The fetishists, p.11
The Fetishists, page 11
“Don’t mention Amnay to me, as if I hadn’t made a proposal to buy you off.”
“I’m not interfering. All it amounts to is that I’m trying to stop the Qibli. I want to save my land from imminent annihilation. In the past, when people like you were apostates and weren’t faithful to their vows, it attacked the Nile Valley and created the mighty sea of sand to the east and established a mighty sea of sand in the west. Today it wants to split the desert in two and extend a mighty sea through the middle, because of you.”
“You’re not willing to yield. I’ll denounce you.”
“You won’t do anything. I’ll tell them your secret!”
Anguish rose even higher in the breasts of the possessed, and the voices of the singers attempted to assuage their pains.
The diviner repeated his threat, “You won’t do anything. I’ll tell them your secret!”
NOTES
1. Eric Fromm, Psychoanalysis and Religion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950) pp. 85–86.
2. Anonymous poem in Tamasheq/Tamahaq
3. Anonymous poem in Tamasheq/Tamahaq
10
The Vision
On the borders of the Nasamones is the country of the Psylli, who perished in this way: the force of the south wind dried up their water-tanks, and all their country, lying in the region of the Syrtis, was waterless. Taking counsel together they marched southward (I tell the story as it is told by the Libyans), and when they came into the sandy desert, a strong south wind buried them. So they perished utterly, and the Nasamones have their country.1
HERODOTUS, THE HISTORIES, BOOK IV, NUMBER 173
1
The wind carved Amnay, God of the Qibli, in a gorge between two mountains north of Timbuktu. His head is turbaned with a stone veil adorned with a layer of pebbles that cover his eyes and descend to the haughty nose, which juts up toward the heavens. Even though his eyes are concealed by a veil, his mien still suggests a stern severity. He perches on a mobile stone seat. He faces tranquilly in a southerly direction toward the city. When he is hungry and wants oblations, he stirs up a whirlwind and turns his entire upper torso back toward the north. Then, near his pedestal in the pass, a seemingly bottomless abyss opens. The Qibli does not cease and the god does not return to his normal position until people of the desert hastily deliver the most beautiful virgin to him in the pit.
It has continued like this for generations; no one can date the beginning.
2
As if it were not enough that the Bambara paramount chief selected the best of the young ladies of Timbuktu as a consort, he chose another virgin to present as an oblation to the god. The pleas of the intellectuals and intervention by the shaykhs did not convince him to refrain from offending the feelings of the Muslims with his Fetishist rituals. He repeated to a delegation of Believers who came to plead with him his time-honored watchwords, which he borrowed from the language of the sorcerers, the fickleness of judgment, and the treachery of the times. He added to this amulet a new line that did not astonish those who knew the Law of the jinn: “Anyone who wishes to possess gold must relinquish everything. This is the first condition.”
The miserable men returned to their houses recalling the teachings of Anhi, their wise fountainhead and lost constitution. Generations had passed down its dictum that when gold glitters in the earth, its owners’ spirit is blinded and people lose their sense of direction and guidance. Shedding sacred blood becomes easy, and the sinful soul will stop at nothing. The chief removed the barrier around Amnay and revived an ancient tradition inherited by people of the forestlands from a time before the Muslim conquests. Then Bantus danced excitedly around the god’s feet. The dust rose, and they pushed the most beautiful virgin of Timbuktu into the abyss.
Muslim Believers in secluded nooks mourned for the age of Hamma as they saw the influence of his nephew declining. It was no secret to anyone that the Bambara paramount chief was the actual sultan.
3
The Bambara chief returned sovereignty to the forestlands and left Oragh some miserable chores to perform in his palace. The ancient god, however, once liberated, decided to take revenge.
