Masques Dogons in a changing world.

At a lecture I gave in 1998, the image of contemporary Dogon masquerade (Fig. 2) incited shock amongst my audience. In place of the timeless image captured by Huet in the 1970s of a line of mask dancers suspended in space (Fig. 1), the contemporary kanaga performer wore trainers, and writing now covered the once-stark, monochromatic headpiece. This (one particularly vocal member of my audience proclaimed) was a defamation of a once-great masking tradition: How could I stand up and talk about it with such enthusiasm?

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Ever since the studies in the 1930s of Marcel Griaule and his team, Dogon people have gained worldwide attention for their spectacular masking traditions. Seventy years on, with the annual exodus and return of young men to cities seeking work, with the influx of tourism, increasing desertification, and most significantly with the penetration of Christianity and Islam and developments in national politics, the Dogon region is somewhat altered. So how has the masquerade tradition responded to such change?

The history of Dogon masquerade has been one of constant adaptation. In Griaule's now-classic account, Masques Dogons (1938), mask performances were described in connection with post-burial rites for important elders, rites for the protection of fruit crops, and at corrective rites, referred to as puro, curbing the behavior of women. Recent research by Jolly (1995) and myself (2004) reveals that the range of events at which masks danced was likely to have been even more diverse. Today, to the south of the region in an area "undiscovered" by Griaule, is a surviving tradition of masked performance in connection with ancient fertility rites (Jolly 1995:593); to the north, miniature wooden headpieces are worn by young boys to rid their village of outbreaks of disease (Richards 2004:108); and at the heart of the Bandiagara escarpment, an elaborate cycle of leaf masquerades--described by Griaule in passing as a mere game (Griaule 1938a:269-74)--still has to be performed before the farming season can begin (Richards 2004:100-106; Fig. 3).

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With the establishment of colonial rule and, subsequently, Malian independence, the scope of masked performances expanded shortly after colonialization in 1920 to cater for Europeans visiting the region. By the late twentieth century, masks welcomed visiting dignitaries on the occasion of official openings (of schools, clinics, roads, and even churches) and were increasingly performed for an entirely foreign audience overseas, in theatres as far afield as Hong Kong, Egypt, and London (Fig. 4).

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Over the past century, Dogon traditions of masquerade have been recognized by scholars as providing an open system of accumulation and change essential for the masks' survival. Yet paradoxically the very aspects of the masks evolution that have proved the strength of the tradition and its ability to survive into the twenty-first century have been taken by outsiders as proof of the masks' decline. In the course of this paper, I am going to examine the evolution of the mask tradition in the face of some of the major social, religious, political, and environmental changes of the last century and the often contrasting response of Dogon people and outsiders.

Before I commence, some clarification of categories would perhaps be helpful: In the past century, the literature has persisted in dividing Dogon mask practice into two clearly defined categories: first, that which fulfills what is seen by scholars as the "original" purpose (i.e., for post-burial rituals), and second, that in which masked performances have been adapted to cater for foreign audiences. Terms such as "traditional" (1) and "adapted," (2) "ethnic" (3) and "theatrical," (4) "sacred" (5) and "profane," (6) "ritual" (7) and "tourist" (8) have been frequently applied to dances that occur. However it is important to recognize that the (somewhat old-fashioned) structuralist paradigm that emerges here has served to trap scholars into writing about Dogon masquerade in a manner that makes no sense to Dogon people and, furthermore, fails to take account of the more complex nature of both historical and current realities. In "reality," tradition is itself open to adaptation, a quality that in fact guarantees its survival; all mask performers are "ethnic" (i.e., indigenous); dances commanded by tourists often attract an "ethnic" audience; and "ritual" (i.e., formalized patterns of behavior) (9) inevitably pervades all masquerade performance, given the rules to which the dancers must adhere. Most importantly, however, all such performances are referred to by Dogon people as imina go and occur within the remit of the mask association. Clearly, therefore, in order to move beyond a simplistic and thus misleading labeling of what "the Dogon" do, it is necessary to establish how Dogon people themselves refer to the range of masquerade performances that occur today and to clarify just what differences are remarked upon locally.

