Thursday, 7 January 2016
Photo Eddie Osei
The colonial authorities quickly learnt the dangers of allowing the slaves to dance, drum and ‘have fun,’ and aspects of slave culture were forbidden. Overtime, there was a move toward more creolized, Pan-African ethnic associations that challenged the colonial plantation system, a process that culminated, in the case of Haiti, in revolutionary transformation.’ Patrick Taylor, Nation Dance (p.4)
Just as it is impossible to stray from one’s shadow it is not possible to deceive spirit. Yet we attempt to do it all the time. Many of us theorise about our ‘ancestors’ – how we must honour them, keep their memories alive and so on without actually doing anything that would fulfil the intention. After a while, it becomes a dead tune bombarding the heart with its dryness. Spirit yearns for the kind of elevation that would invigorate its power and energise us. Hence the enslaved danced, drummed and ‘had fun’ which as the above quotation shows were expressions opposed to the barbarities of their oppression. The dance and drumming and ‘having fun’ were embedded acts of liberation. In the dancing, trance would take place as the spirits (of deities and ancestors) wrested control from the oppressed vessel and guided their progressive actions towards independence; also girding them with spiritual sustenance. The drums were invocative, empowering the spirits to rise. The gaming (ring play – as we called these in Guyana), would mask strategies of escape or combat – as with Capoeira of Brazil.
Eddie Osei photos
I hear many Africans refer to their jobs as being on the plantation. When coupled with the mundane rhetoric of paying homage to ancestors (by word alone) this is a dire prospect for the spirit housed in personalities espousing the idea and not the act of honouring ancestors and being thus spiritually liberated. The Haitian revolution remains a guiding light to the way in which political will was served by cultural and spiritual power. The intention behind organising a Guyanese Komfa ritual was therefore to elevate practice (for a change) in contrast to theory in terms of the way we enact our diasporic cultures. I don’t believe another such ritual (at least of Komfa) has been attempted in the UK. We wanted those who attended to experience the power of ancestral spirits, to call on them in a meaningful way, to participate in song and dance that would elevate us beyond theory and analysis of said experiences. It was interesting to see how difficult it was for some to let go, which might suggest a clinging to the drudgeries of the very plantation they denounce, perhaps having somewhat internalised its form. The drum wok ritual aimed to provide a space for us to release those mental chains; some of which are locked so tightly as to trick even the most politically conscious among us in believing they are liberated. For some political consciousness is all that matters, yet many of the revolutionary strategies we know were influenced by a collective spiritual power enshrined in the ancestral memory of enslaved Africans. The Haitians used theirs effectively!
Pouring libation and offerings to ancestors for successful outcomes.
Why Guyanese Komfa?
Dr Kean Gibson’s book Comfa Religion and Creole Language in a Caribbean Community remains the only complete work about the Komfa practice of Guyana. It inspired my own research of the practice. I had observed that unlike many other African derived spiritual practices there’s hardly anything on Komfa. Brian Moore, in his book Cultural Power, Resistance and Pluralism: Colonial Guyana 1838 – 1900 also provides some information of the practice. Through his work, we know that Komfa was formerly associated with Mammi Wata, from its West African roots but later fused Christian elements through the well-known religious group the Jordanites - known also as ‘the white robed army’ due to the head to foot whites they adorn.
I also felt Komfa could be well accommodated (as an artistic perspective) by the discipline of literature. Inspired by Jamaican Sociologist Erna Brodber’s novel Myal, which is linked to Kumina I have composed a novella with Komfa as the central theme. The combined disciplines of social science, cultural studies, critical theory and literature were used to produce my thesis which will be published jointly in 2016 by Way Wive Wordz Publishing and Bogle L’Ouverture Publications as Guyanese Komfa: The Ritual Art of Trance. The novella will be published independently under the title Something Buried in the Yard. These publications will be worthwhile contributions to Guyana’s 50th year of independence, particularly as they serve as homage to our ancestors.
Phillip Moore photo of Jordanites
So what is Comfa?
You can get a fuller overview about this practice from this issu of Culture Pulse magazine, but I’ll give a brief outline here.
