L’étrange destin de Wangrin (1973)

Amadou Hampâté Bâ

Summary:

The Fortunes of Wangrin was first published in 1973 with the subtitle “Roueries d’un interprète africain” (the cunning of an African Interpreter). In this novel fueled by his knowledge of folktales, Hampâté Bâ tells the rise and fall of Wangrin, an African interpreter who gained great power and within the colonial administration and trade, then spent his last years as a homeless philosopher. Released after African independences, this novel goes back to the colonial times, depicting the paradoxical relationship between the colonial administration and local elites. Wangrin, a person who really existed in the beginning of the XX century, according to Bâ, achieved the great exploit of deceiving the colonial administrators to serve his own interests. The novel’s hero is full of contradictions and paradoxes, navigating with mastery the worlds of French administrators, local chiefs and regional trade. In this excerpt, we read how his puzzling destiny was inscribed early on during his youth, in the pseudonym he adopted: Gongoloma-Soké, the god of opposites.

L’étrange destin de Wangrin (fr)

Le jeune Wangrin apprit rapidement à lire, à écrire, à compter et à parler correctement le français.

Tous les deux ans, il revenait en vacances à Ninkoro-Sira, son village natal. Son père en profita pour le faire circoncire et initier au dieu Komo, ce qui lui conférait le statut d’homme.¹ Dès lors, son père accepta de traiter en sa présence de problèmes secrets ou intimes, et parla clairement devant lui du symbolisme des masques, de la sexualité, etc.

Wangrin était fier d’être «Kamalen-Koro», un circoncis, mais également d’être un élève de l’École des otages.² Il était également fier de ses habits d’écolier, et en particulier de ses souliers confectionnés par un cordonnier de France et de sa chéchia rouge et ronde, agrémentée d’un pompon en soie bleue.

Chaque départ en vacances était pour lui un événement mémorable, impatiemment attendu. Tout le monde l’attendait à Ninkoro-Sira, et notamment les belles filles du village.

Il termina ses études dans les meilleurs délais et obtint son certificat d’études primaires indigène. C’était alors le plus haut diplôme qu’un autochtone des colonies françaises était autorisé à acquérir.

Ce parchemin, dont un coin était barré des trois couleurs de France, était une clef miraculeuse, un « sésame ouvre-toi ». En effet, les indigènes certifiés entraient dans les cadres subalternes de l’administration civile. Ils pouvaient devenir moniteurs de l’enseignement primaire indigène, commis de bureau, c’est-à-dire secrétaires chargés de recopier les correspondances et de les expédier, télégraphistes, infirmiers, etc.

Wangrin fut nommé moniteur, fonction réservée aux élèves les plus méritants, et sortit major de sa promotion.

Il exerça ses fonctions durant deux ans à la plus grande satisfaction de ses supérieurs, et notamment de l’inspecteur de l’enseignement. Pour le récompenser, on le chargea de créer et de diriger une école à Diagaramba, capitale du Namaci, pays que les Français avaient repris aux chefs autochtones en 1893.

C’est dans cette belle et grande ville que devaient commencer ses aventures.

À cette époque, Wangrin avait déjà adopté l’un des plus significatifs de ses pseudonymes, celui de Gongoloma-Sooké.

Dans la mythologie bambara, Gongoloma-Sooké était un dieu fabuleux que l’eau ne pouvait mouiller ni le soleil dessécher. Le sel ne pouvait le saler, le savon ne pouvait le rendre propre. Mou comme un mollusque, pourtant aucun métal tranchant ne pouvait le couper.

Les éléments n’avaient aucune prise sur lui. Il n’avait jamais ni chaud ni froid. Il ne dormait que d’un œil. Pour cette raison, la nuit avait peur de lui et le jour s’en méfiait.

Il épousa simultanément l’aurore et le crépuscule. Il fit bénir son union par Ngoson, le scorpion, l’un des plus vieux patriarches de notre terre.

Pour le soleil, Gongoloma-Sooké était lunaire et, pour la lune, il était solaire. Il profita de cette confusion pour instaurer entre les deux astres une dissension symbolisée par «Kalomina», l’éclipse, méfait dont il accusa le chat d’être le coupable. ³ Il se servait en outre de l’obscurité de l’éclipse pour semer la terreur dans le cœur des «hadama-denw», ou fils d’Adam.

Gongoloma-Sooké était également le berger des étoiles. Il les faisait paître dans les plaines de l’espace sans fin et sans orientation. La Voie lactée constituait le gros de son troupeau.

À la fois bon et mauvais, sage et libertin, Gongoloma-Sooké, dieu bizarre, se servait de ses narines pour absorber ses boissons et de son anus pour avaler ses aliments solides. Son membre viril était planté au beau milieu de son front.

Sa bouche n’avait pas de langue. Elle était munie de deux mâchoires édentées mais plus tranchantes qu’un rasoir neuf. Il s’en servait pour scier, couper, sculpter et excaver, selon les besoins.

Chaque fois qu’on lui annonçait une naissance ou un mariage, Gongoloma-Sooké pleurait à en tarir ses larmes ; mais il riait à faire éclater son foie lorsqu’il apprenait un décès, un divorce ou une calamité quelconque.