The area identified as Dogon country spans roughly 50,000 square kilometers (19,305 square miles) of southeast Mall, with a population of approximately 400,000. Griaule's research focused on villages at the heart of the region, an area dominated by the Bandiagara escarpment, where today those practicing the indigenous religion are still identified as being in the majority. Today in the village of Sangha, where the majority of Griaule's research was based, masked dances are still the highlight of elaborate post-burial rites. In the peak holiday season, masked performances for visiting tourists also take place up to three times daily in return for a fee. While the same masks may be worn in all contexts of performance, there are three main factors noted by locals as distinguishing dances for tourists (Fig. 5) from those performed at the yimu yaana and dama post-burial rites (Figs. 6, 8). First, the location is different: Dances requested by tourists take place on the edge of the village, since to dance in the public place for anything other than a funerary rite is perceived as provoking bad luck. Second, the length and content of performance is altered: The lack of audience participation means that dances are short in duration and the more performative masks such as the hunter, which require audience understanding and interaction, are replaced by the more spectacular masks such as the sirige (Fig. 7) and kanaga. Finally, locals distinguish between the aesthetic appearance of the masks: Masks danced for tourists are often in a state of disrepair in contrast to the bright and shiny aesthetic that pervades at the dama.

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Griaule's response to the evolution of the masking tradition for "visitors of note" was wholly derogatory. He wrote:</p> <pre> This secular activity ... is not without gravely compromising the [mask] institution's character.... From the truly religious affair that it was, useful and meaningful in every detail, the mask tends to become an accessory of a spectacle without greatness (Griaule 1938b:818). </pre> <p>Imperato later cited this quote, but nonetheless was the first to note that in fact the presence or absence of a local audience in any performance context contributed to the quality of the event (Imperato 1971:71). In villages off Griaule's beaten track, where dances for tourists are less commonplace, and even in Sangha when important VIPs arrive, such performances are still a novelty: A large crowd gathers, a vociferous audience engages critically with the ongoing performance, and the masked dance, as locals note, takes on the character of rites for local consumption where performances last several hours.

The introduction of an annual mask festival by the Cultural Mission in Bandiagara in 2000 has had the unanticipated effect of attracting more local people than tourists. Initially conceived as an afternoon "Festival des danses et de masques" that tourists would pay to attend, the event now attracts hundreds of masked participants from all of the surrounding villages and as such has become highly competitive, with local audiences flocking to attend and give their views on the best performance. Clearly, in these contexts for performance, the mask provides (to again quote Griaule 1938b:818) a "useful and meaningful" opportunity to acquire social prestige and affirm one's Dogon identity.

There is a perpetuation by some Western texts that the Dogon area remained a stronghold of indigenous beliefs until "comparatively recent times" (De Mott 1979:15). In reality, by the late nineteenth century Islam had already been adopted by inhabitants to the west of the plateau (Brasseur 1968:376). By the late 1940s, in addition to a mosque, a Protestant mission had also been installed in Sangha. In villages today where the majority of the inhabitants are either Christian or Muslim, the adoption of what are still referred to locally as "nouveau religions" has been held responsible for a perceived demise of the mask association and the post-burial rites at which masks appear. As one Muslim said, "The attachment of masks, that is for the people who don't pray." (10) A Catholic man told me, "Muslims and masks don't get on ... Muslims and Christians can't get mixed up with masks, not ever." (11) Scholars have emphasized this view. Imperato stated in 1971 that "In the view of Muslims and Christians, these dances have neither meaning nor purpose and are logically discarded along with the communal activities once associated with their performance" (Imperato 1971:28).

Yet in reality such views represent an ideal that contrasts with a perhaps surprising degree of flexibility in practice. Formerly all men (with the exception of smiths, leatherworkers, and griots) were obliged to make a payment of grain to the elders at the head of the village in order to gain the right to approach and dance masks and to have masks dance at their I post-burial rites. Nowadays entrance among masks is left to individuals. Nonetheless, among those who have converted to Christianity and Islam, many continue to participate as a sign of entry to manhood not readily discarded and as a mark of respect for the elders, thereby indicating their commitment to village life.

