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Textbook A Life Cycle Approach To Treating Couples From Dating To Death 1St Edition Anne K Fishel Ebook All Chapter PDF
Textbook A Life Cycle Approach To Treating Couples From Dating To Death 1St Edition Anne K Fishel Ebook All Chapter PDF
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EBOOKS A Life-Cycle Approach to
FISHEL
FOR THE PSYCHOLOGY COLLECTION
HEALTH
Treating Couples
Anthony Chambers and Corinne Datchi, Editors
LIBRARY From Dating to Death
Anne K. Fishel
Create your own
Many therapists believe couple therapy is the most difficult—more
Customized Content
than individual or family therapy. Dr Fishel will change your mind about
Bundle—the more
this! In clear language, she makes simple the complex relationships of
books you buy,
couples without robbing them of their texture or quality. This book is for
A Life-Cycle
the greater your all professionals who want to understand how to strengthen the bond
discount! between intimate partners.
—Susan McDaniel, PhD. 2016 President of the American
THE CONTENT
• Nutrition and
Dietetics Practice
Psychological Association
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For each stage, the author shares scientific research, common presen-
tations and rich case examples, followed by developmentally-informed
questions and topics for couple therapists to pursue.
Keywords
cohabitation, conflict, couple therapy, couples at end of life, couples in
later life, couples at midlife, death, divorce, empty nest, family of o rigin,
vi Abstract
In her beautifully written portrait of the life cycle of couples, Anne Fishel
has woven together research, memorable examples from her clinical
practice and helpful suggestions for practitioners into a truly helpful
guide. I was particularly impressed by her ability to approach couples in
an accepting, nonpathologizing way. Any family therapist who reads this
book will find him or herself better equipped to meet and help couples of
any age on their marital journey.
—Michael Thompson, PhD,
co-author of Raising Cain
will enrich their conversations and connections with one another. This
volume will be invaluable for psychologists, psychiatrists, social w
orkers,
and those who train professional therapists to work with couples. I d
aresay
it would also be eye-opening and helpful to couples themselves, who will
surely find themselves in many of its rich examples.
—Carolyn Pape Cowan, PhD, Adjunct Professor of Psychology
Emerita, University of California, Berkeley; Coauthor of When Partners
Become Parents: The Big Life Change for Couples
With this book, Anne Fishel has contributed a major advance to our
understanding of couples and the practice of couple therapy. Her life-
cycle perspective places the clinical at the center of the couple’s world, and
her many compelling case examples and relevant questions offer prag-
matic help for navigating the challenging terrain of couples therapy. This
is a book that complements the work of all couples therapists regardless
of their preferred models.
—Douglas C. Breunlin
Program Director, Master of Science in Marriage and Family Therapy
Clinical Professor, Department of Psychology, Northwestern University
Contents
Acknowledgments�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������xi
References�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������119
About the Author��������������������������������������������������������������������������������137
Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������139
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks to friends and colleagues at Massachusetts General
Hospital who have supported my teaching and enhanced my understand-
ing of couples’ relationships over many years. In particular, I am grateful
to the members of the decades-long MGH Reflecting Team, where I have
spent hundreds of hours discussing couple therapy and learning from
a very knowledgeable and generous team: Carol McSheffrey, LICSW;
David Rubin, MD; Ellen Godena, LICSW; Pat Giulino, LICSW; Ginny
Sigel, LICSW; Marie Herbert, LICSW; Nicole Simi, PhD; Julia Coleman,
MD; Cindy Moore, PhD; Juliana Chen, MD; Shiri Cohen, PhD; Lisa
Montanye, LICSW; and Abby McDonald, LICSW.
I am also very grateful to those clinicians who allowed me to inter-
view them about their particular areas of expertise and who also pro-
vided perspectives on the manuscript: Bob Waldinger, MD, shared his
knowledge about late-life couples, based on men and women who par-
ticipated in the Harvard Study of Adult Development, which he directs;
Paula Rauch, MD, and Cindy Moore, PhD, offered their deep stores of
clinical experience about end-of-life-issues, based largely on their work
at MGH’s P arenting At a Challenging Time program, which Dr. Rauch
founded and directs, and where Dr. Moore is the Associate Director; Leah
Rosenberg, MD, a palliative care and hospice specialist at MGH, shared
her wisdom about easing patients’ suffering at end of life; Caroline Mar-
vin, PhD, and Larry Rosenberg, PhD, senior clinicians in private practice
with decades of couple therapy experience, talked with me about their
work with same-sex couples. Eva Schoenfeld, PhD, Chris McElroy, PhD,
Nancy Bridges, LICSW, Beth Harrington, PhD, Sue Wolff, MD, and
Corky Becker, PhD have offered invaluable insights about couple work.
