THIS FUNNY LIFE
Before I retire to bed for the night I dial four numbers from a long list of beauties whose mobile numbers I happen to have secured into my diary. ‘The number you have dialed cannot be reached at the moment please try again later’ bibs the first. ‘User busy’ the second retorts. ‘Call ended’ the third scowls and from the last number all I can get is just a deafening silence. ‘Its been a long-long horrible day’ I surmise regrettably. Normally when I happen to have been high or had solicited some fast-cash there are incidentally lots of missed calls from these bugs. How paradoxical and fast humanity strays away when you are waddling in dire straits. ‘This funny life!’ I muse as I begin to slumber.
It has all started since early in the morning of one Monday. Of late it has become de rigor for me to have gloomy days and I have come to accept it as a streak of normalcy in this strife-laden existence. After all if the world was depleted of people of my cadre there would be no one to liven up the game and show of life. People need folks to provide them with some free fun and they always hanker for that everyday. Africans for that is my pedigree are not only one curious bunch of fellows but for the most part the wheels and seasons of life would be far much slower for us given our idling demeanor without free fun. Once, I used to go into a raging fury, get depressed and brood for weeks on end over my bizarre sagas, scandals and what have you in a bid to secure some solace but that is long bygone. Through bitter experiences I have come to realize that people won’t or are rather slow to recant. After all given the bitter struggles we go through everyday most of us have become hardened we have little or no time for feeling empathetic towards or lending an ear to our brothers when they are experiencing adversity. The more you keep putting on a long face and the more you plead for mercy and attention, the more fun you offer to your sadistic and craving folks. So I have learnt to join in their laughter though there is nothing to laugh about and I have derided in their crank jokes though there is nothing to joke about.
Well let’s get it over with my reminiscing for you may wonder where all this is emanating from and leading us. I am a middle class tutor at one renowned University college in my country of origin Nyasaland . I enjoy my career pretty well but one thing that is also pretty evident is that since joining this esteemed college I have been considered a thorn in the flesh by many a folk around this place for no apparent reason. I have tended to ask myself whether the raison deter is ethnicity since the region and tribal folks in the area have been stereotyped as nepotists, tribalists, regionalists, you name it. Even the number one states man, the incumbent Head of state himself has made absurdly open criticisms of the folks in the national media. However, I consider that as a flimsy excuse bearing in mind that when I count the number of fellow folks from the region I happen to come from who have happened to make ends meet without being prejudiced against at this same institution that allegation becomes unfounded. Maybe it’s due to my deprivation-stricken background or there are other reasons not clearly apparent that I can’t figure out. Or is it my Zimbabwean roots- by the way I happen to have been bred by a migrant father who sought his fortunes way back in the then Southern Rhodesia but after wasting a lifetime managed to sneak back home to his native motherland his only bonus being a bunch of kids considered foreigners in their homeland. Maybe I was just born one unlucky fellow but irrespective of the ups and downs I have been through in this arena, one clear fact I can’t ignore is that most of my sympathizers and close friends even of the feminine folk have ironically been from this same labeled and ostracized region.
As I disembark from a taxi boarded all the way from home and stroll towards the entrance to the esteemed college, I begin to fathom my day will be drastically spoilt by the looks on the watchmen’s faces. ‘Wafwenge’ –he will really die- one beefy watchman with a Doberman’s haunting countenance bellows at the top of his voice to the delight of fellow ‘rogers’ as the college students derogatively call them. There is a splutter of laughter as they crack another rejoinder joke- ‘Wamara waka’ another skinny-tall one concedes with beefy Doberman. They know I have heard all they said and that in itself is a gold star to their record. They deride each and every passing day in inflicting as much unbearable degradation as they can muster and above all else the more they manage to spoil yet another day the more satisfaction they derive.
‘Wawa’ – hello- I politely bid as I go through the entrance pretending I heard nothing of their derision. I can feel the tension, the hatred, the loathing perched evidently as it where on their remorse-proof countenances. Like a painting of exquisite caliber it is quite imprinted that evidently they don’t want me loitering around the campus anymore.
