, and in Ashanti at least, in the present century, they have not even acted as very pronounced corporate groups. Yet it seems that not only are the companies active on certain occasions (particularly in the south) and seize the opportunity to perform their own songs and music, but in some contexts they preserve their warlike and forceful spirit. As Nketia writes:

In the past, the most important context in which Asafo groups drummed and acted was during wars. Although this is no longer operative, there is always a resurgence of the war spirit during major political disputes, particularly disputes over constitutional issues in which Asafo groups act as political pressure groups. Thus in Ashanti, where Asafo companies are practically dormant, political crises often bring a temporary awakening of such groups who are kept together by drums and songs which promote the type of action required by the situation. (Ibid.: 115)

*Asafo* music also still occurs in other contexts.12 In rural areas in the south, *asafo* companies are called on to perform certain communal tasks and to organize search-parties for missing persons, in the forest and at sea. Such searches create a particularly emotional atmosphere if the missing person is a member of the company, and many *asafo* songs are sung. Funerals of a member are also occasions for the performance of these songs. In the southern Akan states there are sometimes special annual ceremonies

12 Or apparently did when Nketia was writing. His book appeared in 1963, based on field research in the 1950s.

when members renew their loyalty to their association and to the chief, in which the most important feature is the performance of music and dancing, sometimes accompanied by the firing of guns, the exhibition of the association's standards and emblems, and the installation of new officers. Annual festivals of the community as a whole are often the most common occasions for corporate public activity by warrior companies.

In all these contexts the spirit of enjoyment as well as of emotional intensity is now evident. The military companies are distinguished by their specialized artistic conventions—the military mode of song, music, and drumming—and, in adapting to changing situations, retain the military subject-matter and warlike fervour which before was of more practical immediate relevance.13

#### II

Hunting poetry can be discussed more briefly. It shares many of the characteristics of military poetry, particularly its association with the ideas of danger, pride, and glory, its common appearance as a more or less specialized branch of poetry, and, finally, its frequent preoccupation not just with action but with the contemplation of action, in prospect or (more often) in retrospect.

It is not surprising that hunting, with its associated hazards and heroism, is a frequent topic in the songs of many peoples. It is, for example, one of the most common themes of Bushman songs (Kirkby 1936: 245) in a way that fits their harsh struggle for existence. This is well expressed by Marshall:

Women bring the daily food, but there is nothing splendid about returning with vegetables and wood. Many of the vegetable foods, furthermore, are rather tasteless and harsh and are not very satisfying. The return of the hunters is vastly different. The intense craving for meat, the anxiety that goes with the hunt, the deep excitement of the kill, finally the eating and the satisfaction reach to the very core of the people, engaging powerful emotions.  He knelt, facing the creature, until it was within close range and shot an arrow straight into its heart. Back in the werf, while the meat was being cut up and distributed by Qui's wife's brothers, he slept exhausted on the mound of black and white plumes and the women—some

13 Other references on military songs include: Munonga 1952 (*AA* 5. 345; includes eight war songs); Cerulli 1942 (reference in *IAI Bibl.* (*AA*) Jones 1959: 33); Savard 1965; Gaden 1916; Westermann 1912: 237–8; Dahle 1927: 174–95.

of the plumes in their hair—danced a dance of praise around him. This is the role of !Kung [Bushman] hunters. (Marshall 1965: 235)

The romance and excitement associated with hunting is vividly depicted in the Zulu song about a buffalo hunt:

Iyeyahe! Iyayayi! A whirlwind! the buffalo!  Iyeyahe (Dhlomo 1947: 6)

Perhaps the most common occasion for hunting songs is a successful kill. As in military celebrations, they often take place some time after the event. We do, it is true, occasionally hear of a solitary hunter or group of hunters bursting into more or less immediate song over some outstanding kill. Among the Akan, for instance, a hunter is expected to climb on to the body of an elephant and burst into song:

The violent shaker that shakes down living trees it by-passes [the elephant], Duedu Akwa, Father Duedu Duben, Oben and Dankyira, trier-of-Death, Father [the hunter] deserves to be congratulated. Father has achieved something: The hunter has done well! (Nketia 1963*b*: 81; for a Rongo song in similar circumstances see Junod 1897: 55)

But even among the Akan, hunting songs are most frequently performed on public and festive occasions. In general the most commonly mentioned occasion is when the hunter has returned to the village: he is often welcomed and congratulated. The Ethiopian hunter returning from killing an elephant is received by a double chorus:

Among other peoples a later and more organized celebration is the usual pattern. Thus among the Limba of northern Sierra Leone, the killing of a bush cow is regarded as the occasion for a special celebration (*madonsia*).

But this never takes place on the actual occasion of the hunt. Instead, a special date is fixed, several days later. Then, in the night, the hunter comes out, accompanied and watched by others, and the special hunters' songs and dances are performed. The occasion necessarily involves many people as participants and spectators, and is in striking contrast to the actual process of the hunt, typically pursued, among the Limba, by the solitary individual, followed only by his faithful dog.

Praise and celebration is often reserved for the killing of game considered to be particularly outstanding or dangerous. According to the area, these may be such animals as elephant, lion, leopard, or buffalo. The risks and the achievement of the hunter(s) are further magnified by the terms used to refer to these beasts—like, for example, the Yoruba 'Elephant praisenamed He-who-uses-his-hand-as-a-trumpet, Elephant called He-who-remainsmountainous-even-when-seated' (Babalola 1965: 51). The hunter himself also sings boastfully of his exploits and retells his heroism in poetry designed for an audience rather than for the exigencies of the hunt itself. Among the Akan he announces his return after a major kill by firing his gun on the outskirts of the village, and when people come to meet him he relates his success in recitative, a set refrain denoting the sex of the elephant killed—for example:

I am stalking an animal. I am stalking an animal stealthily, That I might kill it. (Nketia 1963*b*: 84)

Such songs of triumph and recollection are common and are often mentioned as separate forms. In some societies they are particularly specialized. Hunters may be expected to undergo special training, often involving magical and artistic as well as practical skills, and are sometimes formed into organized associations with their own rules, hierarchy, and initiation. Such organizations are not uncommon in West Africa and often have their own songs. Among the Akan the professional association of hunters uses hunting songs to assert their pride and their dominance over even the political authorities—or so they wish to suggest:

Is the chief greater than the hunter? Arrogance! Hunter? Arrogance! The pair of beautiful things on your feet, The sandals that you wear, How did it all happen? It is the hunter that killed the duyker: The sandals are made of the hide of the duyker.

Does the chief say he is greater than the hunter? Arrogance! Hunter? Arrogance! The noisy train that leads you away, The drums that precede you, The hunter killed the elephant, The drum head is the ear of the elephant. Does the chief say he is greater than the hunter? Arrogance! Hunter? Arrogance! (Nketia 1963*b*: 76)

Hunting songs are also often sung at the funerals of skilled hunters.14 Hunting associations also sometimes have special festivals when, for example, they admit hunters to new ranks in the hierarchy or celebrate a major kill (Ibid.: 85ff.). At these celebrations the episodes of the hunt are often dramatically re-enacted, with the members of the association singing and declaiming the traditional hunting songs.

In some cases, hunting poems have become a specialized and independent branch of poetry, no longer related to the actual hunt at all. Yoruba *ijala* chants, for example, are sometimes associated specifically with hunting and performed at gatherings of specialist hunters. But *ijala*  artists are also highly regarded by the public as general entertainers and are invited to perform on social occasions that have no specific association with hunting at all (Babalola 1966: 33). This genre of Yoruba poetry has its own conventions and themes (see Babalola 1964). It is delivered as a kind of recitative—'a type of speech utterance with rudimentary musical characteristics, rather than a species of song' (Babalola 1966: 33)—which is accentuated by certain rhythmic and tonal devices. Often there is no very clear central theme, but the poem rambles from one topic to another in a way that distinguishes these poems from certain of the other specialist branches of Yoruba poetry and also demonstrates how far removed this species of hunting poetry is from direct involvement in action. One dominant theme is verbal salute and praise in such phrases as 'Son of a fighter at Ilala, offspring of warriors carrying many arrows', or 'In my very person I have come, / Atanda He-whose-face-is-usually-cloudy-like-the-sky-before-a-storm, / He-who-fatigues-his-opponent-like-a-person-soaked-and-exhausted by rain' (Babalola 1965: 52; 54).15 But there are also many chants about the animals and plants of the forest, particularly about monkeys, antelopes, elephants, or the much feared buffalo. Various comments on social life are also typical and many of the poems are noted for their vitality and humour,

14 E.g. among the Dogon, Limba, Akan, Ambo, and many others.

15 The last two sections of the second passage consist of three words only in the original.

in particular their treatment of sex. These points can be illustrated from three *ijala* poems from Gbadamosi and Beier's examples:

#### *Tuku—Wild Pig*

The fat one of the thick bush. The animal that carries scissors in its mouth. Although we do not marry his daughter Yet he demands to be treated like our father-in-law. (For the one who wants to shoot it Must prostrate to it). An animal that enlarges its nose In order to better smell the vagina. (Gbadamosi and Beier 1959: 33)

#### *Erin—Elephant*

Elephant who brings death. Elephant, a spirit in the bush. With his single hand he can pull two palm trees to the ground. If he had two hands— He would tear the heavens like an old rag. The spirit who eats dog, the spirit who eats ram. The spirit who eats a whole palm fruit with its thorns. With his four mortar legs—he tramples down the grass. Wherever he walks, the grass is forbidden to stand up again. An elephant is not a load for an old man— Nor for a young man either.  Throw me away—and I will still develop well. But the one who hangs me on the branch of a tree—he is really my enemy. I do not fight the one who holds the stick— Only the one who holds the pot.17 It causes the lips of the wife to swell.   If you ask him: What is the matter? Are you eating so much cassava? He will reply: Oh, occasionally, occasionally, You just wait: cassava will deal with you. Tete Bere! Now you have dysentery! Now you start worshipping Oshun! This is not a matter for the gods:

16 It is forbidden to say the *oriki* (praises) of cassava while eating it.

17 When making gruel out of cassava flour the one holding the pot may burn his fingers.

Even if you pray to Obatala himself Cassava will carry you away! When people see you on the road they argue: Is it a new wife? Ha, it is cassava. See how it rubs its body with red camwood.18 Cassava with a rough skin to its back. (Gbadamosi and Beier 1959: 34)

These *ijala* poems are far removed from simple and more direct hunting songs. The Yoruba hunter is expected to possess intellectual skills beyond those to do with the hunt and to sing of other topics than his own bravery. Yet these poems are locally classed as the poetry of hunters and ultimately are connected with the same root idea as in other hunting poems—the idea of hunting as a heroic and memorable activity.19

This cursory discussion of hunting poetry will be concluded by a somewhat fuller account of the hunting songs (*cinengwe*) of the Ambo of Zambia, which have been treated in some detail by Stefaniszyn (1951).

