Korhogo: Woodcarvers - Iron Smelting - Panther Dance

There isn’t much choice for breakfast this morning if you don’t like cereals or jam, so I am glad I brought some little tubs of Marmite with me.

Kôkô Market

Our first visit this morning is to the woodcarvers in Kôkô district of Korhogo.

Some interesting wall decorations

Here, we meet one of the artists from the Senufo tribe, who is currently working on a carving. His preferred wood is beech, as it is soft and easy to work with.

Mathias gives us a fascinating explanation about the importance of the hornbill in local culture. The hornbill is considered the symbol of the Senufo people, a protector of traditions. These days there are very few hornbills found in the wild, just in the scared forests. Should a hornbill be spotted in a field, it is a sign that it would be a good place to farm and grow crops.

The belly of the hornbill symbolises fertility, while the secrets of the initiated men of the tribe are believed to be kept safe inside the bird. These secrets must not be discussed with anyone who is not part of the ‘secret society’, having gone through the complex Poro initiation rites, which takes 21 years to complete.

The beak represents the power of the chief who is responsible for settling dispute and resolving any problems in the village. The chief does not need to elaborate and speak much, he just utters one or two sentences and everyone follows his suggestions. This area has numerous chieftaincies, as every village has a chief, with one chief above all the townships in Korhogo, who is then revered as a king.

The wings of the bird symbolises hospitality, especially if the wings are spread – the chief opens his house to welcome guests. We saw this yesterday when we went for lunch at the chief’s house – at the entrance to his complex were two large hornbill statues, one either side of the drive, both with their wings outstretched. In the past, only the village chief or members of the government / local ministry were allowed to have a statue of a hornbill in front of his house as it was considered a symbol of authority, making it easy for villagers to see where they could be found. These days, as with so many other traditions, the rules have been relaxed, and many people place such bird representations by their home.

The back of the hornbill carvings are kept plain to indicate that once someone has become a man after the Poro initiation rites, he can overcome any problems he may face.

The legs stand for respect and tradition. A Senufo person should always know his tradition and where he comes from; if not, he should go back to his roots. Hence why the feet on the carvings are shown to be into the ground.

If you hear the call of the hornbill, it is considered to be the bird announcing that something will happen, or that you should do something, such as planting or harvesting.

The Senufo artists have a high status in their society, and Soro, the carver we meet here, takes us inside his shop where he explains a number of the different masks, and that each mask has a meaning and how they are believed to have the power to aid communication between the living and the spirits of their dead ancestors.

The colours used to finish off these masks, are natural, such as soot for black, sand makes red, and kaolin to create white.

Soot

Mathias picks up a small mask which he describes as a tribal passport – members of the local tribe may carry one of these when they travel outside the Korhogo area to identify them as belonging to the Senufo tribe and connect with other Senufos.

We've seen this style of mask, known as a Kpelie Mask, used a lot as decoration on walls of restaurants here in Ivory Coast. The mask represents the concept of feminine beauty and fertility, with the elongated flanges radiating from the bottom part of the mask representing the hornbill. The mask is worn only by the initiated members of the Poro society. While I am tempted to buy this mask to add to my collection, I am even more fascinated by the concept of the twin masks. Twins are considered sacred and when born, a celebration takes place using these masks. An incident we experienced in Benin in 2010, had such a profound impact on me: a lady carrying around a sacred doll representing her dead twin.

The mask also symbolises friendship, with Mathias explaining how some people have a friend who is so close they consider him or her their twin. I can totally relate to that, as I call my best friend Lyn “my sister by another mother”. This convinced me that I should go for the mask featuring two faces.

I also wanted another mask, this time to represent the Boulé tribe, which Mathias belongs to. Soro suggests a simple Goli Mask, and having witnessed the Goli Masked Dance a few days ago, this seems very appropriate. These masks will soon join all the others that I have been collecting over the last 25 years.

The Road to Koni

It may only be 14 km from Korhogo to the village of Koni, but it seems to take forever, as the road is undergoing major construction to turn it into an international highway (from Burkina Faso). There is so much dust!

Koni Village

As soon as we arrive in this small settlement, we are introduced to Soro, the village elder. This seems to be a very popular name, it’s the third local person we have met with the same name. Soro explains that he has ten children, two of whom work with him here at the iron smelting plant. He also trains local children (over 50 so far) in this specialised traditional trade.