‘Wanyadenge’ – let him continue to be proud- I hear a library assistant mutter as I glide past the library. By the way I am on my way to my lousy office and haven’t even started my working day yet since I qualify this by the preparations and lectures I offer. Two female students glide by books clad seductively in their hands and they make faces and exchange a hearty scornful laugh. ‘This is going to be a preatty long one’ – I concede as I proceed on my way to the office.
‘Tikome waka’ – we will kill him- the tackshop fellow shouts while peeping through the bars of his tiny shop as I tromp by. I shudder and beads of perspiration begin to form on my forehead. For sure, one emotion that I have trained myself to occasionally manage and contain is fear but these daily tirades are beginning to take their toll even on that barricade I have struggled to build over my life time. ‘Will I survive these ordeals’ I wonder silently as I continue pacing shoulders high towards my office?
For one I am sometimes paranoid and tend to have an exaggerated sense of my capabilities including intellectual feats and because of that superiority-complex the list of adversaries has not spared the so called intellectuals. I happen to have graduated from another University that is considered rather superior to my working institution and considering that some graduates from here have been offered jobs after proving themselves worthy as students, the paranoia irks these most. ‘He is redundant’ retorts one such irate tutor shaking me from my reveries. Now I am gliding through the main corridor on campus that tends to be flanked by laboratories and main lecture rooms as well as some lecturers’ offices. One strange trend about all the sonorous tirades is that the perpetrators make it a point that I get the message loud and clear. The other unfortunate part of the psychological-torture games is that rarely do I retaliate on the spot or need I say never have I. I have always conceded that it is as a result of such cowardice that the paranoia of persecution has been fuelled into a bonfire.
The other credit I offer is that I show no emotion most of the times and I feel that that stoic gesture is what pains them most. At least when prey elicits pain even in the jungle the antagonist has some feel of satisfaction - its smug logical. That bit of being a diehard of an ass will one day result in my final demise and that I have always forewarned myself about. ‘Whatever’, I muffle a laugh-‘Busybody mediocres’ I splutter as I approach the makeshift prefab that happens to house my office. By then I am already physically and emotionally exhausted and cannot help pondering what more sinister events the day holds in store for me. The door to my office is ajar and a cleaner is hysterically sweeping the floor. ‘What a mess up’ I surmise and plead with him that I get in and pick up some staff so I can print copies of a document with the secretary. ‘Yewoo njirani’ the fellow retorts without even lifting up his head and the animosity written all over his face is self-evident. I pick up the memory stick from a drawer on the desk and head out for the departmental secretary’s office. ‘Maybe that can clear my mind a bit’ I try to encourage myself but the moment I approach the office the signal is negative. I happen to have a barometric unit for the secretary’s temperament. On a day her mood is foul the door to the office is either closed or half open and I can’t fail to fathom today is a bad one since the door is entirely closed but not bolted. I slightly knock and open and without even waiting for me to announce the reason for this early errand, maybe because she has apparently seen the ‘flash’ dangling in my hand quickly scowls as if making a face-‘Toner Wamara!’- we don’t have any toner in the printer.
I paddle out now confused because what I wanted to print are today’s lecture notes. The way the whole working day ends is but one other long story. Back home exhausted like hell I heard for my stereo and play in full volume my best assortment of arranged music and programme ‘Undikonderachani’ by my favorite Zambian musician K-millian to play on repeat. It’s almost dark and I switch on the lights only to discover that one of the two main gate bulbs has blown. By the way the compound has one huge brick fence as is sing-song in most middle class complexes and it is also by the side of the main so called M 1 road. I clumber up a ladder to fix the faulty bulb as the K- millian vibe hits the chorus- ‘sembe nzevutika mushe unikonda ine---sembe nezotamanga, mushe unikonda ine—ndine munthu chabe mwaiwe babe—its better wanikonda mwenilili.’ - whether I encounter obstacles you still love me- whether I lose myself you still love me- babe I am just but human- its better you have loved me just the way I am.
Incidentally some two women are gliding past the other side of the brick fence by the gate and you can tell from the looks of satisfaction on their faces and the gait with hands of one fatty-one cradled behind her back, the two are coming from a gossiping spree. ‘Pali bwino kumangogona panjumba nanga lelo ichi mawa ichi ungakwanitse- koma mabatchala!’ – it’s better to just slumber at home if you can’t meet unnecessary demands- these bachelors! I surmise from the dining song whose echoes and crescendo can be heard this far, they feel I have been brooding about a woman. Nevertheless I just smile to myself as I disembark the ladder because for once during this long day I have managed to herald some sympathizers. After taking my supper I retire to bed surmising ‘it’s been one long horrific one’ and think about calling some four beauties.
