Chapters 53 to 59

Prophecy was plain and simple, limited to ascertaining the persons responsible for thefts, crimes, witchcraft, etc. The injured persons went to the witch doctors who possessed a spirit of prophesy, called bosokoari. The witch doctor used a small calabash (kobi or bosahá) to prophesy, which held pieces of shellfish (chibo) and was always kept well covered. The bojiammó invoked and entreated to his bosokoari many times for the spirit to possess him so that he would know the causes of such and which damages and curses.

When the bojiammó believes, or imagines, himself possessed by the bosokoari, such a madness possesses him. It is a delirium tremens so accentuated – he makes such faces and gesticulations, moving his head violently in all directions – that shivers of terror run through his own consultants.

They believed with infantile faith that by moving the head rapidly, a sliver of shellfish detached and – at that same moment – entered the body of the evildoer, causing him such intense pain that it forced him to confess his crime to his bojiammó. But, if in spite of the atrocious torture he still concealed his crime, in eight days, without fail, he would die. To such a degree of idiocy had the Bubi arrived.

On other occasions they condemned an innocent person by simple conjecture or malicious suspicion. No one in a Bubi village died that the relatives of the deceased didn’t go to some district cave or to some marked point where the bojiammó resided, to ask who killed their family member. They did this even if it had been a natural death, the effect of pneumonia, sunstroke, etc., or of an accident, as in the falling of a palm tree — that when cutting trees in the forest he felled one and it crushed him, etc. The witch doctor, very skillful and expert in the matter, to better guess correctly which person his consultants suspected, made use of sly questions. For example: If the deceased had some altercation with someone of his own family or in his neighborhood; if they spoke badly of each other; if they knew that someone professed hate of him or had envy of him because he had advantages in personal qualities, in number of children, or in good fortune. Hearing their responses, and after some brief moments of reflection, with a serious voice he would say slowly: “Fulano (calling him with his own name) is the originator of the death of the person for whom you cry.” They believed it with such secure and firm faith it was as if it had been revealed by an angel from heaven.

Later, in returning to the house, they talked quietly to their friends and relatives of how that little Fulano had killed their father, mother, son, or brother. Shortly afterward, the interested party found out about the slanderous gossip. At times he knew to ignore it, other times, he laughed at them, because he knew well their customs, and other times, angry, he threatened to take these slanderers to the tribunal. In any case, it ignited hatred that passed from one generation to the next.

In a village, a young woman presented herself to me saying: “Father, the mother of the young man who was buried a few days ago, claims that I killed him.” I responded to her: “Tell this woman that, if she repeats such a claim, I will take her to the judge for being a slanderer.” Thus she was silenced, but the young girl never again looked favorably upon her.

All of this comes from the conviction that primitive people have that neither death, illness nor other natural misfortunes come from physical causes directed or permitted by God, since being the bondad esencial, he cannot tolerate nor permit such disorders. Rather they claim that unfortunate results or fatalities are produced by some sin or personal crime, perpetrated by someone from their own family, caused by some malignant spirit, or come from curses or witchcraft.

Bokottekatte: This word means, literally, “big uproar or noise,” but it ends up meaning “that which produces a great uproar” or can be translated as “conjure” or “exorcism.”

The act to which this alludes comes from what we have just written with respect to bad spirits, and takes place after a village has suffered an epidemic or common misfortune, such as the grippe or smallpox. The bojiammó sets the day for the ceremony, when all the neighbors must be in their respective domiciles and supplied with a small palm branch (losala chiké). At sunset, the bojiammó, loaded with a variety of amulets, shouts: Biloppeéé, obui, obui, obui. “Condemned spirits, go out, go out of here.” The words stated, and supplied with the losala chiké and a club, he beings clubbing left and right, on the furniture, on the interior walls, and on the exterior walls of the huts. The neighbors, who wait for the signal and are provided with the losala chiké and large poles, do the same, delivering blows here and there, screaming with all their might: Biloppeéé, obui, obui, obui, resulting in an infernal and indescribable racket in the entire neighborhood.

When they have finished with the interior of the huts, the men head for the road, captained by the bojiammó, and they continue clubbing everywhere, screaming in the same forum until they reach the village outskirts. Here they say: Ajo to lo poalesijé, loe palam jalo. “Here we have ejected you, do not enter again.” That said, they fling the palms and clubs aside and return to their domicile, firmly believing that all perverse and condemned spirits have fled from the besé scared, never again to be bold enough to enter.

