Doile in Bandjoun: Remembering my Aunt

The next weekend was the long-awaited funerailles, or doile, for my homestay family aunt in Bandjoun. She had died about six months ago and buried her but there was not enough money to receive extended family. As a result, the custom here is to plan for a day of rememberance when the family can afford a big party. Well, this was indeed a big party. It was half solemn remembrance and half celebration of life, which seemed like a pretty good balance to me.

The night before, I stayed with Anna in next-door Baffoussam after stopping by Yaoundé to see a couple of folks in the office and do a little email. I also saw Fran and Ted one last time before they got on the plane, and helped two new volunteers up to their posts, which are beyond Baffoussam. Katie, my homestay sister (volunteer in Babadjou) was also there, so we had a chance to catch up before the doile.

The next morning, we headed over together (Katie and I) to the family's compound where the preparations were underway. There were four women cooking on three fires and kids doing prep work (and playing). The preparations continued throughout the day and night until the next morning, they (I helped a little, where there was 'manly' work to do) had prepared enough food to feed a hundred people two times during the day on Sunday (that's a LOT of food). The only electrical device that was used during the entire process was a borrowed blender used to chop hot peppers.

Our compound is next to grandpa's house, which is a bit more run down, but Grandpa still seems happy. He usually spends a good part of his day up the street at the bar sharing gossip and talking about the good 'ole days. He speaks a very small amount of french, relying on others to translate for me from grammala (the language of Bandjoun). He has a big open space outside his house that is just perfect for the doile dances. I'll do my best to explain how it works.

The older men, who have been through this many times before, congregate around two tall drums (one skinnier than the other to make a different sound) in the center of the space. One or two people are choosen to beat the drums and most of the others take one or two shakers (hand rattles usually in wicker with dried beans inside). One or more of them decide which traditional song they are going to sing, the drummer begins ?he beat and the?dancing and singing begins. Each song lasts about fifteen minutes. After the older men have started, other men join on the inner circle and/or form a circle around them and march/dance in a line counterclockwise around the main group of musicians. Around that circle is another circle of men and boys. The third and outer circle is made up of women and girls (there can be other circles added of all male or all female if there are too many people in the circle, all moving counter-clockwise). Many of the women who were relatives or otherwise close to the deceased carry items representing or reminding them of him or her. In the case of my aunt, there were people carrying articles of her clothing, photographs, pots from her kitchen and ears of corn to show that she took care of her family. Many of the women and some of the men (including Papa) were openly crying, many with tears streaming down their faces, during these dances. Each "session" was comprised of between two and four songs. There were three sessions that day, with about an hour break in between each to eat and drink.

The first break was held in Grandpa's house for the men (women were outside Grandma's kitchen). Katie and I (even though she's female) were escorted inside Grampa's house and given a plate of food and a beer. After eating, the second dancing session started. This time, I decided that I should dance some and joined the outer-most men's circle. Since I had been assured I was a member of the family, no one said or did anything that led me to think that I wasn't supposed to be in the circle. After one turn, I really did feel like I was supposed to be there.

The next eating break was held at our house. Benches and chairs were set up outside, in addition to those that are normally inside. People flooded in, and the food was doled out on large trays. About half the food that took a day and a half to prepare was gone in one hour, with the help of about 100 people. The other half disappeared after the third food break, which was also held at our house, and lasted for the rest of the afternoon.

Since Katie and I are members of the family hosting, the custom is that we are helping to serve the meal, not to eat it. As a result, we were not allowed to sit down with the other guests. Momma felt that we should be eating though, so she gathered a large platter of food and a few beers and set us up inside the bedroom. It was kinda funny, but she didn't want anyone to see us eating.

That night, after everyone had left, the younger members of the extended family and neighborhood had moved the shakers and drums to an aunt's house (next to Grandpa's) for the celebration part?of the doile. ?his was a similar counterclockwise dance around the main musicians, but it was much more upbeat, and the dancing was happy and faster. There was also no separation between the men and women, and many children participated. I got a bit dizzy going so fast in circles, so I had to sit down after a time, but everyone enjoyed it, and it was a nice release after the sadness of the day.

Finally, late morning on Monday we were 'allowed' to leave the family. That was not before Papa had time to go to the market and send back "provisions" for Katie and I. We both left with a large sack of potatoes, watermelon and papayas (I think he looked for the heaviest items he could find). Feeling the love, we left, making our way to Baffoussam and then on to Babadjou. I had told Jeanah, Katie's postmate, that I would come visit her while I was around that part of the country, so I had to make good on my promise.