In the face of Christianity and Islam, it is important to understand the reality that Dogon masks in fact represent. The significance of the masks dancing on the roof of the deceased at post-burial rites (Fig. 9) has been greatly emphasized in the literature, beginning with Griaule (1938b:342). Subsequent works appear to have taken for granted the essential function of the masks as a material support for the "soul" released upon death (Marti 1957:75). Most recently, Bilot echoed Griaule (1938b:344), noting: "From the ritual point of view, the departure of the soul is assured by a masked dance executed on the terrace of the deceased's house" (Bilot 2001:43). In the course of my research, while masks were acknowledged as harboring a powerful energy referred to as nyama, it was denied that the mask mediated in the manner of mask altars. Only one informant (a mask dancer and tourist guide), acknowledged that the dancing of masks on the roof of the deceased "put the soul to rest." (12) Now, it is entirely possible that I spent nine months in the field asking the wrong questions, but the popular justification for the masks' appearance was straightforward: Masks provide a display of Dogon tradition and, by dancing on the roofs of the deceased and in the public place, honor those who have died. The rites to ensure the departure of the soul were undertaken at the dead of night, by a handful of elders, with no masks present. Clearly the public performance of masks in this context provides the ceremonial framing for more significant ritual events.

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Some Muslims and Christians (particularly Protestants) follow the "fundamentalist" line established by early missionaries and marabouts. Contact with imina, described (in French) as a fetische equal in status to other indigenous altars, is to be avoided. While Christianity and Islam each provide a judgement of what is acceptable, individuals may vary in their understanding of this. (The point here is that the more "fundamentalist" position is not necessarily the most orthodox.) In any case, the extent of participation is a matter for individual consciences, some of which seem to be more elastic than others.

Many Muslims and Christians continue to participate in both post-burial and celebrational rites. For others, participation in the latter only is seen to be acceptable: Individuals consider themselves to be at less risk of exposure to dugu (sorcery) at these rites and, because of this, the protective measures often undertaken by individuals prior to the post-burial rites, usually involving some form of blood sacrifice, are not deemed necessary. Continued masked participation in post-burial rites is facilitated by the fact that the most problematic elements are the core rites, which do not involve masked performance. Given the emphasis on masked spectacle in all contexts for masked performance (with key rituals occurring in private), the masquerade tradition is able to fulfill a new role, as a celebration of shared identity among people of diverse beliefs.

With increased desertification, young Dogon men are often forced to seek work in cities further afield. These men return with enthusiasm for important mask ceremonies taking place in their home villages yet reinvent masks in terms of urban novelty. In this context, the mask itself now provides an opportunity for individual prestige display and new materials acquired in local markets and urban centers further afield are imaginatively incorporated into the masks' attire. Examples such as the puloyaana headpiece in Figure 10 were bedecked with pill packets and recycled monosodium glutamate wrappers, its tresses sparkling with cut-up strips of sardine cans in a manner imitative of the ornate hairstyles of Fulani women today. Dancers with financial means adorn themselves with jewelry and metal wrist watches; multicolored fibers dyed with artificial inks are accessorized with studded leather belts, beneath which (alongside the traditional indigo) are now worn shorts, trainers, and even freshly pressed t-shirts and vests; and writing may be used to draw attention to the name and education of the wearer (Fig. 11). From a mask in which the wearer's identity was formerly effaced, it is now visibly promoted.

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The incorporation of imported materials and foreign-style attire is a continuation of the existing tradition of beautification that provokes no objection among local consumers. Yet, once again, scholars have persisted in regarding all observed changes in the formal qualities of the masks as evidence of decline. Griaule noticed with dismay the use of artificial inks and an increasing schematization in sculpted form (Griaule 1938b:816); Imperato similarly drew upon changes in style--increased naturalism, the use of commercial oil paints, and "an overall slackening of attention in the making of costumes" (Imperato 1971:69)--to build up a picture of a mask society whose "structure is weakening" (Imperato 1971:31).