This mountainous region of San Carlos Bay, sadly famous from events in July of 1910 that occurred following a decree concerning the work of the Bubis, is one of the most picturesque and healthy places on the island. By day western breezes blow through and by night winds blow through the Sosó mountain pass, which gives passage from San Carlos to Ureka. If it had an abundance of water such as is in Musola, it would be the ideal region of Fernando Poo. It lacks the excessive humidity of the Biapa plateau, with its abrupt atmospheric changes, and is more accessible and nearer to the beach. From its mountains one discerns a varied, expansive panorama: all the eastern part of the island, from Bokoko to Europa Point and the foothills of the east, the Lopeló or Fernando Poo mountain chain, the heights of Basupú of the West, and, beyond all, a vast, level sea.

The Balachas are distinguished among the other Bubis for their sobriety, robust strength, and their application to work. They are the most retrogressive and obstinate in adapting to changing civilization. They are very attached to the laws and customs of their parents, and they kept, until a short while ago, their savage tattoo that, thanks to God and to the efforts of the Catholic missionaries, has disappeared completely from the island.

Since 1889 this district has been visited by the missionaries of Batete, and later by those of Musola and, finally, by those of the San Carlos mission. Previously, it had been attended to by the Methodists, but they abandoned these people after their visits and efforts to civilize them were in vain. At the present time, an immense majority of the children and young adults are Catholic.

The Balacha district comprises the villages of Relebó, Rohemeriba or Rutoloeri, Riokoricho or Riokobocho, and Ruiché or Rachá. Although each village has its own chief, all the subjects are tributaries to the principal chief of the district of Ombori, or to the successor of Sebbe Luba, who is today a legal, not natural, son of his. His name is Zaqueo Tabori, but he calls himself Rolando Luba.

The principal spirit, morimó, to whom the Balachas pay particular homage, is Lombe. There is an ancient tradition that says Lombe was a motuku of utmost wealth and power, deeply concerned for the well-being and prosperity of his countrymen. He traveled to all the regions of the island hoping to be accepted as motuku or king of them all, but as might be expected from these naturally austere people, they threw him out of their villages. Only the Balachas embraced him with benevolence and raised him up with enthusiasm as their king and master.

He established his court on a mysterious and solitary knoll that today holds a lagoon bearing his name. He distinguished himself and his government for their benignity, their clemency with the poor and lowly, and their thoroughness and severity in dealing with the arrogant and haughty. In all things he conducted himself with temperance and moderation. This king, nevertheless, was quite strict with the women born in Balacha. He required them to abstain from all types of meat and its broth, and to nourish themselves their entire lives from fresh fish, salted and in preserve, and from other seafood. This is the reason that the women of San Carlos (balachari or “of Balacha”) come down to the beach almost daily for fish. They carry out this arduous law scrupulously. There is no balachari who dares to break this law while she remains in the besé, for fear of sudden death. Only when they abandon Bubi life and leave to live with foreigners, will some, but not all, dare its violation.

In antiquity, Urekano fishermen supplied the balachari with fresh or smoked fish in exchange for yams, malangas and other fruits. But today the women themselves go to the San Carlos beaches, as we have just noted, as it is much closer and, in addition, because relations between the Balachas and Urekanos are not so close and cordial as in times past.

At the death of Lombe, all the villages of Balacha elected him for their principal patron. To him they appeal to remedy their misfortunes, to him they profess singular devotion, and to him they sacrifice goats and other animals, pouring the blood into the water of his lagoon. The father of Lombe was Eri, whose name a small marsh near Sosó bears.

I asked the Balachas in 1915 if they would be content if the Fathers were to put a mission in those heights. They responded to me: “Loomo (very much); but we fear a grave danger, because where the missionaries permanently establish themselves, it follows that the government places a military post, and we flee from the molestation of commandants and police.”

The Bubis used to have a supreme interest in concealing Lombe lagoon, so that foreigners would not profane it. I tried various times to see it, without success. In February of 1919, during the season of yam planting when all the neighbors were busy in their fields, and with the pretext of cutting posts for a small house that I wanted to build in Biokoricho, I began the climb very early in the morning, with a foreman and five workers. We passed by the fields and the people greeted me. I responded to them in kind, and they asked me where we were going. I answered: “To continue the small house,” and thus they were not suspicious.

