Passing into Manhood

This is an article for childfren. I myself underwent this ceremony. My kids too. 

In the tiny West African country of Togo, custom demands that a newly-born baby remain indoors for seven days. Then, it is oudoored on the eighth day and named.

“Elako, get the baby ready; I’ll wake the others up,” Tevi, whose baby was to be outdoored, said to his wife and slipped into the dim courtyard.

Yesterday Tevi had chosen his eleven-year-old cousin, Kanyi, to be the first person to carry the child outside. Babies are believed to copy their “bearers” so parents choose carefully. Besides, Kanyi’s solid frame and strong arms were right for the occasion.

Dew hung in the dawn sky. And the lantern they used for lighting threw creeping shadows on the whitewashed walls. The gathering stopped chatting when Kanyi and Tevi’s stooping uncle strode in.

Uncle Sasu picked up a calabash of water and snapped afla tovi leaves into it. Afla tovi is an herb believed to bring peace to children on such occasions. Next he dropped charcoal into the water. The reasoning is that charcoal signifies fire and it is water which puts out fire, so the child should not face hardships in life but have peace.

“Let’s release our prisoner now,” Uncle Sasu said with a raucous laugh which rocked his lean chest and made him cough dryly.

Kanyi hopped in and gathered up the baby. Pinching his thick lips in effort, he waddled out. Uncle Sasu counted, “One!” and Kanyi lumbered back into the room. When he staggered out the seventh time, Tevi picked the baby from him. The child has now been shown “light” seven times for its seven days of “darkness.”

Uncle Sasu sprang to his feet and hurled the calabash of water unto the roof. As it thudded on the rust-coloured roofing sheets, Tevi laid the naked child on the floor. The child clawed and kicked the air and began to whimper. But as the water dripped from the eaves onto it, it let out a sharp, shrill, piercing wail. “Amii!, Amii!” the participants said with joy. It is considered a bad omen if the child does not cry out.

“This is the first male child of the couple,” Uncle Sasu said, “And as custom demands, it’ll be called Kombe.” The group nodded.

Uncle Sasu fetched fresh water. Throwing a coin into it, he said, “I’m buying this child this name.” The others did the same, repeating Uncle Sasu’s words as their coins plopped into the water. So now the name Kombe belonged to Tevi’s child just as something becomes yours when you buy it.

Uncle Sasu poured libation with water. “Now the child has become a man,” he said. “May the ancestors protect him.”

 Before this prayer only the parents and some close relatives could touch the baby. But after the libation the participants shuffled in turns to Kombe snuggled in his mother’s lap, sucking breast milk. They shook his hands, pinched his cheeks and joked about him being a big lover of milk.

Tevi began a song in a deep voice. His guests joined in, beating their chests. Soon they burst into dancing. They feasted until the rising sun began to get hot. Then they shook hands and began to drift from the house.

When the last person left, Elako laid Kombe on a sleeping mat and sighed with happiness. Now she could carry her baby everywhere.

(Written 14^th February 1985)