For the Ambo the hunter—and above all the elephant hunter—is traditionally surrounded with a halo of romance and hero-worship. Though there seem to be no associations of the West African type, nevertheless, hunters are experts and have their own rituals, feasts, and songs. The Ambo hunter seems to be typically a solitary practitioner, but in certain respects he is helped and guided by other members of the community and has obligations to them when he kills meat. He usually receives his gun—the mark of a hunter—from one of his mother's relations in accordance with the matrilineal inheritance pattern of the Ambo, and, both after his acquisition of the gun and before certain of the hunts, private and joint rituals are carried out to ensure success. A hunter also has a special relationship with the spirit of one of his dead kinsmen, often his father, who guards and guides him as a hunter. The emotional relationship with his father is of a much more personal nature than the legal bond with his matrilineal kin and comes out in several of the hunting songs. The son praises his father's exploits as a hunter and mourns his loss:

18 Cassava has a reddish colour like camwood. New brides rub their bodies with camwood.

19 For further discussion and examples of *ijala* poetry, see Babalola 1966; also Collier 1953.

Or, again, he sets out delighting in his gun. Then his thoughts are drawn back sorrowfully to when his father was alive—but he brings himself back to the present, to look at the tracks of his quarry:

How fine is my gun, How fine is my gun, Ah, when my father was alive. I mourn for Siliyolomona, But I must see the tracks. (Stefaniszyn 1951: 6)

When an Ambo hunter is wandering alone and unsuccessful he sometimes sings to cheer himself up. But by far the most frequent occasions for performing the hunting chants are communal ones. The hunting chants are sung with other songs at ordinary beer parties. A hunter also joins with others in singing on the night before a hunt, and at the sacrificial beer for a successful hunt. A special 'hunting feast' may also be prepared by a hunter who has killed, say, four animals. He invites his friends and feeds them from the meat he has killed. After the meal the men sing about the hunt. They reminisce, for example, about how the game is being cut up or how a canoe is called for after a hippopotamus has been killed:

Chop it, chop it, chop it, Do take it and chop it; Do take it and chop it yourself.

  (Ibid.: 4)

Stefaniszyn states that the hunting songs sung on these occasions are all traditional ones, and that no new songs are composed. They are all relatively short and fairly directly involved with the actual process of hunting and its consequences. In other words, Ambo hunting poetry does not seem to have developed into a complex and flexible branch of poetry that can be turned to many subjects and occasions in the way we have seen in some of the Akan or Yoruba 'hunting poems'. Nor are there lengthy narratives. 'This is lyrical poetry. There are no long descriptions of events, but a short recalling of events of rather sentimental value, always very realistic'. (Stefaniszyn 1951: 11–12)

Their artistic conventions come out partly in the mode of delivery. Though they are sung antiphonally, the melody is not of great importance and the main tone is recitando with strongly marked rhythm. The accompaniment consists of percussion (gourd drums, rattles, and axe-blades struck against stones), and sometimes the hunter himself dances with a gun, horns, and animal trophies. There are also stylistic and verbal conventions. A special poetic vocabulary is used in the songs, including borrowed and perhaps archaic words. This poetic effectiveness is heightened by the frequent use of ideophones and of what Stefaniszyn refers to as 'Homeric epithets' praise terms like 'The uprooter of *mwenge* trees' (of an elephant) or 'The pursuer of game . . . The pursuer of tails' (the hunter). The use of various types of parallelism is also common, compared by Stefaniszyn to that in the Hebrew psalms. This may involve more repetition or the type of development through parallelism exemplified by

Off he went to the veld, Off he went to the veld, the great hunter. (Stefaniszyn 1952: 11)

Parallelism is also used to lead up to a climax at the very end of the piece—a marked tendency in these poems:

Heavens, my heart is throbbing, While I see them standing. Heavens, my heart is throbbing, While I see them standing, While I see the game standing.

*Nafwa mutima kubamba, Pakusanga silimakene. Nafwa mutima kubamba Pakusanga silimakene, Pakusanga silimakene noma.* (Ibid.: 10)

This song, expressing the hunter's thrill at the sight of game, leads up to an effective climax when the final word 'game' (*nama*) 'is at last uttered as if with awe'. (Stefaniszyn 1952: 10)

Besides the conventional forms of delivery and verbal expression there are also stock themes, all directly concerned with hunting. Several of these have been illustrated already: the triumph and excitement of a successful kill and its aftermath; family feelings, especially the emotions of pride and grief felt by a son for his father; and the thrill of pursuit. But the hardships and dangers of hunting are not forgotten, and these too are common subjects. The Ambo hunter's grim tenacity and perseverance in face of hardship are often extolled:

Worse than physical hardship is the disappointment when the hunter is unsuccessful, and this too is a frequent theme in song:

I shall taste the mark of the game, When I find them where they lie. Abundant is the spoor of game, But the game has slipped away— It is gone. (Idem)

#### and

Success is sometimes tinged with jealousy when the hunter compares his own achievements with those of others. One song, for instance, describes the success of a hunter's companions:

It's boiling and boiling, The hunters are cooking in a big pot. It's boiling and boiling, The hunters are cooking in a big pot.  (Ibid.: 9)

These Ambo hunting songs are more simple and direct than, for example, some of those from West Africa. Yet like them they involve the glorification of the hunter, the expression of his hopes and fears, the activities of the chase, and reminiscence and reflection at a time removed from the actual hunt. They are most frequently performed on public occasions—for in hunting, as in war all members of the community, and not just the individual hero, are involved in both its results and its poetic distillation.20

20 Further references to hunting songs include Bouillon 1954 and Paulay 1952.

#### III

Songs to accompany rhythmic work seem to occur universally in African societies. They are extreme examples of 'special purpose' poetry in that they have a direct connection with a specific occasion and with action itself, to an extent not found in most hunting and war chants. The sort of work that these songs accompany usually consists of routine tasks such as paddling, threshing, or hauling—which are not in themselves regarded as glorious or romantic. Unlike hunting and military poetry the work thus provides the occasion rather than the subject-matter, and the song depends on the rhythm of the work rather than an audience for its point of departure.

The occasions for these work songs include almost all contexts in which monotonous labour is involved; though conventions as to their use vary in different societies.21 There are co-operative songs for hoeing, weeding, mowing, launching a boat, sawing, hauling in fish-nets, pounding, floorbeating, throwing water up from deep wells in a human chain, carrying a chief in his hammock, hanging up beehives, or rubbing animal skins to make them soft; there are domestic and solitary songs for women grinding corn or pounding rice; there are gang songs for pulling trucks, for road work, for factory hands, and for miners.

It is well known that manual workers often sing such songs to accompany their hard physical labour. The dock hands at Beira have a song

while the men pushing heavy truck-loads of hides down the Kilindini road in Mombasa used to sing in Swahili

Many other similar songs are popular among labouring gangs. There are, for instance, the songs by South African road workers and miners, by the men working on the Kariba dam, or by builders in Nigeria.

21 On the conventions in different parts of Ghana, for example, see Nketia 1962: 7.

Figure 15. Limba work party spread out in the upland rice farm, inspired by Karanke's drumming, Kakarima, 1961 (photo Ruth Finnegan).

In rural areas, agricultural work provides the occasion for work songs. For instance, in Southern Rhodesia, maize threshing is a popular time for songs. The men and boys do the singing while the women stay in the background, yodelling at intervals with a staccato effect. As often with work songs, the words themselves are simple, with many nonsense words to fill up the rhythm effectively, and there is alternation between leaders and chorus. This is evident in the following three Zezuru threshing songs from Southern Rhodesia:

The way such songs can at once lighten, co-ordinate, and embellish agricultural labour can be briefly illustrated from two types of work songs among the Limba. For them, songs accompany many of their agricultural activities. Two only are singled out here: hoeing the rice near the start of the farming year, and the threshing that follows harvesting.

One of the most demanding occasions of the Limba farming cycle is hoeing in the rice after it has been sown, and this, if undertaken by individuals, is regarded as involving wearisome and exhausting labour. The most common practice is to form special 'companies', each with a drummer, to go round to the farms to hoe. The occasion is turned into a festive one. The drummer stands in front, beating his drum and leading the song. Next follow those who are scattering the seed. And finally the hoers come, perhaps sixteen or twenty of them, sometimes fifty or more, stretched across the hillside in a long line singing in reply to the leader. The whole line raise their hoes simultaneously, then strike together at the ground three times before the up-stroke and pause as the hoes are raised once more—a marked rhythm of *dig*, dig, dig, up; *one*, two, three, pause, with strong emphasis on the first down-stroke. The beat and song keep the line exactly together, and there is a feeling of competition and excitement which keeps all in their places with no falling behind or faltering. In this way the huge farm gets hoed with incredible speed, and the Limba themselves point to the importance of the songs in adding both efficiency and pleasure. Their joy in the songs is very obvious (they even look forward to this season of exhausting work), and many of them make semi-dancing steps as they progress with their hoes up the hill.

