A spontaneous dance of joy among Onge women ca. 1925. A rhythmic noise was made by smacking a leg against a buttock.
(Picture by E. v. Eickstedt)
16. The Andamanese
Singing, Dancing, Entertainment
by George Weber
Next to the unsophisticated but filling pleasures of traditional home cooking, the Andamanese appreciated the more refined entertainment of singing, dancing and playing games.
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A spontaneous dance of joy among Onge women ca. 1925. A rhythmic noise was made by smacking a leg against a buttock. (Picture by E. v. Eickstedt) |
At its simplest level, dancing in the Andamans was and still is a spontaneous individual expression of joy and happiness. A Sentineli woman, observed from afar in 1987, burst into a dance of joy, clapping her palms on her thighs in a fashion also known from the Jarawa. She had just picked up gifts left on the beach for her people by a team of Indian anthropologists. Films taken by similar Indian expeditions to the Jarawa also show girls and women spontaneously dancing while trying to make the less nimble outside visitors do likewise.
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A little spontaneous little dance among Onge in the 1970s. The dance is informal because the dancers do not wear body painting. (anonymous photographer) |
On a more elevated level and always accompanied by music were the after-dinner dances that enlivened many a dull traditional Andamanese evening. After dinner and before sleep, entertainment could be provided by story-telling, games or dancing. If singing and dancing was the majority choice, as it usually was, the sounding board was brought out, the women lined up for the chorus and a male solo singer was chosen. Most of the able-bodied men would spend the next few hours dancing to this orchestra. A little more formal but still spontaneous and without body painting were dances that took place when the men returned after a successful hunt. Increasingly formal and with religious undertones were dances laid on for visitors, for the recovery of a sick member of the community, for a marriage, to mark the end of the mourning season, to celebrate the conclusion of a peace agreement, right up the songs and dances that accompanied important initiation rites. As we have heard, the more formal dances were occasions that required a dress code: special ornaments and body painting and the accompaniment of music marked these dances and heightened the sense of occasion.
If one disregards the ornaments of shell that rattled with every movement of the dancers, there was only one musical instrument: the sounding board. It was known only among the Great Andamanese and was often mistaken as a defensive shield. The sounding board was laid on the ground with the main singer giving the rhythm by striking it with the sole of his foot or heel. The effect was like that of a large drum. The singer-cum-drummer was normally also the composer of the song being performed since nobody was allowed to sing another's song as long as the composer was still alive and singing.
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An Andamanese song. |
The only other source of sound was that of the human voice raised in song. The singing itself was simple and in unison, elaborations such as polyphony were quite unknown. Solo singers sometimes employed falsetto voices, however. Breathing techniques were unknown: a singer running out of breath would simply pause, if necessary in the middle of a word, and then continued. In order to keep rhythm, he singer might repeat the last few words regardless of the effect on the meaning of the song.
The biggest social event in traditional society was the jeg, a large gathering of neighbouring groups. A successful jeg with new and successful songs could bring much prestige to the inviting group and its chief. Much effort went into the composing of special songs and still more into rehearsals with the male dancers and the female chorus. A really successful song and dance could make a jeg a memorable occasion.
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A spontaneous dance among Onge men in the 1980s. Note the newfangled shorts and swimming trunks that many of the dancers are wearing. (unknown photographer) |
Andamanese singing was highly monotonous and repetitive but that did not seem to reduce the pleasure the Andamanese took from it. The creative work was in the words yet the stress was almost exclusively on the rhythmic timing. Language and sense was subordinated to the point when language was turned into poetic dialects. The words of a song often had to be explained and "translated" by the composer to his audience:
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normal language: |
mija yadi chebalen lakachire? |
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poetic language: |
chekloo ya lak-u mejra? |
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translation: |
who missed the hard-back turtle? |
Popular subjects were the recent adventure of an individual or group events. Inevitably, pig and turtle hunts were evergreens.
An example from a pig-hunting song in the Aka-Juwoi language:
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Solo: |
Kok t'ra-chaume ra-lot-e |
(bow, its lower part, pulled back) |
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Refrain: |
Poi tote abe-li-a |
(on tiptoe, I crept, silently) |
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The singer tells his listeners that he saw a pig but that the pig did not see him. He drew back his bow so as not to attract attention and then crept towards the pig, silently and on tiptoe. |
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Another song, this time in the Aka-Bale language, refers to a turtle hunt:
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Solo: |
Log l'ar choarya-ainye-d'idi dut |
(the way, his, the sea on this account, I stop) |
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Refrain: |
Ong d'en aut-boang-dooato-re |
(he, for me, went very slowly) |
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What the singer tells his audience is that he kept his canoe unmoving above a reef where turtle come to feed. The refrain would be understood by his Andamanese listeners to mean that the hunter would be in the bow ready to harpoon the turtle while another man in the stern poled it along slowly and silently. |
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Most communal dances took place at night. From century-old descriptions of "cannibals dancing around large fires" we must assume that outsiders, probably from ships at sea, had observed communal dances from afar. What to the participants was an occasion of joy, peace-making and neighbourly togetherness, to outsiders appeared a frightening display of painted devils jumping around blood-red fires while making savagely primitive howling noises.
