Kaluli Essay, Research Paper

THE KALULI* The Beginning”When the land came into form” there were no trees, there were no animals, there were no streams, there was no food. But there were people. People covered the earth. The people had no food, and so they were hungry. They had no homes, so they were cold. One stood up and gathered all the people together. He told one group to be trees, and they became trees. He told one group to be fish, and they became fish. He told one group to be banana, one sago and, finally all the plants and animals, rivers and hills, were there. The few who were left became the human beings. (Schieffelin 1976)Introduction and HistoryThe Kaluli live in the tropical rainforest in the Southern Highlands Province of Papua New Guinea on the Great Papuan Plateau. They are the most numerous of four related horticultural groups who collectively call themselves Bosavi kalu, “people of Bosavi.” The addition of the suffix -li (real) makes the meaning of Kaluli “real people.”The Bosavi people, whose number has been approximated from 1200 to 2000, live in about twenty longhouse communities built on ridges throughout the dense forest. Each community is about an hour’s walk from the next, and the vegetation is nearly unbroken between them. Although there are signs suggesting that the Kaluli are perhaps more closely related to lowland groups than to their closer neighbors in the New Guinea highlands, Bosavi tell no stories of their people coming to their present land from somewhere else. Their mythology tells that they have always lived on the plateau. Over the past several generations they have been slowly moving eastward into unsettled, more heavily forested terrain. This movement may be a search for better gardening lands, an attempt to escape enemies, or flight from epidemics with which they have had to contend.Kaluli traded extensively with friendly neighbors, but it was in the middle 1930s that the first Europeans visited the Great Papuan Plateau, bringing trade goods that had never been encountered. Chief among these were steel axes and knives, mirrors, beads, and pearl shells. World War II intervened, and European contact was broken until the 1950s. Between these two times, however, disaster struck the plateau in the form of measles and influenza epidemics. The populations of several groups were decimated, with the loss of lives ranging from thirty percent to, in some places, seventy percent of the population. The Kaluli lost fully one-quarter of their population. This threat is ongoing: despite public health programs, infant mortality is high and influenza epidemics still sweep the lowlands annually, resulting in a slowly declining population rate. In the 1960s and 1970s the impact of evangelical Christianity could be seen in Kaluli communities. Schieffelin (1976) reports that earlier attempts by Seventh Day Adventist missionaries were unsuccessful. When it was learned that this religion forbade eating pork, it was concluded that the minister was crazy and he was forced to abandon his mission. The life of the landIt is significant that longhouse identity is associated more with the land on which it sits than the clan affiliation of the people within. The name of a community’s land becomes an integral part of their identity, and it is invoked in both friendly and hostile interactions. It is used much like a name in friendly socializing; in war these place names served other purposes. Enemies on the attack were on unfamiliar turf, with no knowledge of which ridges and trails might be well suited for defenders to hide behind in ambush. As they raced into battle, those defending their home territory hurled names of landmarks like weapons; these were met with the frantic cries of the enemies’ own territorial names. Those that identified places of past victories were particularly powerful. Such a display was effective because it took advantage of the fright assumed to be felt by parties who were on strange land, who were someplace they didn’t belong. In both uses of place namesto identify themselves in friendly conversation and to verbally attack their enemies in battleKaluli are demonstrating how much their land is part of themselves. Edward Schieffelin, an anthropologist who has spent much time with the Kaluli, says it was explained to him this way: “When a man lives somewhere for a long time . . . his name is in the ground just like you put your name in that book” (1976:44). Often as he walked through the forest with informants, a Kaluli would point to a faintly discernible spot where the trees were thinner and remark that he had lived there as a small boy. A patch of weeds or remnant of a wooden post would be identified, with the individual remarking casually on whose garden or house it had been. Schieffelin came to understand that these places held for the Kaluli the content of their past; they call themselves by their places because they see themselves in their land. The Kaluli mark time in a predominantly seasonal way. Their terms for seasonal change and the progression of time are not based on changes in weather, however, or phases of the moon, but rather are based on changes in forest vegetation. These changes are further demarcated by changes in the bird population. The appearance of a particular bird during the month of April hearkens the onset of a time that lasts through September, and is often heralded by enthusiastic cries that the season is “really here: we heard ‘bili,’” the bird which appears at this time, a comment sounding much like our “first robin of Spring.” Days, too, are apportioned by the birdsthe morning calls of one awaken the children; the late-afternoon sounds of another alert people to come sit together for their meal. Not only time, but also space may be demarcated by