Guinea Ginge: Just when you thought "Maybe she hasn't completely lost it..."

EPIC STORY-TIME

with your host, Kelsey

(Bern, you're welcome for the free publicity.

Just put my check in the mail.)

"The Origins of Fougoumba,"

as relayed to me by Dioulde Barry, story-teller extraordinaire.

According to Fulbhe legend the religious capital of the Fouta Jallon was determined not by wise men or ancient mystics, but by a cow.

The Fulbhe (aka Peuhls or the Fula people, meaning “Pulaar-speakers”) began as a nomadic culture of herdsmen, originating... well, that depends on who’s telling the story. There are theories that they came from Egypt or Ethiopia, some say the culture came into being as a result of Arab traders intermingling with members of black African tribes. Anyhow, as legend goes, the Fulbhe migrated across Africa, diverging and finally settling at different points in the west. To my (quite limited) knowledge, there are significant numbers of Pulaar-speakers in Senegal, Sierra Leone, Cameroon, Cote d’Ivoire, Benin, Cameroon and, of course, Guinea.

The Guinean Fulbhe launched an assault on the Diakanké, people indigenous to what is now the “Fouta Jallon.” According the story, after conquering the Diakanké and assuming them into their tribe, the massive group of Fulbhe split in two. The two groups were led by brothers who decided that their interests were simply too different for them to stay together. One brother led his people off to Timbo, where they established the political capital of the Fouta. The other brother journeyed off into the bush, his confidence buoyed by a prophecy that he would receive a divine sign indicating where he should settle. The divine sign came one day when a cow from his herd became stuck in a swamp.

Unable to budge the cow, the brother paused to consider his predicament. At that moment he saw a bird fly directly overhead and he understood that the heavens were telling him to develop that area into the Fouta’s religious capital.

The swampland was organized, developed, and cultivated until it became our modern-day “Fougoumba.” It is a small, quiet village surrounded by sacred forests and crowned by a beautiful mosque that was donated by former Guinean president, Lansana Conté. I often go to Fougoumba on my bike rides simply to enjoy the serenity found there.

(Modern-day Fougoumba)

There’s also a rumor that you can see chimpanzees near the sacred forest... but I’ve been unlucky in that respect.

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Today, I had a run-in with some of the very founding fathers/mothers of Fougoumba, which inspired me to share this piece of cow culture with you.

Though they don’t share the “sacred” status of their Indian brethren, cows in the Fouta are seen as a symbol of great social status. Unlike the U.S., where they’re tagged and guarded fiercely by ranchers, cows here are branded at a young age and left to roam free all across the countryside. It baffles my mind how people seem to be able to intuitively locate their livestock with minimal effort. Cow-thefts are rare, given that people have to prove where their beef came from before they can sell it at market. If you’re caught trying to sell someone else’s beef, you’ve got one heck of a beating in store.

As banks have yet to arrive in the far-reaches of the Guinean bush, cows are essentially seen as a means of attaining financial stability here. Instead of guarding your stack of money underneath your mattress, you invest in livestock. Of course, my mind immediately goes to the worst-case scenario: What if your cow disappears? You’d be broke, right? Well, it seems that many Guineans are very crafty investors in this regard. Some of the wealthiest citizens of Ditinn and the surrounding areas made their fortune through cattle breeding, and continue to do so to an extent that allows them to live in considerable comfort as well as construct beautiful homes for their family members.

Aside from being one of the most important sources of protein in our village, cows provide a number of different services and products. Their hides are converted into highly-prized leather goods such as bags, wallets, belts and shoes. Their horns are a perfect chew toy for guard dogs. Their hooves and skulls are used for a variety of traditional medicines and fetish items (like talismans). They’re of vital importance to the village’s economic well-being, also; farmers harness cows to till their fields, and use huge quantities of cow dung to fertilize their staple crops of corn, rice, potatoes and cassava. I’m sure there are other uses that I am unaware of, and I don’t pretend to understand all the ins and outs of Guinea’s cow-human symbiosis (that would take decades of living here). These are just a few observations. Strangely, comparing someone to a cow can be both the best of compliments as well as the deepest of insults. Though, I suppose that’s similar to when we call someone a “bull” or, conversely, a “fat, stupid cow.” Maybe our cultures are more similar than I first thought...

Since they’re so highly-valued, cows basically have the run of our valley. I’ve found them everywhere; at the waterfall, in my backyard, practically inside my classroom and, most frequently, in their favorite napping/digesting spot – the middle of the road. I’ve been challenged by angry mama cows, I’ve been in a taxi that had to play bumper-cars with a stubborn bull until we could squeeze by on a narrow gravel road running through a small village, and I’ve been fortunate enough to develop a very tranquil and mutually-beneficial relationship with a cow that comes to my back window when I discard fruit and vegetable peels at night. Who needs a garbage disposal when you’ve got Old Bessie? I’ve also become adept at weaving calmly between herds such as this one:

(Talk about a deterrent for speeding motorists...)

I anticipate missing this familiarity with cattle after going home; their presence, their smell, their wild moo-ing has become an odd source of comfort for me here. Aside from dodging the odd cow-pie here and there, it’s quite nice to live amongst free creatures.

Maybe I'll just sell all my earthly belongings, move to Texas and become a cowgirl once and for all.