I was in serious need of inspiration over the weekend when it came to today’s post. I had a bad case of blogger’s block. And then I was hit by a thought— why not throw in a chapter from my book. Other than the promo I run in the upper right hand corner, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything with “The Bush Devil Ate Sam” on this blog. If you are new to The Bush Devil Ate Sam and enjoy this chapter, the book is available on Amazon.
Sam, the young man who worked for us in Liberia, was enamored with western culture. It fired his imagination. He spent hours listening to the Kingston Trio get Charlie off the MTA and dove into peanut butter and jelly sandwiches like a frog dives into water. Still, for all of his excitement about things modern, ancient African was an integral part of who he was. He had the scars to prove it. They marched down his chest in two neat rows.
“How did you get those,” Jo (my former wife) asked with ten percent concern and ninety percent curiosity.
“I can’t tell you,” Sam replied with obvious nervousness as Jo’s eyebrows rose. “But I can tell Mr. Mekemson.”
Aha, I thought, Sam and I belong to the same organization, the Men’s Club! Actually, Sam belonged to a very exclusive men’s organization, the Poro Society, which I wasn’t allowed to join. Its functions were to pass on tribal traditions, teach useful skills, and keep errant tribe members in line. Everything about the organization was hush-hush. Tribal members who revealed secrets could be banned and even executed.
Political power on the local level was closely tied to membership in the Poro Society. On the national level, President Tubman assumed leadership of all Poro Societies in Liberia. Tribal women had a similar secret organization called the Sande Society, which prepared young women for adulthood and marriage. A controversial aspect of the Sande initiation ceremony was female genital mutilation— cutting off the clitoris.
Sam got off easy.
He had been to Bush School the previous summer and learned how to be a good Kpelle man. Graduation to adulthood consisted of an all-consuming encounter with the Poro Society’s Bush Devil. It ate him— metaphorically speaking. Sam was consumed as a child and spit out as a man. The scarification marks had been left by the devil’s ‘teeth.’ It seemed like a tough way to achieve adulthood, but at least it was fast and definitive.
The Bush Devil was a very important tribal figure who was part religious leader, part cultural cop and part political hack. Non-Kpelle types weren’t allowed to see him. When the Devil came to visit outlying villages, a frontman preceded him and ran circles around the local Peace Corps Volunteer’s house while blowing a whistle. The Volunteer was expected to go inside, shut the door, close the shutters and stay there. No peeking.
We did get to see a Grebo Devil once. The Grebo Tribe was less secretive, or at least more mercenary. Some Peace Corps Volunteers had hired the local Devil for a Haight-Ashbury style African party. It was, after all, 1967, the “summer of love” in San Francisco and the “Dawning of the Age of Aquarius.” Along with several other Volunteers, we hired a money bus to get to the party. Had we been thinking, we would have painted the bus with Day-Glo, like Ken Kesey’s bus, Further.
The Devil was all decked out in his regalia. His persona was somewhere between a voodoo nightmare and walking haystack. Grebo men scurried in front of him with brooms, clearing his path and grunting a lot. We stayed out of the way and took pictures.
Another area where Sam showed his tribal side was his fear of the newly dead. A person’s spirit was considered particularly powerful and dangerous right after he or she died. Later, the spirit would move away into the bush and fade. But first it had to be tamed with appropriate mourning, an all-night bash. One didn’t take chances. When Sam worked late for us after someone had died, he would borrow a knife and a flashlight in case he had to fight off the malevolent ghost on his way home. I had grown up next to a graveyard and was sympathetic with his concern.
Juju, or African witch doctor medicine, was another area where African reality varied from modern Western reality. Late one evening, in the middle of a tropical downpour, one of my high school students appeared on our doorstep very wet and very frightened. Mamadee Wattee was running for student body president. His opponent had purchased ‘medicine’ from a Juju man to make him sick.
It was serious business; people were known to die in similar circumstances. Had the opposition slandered Mamadee or stuffed the ballot box, I could have helped, but countering a magic potion wasn’t taught at Berkeley, at least not officially. I took the issue to Mr. Bonal, the high school principal, and he dealt with it. Mamadee stayed well and won the election.
The use of Juju medicine represents the darker side of tribal culture. Human body parts derived from ritual human sacrifice are reputed to be particularly effective in creating potions. Cannibalism may be involved. On the lighter side, my students once obtained a less potent ‘medicine’ and buried it under the goal post on the football (soccer) field with the belief that it would cause the other team to miss goals. Apparently, it wasn’t potent enough; the other team won.
Mamadee was also the reason behind our introduction to the Lightning Man. When Jo and I went on vacation to East Africa, we left Mamadee with $50 to buy a 50-gallon drum of kerosene. When we returned, there was neither kerosene nor $50, but Mamadee was sitting on our doorstep. Someone had stolen the money and Mamadee was extremely upset. Fifty dollars represented a month’s income for a Kpelle farmer. Mamadee’s father, a chief of the Kpelle tribe, was even more upset and wanted to assure us that his son had nothing to do with the missing fortune. It was a matter of honor. He offered to have Mamadee submit to the Lightning Man to prove his innocence.