birds. Their eating or nesting places may be used to describe portions of villages or trails, or to indicate direction.SettlementsThe patrilocal village is made up of men belonging to the lineages of several patrilineal clans, along with their wives, children, and other female relatives. Relationships between villages are maintained by ties of marriage and matrilineal affiliation.Each Kaluli community is structured with one longhouse and several smaller houses centered around a clearing. The longhouse is the main residence; smaller houses function more as temporary shelters for families from the longhouse who live nearer the gardens when it is time to harvest. A large longhouse may be sixty by thirty feet, with porches built onto either end. The entire structure is built up off the ground from five to twelve feet, and supported by poles. This elevation provides the best vantage point from which to see enemy raiders. Surrounding forests are cut down to enhance visibility, and the cavernous space left beneath the longhouse is inhabited by domesticated pigs, whose noise at the approach of strangers makes them effective “watchdogs.”The interior of the longhouse is divided in half by a hall running down its length. On either side are the men’s sleeping platforms, made of bark and raised a foot or so off the floor. Near each is a firebox used for curing meat, and piles of firewood and smoked game are heaped near them. Other foods and possessions are hung by strings from the rafters, to keep them out of the reach of rats. Women, children, and piglets not yet consigned to the space beneath the longhouse sleep in closer quarters in passageways running down the sides of the house. Elderly men and unmarried youths occupy one corner of these, and older women of prestige along with unmarried girls share a section of the women’s area. Individual fireboxes are used for smaller, solitary meals or “snacks”; but the longhouse functions as much as a town hall as it does a residence. When there are important matters to discuss, visitors to entertain, or important ceremonial occasions, the community fireboxes in the central hallway are the focal point. In all, about fifteen families, usually totaling about sixty people, reside in each longhouse. It is the longhouse community, more so than any other tie that engenders feelings of loyalty in the Kaluli. People usually refer to themselves by the location of their longhouse rather than that of their clan. The residents build their house and plant their gardens together. They hunt and fish, sing and cook, in unison. When a youth is to be married, most longhouse residents contribute to the bride-price; when a gift of meat is received, it is shared with co-residents.Although it may seem as if living in the longhouse would be cramped and might engender squabbling, this is usually not the case because families are often absent from the longhouse for weeks at a time. Small houses near garden sites, although certainly temporary shelters, are used often in two- and three-week blocks. At times when their own gardens are less demanding, families may travel to other longhouse communities to assist clan members with their own planting and gardening. In addition to local travel and gardening chores, hunting and trading expeditions take Kaluli away from the longhouses for extended periods of time. Old longhouses give way to new ones when gardens become exhausted. After two or three years of use, longhouses fall into disrepair, and the residents plant new gardens and construct a new longhouse. Often the old structure is used less and less, as the garden fails, until finally it is abandoned and the new structure becomes permanent. Economic and Political OrganizationIn several ways, Kaluli society stands in great contrast to other groups in the New Guinea highlands. Both politically and economically, Kaluli society is highly egalitarian. There are no formal positions of leadership, and also no role of “big man,” the wealthy individual who rises to an informal position of great influence found so widely among other highland groups.Absent, too, is the highland pattern of elaborate exchange for personal wealth. Whether exchange be formal and ceremonial or in the context of everyday activity, Kaluli do not use it as an occasion for enhancing status. Exchanges generally engaged in elsewhere in the region revolve primarily around life-cycle events and political activity. The most significant occasion of formal exchange in Kaluli society is marriage. Subsistence activitiesThe Kaluli are intimately familiar with the land they garden. Trees, hills and streams are all referred to by their own names. Not only forest growth, but also inhabitants and travelers are recognizable: Kaluli can identify the footprints not only of one another, but also of individual pigs.Kaluli practice swidden horticulture in extensive gardens and have a rich and varied diet. Their daily staple food is sago, a starch which they extract from wild sago palms that grow along streams a short walk from each village. Bananas, pandanus, breadfruit, sugarcane, sweet potatoes and green vegetables from their gardens supplement the sago eaten at every meal. Most of the daily protein is gathered casually, by scooping up a small crayfish from underneath a rock, or dipping a hand into a brook for a small fish. Small rodents or lizards darting across a Kaluli’s path will be stabbed with a stick or summarily stamped underfoot. There are fish in abundance in numerous rivers and streams throughout the area, and small game is easily come by in surrounding forests. The Kaluli may venture on several-day trips to unsettled forests where game is more abundant, but usually these treks are reserved for times when larger amounts of game are needed for an exchange. A