Spiritual Encounters

In a recent group conversation with Souleye Diallo, the 50-something, gray-haired academic director of our program, someone asked, "Souleye, have we ever been in the midst of danger here in Senegal? Have you ever been scared for us?" To my horror and complete surprise, Souleye turned to me and said, "Clare, I was afraid for your life in Iwol."

Iwol is an old Bedik village on the top of a mountain near Kedougou. The Bediks are animists-- they fled the spread of Islamicism, clinging to rocky, remote mountaintops and their traditions like the bois sacré. Iwol's the poorest village we visited, but also the most richly spiritual. The place is full of ancient baobabs and secrets.

When we climbed the mountain to Iwol almost a month ago, I experienced a strange occurance-- but I didn't hear the full story until last week. In Iwol, we were playing on one of the gargantuan, too-big-to-be-true baobabs. I had broken away from the group and climbed a bit further when I was stung by a bee on the side of my face. I shrieked and jumped down. Souleye yelled to me with eerie immediacy from across the field. He instructed me to walk towards him, slowly, with my arms in front of me, zombie-style. The bee, meanwhile, would just not go away. He was still buzzing around my face, buzzing right in my ear. When I reached the cluster of huts where Souleye stood, three Bedik villagers surrounded me. They chanted softly and moved their hands around me in gentle orbits. Moments passed. I stood shocked and frozen, my face still smarting from the sting. Finally, the buzzing grew distant-- the villagers had distracted the bee from me to Souleye. With the bee now hovering Souleye, he walked away slowly and told me to sit down, be calm, and tell the other students who came to check on me to stay away. After a few minutes of confused silence, I caught up with the rest of the group and hiked down the mountain. I forgot entirely about the bee and the strange Bedik chanting I had witnessed.

I forgot, that is, until Souleye recounted the whole story. Before we visited Iwol, the chef du village was furiously yelling at his son -- typical for a father, but tone of voice has greater implications for a leader who has inhereted spiritual enigmas through generations of animist Bedik chiefs. Apparently, the chief of Iwol has inhereted the ability to vocally summon the bees, to assemble them for attack-- because of his anger, the chief threatened to call them. Souleye bribed the chief with money and cola nuts; the chief lowered his voice and calmed the aggravated bees by the time we arrived in Iwol. But when I was stung, Souleye was terrified that the chief had gone back on his promise and that, as an innocent bystander with unfortunate proximity, I would be attacked by the hordes of summoned bees. The Bedik villagers who chanted over me "called off" the bee attack, and maybe that's why I'm still here in one piece, relatively unwounded.

Lesson learned: Ancient vestiges of spirituality invade through unexpected channels. Bees. It's the belief in communication between human and animal, and the deep connection implied.