Kaytavilena Mwoynawaga

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“Crocodile, fall down, take thy man! push him down under the gebobo! (part of the canoe where the cargo is stowed away).”

“Crocodile, bring me the necklace, bring me the bagido’u, etc.”

The formula is ended by the usual phrase: “I shall kula, I shall rob my Kula, etc.,” as in the two previously quoted spells (Ta’uyo and Kayikuna Tabuyo).

This formula is obviously a pendant to the first of these three spells, and the crocodile is here invoked instead of the fish-hawk, with the same significance. The rest of the spell is clear, the crocodile being appealed to, to bring all the different classes of the spondylus shell valuables.

It is interesting to reflect upon the psychological importance of this magic. There is a deep belief in its efficiency, a belief cherished not only by those who advance chanting it, but shared also by the men awaiting the visitors on the shore. The Dobuans know that powerful forces are at work upon them. They must feel the wave of magical influence slowly advancing, spreading over their villages. They hear the appeal of the conch-shell, wafting the magic to them in its irresistible note. They can guess the murmur of the many voices accompanying it. They know what is expected from them, and they rise to the occasion. On the part of the approaching party, this magic, the chant of the many voices blended with the ta’uyo (conch shell), expresses their hopes and desires and their rising excitement; their attempt to “shake the mountain,” to stir it to its very foundations.

At the same time, a new emotion arises in their minds, that of awe and apprehension; and another form of magic has to come to their assistance at this juncture, to give expression to this fear and to assuage it—the magic of safety. Spells of this magic have been spoken previously, perhaps on the beach of Sarubwoyna alongside with the rest, perhaps even earlier, at one of the intermediate stages of the journey. But the rite will be performed at the moment of setting foot ashore, and as this is also the psychological moment to which the magic corresponds, it must be described here.

It seems absurd, from the rational point of view, that the natives, who know that they are expected, indeed, who have been invited to come, should yet feel uncertain about the good will of their partners, with whom they have so often traded, whom they have received in visit, and themselves visited and re-visited again and again. Coming on a customary and peaceful errand, why should they have any apprehensions of danger, and develop a special magical apparatus to meet the natives of Dobu? This is a logical way of reasoning, but custom is not logical, and the emotional attitude of man has a greater sway over custom than has reason. The main attitude of a native to other, alien groups is that of hostility and mistrust. The fact that to a native every stranger is an enemy, is an ethnographic feature reported from all parts of the world. The Trobriander is not an exception in this respect, and beyond his own, narrow social horizon, a wall of suspicion, misunderstanding and latent enmity divides him from even near neighbours. The Kula breaks it through at definite geographical points, and by means of special customary transactions. But, like everything extraordinary and exceptional, this waiving of the general taboo on strangers must be justified and bridged over by magic.

Indeed, the customary behaviour of the Dobuans and of the visitors expresses this state of affairs with singular accuracy. It is the customary rule that the Trobrianders should be received first with a show of hostility and fierceness; treated almost as intruders. But this attitude entirely subsides after the visitors have ritually spat over the village on their arrival. The natives express their ideas on this subject very characteristically:

“The Dobu man is not good as we are. He is fierce, he is a man-eater! When we come to Dobu, we fear him, he might kill us. But see! I spit the charmed ginger root, and their mind turns. They lay down their spears, they receive us well.”

III

This show of hostility is fixed into a definite ceremonial attitude when the Dobuan village, which consists of a collection of hamlets, has been laid under a taboo. On the death of a man of importance in any of the hamlets, the whole community undergoes the so called gwara taboo. The coco-nut and betel-nut palms around and within the village are not allowed to be scaled, and the fruit must not be touched by the Dobuans themselves, and still less by strangers. This state of affairs lasts a varying length of time, according to the importance of the dead man, and to other circumstances. Only after the gwara has run out its course, and is ripe for expiring, do the Kiriwinians dare to come on a visit to Dobu, having been advised beforehand of the circumstance. But then, when they arrive, the Dobuans put up a show of real hostility, for the visitors will have to break the taboo, they will have to scale the palms, and take the forbidden fruit. This is in accordance with a wide-spread Papuo-Melanesian type of custom of finishing tabooed periods: in all cases, someone else, who is not under the taboo, has to put an end to it, or to force the imposer of the taboo to break it. And in all cases, there is some show of violence and struggle on the part of the one who has to allow it to be broken. In this case, as the Kiriwinian natives put it:

“Supposing we do not perform the ka’ubana’i (safety magic), we are afraid, when there is a gwara in Dobu. The Dobuans put on war paint, take spear in hand, and a puluta (sword club); they sit and look at us. We run into the village; we climb the tree. He runs at us ‘Don’t climb,’ he cries. Then we spit leyya (ginger root) at him. He throws down his spear, he goes back and smiles. The women take the spears away. We spit all around the village. Then he is pleased. He speaks: ‘You climb your coco-nut, your betel-nut; cut your bananas.’ ”

Thus the taboo is broken, the gwara is finished, and the customary and histrionic moment of tension is over, which must have been none the less a strain on the nerves of both parties.

This is the lengthy formula which a toliwaga utters over several bits of ginger root, which are afterwards distributed among his crew, each of whom carries a piece when getting ashore.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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