Figure 16. Work company of singing threshers at Sanasi's farm, Kakarima, where the work is accomplished with amazing speed and joy, the rhythm being essential to coordinate the blows, 1961 (photo Ruth Finnegan).

Many Limba consider the songs used for threshing even more attractive. In these—normally sung by rather smaller groups—the words are more developed, more variation seems to be encouraged and many different songs are sung on one occasion. There is no drumming and usually no specialist singer, for even the leader takes part in the work, albeit a little less vigorously and regularly than the others. The occasion of threshing is a happy one: the harvest is on the way to completion, there is plenty of food once again, and the moment that has been looked forward to throughout the year has arrived. The rice is piled up on the threshing area, and the young men gather round with their sticks, raising them in a ring of a dozen or so at a time. Another ring may form at the other end of the threshing floor, and, led by the most expert singer, the two groups begin by answering to each other's song in turn, repeating the verse inaugurated by the leader. Later they join together in the chorus. Again a fourfold rhythm forms the framework of the music and the work, this time with the stress on the third beat, followed by a pause as the sticks are raised and the men take a step together, kicking up the straw, to move down the floor—beat, beat, *beat*, pause; one, two, *three*, step. With heavy sticks about three feet long, brought down with great force, the co-ordinated timing given by the rhythm of the music is indeed necessary to avoid accidents as well as to encourage and delight both workers and bystanders. They may sing, for example:

22 Meaningless but (to the Limba) pleasing syllables.

and so on and on with constant repetitions of the soloist's verses. This time the dancing is quite explicit. The step onwards is a dance step, the movements are thought beautiful in themselves, and sometimes the rice is beaten only twice so that the dance can be elaborated in the time of the third beat. The work is exhausting and the men run with sweat—but the dominant feeling is of a festive and artistic occasion.23

Canoeing songs are common among many riparian and coastal peoples. They are especially well known in the Zambesi area. The Chikunda people, for instance, are known as excellent watermen along the Zambesi from its mouth to Feira, and their boat songs are excellently designed to accompany the rhythm of their paddling:

The outside hand holds the paddle shaft below the bulwarks and over the side. The shaft is then tapped on the boatside during the stroke and again as it is being withdrawn from the water. Then there is a pause before the new stroke. The rhythm is one of four beats, thus—instroke, tap, tap, silent, in, tap, tap, silent. This gives the effect of triple time, and so a cross rhythm results when combined with the singing. The speed of stroke varies between 40 and 44 to the minute. (Denny 1936–37: 35–6)

The songs are usually sung by a soloist, often encouraged by shouts from his companions, while the chorus comes in with meaningless words like *aye*, *oyo*, *ndende.* Sometimes they are sung antiphonally, one side of paddles answered by the other (Kidney 1921: 119). The actual words are simple, and the attraction of the songs seems to lie in the music and the rhythm that accompany the steady stroke of the paddle. There is also some interest in the subject-matter, which, however sketchy, distracts from the labour of the moment:

Let the horn sound! Sound the trumpet; Yes, let it sound. (Ibid.: 41)

This is a song about drinking: the beer is finished, so now let us dance, to drums and horns. Or again:

The background to the third song is said to be a husband's asking his wife where she had got extra clothes beyond what he himself had given her. She

23 Fieldnotes, 1961.

replies with this song repeated over and over by the paddlers. The next song is also about love, the song of the cunning Don Juan who has only to look at a woman and speak for her to come—but he never marries properly and is always in trouble with the parents:

I have married a wife with my eyes, The dowry was my mouth, ye ye; I have married with my eyes. (Denny 1936–37: 38)

Many of the other songs too are about everyday matters—love and marriage, leaving and returning home, dancing, eating, family life. About the only one that refers to the river at all is about the hippopotamus (poetically called a rhinoceros), which is a favourite dish along the river:

O rhinoceros, O man rhinoceros, Rhinoceros of the river banks Is good to eat with tomatoes. (Ibid.: 42)

The same type of subject-matter also occurs in songs by some of the Congo river boatmen. The Mabale paddle songs recorded by Tanghe (1926–8) are more often about local events, death, the ancestors, or the local chief than about the monotonous and protracted labour of propelling the canoes. The rhythm of the paddles provides the framework of the song. The binary measure in the song matches the twofold structure of the paddle strokes first a strong beat corresponding to the tension of the muscles and sweep of the paddles, further marked by the beat of an accompanying gong or drum; and secondly a relatively feeble beat while the paddles rest. These paddle songs are sometimes by a soloist echoed by a chorus but, unlike the Chikunda examples, they are more often sung by the whole crew, preceded and accompanied by the beat of a drum. Consonant with this pattern the words are short and simple in the extreme. The song

Ekouloulou, qui rames incessamment; Ekouloulou, qui rames incessamment; Ekouloulou, qui rames incessamment . . . (Ekululu jaboluka ntek' . . .)

repeated over and over in unison is one of the few to refer to the actual work—the crew compare themselves to the little *ekululu* fish that is always swimming. (Tanghe 1926–28: 830; 832) Even simpler are the words which alternate between solo and chorus:

The structure is also simple, and, like many such songs, depends fundamentally on various types of repetition: repetition of the same formula (with or without a pause); repetition with a slight variation the second time through; and alternation and repetition of two different phrases, sometimes with variation. They are sung in a slow, monotonous, and plaintive way, repeated over and over in uniform and regular measure, with the low and constant accompaniment of gong or drum in the background. Each song is brought to an end by a long-drawn-out final note, followed by a long low note, not really part of the song itself.

While most of these Mabale paddle songs are sung in unison, occasionally led by one of the paddlers, there is also sometimes a specialist singer. This is a young man with a reputation for both his voice and his repertoire of songs who comes specially to sing and is exempt from paddling. He may sing in alternation with chorus, but sometimes performs freely on his own, a situation which is held to lead to the best songs of all. Yet even here, it seems, the words themselves are relatively unimportant. What matters is the regular repetition that stimulates and eases the effort of paddling:

The occasions mentioned so far all involve rhythmic work by a group of people in co-operation. But there are also solitary work songs. Grinding

or:

24 Two soloists.

25 One soloist.

corn, for instance, though sometimes done by several women, is also often performed by one woman alone. This is a situation that gives scope to the expression of more personal feelings, uttered at greater length, than in the group songs. Thus a Kamba woman's grinding song is concerned with her own experiences. She was married to a man employed at a German Leipzig Mission Station, a place with large whitewashed buildings that she compares to the hills. She had once said she never wished to set foot in a mission station, but even so she has now left her parents and come to live here at the 'master's' (missionary's) place:

Let me be! Let me grind my flour in peace and recover from my grief! You tell me that I have now neither people nor mother. Although I once said that I would never come to these 'hills', Yet I have come here to build my hut at the master's (place). These high hills, they shine like the seeds of the *kivuti*26 tree, or like coins. I am tending my father's roaming bull. (Lindblom iii, 1934: 48–9)

A similar personal comment is evident in a Sotho domestic song, the lament of a woman whose man is away:

Far, far away at Molelle's place, Where is the train going? He has been away at the mines too long. I, poor child, always say that. I have lost my relatives And have no one to tell me what to do. (*Afr. Music* 2, 2, 1959: 76)

The various types of work songs can be seen to shade into songs for dancing, for in each case the singing accompanies rhythmic movement. The difference, obviously, is that dance movements are not regarded as monotonous or laborious. But even so there is some overlap between the two, with 'work songs' also functioning as, or following the pattern of, dance songs. Thus the Swahili truck-pushing song quoted above has all the characteristics of an up-country *ngoma* (dance) song (Werner 1927: 102). Some tasks, furthermore, are carried out in a half-dancing manner, so that, as with the Limba threshing songs, the work becomes attractive and artistic rather than merely laborious, and the song a background to a kind of dance as well as to labour.

26 Large red seeds with black spots.

This discussion of work songs has already involved some mention of their style. Since they typically accompany collective rhythmical movement, it is not surprising that a common form is that of leader and chorus. The chorus words tend to be particularly simple, often meaningless—*iyo*, *ayo*, *ye ye*, etc.—or involve repetition from the solo part. The soloist has more scope to develop or improvise his words, particularly when, as sometimes happens, he is not expected to take part in the work directly but can concentrate on his singing (and on the musical accompaniment or even dancing that he is also at times responsible for). But even so, the wording of these songs is usually simple. Typically the leader only sings a line or two of his own before his words are taken up by the chorused refrain brought in by the rhythm of the work, and there is little opportunity for elaboration of the verbal content. The structure of a Southern Rhodesian work song recorded by Tracey is characteristic in this respect. The poetry of the words results in a carefully balanced piece of verse, but the words themselves have little significance:

*Chorus.* Herende hi ho hi haiwa, hiho gore we hi haiwa (no meaning) *Solo.* The girls have got their dancing beads on (i.e. this is a joyful occasion) *Chorus.* Ye wo ye (oh, yes!), they've got their dancing beads on . . . (Tracey 1929: 100)

It is the rhythm and the melody, not the words, that are the most striking aspects of these songs. The rhythm of the work provides the fixed framework within which the song must be developed, a framework that is likely to continue for a long period of time during which the song (and the work) is repeated again and again. The importance of the rhythmical aspect is brought out further by the cases—which are beyond our scope here—where complicated percussion is the main element of interest in accompanying, the work. This sometimes takes precedence over or even altogether replaces the words, and may be by drums, hammers, or even the regular sequence of blows used by shipworkers in Dar-es-Salaam as they hammer the rust off the steel sides of the ships—'producing a pleasant effect which no doubt assists them in the performance of their monotonous task' (Tracey 1957: 82). In the songs the words are punctuated and framed by rhythmical effort—by hauling at the net in Ewe fishing songs, strokes of the hoe or flail in Limba farming songs, paddle strokes in canoe songs. It is this that provides their main structure and conditions their style.