small number of domestic pigs are kept. Forest foods are in dependable supply, particularly owing to the low population density. Trade and manufactureKaluli trade both with other groups and within their own community of Kaluli. While they have the most long-standing trade relationships with people to the north, trade has been more recently established with those living in the east. Each of several important trade routes was characterized by its own specific items. From the people in the west they secured hornbill beaks and strings of dogs’ teeth; from the south came tree oil. To these items they added their own net bags, and traded all of these to the highland Huli. In return, the Huli provided salt, tobacco, and aprons woven from net. Trade between longhouse groups was active, and relationships between the longhouses were forged by chains of marital alliances. These marriage ties and trading relations afforded the opportunity to travel between communities with hospitality assured, as well as provide allies when needed for conflict resolution. Kaluli manufacture tools for gardening, stone adzes, bows from palm trees, and net bags. The forest provides materials for constructing longhouses and fences. The most elaborate items of manufacture are the extravagant costumes created for important ceremonial occasions.Division of laborAlthough the everyday activities of men and women are separate, and male and female gender roles are clearly differentiated, there is among the Kaluli none of the hostility between men and women often reported in the New Guinea highlands. Daily activities of labor and socialization are cooperative, and men and women are more complementary than competitive.Women tend the gardens, look after the pigs, “hunt” small forest game, and gather other small protein sources. They are responsible for processing the staple starch, sago. It is to women that the important task of socializing the children is primarily entrusted. Men often organize their labor as group activity, drawing on their networks of reciprocity and obligation to accomplish the strenuous tasks of cutting down and dividing trees, clearing large garden plots, building dams and fences, and planting.Conflict and controlGiven that there is no formal system of control in the absence of a leader with the authority to enforce rules and exact punishment, such control is left to methods of informal sanction. Usually this is accomplished through gossip or ostracism. A person who has strayed outside the boundaries of personal or social parameters may be confronted by the injured parties and asked for compensation. Strong beliefs in the power of the supernatural to redress violations of taboos function as effective deterrents to misbehavior. In the past, the anticipation of enemy raids as retaliation was quite effective too, but in recent years this activity has been disallowed by the government. Schieffelin (1976) reports that rather than feeling resentment toward this official outside interference most Kaluli are instead relieved that the danger inherent in the old days of retaliatory murder was gone.The usual causes of conflict among the Kaluli are theft and death. It is the latter that, before government sanction, gave rise to intense violence. Deaths are believed to result from witchcraft; it was the offending witch who was the object of the counterattack. Witches are still held accountable for their actions, but are not routed out of their longhouses and clubbed to death. Compensation of another sort is requested, although without formal sanctions in place such payment cannot be assured. Social OrganizationKinship and descentKaluli are organized into exogamous, patrilineal clans that are scattered throughout all the longhouse communities. In any single longhouse there reside the localized lineages of two or more clans. Even though clan membership is conferred through the male line, each Kaluli individual claims kinship to both mother’s and father’s groups. Paternal kin provide those ties within the residential longhouse; maternal ties connect an individual to relatives living in other longhouses. The group of individuals to whom one feels closestthose with whom one has grown up, or sees most oftentake food from each other’s gardens, and share food in return. More distant kin (with distance in this case being two or more generations away) are lumped together with the same term (”grandparent” or “grandchild”) used to refer to people who are no relation at all.The most important tie in establishing relationships, however, is that of sibship. Siblings, among the Kaluli, are those who are one’s actual siblings as well as parallel cousins (mother’s sister’s children and father’s brother’s children).MarriageThe preferred Kaluli marriage is one in which the man and woman belong to different clans, and refer to one another with the term reserved for distant kin and unrelated individuals.Arrangements for marriage are instigated by the elders in the groom’s longhouse, often quite without his knowledge. A woman is selected and the bridewealth collected, all unbeknownst to the couple. Schieffelin (1976) remarks that by the time arrangements are nearing completion, the groom is often the last to know, and his closest friends delight in being the ones to shock him with the news.Marriage sets in motion a life-long relationship of exchange. A formal relationship is begun with the collection and bestowal of bridewealth. Friends and relatives of the groom contribute goods, thereby solidifying their previous relationship with the groom and establishing a new one with the bride. This relationship involves the usual extension of food and hospitality that one might ordinarily expect from kin; but it further binds the contributors to the ongoing state of the