john h. mcdowell
- the sibundoy valley of colombia
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Here we see my host
and friend, Justo Jacanamijoy, sharing talk and chicha with
Fidel, his brother-in-law. During
the course of more than a quarter-century involvement with the two
indigenous communities of the Sibundoy Valley, the Kamsá and the Ingas,
I have sought to document and decipher the rich fabric of verbal
expressive forms as they implicate the spiritual life and cosmology of
these peoples, and inform their everyday lives as well as their carnival
celebrations. I have had the rare
privilege to document a living mythic narrative tradition, to chart the
contours of a ceremonial speech genre, and to explore the deeper meanings
of proverb-like "sayings of the ancestors." This work
of cultural recuperation continues in Bloomington with my compadre, Francisco Tandioy.
.
So Wise Were Our Elders
Taita
Bautista Juajibioy Chindoy, six times gobernador of the Kamsá
indigenous community, was one of several elders who contributed their time
and knowledge to helping me understand the birth of civilization in the
Sibundoy Valley. A wise and generous man, he would be out in the
afternoons laughing at the beauty of the flowers surrounding his house. I
enjoyed the many hours I spent in his company, and in the company of his
wife, Concepción, and their many children and grandchildren. It was Taita
Bautista who explained to me about yebets tempo, the time of
darkness, which came to an end with the first rising of the sun. He took
delight in talking about kaka tempo, the raw time, when people had
no fire and ate everything uncooked. He concluded his sketch with the
arrival of the missionaries, initiating the modern age in Sibundoy
history. Taita Bautista was a devout Catholic, and towards the end of his
life he refused to tell me stories about the ancestors, calling such
stories, in Spanish, pura paja, that is to say, nothing but trash.
Francisco
Tandioy Jansasoy is my compadre and longtime friend and partner in the
quest to explore and recuperate the culture of his community, the
Santiagueño Inganos, speakers of the northernmost representative of the
Quichua language family. A native of the vereda of Vichoy, Francisco was raised in the Sibundoy Valley, but
went off to high school in the nearby city of Ipiales. He eventually
became a professor of languages at the Universidad de Nariño, teaching
both English, learned while doing the MA in Linguistics at IU, and Inga,
his native tongue.
My compadre returned to Bloomington in January of 2003 to teach Quichua and to collaborate with me as a Fellow of the IU Institute for Advanced Study. We call our project Atunkunapa Iuiai Iachachiska, roughly “Wisdom of the Inganos.” The plan is to develop a set of resources for scholarly investigation as well as dissemination to the community. We are working on a wide variety of texts including mythic narrative, oral history, ceremonial speeches, customs, advice and counsel, the Ingano carnival, and the knowledge of the Sibundoy native doctors.
Carnival
in the Sibundoy Valley of Colombia is a special
event that enables people to experience and affirm
their membership in the indigenous communities.
The Sibundoy Valley is home to two indigenous
communities, the Kamsá
and Ingano, as well as a sizable population of
non-Indian Colombians. This part of our exhibit
tells of carnival among the Kamsá.
The Kamsá carnival extends over several days, with Tuesday as the day of
public display, when the Indians gather and parade from the countryside to
the center of Sibundoy town. They make a complete turn around the plaza,
enter the church, dance in the cabildo (the tribal council office),
and eventually drift back to the indigenous settlements. For several days
thereafter small carnival troops travel from house to house, receiving
food and drink from the hosts, making music and dancing. As carnival comes
to a close, people take leave of one another saying, "Wataskama," a
prayerful wish to live another year so that they might enjoy carnival one
more time.
Three Carnival Texts
Three traditional forms of verbal art -- singing, storytelling, and chanting -- are used to bring about carnival among the Kamsá. In traditional verbal forms like these, people often reveal concerns, attitudes and perceptions that underlie their actions. Let's see what we can learn about Kamsá carnival from these forms.