Short story by- Maestro Williams-[pseudonym/alias/ pen name]
RHAPSODIES OF THE APOCALYPSE
Mavuto, Chikondi and Tawonga are middle class alumni from one esteemed University College in their native homeland Nyasaland . They have been close pals since college days and coincidentally five years down the line they find themselves working in the same city irrespective of the fact that their specialties are different. As per their college days their best pastime during weekends remains a drink or two in various drinking joints sprawled all over this city.
Today is Saturday and as usual they are patronizing one of their best joints in town Bwandiro. Everyone who is conversant with imbibing some strong staff can concur with me that you can’t enjoy the staff all by yourself and above all else guzzling is best associated with some chit-chat- crank or otherwise but that’s what makes drinking what it is- fantastic. One other cozy thing about imbibing is the easy chumminess it instills. Fellows of both sexes enjoy the fuzzy camaraderie joints offer no wonder some loudmouth activists are claiming it will be an uphill battle to salvage Africa in general and Malawi in particular from the deadly plague as some call it or the specter haunting humanity in our current generation as yet others have still chosen to label HIV and AIDS. Even the so called scientists of renown have been dumfounded. It is not surprising therefore that the centre of controversy in today’s chit-chat amongst the three pals is the AIDS dilemma.
By way of temperament Mavuto is the one with the most volatile ego and paradoxically the one who easily gets the toll of intoxication from the angels’ waters. Mavuto beginning to feel tipsy breaks the silence- ‘You know fellas’ he purports ‘This enigma of AIDS is driving me nuts- there are too many gals I feel like dating and who are willing to get it over with but the fact is I am damn pissed about it because I don’t wanna kick the bucket young- you talk of Aruna, Van gal, Mashel, Rossel, Memory, Taps, Haziee and what have you !’ He sips his favorite stout brand a while and further develops his line of argument, ‘Of late I was browsing the net and guess what- there are a hell of so called conspiracy theories about AIDS’ He pauses and the enthusiastic looks on his pals’ faces unequivocally bid him to proceed, ‘One such school of thought alludes that cures have already been discovered but the super-powers are dictating that they not be released and disbursed so the exponentially escalating world population especially in Africa should at least waste itself off’ Chikondi frowns ‘That’ s preatty nasty of these fellas, I have even heard that the whites want to exterminate the black race- you know fellas I not only heard it from my History Professor back in college but several articles I have read by black Americans also support that argument- its really a racist ploy.’ He belches and sips his Elephant ‘You know I fail to understand why it’s taking that long to discover a vaccine not to mention a cure- I fathom I concede with Vuto that we are being cheated.’ Tawonga nods slightly while sipping his special brand and joins the tête-à-tête, ‘I agree with you fellas that we are being taken for a ride, one visiting Afrocentric micro-biologist told us back then in college that this so called HIV is not really what causes AIDS in the first place and whatever it is that causes the infection is not a retrovirus or need we say a lentivirus which they purport is characterized by the absence of a cancer-causing gene
[oncogene].’ He sips his special and continues his narrative, ‘I bought the argument because from the look of things AIDS is logically cancerous in nature so it can’t be caused by a retrovirus not to mention a lentivirus.’