In Comfa religion Gibson writes that, unlike other African-Caribbean religions (that stem mainly from Yoruba in Nigeria), Comfa is ‘essentially Bantu’ (2001, pp. 35-37). Dale Bisnauth (1996) more specifically provides an Akan derivation of Komfa. The name is linked to Okomfo (akomfo – plural) - an Akan word meaning, traditional Priest, soothsayer, diviner. It refers to trance/manifestation – on hearing the beating of drums, which is still seen in the related practice of Akom in Ghana, for which there is an annual festival. I’ve opted to spell Komfa with the ‘K’ to reconnect it to Akom and also to the similar Kumina practice in Jamaica. In Guyana when this happens we say ‘so and so ketch comfa’ (in other diaspora societies it might be referred to as ‘catching spirit’ or ‘getting hit’ or ‘he head hol’ he’ or being ‘mounted’ by spirit…). Whilst other practices recognise deities (like the Orisa), Komfa is comprised of an ethnic pantheon of spirits – African, Amerindian, Chinese, Dutch (Djukas of Suriname), East Indian, English (European) and Spanish, all of whom have contributed to the historical, social and cultural development of Guyana.
I was too young to remember and therefore be afraid of the Jordanites, a millennial religious organisation likened to spiritual Baptists across the Caribbean. They roamed the streets zealously proclaiming Old Testament damnation on the unrighteous. A story tells that one such Jordanite, parading through my ancestral village Seafield (42) was stoned by some young boys. The elders hadn’t condemned their actions. The Jordanite cursed the village, saying that no boy child would grow up in the village, they would die. Parents started sending their boy children to live elsewhere. Thus Jordanites appeared to both adults and children like liminal spirits/ghosts sent from some mystical place to chastise them. They were scorned and vilified. Fear has a way of masking itself, however, and I would say that for as many who regarded their proclamations as nonsensical there were those who were simply afraid of them. They mostly operated in Guyana’s capital Georgetown, and were also called ‘Faithists’ or ‘Spiritualists,’ by which names practitioners of Komfa are also known. The only thing I knew about Komfa was that it was something frightening that ‘happened’ to people; ‘something’ overwhelmed them to the extent that they had no control of their behaviour. This vague understanding was lodged in my subconscious as something real and terrifying, just as the many tales of ‘jumbies,’ ‘ole higue,’ ‘bacoo,’ and ‘obeah.’
During slavery and colonialism practitioners of African derived practices were imprisoned, sometimes killed for practicing Obeah. This photo depicts 'outlawed' practitioners in Jamaica.
Letting the power fall
The decision to do a Komfa ritual stemmed from observing Africans seemingly on standby or pause at a number of our cultural events where drumming is taking place. There’s a kind of frigidness that renders our bodies immobile – someone called it ‘spiritual arthritis.’ Whilst the drum and drummers call, through at times wonderful drumming – there’s little response – as though the slave master is still overseeing and forbidding us to move in ritual celebration. The drum’s power is invocation for our response. Yet we’ve become weighted down, obviously by struggle and our entrenchment to it, so we either don’t hear the call or we refuse to let the power fall.
Many who attended the ritual came with an intention behind which I feel was a subconscious communication with spirit. By this I mean – their spirit wanted to be in a space where it would find release but the longing was subjected to some sort of reticence about freeing up by the personality (outward/obvious expression of the self) fronting the spirit. Several faces were fixed, perhaps ready for a longwinded lecture about the practice, which I had explained was not going to be forthcoming. Arms were folded as though prepared for battle – perhaps one between the spirit and the personality. We might say it was curiosity that brought many out on this Bank Holiday Monday but once there defence mode kicked in. We who were organising/planning had hoped that people would dance – impromptu – willed by spirit to do so. Yes, we didn’t take up time explaining and over-contextualising we wanted the power to mediate the ritual experience and enable a collective letting go. This kind of letting go would be something like the release of long-held breath or shackling of heart; it would be like removing invisible blindfolds that had blighted one’s vision; removing likewise invisible chains from wrists and ankles, that heavy neck clasp posing as a decorative piece of adornment – sparkling but without power to ignite transformation. There was some eventual response but it was ultra-long in coming. I have since checked my expectations; realised that it was a first time and development comes in stages – re-membering the psychic splits (dispossession of ancestral traditions etc) is a process one must wilfully go through; thereby acknowledging trauma and seeking space for timely release.
