THE YAM CULT

At the cutting of new farms most Ibo chiefs make sacrifice to Ale and again before harvest. Beside offerings to her, some should also be made to the Ajokko-Ji[18] or Njokkoji--the king (or Juju) yam, the biggest one of all the crop in which the yam spirit is thought to take up its abode. This is always set aside from one season to another, and when bird or beast is slain in sacrifice to the Genius of the farm, the blood is thrown upon the Ajokko-Ji.

Should a man find that he has more yams one year than in the seasons before, he brings the richest sacrifice in his power and offers it in thanks to the Farm Spirit for giving increase and doing good to him. The word Ajokko means Juju, but it is also used with the signification of ‘great’ and ‘mighty.’ This king yam, as it is sometimes called, is kept throughout the whole year until next harvest comes round. Either fowls’ or goats’ blood should be poured out in libation upon it. Formerly a spirit dwelt within, which protected all the yam racks in the farm. Now, owing to the dying out of such beliefs, people are not afraid to steal from these. In olden days they never dared to do such a thing for dread of the yam Juju.

While visiting Oppe, a farm settlement just outside Alessa, we were shown a ‘strong Juju’ connected with the worship of Nkike, the Mbolli Earth Goddess. This was formed from a collection of skulls, yams and other roots, bound round with tie-tie into the form of a gigantic yam and then attached to a stout stake, the end of which was sharply pointed for driving into the ground. This symbol was said to take, for the Mbolli, the place of the giant Ajokko-Ji to which Ibo offer sacrifice.

A more elaborate substitute was found at Ogu on the Niger--a town occupied by a sub-tribe of Ibo, allied to those of Onitsha. There, in the house of one of the secondary chiefs, a row of small pots was seen, set in the clay floor, along one side of the verandah. These were explained as the Ife Ajokko--called Ife Ja Okko by some--which for this tribe take the place of the Ajokko-Ji. There were nine pots of different shape; the number was explained by saying that, as each chief succeeded to the headship of the house, a new Ife Ajokko was made. Eight, therefore, were those belonging to the ancestors.

Among Mbolli the phallic pillars are of a peculiar type mostly carved from wooden blocks instead of being built in clay. Of these, the one in the Juju house at Obudu may be taken as typical. Such bear the name Obo Esa--the four hundred yams--and are specially raised as a means of increasing the crops.

When a fresh farm is cut, a special ceremony is carried out to induce the yam spirit to transfer its abode from the old farm to the new. The basket in which the great yam is contained, or post to which it is bound, is usually kept near a sapling of the tree which over the greater part of the West Coast is regarded as most sacred of all. This is a variety of Dolichandrone--strangely named considering the functions ascribed to it by natives--called by Kalahari Odumdum and by Ibo Ogrisi.

Among Ekoi, Efik and Ibibio, this beautiful tree with its glossy imparipinnate leaves and great clusters of pinkish-mauve flowers, is known as ‘The Mother of the Town,’ and a sapling of it is planted in nearly every compound. The finest specimen ever seen by us was found in one of the town playgrounds at Ikotobo in the Eket District.

Within the hollow trunk stood native pots filled with offerings, for to it come wives, young and old, to pray that ‘plenty piccans’ may be sent to bless their hearths. Hither, too, come ancient women to beg a like boon for their children and grandchildren. Should lightning shiver the ancient trunk or tornado strike it down, loud would be the wailing of those who had grown up beneath its shadow.[19]

It is unusual that trees of this species grow to such a size; yet very few compounds in the Ibo country are without a sturdy sapling, for not only its fertility-bestowing but also its purificatory powers are held in the utmost reverence. Should a Kalabari woman meet with vexation which causes her to shed tears while cooking her husband’s food, it is thought that this will have ill results upon him unless, before serving it, she plucks some of the sacred leaves, draws them over her body and then strikes them upon the ground round about, that the evil effect of her tears may be negatived and her husband not suffer therefrom.

Not only is the Ajokko-Ji usually kept beneath the shelter of these sacred boughs, unless confided to the care of the ghosts in some ancestral shrine, but the Ogrisi itself becomes a symbol of the yam spirit. It was principally in this capacity, as emblem of the chief crop of the year, that at the death of each chief important enough to own an Obiri (reception room)--_i.e._ every head of a family of standing--a slave was killed as a sacrifice to the sacred tree.