Several other therapists offered essential feedback on various c hapters
of this book. I am so appreciative of the thoughtful and incisive c omments
from Juliana Chen, MD; Melinda Morrill, PhD; Laura Prager, MD; and
Abigail Judge, PhD.
xii Acknowledgments
patient complains of low energy and a sad mood, a clinician will bring
to bear all that is known about depression and ask questions accord-
ingly—about feelings of worthlessness and guilt, disturbances in sleep
and appetite, and difficulty concentrating. Most likely, every individual
experiencing depression will not respond affirmatively to all of these que-
ries, but the panel of questions will direct the therapist to explore a wide
swath of experiences common among depressed individuals.
A couple therapist, with a focus on relationships rather than on indi-
viduals, does not rely on diagnostic categories like depression or anxiety.
Instead, the couple therapist will compare a couple who presents at a par-
ticular stage of development with large groups of other couples who have
been studied at that same stage. So, for example, when interviewing a
couple with an infant, a couple therapist will ask about increases in fight-
ing and decreases in sexual activity, as these behaviors have been identi-
fied as common features of thousands of couples making the transition
to parenthood. A particular couple with a newborn may not endorse all
the same experiences found in studies, but questions, rooted in research,
will help orient the therapist to ask about a baby’s temperament, sleep,
and eating behavior, as well as to normalize disruptions in the couple’s
relationship. These questions can offer respectful, normative explanations
of a couple’s challenges. For example, “Most couples experience a decline
in their sexual relationship in the first two years after becoming parents.
How has this adjustment gone for you?” If a couple responds that they
have transcended the normative expectations of this transition by avoid-
ing fights about who is doing what and are having frequent and satisfying
sex, it is an opportunity to inquire about their strengths and resources
that have made this possible. If, on the other hand, they describe having
the worst fights of their lives, the couple therapist can normalize the fights
as a developmental event and offer suggestions for making the fights less
toxic and damaging.
over waterfalls, settle as swamps, and pick up and deposit detritus and
sediment as they meander, so their journey is never a straight shot. Just as
a river rushes, or meanders toward the ocean, so time propels every couple
through terrain with recognizable landmarks. Time, or biological aging,
has an impact on all aspects of a couple’s life—work, sex, health, conflict,
connection, and caregiving. There are six major life-cycle stages that
couples typically traverse from dating to death, divorce, or separation.
These stages are rooted in a westernized view of relationships and may
look different across cultures and across historical periods (McGoldrick,
Carter, & Preto, 2016; Carter & McGoldrick, 1989).1
1
I am grateful for the seminal and ground-breaking work on life-cycle stages put
forth by Monica McGoldrick, Nydia Garcia Preto, and Betty Carter over the last
three decades.
Applying the Life-cycle Perspective to Couple Therapy 5
This trajectory is, of course, not the only one that couples take, and
not all couples traverse all these stages. Other transitions—like migration,
traumatic losses, and disability—may be much more formative than these
developmental ones. There are also many variations of life experience for
couples who stay together on a long developmental arc. Three variations
are particularly important in clinical practice. First, the inclusion of
parenting in stages two, three, and four of the life-cycle stages requires
that clinical attention also be provided to represent the experience of the
many couples who will choose not to have children, but who stay mar-
ried over the same period of time as couples with children. Second, the
legalization of same-sex marriage (Supreme Court, 2015) is so recent that
there is scant longitudinal data on long-term same-sex marriages, so we
must wait for research data on how the developmental stages may differ
or overlap with those of heterosexual couples. In the meantime, clinical
knowledge and an emerging body of research on same-sex marriages can
offer guidance about same-sex couples. Divorce and remarriage is a third
normative variation over the life span. In the last 30 years, divorce has
supplanted death as the endpoint for the majority of marriages. This shift
has prompted some couple therapists to regard divorce as a normative
life-cycle event that may be positive or negative (Pinsof, 2002).