In Guyana the ganda (the ceremonial or sacred space) would be prepared in the yard. However, we created one of good likeness in the Johmard Community Centre, Colliers Wood. We used crocus bag fabric (to represent the earth/ground), a large palm leaf plant symbolic of our far away Africa, in which a stick of cane was placed. We created the ganda circle with cornmeal, flour, white chalk (or efun in Yoruba) and Irosun (or divining powder). Priestess Osunyemi added Veves (symbols) for Ezili Danto and Ayizan which are found in Haitian Vodun – Ezilie was the entity the Haitan revolutionaries called on for protection during the struggle for their liberation; Ayizan represents the old, old ancestors, forcibly removed from Africa. We added calabashes containing cooked food for the ancestors (shine rice, a Guyanese dish made with real coconut milk, stew black eye beans, boiled corn, roasted sweet potato and fufu for African spirits), Pepperpot (in homage to our Amerindian ancestors), chick peas and potatoes (for other ethnic spirits related to Guyana); rain water, river water, eggs (in a calabash of water, not broken as would ordinarily be the case), a new pointer broom (in upright pose); on plantain leaves we put more corn (the popping king, reflecting fertility/productivity and abundance), yam, cassava, raw rice, sugar (for which our ancestors laboured to produce from the cane they were forced to cultivate); cowrie shells (our old time money) and coins (money of this time/space which we all need). There were bottles of brown and white rum, Banks Beer, Malt drink and sweet drink and so on. The experience of creating the ganda is somewhat indescribable.
The drummers and the wok
One of the most impressive aspects of the Komfa ritual was the drums. This really established the ‘drum wok’ – and it was a fully Pan-African representation – since many of the drummers were from different countries; none were Komfa drummers. We had arranged for Prince Morgan – for me an exceptional drummer to lead others who wanted to participate. With no funds to pay them (anyone) we relied on their good will – which was more than generously forthcoming. I counted 11 drummers – not including their young sons who participated with such delight in the session. We asked – though we didn’t get a picture of it – the drummers to enter the hall from the entrance by walking backwards (in keeping with Komfa rituals in Guyana), as a way of bringing the ancestors in (their world being reverse of ours). It was magnificent to see how they embraced this; a powerful image resting in my memory. The first tune we played was ‘Nation’ a song familiar to most Guyanese: ‘nation a whey yuh nation, nation a whey dem deh?’ It’s a call for the various (African) Nations to recognise themselves as part of a collective, thus ‘all ah we a one generation…nation a whey dem deh?’ We had sprayed the drums with rum and high wine and so they communicate, spirit played loud and hard, calling and calling the personality to take back seat for this day and let it (spirit) take over.
I must pay particular tribute to each of the drummers, though all their names aren’t known to me: Ras Prince, Siayoum Karuma, Kent James and his master drummers quartet, brothers Chauncey, Eli, Tuup, John, Gary. And likewise to Keith Waithe who was masterfully accompanying on the flute, and guiding the rhythms of his native Guyana. Along with the occasional conch shell callings, we know the vibrations positively roused the spirits.
Trance – let’s go there!
There’s no adequate dictionary definition for what ‘trance’ is as far as I’m concerned. Simply they say it’s to do with being ‘half conscious’ and is ‘characterized by an absence of external stimuli.’ This doesn’t express what is happening internally, what kind of energy is prevailing; the intensity of the ‘hypnotic state’ they say characterised trance. If we call on the ancestors – the positive ones (maternal and paternal in the individual case and those who’ve contributed to our liberation at community level also) and have prepared our space (cleansed it properly) we need not fear what that power might be. We would in truth welcome it. If the power seems to overwhelm an individual, we have means to calm it. If the power seems negative – again we have means to revert it. Hence the rain water, white rum, florida water, Kananga water, metal object (we used a horseshoe bracelet as we didn’t have a cutlass) for protection, all of which are available in the ganda. Such power manifesting would give us the opportunity, in any case to question it – ask why it has come – since it chose this moment to reveal itself and has been with the individual or someone in the room all the time. Or we simply let it dance and allow us to experience ecstasy.
Trance is the means by which spirit negotiates and communicates with the physical – it’s the aligning power of the spiritual and material realms. It allows the personality to be subdued - fleetingly. For the personality is bound or binds us to the material world to which we are part but ought not to control us the way it does – to the extent that we fear the power of this release. After this release through trance, we will learn a power that cannot be taught or expunged – it is enmeshed in expressions of ‘I Am’ – the Divine. This is why for Haitian and Orisa worshippers being mounted by a ‘god’ (deity) is the central purpose of ritual, for it frees spirit from the ego/personality that dominates the individual and their destiny (their purpose for being). Through trance we (re)connect to source and learn the Path of our destiny. I know that a number of Guyanese who know about Komfa would stay far because of the inevitably of going into trance. I know too that this ambivalence is not peculiar to Guyana.
