René Maran, Batouala. Barbara Beck and Alexandre Mboukou, translators. Heinemann, 1921/1987.
The son of a member of the French colonial service, René Maran was born in Martinique, spent time in Gabon where his father was stationed, and attended a boarding school in Bordeaux. Like his father, he went on to serve in the colonial service, in French Equatorial Africa. Batouala is his first novel, and it is based on his experiences in Africa. It won the Prix Goncourt in 1921; the first time a Black writer had done so. Maran revised the original novel in 1937 to be franker and more explicit, more in keeping with his original vision. This 1987 translation is based on the 1937 rewriting. Maran is a precursor to the negritude movement of the 1930s, cited as an important influence by the likes of Aime Cesaire. The novel is part of Heinemann’s African Writers Series and its Caribbean Writers Series, the only Heinemann book I’ve encountered that is part of both.
Batouala is the earliest piece of twentieth century African literature that I have read. Like Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart (1958), it is a village novel, but there are significant differences between the two. Achebe frames his story as a tragedy, a form familiar to western audiences. The main character, Okonkwo, is a village chief who is energetic, unbending, and angry, and people, even his family, fear him because of his quick temper and proclivity for violence. The characteristics which make him a strong and successful, if not particularly likable, leader, are at the core of his downfall when he faces colonial interference (governmental, religious, military) in tribal life. Okonkwo is not adaptable to a changing world.
While the eponymously named Batouala also centers on a tribal chief, Maran takes a very different approach to his portrayal, for Batouala is liked by almost everyone. He does not lead through fear but by inspiring love and admiration. He can be energetic and hardworking, but he also loves idleness and rituals. Okonkwo is never idle, and he barely tolerated tribal rituals, because they forced him to change his daily behavior and adapt to the larger communal needs of the tribe. Batouala loves to eat, drink, and smoke. He is extroverted and voluble, and he enjoys the company of others, which is why he finds communal rituals so satisfying. Both Maran and Achebe spend much time describing daily life (hunting, food preparation, etc.), but whereas Batouala readily integrates into those rhythms Okonkwo battles to dominate them. For Batouala the world is pretty easy, while for Okonkwo it is always a struggle. Batouala’s greatest flaw is his jealousy.
In the first few chapters, Maran creates a sense of the good life. In the morning Batouala wakes slowly, satisfied to slumber longer. He is content and confident. The narrative also focuses on Yassigui’inda, the first of Batouala’s nine wives. She too is confident, and she lives an independent life with a great deal of autonomy. She does not seem to fear her husband. The other figure introduced in the morning scene is Batouala’s dog, Djouma, who for all his dedication to his master also maintains a certain independence. Maran gives Djouma an almost human consciousness. Actually, Maran gives all the animals in the book, and there are quite a few, an anthropomorphised autonomy. All the characters maneuver in this imaginary world as equals. Maran offers an integrated whole, with one exception, the French colonials, who disrupt what otherwise seems like an idyllic space.
With one exception in the middle of the book, when the local French commandant shows up with soldiers, Maran makes colonial power felt primarily through the complaints of Batouala and the other villagers. Whites have successfully colonized the region, and the locals–the people are called the Banda–have submitted grumblingly to French rule. I say grumblingly, but in those grumbles Maran levels many criticisms at the French and colonial rule (racism, cluelessness, an unwillingness to understand or engage with the colonized). That said, Maran portrays Batouala et. al. in a kind of bubble, with the colonizers at arm’s length. In contrast, the British colonizers in Things Fall Apart become a more invasive presence as the novel progresses, ramping up the tensions and conflicts.
Batouala is a much gentler novel. The central event is a male circumcision/female excision ceremony (Ga’nza). The main conflicts are sexual, primarily Batouala’s jealousy over the developing relationship between his lead wife and his best friend, Bissibi’ngui. Everyone is happy with Batouala’s announcement of the ceremony, which, besides being an important coming of age ritual, also promises to be a big party with plenty of food and drink. Batouala is so happy with his decision that he goes off hunting, and his friend Bissibi’ngui takes advantage of his absence to visit Batouala’s nine wives and make a play for Yassigui’inda. As portrayed by Maran, monogamy is not necessarily a fundamental value. Yassigui’inda and other comment that it is okay, even good, for women to be with other men, as long as the other men gift the husband a little something. Batouala, though, may be more jealous than other husbands and assert his proprietary rights more forcefully. It is not clear that Batouala will assert his rights but only that he may. Mahan ameliorates the conflicts in the novel. Rather than letting them explode in climactic scenes, Mahan finds ways to soften, distract, or turn aside interpersonal conflicts. While there is an obvious division between the Banda and the French colonial authority, Mahan clearly does not want to explore intractable divisions within the Banda. Thus, when Batouala returns, everyone is happy, even Bissibi’ngui, who has to cool his jets and wait for another opportunity. The internal social order holds.
