The old women are distinguished by a more cynical and reckless effrontery
of indecency. The child that is frequently carried on their backs is
tossed about in a terrible way, and utters piercing shrieks, but on these
occasions the negresses have lost even their maternal instinct, and no
consideration restrains them.
In all the districts of Senegal the rising of the full moon is the time
especially dedicated to the bamboula, to the evenings of the great negro
festivals, and above that vast expanse of sand, in the infinite depths
of these shimmering horizons, a moon rises that seems larger and ruddier
than elsewhere.
At the close of day the people gather together in groups. On these
occasions the women wear bright-coloured _pagnes_, and bedeck themselves
with ornaments of fine Galam gold. Their arms are covered with heavy
bracelets of silver, and their necks with an astonishing profusion of
_grigris_ and beads of amber and coral.
And when the red disk of the moon appears, ever magnified and distorted
by mirage, casting up the horizon broad, blood-red streaks of light,
a frantic clamour bursts from the whole assembly. This announces the
festival.
At certain seasons of the year the square in front of Samba-Hamet’s house
became the scene of fantastic _bamboulas_.
On these occasions, Coura n’diaye would lend Fatou some of her precious
jewels to wear at the festival.
Sometimes she herself graced it with her presence as in old days.
And then there would be a general murmur of admiration when the ancient
griot stepped forward, decked with gold, her head held high, with a
strange light rekindled in her dim eyes. Her body was shamelessly
exposed; her bosom, wrinkled like that of a black mummy, and her breasts,
which hung down like pouches of skin, empty and withered, displayed the
wonderful gifts of El Hadj, the conqueror; necklets of jade of the pale
green of water, and besides these, rows upon rows of great beads of fine
gold of rare and inimitable workmanship. Her arms and ankles were covered
with gold; she wore gold rings upon all her toes, and upon her head an
antique erection of gold.
The old bedizened image set herself to sing. By degrees she became more
and more excited, waving her skeleton arms, which could scarcely support
the weight of the bracelets. Her hoarse, cavernous voice seemed at
first to issue from the depths of a lifeless corpse, but presently its
vibrations gained a shuddering intensity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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