The following is a good description of a traditional jeg:
In a small clearing in the midst, or on the border of a dense jungle are gathered a hundred or more painted savages of both sexes; the moon sheds a soft light on all, while from each hut the lurid glare of a wood fire throws its fitful shadows across the scattered group; on one side, seated in a row, are the women who are to join in the refrain; on the other, in dark relief within their several huts, are seen the audience, many of whom assist in marking time by clapping their hands or by slapping the hollow between their outstretched legs with their open palms. In a conspicuous position stands the composer and conductor: with one foot in the pointed end of a sounding board (pukuta-yemnga), and supporting himself on a spear, bow or pole, he gives the time to the singers and dancers by kicking the board with the sole or the heel of the other foot; in this wearying duty he is from time to time relieved by one of his male friends and, occasionally, even by a woman. During the solo, which partakes of the character of a "recitative," all other voices are hushed, and the listeners remain motionless, but as soon as the signal is given for the refrain, a number of men emerge suddenly from the gloom surrounding the encampment, and rushing excitedly into the arena, perform their part with frantic energy, generally adding their voices to those of the women to swell the volume of sound. Save at the t'i-tolatnga ["shedding of tears", the dance at the end of a mourning period for a child], women only occasionally take a share in the dances, but their performances are considered by some foreigners as rather suggestive of impropriety - with what justice I am not prepared to say, for modesty, at least, is satisfied by the wearing of a larger leaf apron than usual.
Lt. Colebrooke's description of a dance he had observed in 1789 is the earliest known reliable description of such an event. He noted that the dancers formed a ring, alternatively kicking and slapping their buttocks, which is the Jarawa-style of dancing rather than that of the Great Andamanese.
Andamanese music has been tactfully described as follows:
To a stranger not gifted with a keen ear for music, there is at first a certain amount of attraction in the oft repeated cadence, but it must be confessed that, after a residence in the neighbourhood of one of the homes, one learns to wish that their musical performances were characterized by a little more variety, and were rather less protracted, though some compensation may be found at night, as the steady continuance of the monotonous sounds has a most soothing and somniferous effect.
In their essentials, the dances of all Andamanese groups were clearly related. Most dances were done in a circle, only the peace-making dance of the Great Andamanese had the former enemy males facing each other in pairs. There were few rules for dancing, each participant doing more or less what he or she liked to do as regards the direction in which they moved or in the steps they used - but all had to be within the proper bounds of tradition. The most important point to be observed by dancers was the strict keeping to the rhythms.
The sexes did not dance together, not even during brief spontaneous outbursts of joy. In normal communal dances, the men danced, one man sang and the women provided the chorus or clapped the rhythm. There were a number of women-only dances that differed from those of the men. The women's dances all had some ritual significance and were not just social events. One was the dance at the end of the mourning period for a dead child: in Aka-Bea t'i-tolatnga, the "shedding of tears." While the women sang a song of farewell, the bereaved parents danced themselves into exhaustion. When the parents retired to their hut, the others, men and women, continued to dance for many more hours. The mourning dance did not differ from the normal dances performed at weddings or other occasions apart from the sad faces of the participants.
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A sounding board in the centre of an Akar-Bale (Great Andamanese) village dancing ground. (Picture by A.R. Radcliffe-Brown) |
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Men demonstrating to the British photographer ca. 1896 how they dance and how the sounding board is used. (Picture by E.H. Man). |
Dances differed somewhat between the northern and southern Great Andamanese while those of the Onge-Jarawa group differed still more. Among southern Great Andamanese tribes, a dancing woman remained at the same spot, knees flexed and alternately lifting her heels from the ground in time with the singing, which produced a slight swinging of the hips. After dancing a few movements on that spot, she moved a few steps to a new position and there repeated. The arms were swung in time to the music or crossed before the breasts. In the north, the women's dances more closely resembled those of the men; both sexes advanced across the ground in regular time. However, for women there was an extra little hop at every third step, giving the impression of a small curtsey. Every now and then a female dancer in the north also remained at the same spot for a moment, scraping one foot backward and then forward and swinging both arms together in time with the singing. Whether dancing or not, women did not sing other than in chorus with other women; there were no solo women singers.