Mavuto then pops in enthusiastically ‘You know pals, what Chikondi is saying seems to hold- I once read that AIDS did not really emanate from Chimpanzees, Sooty mangabeys or Monkeys but is really a zoonosis from American pigs- this school of thought goes that the Green Monkey theory which advocated the monkey thesis was also a racist ploy to blame the pandemic on us miserable Africans.’ He sips his stout and is now more than tipsy, ‘All this boils back to my original arguments- it is believed that whatever causes the plague and the Americas have deliberately hidden it from the people was cultured as a bio-warfare weapon and accidentally found itself in the population due to the negligence of one scientist ran haywire who because of racist tendencies was prompted to test the toxin on black gays – some even argue that it was experiments to find cures for cancer that resulted in the so called plague mutations.’ He sips on the stout and apparently Tawonga looks puzzled, ‘To hell with them Americans- they take us for fools- you know I also heard that apart from the pandemic being geopolitical there are some religious overtones to it.’ He drops the empty bottle to the floor and there is the clank of broken glass, ‘I hear the pontiff is also into it- he is delighted the pandemic progresses so the religious theory that AIDS is a punishment for the moral decadency of this age continues to take precedence- to hell with and fuck him too- after all it is these so called priests who are on the forefront spreading the sinister infection.’ Mavuto nods his head sympathetically and sips from his stout, ‘You know fellas I’m tired of this dreading and fear- I just wanna fuck without compromise, without dreading about contracting an alien plague!’ He then whispers to his colleagues, ‘Check that out guys’- Eyes revert to the other side of the joint that is now filled with drowsy and drunken peer-groups. A plump lady of the night glides by wriggling her behinds and catwalks to the bar- ‘I wanna get that one tonight.’ Mavuto makes a face and there is a splutter of gleeful laughter from his friends as he maneuvers himself toward the bar and beckons to the lady. Tawonga and Chikondi signal to him rubbing their thumb- a gesture to tell him that he should not forget to use a protector. The night is going to be long for them without Mavuto’s funny rhapsodies.
Short story- by Maestro Williams- [pseudonym/alias/pen name]
TALES OF A VILLAGE RAT
It had been the Friday each and every African was waiting for and would live to remember in their entire lifetime in this generation. Friday the 11th, May 2010, the day the FiFa World cup was to be inaugurated and kick-started in the Rainbow nation of South Africa. I knew that not only in Malawi
Thence I lapsed into reverie amidst one long-long black out. God knows what I had been through- I meditated- so much oppression, so much marginalization, so much suffering, so much pain than I ever deserved to have succumbed to. Tried I had to query myself why I was being subjected to and undergoing such inhuman persecution but I couldn’t figure out the reasons. So I delved into the speculative game I always reclined into when I was in dire straits. Since childhood I had been a pragmatic puzzle solver, had intrigued myself with newspaper crosswords and a game called drafts through elementary school in the then Southern Rhodesia. During high school I had been even more fascinated with mathematics- proving tricky theorems, solving algebraic and such other savory expressions not to mention being a chess wizard. So by default once more in mid adulthood in this one city in my homeland of Nyasaland , I was reduced to a chess player- trying to fathom what had gone wrong or more precisely where I had gone wrong. At the base of my mind however one fact remained clearly evident and that was I had against all odds swarm over deeper waters- a feat that few underprivileged folks by all standards endeavored to dare try- and some folks were not only unhappy but dejected about it.
I had by Malawian standards an impoverished background and even when I had glided the corridors of University at the so called Chirunga compass, few people had given me any chances of succeeding. Not that they were damn pessimistic, nay, but it had been di rigour for poor folks to always fail in their endeavors. The point was you couldn’t get what you didn’t deserve. As a doomed poor fella, you were poor and poor you would die as you had been born- period. Few gave you in any case any shred of miraculous flair. It was like a curse or was it the mindset or just a self-fulfilling prophesy. So here I was fifteen years down the line proving my adversaries wrong- playing the superhero , shining, gold medals and stars clad all over my arms and worse still bringing every ounce of my dreams into reality. That was the problem I had begotten into my life, the crime I had committed- rising and gradually ascending from the whims and shambles of absolute deprivation to dire prosperity. That had been the offence. Thus I had eventually unraveled the puzzle.
The sardonic tirades had been so unbearable- he is a rogue-thief, he is a Satanist, he derides in juju, he is a drug dealer, he is selfish- all banal allegations that folks could surmise against the most of all evil recalcitrant hoodlums were being concocted and unrelentlessly leveled against me some even more grave to document. I was associated with every diabolic activity one could fathom or dream of. It was so disparaging and despicable considering the struggles I had single-handedly gone through to be where I was today. Needless to say, I had the conviction that the grudged accusers knew deep down their hearts that the opposite was true but were just bent at playing blackmail as is peculiar of the African pull-him-down syndrome. That in itself was what kept me going but mind you it was not only the fellow poor and deprived ruffians who were the sole perpetrators of such anathema. Surprisingly the so called well to do folks had also gone nuts and pissed off over me. It was so bewildering how I had roused in so short a period the cupidity and jealousy of even those fat cats who considered themselves privileged. What a shame it was!