Such unfortunate members of the community were well fed for several days, during which everything was done to cause them to be of good cheer and in perfect condition. Then they were robed in gay apparel and led forth to the sacred tree, where their throats were cut in such a manner that the blood flowed to the ground, fertilising the earth about its roots. No portion of such victims was ever eaten; their bodies were buried near by that thus Mother Ale might be enriched and induced to grant plentiful crops to those who brought her the offering.

The following information concerning the great Elele yam cult, Aya-Eke, was gleaned from Mr. D. Braid, for several years Native Court clerk of this town:

The compound where the Juju is kept is called Omo-Kpurukpu and there, from election until death--at most seven years later, even should the full term of office be completed--the priest dwells, carefully guarded by all his people and never crossing the threshold unless called forth by some grave emergency. The reason for this restriction is that up to a few years ago any man who succeeded in killing the holder of this office would reign in his stead.

The whole prosperity of the town, especially the fruitfulness of farm, byre and marriage bed, was linked with his life. Should he fall sick, it entailed famine and grave disaster upon the inhabitants, and there is reason to believe that, in such a case, facilities were offered to a successor. Under no circumstances did the term of office last for more than seven full years. This prohibition still holds; but since the coming of Government it is said that another of the same family, who must always be a strong man, may be chosen to take up the position in his stead. No sooner is a successor appointed, however, than the former priest is reported to ‘die for himself.’ It was frankly owned that, before Government came--_i.e._ some dozen years ago--things were arranged differently in that, at any time during his seven years’ term, the priest might be put to death by one strong and resourceful enough to overcome him.

In answer to the question as to whether, in view of the fate known to follow after so short a period, it was not difficult to find men willing to succeed to the office on such terms, Mr. Braid answered in a somewhat surprised tone: ‘Oh, no! Many wish for the post, because so much wealth is brought them at the annual festival that they become very rich--past all others in the town.’

Our informant also stated that, during his own term of office, Chief Eleche has only once been known to pass beyond the compound walls. The occasion was as follows:

A fellow townsman accused him of making a Juju to kill the complainant. The case came into court and, all unconscious of the excitement which such a proceeding must cause, the chief was bidden to attend and answer the charge. He arrived, accompanied by nearly all the townsfolk, who not only filled the courtyard, which is a very large enclosed space, but thronged the market-place outside. They came, in a state of great anxiety, to watch over the sacred priest and guard him, so far as in them lay, from any misfortune the effects of which, it was believed, would at once react on all the countryside.

Doubtless Mr. Braid would have been less ready to impart information of this nature, had it not been that he was about to leave the place, in all probability never to return, and had therefore nothing to fear from the townspeople. So soon as other official work allowed, I returned to Elele to adjust some difficulties which had meantime arisen, and also with the hope of gleaning further knowledge concerning Aya-Eke and its priest.

First I looked up the case in the course of which Eleche was summoned to appear. This was recorded under No. 353 and was heard on 7th December, 1914. It runs, in substance, as follows:

Yenanu, the plaintiff, stated on oath:

About two years ago I fell sick and the native doctors told me that people of my compound were trying to kill me. I therefore called a family meeting, in which the big men decided that Juju should be sworn for me. Eleche performed the ceremony, calling upon the Juju to slay anyone guilty of trying to bring about my death before new corn time. If this happened, they agreed to pay me four hundred manillas, four demi-johns of tombo, a basket of yams and a bottle of gin. Should no one die, it would prove that the accusation was untrue and I myself must pay the like amount in compensation for bringing a false charge. The time fixed upon had not expired when one of the men died, but I did not ask for payment.

Nine months after swearing Juju, the accused called me at Oka’s compound and informed me that it was now young corn time; yet no one had died, therefore I must pay the amount agreed upon. This I refused to do since one of them had been slain by the Juju. Then they conspired together and gave orders that I should be killed; also they put Juju in my well to prevent me and my people from getting water. Certain Jujus were also hung on the road to my farm by Eleche and Okuku. On this I went to Chief Chioma and related the whole matter. He advised me not to eat any yams from the farm near which the Juju was placed. After this they ordered me to clean a portion of the road, but seeing that they were seeking to kill me I refused and went to work with Chief Chioma’s people. After the road was finished, I was called before a meeting at Woda’s house, where they ordered me to break down my compound and take all my properties to Chioma’s quarter.

Oluene, witness for plaintiff, stated on oath:

I was present at the family meeting when the accused consulted together and made a rule that anyone who saw Yenanu should kill him; nor did any of our people allow him to take fire, etc., from their houses.