We arrived at the village, in which there were only elderly, frail people and nursing mothers. We asked for water and an old woman offered us a large calabash. We rested some moments, then proceeded by way of the eastern part of the knoll, situated in the middle of the villages of Riokobocho and Ruiché, and facing San Carlos Bay (Oesimba). Arriving at the summit, we contemplated the expanding horizon before us, and the workers said: “Father, why did we come to cut posts if all the cane fields are closed?”

We were disappointed in our search for a trail to the lagoon. After a little while, we could see a thin fog and white mist, and Father Vicente Aguado, who also came along as our companion, said: "We are near the lagoon but we cannot see it; this fog is steam that it gives off.” The lagoon’s sides were hidden by a completely closed forest. We went down an incline a few yards from us that we had not seen before because of the thickness of the brush, and at the end of eight minutes we were on the lagoon’s eastern bank. Once there, the foreman, who was Bubi, and the workers, who were Batas, fled as quickly as possible for fear of the spirit Lombe, who lives in those waters. It may be said in passing that all the blacks are animists. Only Father Vicente, and he who writes this, remained in that shaded and imposing site, drinking its clear and sweet waters and going into it.

At the entrance was a mud hole covered with grass. At some forty feet from the edge to the middle the mire continued, covered with water and water plants. At a deep corner in the south end, we could see a large quantity of water. This was surrounded on the south side by sacred palms. The lagoon is of oval form, much wider in the south and narrow in the north, where one finds its outlet.

Our desires satisfied, we went to Riokoricho. A good woman there offered us frugal refreshments and interrogated me: “Father, where are you coming from at this hour?”

“Father, I’m afraid that you have been down to the eriba e Lombe (Lombe lagoon), and if you have been down there I am afraid for you, because the morimó Lombe usually punishes foreigners who profane his place, as he effectively punished with death a Protestant pastor, called Reverend R.S. Blackburn, who had the impudence to go down to the eriba e Lombe and spend a brief time. He died of brain fever in the Methodist Mission of San Carlos (died at San Carlos from brain fever, April 22, 1879, Natanael Bookock)[1]. Much I would regret it if the same happened to you, but it seems to me the barimó don’t dare hurt our Fathers.”

I responded to her: “Don’t fear, woman, that Lombe will cause me any harm, because God protects me with all of his power.”

The priest or bojiammó who cared for the worship of Lombe was an old nuisance, dirty and repugnant, by the name of Motola. The frequent visits of the missionaries to those heights caused Motola great torment, as he considered that his prestige was in decline. To increase his own standing, he began a rumor among those superstitious people that the spirit Lombe had fled from Balacha to make his residence in Ureka. This news terrified the Balachas. They pleaded to the witch doctor to ask Lombe what caused his flight, and in a few days he brought them the response: Lombe abandoned his lagoon because the Fathers had tried to build a residence in Balacha.

This was all an imposture and astute scheme, because we had a house in Ureka for years. The witch doctor Motola obtained the prestige for which he yearned, and all our pleasure went down a well. But, Motola later died and with his death we regained our former prestige.

This word abba denotes the greatest bojiammó. His residence is on a high mesa, which is the permanent residence of the supreme Bubi king of the island, from which it takes the name. The Europeans call it Moka, in remembrance of the Bubi king Moka who died in March of 1899; but the Bubis call it Riabba, this is, “territory of the abba” or Bubi pontiff.

The abba must feed and permanently preserve the sacred fire brought by primitive Bubis from the neighboring coast of Africa. He must set the dates for religious festivals and the number of sacrifices that they must offer in the days of Siba, Bonoha, Bokottekotte, the Roomo rote, which is celebrated in November before the planting of yams, and for their harvests. He has the high mission of being the natural interpreter of the will of the spirits (bammó), and neither officials nor private persons risk beginning any business of importance without first consulting with the abba. He helps in all the general assemblies, civil as well as religious, and is the supreme religious authority over all civil power.

His office was hereditary. The inheritance did not pass from fathers to sons, but from the eldest of the family to the next most ancient of the same family. Thus, for such an elevated charge, a person experienced, sensible and wise was elected. For his consecration they used almost the same ceremonies or rites that they used in the coronation of the supreme king of the Bubis.