The Carnival Song
"Klistrinyi" is known to every man, woman and child in the Kamsá
settlements. Like other carnival songs, it is only sung between All
Saints' Day in Novermber and carnival in February. The tune is anchored in
a steady pulse of strong, evenly-spaced downbeats. Its melody features
several phrases working their way from higher to lower pitches. The
carnival song pours out in a haphazard fashion, as individual
singer-performers are inspired to burst into song. The carnival-goers can
be better described as musician-dancers, for each of them makes his or her
own contribution to the enveloping wall of sound even as they move about
keeping step with the pulse of the music.
Mythic Narratives
The Kamsá people have produced a mythology of great beauty and
fascination, telling of the days of the ancestors and how civilization was
established in the Sibundoy Valley. Many mythic tales are told: of Wangetsuma, who brought so much knowledge; of the First People, who showed
everyone how to live; of animal suitors and tricksters, who tried to enter
the human family but were rejected; of the spirit realm, reached through
dreams and visions.
Carnival dress, such as the feathered crowns, often alludes to these
myths. It becomes clear that carnival is not only about having a good
time, but also about exploring and renewing the sources of community.
The Carnival Blessing
These chants are performed as persons of lower social class ask for a
blessing from their superiors. Formal speeches are improvised using a
distinctive way of speaking known as the ritual language, which creates a
prayer-like effect. Ritual language speeches make frequent reference to
God, the Virgin Mary, and the ancestors, asking them to insure health and
prosperity for one and all. By means of these chants, the community is
presented as one big family, and all relationships between individuals are
recast as idealized forms of kinship.
Experiencing Kamsá Carnival
The carnival experience is a powerful one, loaded with sensory stimulation and leading towards strong emotional involvement. The musician-dancers imbibe large quantities of chicha, the corn beer that is brewed by the women to fuel the carnival. On all sides are companions decked out in the colorful feathers, beads, and sashes of carnival. The loud vibrations of the larger drums engrave an echo of this insistent pulse that reverberates in people's heads days after carnival is over. These visual, auditory, and liquid stimulants converge to transport carnival participants to a special realm of reality, one that lies beyond the boundaries of normal experience. And what is it that people envision under the influence of carnival? It would appear to be nothing less than the very founding of their civilization. Kamsá cosmology tells of an ancestral period when the first humans interacted with celestial deities such as the sun, moon, and thunder at the very dawn of time. These First People conquered a wild spiritual universe and then established the norms of proper society. They taught early ancestors what foods they should eat and how they should reproduce, and they established forever the boundary between animals and humans. It is this long-ago turning point in cosmic time that is celebrated during Kamsá carnival, this moment when civil society emerged out of a primordial chaos.
Carnival
is best appreciated when experienced in all its intensity. The
true carnival spirit demands participation, not mere
observation. In an effort to convey something of the thrill of
the carnival experience, I have included an excerpt from my field
journal.
"We have entered the house of the aquacil mayor, one of the chief officers of the cabildo, the community organ of self-government. We are a singing, dancing horde, maybe one hundred of us, musician-dancers arrayed in feathered crowns and traditional ponchos. At every step we are presented gourd cups of chicha (maize beer) by fellow musician-dancers porting larger aluminum containers of the refreshing and intoxicating beverage."
"On all sides circulate flutists, sporting flutes ranging from barely a foot long to a yard or more, each intoning (but not in unison) the carnival melody. Other dancers beat the steady carnival rhythm on drums or keep the same beat with seed rattles or jars filled with stones. From time to time one captures the sweet tones of a harmonica floating nearby, and blasts from the hollowed sugar-cane stalks and horn trumpets assault the ears from all directions. Here and there someone sings a verse from the carnival song, and the web of sound is punctuated with the cry: "Klistrinyi, klistrinyi!" ("celebrate the carnival!")
"Our motley carnival orchestra has no need of conductor, score or audience; it is held together by the isochronic rhythm and the plaintive strains of the carnival melody. In the midst of all this fanfare a remarkable transformation occurs: the ecstatic dancers take on an altered identity as ancestral spirit beings, and we are transported to the cosmic juncture when the first human beings wrested spiritual dominion away from the aucas, the heathen savages of the region. It is carnival time in the Sibundoy Valley and the ancestral spirits once again wander the earth." -- John McDowell