couple’s marriage. If the wife should die as a result of witchcraft, a bridewealth contributor seeks revenge. Should a woman commit adultery, he supports the husband in his dispute. In the event of the husband’s death, contributors “officially” have the right to give their opinion on the fate of the children, but this option is rarely exercised. The relationship comes full circle when the friends and kin who contributed to the original bridewealth receive part of the bridewealth of the couple’s daughters, commensurate to that which they contributed long ago. The compensation inherent in bridewealth is both in recognition of the nurturance provided by her family as she grew, and also for loss: loss of the daughter they love, who will go away with her husband, and loss of her important contributions to the economy of their own longhouse. Especially affected are the girl’s unmarried brothers, for whom she has labored domestically, much in the way a wife would. Although the ideal compensation is the groom’s donation of a sister to the bride’s family, such so-called “sister exchange” doesn’t occur with great frequency. Another function of bridewealth payment is to describe the universe of in-laws as those who have received part of the payment.SocializationThe socialization of children in Kaluli society has been elegantly described by Bambi Schieffelin (1990), a linguistic anthropologist who weaves the general socialization of children together with the teaching of language. Girls and boysOne of the first social lessons children learn is the appropriate content of their sex roles. Because it is the mother who interacts most intensively with her children, the task of emphasizing the child’s sex, taken up in the first days of life, falls to her. Whether she and the child are alone or surrounded by others, she calls attention to the child’s sex by the way she structures the content of her conversation and interaction. Sons are told how strong they will one day be. Mothers structure games and other activities that employ aggression and assertive behavior. Boys are expressly taught that they will get what they want if they are endlessly demanding and never give up their pursuit. They are taught to beg, to wheedle, and even to have vigorous tantrums until their needs are finally met. They are expected to perfect the talents to ensure both their behavior and their wishes will be attended to. Daughters are taught something very different. Although all young children are recognized to be naturally “helpless,” girls are not permitted to maintain this pose for very long. Unlike boys, who are endlessly needy and always on the receiving end, girls are assigned chores to do as soon as they are physically coordinated enough to begin to manage them. Their activities are those that are designed to serve others; daily they fetch firewood, carry water, weed gardens. In addition to this sort of labor, their nurturing skills are an important focus of girls’ socialization. As soon as a new baby is born, a little girl becomes an older sister, which is a role of extreme importance in Kaluli life. She already knows that her own wants are secondary to those of others; when her mother presents her with a new sibling, this lesson is intensified. (In fact, so special is the relationship of an older sister to her younger brother, that in order to facilitate his integration into the community, Steven Feld, an anthropologist studying Bosavi music, was introduced to the community by Schieffelin as her younger brother. The Kaluli welcomed him warmly as her sibling.)As will be elaborated later, sharing plays a critical role in Bosavi social life. For any Kaluli to say , “I have none” is such a basic strategy that it is a named kind of talk (gesema, “make one feel sorrow or pity”) and usually results in the receipt of whatever goods were lacking. Saying this conveys to the potential donor, “You have something I don’t; I want it, and have rightful claim to it; you must give me some, while feeling sorry I have none.” This basic mode of expression is elaborated in a boy’s relationship with his older sister, as he is taught explicitly the proper whining and begging appeal with which to approach her. “Hardening” language and behaviorIt is recognized that all childrennot just boysare naturally dependent when they are small. Children, it seems, are always hungry; they beg and whine for food endlessly. Adults feel pity at such plaintive appeals and children are never denied. But children cannot continue indefinitely in this vein. They are thought to beg and whine “naturally”; they must learn other important forms of communication socially. This they learn through lessons in language.Reciprocity and sharing are the anchors of Kaluli life, and it is important that children learn to participate in a variety of important social exchanges. It is through learning appropriate language that children become participants in all varieties of social exchange. Although they may start out as helpless, by the time they are three years old, children are expected to be able to be join in reciprocityto be able to give as well as receive, and to ask and offer with the proper words.Babies are thought of as “soft.” They are unable to understand what is said around them, they have no control over their bodies’ movements or functions; they are loose and “floppy.” Children’s early physical and mental development parallel one another: both are conceptualized as “firming up.” They must not only become more physically sturdy and socially assertive, but must also “firm up” their language and be taught to be articulate members of their speech community. The process of a child’s mind and body maturing together is called “hardening.” When Schieffelin, raising her own small child among the Kaluli, asked for some indicators that such a process was in fact taking place, she was told that sometimes one can count a child’s teeth as a marker of developmental stage; teeth allow for more exact speech.