The accusations were so unthinkable and bizarre, just so laughable. Further the fellas purported that I didn’t deserve to have been intelligent in College; didn’t deserve a higher degree; didn’t deserve a leather sofa; didn’t deserve a fridge of that caliber; didn’t deserve the house I was staying in; didn’t deserve a better job; didn’t deserve a life policy- didn’t deserve anything either, not even the girls who were so titillated and enthralled by my aura, masculine overbearing and pomp. It was indeed smacking of sheer madness one couldn’t but help being reminded of colonial masters and the humor of Animal farm. More to the problem I happened not to have been born and raised in the country irrespective of the fact that I was a citizen by descent my late father having been a bona fide Malawian. That coupled with the fact that my motherland Zimbabwe
The fact remained however that I had managed what people felt I didn’t deserve. I had been poor, so I deserved to be poor always and that was my plight, my calling, my destiny. I was matter of factly meant to die and perish like that, and breaking those shackles was the treason I had committed against my homeland. That in itself would consequently dictate and nail my fate. Being a resilient sonofabitch I had succumbed thereof to so many insidious goes at my poor life and was beginning to lose the grip, the steam, the determination, the perseverance each and every passing day. The moment I circumvented one ploy, another would be on the offing in a bid to outmaneuver my stubborn resilience.
It was the most pervasive chess games of all times. The scheming, the planning and the executions were so intricate and ingenious but I always checkmated the antagonists. Not because I had had a stint with psychology in College. Maybe I was just superhuman or better still had divine protection. Who knows! I even complicated the issues further by trying to form a political party and by disbursing its manifesto wantonly. The optimists and the naysayers alike feared I would definitely succeed because I was one charismatic, intelligent and mysterious crap who magically prevailed at anything I placed my guts and wits on. After all my life experiences had borne testimony already. That however was more threatening because success in politics would entail the worst psyche-move. As is typical in African politicking the antagonists I surmise contemplated there would inevitably be scores to be settled, justice and vengeance alike to be meted out and the quarry would unequivocally be so enormous. So the miasma, the paranoia and the persecutions ascended to their most sinister crescendo and I knew that sooner or later I would succumb in fatalistic resignation and even the inevitable finality I so feared and they so craved and hankered for in sadistic anticipation would come to pass.
I jerked off my meditative brooding or should I say pondering and realized it was so late into the night but still there was no electricity. There was neither a drop of water from the taps. I had missed the inaugural World cup game and I was hungry and thirsty and feeling so drowsy from taking drugs on an empty stomach. Wasn’t that another of the Chess ploys- I dared not think about it? I staggered to my bedroom and dropped onto my exquisite bed hoping I wouldn’t regrettably miss the entire World cup eventually. What a horrendous experience it was.
Short story by Maestro Williams [pseudonym/alias/pen name]
ADVERSITY VIS-À-VIS THE LOVE AND GOODNESS OF GOD
Caught in the midst of adversity or suffering in this life------- poverty, HIV/AIDS, fate or even natural catastrophes----many of us have tended to question the existence of God. We tend to ask why God has failed to intervene in our circumstances if he is really a good and loving father. But brothers and sisters of faith, I bring you a gesture of encouragement in these contemporary times rife with diverse forms of adversity. One Professor of Islamology in a documentary on BBC once elucidated and I quote: ‘I don’t know why I am happy sometimes and I don’t know why I am sad sometimes---but what I do believe is that out of suffering we become better, wiser and more knowledgeable about life.’ In more erudite terms the implication portrayed is that querying the existence of adversity or suffering in the world is to question the rationality of God. However we need to comprehend that in this world we can’t understand and know everything and that not everything is rational and subject to the laws and dictates of reason.
God knows best why there had to be adversity and no human being can furnish any reasons for its existence. We need to appreciate nevertheless that fortitude is the greatest demonstration of one’s stance in the eyes of God. In the midst of adversity one needs not blame God. One may be faced with the paradox of trying to reconcile adversity with God’s professed unconditional and immutable love. One may be tempted to denounce God. One may be tempted to give it all up and get it over with but one thing that we need to bear in mind is that the ways of God are not the ways of man. God knows best what is good for us and for every experience we encounter, good or bad, there is really a reason. We may not be able to discern the raison-deter from our limited carnal faculties but the fact is God knows best.