Life-cycle theory posits that couples experience the most stress at the
transition points, as one stage turns into another, and often as family
members are added, as in marriage and the transition to parenthood, and
lost, as during the launching stage and at the death of a spouse. When
moving from one stage to the other, the organization of the couple must
change. It is not, however, merely the transitioning from one stage to
the other that creates strain on a relationship. If, in addition, there is an
accumulation of stressors that coincides with a transition point, as when
a couple is expecting a first child at the same time that the husband’s
mother is diagnosed with metastatic cancer, and the couple has to relocate
to a new city without any supports, they may struggle. A transition point
can also be exacerbated if it resonates with difficulty encountered in a
previous generation at a similar stage of life, as when an expectant couple
6 A LIFE-CYCLE APPROACH TO TREATING COUPLES
When Daphne and Martin2 first came for couple therapy, I was initially
struck by their sartorial dissimilarities—Martin was not afraid of color, from
2
This case, as all others throughout the book, has been deidentified in order to
protect the identity of my clients.
8 A LIFE-CYCLE APPROACH TO TREATING COUPLES
his boldly patterned socks to his bright orange shirt and green vest, while
Daphne was dressed head to toe in black. Next, I noticed another contrast,
and one that they warned me not to be judgmental about—a 40-year age
difference. At 33, Daphne, a Euro-American woman, had just finished her
graduate degree in art history and was looking for a job, while Martin, a
72-year-old Jewish artist and writer, was still working full-time with no plans
to retire. There were more developmental asymmetries: Martin was at the
height of his career and Daphne was just starting out; Martin had four chil-
dren and several grandchildren, while Daphne was uncertain about whether
she wanted to have any children; Martin had accumulated wealth, two
houses, and an art collection, while Daphne was still living in graduate school
housing; M artin was keenly aware of limited time and wanted to focus just
on those projects and people whom he knew were interesting and compelling,
while Daphne wanted to explore many new friendships and travel. Focusing
on their developmental tasks, biological clocks, and relative sense of future
time as points of difference gave a way to talk about their relationship. This
focus also led us to look squarely at the power differences that their different
developmental locations reveal. Age, parent status, money, and professional
standing are power issues as well as developmental ones.
Daphne described her challenges in the relationship this way: “I feel like
I’m fitting in to his life, his house, his family. If I weren’t here, he’d be making
the same decisions about his life. I’m not having an impact. He can’t hear me
unless I get angry and upset. I have spooned myself around his life. Being with
him means that his relationship with his children will always be stronger than
with me. The balance is off.” Martin talked about the guilt he felt, inviting
Daphne to share a life that would likely leave her widowed and childless when
she was in her middle-age years. He was unwavering about his wish not to
have a second family in his 70s.
And still, there were commonalities between them and ways their emo-
tional needs were interlocking. They both had childhoods where they were left
on their own, by parents with mental illness. Daphne had developed a strategy
of not relying on anyone, but found that Martin was steady and trustworthy,
the first man she could turn to for help and reassurance. This was the first time
she did not worry about finances; consequently, she experienced a freedom to
experiment with career options, and artistic pursuits, that she had yearned for
Applying the Life-cycle Perspective to Couple Therapy 9
as an adolescent and young adult. Martin, for his part, had always been the
caretaker in his previous relationships, but with Daphne, Martin felt he could
be vulnerable and expose his feelings in a way he could not when he was the
sole provider of four children and adhering to more old-fashioned 1950s style
versions of masculinity.
Daphne and Martin worked hard in couple therapy for over two years.
Both felt that this was the most intimate relationship of their lives—they
deeply loved and felt cherished by the other. Martin wanted to marry Daphne
and told her so, but their developmental issues proved insurmountable. Some
of these issues pertained to their different perspectives on time. Like many older
individuals, Martin often wished to let go of their conflicts and focus instead
on the positive aspects of their relationship, while Daphne was more interested
in engaging in and working through conflict. Also congruent with those in late
life, Martin wished to spend time with Daphne and a small group of friends
and family he knew and loved already, while Daphne, with a more expansive
future, was far more interested in making new friends, having adventures,
and novel experiences. Most profoundly, their developmental differences piv-
oted around Daphne’s wish to live on her own, so that she could develop
her career out from under Martin’s powerful shadow and decide whether she
wanted a child. With much sadness, some regret, and deep affection, they
parted ways.
benefits. In any case, if half of divorces occur within the first seven years
of marriage, another quarter of all divorces occur in couples who are 50
or older. Divorce rates are inextricably linked to class, as well as to age.
