Far and Away: Reporting from the Brink of Change

The entire village had taken the day off from their work in the fields, and they were dancing around the ram and me in concentric circles. As they danced, they threw blankets and sheets of cloth over us, so we were gradually being buried. It was unbelievably hot and completely stifling. Along with the sound of these stamping feet as everyone danced around us, the drums got louder and louder and more and more ecstatic. I thought I was just about to faint or pass out. At that key moment, all of the cloths were suddenly lifted. I was yanked to my feet. The villagers pulled off the loincloth that was all I was wearing. The poor old ram’s throat was slit, as were the throats of the two cockerels. Madame Diouf and her assistants plunged their hands into the blood of the freshly slaughtered ram and cockerels and rubbed it over my entire body. It had to cover every inch of me; they rubbed it through my hair and across my face and over my genitals and on the bottoms of my feet. It was warm, and when the semi-coagulated parts were smushed over me, the experience was peculiarly pleasurable.

So there I was, naked, totally covered in blood, and they said, “Okay, that’s the end of this part of it. The next piece comes now.”

And I said, “Okay,” and we went back over to the area where we had done the morning preparations.

One of them said, “Look, it’s lunchtime. Why don’t we just take a break for a minute? Would you like a Coke?” I don’t drink Coke that much, but at that moment it seemed like a really, really good idea, and I said yes. So I sat there, naked and completely covered in animal blood, with flies gathering all over me, as they will when you’re naked and covered in animal blood. And I drank my Coke.

When I had finished the Coke, they said, “Okay, now we have the final parts of the ritual. First you have to put your hands by your sides and stand very straight and very erect.” Then they tied me up with the intestines of the ram. Its body was hanging from a nearby tree, where someone was butchering it. They removed some of the organs and reserved the head. Another man had taken a long knife and he slowly dug three perfectly circular holes, each about eighteen inches deep. I stood around trying to keep the flies out of my eyes and ears.

Then I had to kind of shuffle over, all tied up in intestines, which most of you probably haven’t done, but it’s hard. They had divided the ram’s head into three parts, and I had to put one in each of the holes; you can drop things in there even when you’re tied up. Then we filled the holes and I had to stamp on each one three times with my right foot, which was a bit trickier. And I had to say something. What I had to say was incredibly, strangely touching in the middle of this weird experience. I had to say, “Spirits, leave me alone to complete the business of my life and know that I will never forget you.” And I thought, “What a kind thing to say to the evil spirits you’re exorcising: ‘I’ll never forget you.’ ” And I haven’t.

Various other little bits and pieces followed. I was given a piece of paper in which all of the millet from the morning had been gathered. I was told that I should sleep with it under my pillow and in the morning get up and give it to a beggar who had good hearing and no deformities, and that when I gave it to him, that would be the end of my troubles. Then the women all filled their mouths with water and began spitting it all over me—a surround-shower effect—rinsing the blood away. It gradually came off, and when I was clean, they gave me back my jeans. Everyone danced, they barbecued the ram, and we had dinner.

I felt so up. I felt so up! It had been quite an astonishing experience. Even though I didn’t believe in the animist principles behind it, all of these people had been gathered together, cheering for me, and it was exhilarating.

I had an odd experience five years later, when I was in Rwanda working on my subsequent book. In a conversation with someone there, I described the experience I had had in Senegal, and he said, “Oh, you know, we have something that’s a little like that. That’s West Africa. This is East Africa. It’s quite different, but there are some similarities to rituals here.” He paused. “You know, we had a lot of trouble with Western mental health workers who came here immediately after the genocide, and we had to ask some of them to leave.”

“What was the problem?” I asked.