One may be accorded all kinds of labels typical of the vile of this contemporary era—a terrorist, a satanist, a hustler, a wizard for having endeavored to reform society. One may be accused of gender violence, child molestation, discrimination against the disabled and elderly for having strived to reach out for and share love. In our Malawian context one may be called all sorts of derogatory names—Makiolobasi, Zaya, Zeleza, Chidikodiko, for having displayed a rare form of humility. In all this however we need not to lose sight of the circumstances that Job, Daniel, Joseph, and above all else Christ- who died a criminal’s death on the cross- experienced in their days.
You may be facing persecution, temptation, trials because God has a purpose for your life and wants to test your faith and bring the best out of you at the end of the day. You may lose loved ones, be betrayed by family and friends, suffer the pangs of rejection, lose everything you had---your property, your dignity, your liberty; but you need to remember that the bible says in everything give glory to God. The liberal theologian, St Augustine once opined—‘Credo ut intelligam’ literally translated—faith in God is best. In his article---A passion to know God, W. F. Stanley once succinctly advocated—‘it is one thing to know absolutely that God is faithful but when you read concrete examples of his faithfulness you are better equipped to recognize his provisions in personal circumstances. The proverbial adage—‘faith begins where reason falters’, sums it all. The underlying logic is that a Christian needs to be well conversant with biblical anecdotes and should be prepared to reconcile them with one’s day to day challenges, tragedies and principalities.
One must not lose heart even when it means not eventually experiencing that bright tint at the edge of the shadow of doubt or even if it means dying for the cause of one’s faith and religious allegiance. As a child of God, one needs to comprehend that God knows best and after all every being is mortal and life is but a journey whose destiny is either perdition in hell or eternal life in paradise. The problem that we have is however that our understanding of the purpose and will of God for our lives is sometimes blurred by the cravings, the yearnings, and the appetites of the flesh---those desires for carnal pleasures which for all practical purposes are short lived, vainfull and in the final analysis are productive of and culminate in pain and regrets. We need to however strive for those pleasures that are transcendental and liable to be enjoyed for eternity---those pleasures that can be anticipated for good. Let’s trust in the all mighty God with all our minds, souls and bodies; without apologies, without bickering, without flinching, without questioning. Let’s be glad that we are a product of the almighty’s divine creation, which we are alive and kicking, that in everything for good or for bad, God knows what is best for us. That in the final analysis love is his greatest attribute and that our God is good all the time and glory should be to his name for ever and evermore. Amen.
Articles- by Maestro Williams [pseudonym/pen name/ alias]
ADOLESCENCE AND TRADITIONAL RITES OF PASSAGE
Western and most urbanized society provide no clear pattern of transition to adulthood. In contrast, many primitive societies have formalized rites of passage, or initiation ceremonies to mark the adolescent’s assumption of new, more adult social roles. Such ceremonies typically exist for both boys and girls. According to Santrock [2001] rites of passage refer to ceremonies or rituals that mark an individual’s transition from one status to another, especially from childhood into adulthood. Among the Yao of southern Malawi such ceremonies include Jando for boys and Msondo for girls and among the Chewa of central Malawi the ceremonies are engulfed within the Gule waMkulu rituals.
These ceremonies prepare adolescents for adult roles and responsibilities offering a formal phase of socialization. Thus, new roles are assumed by degree, causing minimal strain. The social internship that precedes these rite de passage or developmental transition according to Nsamenang (2000) is designed to cultivate virtuous character and instill values of cooperation and generosity. Typically, the initiation of adolescent boys [wonle ntsum for the Nso of Cameroon], including circumcision, is a collective affair that marks the transition from the company of children and women to that of adult men.
Circumcision as a prominent practice in rites of passage has both sexual and spiritual meaning. Circumcision may be done at the onset of puberty for hygienic reasons, to test the endurance of the youth, to reflect symbolic sacrifice, to sanctify procreation, to symbolize incorporation into the community, to represent symbolic castration by a father figure, or to express male envy of women’s menstruation [Allen, 1967]. In some societies, the initiation of adolescent girls [wonle ngon in Nso] is subtler and less public as it focuses on training for proficiency in housekeeping and societal reproduction. The puberty rite marks the point at which adolescent boys and girls begin to take their place in the jural, cultural, and ritual affairs of the society, first, as their parents’ representatives and later, in their own right, particularly for boys (Erny, 1987).