“Hardening” of children puts them in control of themselves and others. Mothers actively guide their children in language use that will “harden” them. They tell their toddlers what to say and how to say it in “hard” language. Asking for something in the child’s “natural” language of whining and cajoling must be supplanted by the hard way of asking for what one needs. This is important preparation for a life based on sharing and exchange. Once a child can use hard language to ask, then others may do the same and ask the child to share with them. Thus, a child can be drawn into the important activity of sharing with others in the household. The aim of socialization, therefore, is not only to “harden” them physically and mentally; once they have been hardened linguistically, they can be responsible members of the community.The qualities of “hard” and “soft” are ones that go beyond the realm of childhood development. The world was once a soft place, until the mud was stamped on and made hard. A “hard” man is one who is strong and outspokenwho possesses the skill of using hard language.In song and ceremony, key elements of Kaluli culture, a successful performance is one that brings the audience to tears. To have this facility in singing and composition is to “harden” the song, and only a “hardened” performance is a skillful one.”Soft” things are likened to weakness and decay. Things that are “soft” can in fact be dangerous, in that they can impede the process of hardening. Children (thought to be themselves “soft”) must never eat eggs, which are mushy, or any foods which are yellow, a color that symbolizes frailty and spoilage. They must also avoid the meat of birds whose high-pitched calls are “soft.”The Giving and Sharing of FoodThe muni birdA girl and her younger brother set off to a stream together to catch crayfish; while the girl was soon successful, her brother had made no catch. He whined to his sister, “I have no crayfish,” but her reply was that he could not have hers, as it was for their mother. Soon she caught a second but her brother still had none, and again whined for hers and was again refused: it is for father. Upon her third catch her younger brother begged for the crayfish, only to be told it was for their older brother. Shortly after, the young boy caught a tiny shrimp, whose shell he placed on his nose, turning it bright red. As he looked at his hands, which held the meat of the shrimp, they became red wings. His older sister, frightened at her brother’s transformation into a bird, begged him not to fly away. His reply was only the high, mournful cry of the muni bird he had become, as he flew off. Weeping, his sister called to him to take the crayfish she had caught, take them all, eat them all, but his song only continued; crying, he sang that he had no sister and he was hungry. (Feld 1990)The giving and sharing of food is perhaps the most fundamental theme in Kaluli interpersonal relations. It promotes friendship and familiarity; it is a vehicle for showing fondness.Food is an avocation, an interest beyond mere survival. At times when he has no chores that need accomplishing, a man will stroll to his gardens to check the growth of his fruits, or make some other observation about the gathering of grubs or other food preparation.Food is one of the primary ways of relating to children. They can be calmed, made unafraid of new faces, and shown affection all by the offer of food. Even as little as a day after their birth, Kaluli babies will be taken to the forest for several days’ fishing and grub gathering. Newborns will be fed these gathered treats both to make them strong as well as to welcome them into this world and urge them not to return to the place from which they came. Such sharing of food with a baby allows a child’s father and other family members to forge the crucial bond made by feeding which would otherwise be exclusive to the baby and breast-feeding mother.This sets in motion the lifelong Kaluli pattern of sharing food as a form of sharing affection. A small piece of meat or portion of salt is an unequivocal declaration of feeling from one unmarried adolescent to another, and the exclamation, “He gave me pork!” is a heartfelt expression of the depth of loss felt after the death of a friend. (Schieffelin 1976:48)Sharing of food is the expected norm. When one family within the longhouse cooks, it is understood that all who are hungry will have some. Likewise, when one is in need of extra shoots to plant in a garden, or food at mealtime, it is expected that one will be provided for. This is especially true when the food in question is a delicacy, such as game meat.At times when food is not, or cannot be, shared, Kaluli manners dictate that it should be consumed discretely. Even if there is no greedy intent, excluded individuals are to be sheltered from any offense this might engender. For example, men eating fish of a kind taboo to their wives and children will be considerate enough to do so out of the sight of their families. Anthropologist Edward Schieffelin, at the beginning of his years among the Kaluli, found that when he could enlist no aid from individuals for even double the expected wages, he could entice them to help for a cup of rice or a tin of meat. He reminds us that this interest in food does not derive from the lack of it. The importance of food is found in its use as a focus of social relations. Schieffelin (1976) explains:I became aware of this as soon as I entered a longhouse on the plateau for the first time. I sat down wearily on the edge of the men’s sleeping