The case was dismissed, but the complainant died soon after. Next Eke day, Eleche, wearing his Juju hat trimmed with seven eagle’s feathers and the tail of a parrot, sallied forth, followed by all his people, to hold a progress throughout the town, while his attendants triumphantly proclaimed that Aya-Eke had slain the man who dared to summon her priest before mortal tribune.

On arrival at Elele our next step was to seek further information from the head men of the town, when these came to salute us. At first, the result was distinctly disappointing. No one had ever heard of the Juju or its priest! In fact, on the authority of all the principal inhabitants, no institution even remotely resembling Aya-Eke existed in the neighbourhood. Only after the case above quoted was shown to them did a light dawn upon the chiefs. Ah yes, they said, in very ancient days they believed there was some such Juju in their town, but the memory of it had long since died away. As for Eleche, now they came to think of it, the priesthood had been in his family and possibly even he might hold that the office had descended to him. Since Government came to their country however--this with the most ingratiating smile--people had no use for such old superstitions, which had therefore fallen into utter neglect and forgetfulness. It was eagerly stated that there were other customs in their town much more worthy of the notice of the District Commissioner--for instance, Odo’s Juju, the head priest of which was immediately found and brought forward. It would indeed be a pity, they added deferentially, should our time be wasted in enquiries into matters of so little account as those with which Eleche was concerned.

It was quite obvious that one and all were anxious to prevent further investigations and the result of the interview was naturally to send us hot-foot to the Omo-Kpurukpu quarter of the town, which is separated from the main section by some half mile of road. Here, in a house formed of elaborately carved wooden panels--to the best of my belief the only dwelling of its kind throughout the whole Division--lived the priest-king Eleche. Before the house stood a rude figure, formed of a stout post bound round with cloth, crowned with a cap and with two sticks extending arm-wise at right angles from near the top. This represented the late priest Eyinda, a brother of the present holder of the dignity, said to have died about two years ago.

Eleche himself wore a similar hat of office, its crown bound with a strip of white cloth, into which the seven emblematic eagle’s feathers and the parrot’s tail were fastened. He explained that he could not yet wear the full Juju dress of white baft, because he was not entitled to don this until after the third year of his priesthood, which period would not be ended before next harvest. His predecessors in the office, so far as his personal recollection went, had been named Eyinda, Omeneyin, Wana and Azunda. He himself had been a small boy when Azunda died. ‘These,’ said he, ‘were great men of our house. Now of them all I alone am left to carry out the rites of the Juju, which is so powerful that death falls upon every man who offends against its laws.’

The rule of this Juju is very good, much like the law of the white men. By it, it is decreed, that no fighting or quarrelling, no seizure of property--above all, no shedding of blood--may take place upon Eke day.[20] No priest of Aya-Eke may eat of the new season’s yams. All the harvest must be garnered and the festival held. Then, though others may eat, I may not until all the new farms have been cut and planted. Only when the last of the seed yams has been laid in the ground do the people bring me those which yet remain over in the yam racks. These I eat, calling the first of them ‘my new season’s yam’ though, in reality, it was garnered at the last harvest about seven moons before.

Our visit chanced to be paid at the beginning of April, and Eleche told us that nine days earlier he had eaten his first yam of the year.

‘All the people of Elele bring offerings to me,’ he said. ‘When the yams finish they bring plantains and I begin to chop those. Also they bring me much tombo. It is a very strong law of the Juju that no yams, save such as are old enough to plant, may be eaten by a priest of Aya-Eke. None has ever broken this rule; for, should it be disobeyed, the seed yams would die in the ground, bearing no increase. All the great men of our family have kept the law faithfully. Now no more big men are left in our house; but I, though but a small boy in comparison with those powerful ones, also hold to this rule.’

Hereupon one of our party asked if he himself had power to appoint a successor, or in what way one was chosen. No sooner was the word ‘successor’ uttered than Eleche raised his arms over his head twice as though to ward off threatened danger, while his head wife, who kept close to him throughout, shrugged her shoulders violently over and over again, repeating in an agitated voice: ‘Mba! Mba! Che! Che!’ (Let it not be! Let it not be!) Meanwhile the crowd of retainers took up the cry, low but angry, like the rumble of distant thunder, waving hands outward as if to drive off the ill-effects of such ominous speech. Eleche answered excitedly, the words tumbling over one another in his agitation:

‘No successor is needed; for I shall never die! It is forbidden even to mention such a word! In the beginning of things, when I came out of the world, it was arranged that I should not be as other men but should live very long--looking after my people and bringing them prosperity. The fate of common men is not for me!’ Thereupon, like a Greek chorus, came the response of the crowd: ‘Oda! Oda! (Forbid it! Forbid it!)’