Figure 17. Limba women's daily task of pounding the rice for their favourite food is often lightened by song, often heard (and learned) by the babies tied to their backs, 1961 (photo Ruth Finnegan).

Work songs stand out from others in their directly functional relationship to the activity they accompany. Occasionally they appear as a separate art form for sophisticated audiences,27 but normally they are inextricably involved with the work itself. This is particularly true of songs accompanying collective work. The joint singing co-ordinates the action and leads the workers to feel and work as part of a co-operating group, not as separate individuals. Such co-operation may be essential to the job in hand (e.g. in hauling, paddling, and other tasks which depend on exact

27 E.g. the Ganda paddle songs performed at court (Roscoe 1911: 37).

joint timing), but even where this is not essential, as in hoeing or road work, the rhythm of the song still encourages collaboration and control within the group, a pressure on all to take part equally within the given rhythmic framework. The function of rhythmical music in encouraging people to work harder, faster, and with more enjoyment has frequently been noted. Work songs can also comment on life in general, on local events, or on local characters, and can express ideas of love, friendship, or even obscenity (Evans-Pritchard 1929). In short, work songs lighten the labour and give an opportunity, however limited, for poetic and musical expression in the midst of work.28

Such songs seem to occur throughout Africa. Their detailed words and form, however, have not been extensively recorded by either linguists or sociologists who have tended to leave this field to musicologists.29 However, it may be that the same characteristics which have led to this partial neglect their relatively slight verbal element, their close association with work, and their musical quality—are precisely those which encourage the continuing development of such songs so that they fit new as well as older types of work. This kind of song, probably unlike military and hunting poems, is likely to remain a continuing source for the student of oral literature.

28 For a further general discussion of work songs, see Brakeley 1949, also Jones 1959: 39ff. (Ewe) and Wilson 1966: 77.

29 Musicologists have made many recordings of such songs, particularly in Central Africa; the words, however, are often not published with these recordings.

#### *Occasions. Subject Matter. Form. Composition.*

In the sense of 'a short poem that is sung', lyric is probably the most common form of poetry in subsaharan Africa. It is not always recognized that these songs, in which the musical element is of such obvious importance, are in fact poems. It is true that the verbal aspect sometimes appears less developed than in the lengthy poems that are delivered in spoken or recitative style, like some of the praise poems, hymns, or hunting chants that have already been described. But this should not prevent us from calling them poems. We should remember that classical Greek or Elizabethan lyrics were equally designed to be sung. Indeed, in its original form of a poem in a musical setting, lyric is one of the most important kinds of African oral literature.

So far, with a few exceptions,1 the poetry we have considered has mainly been associated with relatively formal events. The lyric songs discussed here are for more informal occasions. Whereas much other poetry depends on a specialist and even esoteric tradition, these involve popular participation. The verbal content of these songs tends to be short (though the actual performance may be lengthy) and is often ephemeral. There is usually plenty of improvisation. Unlike the general pattern of Western European folk-songs, the individual singer does not tend to stand out in a dominant position as against a passive audience,2 but instead interacts with a chorus. Yet these lyric songs still provide wide scope for individual expression.

1 In particular the work song which could have been treated under the present heading.

2 See Lomax 1962 on the general contrasts in this respect between Africa, Europe, the Orient etc.

#### I

Songs appear in an almost unlimited number of contexts. In words that might be applied more widely than to the Ibo of whom he was writing, Osadebay speaks of the 'wealth of culture and fine feelings which find expression in our music and poetry. We sing when we fight, we sing when we work, we sing when we love, we sing when we hate, we sing when a child is born, we sing when death takes a toll' (Osadebay 1949: 154).

*Rites de passage* are very common occasions for singing. There are songs associated with birth, with initiation and puberty, betrothal, marriage, acquiring a new title or status, and funeral and memorial celebrations. The most serious of these songs, in which the verbal element is elaborated at length, cannot be called lyrical. But often such ceremonies are in fact more an occasion for festivity, which includes song, than a solemn ritual with specially designated music, and the gatherings normal at these times are a reason for singing for its own sake.

Weddings, for example, are popular occasions for comment in song—by no means always involving praise of the newly wedded pair:

Serpent que tu es! Chien que tu es! Tu fais: oua-oua! (Junod 1897: 46)

sing the bride's friends about her husband among the Ronga, amid a series of songs cheerfully warning her of the ill-treatment she will without doubt receive at the hands of his parents. In more reflective and personal style is the Ganda song of farewell by the young girl about to be married, with the repetitions typical of this form:

Oh, I am gone, Oh, I am gone, Call my father that I may say farewell to him, Oh, I am gone. Father has already sold me, Mother has received a high price for me, Oh, I am gone. (Sempebwa 1948: 18)3

It is likely that advantage will be taken of this opportunity to sing songs on many other topics.

3 For other examples of marriage songs see e.g. Beaton 1935 (Bari); Leslau 1947 (Harari), Dufays 1909 (Ruanda).

*9. Lyric 237*

Many of these songs are for dancing. A particular song type is sometimes inextricably tied up with a particular dance. Thus the Swahili used to have a special *gungu* song for the 'pounding figure' of the dance:

Give me a chair that I may sit down and hold (the guitar) Let me sing a serenade for my Palm-daughter Let me sing for my wife She who takes away my grief and sorrow. (Knappert 1966: 130; cf. Steere 1906: 47)

This occasion for song is, if anything, increasing, and many examples could be quoted like the Zulu 'town dancing songs' quoted by Tracey, where the words are subordinate to the dance:

This is the girl that jilted me, The wretch of a girl that jilted me. At Durban, the dance leaders are afraid of us! (Tracey 1948*b*: 61)4 Zululand, my home, I love you.  We are the boys. (Ibid.: 66)5

The same kind of mood, of recreation and light-hearted enjoyment, is evident in many of the 'drinking songs'. These too, for all their lightness, may express the thought in true lyric manner, with economy and grace. In a Shona drinking song, the original is only seven words in all:

There are sometimes more formalized occasions for the singing of lyrics. One could mention the recent interest in the short *balwo* lyric among the Somali.6 Special *balwo* parties became fashionable in the towns. People would recite the lyrics they knew or compose new ones, and the recitations would be interrupted for tea and conversation (Andrzejewski 1967: 11).

4 i.e. a boast by the (Johannesburg) dancers that no one can dance better than they—their reputation has even reached Durban!

5 Nearly all collections of poems include some dance songs. See also Stappers 1954; Emsheimer 1937 (not seen); Beaton 1940, 1938; v. Funke 1920–1; Clark 1965; Traoré 1942; Littmann 1926; Vansina 1955; Nketia 1957.

6 On which see below.

Popular and occasional bands among the Akan also sometimes perform on specifically recreational occasions (Nketia 1962: 16–17; 1963*b*: Ch. 6). Again, in many areas the radio nowadays frequently creates opportunities for lyrics to be performed.

All over the continent it is a common pattern for stories to be interrupted from time to time by a song, usually led by the storyteller, while the audience act as his chorus.7 Sometimes these songs amount to quite long poems, and are then often in recitative. Short verses are also very common, sometimes with many nonsense syllables to fill in the rhythm and tune, with repetition over and over again between leader and chorus. One Limba story, about 'The clever cat', has a verse of this kind:

The story is about a cat who proposes to initiate the young rat maidens into the *bondo* (women's society). They, like all young girls, are eager to enter but the cat's one desire is to have a chance of eating them! The cat pretends to act in the usual way of a *bondo* senior woman. She lines them all up and leads the singing, telling them not to look round. She sings:

When we go, Let no one look behind oh! When the cat is free, *fo fen*.

The chorus of young rats take up the same words:

When we go, Let no one look behind oh! When the cat is free, *fo fen*

in the way young initiates do in real life. The rhythmic and melodic song is repeated in the story perhaps eight or ten times, first by the cat (the narrator), then by the rat initiates (the audience) who have quickly picked up the tune. But while the singing is going on, what the cat is really doing is to quietly pick off the rats one by one as they sing with their backs to her. At last only one is left, still singing the song. Just in time, she looks round, and throws herself out of the way and escapes. (for the full story see Finnegan 1967: 333–4)

A story like this appeals to its audience partly because of the amusing form of words and the parody of the usually very serious initiation ceremony, but perhaps most of all because of the attractive song which, in terms of the time spent repeating it over and over, took up as long as the prose narrative. Simple as the words were in themselves, the audience all joined in enthusiastically, overlapping slightly with the leader's last note and half dancing as they sang;

7 On the function of songs in stories see Ch. 13: 385. Also Belinga 1965: 55ff.

they would, it seemed, have continued indefinitely had not the leader finally broken into their response to continue his narration.

The same song is sometimes repeated at different points in the story, a kind of signature tune with slight variations on the words to fit the development of the plot. The structure of the story is thus marked by the recurrence of the song in each new episode. Another Limba example can make this plain:

The plot is the intentionally fantastic and humorous one of the hero Sara and his endeavours to kill and eat a guinea-fowl he had caught without sharing it with any of his friends. But the bird is a magical one and the more Sara tries to kill and eat it, going through all the usual preparations and cooking procedures, the more it sings back at him. At last he eats it—but even in his stomach the bird sings and demands to be excreted; and in the final effort, Sara dies.

Each of the many parallel stages of the plot is marked by the same song, with variations to suit the event, the last phrase and response being repeated several times by narrator and audience with the same tune throughout. First, the guinea-fowl is discovered in the snare, and it sings:

Sara is coming to loose me, Sara is coming to loose me. Here he found a path, a night passed, Here he came and put a snare for me, The guinea-fowl, The guinea-fowl, *Ko de ba ko naligbe*8 What is your name? What is your name? (Response) *Tambarenke, Tambarenke*. What is your name? *Tambarenke, Tambarenke.*  What is your name? *Tambarenke, Tambarenke* . . ., etc.