Yassigui’inda is off next morning for a tryst with Bissibi’ngui. A she walks through the forest with no weapon to protect her, she muses on her freedom to find sexual satisfaction. Her husband is older, and once a day is not necessarily satisfying enough. She is attracted to Bissibi’ngui, but she also wonders if he is too young and sharp and ignorant. She gets distracted and is almost pounced on by a panther just as her husband and Bissibi’ngui come along to drive off the panther. No one is injured or dies in the panther attack, but Batouala is suspicious. Maran diverts from a potentially significant plot development to a little character tension.
At the Ga’nza ceremony, everyone gathers far away from the eyes of the colonial government. There is much dancing, drinking, and eating. Much time is spent on complaints about the white man; they don’t like our food, our ways; they don’t like us; we should have wiped them out when they arrived. But now the characters simply accept the dominance of the colonizers, even grudgingly pay taxes. Maran’s tone is not of mourning or loss but complaint and resignation. And the characters are still in a bubble. The coming of age ceremony has been in place time out of mind. The boys and girls who are going to be circumcised and excised have been away from everyone in the bush. There is much drinking, eating, dancing, chanting, and noise. Maran portrays the chaotic nature of the ceremony, and in the midst of it all the boys are circumcised and the girls excised. Maran acknowledges the fear and pain. His purpose, though, is not to criticize the practice but to realistically render the actions of the participants, which includes describing the dogs eating the excised/circumcised parts. I’d note that given the current global movement to end female genital mutilation, a contemporary reader may find his “objective” rendering of the ceremony objectionable Afterwards, everyone is naked and pairs up, including Bissibi’ngui and Yassigui’inda. An orgy is the culmination of the ceremony for the community, although Batouala is so jealous that he chases Bissibi’ngui and Yassigui’inda out of the orgy. Batouala spends a lot of time on sex, heterosexuality really. I can see why the original 1920s audience might have been shocked, and why readers today might question Maran’s portrayal of binary sexuality. The scene ends when the colonial commandant shows up with soldiers and guns–the only time white men appear in the book–and everyone scatters. The commandant is disgusted by what he sees and has heard. For him, to use a western reference, this Dionysian ceremony is just a sign of African barbarity, a sign of the necessity of ruling over “these people.” Nonetheless, this is the sole moment of an active white presence in the novel. Maran does not take it as a lever to ramp up colonizer/colonized conflict.
Conflict in the rest of the book remains within the tribe. Bissibi’ngui knows that Batouala remains upset with him, and he is wary. He believes that he will be killed by Batouala or that he will kill Batouala. One night, Bissibi’ngui is walking through the bush with a torch and weapons when he encounters Batouala, his mother, and the dog Djouma, who loves Bissibi’ngui. Open hostility does not break out between the two men. Instead, Batouala tells stories to demonstrate his superior cultural knowledge and bully Bissibi’ngui a bit, telling him finally that he won’t live long and that men should stop visiting their neighbor’s wives. Bissibi’ngui is reserved and defensive, and there is a threat of violence in the air, but then some other men show up, and Bissibi’ngui stops worrying about being killed. Again, Maran consistently follows the pattern of diluting and diverting conflict.
The book ends with a big hunt, involving all the men in the tribe. It is a ritual event that begins with storytelling, in particular Batouala’s story of the white hunter who was not smart enough to put enough space between himself and the elephant he shoots, who runs at the hunter and gores him to death. Poor ignorant white man who does not know how to hunt an elephant (Chuckle Chuckle). The story reinforces the men’s sense of their superiority over the colonizers. The hunt itself is signaled by lighting the bush on fire to flush out the game. Unfortunately, a panther running from the flames slashes Batouala’s stomach. The other hunters put him under a tree and go on with the hunt, and by the time they get him back home it is too late. No remedies work, and Batouala dies a slow, painful death, although his jealousy pushes him to get up one last time to harass Bissibi’ngui and Yassigui’inda.
Although Maran sets up the possibility that Batouala could be killed by a colonizer’s bullet or Bissibi’ngui’s knife, instead he is killed by nature or circumstance or, perhaps, neglect. As throughout the rest of the book, Maran cools conflict and tension. In Batouala, Maran does not write a great tragedy or an epic clash between cultures, but a lower case ordinary story of a particular set of people in a particular place. It reads as if Maran wanted to write a story of the Banda before the effects of colonialism became too pronounced.