As soon as our elders had made sure that no intruder was present to disturb the seriousness of the ceremony, we left the town behind and entered the bush by a path which leads to a sacred place where each year the initiation takes place. The place is well know; it is situated under an enormous bambox tree, a hollow at the junction of the River Komoni and the River Niger. At normal times, it is forbidden to go there; but certainly it had not always been so, an emanation from the past I never knew still seems to hover around the huge trunk of the bambox tree; I think that a night such as the one we were going through must certainly have resurrected a part of that past.
We were walking in silence, closely hemmed in by our elders. perhaps they were afraid we might escape? It looked like it. I do not think, however, that the idea of escape had occurred to any of us; the night, and that particular night, seem impenetrable. Who knew where Kondén Diara had his lair? Who knew where he was prowling? But was it not right here near the hollow? Yes, it must be here. And if we had to face him - and certainly we had to face him - it would surely be better to do so in a crowed, in this jostling group that seemed to make us all one, and seemed like a last refuge from the peril that was approaching.
Nevertheless, however intimate our jostling proximity to one another, and however careful the vigilance of our elders, it could not be denied that the silence of our progress, after the recent uproar, as we marched far from the huts through the wan moonlight, and even more, the thought of the sacred place towards which we were going, and, finally and above all, the concealed presence of Kondén Diara - all these things filled us with terror.
Just before we reached the hollow, we saw flames leap up from a huge wood fire that the bushes had hidden from us until then. Kouyaté squeezed my arm and I knew he was referring to the fire. I quickened my steps - we all quickened our steps - and the crimson radiance of the fire enveloped us. We had a harbour now, a kind of haven from the night: a huge blaze, and, at our backs, the bambox tree's enormous trunk. Oh! it was a precarious haven! But, however poor, it was infinitely better than the silence and the dark, the sullen silence of the dark. We assembled beneath the bambox tree. The ground beneath had been cleared of reeds and tall grasses.
Our elders suddenly shouted, 'Kneel!'
We at once fell to our knees.
'Heads down!'
We lowered our heads.
'Lower than that!'
We bent our heads right to the ground, as if in prayer.
'Now hide your eyes!'
We don't have t be told twice; we shut our eyes tight and press our hands over them. For would we not dies of fright and horror if we should see, or so much as catch a glimpse of Kondén Diara? Our elders walk up and down, behind us and in front of us, to make sure that we have all obeyed their orders to the letter. Woe to him who would have the audacity to disobey! He would be cruelly whipped.
Now that we are on our knees with our foreheads to the ground and our hands pressed over our eyes, Kondén Diara's roaring suddenly bursts out.
We were expecting to hear this hoarse roar, we were not expecting any other sound, but it takes us by surprise, and shatters us, freezes our hearts with its unexpectedness. And it is not only a lion, it is not only Kondén Diara roaring: there are ten, twenty, perhaps thirty lions that take their lead from him, uttering their terrible roars and surrounding the hollow; ten or thirty lions separated from us by a few yards only and that the great wood fire will perhaps not always keep at bay; lions of every size and every age - we can tell that by the way they roar - from the very oldest lions to the very youngest cubs. No, not one of us would dream of venturing to open an eye, not one! Not one of us would dare to lift his head from the ground: he would rather bury it in the earth. And I bend down as far as I can: we all bend down farther, we bend our knees as much as we can, we keep our backs as low as possible; I make myself, we all make ourselves as small as we can.
'You must not be afraid!' I told myself. 'You must conquer your fear! Your father told you to overcome your fear!' But how could I not be afraid? Even inside the town, far from this clearing, women and children were trembling and crouching in their huts; they were listening to Kondén Diara roaring, many of them were stopping their ears so as not to hear him roaring; a few bolder spirits might be getting up - it needs some courage to leave one's bed just now - to make quite sure that their hut door is closed, to make quite sure that it is securely bolted and barred; nevertheless they are still as frightened as anyone else. How can I possibly not give way to my terror, I who am within reach of this monster? If is so pleased him, he could leap right through the fire and plunge his terrible claws into my flesh!
Not for a single instant do I doubt the presence of the monster. Who could assemble such a numerous herd, hold such a nocturnal revel, if not Kondén Diara? 'He alone,' I said to myself, 'he alone has such power over lions...Keep away, Kondén Diara! Keep away! Go back into the bush! ...' But Kondén Diara went on with his revels and sometimes it seemed to me that he roared right over my own head, right in my own ears even. 'Keep away, I implore thee, Kondén Diara!'
What was it my father had said? 'Kondén Diara roars; but he won't do more than roar; he will not take you away....' Yes, something like that. But is it true, really true? there is also a rumour that Kondén Diara sometimes pounces with fearsome claws on someone or other and carries him far away, far, far away into the depths of the bush; and then, days and days afterwards, months or even years later, quite by chance a huntsman may discover some whitened bones.... And do not people also die of fright? ... Ah! how I wish this roaring would stop! How I wish... How I wish I was far away from this clearing, back in the concession, in the warm security of the hut! ... Will this roaring never end? ... Go way, Kondén Diara! Go away! ... Stop roaring... Oh, those roars! ... I feel as if I can bear them no longer....
Whereupon, suddenly they stop! They stop just as they had begun, so suddenly, in fact, that I feel only reluctant relief. Is it over? Really over? Is it not just a temporary interruption? ... No, I dare not feel relieved just yet. And then suddenly the voice of one of the older boys rings out:
'Get up!'
I heave a sigh of relief. This time, it's really over. We look at one another. I look at Kouyaté and the others. If there were only a little more light... But the light from the fire is sufficient: great drops of sweat are still beading our foreheads: yet the night is chill.... yes, we were afraid. We were not able to conceal our fear....
A new command rang out, and we sat down in front of the fire. Now our elders begin our initiation; all night long they will teach us the songs of the uncircumcised; and we must remain quite still, repeating the words after them, singing the melody after them; there we sit, as if we were in school again, attentive, very attentive, and very obedient.
Our lessons ended with the dawn.
My legs and arms were numb; I worked my joints and rubbed my legs for a while, but my blood still flowed slowly; I was really worn out, and I was cold. Looking round me, I could not understand why I shook with fear during the night: the first rays of dawn were falling so gently, so reassuringly, on the bambox tree, on the clearing; the sky looked so pure! Who could believe that only a few hours ago a whole herd of lions, led by Kondén Diara himself, had been angrily roaring among these tall reeds and grasses, separated from us only by a wood fire which now was almost dead? No one would have believed it, and I should have doubted the evidence of my own ears and thought I was waking up from a bad dream, if one or the other of my companions had not now and then cast a suspicious glance at the tallest grasses.