For college-educated women, there is almost an 80 percent chance of still
being married after two decades, while for women with a high school edu-
cation or less, their chances are only 40 percent (Wang, 2015).
The developmental lens not only provides context and orients the cou-
ple therapist to common challenges but can itself be an intervention. By
introducing a previous stage of life that was skipped over, a developmental
reframe can shift a couple from blaming one another toward adopting a
dyadic and nonjudgmental view of their current difficulties.
When Maria and Ralph, an African–American couple in their early 30s,
came to a Boston-area clinic, they complained of feeling like siblings, the kind
who squabble and then go their own way. Married for five years, they had two
daughters, Anna age 5 and Sophia age 2. Although the reason they gave for
their clinic visit was their older daughter’s second expulsion from a pre-school
due to biting other children, other difficulties—more typical of couples who
are older and have been married for decades—came tumbling out. They met
seven years earlier, shortly after the death of Maria’s mother. Not long after
that, Maria was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer for which she was
treated with radiation, chemotherapy, and surgery. During cancer treatment,
the couple moved in with one another and only a month later, Ralph’s mother,
following a fall that was the first symptom of Alzheimer’s, moved in and con-
tinued to live with them until her death a year ago.
The couple sought a diagnosis for their daughter, and they wanted help
managing her temper outbursts at home. As their therapist, I was torn between
focusing on their current problem and wondering how their shaky start as a
couple might be interfering with their difficulties collaborating as parents.
As part of my feedback after the first few sessions, I offered a developmental
reframe. “It is no wonder that you are feeling more like siblings than like
partners as you face a parenting challenge with Anna. It sounds like life threw
crisis after crisis at you, like the death of a parent, a serious medical illness,
and the care-taking of an ill parent that most couples don’t have to deal with
Applying the Life-cycle Perspective to Couple Therapy 15
right out of the gate. Because you had to deal with challenges more typical of
older couples who already know each other well, you skipped an important
developmental stage—creating an identity as a couple.
“In addition to figuring out a good plan for helping Anna, I’d like to
suggest that we do some time travel in here. Let’s go back to the developmental
stage you missed out on and take some time to have conversations you might
have had if you hadn’t had to race ahead. For example, ‘Where do you want
to live?’ ‘How do you resolve disagreements?’ ‘Who are your friends?’ ‘What
role, if any, does religion or spirituality play in your lives?’ ‘What rituals, like
dinner or holiday get-togethers, are important to you?’ ‘What do you like to
do together when you have leisure time?’ ‘What is important to you as you
envision a future together?’ These are just a few topics that we might discuss.”
The developmental reframe is a normalizing intervention that recasts
a current problem as indicating that a couple bypassed an important
earlier stage or has gotten stuck at a prior stage. With Maria and Ralph,
their current distant and contentious relationship was interfering with
their ability to collaborate on a parenting plan for their elder daughter.
By offering an empathic explanation for their difficulties—that they got
derailed in developing their relationship by having to take on respon-
sibilities more typical of an older couple—they were offered a way for-
ward that sidestepped any assignments of blame. This developmental
reframe also gave an entry point to talk about the losses they experienced
together, and how their caretaking of each other had shaped their current
relationship.
In the coming chapters, the developmental perspective will next be
applied to each stage of a couple’s lifespan. Starting with courtship and
the decision to marry or commit to one another, we will explore the
research on the transition to marriage with an eye to better understanding
this opening act. We will look at common presentations for therapy and
make suggestions for questions and interventions that a couple therapist
can offer to help couples as they initially embark on a life together.
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CHAPTER IX
AMONG THE YAOS
At last we have finished writing down and translating the text. The
mothers have watched us in complete silence—not so the babies, who
all seem to suffer from colds, and breathe noisily in consequence.
The assertions made in so many works on Africa, as to the happiness
of the native in early childhood, do not stand the test of reality. As
soon as the mother gets up after her confinement, which she does
very soon, the infant is put into the cloth which she ties on her back.
