King Kunta

Griot

The social tasks of a griot (http://www.goethe.de/ins/za/prj/wom/osm/en9606618.htm)

Traditionally, griots were a social caste, dedicated to preserving the memory of society. “Without us, the names of kings would be forgotten, we are the memory of humankind. By the spoken word, we give life to the facts and actions of kings in front of the young generation”, said griot Mamadou Kouyaté, quoted in Djibril Tamsir Niane’s Soundjata ou l'épopée mandingue (English: Soundjata or the Mandinka epos). The exact role of a griot is multi-faceted, but in general, the work is a service, particularly to the richer members of the community and for those who (at least in the traditional sense) are considered to be nobility. While griots can be called upon to work at any moment, their specialty is formal ceremonies. “When there’s a marriage, it’s for us. When there’s a baptism, it’s us. When there’s a funeral, it’s us,” says Bakary.

The griot expects a reward for his services as part of a patronage system of wealthy lords, though some griots may also practice a separate trade on the side, such as leather work. A griot does not belong to one person; he belongs to all of society. Bakary explains his position: “I’m a griot – I don’t have things to sell or set up a stand at the market! But I need to feed myself, pay my rent – where does this come from? It comes from the nobles. I’m in the service of the noble. Through him, I can serve all the community.”

The griot in modern times

While the spoken word remains the key tool of a griot, he also retains a close bond with music. There are both male and female griots, though the latter tend to specialise in singing and generally do not play more than simple percussion instruments. The four principal instruments are the kora, the balafon, the ngoni (lute) and the voice. Accordingly, some of West Africa’s high profile musical stars are also tied to the griot. Artists such as Guinea’s Mory Kanté and Senegal’s Mansour Seck come from traditional griot castes, and the Senegalese singer Youssou N’Dour has a maternal connection to the griot caste. But in a break with tradition, others – most notably Salif Keita – have adopted a cultural role which in a traditional society wouldn’t have been theirs to fill. 

Beyond music, the concept of the griot has proved flexible and attractive. A whole variety of artists have found meaning in the title which helps them tap into centuries of authentic tradition. The Senegalese film director, Djibril Diop Mambéty, whose most famous work Touki Bouki (1973) is considered one of Africa’s best films, said that “the word griot (...) is the word for what I do and the role that the filmmaker has in society... the griot is a messenger of one’s time, a visionary and the creator of the future.” 

Griots frequently compare their work to an ancient baobab tree or a library – a living, speaking testimony to a society’s history. “We can say that they are the memory of the Mandingue people”, says Professor Dagri. “There’s a Mandingue proverb that says “May God move so that griots never perish in war, on the battle field, but every battle field needs a griot, for without his presence the history of what happened would be forever lost.”

---

For without his presence 
the history of what happened
would be forever lost 

---

Justin gazed upon his cenotaph. This was the first time he had seen it in actuality, at the site itself. All around him - young Singaporeans backlit by a young Singapore. Full of life and promise. Erased and new.

He hears buses go by him, by the pristine greenery of the Padang.
Not many other places with this much open space.
Flat, open, opened space.

Some of the young Singaporeans had their hands behind their backs while they tilted their heads towards the wreaths. Others were manoeuvring around the inverted T, straining their eyes to see the finer details of it all.

It all was, poignant.
Yes, a keen sense of sadness washed over the area.
Obviously, it was a memorial, for the war.
A war, that was won and over and gone.
A bygone era, too far away to fathom.
Those young Singaporeans, separated by an entire generation of clueless bureaucrats and apathetic middle-aged middle classes.

Justin looked upon it once more.
Was his work important?
Would it still be in the future?
How far away is the future?

He spots a cab coming from a distance.
He hails it, enters, and instructs.

It leaves.

Justin catches one final glance.
This was his creation. This was his message for the future, to the future.
What was his message though?
To remember our valiant dead?
Those that had sacrificed something good, for our own good?

Did the message matter?

Did this matter?


The cab turned, and the cenotaph was out of sight -
left only in Justin's head.

He rubbed his temples as he closed his eyes.
He struggled to think of something else -
the cenotaph was no longer his problem.

---

The task of remembrance shall belong to someone else.