Soro

Koni is the only village in Korhogo working with metal, and Soro is keen for the next generation to carry on with this tradition. These old techniques of iron metallurgy are secret and associated with taboos and initiations. Only those born into blacksmith families are eligible for the long apprenticeship into the craft. They are revered and feared by the rest of the tribe since they possess obscure magical powers, are in contact with evil spirits, and are capable to transforming 'stones' into iron.  

One of Soro's sons explains the whole process to us

Sand is manually quarried from the river some four kilometres away and brought here. This is the raw material, from which they will extract the iron.

A pile of sand collected from the quarry

The sand is rich in iron, and Soro’s son shows us this by using a magnet on a stick to pick up iron particles while rolling it over the sand.

The magnet has picked up a surprising amount of iron

The sand is rinsed in water, which helps the iron to remain on the bottom and sand remain on the top and can be easily separated.

400 balls are created from the resulting mass, and left to dry in the sun.

Rice husks are mixed with clay to create funnel-like pipes.

Soro's son explains how rice husks are set alight under the furnace.

More rice husks are placed inside the furnace as well as outside the opening to aid lighting the fire

These guys must have asbestos hands to be able to touch the fire like that

It's burning well

This is where those clay pipes come in, being used to close up the gaps in the furnace so that the only air getting to the fire is through the funnels.

The remaining gaps are filled with wet sand

Inside the furnace, 180 of the iron balls are placed, topped with a bucket of charcoal, followed by 200 balls and another bucket of charcoal, and finally the last 20 balls with one last bucket of charcoal. The inside of the furnace is accessed from the roof via a ladder.

The furnace with the ladder

The furnace will keep a temperature of 1000 °C, and is left to burn for one day, with someone watching over it all night. The next day, using wet fronds, the funnels are removed and the iron blooms are taken out. Water is then poured on it until it is cool enough to handle.

Iron bloom

It's mighty heavy!

The bloom is then broken into smaller pieces and pounded to a powder.

A smaller piece of iron

Using a rock to grind the powder

It's hard, manual work

Vigorous shaking removes any dust that has been created, leaving almost exclusively iron particles.

Yet again he used a magnet to show us how it is now just iron in the bowl (they don’t use the magnets as part of the production, it is purely for demonstration purposes).

The iron particles are placed in a clay pot ready for the nest stage to be turned into something useful.

Iron particles

Clay pot

Clay pot full of iron

The clay pot is placed directly in the fire inside the furnace.

The blacksmiths work in pairs, taking it in turns to operate the sheepskin bellows.

Time for the other chap to work the bellows

It is mighty hot inside this small enclosed space, with the fire going well, the two blacksmiths, David and me, and Mathias and Solo, our driver.

We are offered the opportunity to have a go, but with both of us suffering from back problems, we respectfully decline. Both Mathias and Solo try, though.

Solo

Mathias

Once the iron has melted, a simple mould is created by pushing an existing tool into the sand at their feet, with the liquid poured into it. Unfortunately I am not quick enough to photograph this, and obviously it is not something they can just recreate for the camera.

Huge metal tongs are used to hold the iron, and again the blacksmiths work together, hammering the metal alternately.

The last stage is to apply a stamp with the initials SS, a sign of the owner, is applied. I find it a little difficult to make out the letters, however.

We are given a gift of the finished product. I am not sure how we are going to take that home with us, but it would be rude to refuse.

Exit is through the shop, which we respectfully sidestep after watching Mathias demonstrate just how sharp those knives are!

The road back to Korhogo hasn’t improved any while we’ve been gone.

More dust

It’s going to be great when it is finished.

They have some impressive-looking equipment.

Cattle

I saw these cows on our way to Koni earlier, and thought they looked rather photogenic, so when I spot them on the way back, I ask Solo if we can stop for me to take some photos.

I think this cow is my favourite ♥ I particularly like the way it looks like brown paint has been daubed on her side in different strengths.

Someone's having a party - look at all those chairs!

I love the way they have made the electricity pole to look like a tree!

Country Food Restaurant

We are given a large table in the corner of the room, with fancy gold chairs and upholstered walls – it does rather remind me of a padded cell. Perhaps they have heard about us?

Although not eating with us, Mathias hangs around until we have ordered our food to make sure everything is OK. I fancy a shawarma au poulet, and David orders chicken burger then disappears off to find the toilet. Minutes later the waiter returns to explain that the burgers are frozen and will take too long to prepare. I ask how long. “35 minutes” is the reply. With David still in the toilet, I change his order to the same as mine: chicken shawarma. When he comes back he is thankfully quite happy with that.