Some dances were merely social events or expressions of personal happiness but most were more. Many had clearly important (though ill-understood) ritual and religious function, especially those that formed an integral part of initiation and other ceremonies. Most primitive cultures have dances in which participants represent supernatural beings. Such dances were rare in the Andamans but it is an open question if they had already been rare prior to 1858 or whether their disappearance had been brought about by the intrusion of the outside world. The following description of a religious dance in northern Great Andaman around 1907 was regarded by the observer as exceptional:
The performer was named Kobo. This man, according to the statements of the natives, had, at one time of his life, died and come back to life again. Owing to this fact he was endowed with special magical powers, and had some reputation as a magician and medicine-man (oko-jumu). During the time that he was dead (probably a few hours of unconsciousness), he is supposed to have visited the world of spirits, and while there he saw many things and learnt much about the spirits. Among other things he witnessed a dance in which the spirits and other supernatural beings took part. All these things he was able to remember when he returned to life.The performance was given one afternoon on the ordinary dancing ground of the village. The performer sat on his haunches in a hut at one end of the dancing ground. Thrust into the back of his belt he wore a bunch of leaves sticking out somewhat after the manner of a cock's tail, but he had no other ornament. The spectators, consisting of men, women and children, were seated round the edge of the dancing ground, which had been swept clean. On one side sat a few women who acted as chorus. There was no sounding board.
The performer began to sing a song, composed on the model of the songs of the South Andaman (with a short refrain) which has now for some years been adopted by the Northern tribes in preference to their own. As he finished the song the women of the chorus took up the refrain, repeating it over and over again, and marking time by clapping their hands on their thighs. The performer came out of his hut and performed a dance. At a signal from him the chorus ceased and he returned to his hut. In this way he sang several songs, repeating each one several times, and performed a number of short dances. In nearly every case the step of the dance was some simple modification of the step in common use at an ordinary dance. Thus in one dance he danced very violently and pretended to hurt his leg through the violence of his dancing, making angry signs to the chorus to stop their clapping, of which, of course, they took no notice. In another dance he stopped at short intervals and violently scratched his sides and then doubled himself up with laughter. In yet another, he danced with the step of the women's dance, covering his face with his hands and pretending to be very bashful. In still another he stood on tiptoe on the right foot and stamped with his left foot in time to the chorus of women. In some of the dances he walked round the open space within the circle of spectators, sometimes in a crouching attitude and at other times in other attitudes. All these dances aroused great amusement amongst the spectators. It was unfortunately impossible for me to understand them all or to obtain an adequate explanation of them either at the time or later.
Of the songs that were sung, one was "The tide has gone down over the reef. I walk around the world. There is great wind and rain."
Some of these dances I was able to understand even without explanation. One of them represented Biliku. The performer held in his right hand a shell, and as he danced grotesquely round the open space he looked fiercely at the spectators and threatened to throw the shell at them. Many of the women and children could not prevent themselves from starting backwards when he thus threatened them, but their fears were immediately dispelled in laughter. The shell was not a pearl-shell (be) but a Cyrenia shell (bun), but I believe that this was because there was no pearl shell available. The representation of Biliku was thus reduced to a single gesture, that of threatening the natives with her pearl-shell (lightning).
Another dance represented the jungle spirits (Bido-tets Lau). In this he first hid himself behind a screen of bido leaves (Calamus tigrinus) that had been prepared, singing a song. The leaves represented a clump of the Calamus palm such as is supposed to be the favourite haunt of the jungle spirits. After having sung for some time behind his screen of leaves, he came out with a bow and arrow in his hand, and as he danced in front of the spectators he pretended to shoot at them.
In another dance he represented Ele, the lightning. He sat on a stone that had been placed in the middle of the open space, swinging his arms to the time of the chorus, and every now and then shaking his leg.
This observation is an important one in several ways. Although I asked the man to repeat it, in order that I might make fuller notes and obtain explanations of many obscure points, and although he grudgingly said that he would, yet he did not do so. He was, moreover, very reserved over the matter, and not very willing to talk about his performance.
There was a peace-making dance (which has been described earlier (see chapter 11 "Place of Women") but no special war dance.
The Onge word for 'dance' is onolabe, from onola='others' or 'beyond' or 'above all' and wabe='crying out' or 'feeling.' The meaning is obvious. We have already met the erotic dances that some Onge women put on for the benefit of honoured male visitors. There are other dances and songs in which they recall legendary or extraordinary recent evens, usually to do with hunting and fishing or with contact to outsiders. One such song was sung and danced in honour of a visiting Italian anthropologist in the early 1950s. The visitor was in the habit of stringing up his hammock between two trees and sleeping in it. This seemed highly hazardous to the Onge who composed a song warning their guest of the danger of trusting such thin cords.