platform and was pulling leeches out of my socks when a man approached with a blackened, loaf-shaped packet in his hand. He broke off a piece and handed me a chalky-looking substance covered with grayish, rubbery skin. There was a pause while the people of the longhouse watched to see what I would do. Reluctantly, I took a bite. The flavor was strongly reminiscent of plaster of paris. “Nafa?” (”Good?”) asked one of my hosts hopefully, using one of the few Kaluli words I knew at the time. “Nafa,” I answered when I could get some saliva back in my mouth. “Ah,” said my host, looking around to the others. They relaxed. Having eaten sago, I was established as a fellow creature. (p. 47)Kaluli do not share food because of the obligations of a relationship as much as to solidify and actualize the relationship through the giving of food. As Schieffelin (1976:63) explains, “it is through giving and sharing food that the relationship becomes socially real.” In fact, the true definition of a mother, for the Kaluli, is less the woman who gives birth to a child as the one who feeds a child. By extension, if a woman feeds a child over some period of time her children “become” that child’s siblings.In the myth of the boy who became a muni bird, told above, we can identify several of what have now become familiar Kaluli themesthe sharing of food, the responsibility of a sister to her brother, the opposing postures of pleading boys and nurturing girls, and birds and their sad sounds.A young boy, plaintiff and whining in an appropriate manner, asks his older sister for what among the Kaluli should be his due: denying a child food is unthinkable. For an older sister to deny food, three times, to her younger brother runs counter to the most basic Kaluli social norms. As the younger brother is denied food by his older sister, he ceases to be her brother; even morehe is, in fact, no longer a person at all. Birth and death, illness and health, mourning and joy all have mandates and taboos revolving around foodstuffs. The reason given for the Kaluli’s appropriation of food as the ultimate vehicle for constructing social relationships and expressing affection is that food is the cornerstone of life. If food shows affection, then what does it mean to go hungry? It means more than an empty belly: it means loneliness.Religion and Expressive CultureThe unseen worldAll that cannot be seen is a very real part of Kaluli life. The forest is thick and hides many things from the eyes, but is full of sound. The skittering flight and screech of a bird tells you of someone approaching as precisely as catching sight of the visitor does. Morning is not sunrise, but birdsong. Evening is not dusk, but cicadas. Schieffelin (1976) was unable to convey to a Kaluli friend the kind of bird whose name he wanted to know, however detailed his report. But when he remembered the rattle of its wings and crumpled a piece of paper in description, the bird was immediately recognized.These sounds are not merely sounds. When a Kaluli draws attention to the mournful call of a pigeon, saying that it is a little child calling for its mother, it may in fact be just that. It is not only that the bird’s call sounds that way; there are spirits that live unseen, and indeed the soul of a child may call for its mother. (It is not unusual that birds and their sounds are prime examples of the importance to the Kaluli of what is heard. They hold a prominent place in Kaluli life, as we will see.)There are people in the unseen world who are called with a term meaning “shadow” or “reflection.” In this unseen world every person has a shadow. Shadows of men are wild pigs; shadows of women are cassowaries. These shadows lead their own lives in the unseen world, roaming the forests. Should the shadow be hurt, the person would suffer too. If the shadow is killed, it means death for its Kaluli counterpart.Spirits of the dead also live in this unseen world, along with spirits who have never had a human life. These are not fearful sorts of spirits; on the contrary, they might once have been friends or relatives. Unlike other New Guinea peoples, the Kaluli think it impossible that the dead would bear the living any ill will.There are large invisible longhouses on Mt. Bosavi that are home to another sort of spirit, quite different from the spirits of the dead. As humans have spirit reflections that are wild pigs and cassowaries, so these “people” have the reciprocal spirit: their shadows are the wild pigs and cassowaries that live in Bosavi. These shadows are not evil, but they are responsible for dangerous thunderstorms. There is, however, a third kind of spirit, which lives in certain well-known areas of the land and whose anger can only be prevented by taking certain precautions. These shadows are dangerous, and may send foul weather, sickness, and even death. Mediums and witchesIt is through mediums that Kaluli have knowledge of the unseen world. Men who have married spirit women in a dream gain access to this world when they have a child with their spirit wife. As the medium sleeps he leaves his body behind and wanders the unseen world. Once he has gone, spirits can enter his body and use his mouth to speak to the living. Such seances are exciting occasions for Kaluli who wish to speak to departed loved ones. They are eager to learn what animal form friends and relatives have taken in the unseen world, inquire if they have enough to eat, and ask advice about curing the sick and locating lost property. They also petition their help to identify the seis, witches who live among them in the community. Every Kaluli death, whatever the outward cause may appear to be (old age, illness, an accident), is caused by a sei, a term used to describe both an evil spirit and the person whom the spirit