As one of his most serious duties is guarding and preserving the sacred fire, he is not permitted to take long trips, nor to sleep outside of his residence. His foods must be cooked in the sacred fire, and he must not eat deer or mountain goat, as almost all Bubi nobles, because that is considered symbolic of the evil spirit.

At the beginning of yam planting, as we have already said, and in time of harvest, the great men gather to implore the Supreme Being for his blessings to make them prosperous and to give them the proper grace for a good harvest.

Once he has taken possession of the pontificate, it is not legal for him to use arms even for his own defense.

At his death, his children do not inherit his post nor his belongings, but rather the eldest of the priestly family who is most worthy and capable of so honorific charge. The superior chief of the island sends notice of his death to all subordinate chiefs, who by rights must assist in the burial. Thus, then, they are reunited and before the burial they must seat the legitimate heir over the thighs of the cadaver, so that he may receive the spirit of the deceased.

The rites and ceremonies observed in the burial of the abba are almost identical to those we told of in the burial of the notable chiefs. His body is washed and anointed with ntola, adorned with the trappings of his elevated rank, this is, with an infinite variety of amulets. They sacrifice goats, their blood is spread over his body, and his interment is entirely the same as the major chiefs. His grave is made the same, with a tunnel opened between two pits. Before they deposit the cadaver, his legitimate heir must pass underneath the center tunnel. If in his passing the tunnel collapses, it is a bad omen that the successor is neither worthy nor deserving of his predecessor’s position. This ceremony, as one can see, proves to be useless, because if the tunnel is well dug, it will never collapse.

The cadavers of the major chiefs are placed, seated, inside the tunnel grasping a oar; but the cadaver of the abba is placed lying down on the left side. During his interment discharging firearms is rigorously prohibited, while the complete opposite happens in the demise of the chiefs. From the moment of their death until the end of the interment, they do not stop salvos in honor of the soul of the deceased.

Bubi law allows men to have many legitimate spouses (a bari b’eottò) and to bring into their homes all the women friends and concubines (a bari be rijole) who present themselves, who ordinarily would remain widows.

They are considered legitimate spouses, a bari b’eottò, those women for whom the male paid a dowry (a puero loko), which is to say that they were bought. They call them concubines or friends, a bari be rijole, those widows that, having fulfilled the law of widowhood (bokotto or mokondo) for their deceased husbands, remain in complete freedom to approach any male they like, whether he be single or married. The widow remains free of all obligation to the family of her deceased husband. The children from her marriage pass to the dominion of the family of the husband who bought her.

Married men with women whom they bought enjoy all the rights that natural law concedes to a husband over his spouse and to a father over his children.

When men begin marital life with widowed women, the children of such unions, in the northern regions of the island, are the property of the father who engendered them. In the southern districts, if the women did not have children from the man who bought her, she must deliver the first son born to her from the second man to the family of the first. The law declares him his legal father. He will take his last name from the first husband and not from the natural father. Other children born to her are the property of the man who engendered them.

In the southwest territories they follow the same custom as their southern neighbors, with one difference. In the south, they deliver a male only to the family of the husband eotó, and in the southeast they give the first three children born of the second father to the family of the first husband. The rest belong to the natural father.

With respect to matrimonial restrictions, bear in mind that natural family kinship is restricted more than lawful family kinship, and maternal kinship before paternal. They allow marriage between siblings born of a father and a different mother. At times, a polygamist designates his daughter for the wife of his son, if they are not of the same mother, but I have never seen a young man and young woman who have a maternal kinship between them united in marriage.

There are marriages between natural cousins, between uncles and nieces, and vice versa.

Eight days after the birth of a son, they have a family celebration that consists in giving the son the name he will have in infancy, and the Lopurí loe chobo, which is to take out the recently born. The ceremony ends with a small feast.

Wet nurses are totally unknown. If a woman who has just given birth dies, the newborn is fed palm wine that is not fermented, mixed at times with juice extracted from other plants and given with a small spoon. Since they never could reconcile themselves to nourish these infants with goat milk, scarcely any lived to puberty.