The Amerindian spirits and others
Keithe Waithe performed a tribute to our Amerindian ancestors with an Arawak love song. In preparation someone (I think Cheryl Griffiths) thought we could do an Amerindian dance too! So we did. We had practiced very vaguely the ‘Mari Mari’ dance as we felt it necessary to pay this homage to the indigenous peoples of Guyana. (Have a look at it here.) It was fun to do and this seemed to motivate others to participate more so than the drums! We also made subtle gestures that would represent other ethnicities that are reflected in the Komfa practice. And spirit worked in this way too. For example, in one of the photographs from the event my mother is seen channelling the Amerindian spirits; in another, I’d say a Spanish senorita was being channelled. Interestingly the sister who was dancing is from Jamaica, which was colonised by Spanish before Britain.
Folk songs we sang
We had practiced a few of the Guyanese folk songs – of which there are so many to relive, celebrate and preserve. These included: ‘Itanami,’ (see the effort here) ‘Samangereh,’ ‘Timba bruck a meh back,’ ‘Uncle Joe’ (gimme mo lemme go…), ‘Small days’ and the medley – ‘Rick chick chick chick,’ ‘ole man house on fiah,’ ‘on your carpet,’ ‘children, children,’ (yes mamma). We also learnt Kumina songs (taught by Prince), ‘Galang boy,’ ‘Rain a fall,’ ‘Sammy Dead,’ and ‘throw blood,’ – unfortunately we didn’t get to sing them all. Outside of our practices, my mum said we should greet the attendees with ‘Goodnight ay,’ which we did after the ‘Nation Song.’ I realised that our ancestors would also have sung/responded to Sankeys (named after Ira B Sankey), like ‘Let the power fall on I,’ and ‘this little light of mine (this one didn’t get sung). I had learnt ‘Africa ah want to go back home,’ and pretty much strained to sing it solo!
And then there were the Komfa songs that were in Kean Gibson’s book – on the page but no way for me to know how they went. A marvellous thing happened, showing the power of ancestors. I had been trying to communicate/emailing Dr Gibson since I started my research (back in 2006). For some reason, I was unsuccessful. This time a force compelled me to try harder – we needed those songs! I emailed her and instantly she replied – in fact called me from Barbados. Late one night a few days before the ritual she sang some of the Komfa tunes to me – tortured by my attempts to memorise the rhythms. She sang ‘Zambi eh, Zambi oh,’ ‘Blackie wata mamma;’ there was one she said she loved, but I just couldn’t get it – it’s called ‘Obadyah’ after the bible prophet; as for ‘lumbi me, lumbi you,’ again I didn’t get it – though simple, I was just tired and in truth am a little tone deaf! I attempted the Zambi eh, Zambi oh tune at the ritual but I know it wasn’t right – hence it’s imperative we get these rhythms available so we can enjoy them. To our efforts to remember the old time songs, my mum was reviving some through remote memories; she started this one ‘leh he go lemaya, some say leh he go, leh he go…’ which she vaguely remembered but was suggesting might be connected to yemaya (the Orisa of the Ocean). She also remembered ‘Naime naime Djuka boy a naime,’ so we were having a great pre-ritual time singing these tunes.
It didn’t end there. I contacted Elder Eusi Kwayana to see if he could help with recalling some of the songs, from his native East Coast, Guyana where a number Komfa rituals used to take place. He shared three from his childhood – when he was about 14 – this one we opened the Ganda with, to welcome mammy wata: ‘open ganda, mermaid ah come, open ganda, mermaid ah come, open ganda, mermaid ah come. We sang it over and over, with the drums going and going, calling on Mammi wata to come. I loved it and so did the drums.
And she came. She danced, we danced, and she protected our ganda. Some of the brothers, leaving their drums momentarily were leaping in their ecstasy and reflections of mammy wata.
I know Elder Eusi Kwayana would have been proud; as was Elder Eric Huntley who attended with several members of his family. He was inspired to acknowledge that the ritual, like the No Colour Bar Exhibition at the Guildhall Art Gallery is happening right here, in London – where we are! And thus it is possible to recreate our diasporic and traditional experiences wherever we are. I’m grateful to Uncle’s grandson Kai for filming the ritual and for Eddie Osei who did some marvellous photography, as you see on this post.