As Schapiro made clear (1953:296), style is too unpredictable to be usefully paralleled with cultural progress or decline. Moreover my own fieldwork (1994-2000) (13) revealed that the development of styles was occurring with marvellous complexity, aspects of which were commented on locally. In some cases, changes were incremental, the details of existing forms, as observed by Griaule, having altered gradually over time, as the same form was copied again and again. For example, the mouthpiece of the kanaga mask of Sangha (formerly conical) now curves upward, its tip touching the nasal section. For other wooden and fiber mask forms, more clearly perceptible inventions of detail could be identified, such as the addition of fiber crests and fake magical medicine to the adagaye (robber) masks of Banani. Such changes, though barely perceptible to the unaccustomed eye, were remarked upon by local people when showed photos of pieces in Griaule's collection. (14)

Griaule's observation of an overall schematization was questionable to begin with. By contrast, an increasing naturalism between Griaule's time and the present was recognized by certain local people. This was an observation that I found to be accurate, in particular with mask types such as the satimbe (sister of the masks; Figs. 12-13). Compared with headpieces collected by Griaule, contemporary examples such as this displayed a greater degree of detail and decoration and were locally acknowledged and preferred for looking "more like the real thing," i.e., an ideal type of the mask. With regard to wooden headpieces, people spoke of an overall improvement in carving skills, attributed directly to the economic incentive to make masks for sale to tourists. Significantly, the aforementioned masks tend today to be the work of the smith or specialist. Thus, within a context where it is in the interest of all men to learn to carve well, the skills of the smith have developed accordingly, and his services therefore continued to be required.

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Where performances for tourists were concerned, Imperato noted the constant adaptation of masked performances and attire to suit tourist requirements. More recently, however, in Sangha, modifications have taken on a self-consciously traditionalist slant that is worth examining. In 1996, elders who accompanied the masks and those in the orchestra of drums and singers would only be paid if dressed in what is locally referred to as "traditional" attire: indigo robes, trousers, and straw hats. Youths were required to be bare-chested.

Clothed on the bottom in baggy indigo trousers, they were forbidden from wearing Western style t-shirts and shorts beneath their fiber mask costumes. In Sangha, aspects of the traditionalist approach manifested in performances for tourists appear to have carried over into their own performance domain, and changes identified as having occurred in more remote villages have here remained in check. Kanaga masks are devoid of any writing, and their head-coverings continue to be plaited, in contrast to the newer trend of using imported sack-cloth. The range of more than fifty different mask types recorded as being in use by Griaule in Sangha alone has been reduced to a core of twenty or so different types, of which one of the few more recent inventions--a mask representing a tourist using a camera--has already fallen into disuse. Most noticeably, where the mask fibers are concerned, while imported inks are used, the rigid tricolored code of black, red, and yellow (as recorded by Griaule) has been maintained.

Unlike other sub-Saharan masquerade traditions such as Gelede, where the range of things depicted now includes airplanes, sewing machines, and motor cars, it is surprising perhaps that the range of Dogon masks has not expanded more. Moreover, where it comes to new mask types, the lack of invention in comparison with the past may signal the turning point of a tradition in decline, as Picton pointed out: "Traditions do not survive for their own sake, least of all by remaining 'traditional'" (Picton 1992:47). Yet locally, while several informants noted the increased disappearance of mask types, these developments were not met with regret: "Masks have been abandoned," acknowledged the chief of Sangha; "... the dance is forgotten and then the mask is no longer used." (15) Nor was this development felt to be of any consequence regarding the future of the tradition: "We are not going to leave our traditions just like that!" (16) We cannot be certain, then, that a lack of expansion indicates anything at all. As Picton observed, "Just why some traditions seem to be more open to change than others is one of those great conundrums!" (17)

Scholars have been quick to predict a future when masquerade is only performed for visiting tourists. But is it not possible that Dogon masquerade, unhitched from its religious context and with the progression of Christianity and Islam, may continue to thrive? If we look to the examples of Carnival in its many adapted forms around the world, there are numerous precedents for the continuation of masking traditions now separated from their religious origins. In the Dogon case, masquerade is part of a regular program of events that people from neighboring villages flock to attend, participate in, and inevitably comment upon, thus impacting its continued evolution. And in the light of the obvious commitment, enjoyment, and pride in a tradition that has evolved to be a marker of Dogon identity within and beyond the Dogon region, one cannot predict the extinction of the mask just yet.

[This article was accepted for publication in October 2005.]