It was the duty of the parents to educate, advise, and correct their children. When they were older, if they committed some disrespect against the father, the mother, or someone of the family, they all met together to deal with the punishment that must be imposed on the miscreant. If he refused to carry it out, they informed the village chief, and he condemned him to compulsory work. If, humiliated, he asked for pardon from his family, they admitted him again into their bosom. But, if he remained rebellious and obstinate, the family rejected him, blowing over his forehead and spitting on the ground as signs they detested his abominable conduct. They hurl curses over him worse than those one reads in Psalm 108.

The family real estate amounted to only their palm groves, which they owned. Houses and yam fields, in reality, were not theirs, because fields, annually, were planted on a different site, and the houses, upon the death of notable members of the family, were moved to other places.

Household goods: These consisted of clay and iron kettles and small pots, large buffalo hides used as shields in war, fat bundles of wooden throwing darts, calabashes for water, small, almost-flat dishes made of clay and wood that were used for plates, and three-legged trivets for the kettles. In a corner of the house, surrounded by small sticks, there was the sipanchí, a small pot that held sea water for the household spirits. Lastly, three or four planks, poorly put together, from about twelve to sixteen inches wide and five feet long, served as beds. In the middle of these was the hearth, stout logs burning, fending off cold and mosquitoes.

Farming tools: Today they use iron machetes, axes, pruning shears, and knives, imported by the Europeans, and some stout, pointed sticks of ebale, an extremely strong wood, that they use as picks and hoes. They climb palm trees using their clever arcs of wood. They separate olive pulp from the pit with poles that they call betao or metao, and instead of presses to squeeze the residue from the olives to extract oil, they use their own hands.

Instruments for the hunt: In antiquity, they used strong wooden darts, bechika or mechika, to kill buffalo, deer and antelopes, and they used thick nets (baotte or maonde). To hunt small and medium-sized animals, they used a variety of lassos and traps.

Fishing instruments: For deep-sea fishing there were large and coarse cayucos. To spear larger fish, they hurled wooden darts with a long cord that came from the forest tied to them. For sharp hooks they used fat spines from fish and other animals, and pointed palm ribs. For catching small fish, they used nets made from palm branches (losala) and to catch sardines and crayfish they used woven cones made from palm stalks. To catch eels they used an ingenious lasso. In their antique cayucos were closed compartments filled with sea water to store live fish.

Bubi villages were made up of neighborhoods, some joined, some separated, surrounded by stakes generally made of fern tree trunks. Each neighborhood consisted of families that came from a common branch. The eldest was the neighborhood’s patriarch or chief or mayor, and everyone was subordinate to the village’s main botuku.

On the outskirts of the neighborhood that belonged to the main village chief was a house larger than the rest, with doors on all sides, called the boecha or boencha. It served as lodging for foreigners who spent the night in the village, and also for meetings of the chief and other leaders when they discussed common matters. General assemblies of all the inhabitants were held in the plazas that all settlements of any importance had, in which they celebrated the Buala, Lopo, and other festivals.

Bubi law permitted livestock to go free, wandering without a shepherd, so they enclosed their housing and yam and malanga fields with barriers. If there were no barriers erected, no one had the right to exact reparation from damage caused by livestock; but if a goat or sheep habitually jumped fences, it was slaughtered.

It frequently happened that a yam field was on both sides of a public road, and as the law ordered it to be fenced, a piece of the road was closed inside of the fence. In this case, the owner of the field was required to place a door made of the same material as the fence on both sides of the road, with a knotted rope to secure it. All passing could open it easily, and, having passed, must leave it closed. Others, in order to fulfill the law, built a double staircase of rail and thus avoided the bother of opening and closing a door.

Palm trees (eteddebola) used in the making of wine used to have a small clay pot mounted on a nearby fern trunk. Daily they filled it with new wine, pouring out the old, as a gift to the protective spirits of palm trees, in the hopes they would keep the palm tree from damage.

Just before the entrance to a village on the public road, as we have said before, there was an arch loaded with amulets to impede spirits from harassing the population. In the same manner, on crossroads and on top of the escarpment of a deep ravine, they planted off-shoots from trees, preferably iko, so that transients, upon passing in front of it, could give a simple inclination of the head and a strong stamp of the foot in front of it, and thus the custodial spirits of the road protected them from falling or losing their way.

In large areas they built huts and planted sacred trees, and in the entrance and exit they placed, as in the settlements, arches with amulets. Upon entering them they invoked the spirits saying: Omno ipues’ e riose: “The spirit elevates the area.”

