Rites of Passage

   
     The adolescent boy was roughly awakened from his sleeping mat.
Early morning's familiar sounds enclosed him as crickets and other creatures
continued their nocturnal symphony against the black backdrop of a West
African sky. His mother's soft whimpering was the only unaccustomed
audible disturbance. Large hands pushed him through the neat living
quarters and outside the hut into the warm, breeze-less predawn day.
    As they reached the grove, ceremonial fires illuminated the other
faces. He recognized his father's eldest brother along with many of his
childhood friends, and felt a brief moment of relief. He soon realized,
however, his uncle was not to be his savior, as this leader of his family clan
stripped off his garments and forced him inside the belly of a freshly killed
water buffalo.
     He sucked often on the hollow reed extending from the sewn up
carcass, filling his lungs with cleaner air. Each time he tried to peer through
the reed, an oily, slick substance seeped in, burning his eyes, forcing him to
suffer in darkness.
     When he could no long block out the hunger, he tasted the blood and
intestines remaining within the animal.
As a small boy he learned the importance of this rite to his tribe, and
knew he should feel as honored as his father to become part of the "bloodied
ones."
     As he lay in fetal position, his body attaching itself to the stickiness of
the animal's rib cage, he feared he would go mad before his boyhood soul
could purify and transpire to the holy spirit of men.  Hours passed, the ordeal became unbearable.
Legs numbed, arms ached. The smell of warm, raw entrails mixed with his own excrement,
forced him to vomit.
     No one released him the first time he cried out in shame. But, when
he screamed again, he was mercifully cut from the belly of the buffalo by the
adjunct monitor who attended the ceremonial grove.
     From that day, no one invited him to participate in the activities of
men or games of boys. His people tolerated him, but stripped away his
rights. His mother determined the direction of his life. He could no longer
talk to his father or other adult men in the community.  He never "broke mold," so did not build his own hut, court or marry one of the village maidens. He could not work at a skill, craft or trade and
was restricted from bartering in the commons for goods and services.
     He was not considered a slave or a servant, but a female's nonperson,
and had to obey his mother until death. Once he considered leaving, but
couldn't imagine a life outside his village.
     In his final years, he spent tedious days washing outer garments of
women. When male adults entered the hut, he retired to the wailing corner,
a special spot just for him, facing north. There he observed the male
members of the community, but never allowed his eyes to meet theirs in an
exchange of greeting or kinship.
     He often performed precooking duties; gutting chickens, washing and
peeling vegetables and tending fires. However, he was banned from
preparation of any foods during ceremonial days.
     During visits from neighboring communities, he left the village proper
and hid behind the wailer's wall at the edge of the community where the
village clearing met the brush. There, along with others of his kind, he
peered through cracks in the stone and sand to view the many festivities and
ceremonies, never allowing himself to be seen.