inhabits. Seis are usually men, but sometimes women, who have evil spirits lodged in their hearts about which they themselves may be unaware. While they sleep, the shadow creatures that dwell within them stalk the night for prey. Seis typically attack only strangers, but hunger or anger can cause them to turn on their own kin. Although the seis are generally unseen, some people on their deathbed or with particular abilities have in fact seen them, and describe them as hideous. Their attacks leave sickness and disabilities which are often as invisible as they are: a painful, distended belly contains unseen stones; legs that cannot move have been amputated by the sei, but can still be seen. When the victim is fully compromised, the sei will pull out the victim’s heart, killing him. Once the prey is dead, the sei will finish eating the rest of the body. This is evidenced by a corpse’s ongoing decomposition and eventual disappearance.Death and afterlifeAt death, a person’s spirit is freed from the still body and retreats to the forest . There it begins a journey along a river, which to the spirit is a wide westward path, only to arrive at an enormous bonfire where it burns until finding deliverance in another spirit. This rescuer carries the burnt soul back to its own spirit longhouse, attending healing ceremonies along the way until the restoration is complete. Finally, the two are married. After this union the newly departed will assume a new form, and will resemble any other wild creature in the forest. Loved ones will not see it again, but may look forward to conversation and advice through a medium.Traditional mortuary practices have been outlawed by the government, which now requires that Kaluli bury bodies in a cemetery. Prior to this edict, issued in 1968, the body would be placed in a hammock outside the longhouse, with fires lit around it. Mourners would come for several days; afterward the body was removed to a small structure built near the longhouse, where it would decompose. Small possessions treasured by the deceased would be placed there with him or her, as sentimental reminders. These were not meant to travel to the afterlife with their former owner: what use would a wild pig in the forest, or a bird soon to live in a treetop have for a necklace or bow and arrow?As soon as only bones remained, they would be gathered into a net bag and placed under the eaves of the longhouse front porch.The children and spouse of the deceased were required to follow several taboos established for mourners; often others did so too, simply out of affection. If a woman has gathered food to eat with another before her own death, her intended companion might refuse to eat it, sad that they could not share it together as they had planned. One man gave up breadfruit upon his brother’s death, because it had been his brother’s favorite food. (Schieffelin 1976)Story, Song, and CeremonySongs of birds, sounds of tearsSteven Feld was an anthropology student making a living as a jazz musician while he pondered the question of returning to school to complete his degree. At the home of his friends, anthropologists Edward and Bambi Schieffelin, he heard Kaluli music and was smitten. Deciding to merge his musical and anthropological interests, he went to Bosavi with the Schieffelins and studied soundin the performance of poetry reading, song, and weepingas a symbolic system.Kaluli myth and music were the vehicles for his understanding of the way Kaluli relate to their world. Many Kaluli stories are about birds and their connection with sadness, often because of the sorrowful nature of their calls. As Feld listened to such stories, he began to reflect upon similar associations in his own musical culture, especially American blues and jazz. He recalled “literary and musical imagery, such as the common use of the mournful sounds of the whippoorwill . . . in poetry and songs about sadness and love. . . . By associating a bird of the night with minor or descending pitches, sad sounds, blacks, the South, and the beginning of instrumental blues” (1990:23). Feld found a theme present in music and folklore in many diverse places He began then to regard the themes woven through Kaluli myth and the sounds repeated in Kaluli music as “expressive embodiments of basic Kaluli concepts of sentiment and appeal.” (p. 24)Birds and their music are for the Kaluli, who are avid bird-watchers, metaphors for their own society. It is most often birds that become the “spirit reflections” of the dead. Skillful at identifying birds by their sounds, Kaluli analogize the particular pitches and melodies of different birds with different segments of their population. (As when the whining and whimpering complaints of children are likened to that of the dove, whose call is said to be like that of “a hungry child calling for its mother.”)Once Feld discovered the centrality of birds and their songs to Kaluli culture, he proceeded to collect and organize all the information he could about the birds in the Bosavi environment, and the ways in which the Kaluli regarded them. This endeavor inadvertently taught him more than he anticipated: he expected to discover Kaluli notions of bird classification, perception, and symbolism. What he learned instead grew out of the sheer frustration of his Kaluli informant who, after hours of imitating bird calls and nesting behaviors, blurted out, “Listento you they are birds, to me they are voices in the forest.” Feld realized that he could not continue to impose his own system of classification on the Kaluli experience of these important “voices”; that the Kaluli understanding of birds and their songs is “based on certain fundamental premises about the world, such as the belief that things have a visible and invisible aspect; that sounds