Sara looses the bird from the noose, and brings it home to prepare for eating. Again the bird sings:

Sara is coming to pluck me, Sara is coming to pluck me. Here he found a path, a night passed, Here he came and put a snare for me, The guinea-fowl,

8 Apparently nonsense words.

The guinea-fowl, Ko de ba ko nagligbe What is your name? What is your name? *Tambarenke, Tambarenke.*  What is your name? *Tambarenke, Tambarenke .* . .

As the story continues, new first lines appear:

Sara is coming to cut me up . . .  Sara is coming to put me in (to the pot) . . . Sara is coming to take me out . . .  Sara is going to lie down . . .

And, finally,

Sara is going to excrete me . . . (Full story in Finnegan 1967: 284–90)

The linguistic content of songs in Limba stories, as in some others, is relatively limited, and for the audience their main interest lies in the rhythm and melody and the fact that they can participate in the singing. In some other cases, however, such as some Akan stories, the words are more developed. The following is a variation on a very common theme:

Elephant and Antelope are said to have made very good friends in the forest. Elephant being the stronger and wealthier of the two was able to lay on sumptuous meals every day to which he invited Antelope. One day he expressed the desire to visit Antelope in his house. This embarrassed Antelope for he also wanted to give him a good meal. It occurred to him after failing to get any meat that Mother Antelope was the answer, so he caused her to be killed and used. When Elephant arrived he was greatly surprised by the delicious meal and asked to see Mother Antelope. But Antelope succeeded in putting this off. After the meal however, Elephant again asked for Mother Antelope and Antelope replied in a song as follows:

Elephant, please don't worry me.  Elephant Akwaa Brenkoto that commands his destiny,

9 Meat is often pounded in a mortar, then moulded into balls.

Elephant that plucks the tops of trees on his right, King of musketry, father and king, Birefi Akuampon, mighty one to whom all stray goods are sent to be used. Yes; let us proceed, Mother Antelope, I have stewed her. Yes, let us proceed. Mother Antelope, I have used her to redeem myself. Yes, let us proceed. (Nketia 1958*b*: 19)

#### II

The subjects of the many different songs sung on these various occasions include just about every topic imaginable. There are songs about wives, husbands, marriage, animals, chiefs, this year's tax, the latest football match, a recent intrigue, the plight of a cripple dependent on his family, an amusing incident, a friend's treachery or an enemy's vices, the relationship between variety in the human and the natural world—and so on according to the genre of song involved, the context of performance, and the poetic inspiration of the singer.

It has frequently been remarked that African poems about nature are few and far between, and there is truth in this assertion. Certainly there seems to be little in common between most African lyrics and the romantic interest in 'Nature' typical of certain epochs of the English poetic tradition, and lyrics about people, events, and personal experience are more common. But observation of the natural world, especially the animal world is often significant. Take the simple little song about a brook recorded in Malawi in the nineteenth century. The effect is an imitation of the sound of the brook and it is sung 'softly and soothingly' in a subdued voice; the main point is to reflect the tune of the water rather than describe in words, though a picture is given of the bank of the little stream (*chiko*) and the prickly bush that grows by it (*likwanya*):

Then the two voices interchange lines twice, with the final response:

*Anyanyale.* (Macdonald i, 1882: 49)

Again, we could mention the case of Somali poetry which 'is imbued with a consciousness of the beauties and cruelties of nature' (Andrzejewski 1967: 9). For instance, the simple lyric 'O Distant Lightning! Have you deceived me?'2 gains its emotive tone from the inspiration of rain and its life-giving and beautiful results. Lightning often presages rain, and this symbolizes hope. But sometimes the hope is disappointed and the rain-clouds move away. So here the poet is writing of love, but calls the girl 'Distant Lightning', expressing his disappointment in love in terms of natural forces.

Songs associated with birds are very common. Sometimes the song is envisaged as sung by the bird itself, and at least in part is an onomatopoeic representation of the call. We could instance the many lyrics supposed to be sung and exchanged by birds among the Beti of the Cameroons. The *ngiai afan* (genderme silvatique) sings of the insecurity of life:

The female *kolvodo ban nga* (magpie) in one of her songs praises the virtues of work:

The Zulu songs attributed to birds attempt to represent something of the nature and appearance of the bird as well as its cry—and cast a sly glance at humanity too. The bird called *uthekwane* (hammerkop or heron) is pictured strolling gracefully by the waterside, with his fine-looking crest and shapely thighs—symbolizing vanity:

I myself, have often said:—*Thekwane*! You, with your crest, your leisurely strolling when frequenting the spring, at the time it has been opened up mark you as a very fine fellow. You have large thighs. (Dunning 1946: 44)

*9. Lyric 243*

Other Zulu bird songs involve interchange between the hen and the cock, the male in deep bass, the hen higher. The song of the *insingizi* (hornbill or turkey-buzzard) is really a comment on married life, particularly the last line of the cock's exhausted rejoinder to his wife's constant nagging:

Most elaborate of all is the song of self-assertion attributed to the *iqola*, the fiscal shrike.  Goshi! Dadi! Dadi!'*, cries which are supposed to describe the sounds made by the movements of his wings and feet as well as the ejaculations he utters as part of his great display. He is pictured as turning his head to the right, then to the left, surveying himself in self-admiration. His cry really amounts to saying 'I am the personification of everything that is Majestic and Powerful and my ornaments jingle and rattle in perfect rhythm'. He sings:

#### *Goshi! Goshi! Dadi! Dadi!*

Who do I kill (stab)? Who do I kill? Who do I kill? I kill the relations of these (indicating his victims) outright! outright! I kill the relations of these outright! outright! I kill the relations of these outright! outright! Sanxokwe, Sanxokwe (addressing her Majesty) I'll pay your bridewealth (lobola) with a red beast I'll pay your bridewealth with a red beast I'll pay your bridewealth with a red beast.

When men drink beer, they become intoxicated, They take up their sticks And they (the sticks) clashing together sound *xakaxaka, xakaxaka, xakaxaka*.

I have been across the Umdawane10 Where I ate up the big dance.11 I caught a small bird, I fixed it on the end of a slender twig very early this morning.

10 A fabulous river.

11 i.e. won all the prizes.

I repeated this by catching a Fantail Warbler early this morning And fixed it on the end of a slender twig.

I drank the blood of a bird early this morning.

I struck its little stomach, it became red with blood at that very moment,

Because I am the King of Birds.

*Goshi! Goshi! Dadi! Dadi!*

*Bayede! Bayede!* (Salute me royally) *Khuleka! Khuleka*! (Make obeisance to me) *Nkosi! Nkosi*! [Address me as] King!  If it were not for my big mouth, The maidens would be crying for me. (Rattray 1907: 164)

Songs about, or attributed to, animals seem to be less common than those associated with birds. But some certainly exist particularly in South and Central Africa.  Crack, crack, what a louse . . . It bit me, what a louse . . . Crack, crack, what a louse . . . It bit me, what a louse . . . (Stopa 1938: 101)

and is cast in the typical form of a sung lyric, with plenty of scope for repetition and, apparently, for chorus responses. Among the South African Bantu the tradition of praising seems still strong, and recent praises (although strictly of a different order from the songs quoted in this chapter) are much more simple and lyrical in concept than the lengthy and grandiose praises of traditional culture. Thus Hurutshe men describe a hare:

*Ga-re-ya-gaa-koo*! 13 Son of the little dark brown one with spots, Little yellow one, leaper from the stubbles,

12 The line division is not quite clear in the text and I may have interpreted it incorrectly in places.

13 The shout given when the hare jumps up from its lair.

Yonder is the son of the little dark brown one Leaper from the treeless plain Leaper from the trunks of trees; It leaps up, and stretches its tail And it places its ears on its shoulders *Ga-re-ya-gaa-koo*! (Merwe 1941: 328–9)14

Among pastoral peoples, songs are often composed and sung in praise of individual beasts. Cattle come to mean far more to their owners than mere economic sustenance, and are accepted as emotional and evocative topics for deeply felt expression. This can be seen in the songs collected by recent investigators from the Nilotic cattle-keeping people, and also from a Dinka song published early in the century. The individual singer typically praises his own bull in an outpouring of personal pride:

My Bull is as white as the silvery fish in the river; as white as the egret on the river bank; as white as new milk.

His bellowing is like the roar of the Turk's cannon from the great river.

My bull is as dark as the rain-cloud, that comes with the storm.

He is like Summer and Winter; half of him dark as the thundercloud; half of him as white as sunshine.

His hump shines like the morning star.

His forehead is as red as the arum's [hornbill] wattles. His forehead is like a banner; seen by the people from afar.

He is like the rainbow.

I shall water him at the river, and drive

My enemies from the water with my spear.

Let them water their cattle at the well;

The river for me and my bull.

Drink, O Bull, of the river. Am I not here with

My spear to protect you? (Cummins 1904: 162)

But songs describing animals, or even birds, are apparently far less common than those in which the main interest is human life. In fact this can be seen even in many of the songs ostensibly about birds, for the bite of the comment is often its veiled relevance for human action, character, aspiration, or absurdity. There are lyrics about every facet of human activity. Love and marriage are probably the commonest themes, and the remainder of this section will illustrate some of these songs.

14 Animal songs also occur in Central Africa (Lamba) where they bear some resemblance to Southern Bantu prises (Doke 1934: 365).

Marriage is a topic that can be treated many different ways. Not only its attractions are indicated in song, but also its difficulties or absurdities. Thus one of the Ganda songs connected with marriage lightly warns young suitors:

When he sees a pretty girl he falls for her, 'I will go with you, let us go'. Not knowing that he is going with a girl with a fiery temper. (Sempebwa 1948: 17)

Among the Shi of the Eastern Congo, again, marital relationships are the most common single subject in songs, many of them concerned with marital and pre-marital strife. One of the popular forms is a song describing a girl's rejection of her suitor because she thinks him too poor:

'You want to marry me, but what can you give me?