The specific form the rite takes varies across societies and has been reported in great detail by a vast but critical anthropological literature [Burton and Whiting, 1961; Erny, 1968; Harrington 1968; Jahoda, 1982; Whiting, 1965] that attests to the rite’s social significance to the teenager’s development. At maturity, an African adolescent takes on the adult roles for which he or she was being primed. An adolescent does not, however, automatically attain adult status; full adulthood status requires being ‘married with children’ [Nsamenang 1992a]. The socialization of African youth is somehow changing, being affected by the consequences of schooling and the exigencies [urgent demands] of urbanization and commercialization.
Among the Zuni Indians, according to Conger [1984], the initiation rites of adolescents serve an important psychological function. Younger children are taught to fear the displeasure of ‘scare Kachinas,’ or ‘punitive masked gods,’ employed in tribal ceremonies, if they behave improperly. Traditionally, when a boy is about 14 and considered responsible, he undergoes an initiation rite at which he is ceremonially whipped with strands of yucca by these ‘masked gods’- not as a physical punishment, of which the Zuni disapprove, but as a rite of exorcism, ‘to take off the bad happenings,’ and to make future events propitious [favorable]. Among girls, initiation ceremonies are likely to center around the onset of menstruation, ‘which furnishes an obvious and dramatic signal of approaching physiological maturity’.
Menarche for girls is considered a pubertal marker, while male pubertal development does not include such a distinctive marker. Also, for boys the rites of passage reflect an introduction to the more ethereal world of spirit and culture, while for girls the rites of passage are more likely to reflect natural phenomena such as menstruation. A common feature of such ceremonies in a large number of societies is the seclusion of the girl, especially from men. This seclusion may last for only a few days or continue for several months.
In many instances the secluded girl receives special instruction from an older woman in matters pertaining to sex and marriage. The teaching generally ‘includes an explanation of the social regulations governing proper conduct in sexual affairs, a description and sometimes demonstration and pantomime [play based on a fairy tale] of the techniques of lovemaking, advice on how to get along in married life, methods of avoiding pregnancy, and what to expect in childbirth’. Information about modes of dress may be passed on as well during the ceremony, and spirituality is often included by associating femininity with the powers of the moon. In such rites, it is not unusual for the girl’s clitoris to be removed. In fact genital mutilation is part and parcel of initiation in most societies in Kenya, Uganda and most African countries. In some rites, girls are tortured or scared, while in others they are admired and celebrated [Opler, 1972].
Typically, the conclusion of the period is marked by a feast or dance, at which the girl, after bathing or going through ritual purification, publicly dons the clothes of a mature woman. In a nutshell the rite de passage provides a forceful and discontinuous entry into the adult world at a time when the adolescent is perceived to be ready for the change. In western society however, a variety of laws according to Conger [1984] often internally inconsistent, are about all that the societies have in the way of institutionalized patterns of recognizing the adolescent’s increasing independence.
Although universal formal ceremonies that mark the passage from adolescence to adulthood may not be prevalent in western society; certain religious and social groups do go through initiation ceremonies that indicate an advance in maturity has been reached. The Jewish bar mitzvah, the Catholic Confirmation, and social debuts, for example are typical of the rites. School graduation ceremonies come the closest to being rites of passage in today’s world.
The high-school graduation ceremony is especially noteworthy, becoming nearly universal for middle-class adolescents and increasing numbers of adolescents from low-income families [Fasick, 1988]. Nonetheless, high school graduation does not result in universal changes- many high school graduates continue to live with their parents, continue to be economically dependent on them, and continue to be undecided about career and life-style directions. Therefore the absence of clear-cut rites of passage make the attainment of adult status ambiguous in most western societies.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Nsamenang, B (1992a, 2000) Adolescence in Sub-Saharan Africa. Psychology and
Developing societies, 10 [1] : 75-97.
Santrock, J (2001) Adolescence, Duduque: Wm. C. Brown.
Articles by- Maestro Williams [pseudonym/pen name/alias]
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