A year later a whirlwind raged through Timbuktu, mixing day and night into a single darkness that lasted for days. On witnessing the devastation that had befallen the capital of the Faith, the shaykhs complained, attributing it to Oragh, who had pawned the city to the Fetishists in return for the ill-omened metal. He had not merely ceded the land and his reputation; he had interfered with people’s souls and permitted the barbarians to practice heathen ceremonies. Thus he had rebelled against God’s religion. The Qadiriya Brotherhood’s zawiya suffered persecution. So the brothers left and migrated to Agadez, Azjer, and Ahaggar. Fate arranged for its chief shaykh a rendezvous with his Lord, and he died the day Amnay was liberated. Intellectuals did not discount the possibility that the poor man had died of grief.
Those retaining their belief closeted themselves in their homes, and sages searched for solace through patience and forbearance. Only a few weak-kneed souls maintained their tie to the sultan.
After the whirlwind, Oragh summoned them for a consultation at the palace, where they were surprised by the intervention by Fetishist sorcerers, who participated in a long-winded presentation, which attributed the storm to the god’s displeasure. They discussed the topic among themselves, quarreled, and eventually agreed to appeal for direction to their spiritual guide in the forestlands, without once allowing Timbuktu’s shaykhs a chance to offer an opinion.
Some days later, the pockmarked diviner arrived as a messenger from that guru.
4
Idikran’s family was originally from Timbuktu, but his forefathers migrated to Kano after Islam gained a foothold in the gold capital. Scholars of the history of the conquests report that his grandfather did not leave Timbuktu voluntarily and that Khataman exiled him, because he feared his spiritual influence over the citizenry, given that the southern desert had never seen a diviner with more penetrating discernment and insight about events unfolding in the Unknown. His gifts were said to have reached the point that he prophesied he would return to his homeland hundreds of years later, incarnated as his great grandson Idikran. Gadabouts and loafers were still amused by the story of the exchange between him and Khataman the Wise when the latter decreed his banishment. He himself escorted the diviner out of town on his road to exile out of respect for his influence. The jurist accompanying the convoy objected and reminded Believers of the Prophet’s noble Hadith: “Do not accept as true the words of astrologers even when they tell the truth.” Then he added provocatively: “Finally the Desert’s Gem will rejoice and enjoy liberation from an evil that has lasted thousands of years, but this state will not last long.” The sagacious diviner, however, ignored the jurist’s provocation, even though he understood the last reference and requested permission from the Muslims’ sultan to offer him some advice.
He reportedly said, “Destiny will not deceive anyone who is conscious of time’s treachery. All I can do, Master, is salute your wariness and vigilance, despite the fact that this also saddens me, because it will delay the revival of my religion and hinder the return of my descendants to their place of origin for hundreds of years.”
His triumphant great grandson’s return saddened the pious and drove them to the abyss of despair.
5
He met with the sultan. The next night he secluded himself with the god at the two mountains. No one knew what he did there, but he surprised the ill-attended assembly with a new prophecy that brought them fresh dishonor. He sat in the pavilion, which was spread with kilim carpets from Touat, and laughed hideously. Then he said, “If you want Amnay to be satisfied and if you wish to be secure from the Qibli’s insanity, you must agree to upgrade the current oblations.”
Silence prevailed. Idikran sipped his tea. Then he placed the glass on the carpet in front of him. He adjusted his scant veil and folded the lower edge over his mouth. He ignored the assembly’s curiosity and revealed the secret only after a lengthy silence. “As of today, he will be satisfied only with the offspring of nobles.”
The sultan expressed his lack of comprehension with a look of disbelief, and one of the elderly diviners laughed quietly in a dark corner. The remaining members of the audience, having already accepted their humiliation by the Fetishists, realized that now they would be led by the nose to a new disgrace more atrocious than anything that had preceded it.
The sultan’s thin fingers trembled, and he objected, “We’ve never heard before of class distinctions in blood offerings.”
Idikran was quick to quash this objection: “The ranking of oblations parallels that of the gods. Amnay isn’t like other gods. You know that better than anyone, Your Majesty.”