In matrimony, all goods belong to the husband, insofar as the wife brought nothing to the marriage and became a thing bought by the husband. With other good acquired or gained during marriage, the person who gained or acquired them owned them. In this way, between husband and wife, there is complete separation of goods. I heard frequently from men: “This chicken is not mine, it is owned by my wife.” Thus it is with household furniture, etc.

No society exists without laws, nor laws without sanctions, nor sanctions without recompense and punishment. The Bubis, forming a most primitive society, established laws that were quite ingenuous and simple.

The Bubi name for law is biéhété, for recompense it is bahobo or mahomo, for punishment it is beako or meako, for jail, ocharom or ochele, for orders, ntobo or ndomo, and for prisoner or incarcerated, bocho bochò or a le ocharon.

Crimes against religion, such as impiety, blasphemy, and profaning objects appointed for worship of the souls of ancestors, were punished with fines of large numbers of goats, which they sacrifice in compensation to the offended and angry spirits. If lacking goats to sacrifice, they condemned the criminal for a very long time to forced work, and if his constitution was weak and sickly, and he could not work, he was ejected once and for all from the village, carrying with him imprecations and curses from all the inhabitants.

The stubborn and rebellious as we have already indicated were chastised. Adolescents were punished with temporary expulsion from the bosom of the family. The parents or guardians gave notice to the village chief and neighboring settlements so that no one would help him. The youngster, finding himself expelled and dying of hunger, returned to the family home humiliated and prepared to accept whatever penalty.

The criminals of sedition and rebellion were immediately decapitated without trial.

The autocrat Moka condemned a chief of Ruiché of Balacha to this penalty, and sent his lojúa, or army of adventurers, to carry out the execution, but the execution was impeded by a group of ten sailors from the pontoon Ferrolana, led by Father Jaime Pinosa.

Disobedience, irreverence, and lack of due respect for the constituted authority were punished with forced work or fines of four to six goats, two hundred to four hundred yams, and twenty-five to thirty strings of chivo, which they used as money. If the same outrages recurred, they confiscated all their belongings or punished them with expatriation.

For voluntary homicide they applied the talion law. Ordinarily, homicide gave a place to a deep and implacable hatred that led to horrible vengeances between villages and families.

If someone caused trivial wounds to another, they were given no penalty, but if the wounds were serious, they were fined from four to six goats. If the wounds resulted in death, the assailant received capital punishment.

Adulterers received exemplary punishment in a barbaric and savage way. However, it is fitting to know what could be considered adulterous for a Bubi woman in those days. As we all know, in times passed a man, either old or young, could claim a Bubi female as his wife even before her birth. He would pay her dowry in installments to her father or guardian, even if she were ignorant of it. From this moment, she was considered a married woman, and if she was violated by another, they were both judged adulterers, and, therefore, punished as such.

However, it happened sometimes that before the virgin maiden was delivered to her betrothed, he died. In this case, the girl could cohabitate with anyone without being considered adulterous. This is because the Bubi woman could be purchased only one time, by one male.

The woman found guilty of adultery was required to declare her accomplice. If she refused, she was tortured, as I saw in 1911. Once she reported her accomplice, he was forced to repay the offended spouse her dowry, duplicated, that the spouse had paid to the family. If the adulterer lacked material wealth, he was condemned to be suspended from the branches of a tree with his companion in crime, both completely nude. The entire village was present for this torture, and each one had the right to taunt, curse, and beat them with a stick. This torture lasted many long hours. When the offended husband believed it was enough, they cut the cords tying the victims’ wrists with a machete and let the criminals fall senseless to the ground. Few escaped this torture with their life. Some indulgent husbands would not permit their spouses to suffer such torments. It all depended on the will of the injured husband or of the family.

Thieves they punished by requiring them to restore what had been taken or its equivalent in value, with an additional fine equal to the value of that which was taken. If he was insolvent, they condemned him to forced labor and public infamy. Among the Bubis robbers were, in other times, very rare and scarce. It was a sin that few committed and it was held in great infamy.

Slander and false testimonies they penalized with fines of goats, according to the seriousness of the crime. They required public retractions and reparations of the wronged for any successive damage.

In times past, there were no crimes of parricide, infanticide, or abortion on the island.

Children’s mischief in some places was punished with whippings, and, in others, with a long and deep cut in a meaty part of the body, especially in the cheeks.

