Awalé Kings

The experience of making this video was perhaps one of the most enchanted and entertaining I had encountered.

On arrival in Bamako, fresh in from the valley of the serpent, I had recently made a friend in Mamdou Kanté, a Malian studying English at the local University. Mamadou, on hearing my interest in legends surrounding the game of Awalé, introduced me to some elders who he imagined would know more about such things. On meeting the elders, they made fun of Mamadou on account of his family name, Kante, which happens to belong to the villain in one of the legends they would tell me about. Mamadou shrugged off their jokes with good humour and helped translate the macabre story of the "Nuptual Game of Princess Gnagale". They had also heard of the legend about two kings playing Awalé, but didn't know the details well and advised me to visit the musuem of Mali.

Visiting the Musée National du Mali in Bamako, I was advised, by the gracious curator Oumar Yamadou Diallo, that if I wanted to learn more about the history of the 2 kings who played a game of Awalé, I must listen to the songs of the Diabaté djeli (griot) singers in the village of Kela, whose occupation is to retell the history of Sundiata Keita, the lion prince.

"Tu devez visiter les historiens griot du village de kela."

I took the winding dusty road that followed the Niger River, through Kangaba and ever so gently into Kela. The chef du village accepted my request to stay and learn more from the djeli, and I was placed in the school teachers compound, where, as luck would have it, was a visiting Malian English teacher, Adama Keita.

Adama had only arrived a couple of weeks ago himself and was rather timid about the idea of being my guide. When he finally introduced me to the Diabaté djelis, hanging out at a home sipping tea, the penny dropped that he had actually been avoiding them for sometime, since they exclaimed:

"Ah c'est le Keita ici finalment!"

and motioned their open palms beckoning for a payment.

Adama was a Keita, and it was customary that a man of his family should pay money to the Diabaté djelis for the service of memorising and recanting the history of the Keita, family of kings. Of course, we all knew Adama was not a king and was highly unlikely to be carrying a king's purse, but they ribbed him for it a bit anyway. Poor Adama, I had put him in this uncomfortable position.

Once the gibing abated, the djelis began to inquire about me. Adama answered all their questions about my background, but on occasion needed to refer to me for extra details he had not previously been furnished with. The djeli pondered and conferred with one another until they came back with their settlement.

"Yes, they will meet with you tomorrow and tell you the story you want to hear."

Adama relayed.

I was relieved, for a while I had imagined I might be rejected if they didn't want to share their precious stories handed down father to son over hundreds of years.

"But you must pay them something."

Adama warned.

I nodded to him and to the djeli, they nodded in return, we were all agreed. It's such a satisfying moment when everyone has amicably discussed a matter, at leisure, paid respect and arrived at a decision we would all be happy with.

The next day came, and Adama was dutifully waiting for me in our compound of earthen grass huts.

"You are ready to go to meet the djeli ?"

and

"You have the money ?"

Adama asked

I confirmed all was well, but en route to the djelis' house, Adama asked me several more times if I had the money.

"Yes, yes, don't worry Adama."

I tried to calm his great concern, I surmised he didn't want to lose face with the Diabaté for fear of how difficult his life might become in the village if he brought them a bad egg so to speak.

We turned another dusty rounded corner, most huts are round here, and found the three wise djeli sat with their instruments ready to sing the story. I felt as if I were flicking through the pages of a virtual reality story book of my own, three wise men singing history to me in a Malian village, when was that ever going to happen to anyone ? It couldn't be real, but it was, my eyes alight and ears pricked for pure entertainment.

"They will now tell you the story of the nuptual game of princess Gnagale"

Adama announced eagerly.

My heart and jaw dropped together, how on earth did we arrive at this story, I thought we had agreed everything last night.

"Non, je connais cette histoire!"

I blurted.

I didn't want to hear that story again, whilst it was related to the game of Awalé, it wasn't what I had come all this way for. I worried if I had overreacted, like a child complaining about which bedtime story he would hear, but all fears were allayed as they soon conferred and responded.

"They will tell you the story of the game of Awalé between Sundiata Keita & Soumaoro Kanté"

Adama confirmed.