A nice field?'

'No, I have only a house'.

'What?  How would we live? Go to Bukavu; there you can earn plenty of money. You can buy food and other things'.

'No, I won't go. I don't know the people there. I have always lived here, and I know the people and want to stay here'.

 You want me to marry me but you have nothing. If you don't go to Bukavu and earn money to buy me things then I won't marry you'. (Merriam 1954: 45)

A different point of view is expressed in one of the many Chopi songs on this subject. Here the girl is pictured as sad and solitary without her husband; like so many others he has gone off many hundreds of miles to work in the mines. And yet there is something in common—a comment on a woman's demand for material possessions:

I am most distressed, I am most distressed as my man has gone off to work, And he does not give me clothes to wear, Not even black cloth. (Tracey 1948*a*: 46)

The number of love songs recorded is surprising—at least to those brought up to the idea that the concept of personal love is bound to be lacking in African cultures. Even the idea of courtly and romantic love is not always absent. It seems, for instance, to occur to some extent among the Hausa, whose rich tradition of love poetry is now influencing surrounding people.15 Fletcher quotes a simple Hausa song of love, 'To Dakabo, a maiden':

Dakabo is tin! Dakabo is copper! Dakabo is silver! Dakabo is gold! Where greatness is a fortune The thing desired is (obtained only) with time.  Be patient, O maid! Be patient, young maiden! (Fletcher 1912: 65)

The Somali *balwo* (later called *heello*) are even more striking examples of romantic and emotional love poetry (see especially Andrzejewski 1967). These are short lyric love poems that have become popular recently and are particularly associated with the new urban generation. The *balwo* is characterized by extreme brevity—it usually consists of only two lines and a condensed and cryptic imagery expressed in 'miniature' form. It is sung to a distinct tune with syncopated rhythms, but there are relatively few of these tunes and thousands of different poems. There are two, related, themes in these lyrics: first, those addressed to a beloved woman, in hope of marriage; and secondly those to a woman admired from afar off, even one seen only once whom the poet can have little hope of seeing again. This theme of romantic and frustrated love gives rise, it seems, to genuine and deeply felt emotion, expressed in a condensed and symbolic form arising from one central image:

Woman, lovely as lightning at dawn, Speak to me even once.

I long for you, as one Whose dhow in summer winds Is blown adrift and lost,

15 See Mayssal 1965: 81, on Hausa influence on the Cameroons Fulani.

Longs for land, and finds— Again the compass tells— A grey and empty sea. (Laurence 1954: 31)

If I say to myself 'Conceal your love!' Who will conceal my tears?

Like a tall tree which, fallen, was set alight, I am ashes. (Andrzejewski 1967: 13)

My heart is single and cannot be divided, And it is fastened on a single hope; Oh you who might be the moon. (Andrzejewski and Lewis 1964: 146; also pp. 49–51)

The romantic love poem is not just confined to the coast. The Nyamwezi of central Tanganyika around Tabora can sing:

My love is soft and tender, My love Saada comforts me, My love has a voice like a fine instrument of music. (Tracey 1963: 20)

Not all African love songs, however, are in the romantic, even ecstatic vein perhaps more typical of areas like Hausa country or the East Coast, long influenced by Arabic culture. There are many ways of describing this fertile theme. The Kuanyama Ambo of South West Africa have a series of brief antiphonal love poems used in courtship, with call and response between man and girl. Usually some analogy of a general rather than a personal kind is made between nature and human relationships:

Where one sees birds in their flight, there is water; Where one hears the sound of women's laughter, there is a kraal.

A palm stick bow does not like the rainy season (it warps); A woman fond of a man does not like to be among people.

(Loeb 1950: 847, 848)16

An analogy with nature is also made in a very light-hearted love song by a young Soga in East Africa:

All things in nature love one another. The lips love the teeth, The beard loves the chin, And all the little ants go 'brrr-r-r-r' together. (Tracey 1963: 20)

16 Loeb's general interpretation, however, is highly doubtful.

Zulu love poetry often seems to be by women, a feature that has parallels elsewhere in Africa. Dhlomo gives one girl's song that is both realistic and romantic:

Never shall I fall in love with a suckling. Joy, joy, O mother, this one sleeps unrealising. Never shall I fall in love with one who is no ladies' man. Joy, joy, O mother, this one sleeps unrealising. I would like to fall in love with a dashing he-man. Joy, joy, O mother, this one sleeps unrealising. Would love him-who-appears-and-causes-heart-aches! Joy, joy, O mother, this one sleeps unrealising. Yes, I would like a whirlwind of a man! Joy, joy, O mother, this one sleeps unrealising. (Dhlomo 1947: 7)

In much more disillusioned vein is another Zulu love song, this time by an older woman living in Durban, where she runs her own small group of singers. The song expresses all her despair and the mundane yet heartbreaking aspects of parting:

I thought you loved me, Yet I am wasting my time on you. I thought we would be parted only by death, But to-day you have disappointed me. You will never be anything.  Bring my things. I will put them in my pillow. You take yours and put them under your armpit. You deceived me. (Tracey 1948*b*: 41)

Among the Luo of Kenya, too, love songs are sung by women. The final examples of love poetry will be taken from their *oigo* lyrics, one of the many types of songs in Luo country.17 These are love songs in a slightly different sense from the ones already quoted.

The *oigo* are songs sung by young girls on their way to visit the young men they are courting. The girls walk to the hut where they are to be entertained by the men, by the light of the full moon. As they go, they sing these songs, individually or in groups, taking it in turns to sing the whole way. 'There was no formal order of singing; the more musically gifted girls

17 I write in the present though in fact these songs are now a thing of the past. The description is taken from Owuor 1961.

or the more effusive took the leading part according to their mood'(Owuor 1961: 51). Meanwhile the young men are waiting, straining their ears for the first sounds of the song. When it is heard, one of them announces to the rest, at the top of his voice: 'The landing has taken place, they have arrived'. The girls come and are welcomed with gifts. And then the evening's entertainment proceeds, the men playing on reed flutes while the girls sing their *oigo* songs.

These songs have their own special form. The tunes are simple and rather repetitive with an insistent rhythm. The most striking aspect is the singer's vocal style. 'The singer trills in a bird-like voice and conveys an impression of being possessed by the stream of song within her, breathless and helpless. The emotions expressed are often sorrowful and almost hysterical, yet the singer exults in her ability to sing endlessly like a bird' (Owuor 1961: 52). This distinctive style comes out, even in translation, in the following poem. The characteristic refrain, *doree ree yo*, is far more repetitive and appealing than can be represented in an English text:

I am possessed, A bird bursting on high with the *ree* lament I am the untiring singer. Dear bird, let's sing in rivalry Our *doree ree yo* . . .; It is my wayward self, Singing in rivalry The *doree ree yo*; I am the untiring singer That rocks far-off Mombasa With the *aree ree yo*; It is the voice crying the *doree* That rocks far-off Nakuru; I am the compelling *Ondoro* drum, The bird bursting with the *doree*'s plaintive tones; I am the untiring singer Choking herself with the *doree ree yo.* (Owuor 1961: 53)

Sometimes the emphasis of the song is on the sorrow of the singer, or the way she is possessed by the song. At other times we are given a picture of another side of her nature—wilful and unpredictable, her impulsiveness breaking through the ordinary rules of behaviour. This comes out in one song that is arranged round the image of a family setting out, led by the favourite bull who symbolizes their unity. Impulsively, the girl runs

ahead to keep up with the animal, in spite of the pain in her chest from her exertion:

In these songs, a special picture of girlhood is presented. It is one which does not necessarily correspond in all ways to the reality, but forms a conventional part of this particular form of art:

She lives in a dreamland, though much tempered by the idealised role she longs to fill in the community . . . As with a bird, singing appears to be the natural outpouring of the life force itself. The prestige of clan and family depended not only on the prowess of its young men but also on the zealous way in which its women represented its interests in song and dance. For a group of girls the oigo was a means of announcing their presence and of differentiating themselves from the older married women; for an individual a way of expressing her idiosyncrasies (Owuor 1962: 52).

I'm still complaining, Crying the *ree ree ree,* I'm still complaining, Ever tearful with the *ree ree ree,* I'm still complaining; The redo-singer's unceasing complaint, Scion of young women Still complaining,

Ever tearful with the ree ree ree, I'm still complaining. I am in love with the oigo; I cry the *ree ree ree* Infatuated with the oigo; The redo-singer's unceasing complaint Blasting Amimo's hearth With constant complaining; Ever tearful with the *ree ree ree*, I'm still complaining.18

#### III

Songs in Africa are very frequently in antiphonal form. That is, there is response of some kind between soloist and chorus, and the song depends on the alternation between the two parts. The role of the soloist (or 'cantor') is crucial. It is he who decides on the song, and when it should start and end. Even more important, he can introduce variations on the basic theme of the song in contrast to the part of the chorus, which is more or less fixed. In other cases, the soloist has complete scope to improvise his part of the verse as he chooses (apart perhaps from the very first line). This type of composition results in many impromptu and often ephemeral lyrics.