Il marchait toujours le dos tourné vers sa destination. Il se reposait la tête posée à terre et les pieds dressés en l’air, à l’équerre. Il insultait grossièrement ceux qui lui faisaient du bien mais il chantait les louanges, après les avoir remerciés chaleureusement, de ceux qui lui en voulaient à mort et lui causaient les pires ennuis.

Après chaque premier chant de coq à l’aurore et chaque dernier braiment d’âne au crépuscule, Gongoloma-Sooké montait sur le grand caïlcédrat du bois sacré et criait à qui voulait l’entendre : « Si je suis Gongoloma-Sooké, le dieu bizarre, je suis par ailleurs le grand confluent des contraires… Venez à moi et vous serez servis!»

The Fortunes of Wangrin (En)

Young Wangrin learned to read and write very quickly, and also to do sums and speak French fluently.

Every two years he would return to his native village, Ninkoro-Sira, for the holidays. His father took advantage of this break to have him circumcised and initiated into the society of Komo the god, thus conferring on him the status of a man. After that, it became possible for his father to discuss secret or intimate matters in his presence, and to speak openly before him of sexuality, of the symbolism attached to masks, etc.

Wangrin was proud of being a “Kamalen-Koro,” a boy who had been circumcised, but he was equally proud of being a pupil in the School for Hostages. He took just as much pride in wearing school clothes, especially shoes made by a French cobbler, as in his round, red chechia adorned by a pompon of blue silk. Each holiday represented a memorable event, one that was awaited impatiently. Everybody in Ninkoro-Sira longed for his arrival, but all the beautiful young girls even more.

He completed his studies in the shortest possible time and was given the certificate for indigenes as proof that he had finished primary school. In those days no African was permitted to obtain higher diplomas. That bit of parchment—one of its corners crossed by the French stripes—was a miraculous key, an “open sesame.” The Africans who owned this document were admitted into the lower cadres of Civil Administration and could be employed as instructors in indigenous primary schools, as office clerks—that is, secretaries entrusted with copying and dispatching correspondence—as telegraphists, nurses, etc.

Wangrin, having obtained the highest marks in his final examination, became an instructor, an employment that was reserved for the most deserving pupils. For two years he carried out his duties to the greatest satisfaction of his superiors, especially of the Inspector of Schools. As a reward, he was directed to found and head a school in Diagaramba, capital of Namaci, an area which the French had taken back from the indigenous chiefs in 1893. It was in this handsome and large city that his adventures were to begin.

At that time Wangrin had already adopted one of the most significant of his pseudonyms, Gongoloma-Sooke, a legendary deity in Bambara mythology. This god could neither be soaked by rain nor dried by the sun. Salt could not salt him, and soap could not clean him. Although he was as soft as a mollusk, no metal, however sharp, could cut through him. The elements did not affect him in the least; he never felt hot or cold. When he slept, he closed only one eye; because of this, he was feared by night and mistrusted by day.

Simultaneously, he married dawn and twilight and had his union blessed by the scorpion Ngoson, one of the oldest patriarchs in the whole world. Before the sun, Gongoloma-Sooke was lunar and before the moon he was solar. He took advantage of this confusion to create dissent between the two heavenly bodies symbolized by “Kalomina,” the eclipse, but blamed this mishap on the cat. Moreover, he exploited the darkness caused by an eclipse to sow terror in the hearts of the hadama denw, or sons of Adam.

Gongoloma-Sooke was also shepherd of the stars and took them to graze in the endless, uncharted plains of the cosmos. The Milky Way represented the bulk of his flock.

Both kindly and ill-disposed, chaste and libertine, Gongoloma-Sooke, a weird divinity, used his nostrils to absorb drink and his anus to ingest solid food. His penis was planted right in the middle of his forehead. His mouth was tongueless and furnished with toothless maws—sharper, however, than a brand-new razor. These he used for sawing, cutting, sculpting, and digging, according to his needs.

Each time that the news of a birth or a wedding was broken to him, Gongoloma-Sooke wept and wept until his tears eventually dried up; but when he heard of a demise, divorce, or any kind of calamity he laughed till he split his sides.

He always walked backwards toward his destination, and rested with his head on the ground and his feet stuck in the air at right angles with his body.

He hurled vulgar abuse at those who had been kind to him but warmly thanked and sang the praises of those who detested him and had caused him the worst kind of trouble. After the first crowing of the rooster at dawn and the last braying of the donkey at dusk, Gongoloma-Sooke climbed the vast mahogany in the sacred forest and shouted for all who wished to hear:

“It is true that I am Gongoloma-Sooke, a weird divinity, but I also represent the confluence of all opposites. Come to me and your wishes shall be granted!”

Citations

• Amadou Hampâté Bâ, L’étrange destin de Wangrin (Union générale d’éditions, 1973), pp. 21–23
• Amadou Hampâté Bâ, The Fortunes of Wangrin, Translated by Aina Paviolini Taylor with an introduction by Abiola Irele (Indiana University Press, 2000), pp. 7–8