In my search to find some of our tunes, Ta’ Seti Efuntola Osunlade, a brother based in the US and doing extensive research of our African heritage in Guyana directed me to this recording, Traditional Ritual Music of Guyana, which tunes are sung in a mixture of Creole and African dialects – we didn’t get to do many of them but I recommend Guyanese look it up online and purchase it – as a way of preserving our heritage. And there are Guyanese who will have some of these tunes locked in their memories. Such was the case with my cousin, Harry (Emil) – a staunch Seven Day Adventist whom I encouraged to come along. He sang a song about the porkknockers’ search for gold (in Guyana’s interior) – I had never heard it before – who could say they had? He grew up with our grandmother and went with her to Komfa dances/rituals, hence his memory of these songs –long before he joined The Adventist Church. Christianity tells many of us that when you’re dead you’re dead – which means we must denounce our ancestors (but who say Sammy dead!). Komfa practitioners recognised that our history was messed up for obvious reasons and so some Christian parts are included – this doesn’t mean we should forget our ancestors or scorn how we do we ting! I’d say this to the young lady who and walked out saying ‘this looks like some African spiritualist church and obeah thing…’!
Regrettably, we didn’t get the call and response going as we should have. We’d hoped that after a few times singing the chants others might join in – I think more time and less stiffness could change this in future.
Collective work and responsibility
After Priestess Osunyemi did a superb libation to the ancestors, we shared the Unity cup drink (of homemade sorrel!) as our Kwanzaa element and chanted ‘Ujima’ for the principle of collective work and responsibility, the day on which the ritual was held, Monday 28th December.
Perhaps it was the uncertainty of what they were coming to but some of the attendees seemed put out when asked to cleanse their hands from the fragrant (with florida and Kananga) water before joining others in the ritual space, given that we had laboured to purify/cleanse the space. They seemed also to object to contributing £5 to the organising of the event. Some waltzed in without paying; others returned and asked for their money back when I made an on the spot suggestion that if pensioners were unable to pay they can have a concession - they failed to recognise that a little donation would have helped the effort of organising the ceremony. Few brought any offerings for the shrines (the kwanzaa table and the ganda) or any food to share, yet seemed to expect abundant feeding. I had an image of the table being overladen with offerings of fruits and flowers in abundance to the ancestors. But this didn’t spread – again we might call on the names of our ancestors but when called to give them offerings fists are firmly folded. We give generously, we receive generously; it’s an aspect of cosmic law. The will and intention has to be there, however and you’ll find it possible.
I also observed the rudeness of some of the ‘guests’ (for by now I realised some came as such) when we didn’t quite have enough food or had run out of what they preferred. I illustrate this example so we might fix up: I had given a young girl some pepperpot which she’d overheard me saying was there and had informed her mother who asked for some, claiming she hadn’t eaten (the pepperpot was made without meat, but provisions/ground food). I gave her a sumptuous cut of the homemade bread I’d made. This ‘guest’ returned to the kitchen counter, dumped the half eaten pepperpot plate on the counter (didn’t seem able to find a bin or was probably confused by the vegan version of this Guyanese dish) and the bread (she didn’t seem impressed with it either!) on the table where others were picking up drinks etc. What manner of ill behaviour is this? There were more curious behaviours I witnessed or were related to me. In a situation where the call is for collectiveness and courtesy I wonder at our poor conduct. This is not the first occasion I’ve observed the disrespect shown to those brilliant volunteers (my family and close friends) when having to serve food. I truly hope it will become a natural give to express some kindness to the hands that are trying to feed you. More importantly a little assistance would go a long way, for even without being asked one can offer to help.
I thank all those who contributed offerings and food; I extend special thanks to the volunteers who dished out and served amidst the pressure! And of course, I respect all those who attended whether or not they understood what they were coming to; at least they followed spirit and seemed to enjoy the occasion. To those who knew intuitively what to do when spirit manifested thank you for being there.
Thus it is that when we ended with the tune ‘Timba bruck a meh back’ (…Timba timba timba heavy load…) it was to emphasise through spirit that the responsibility of community building and maintaining is a collective one. We need to enact our sense of community more selflessly than we sometimes do. We need not struggle against each other – or anyone who’s in the spaces we create for our coming together (whether they look like us or not) – for spirit works in ways we cannot always understand. We musn’t allow a few to bear the burdens of the work we have to do to advance our lives. We can never deceive spirit in this way, by empty rhetoric of being ‘spiritual’ and ‘divine’ but acting out of the worst aspects of disruptive/egoistic personalities. Let’s fine tune our actions to more progressively embrace our collective transformation. Of course Timba bruck a meh back also relates to the ancestral burden of working on the plantations. When opportunities arise to lighten this load by participating and attending such rituals as the one we held, surely it’s possible to leave the chains behind for a while.
I consider this first Guyanese Komfa ritual a success as was divined when my mother threw the obi (kola nut) at the libation. At that we could hail the power - Ase Ase Ase…