(By The Rev. Mariano Montolíu, La Guinea Española, numbers 10-X-29, 25-X-29 and 10-XI-29).

Anyone who has lived with the Bubis has admired the enormous ease with which they communicate ideas at a distance with rudimentary apparatuses, whistles, etc. The feat is well known to all, but how is it done?

Is it that they have customary, stylized signals or in reality they actually speak to one another? Yes, friend reader, yes -- they really talk among themselves and communicate ideas and news word by word over great distances, as we have experienced many times.

The Bubis have three speaking instruments: the mpototutu or motutu, the sikèkè, and finally, the flute, chapele or mbeaño.

The mpototutu or motutu is their bugle for orders. It is a four-inch-long, hollow cone with an ordinary hole at its thin end. On the surface, there is an orifice where the player places his lips. To use the motutu, they grasp it at the top with the right hand and blow across the surface hole, opening and closing the small hole on the end with the thumb. It is the Bubi’s most powerful speaking instrument, as it is used to give orders, and in war, to stimulate the combatants. It has only two notes, depending on whether the small end hole is open or closed, which makes it the most imperfect with regard to locution.

To make this apparatus they cut a stick of golden color or light yellow that they call bololo. They part it lengthwise in two pieces, hollow the pieces out, join them with copal resin (bajola), and wrap them securely with thin ropes or cover them well with lizard skin.

The mpototutu and motutu have the same form, but the first is better made and, therefore, more powerful.

The other speaking instrument is the sikèkè. This is the neck of a calabash, and works by applying the lips to its top part while inserting two index fingers in the bottom. The sikèkè is an admirable instrument for communicating, and with the movement of the fingers one gives different tones. With the sikèkè friends salute one other over long distances and maintain animated conversations, communicating their news. This instrument is difficult to play, because it is necessary to blow with great force and requires dexterity.

The mbeaño is a flute made of heavy, strong cane that one finds at high altitudes. It consists of a tube open on both ends, with six holes in the middle. In one end, they make a small incision where they direct air to play it. Although it has a beautiful sound, for them it is not more than an instrument of entertainment and they never use it in dances.

According to the Bubis, this flute may be played only two months during the year, in the months during the yam harvest until clearing begins for new fields, because if one plays in other times, the leaves fall from the new yams before their maturity.

For the greatest variety of sounds, it is the instrument most perfect for locution, as with it they can tell long stories and histories. With the mbeaño they entertain themselves in the nights. They play it moving their fingers very quickly near the mouth, ending the musical phrase in a low, soft and harmonious sound. The flute is not only a musical instrument for the children and young people, but also for the old ones.

One day I found myself in Balacha asking questions about using these instruments, and an expert gave me many explanations and examples so that I could understand, adding: “One can also speak Spanish with this.”

“Let’s see,” I said. “Talk to me in Spanish to see if I can understand something.”

He gave me these sounds: la-sol-sol-la-mi. It appeared to me that I heard the Spanish pitch, but I understood nothing. I asked him: “What did you say?”

“But if you say, for example, ‘I want jackknives[2],’ how would you say it?”

“Oh, one can’t distinguish with this naranja from navaja,” he replied.

According to my own observations, there are three factors in this curious telephony that make intelligible sounds to the ears of the indigenous. They are: syllabic number, verbal twist, and phraseology. In their instruments, they are able to reproduce these three essentials with enough exactness.

Syllabic number: The syllabic number of a word or phrase can be imitated, simply, with the number of sounds or accents (strikes) that an accustomed ear can distinguish perfectly without counting mentally, as with our telegraph. Still, be cautioned that many times when a vowel follows two consonants they rapidly intercalate a sound to emphasize that consonant’s presence. As an example: Alofonoso for Alfonso. In words that begin with two consonants: Mba, mbeano, the first consonant constitutes, really, one syllable. In many words, such as in Bubi the word nna (sound), and nná (name), the difference is only in their accentuation. The same happens with the words oncho (world) and bajmma (mutes). In Bubi telephony, these are treated as three syllables, the accent falling over the mute vowel that conceals itself in oncho, between the o and the n. These same words, in other districts, have well expressed syllables. Thus, elsewhere they say rina (for “sound”) and riná (for “name”). In addition, for more clarity when using a sound apparatus, they do not use some ellipsis that they have in normal conversation.