The head wife, who had seated herself so soon as her husband did so, although all the others remained standing at a respectful distance, was a youngish woman evidently holding a position of more than usual importance. Later, we learned that it was customary for this head wife to die ‘about the same time as her husband’; but all attempts to extract more definite information were met with professions of ignorance.

memorial pillar of the late Head Priest of Aya-Eke]

The most important ceremonies of the cult are held at the time of the new yam harvest, when a great sacrifice is made and, as already mentioned, every man, woman and child of Elele brings a gift to the house of the priest. Before leaving, we asked whether no other rites were observed in honour of Aya-Eke and were told that early in May, _i.e._ at the beginning of the rainy season, all the inhabitants gathered to witness a wrestling match held in the open space before Eleche’s house. This is continued on every big Eke day, _i.e._ each eighth day, for about three months until the new yam festival, during which the feast of the ancestral spirits is also celebrated. Later, all go to Chief Woyike’s compound in the Omopo quarter and there wrestle in honour of the new corn Juju, Mbara (Lord of the Town), of which he is priest. After his festival is over, all wrestling finishes for the year.

No sooner had we learned this than we set out for the new shrine. Here, at the opposite extremity of the town, lies the compound known as Obakere, inhabited by Woyike, priest of the rival Juju. The chief received us with simple friendliness and seemed willing for a visit to his shrine. Nor, after the first shyness had worn off, did he show any reluctance to speak of the Juju, concerning which a few carefully-careless questions brought out the following information:

When the wrestling at Eleche’s is finished, all men come here to witness mine; after which the whole town must cease from such contests, which may not be held again till the next season comes round. We think that this ceremony will help the crops to grow strong, overcoming evil influences and bearing much increase. The reason why the wrestling is held first at Eleche’s place and then mine, is that his Juju Aya-Eke is wife to my Juju ’Mbara. The first is feminine and looks after the yams; mine is male, the spirit of corn. When the first green shoot pushes through the soil, I make ready and, on the coming of the young cobs, my Juju proclaims a four months’ peace. During this time no one may fight with another nor seize any person or property. Should a man offend against this rule six manillas and a goat must be paid to revoke the Juju for him, otherwise he would die.

When the time comes round, I go forth and announce that if anyone does anything to annoy the Juju I will not allow him to take part in my ceremony. To me no gifts are brought like those borne every year to Eleche; but when the season comes round I make a great feast for the people, giving them much food and palm-wine in abundance.

The priest was old and somewhat worn-looking. Round his shrunken ankles were bound little bones, pierced through at either end and fastened by black cord in three rows. These, he said, were a powerful medicine to keep off rheumatics and other ills which beset the aged, but had nothing to do with his Juju.

‘How indeed could such a thing be possible,’ he queried,

since ’Mbara is a male Juju and the bones are those of Tortoise, who, as is well known, is proper only to feminine cults? By the place where I usually sit a tortoise was impaled years ago for protection; then, when it was decayed enough, I took the little bones out from the shell and, after they had been cleaned, strung them into these anklets, as you see. There are three Ale shrines in our town, by each of which Tortoise is impaled. Also before the shrine of Aya-Eke a shell may naturally be seen.

Towards the middle of May we found ourselves back again in Elele and enquiries brought out the fact that the first wrestling of Aya-Eke was to be held about noon on the morrow. The hour seemed a strange one to choose for such a purpose, under a tropical sun; but before mid-day drums began to beat in the distance, summoning the people with the unmistakable rhythm only used for such occasions. So soon therefore as court was over, we set out to follow the call.

It was 15th May and a day of blazing sunshine; yet crowds had already collected and sat, the elect in a circle many deep round the compound, while the rest almost blocked the road along its front. Three sets of drums were playing; first Eleche’s household band, secondly one supplied by a neighbouring quarter, and thirdly, just before the shrine, that which bore the proud name of ‘The Juju’s Own.’ This consisted of six drums, three tall and upright, three long and oval.