and behaviors have an outside, an inside, and an underneath; or that human relationships are reflected in the ecology and natural order of the forest.” (1990:45)Weeping conveys an emotional message from one person to another which is very much connected to singing. In response to sorrow or loss, Kaluli may begin to cry. But feelings of disappointment, frustration, or self-pity may also lead Kaluli to burst into song.Weeping and singing are very much bound up together. There are many “wept songs,” usually about a lost loved one. Men and women have different socially dictated modes of weeping. Men begin with a high-pitched wail which turns into an imitation of the short-burst call of the muni bird. They cry for a short period of time, and stop abruptly. Weeping is a more common expressive form among women. Although both men and women cry similarly in response to a moving song, it is women who are likely to blend weeping and singing into the sung text of a “wept song.” As Feld (1990:33) explains, “while sadness moves both men and women to weeping, it is weeping that moves women to song.”Out of the attempt to preserve the musical heritage of the Kaluli, Feld has joined with other musicians to produce a recording of Bosavi music, Voices of the Rainforest. Profits from its sale benefit the Bosavi People’s Fund, set up to provide financial aid in the struggle to maintain Kaluli cultural survival in the face of threats to their rainforest environment. The gisaroThe usual occasions for Kaluli formal ceremonies are those they celebrate with neighboring longhouses: most often marriages or large gifts of meat. Pig feasts and similar large events take months to prepare. Underlying these community events is the theme of reciprocity and exchange. After a particularly complex and moving ceremony, guests may be moved to host a return event in their own longhouse community in great haste. Schieffelin (1976) reports witnessing a dance performed to ward off sickness. Guest dancers from another village came to the host community, singing throughout the night, and performing so poignantly that it moved many to tears. As soon as the dancers departed, elders called in kin from other longhouses and within two days had staged a ceremony at the dancers’ village that (they were proud to note) caused all assembled to weep. Of all the ceremonies performed in Kaluli life, none is as important as the gisaro. It is presented as part of a larger ceremony (such as a wedding or pork prestation), and performed inside a host longhouse by guest dancers who begin at dusk and continue until dawn.The cast is assembled by sending out requests to those who might like to participate, and it is rare that there are not enough men who respond to the call. For weeks before the event, gisaro dancers compose songs and prepare elaborate costumes. The intended effect of the gisaro performance is to overwhelm the listeners with powerful emotion. To this end, it is imperative to maintain the element of surprise, as to the identity of the dancers, pattern of makeup and costume, and content of the songs.While the performers are rehearsing at least a dozen new songs and dances, the hosts are preparing food. On the day of the feast, dancers wait for dark and enter the longhouse which is lit with the torches soon to be a central part of the gisaro.Gisaro dancers are painted and costumed alike, so as to be indistinguishable from one another. A rested dancer can thus replace an exhausted one, allowing the dancing and singing to continue unabated. The songs are heartbreaking, and purposely so. They tell of people and places loved and lost. The audience hangs on every word, their sorrow building until they can no longer contain themselves. Sobbing and wailing fills the longhouse, but the gisaro performers continue, seemingly oblivious to the anguish they are causing, never showing any trace of emotion on their faces.Amid their wailing and stamping, hosts angered by the pain inflicted on them by the wrenching gisaro songs, jump up and grab the huge resin torches. These they jam into the backs and necks of the dancers, searing their flesh. Still they continue, singing and dancing, as the enraged and grieving hosts continue to burn the dancers. The wailing and burning continues throughout the night. Before the ceremony, dancers coat their bodies with sweet-smelling vegetable resin whose scent mingles with the burning flesh. It is thought to afford the skin some protection from the burns and diminish the pain somewhat, but most dancers suffer extensive second-degree burns across their backs, upper arms, and shoulders. The skin will sometimes blister and peel off during the dance; otherwise, it sloughs off in a day or two. Dancers generally spend the first ten days after their ordeal convalescing; after three or four weeks they have healed. Edward Schieffelin (1976) details in his ethnography of the Kaluli the ways in which the gisaro can be understood as the dramatic embodiment and crystallization of the major premises on which Kaluli culture is built. Gisaro is a way for them to understand and express their view of the world; the loss and sorrow contained within it, their link with those now invisible to them. He concludes, ” the Kaluli [feel] that the forces of growth and life are generated in oppositions, and it is with this, as a life condition, with all its beauty, exuberance, tragedy, and violence, that they try to come to terms in Gisaro.” (p. 223)ReferencesFeld, S. Sound and Sentiment. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990. Schieffelin, B. B. The Give and Take of Everyday Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Schieffelin, E. L. The Sorrow of the Lonely and the Burning of the Dancers. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1976.