This paper is a summary of information presented in my doctoral thesis (awarded January 2004 by SOAS, University of London). Fieldwork, undertaken between 1994-2000, was made possible with funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Board, University of London Central Research Fund, SOAS Scholarships Committee, and the Friends of the Horniman Museum. I am also indebted to my friends and colleagues in the field including Sekou Dolo and the Dolo family, Wagaserou Douyon, Etienne and Jeanne Guindo, Nouhoum Guindo, Dagalu Girou, Apomi Saye, and staff at the Mission Culturelle, Bandiagara, for their invaluable assistance, advice and support.

References cited

Bilot, A. 2001. "Masques du pays dogons." In "La societe des masques et les rites funeraires." In Masques du pays dogons eds. A. Bilot, G. Calame-Griaule, and F. Ndiaye, pp. 36-45. Paris: Adam Biro.

Brasseur, G. 1968. "Les etablissements humains au Mali." IFAN-Dakar, mem 83:362-401.

Doquet, A. 1997. Les masques dogons sons le regard de l'Autre: fixite et changement dans une societe ethnographiee. PhD thesis, Univ. Bordeaux II.

--. 1999. Les masques dogons: ethnologie savante et ethnologie autochone. Paris: Editions Karthala.

Griaule, M. [1938a] 1994a. Jeux Dogons. Trav. et mem. de l'Institut d'Ethnologie no. 32. Paris: Institut d'Ethnologie.

--. [1938b] 1994b. Masques Dogons. Trav. et mem. de l'Institut d'Ethnologie no. 33. Paris: Institut d'Ethnologie.

Imperato, P.J. 1971. "Contemporary Adapted Dances of the Dogon." African Arts 5 (1):28-33, 68-72.

--. 1978. Dogon Cliff Dwellers: The Art of Mali's Mountain People. New York: Kahan Gallery.

Jolly, E. 1995. La Biere de mil dans la societe dogon. PhD thesis. Paris X Nanterre.

Lane, P. 1988. "Tourism and Social Change Among the Dogon." African Arts 21 (4):66-69.

Marti, M.P. 1957. Les Dogon. Monographies Ethnologiques Africaines. Paris: Institut international africain, Presses universitaires de France.

Picton, J. 1992. "Tradition, Technology, and Lurex." In History, Design, and Craft in West African Strip woven Cloth: Papers Presented at a Symposium Organized by the National Museum of African Art, Smithsonian Institution, February 18-19, 1988, pp. 13-52. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution.

Schapiro, M. 1953. "Style." in Anthropology Today: An Encyclopedic Inventory, ed. A.L. Kroeber, pp. 287-312. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Van Beek, W.E. 1991. "Enter the Bush: A Dogon Mask Festival." In Africa Explores: Twentieth Century Art, ed. S. Vogel, pp. 56-73. New York and Munich: Center for African Art and Prestel.

(1.) See Imperato 1971:28-31, 70, 72; 1978:18, 20; Lane 1988:68; Doquet 1997:484.

(2.) See Imperato 1971:30, 69, 70; 1978:19-21, 23.

(3.) See Imperato 1978:30, 33, 69, 70-72; 1978:19-20, 22.

(4.) See Imperato 1978:30, 31, 33, 69-72; 1978:18-21, 23; Lane 1988:67-8.

(5.) See Doquet 1999:255, 260.

(6.) See Doquet 1999:257, 260, 262.

(7.) See Doquet 1997:483-86, 488-93; 1999:257-61; Lane 1988: 67-9.

(8.) See Doquet 1997:491-92, 1999:258, 260-262; Imperato 1978:17, 19; Lane 1988:69; Van Beek 1991b:71.

(9.) The Collins Dictionary describes "ritual" as "any formal act, institution, or procedure that is followed consistently" (Collins 1999, s.v. "ritual").

(10.) Field interview, Idieli, 2000.

(11.) Field interview, Tireli, 2001.

(12.) Field interview, Banani, 1996.

(13.) Fieldwork was conducted during five visits (totalling nine months) between 1994-2000.

(14.) I studied Griaule's collection of mask headpieces and costumes (formerly held at the Musee de l'Homme) in detail as part of my research.

(15.) Field interview, Sangha, 1996.

(16.) Ibid.

(17.) Personal communication, John Picton, 2002.