Opposite the door of the principal shrine a little group of offerings was to be seen, backed by the branched sticks of the Thunder God. Questioned as to this, Eleche said:

Amade Onhia is kin to my Juju. In many towns the biggest Jujus have the habit of sending to request him to come and stay by them. Aya-Eke did this and ordered that his shrine should be placed opposite to her own, saying that when ceremonies were made in her honour they should be performed for him also. On being asked as to when the wrestling would begin, Eleche answered, with true African placidity, that this depended upon the arrival of the combatants, who would probably not appear until the sun sank lower in the heavens. He explained that he had told us the play began at mid-day, because by ancient custom the summoning drums must start at that time.

Now, according to widespread West Coast belief, noon and midnight are the special times at which ghosts walk abroad. Among Ibo and Kalahari little children are warned never to throw sticks or stones when the sun is high overhead, lest they should inadvertently injure one of these wandering spirits and thus draw down its wrath upon themselves. With Mbolli and Etche Ibo--as usually in the Ikwerri country--seed yams and corn are stored in the shrine of the ancestors, _i.e._ beneath the guardianship of these beneficent friends, much as was the seed-grain of ancient Rome within the sacred Mundus. Chief Eleche also told us that the Egu Nda Madu, the festival of the forefathers, is always held at the same time as that of the new yams and, were these rites neglected, the ghosts would cease to exert a protective influence upon the next season’s crops. It is probable, therefore, that the reason the drums must start to play at noonday is to call the attention of the ancestral shades to the fact that the ritual wrestling is about to begin.

First, one or two youths stepped out, at long intervals, from the ranks of patient spectators, to dance round in wide circles, always from left to right--in the contrary direction to the hands of a clock. Later, as the shadows lengthened, more and more joined in the pastime, till from twenty to thirty were dancing almost continuously. Nearly all raised eyes and hands to heaven at a point, roughly speaking, halfway round the circle. Most of the performers wore necklets of knotted palm, while a considerable number bore in addition a single vivid bloom of the scarlet Akpane Besin--the old Ekoi wrestlers’ challenge--stuck in their black locks.

In the midst of the circle danced a strange figure, wearing a tail of skin behind and a long strip of blue native cloth falling before. Round his waist was a girdle of brass bells; a band of cowries, three deep, was fastened beneath the knee, while a cloth of leaf-green silk was tightly bound round the loins. In his right hand he bore a horn, black and twisted like that of a bushbuck, the open end filled with a tassel of long fur. This, when stationary, he sometimes drove point downwards into the earth or, while circling round with the other dancers, bore it raised over his head. Chief Yellow explained that such was the traditional wrestlers’ costume.

During the dances several ‘masters of ceremonies,’ bearing bunches of palm-leaves, went up and down, keeping a clear space--driving back the circle of spectators by striking these on legs and feet. Suddenly the performers scattered, leaving two of their number alone in the centre. These bent and touched the ground with their fingers, then almost immediately gripped and after a struggle, which caused the wildest excitement among the spectators, the taller and slighter of the two flung the other to earth and seated himself firmly astride the prostrate form--to be lifted upon the shoulders of a friend and thus borne round amid the plaudits of the multitude.

place, Elele]

So it went on, couple after couple struggling till one was overthrown. Occasionally, if they were deemed ill matched or thought to be growing angry, friends rushed in, as is usual in such contests, to separate the combatants. What struck us as unusual was the short time allowed to each pair. Should one not succeed in throwing the other after the first few minutes the spectators flung themselves between and bore them apart by force. This was explained to be ‘lest they should become exhausted,’ and was possibly done with the idea that such a result might, by sympathetic magic, have an ill effect upon the crops.

These wrestling rites are carried out amongst nearly all the Ibo in the Division, though held in greatest importance among the Ikwerri. The same ceremony is customary with the Mbolli, whose head chief told us: ‘When the season comes round for the festival of Mbiencha,[21] we make sacrifice to her of fowls and goats. After the sacrifice has been made, we start wrestling. We do this for children, farms and health.’

One evening, during our stay at Elele, we heard the sound of a far-off tom-tom, beaten with a queer insistent call. The method of playing was new to us, so without a word to any one we set out to investigate. There was no need to ask the way, since it was easy enough to follow the beat of the drum. This led through the market-place along the Omo Dioga road; then, after a sharp turn to the right, we found ourselves in an open space, upon one side of which trees tossed dark branches against a sky of scuttling cloud.

The moon, nearing her third quarter, was climbing up the heavens, shedding a cloud of misty silver radiance upon the scene beneath. By a fortunate chance our shoes fell soundlessly upon the soft sand; so we stole in unnoticed, shadows amid a multitude of shadows which flitted to and fro ‘now in glimmer and now in gloom’--in swaying, everchanging lines of a dance impossible to describe.

