Get Some Bassa Rhythm!

Bassa Dialect Choir Drummers
The bigger drum keeps time and the smaller drum improvises

One of my "touristy" goat skin Liberian drums

Here is a basic Bassa rhythm that I was taught as a kid in Liberia.  It is from a Bassa song that has something to do with a man that had gold in his pockets, so a happy song!  I used a touristy goat skin drum I picked up along the street in Monrovia as I could not find the actual Bassa drums for sale.  Supposedly the traditional deer skins are hard to find as people chop bush meat into smaller pieces with disregard to the skin and the deer are becoming more difficult to find.  

Bassa drummer bringing the beats to a congregation heading down to the river for a baptism

This first video then is the basic beat that would be played on the bigger square drum and the second video is of the rhythm that is played on the smaller drum.  These rhythms are slowed way down and also in reality there would be two drummers each playing one of the drums at the same time, but hopefully this gives you the idea!

Of course if you'd rather not learn to play and just listen check out a couple of these Bassa Dialect Choir recordings I made in the summer of 2011.  The lighting is bad in the night one and the sound can be rough at times, but you can hear loud and clear those drums beating out some fine Bassa rhythm!  Enjoy-o!

This guy can rock out!....

I dream of someday drumming like these guys....

The Day I Entered a Poro "Devil Bush"

I've written a little about the so-called "Devil Bush" in several articles here.  It is a kind of sacred grove hidden in the bush where secret societies like the Poro and Sande meet for their secret rituals.  It is a place where non-initiates are threatened with death if they trespass; a place I unknowingly entered into when I was 13.  Here is the story of how all of that went down ...

BACKSTORY

We arrived in Liberia in 1976 at the request of some Bassa leaders that were looking for teachers from the US for their school.  My dad then taught in Buchanan, the county seat of Grand Bassa County, and it was through this that he became connected with an individual that made another request of my dad:  he wanted him to come speak in his village.  This individual was a Liberian who had become a Christian and he wanted my dad, who is also a pastor, to come and speak in his village about Christianity.  My dad agreed and made the trek.

According to old newsletters that my parents had written around that time the name of this village was "Doowin".  (This was at least how it sounded to my dad when he heard the name.)  It was quite a hike back into the deep bush and upon arrival the entire village came out to meet the group that had journeyed together with my dad.  Everyone spoke in Bassa and dad was able to get pieces of information from the welcome ceremony from translators.  Entering this village must have been like entering another world for my dad.  Here's what he pieced together from that...

WELCOMING CEREMONY

The visitors to the village were joined together with the villagers in a big circle under the open air in the middle of the village.  The Chief of Doowin (sp?) walked into the circle and greeted the visitors in the presence of everyone there.  To the best of my dad's recollection, in his hands was a plate that had an egg on it and also a small pile of salt and a small pile of dirt.  These obviously symbolized something and dad remembers getting a brief explanation, but does not remember exactly what that explanation was.  It seems that it had something to do with being invited into the community.

Chief of Doowin presenting the visiting group with an egg,
dirt & salt in a bowl
 - photo by Ken Vogel

THE STRANGE WHITE MAN

Dad remembers how the village was curious about seeing a white man.  Everyone kept stealing glances at him to see if he was for true.  They listened with interest to his presentation of some basic Christian concepts through a Bassa translator.  They watched him as entered the guest hut.  They watched him again with fascination as he brushed his teeth.  They watched as he performed this strange ritual of spitting and rinsing into a cup and then "wasting" his spit water on a nearby rock.  He looked and behaved so very strange and must have been quite the talk of the town.

DOOWIN REVISITED

I was not old enough to make this initial hike with my dad.  However about 9 years later, when he was asked again to return, I got to go with him.  I remember sitting in a small, mud and stick church that first evening there after our long hike.  I remember that everything was spoken in Bassa except when my dad was asked to speak.  Then I recall that everyone got quiet as an old man got up to speak in Bassa.  Here is the basic translation of what he said....

THE DEVIL BUSH

He recounted how he remembered when my dad came to visit their village several years before.  He remembered how he had talked about this strange, new god who had power over death.  He then remembered that this white man had taken his spit and thrown it on their sacred rock in front of everyone.  (Apparently the rock dad had thrown his toothpaste water on was their village god!)  He remembers waiting to see what would happen to this man who had challenged their god in front of the entire village.  Surely their god would strike this man dead!  When the white man lived the village met and decided that this white man's god must have more power than their god and placed their faith in this new god.  After the white man had left and with a new found courage in this new god they went into the Devil Bush and cut it down and in its place they had built this church where we now worship this new god, Jesus.  In fact, the very place where I was sitting that evening had been the gathering spot for Poro.  In the community's new spirit of openness instead of secretiveness I had been invited to enter into their very own most sacred space.  I had entered into the Devil Bush and lived to tell about it!