Within the general antiphonal form, which has often been mentioned as one of the main characteristics of African song, there are several possible variations. This is partly a question of who the performers are. Sometimes, for instance, there is more than one cantor; two or even three may interchange verses with each other as well as with the accompanying chorus. In other special musical types, the singers take turns in leading the singing, or two answer each other's song. But, as will appear, even in

18 Owuor 1962: 53. Other references on love songs include Tracey 1963: 19–20 (examples and general discussion); Knappert 1967*a* (Swahili); G. Schürle and A. Klingenheben, 'Afrilcanische Liebeslieder' (Duala and Zaramo), ZKS 3, 1913–14; Chadwicks iii, 1940: 668ff. (Tuareg); E. Von Funke, 'Einige Tanz-und Liebeslieder der Haussa', ZES 11, 1920–1; Tescaroli 1961, Ch. 4 (Sudan); E. Cerulli, 'Poesie di guerra e di amore dei Galla', *Arch, antrop. e etnol.* 5, 1942 (reference in *IAI Bibl.* (A) by R. Jones, North-East Africa, 1959: 33)'; D. Earthy, 'A Chopi Love-song', *Africa* 4, 1931. For other discussions or examples of 'lyrics' see J. Vansina, 'La chanson lyrique chez les Kuba', jeune Afrique 27, 1958; T. Tsala, 'Minlan mi mved (chants lyriques)', *Recherches et etudes camerounaises* 2, 1960 (Beti); L. Longmore, 'Music and Song among the Bantu People in Urban Areas on the Witwatersrand', *Afr. music Soc. Newsletter* 1. 6, 1953; and references in following sections. For written Swahili forms see Knappert 1966: 128f., 136.

the most basic type (one leader/one chorus) there is scope for variety and elaboration.

One of the simplest forms, at first sight at least, and one that seems to occur widely in Africa, is repetition of two phrases between soloist and chorus. Nketia terms this pattern the 'call and response' form and shows how even this type of antiphony can be elaborated in actual performance (Nketia 1962: 28ff).19 At its simplest level, one that occurs, for instance, in children's games or other action songs, there is merely a repeated interchange between leader and group, the first singing his own phrase (A), the chorus coming in with theirs (B).20 But there are also more complex forms.

Various techniques of elaboration of the basic A-B form may be employed. Variations in text, in melody or both may be introduced in the cantor's phrase (A) while the balancing responsive phrase (B) sung by the chorus remains the same. Interest may be further enhanced by varying the beginning and ending point of the cantor's phrase in such a way as to make this part overlap with the chorus response. In addition to these, a little elaboration in the form of a short introduction based on the words of the song may be sung by the cantor or by a member of the chorus who wishes to start a new song before the leading phrase (A) is begun. Examples of this will be found in the music of *kple* worship of the Ga people. It is also greatly exploited in Adangme *klama* music (Ibid.: 29).

Songs founded on this type of repetition are basically short, though the actual repetitions may be drawn out almost indefinitely. Further extensions of the basic principle are also common. One might be built up on a kind of sequential pattern so that A and B are repeated at different levels, resulting in a form of A B A1 B1 . The complete unit (now of four sections, or even of six, eight, or more) can be repeated several times over. In this type too the cantor is at liberty to introduce slight variations, melodic or textual. The words of the chorus usually remain the same, though in some elaborations they are changed while the cantor's part stays the same. As can be seen, many other combinations are also possible—like, for instance, the A1 B, A2 B, A3 B pattern of many Limba songs.

All these elaborations of the 'call and response' pattern basically involve the balance of sections sung by leader and chorus against each other, and

19 I draw heavily on Nketia's analysis here: though he is working primarily on Ghanian music, his analysis has a wider application; see also Rycroft 1967.

20 The children's singing games quoted in Ch. 11 include some examples of this basic form.

depend essentially on repetition. This raises the problem of how the song is ended. Sometimes the end is abrupt and the leader simply stops; but at other times he joins in the chorus response, often with a prolonged final note. In other songs there is a special closing refrain.

Another type of antiphonal collaboration between leader and chorus is the 'solo and chorused refrain' (Nketia 1962: 30–1). In songs of this pattern there is not the same balanced alternation between the two parts. Instead the soloist merely introduces the song. The cantor might sing the entire verse of the song right through once, and this is then repeated by the chorus. An example of this is the simple but effective Ghanaian song:

I sleep long and soundly; Suddenly the door creaks. I open my eyes confused, And find my love standing by. Mother Adu, I am dying. Adu, kinsman of Odurowa, What matters death to me? (Nketia 1963*a*: 37)21

In the Ewe *nyayito* dance songs, in which new words are continually being composed, the first cantor sings the whole song through unaccompanied. By singing in a dramatic tone he can encourage people to join the dance (Jones 1959: 75). In other cases, the cantor sings only a short introductory phrase, and the chorus then sings the main song. The form is highly flexible:

When the cantor has sung through, he may sing a short leading phrase before the chorus comes in. This leading phrase may also be added to a cantor's introduction. Further, the main chorus refrain can be interrupted by a cantor at appropriate points . . . Furthermore a number of cantors may take turns at leading the chorus. Either of them may sing an introductory phrase before the chorus comes in, or they may take turns at leading each new verse. Sometimes cantors singing in twos are encountered. All these show that this form is flexible, and that there is room for building up complex sectional patterns on the basis of the singing roles taken by the participants. (Nketia 1962: 31)

There are other possible variants. There are various combinations of the two main types described, including songs like the well-known Adangme *klama*, which open with an introductory section by the cantor sung in free rhythm, followed by a section in strict tempo with a solo lead and chorus refrain (or overlapping solo and chorus parts), repeated three or

21 The emotion of love is, as often in Akan poetry likened to that of suffering and death.

more times; each new stanza can then be treated in much the same way as the song proceeds (Nketia 1958*a*: 28). Sometimes basically solo songs in declamatory style are supplemented by a chorus or instrumental addition (Nketia 1962: 31). In other songs the antiphony is between two soloists rather than solo and chorus. Thus the Kassena-Nankani of northern Ghana have a special type of song in which a young man who wishes to sing the praises of a girl conventionally asks the assistance of a friend: this results in a kind of duet by the two men accompanied by gourd percussion (Nketia 1962: 27). Alternatively the antiphony may be between two choruses. This is the common pattern, for instance, in the Limba women's song which accompanies the boys' *gbondokale* dance and involves almost endless repetition of only a few phrases. Another example is the Zulu wedding song where, after the leader has stated the theme, it is taken up first by the chorus of women, and then by the men who answer with a contrasting theme, overlapping with the women's singing (Cope 1959: 35).

It is clear that the antiphonal form provides scope for far more flexibility, rich elaboration, and varied interpretation than is immediately apparent from the bald statement that this is the characteristic structure of African songs. It is also a most suitable form for the purposes to which it is put. It makes possible both the exploitation of an expert and creative leader, and popular participation by all those who wish or are expected to join in. The repetition and lack of demand on the chorus also make it particularly appropriate for dancing. Finally the balanced antiphony both gives the poem a clear structure and adds to its musical attractiveness.

We must not, however, exaggerate the significance of this very common antiphonal type of song and thus overlook the fact that some songs are primarily for soloists only. Thus one of the song types recorded from Zambia, the *impango*, seems to be designed primarily for solo singing (Jones 1943: 11–12). Men among the Bushmen sing personal and plaintive songs as solos (Lomax 1962: 438–9); and certain types of songs—such as lullabies and sometimes love and herding songs—always tend to be sung by individuals. Such songs can develop the verbal content, unlike the antiphonal songs that normally seem to involve a lot of repetition. It is by no means always clear in the sources how far a song is in fact sung by chorus and leader and how far just by one person, because those taking down texts tend to avoid repetitious phrases and to transcribe the song as if it were sung by one person only. The Akan 'maiden songs' are a good example of how one could easily assume that there is only one singer. Nketia in fact, with characteristic precision, explains that these are sung by

groups of women, each taking it in turns to lead the verses of the song; in the case cited here the last three lines are sung by the chorus. But in most other sources this explanation would not be added and the words would have suggested a single singer. The song is in honour of a loved one:

He is coming, he is coming, Treading along on camel blanket in triumph. Yes, stranger, we are bestirring ourselves. Agyei the warrior is drunk, The green mamba with fearful eyes. Yes, Agyei the warrior, He is treading along on camel blanket in triumph, Make way for him. He is coming, he is coming. Treading along on sandals (i.e. on men). Yes, stranger, we are bestirring ourselves. Adum Agyei is drunk. The Green Mamba, Afaafa Adu. Yes, Agyei the warrior, He is treading along on camel blanket in triumph, Make way for him. (Nketia 1958*b*: 20; see also Nketia 1963*b*: 51)

The musical side of these lyrics, unlike spoken or semi-chanted poetry, is of vital importance. The verbal expression and the melody of the song are interdependent. So much is clear—but beyond this there are many areas of uncertainty. For one thing, the relative weight given to melody and to verbal content seems to vary in different areas and between different genres of song. For instance, the work songs designed to accompany and lighten rhythmic labour lay little stress on the words, and much more on the melody and rhythm, while in love songs the words take on greater interest. Further, there seems to be no firm agreement among musicologists about how far, when discussing African lyrics, one can generalize about such matters as scale, melody structure, rhythm, and harmony;22 few detailed studies have been published for particular areas.23

One point of interest is the question of the exact connection between spoken and sung tone, especially in the highly tonal languages characteristic of parts of Africa. Again, there is some controversy on this score, but it

22 For recent general discussions, see Merriam 1962, 1965; Jones 1959, Ch. 9; Rouget 1961; Tracey 1964; Adande 1952; Nketia 1964.