My heart sighed with relief at the news, we were back on track. I ceremoniously handed over CFA notes to Adama, who humbly delivered them to one of the djelis. I think Adama's anxiety vanished like a great weight from his shoulders at that moment, he certainly seemed relieved.

The djeli proceeded to play their kora guitars, a gentle and scintillating music that issues forth a notion of pure enchantment, more so than any other music I've heard. It is the perfect music to hear an ancient legend of mystery and magic by.

Whilst I didn't understand a word of their beautiful Bamana songs, I listened intently to Adama who would quietly whisper the translation of the story into my ears, whilst I carefully transcribed the legend into my leather bound journal. Later when all was sung and done, we gratefully shook hands, thanking our entertainers for their performance and parted ways.

In my capacity as village photographer, countless children had befriended me on my patrols with camera in hand, demanding photographs be taken of them in their various activities.

Now is was time to return to Bamako to develop the 35mm film and get the photos printed. Whilst in Bamako I set about turning my recently acquired story into a screenplay and then have it translated back into Bamana. By this time I was now living at the home of Mary Allen Ballo, an English woman, who by this time had been living in Mali for 19 years and thoroughly enjoying her life there with her son Salif. Mary's insights into Malian life were 2nd to none and provided me with many extra contexts for understanding things I might have otherwise missed altogether.

On my return the children were excited to hear I came bearing photographic gifts. In moments like these I have to be careful that not only does everyone get their allotted photo, but that the smaller children don't get trodden on in the stampede. Once delivered, many of the children had already run off, no doubt to show their new-found treasures to friends and parents. But whilst I still had a good audience I announced that I wanted the children to help me make a video. The children seemed very excited about the prospect and wanted to learn more.

"Quel sera le film?"

They asked.

I explained that I had a script for us to follow the story of the 2 kings Sundiata Keita, Soumaoro Kanté and their famous game of Awalé. No sooner had I uttered these words, did the children yelp and shriek and shout at one another as they ran off disappearing into the village beyond. I was left standing alone in a small cloud of dust with just a few of the smaller children, loitering with no particular ambition, who were none the wiser.

I had no idea why the other children had all sped off so quickly, and just as I was making tracks to return to my hut a few minutes later, did the children rush back from a myriad of pathways into our clearing, now clutching various clothes and accessories. They quickly put on their garments and began to shout out the names of their self-appointed roles from the characters in the story.

"Moi, je suis Sundiata !"

and another

"Et moi, je suis le socier !"

and others

"Et moi, et moi..."

They were all clamouring for a part in the video, their recently found garments laying claims over their desired roles. These children knew this story like the back of their hands, after all it would be their job to retell this story when they become djeli historians themselves, and knew very well how all the characters should appear. Sundiata in traditional earth dyed bogolan cloth, the wise men with their specific headgear and the sorcerer with his. I couldn't have asked for a more devoted cast who already knew the story, wardrobe and roles to be played!

Luckily there were not enough of them to be squabbling over the roles and so each got the part they were angling for. We started immediately and rather than try to organise the shooting by location, I opted for shooting in chronological order of the story which we would all find easiest to follow. Besides, we would be able to shoot the entire story within a 1km radius since the Niger River was close by and the village had many different backdrops to use.

The children really took their roles seriously and did their very best to make us believe in them. We only had to do a few retakes and that was a good thing too since the children were becoming more impatient as the day wore on. At the very end of the day I finally understood what the predominantly male cast were getting so excited about, the grand battle finale. At last the boys could hold aloft their weapons and charge at each other. Unfortunately they whacked each other a little too hard with their sticks causing some of the younger boys to cry in the process.

After calming the situation down we got the very last shots of one army chasing the other off and it was in the bag.

Later I had the opportunity to record the djeli playing their kora with the specific music associated with each of the characters in the story. We found that my hut seemed to have good acoustics for that purpose.

Back in Bamako I roped in my friend Mamdou Kanté, to record his voice as narrator in both English and Bamana.

Whilst the experience of making this video was a dream in itself, there was another, behind the scenes story, that took place simultaneously in A Marriage With Scorpions.