The village of Doowin gathered around to welcome the new visitors (Aug 1977)
photo by Ken Vogel

Alright, so perhaps this wasn't what you were expecting?  Perhaps you were wanting me to share some kind of deep, dark secret that I had witnessed in a Neegee ceremony (a missionary actually did join the Neegee once by the way but that is another story) or some amazing tale about how I had barely survived attempts on my life for trespassing on Poro sacred ground.  In fact, depending on your personal views on Poro and Sande this whole tale is either a terrible tragedy to Liberian culture or it is an amazing testimony to the power of God to use people who have no idea what they are doing.  

I will end by saying that from my perspective it was far better to have been in the sacred grove at peace with my Liberian brothers and sisters than it would have been if I had been in that same grove 10 years earlier.  Had it happened then my life would have surely been threatened just for simply being there.  That they shared their sacred space with me instead of threatening me to stay away speaks of true love and hospitality.   From my point of view the fact that I was invited into fellowship with Liberians as they worshiped was far better than being excluded because I wasn't born in the "correct" culture.  

You may ask, "But didn't you just feel more comfortable with them because they now worshiped the white man's God?"  To which I would reply, "We are all children of God and last I checked Jesus was actually Middle Eastern, not white."  The teaching of the Bible is that the Blessing is available to all nations, races and ethnic groups through Abraham's Seed.  Anyone can know the peace that transforms us from excluding others from our sacred space to opening wide the doors to our fellow human beings (whether that exclusion be a Poro society or an all white, suburban church in the US).  Shalom.  

Recipe: Ma Augusta's Shortbread

Ma Augusta behind the counter at Otis Spot with a fresh batch of another one of her specialties:  Light Bread

MA AUGUSTA'S SHORTBREAD

As made and sold at Otis Spot, Buchanan in the 80's

This is Liberian food as far as I'm concerned.  While it may not be traditional Liberian fare, I first ate it in Liberia made by a Liberian and so it is included here.  It goes great with Jolof rice and collard greens.  It is also wonderful for breakfast with coffee.  It tastes sort of like a crispy cake and the recipe was passed on to our family from an amazing Liberian woman named Ma Augusta (more on her below).

INGREDIENTS

5 cups of flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 eggs
2 sticks of butter (softened)*

*Ma Augusta used margarine as milk products are difficult to find in Liberia.  Butter tastes much better in my opinion.

DIRECTIONS

Mix flour, sugar, and baking powder together.  Add eggs and butter, and cut into dry ingredients   Mixture will be coarse.  Add approximately 1 3/4 cups of water.  The batter should be thin enough to pour into a pan but thick enough that you have to use a fork to spread it out towards the edges of the pan.

Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 - 40 minutes.  Knife should come out clean when inserted into center.


ABOUT MA AUGUSTA

My mom with Ma Augusta at Otis Spot.
I am on the left eyeing the light bread

Augusta Togba, or "Ma Augusta" as she was known, was an amazing woman.  She was a neighborhood mother for all the children who lived around her shop "Otis Spot" including us white kids.  In those days, many children were sent into Buchanan from the "bush" because it was assumed that there were better opportunities for education and future employment in the big city.  The result however was that hosts were often unable to handle the added financial burden and there were tons of kids without parents running around town.  Sometimes they were able to get them into school, but this was not always the case and there are sorts of sad stories about how these children survived or tried to survive.  In Ma Augusta's days hungry children knew that they could stop by Otis Spot and Ma Augusta would make sure they had something to eat: rice crust, light bread, or her famous shortbread.  She was a very generous, strong and wonderful woman and the sense of reassurance and stability that she brought to that area of Buchanan will be missed.

Setting up a Voter Registration booth at Otis Spot

Election Official and neighborhood registrants on the Otis Spot porch.  

MA AUGUSTA'S OTIS SPOT

Otis Spot was a place were people could come and play checkers (Liberian rules), eat light bread wrapped in Swedish newspapers thrown out from nearby LAMCO and of course palavar on the porch about all things political, religious and controversial (this is a Liberian fine art).  It was here that I came to enjoy palavar for palavar's sake as we discussed such diverse topics as the Rastafari, the treatment of animals, Apartheid, political corruption, colonialism, et al.  Ma Augusta was always within earshot to throw in a few comments, laugh at or with us and break up the occasional fight and encourage us to leave her place with peace and goodwill.  

Open Bible Road goes past Otis Spot on the left and leads up to Tubman Street.  It was on this porch that checkers, palavar and shortbread were enjoyed by all.

Today Otis Spot is the site of a small church and the open palavar porch has since been screened in.  An era is gone but the recipe for Otis Spot still remains:  mix motherly nurture, community, palavar, checkers and of course Ma Augusta's famous shortbread and see what happens!

RIP Ma Augusta - You are missed!