23 Though see Tracey 1948*a* (Chopi); Jones 1943, 1949 (Zambia), 1959 (Ewe); Nketia 1962 (Ghana); Brandel 1961 (Central Africa); also further references in Merriam 1965 and Gaskin 1965.

seems clear that there is often a relationship between the tones of speech and the melody, so that the melodic pattern is influenced by linguistic considerations. This is well documented for some West African languages. The relationship seems to be flexible, with the possibility of variation and tone modifications. Nketia sums up the position for the several Ghanaian tone languages:

What the intonation of a song text provides . . . are tone patterns or syllable relationships and not the actual melodic notes that are to be employed. We would not, in traditional Ghanaian music, expect a high tone always to be sung in the upper or middle compass, or a low tone in the middle or lower compass. Within each compass we would only expect the melodic working-out of high, mid and low tone relationships. The verbal intonation would not provide us with the beginning or ending tone, but it may guide the immediate direction of movement from the beginning tone or movement towards the ending tone . . . The tonal relationship between words and melody is not rigid. It is flexible. While it is important to take the intonation curve into account so that the words of a song may be readily recognised, it must be emphasised that the 'art' of the song lies in the departures that are made from this guide where appropriate, on purely melodic grounds. Thus the use of ascending interlocking patterns or pendular movement where the intonation shows a descending trend, or the use of rising seconds where intonation is level belongs to the 'art' of the song. However, it would be as wrong to assume rigid relationship as it would be to conclude that because such deviations occur, the tones of words are unimportant in the construction of melodies (Nketia 1962: 52).24 Thus, although tone/melody relationships in these languages allow a certain degree of freedom, the link between the two is a complex one, and composition and extemporization demand a high degree of skill.

A further vexed question is that of rhythm. The fundamental importance of rhythm in vocal as in other African music is widely accepted, but there is little agreement as to its exact structure. One helpful distinction is between songs in 'free' and those in relatively 'strict' rhythm (Ibid. 64). In the former songs (or portions of songs) the singing is not co-ordinated with any bodily rhythmic activity such as work or dancing. The very common

24 Similar points have been made by other writers: e.g. on Ewe 'tone and tune' see Jones i, 1959, Ch. 10; Igbo, Green 1948: 841, Wescott 1962; Yoruba, King 1961: 38ff.; Bantu generally, Westphal 1948; West Africa, Schneider 1961; Chopi, Tracey 1948*a*: 4–5; Ngala, Carrington 1966/7 (reference in *Africa* 38, 1968: 110); also general discussion in Wangler 1963.

songs to strict time, however, have a beat that is articulated with dancing, rhythmic movement, percussion by instruments, or hand-clapping, all of which contribute to the form and attractiveness of the song. These rhythms are worked out in many different ways in various types of song, but one commonly recurring musical feature seems to be the simultaneous use of more than one metre at a time, as a way of heightening the rhythmic tension.25

The accompaniment takes many different forms, depending, among other things, on the geographical area and its resources,26 on the genius of the particular people, and on the different genres within a single culture. It is common, for instance, to find some types of songs regularly without accompaniment, others with just clapping and/or dancing, others again with many different kinds of instrumental accompaniment, conventionally graded according to the song, the singers, or the occasion.

When we come to the verbal style of these poems, it is almost impossible to generalize. As would be expected in poetry, there is a tendency to use a language somewhat different from that of everyday speech. This is particularly evident in the case of sung lyrics, where the melodic line imposes its own requirements, and in tonal languages, where there is the additional complication of the relationship between tune and tone. Connected with the importance attached to the musical aspect in these relatively short, sung lyrics is the frequent occurrence of meaningless words and onomatopoeic sounds which fill in the line, add length to the song as actually performed, and are used especially in chorus responses. Some songs, too, tend to be verbally fragmentary rather than fully developed poems as far as the words are concerned, though the fragments themselves may have a terse poetic interest (e.g. the examples in Nketia 1958*b*: 15–16). But there are many variations between different types of songs, each with its own style and diction, and, indeed, in contrast to comments on the subject-matter and contexts of songs, there is relatively little published work available.27

#### IV

How far can these lyrics be said to be truly personal expressions of experience? This raises the difficult question of composition—difficult mainly because so little interest seems to have been shown in this aspect of

25 On rhythm, see Merriam 1965: 455–6 (and further references given there).

26 See Tracey 1954*a*: 8–9, on the effect of the environment on the choice of instruments.

27 One exception is the consideration of the Somali *balwo* in Andrzejewski 1967.

African poetry. Many commentators, even when they try to take this into account, content themselves with labelling specific songs as 'traditional' or 'improvised' without considering in what senses these words are used. But even this is better than the other still common approach of apparently explaining away the problem by classifying the lyrics as 'folk-songs' which can, it is then assumed, be happily attributed to 'the folk', so that the question of composition does not arise at all.

It is certainly clear that some songs retain their popularity for many years. This may happen less to incidental and recreational songs (like most of the lyrics described here) than to songs definitely tied to particular solemn occasions such as initiation or religious ritual. A common pattern demanding further research—may be for the music to remain basically the same while the words change.28 But even with light-hearted dance songs it does seem that some (words as well as music) remain popular for so long that they might with some justice be termed 'traditional'. Others, however—and this is much more commonly mentioned in recent sources are ephemeral only. The Ibo, for instance, are said to create impromptu poems all the time and forget them (Green 1948: 842). Again, among the Kamba most songs are 'improvised' (with the exception of circumcision songs, which reappear in the same form again and again), and with dance songs the leader of the singing and dancing must make a new one when the old one is worn out—about every month or so (Lindblom iii, 1934: 40). Similar comments have been made about songs among many African peoples.

Even with a familiar song there is room for variations on words or tune in actual delivery so that each performance in a sense may be a 'new' song. It must be remembered that these variations on a basic theme are more likely in societies that do not share our stress on the fixing nature of the written word, the concept of a single 'correct' form attributed to a single author. Even such obvious points as the number of repetitions used by a particular leader, the order of the verses, the variations by instruments in an accompanied song, and the varied movements of dancers—all these contribute to the finished work of art as a unique performance of which the verbal text of the song is only one element.

28 In Tanganyika, for example, the poet seldom composes the time, but is free in his choice of the text; thus it is rare for a tune to be associated with one text only (Koritschoner 1937: 51). I noticed a similar pattern with certain types of songs, particularly dance songs—in Limba; see also Helser 1930: 65 (Bura), Andrezejewski 1967 (Somali).

There is one further aspect. The leader of the song adds new verses arising from the basic themes recognized by him and the chorus. Tracey describes this process in Southern Rhodesia. The chorus parts of a song are expected to remain the same, but the soloist (*mushauri*) introduces the song and is allowed full scope for originality during its performance. If he is not able to compose his new verse swiftly enough to keep his initiative, he either repeats the last verse several times to allow himself time for thought or, if necessary, yodels the tune, and finally sings to his neighbour to replace him in the lead (Tracey 1929: 97). This pattern by which the antiphonal form is exploited through improvisation by the leader and relatively unvaried support by the chorus seems to be very common indeed. Unless there are definite reasons for retaining sanctioned words, it seems generally rather rare for such songs to be repeated *exactly* from performance to performance—there is always scope for some variation by the leader (this is apparently also sometimes extended to the improvised performance of quite 'new' songs in terms of the melody and the form of the words. At least in some cases, choruses are quick to pick up the melody and words, often after having heard them just once or twice from the leader, and to sing them enthusiastically even though they were previously unknown to them).

But one must not be so impressed by the excellences of African improvisation that everything is attributed to spontaneous creation. There is, first, the obvious point that improvisation takes place within certain conventional artistic forms known both to the soloist and also, perhaps equally important, to the chorus. More significantly, certain commentators make it clear that serious and conscious composition also takes place.

One of the more detailed accounts of such composition is given by Tracey in his description of musical composition among the Chopi. The Chopi *ngodo* is an orchestral dance in nine to eleven movements that certain skilled and known musicians compose anew every two years or so. The stress is on the music and its elaboration. It is worth quoting his description at some length here, for this dependence of the words on the music is by no means unparalleled:

A description of how Katini and Gumukomu set about composing a new orchestral dance will show how musically advanced these men are. Both of them say that the first thing they do is to find appropriate words for their song and compose the verses of the lyric before the music.29 The subjectmatter may be gay, sad, or purely documentary. In every case it is highly topical and appropriate to the locality, so much so, in fact, that most of the allusions would be caught only by those in close touch with the villagers and the district.

To return to the composer: when he has decided upon the words of his poem, or, in the case of a long poem, the opening verse, he must now find his melody. *Chichopi*, in common with other Bantu languages, is a tone language, and the sounds of the words themselves almost suggest a melodic flow of tones. This is developed rhythmically, as Gilbert and Sullivan did in their light operas, in one or other of the well-defined patterns which characterize their national verse, with clever use of repetition and offset phrases. The verses are not always metrically alike, as one would naturally expect of a tone language, but all bear a family relationship to the prototype lines. As often as not, the final verse sung to the coda is a repeat of the statement or first line of the poem. In this they follow a well-recognised trick of the trade which is exploited so frequently in our own popular songs . . .

The verse and the leitmotive now fixed in the composer's mind, he sits at his instrument [xylophone], over which his hands wander with expert deftness, and picks out the melody . . . After a while, during which his right hand becomes accustomed to the new tune, his left will begin to fill in the harmonies or contra-melody with 1 well-understood sequences, punctuated with rhythmic surprises suggested by the ebb and flow of the words. Now the right hand will wander away from the melody, *mapsui*, into a variation, *kuhambana*, and as he sings the words over to himself the contrapuntal accompaniment will begin to form under his hands . . .

They now have the *primary* melodic line of the poem—the subject or leitmotive—and the *secondary* melodic accompaniment—the orchestral sentence—which fits the words contrapuntally, with a number of variations and sequences . . . (Tracey 1948*a*: 2–3; 4–5)

Though the lyrics and their music are topical and relatively ephemeral, they are certainly not totally impromptu; in describing the process of their creation we can more suitably speak of artistic inspiration coupled with studied technique than of 'improvisation'.

Something of the same process occurs with several song types in Zambia (Jones 1943). Among the Ila and Tonga there is commonly an interest in the personal ownership of songs: individuals are often expected to sing one of their own songs—a young man on the day of his marriage, for instance, a young girl on the day she is allowed to wear adult dress. Among their

29 This is not necessarily the most common method of procedure. Contrast, for instance, Ngoni composition where 'it is always a single inspiration which leads the composer to find the right words and the right music' (Read 1937: 3).