KATHMANDU BABY

The Bonthe Society

Im sitting on the porch eating the juiciest mangos for breakfast. I’ve passed on the huge dish of rice and am drinking coffee I packed from Freetown. It’s a beautiful day : I’m feeling relaxed. My peace is interrupted by some shouting and I look to the house next door . The house next door is made of mud and has a thatched roof: this is the structure of most the properties in the village. Those that can afford it use bricks and have corrugated iron roofs. The village was a buffer zone during the civil war and only now homes are being slowly re built.

Outside of the house there is a group of people who appear to be carrying a struggling woman. Those around me are ignoring the commotion. But curiosity gets the best of me and a slight feeling of fear and a question to myself as to what I should do in this situation. ‘Junior, why is a large proportion of the village holding that girl down? ’.

Junior is one of Emmanuel’s closest friends, calm, kind, speaks good English and understands mine. Junior turns his head smiles and answers in a reassuring slightly amused tone,

‘she has been possessed by evil spirits and so needs holding for protection.’ Junior seems surprised by my disbelief and questioning of the ‘evil spirits’ line. We don’t get anywhere with the discussion and the commotion appears to have ended. I have heard a bit about the mende societies for men and women. I am ignorant as to the details though and will have to remain so. If a mende man tells anything about his initiation he does not expect to live long thereafter. Who I am to challenge a belief system I am ignorant of? Except except when it comes down to issues like female genital mutilation, there in my book there is no room for cultural relativism and this I have made clear to who it matters most in my life. The practise, I am told, is much less common now. Traditional belief systems are being challenged.

It is perhaps another of the impacts of the civil war that traditional belief systems came to much higher prominence again. In this district, attacked and vulnerable from rebels and the army in a mineral rich district, the Mende Kamajors formed a civil defence society to protect their communities. The Kamajors were immune to bullets after their initiation. They had some success in the war and so traditional belief systems are cemented.

Back to the spirit possessed neighbour. She is running toward us pursuing Christiana, Emmanuels 10 year old niece. Christiana hides behind us the girl is taken off again. She believes she needs children to join her society. I try to not look as terrified as Christiana, but I just don’t understand this and its so alien to me.

The spirit possessed one is packed off the next day to a neighbouring village to be with her mother. Her father and mother had been separated during the civil war. Away from each other for so long they had turned to new partners and remain separated. The war took its toll on every aspect of life and every day in different ways it is played out.

During the day the sky, is a perfect blue with candyfloss clouds, at dusk it turns pink and red. At night relief from the oppressive heat: the skies open and the rain thunders down . Matgelema is surrounded by lush forrest. Food grows all around; huge ripe mangoes dangle from the trees, pineapples sprout from their plants on the ground, jellied coconuts hang in juicy clusters above our heads. Every fruit looks so practically perfect. The scene is surely the perfect setting for Charlie and the Fruit Factory. I feel very pleased that my food mile consumption has just become less than 200 metres for all that I eat, and that even accounts for the chicken dinner that attempts to run off. Ah but then I spy the mum using oil from a jar which is labelled , ‘World Food Programme’. I think of my two girl friends who I know are meeting somewhere trendy in London for lunch. Can I tell them I might be eating some world food programme produce? No and anyway I’m sure it’s just an old container being put to use.
I am being fed so much rice, no wonder there is a rice shortage. One of my main concern becomes just how fat I will get during my stay here and explaining to people in London, whose TV screens are currently full of the rocketing rice price, how it was I managed to return so fat. Relatives bring us food to eat every day; chickens, pineapple, mango, sweet potato, papaya, coconut: the supply for us is endless. The food is brought the women cook it. Rebekah, ‘meh’ ‘meh’ (eat eat ) is the chorus to my day. My concerns about weight gain here will not be understood. Here is it good news to have a big belly, it is good news to have enough food, it is great news to be able to eat until completely full. I have never known real hunger , I will never understand.
I love the way we eat here. A huge plate that fills the small table is piled high with rice and then with the curry or gravy. We sit around the table, friends , family whoever has stopped by and then armed with a utensil or hand we all eat , out of the same plate. We chat (or I try and understand the mende chat), we eat, we relax .