Accents: These are the second factor. In speaking of them, we exclude those accents that modify vowel pronunciation. This applies to the syllables that they pronounce with great force, since these can be expressed with any apparatus. And, of course, the indigenous languages have many accents: There are words with two and three accents. This joins forces with the greater or lesser celerity with which they pronounce certain syllables and even words. Thus, in the word ebelo (time), they pronounce the e a little elongated, and the other, or belo, they say rapidly, although the accent falls on be.

Tonal language: They say that in China they talk as if singing. I have never heard Chinese, but I am inclined to think that in the Chinese language one will find that singing to be similar to the language of these indigenous. Their language has a pitch for each particular word, and if they don’t say that word in its own pitch, it appears they lose its meaning. Thus, for example, the word sokó (news) must be pronounced with the tone (sol-la); if one says (sol-fa) soko, it instead means “ramrod.” The same happens with the word Potó (God) and potó (thank you). Potó (God) has this pitch: sol-fa, and potó (thank you) this other: fa-sol.

Clearly, those of us working in these areas don’t become grammarians or reach perfection in their language. At times, some of us speak to them in their language, and they graciously answer that they don’t understand Spanish. Of course, they had heard our tone and they had figured that we spoke to them in Spanish. But, paying closer attention to the pronunciation of our words, they then could understand what we said.

In our language, we don’t have verbal tone, only tones within phrases, which vary greatly according to our pronunciation emphasis and the state of our animation, while in the indigenous language the tone of the phrase is much more fixed and invariable. They shout, accelerate the pronunciation, throw in their interjections; but, fundamentally, you hear the same tone from them.

Who has not observed that tone so characteristic with which they say to us in African English: I not know, that corresponds in music to mi-sol-fa. I not know, and similar phrases, they say with the same sing-song. In my view, this may be the reason the subtleties in our most artistic music, that which enraptures us, do not strike them in the same way. In hearing such music, they will not reach that state of placidity, that supplicant or amorous state, perhaps because their phrasing does not modulate according to the state of animation, but only according to the words that one says.

Instead, while certainly at times they enter warlike or highly animated states, they express their emotional state through how fast or slow they speak and with shouting. This explanation omits what is spoken, but always the words one speaks will be the greatest revelation of his emotional state.

All of the elements in vocal conversation of which we have spoken are not so perceptible in their artificial conversation. Without the use of pronunciation, the most expressive element of all, they must use other exaggerated means.

In addition, one must be advised that to communicate ideas one makes with his customary words and phrases, in translating to another language, the idea may not communicate well word-for-word. Thus, for example, if we had called to someone, a little late, and wanted to tell him to go quickly, they will not say to him as we would say: “Quickly, man!” but, rather, they will say: “You are very, very late,” o ombi lomolomo (sol-la-la-mi).

When they tell a story, they always tell it by set paces, following the same thread. To this, one must add that these languages do not have that great diversity of expressions and words found in ours.

In addition, they have many useful expressions, quite varied among the different Bubi districts, that help them express what they want to say. And they never begin to talk until they have heard the attention signal from the other interlocutor. This is the same as we do in our telephony. After each phrase they give a signal that they have finished, unless it is a generally understood question or proclamation.

When a word is something rare, they give an explanatory phrase. Thus: if they ask for ink, they ask for ink for writing; if they say “cane” on the motutu, they say “cane that one walks with,” etc. If one tries to call to someone, if the first name is easily confused, they will add the last name.

But, they don’t have something for pronunciation? In Bubi instruments, which are wind instruments, there is a distinction between strong and soft consonants; but in their speaking instruments, they don’t have such distinction. Thus, for example, these two names: Sieritché and Moatitché, la-sol-la, la-sol-la. They distinguish Sieritché as it passes softly from the “la” to the “sol,” while Moatitché attacks the three syllables as saying: tu-tu-tu.

Nonetheless, I don’t believe that I completely investigated how these curious apparatuses function. To best understand, one must have one of the instruments in hand and in front of his face. Nonetheless, it is quite certain that the Bubis communicate the news, whatever it may be, with such instruments.

[1] [The parenthetical note is by Father Aymemí, no reference given, printed in italicized English as if lifted from an official record. Trans.]

[2] [Navaja is Spanish for "jackknife" and naranja is "orange." Trans.]