The Lightning Man had a unique power; he could make lighting strike whoever was guilty of a crime. If someone stole your cow or your spouse, zap! Since we were in the tropics, there was lots of lightning. Whenever anyone was struck, people would shake their heads knowingly. Another bad guy had been cooked; justice had been served.
We didn’t believe Mamadee had taken the money, and even if he had, we certainly didn’t want him fried, or even singed. We passed on the offer. The Chief insisted on giving us $50 to replace the stolen money.
Another Liberian Peace Corps Volunteer in a similar situation chose a different path. Here’s how the story was told to us. The Volunteer had just purchased a brand new $70 radio so he could listen to the BBC and keep track of what was happening in the world. The money represented close to half of the Volunteer’s monthly income. He had owned his new toy for two days when it disappeared.
“I am going to get my radio back,” he announced to anyone who would listen and then walked into the village where he quickly gathered some of his students to take him to the Lightning Man. Off he and half the town went, winding through the rainforest to the Lighting Man’s hut. The Volunteer took out five dollars and gave it to the Lighting Man. (Lighting Men have to eat, too.)
“I want you to make lighting strike whoever stole my radio,” he said.
The Volunteer and his substantial entourage then returned home. By this time, everyone in the village knew about the trip, including, undoubtedly, the person who had stolen the radio.
That night, there was a tremendous thunder and lightning storm. Ignoring for the moment that it was in the middle of the rainy season and there were always tremendous thunder and lightning storms, place yourself in the shoes of the thief who believed in the Lightning Man’s power. Each clap of thunder would have been shouting his name.
In the morning, the Volunteer got up, had breakfast and went out on his porch. There was his radio.
Wednesday: I wrap up the Sierra Trek series.
Friday: A look at several major art installations at Burning Man.
Monday: Astoria: A return to the Oregon Coast.
24 thoughts on “If Someone Steals your Spouse or Cow, Who Do You Call? The Lightning Man!”
Where do we get in contact with the lightning man?
Out in the middle of the jungle. 🙂 –Curt
I spent several years working in a technical capacity for The American Lutheran Church (now part of the ELCA). It was an interesting place with some very interesting people.
One day in the course of an over lunch conversation, someone made a joke about the devil.
“Don’t joke about that,” Caroline, one of group said. She was deadly serious. “I believe in the devil.”
She then went on to describe her youth growing up in the Cameroons where the local Bush Doctors employed fear to achieve power. It was pretty scary stuff. Though no one challenged her on this, a couple people made comment about how that was a thing of the past.
Caroline then went on to describe how she was sent to school in Nigeria, just in time for the Nigerian Civil War and spent several years crawling around a hospital to avoid snipers and stitching up people with machete wounds on the backs.
Her point was fairly simple. Sometimes the devil dresses in grass and sometimes in camouflage.
Not a thing of the past at all. They are still very powerful in Liberia. A couple of years ago a Liberian paper was doing an article on how a Bush Devil was demanding that the government fix a road that a local community needed. The paper pulled my photo and used it. I think the newspaper was afraid to post a photo of a current Bush Devil. Bush Devils (a name given to them by westerners) are not inherently evil. But if they are bad, their power can be easily abused. Your friend was right, as you are. Really bad people exist everywhere. Thanks much for your comment. –Curt
I hardly know where to start. It’s not just the juju culture that seems dark to me, but all of it, and GM the darkest of all. Dark and fearful. Most primitive cultures have a kind of animist religion, and powerful figures to keep everyone in line, but even so it seems there’s also a lightness and joy in most of them. There’s something missing here, a joy of spirit. I’m not surprised by all the fighting between the tribes.
Certainly these can be dark when taken to the extreme, Alison. Sort of like burning witches in Salem. In a stable society, some of these practices help maintain order. When the society is destabilized, they can be abused terribly. Certainly this happened during Liberia’s civil war. –Curt
haha, don’t you just love it! Had to laugh at the thief!!
Bet he didn’t steal anything else for a while, G! –Curt
I wonder if the Lightning Man could do anything about bringing back summer in Australia?
You may have to negotiate with Gerard, Peggy, for the best use of the Lighting Man in Australia. 🙂 –Curt
I would like something done about our present PM Turnbull. I’ll don my grass skirt and hope for the best.
And don’t forget your five dollars, Gerard. Given inflation, it might be $50 now. –Curt
Great idea for a post Curt. I enjoyed your book very much.
Thanks, Sylvia. Much appreciated. –Curt
This book is terrific, in case any of you haven’t read it.
Thanks much, Hilary.
Fascinating glimpse into an unfamiliar culture, Curt. I like to think the familiar ones are more rational but just lately I’m not so sure …
I think that the traditional culture worked to fit the needs of the society when stable, Dave. Rapid changes led to extremes in Liberia. I think the same can be said of ours. –Curt
They say a change is as good as a rest but I would quite like a rest from all the change …
You and most other people, I am pretty sure, Dave. I’m equally sure it isn’t going to happen. How to cope, how to gain some kind of control over it, except reaction, is one of the great questions of our time. –Curt
Absolutely right, Curt. A creative effort is called for …
And visionary leaders willing to work for the good of the whole as opposed to narrow, ideological interests…
At least he got his radio back . . . : )
Had I taken his radio and believed in the Lightning Man, I am pretty sure my reaction would have been the same. 🙂 –Curt