Oragh attempted to hide his reaction but finally could not restrain himself. “Glory to God! Isn’t it more than enough that we have violated our religion and allowed the paramount chief to free the idol? Doesn’t it suffice that we subsequently surrendered our honor and consented to offering an oblation that our religion forbids?”
Idikran continued his defense: “Anyone who has relinquished something for the sake of treasures of gold has relinquished everything else. This has been part of the lore of diviners since the most ancient times.”
When he raised his head, the pockmarks were clearly visible on his jutting cheeks. He stared boldly at the sultan before continuing: “You have made huge sacrifices to rescue Timbuktu. I salute your spirit. The most beautiful city in the desert deserves no less. Had it not been for you, I could not have returned to the land of my forefathers.”
The sultan detected the scent of sarcasm in this remark and commented desperately, “What good will it do us to save Timbuktu when we’re about to lose our souls?”
The old diviner in the corner chuckled, and suddenly one of the wretched shaykhs distributed through the large pavilion leapt to his feet. He stood quivering among them and looked around at them like an idiot. Then he shouted wildly, “Your intercession, Messenger of God! Your intercession, Messenger of God! Apostasy! This is apostasy!”
Then he shot off, racing out of the palace.
In his dark corner, the elderly diviner whispered in the ear of the man nearest to him, “Is he a dervish? Even children in Timbuktu know that this apostasy began a long time ago.”
He punctuated this comment with a wicked laugh.
6
Idikran set up residence in a grotto located at the top of the mountain facing the god of the Qibli on the east. He was observed circumambulating the idol under cover of darkness, burning bones and dry dung, and practicing secret devotions. When local notables pleaded for a system for the oblations, he himself supervised the establishment of a lottery.
Amnay’s choice fell on a seventeen-year-old girl, who was her parents’ only child. Her father was the wretched shaykh who had sought the intercession of God and His Prophet against apostasy.
7
The beautiful noblewoman advanced with resolute steps, torso erect, head held high, bare-headed. Her dark, neatly plaited braids, which gleamed with oil, dangled down her swelling, virginal breast. She advanced between the lines of citizens with a majesty befitting a virgin in her wedding procession to the bedchamber of the gods. Her poor father, however, having lost his battle with destiny, seemed oblivious to his fellow citizens and leapt after her into the abyss.
8
Oragh was a boy again, in the grazing lands. His grandfather had sent him to follow the track of a camel that had strayed. He lost his way in the desert, became thirsty, and pursued a mirage. Instead of shading himself under wild trees or keeping a turban on his head, he committed the age-old error that every thirsty person commits on losing his reason: he doffed his turban and tore off his clothes. He roamed the eternal wasteland till he fell down and lost consciousness. He did not know how much time passed but eventually found himself standing naked at the mouth of an ancient well encircled by a marble wellhead. He was energetically pulling on the coarse fiber rope. He kept pulling on it till he felt desperate and weak. Then he began to relax his grip on the rope. At that moment Tenere’s head emerged from the well. She was smiling, and her hair was plaited into delicate braids. Her face was moist and wet from the water, and her mouth was parted in an enigmatic smile. Alarmed, he jumped back and let go of the rope. Then the girl disappeared into the dark recesses of the abyss. He heard her scream for help—a long, painful, grievous scream.
Even when he awoke, terrified, this call for help echoed in his ears and tormented his head with distress, fear, and pain.
9
Marrying her came as a blessing to him after three of his wives had failed to become pregnant and he was beginning to fear he was sterile. Indeed his wives actually spread this rumor when he sent them their divorce papers. Then he married his Ethiopian bondwoman, and she brought him relief. She did not become pregnant the first or second year. Destiny only granted him an heir in the fourth year. Naturally he knew nothing of the chatter in a city like Timbuktu, where residents loved spreading rumors. He also knew nothing about the secret visit the Ethiopian made one night to the home of one of the jurists, during the third year, while the Sultan was off on a raid outside the capital.