Spontaneous informal dances of pure exuberance by individuals and small groups (with the sexes always dancing separately) are still common among the Onge. In such dances the participants hold each other by the arms to make a simple circle. Their dancing, as that of the Jarawa as far as it is known, involved and still involves much slapping with hands and a movement in which the buttocks are slapped with a thrown-back leg.
Andamanese children knew and played a number of games that seem to belong to a common human inheritance: blind-man's-buff (Aka-Bea: ijitapa-lirnga), leap-frog (boktar-tidoatinga) and hide-and-seek (ab-atanga). Children and adults knew a playful mock pig-hunt in the dark (ad-reginga) during which the one person who had taken on the role of mock-pig had to run around, grunting loudly, while his or her pursuers shot off soft toy arrows. The game was over when an arrow touched the mock-pig. A similar game was also played in the water: a person in a canoe held the mock-turtle on a long rope; when the person playing the turtle suddenly dived into the water, he was followed closely by pursuers who would all try to catch the turtle under water with their hands. The turtle tried to avoid them by diving and weaving frantically to and fro until caught or quite exhausted.
There was also another game among Great Andamanese (in Aka-Bea: erem-chaugala atepnga), a game more for adults than children and one that looks as if it had a religious significance:
Sometimes when they are assembled together in the evening, one of the men will get up and exclaim, "I will go after the evil Spirit of the Woods." Taking nothing with him but a lighted log, he goes off into the jungle and is soon lost to sight; his friends then call to him and inquire if he has caught the demon, whereupon he begins to rush about shouting and hitting about him as if in pursuit of, or struggling with some one; he is next asked "Who are you?" - apparently to suggest the idea that during his combat with the evil one he has been transformed, or rather, has lost his identity, - the reply is given in a feigned voice, "I am ---" (naming some person long since deceased "and I have come for such and such a purpose." Something then being thrown at him he threatens them with annihilation unless they desist; still remaining in his hiding place he amuses himself, and presumably also his friends, by singing, until at last two or three of the company search him out and bring him back to camp, where, with a view of keeping up his assumed character, he remains silent and feigns sleep, often for the rest of the evening."
Play-acting was widely popular among traditional Andamanese to the point where it sometimes not only supplemented but almost replaced language: instead of explaining a situation in words, it was acted out with only the odd word here and there by way of explanation. Another form of play-acting took place when, for example, hunters would return to camp looking tired, disappointed and without game. They would sit down and refuse to talk to anyone. After a while one hunter quietly told one of the youngsters who had remained back in camp that pigs could be found in such and such a nearby place. The boys immediately went out, looked for and found these and could bring them back in triumph. Women and older people would all playfully pretend immense relief at the news, all dissolving in helpless laughter. Older people, of course, could see through the hunters' pretence and knew from experience whether a hunt had been successful or not. Closer to the modern idea of sport were the competitions that took place whenever there were enough people willing to play. They would be about who could throw stones furthest or highest, could paddle his canoe fastest, swim and dive furthest, deepest or longest. Arrow shooting competitions involved rolling a soft round object (a root or tuber) down a hill with the competitors shooting at the moving object. These competitive games were limited to children and males. The women did not take part in such games but preferred the village gossip.
Children organized sham feasts with cooked small fish and crabs in a game called gab-maknga where the food was presented in an imitation of grown-up jeg banquets. Cat's Cradle was widely known and toy canoes were sometimes carved by fathers for their sons who then conducted toy canoe races with them.
Rather more serious were the toy bows and arrows that all boys received from their fathers. These were toys only in size and intended not so much for playing about with (although the boys, of course, played with them most enthusiastically) than for exercise, in preparation for the coming realities of an adult hunting life. Toy bows were not just scaled-down versions of the adult bow; they seem to have had their own traditional lineage separate and different from that of adult bows. The south Great Andamanese toy bow, for instance, was of a form intermediate between the adult bow of the Onge and that of the southern Great Andamans.
No Andamanese group played board or card games or to have shown the remotest interest; the Andamanese character was not conducive to this kind of past-time. A wooden board found on North Sentinel island closely resembles a chess board with 8 x 8 squares made up from scratched dotted lines, each alternative square filled with dots, the others left empty. It is highly unlikely that this was Sentineli work and much more likely that it was made on a passing ship, fell overboard and washed ashore on the island.
The chief adult entertainment, however, has never been games, competitions or play-acting but the eating, singing and dancing of a jeg. As far as traditional Andamanese were concerned, there was nothing to beat a really good jeg.
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Last change 28 March 1999