My companions were wearing white, as was nearly every woman and most of the men present. The latter mostly wore long flowing Hausa robes, bought or imitated from the fashion set by Chief Ododo, the enterprising Hausa who, following in the steps of a mighty elephant-hunter of his race, settled here and made himself chief of the town.

At once, on realising what was going forward, we slipped into a pool of shadow, cast, it seemed, expressly for our convenience in a spot where we could see everything but ourselves passed for a while unnoticed.

Men and women danced in separate lines, approaching and retreating. To our surprise we saw that many of the latter wore not only white robes but white coiffures as well; for their crisp, dark wool was covered with a dressing of native chalk or pale-tinted clay, while the faces were often streaked with white lines, giving them an appearance indescribably ghost-like. To and fro, backward and forward, co-mingling at one moment and the next in clearly defined lines, moved the dancers to the monotonous tom-toming of their strange orchestra, which somehow managed to suggest things beyond the power of words--the fall of the first rains upon the parched earth; the enfolding of soft mists, from whose gentle embrace springs a stirring and quickening, changing her barrenness into fruition; the swelling of grain and root crops in the dark ground; the first feeble upward striving of young shoots, later to spring into radiant verdure in the free air above; the passion of pride, of life and strength and love--all that is poignantly felt but can seldom be expressed save perhaps by the monotonous beat of the tom-tom, the strange soughing of elephant horns and thrumming of savage lyres on such a night as this.

Only one air evolved by a northern musician gives any idea of the effect of these weird African melodies--that is the Braut March in _Lohengrin_, which, written on so few notes, yet beats with a strange persistence on certain fibres of the human instrument. In this, too, the theme is much the same--the bringing of the Earth Bride to the arms of her mystic bridegroom. Each thema, monotonous in itself, changed imperceptibly into another equally monotonous but built on different notes and shadowing forth a very infinitude of meaning.

In and out among the dancers crept strange shapes, elaborately coiffured and with whitened faces, much in the style of some Ibo masks, at the time of unknown origin, which wandered into our collection several years ago. These have since been explained as typifying the moon, much after the manner of the so-called Isis masks of the Pangwe Moon Goddess So; or again as representing those strange wanderers from the ghost realm, the spirits of beneficent ancestors who watch over the harvests of their descendants.

Hardly daring to breathe, we watched the strange phantasmagoric figures pass to and fro in the intricate mazes of the dance--the lines merging and separating in oozy triangles, squares and circles such as those woven by Ka for the perdition of the Banda Log.

Suddenly a change came over the scene. The tom-toms sounded a series of sharp insistent strokes. The moon, emerging from friendly clouds, shed a brilliant light upon the place where we had hitherto remained hidden in shadow, and the crowd, grown aware of our presence, began to scatter. We withdrew with all possible speed since nothing further was to be learnt by delay. After our departure the mystic dance began once more and continued, as could be heard from the far-away drumming, almost till the first rays of dawn.

On 26th July chance led us to pass by Chief Eleche’s compound while a ceremony connected with the Aya-Eke cult was in progress. Under the Obiri shed, a band of various drums, together with a particularly sweet-toned xylophone formed of cork-wood slabs laid upon fresh-cut plantain stems, was playing. To the sound of this music danced the chief of Elele Aliminni (Ale by the water) with his three principal wives. Two points were specially noticeable in the performance; first, the intense solemnity of the dancers, and, secondly, the way in which their oneness of purpose was emphasised by gesture. This is the only West African dance witnessed by us in which the performers continually linked arms, or twined these round one another’s shoulders and waists.

When Chief Eleche was questioned as to the meaning of the ceremony, he said that it was performed in order to draw down the blessing of the great Juju Aya-Eke on the chief of Elele Aliminni, his family and crops, before beginning to dig the first yams of the year.

A few weeks later came one of the greatest disappointments of our tour. By means of much planning it had been made possible, though with considerable difficulty, to arrive at Elele on the day before that fixed for the great yam festival, which we were anxious to witness. As ill fortune would have it, however, a runner came in in the late afternoon to bring tidings of trouble which was thought likely to break out in a far-off corner and to prevent which the presence of the white man was needed. To hesitate under such circumstances was of course naturally impossible. So the crowning ceremony of the year, the Aya-Eke harvest festival, was perforce missed.