As it turns out, it is pretty exactly 35 minutes by the time the sandwiches arrive. They is worth waiting for, however, as the chicken is tender and tasty , the wrap has been toasted, leaving it nice and crispy, there is also crunchy salad leaves inside, and it is accompanied by excellent fries and a super-spicy dip, which I think is literally just minced chillies.

Boloy Panther Dance

We arrive at the village of Waraniéné in the late afternoon to the sound of the shekere (rattle) and with several children dancing.

Looking at the kids dancing, it seems they are keen to start practising at a very early age, as their movement mirror what we later see the older dancers perform.

Lots of children are gathered around waiting for the performance to start.

One chap tries to keep the dust down by splashing water on the sand. He is fighting a losing battle – by the time he has walked around the ‘arena’ the bit where he started off is already dry again.

As well as the usual shekere rattles, we see a different, much larger, musical instrument today: the bolongo.

The bulbous body is made from a large gourd covered in monkey skin. The sound hole in the gourd doubles as a collection tin for the musicians whereby members of the audience will throw coins in to show their respect for the performers.

The single string is also made from animal skin, tightly twisted.

As well as producing sound by using the string, the men also wear special rings on their fingers to tap the rhythm on the gourds.

The dancers, ranging in age from twelve to twenty, come in bowing to the village elders and paying their respect to the musicians – who are all ex-dancers.

There are five dancers in total at today’s performance, each wearing a slightly different ‘mask’. The word ‘mask’ is used here to describe the entire costume, not just the part covering the face.

I feel greatly honoured and somewhat moved when they come over to us and bow deeply to pay their respect.

Each performer is holding a small twig, which is sacred, and must be treated with utmost care. Should the twig be lost or broken, the dancer is punished by being demoted in their initiation journey.

The dancers, who perform one after the other rather than all at the same time, are extremely agile, doing somersaults – backwards and forwards – from a standing position, backflips, front flips, and pirouettes.

The story goes that the dance was devised by young boys during their initiation ritual to become initiated members of the secret Poro Society. The initiation ritual is in three stages, each lasting seven years, and the boys are not considered real men until they are fully initiated. Young men, known as colobele, spend up to three months at a time in the sacred forest where the elders teach them everything they need to know to become useful members of the society. While no-one outside the Poro Society knows exactly what goes on in the forest, it is believed that the young colobele started the acrobatic movements to escape from the treatment doled out by their ‘trainers’, and adopted the panther (ie leopard) as their sacred animal for its strength.

Traditionally the dance was performed at funerals only, and the colobele who inhabit these masks are still in charge of arranging funerals. These days, however, the dance can be carried out at any time. Once the dancers reach the age of 21 or 22, they tend to give up and go on to play the bolongo or shekele, letting younger, more flexible boys take over.

At one stage, the elaborate and rapid footwork reminds me a little of the traditional Cossack dances. In the video below you can see the movements that the children tried to emulate before the masks arrived.

Being such a high energy performance, the dancers take a well deserved rest between each dance.

Some dancers jump higher than the others, and a number of times I think they are going to land on their heads with a thud. They don’t.

The display is incredibly impressive, and photos cannot do the acrobatic movements justice. Below are a couple of short videos from the dance.

After the performance, the dancers and musicians line up for photos.

As we leave, the children go absolutely crazy, crowding our car while pulling faces and generally playing up to the camera.

Before we left home, we were both concerned about how we would be received by the locals, and would visiting villages and attending these dances be intimidating? On previous similar trips (Ghana, Togo and Benin in 2006, and Burkina Faso in 2010) we were part of a small group, whereas this time we felt a little daunted by the prospect of being the only focus of attention from the locals. We needn’t have worried. Walking in to the area and sitting down to watch the dances, the village elder coming over to welcome us, and Mathias explaining about their culture, instruments, and traditions behind the masks, has felt completely natural. It has been no more threatening than going to our local Tesco for groceries. Not speaking the language is a blessing in one way as I am sure the children would be all over us if we did, but also a barrier to fully understanding what is going on.

Dinner

After perusing the menu in our room, and knowing how most eating establishments in this country seem to have a number of dishes listed, while in reality they only actually have ingredients for a handful, I send David down to the restaurant to pre-order our food with a choice of several meal suggestions in order of preference. My first choice is veal chop with black pepper and soumara sauce, but I end up with spaghetti carbonara.

While I try to hang my bag over the back of my chair, the waitress insists that it has its own chair.

The pasta dish is very creamy (a little too creamy for my stomach), and the meat has a soft texture, almost like tinned, processed ham. The portions are enormous and neither of us can finish it.

And so ends another exciting day here in Ivory Coast. Thank you to Undiscovered Destinations for arranging this incredible adventure.