He is Not a Person

The Basis for Safety and Security

Learning the Dyula language was more than simply learning the words and phrases I would need to communicate and survive. Dyula is a trade language, a lingua franca, throughout West Africa with roots in Bambara of Mali. The Senufo have their own language, but Dyula was the main way we could communicate as we learned rudimentary Senufo. Most second languages amongst rural Ivorians, whether it be Dyula or French, transliterated their indigenous sentence structures and concepts, using words from the borrowed languages.

My new language carried all the meanings and associations essential for cultural awareness, social etiquette, and beyond that, it was a rhythmic representation of relationships with people and place. One thing I have learned from the languages I speak and the places I have visited is that each place has a certain sound, its own music. Conversation and storytelling can be songs! (Extending my senses also taught me that each place also has a certain unique color and smell.)

Having a new language is a connection to a new world and to the way of seeing, understanding, and living in that world. A name carries the norms of relationships, the roots of meaning, and all their social, and spiritual significance. For example in Dyula the word for “fruit” is yiriden, literally “tree child.” In the animist world, all beings have a spirit, so when one picks a fruit, one is actually taking the tree’s child. In picking a fruit, one must ask permission and express gratitude to the life residing in the tree. This shook the very foundation of my habitual consumerist sense, including the sense of entitlement to all products, natural, cultivated, or manufactured, that we are raised with.

Early in my stay in Sirasso a villager who made our acquaintance, asked to borrow some money. It was a small sum, 500 cfa worth at that time about $2. However, in the village it was a considerable amount. He told me he would repay it. After about a half year, when I saw him at the weekly market, I remarked to the friend that I was with that he borrowed some money and never paid it back like he said he would. My friend said, “A te mogo ye,” meaning “He is not a person.”

That was how a dishonest person was described. The implications were that by definition, a “person” was honest and could be trusted. This definition was woven into the very social fabric of the village. Also, one’s reputation was precious. A common phrase in French used for accomplishment was “Il a gagné bon nom dedans,” “He earned a good name in that,” and no one wanted a “mauvais nom,” a bad name. In the village one’s reputation was one’s most precious asset.

This understanding in village society was also the basis for safety and security. Family structure and reputation were the only laws that mattered, in addition to some taboos enforced by magic. As previously noted there was a recognized structure of responsibility based on age, which served the idea that everyone had someone to answer to from the child up to the chief.

Even under such a seemingly ideal social structure, there was also the need to resolve disagreements, and solve problems from time to time. This was done through the practice of the “palaver” a means of sitting, talking, and resolving issues by hearing all sides in a respectful and non-confrontational environment where the outcome was consensus no matter how long it took.

I was privileged to witness several palavers. When a person would have his say or express his grievance or problem, the next person in the circle had his turn to speak. He would start by saying that he heard what the previous speaker said, often repeating key points, and give blessings to him, to which all gathered would say “amen.” Then he would give his perspective on the issue. This would continue around the circle over and over again until all would have given their opinions, ideas, and viewpoints. The palaver would end with consensus and blessings.

The Senufo were considered philosophers, and this exercise in non-violent and democratic problem solving was so beautiful to witness. Even though I could not understand all that was said, the oratory and music of each person’s remarks was so impactful, and their eloquent diplomacy and insights evident. Somehow a door of understanding opened in my consciousness that enabled me to understand meaning without understanding words.

We had come from a culture where the new U.S. President had won on a “law and order” platform. This was code for suppression of the voices of dissent often with quick punishment. “Problem solving” in such an environment had nothing to do with respect and consensus, but of the will of the powerful. Thus, landing in a so-called “primitive” culture, I learned advanced lessons in peaceful, non-violent problem solving and social order that was literally embedded in the language, the way people used it, and how they related to each other.

Our concept of “law and order” would not even have been in their vocabulary. They had experienced some of that under the rule of French colonists, and under the subsequent generations of their Ivoirian imitators. In the traditional village environment we had only the rule of respect and trust. Bill and I had things that most villagers did not have: a short wave radio, a camera, a cassette player, a guitar, a variety of dishes, clothing, utensils and other goods. Nevertheless, our home had no locks. Anyone could come and go as they wished. In spite of that, no matter how long we were absent, nothing was ever taken from us. We were fortunate to be in a village where most everyone was a person.

The World-wide Web of the 60’s

What the internet must be for present day Peace Corps Volunteers, the shortwave radio and the small Phillips cassette player were for Bill and me. Of course these only provided a one-way information network where we could keep up with world events from different perspectives, and with the latest music. (Read more >>)