After giving up hope of offspring, he was now keen to shower the girl with affection—the affection of a father who knew full well that this child was not merely the ornament of his worldly life but also the only creature who could rescue his line from extinction. He frequently repeated the adage from Anhi: “No creature should claim he has lived a day on the earth if offspring do not succeed him!”
10
This nightmare vision afflicted him twice after that night, but he only saw the final half of the dream: his torso as he leaned over the polished wellhead, Tenere’s soaked head, then fear, and . . . the long, grievous scream.
He considered consulting the diviners, but a hunch caused him to reject that idea and to await Anay’s return from a business trip to Agadez. A secret, mysterious voice always cautions us at a fork in the road when we are confronted by a choice.
11
Oragh ended his narration with this observation: “Sons of Adam rush to a sibling when they’re in trouble. If you weren’t my brother, I wouldn’t have asked for your advice.”
He paced round the chamber and approached the window. Then he looked down on the courtyard through the bars to search for the guards and check for spies. He asked, “Do you think this vision is related to the abyss?”
Anay had disappeared behind his gray veil and pulled down the upper edge to cover his eyes. He entertained himself by tracing the Goddess Tanit’s triangles on the carpet. Then he said, “This doesn’t require a diviner’s exegesis.”
“Do you think they would dare demand her head?”
Looking up from the kilim, he responded harshly, “Do you doubt that?”
“It was said in Anhi long ago, ‘Anyone who leaves no progeny behind him, has never been a father.’”
Inside there was only silence. Outside the wind howled. In a broken voice, the sultan said, “You know that I could not bear to surrender my only heir.”
“The true heir is God.”
“I have handed over everything: my land, my honor, and. . . .”
“By God, you handed over God, and that is the gravest sin of all.”
“I did that to save Timbuktu.”
Anay laughed, mocking the sultan’s rhetoric.
“But I can’t bear to hand over Tenere.”
“But you have handed over even your Self!”
“Yes, I have handed over my Self. But I’m not prepared to hand over the girl.”
“Once the ewe is slaughtered, skinning her doesn’t harm her.”
“That’s a lie. Indeed it does harm her, unless she leaves behind a lambkin to remind people of her.”
“What good will it do you to have people remember you after you’ve lost your soul?”
“It will be useful. In my opinion it will help. All creatures strive to leave some trace behind them after they vanish.”
“. . .”
“I didn’t summon you to rehash what is past and buried. I invited you to help me plan.”
The wind howled through the tops of the palm trees. As he stood up, Anay said, “You are my brother, my flesh and blood. I will help you whether you’re in the wrong or being wronged.”
The sultan shouted, “This is what I wanted to hear!”
He stepped toward him, and they embraced.
The whistling in the crests of the palms grew louder, and the Qibli poked a tongue of dust through the window.
12
It was the father who caused the longstanding estrangement between the two brothers.
He sired Anay by a noblewoman from the tribes of the Iwellemmeden N’Ataram and sired Oragh with his favorite, whose origins went back to Azjer. She was said to be related to the leader Oraghan himself. So, for good luck, this wife named her first-born son after this long-established Azjer tribe. Ignoble folk in Timbuktu did not let the opportunity slip to spread a rumor that she had given this desirable name to the child not as a lucky reference to the tribe but to celebrate the history of its trade in gold, since “Oragh” means gold in Tamahaq and the Oraghan are the People of Gold.
Unable to lavish affection on both wives, their father preferred the Azjeri woman and surrounded her with more tokens of love and affection than the poor daughter of his tribe. The two boys inevitably sensed this preferential treatment when their father ignored a cardinal principle in the Muslim Shariah that allows a man multiple wives only on the condition that they are all loved equally. It was also natural that the children should be affected by their father’s feelings toward their mothers. Anay could never forget his mother’s suffering when she thrust her head in a corner of the tent and held back her tears at the end of a night when the co-wife usurped their mutual husband for three consecutive evenings. If as a wife she could pardon and relinquish this right, as a mother she could not forgive his contravention of paternal feelings and neglect of her son.