There it stays all day long, whether the mother is having her short
woolly hair dressed by a friend, enjoying a gossip at the well, hoeing,
weeding, or reaping in the burning sun. When she stands for hours
together, pounding corn in the mortar, the baby jogs up and down
with the rhythmic motion of her arms, and when she is kneeling
before the millstone grinding the meal into fine white flour, or
squatting by the hearth in the evening, the rosy morsel of humanity
never leaves its close and warm, but not altogether hygienic nest. The
rosiness does not last long. No provision in the way of napkins being
made, the skin soon becomes chapped and deep cracks are formed,
especially at the joints, and the terrible African flies lay their eggs on
the eyelids of the unfortunate little ones, neither father nor mother
ever raising a hand to drive them away—they never dream of making
this effort for their own benefit! No wonder that the little eyes, which
in the case of our own children we are accustomed to think of as the
most wonderful and beautiful thing in organic nature, should be
bleared and dim. Fungoid ulcers (the result of “thrush”) are seen
protruding in bluish white masses from nose and mouth. The
universal colds are the consequence of the great difference of
temperature between day and night. The parents can protect
themselves by means of the fire and their mats; the child gets wet, is
left lying untouched and uncared for, becomes chilled through, and
of course catches cold. Hence the general coughing and sniffing in
our baraza.[27]
A FRIENDLY CHAT
(1) Seletu, seletu, the songo snake, bring it here and let us play,
bring it here, the songo snake.
(2) Seletu, seletu, the lion, bring him here—seletu, seletu, the lion is
beautiful.
That is all. I think the admiration here expressed for two creatures
very dangerous to the natives is to be explained as a kind of captatio
benevolentiæ rather than as the outcome of any feeling for nature or
of artistic delight in the bright colours of the serpent or the powerful
frame of the lion. Both children and grown-up people are more
concerned about the songo than about any other creature; it is said
to live among the rocks, to have a comb like a cock and to produce
sounds by which it entices its prey.[28] It darts down like lightning on
its victim from a tree overhanging the path, strikes him on the neck,
and he falls down dead. The natives have described the whole scene
to me over and over again with the most expressive pantomime. It is
quite comprehensible that this snake should be feared beyond
everything, and, considering similar phenomena in other parts of the
world, it seems quite natural that they should try to propitiate this
terrible enemy by singing his praises as being eminently fitted to take
part in the dance. Precisely the same may be said of the lion.
Now things become more lively. “Chindawi!” cries one, to be
rendered approximately by “I’ll tell you something!”[29] and another
answers “Ajise!” (“Let it come.”) The first speaker now says, “Aju,
aji,” and passes her right hand in quick, bold curves through the air.
I do not know what to make of the whole proceeding, nor the
meaning of the answer, “Kyuwilili,” from the other side. The dumb
shyness which at first characterized the women has now yielded to a
mild hilarity not diminished by my perplexed looks. At last comes
the solution, “Aju, aji,” merely means “this and that,”[30] and the
passes of the hand are supposed to be made under a vertical sun
when the shadow would pass as swiftly and silently over the ground
as the hand itself does through the air. Kyuwilili (the shadow), then,
is the answer to this very primitive African riddle.
“Chindawi!”—“Ajise!”—the game goes on afresh, and the question
is, this time, “Gojo gojo kakuungwa?” (“What rattles in its house?”) I
find the answer to this far less recondite than the first one
—“Mbelemende” (the bazi pea), which of course is thought of as still
in the pod growing on a shrub resembling our privet. The ripe seeds,
in fact, produce a rattling noise in the fresh morning breeze.
But for the third time “Chindawi!”—“Ajise!” rings out, and this
time the problem set is “Achiwanangu kulingana.” I am quite
helpless, but Matola with his usual vivacity, springs into the circle,
stoops down and points with outstretched hands to his knees, while a
murmur of applause greets him. “My children are of equal size” is the
enigma; its unexpected solution is, “Malungo” (the knees). We
Europeans, with our coldly-calculating intellect, have long ago lost
the enviable faculty of early childhood, which enabled us to personify
a part as if it were the whole. A happy fate allows the African to keep
it even in extreme old age.
By this time nothing more surprises me. A fourth woman’s voice
chimes in with “Ambuje ajigele utandi” (“My master brings meal”).
The whole circle of faces is turned as one on the European, who once
more can do nothing but murmur an embarrassed “Sijui” (“I do not
know”). The answer, triumphantly shouted at me—“Uuli!” (“White
hair!”)—is, in fact, to our way of thinking so far-fetched that I should
never have guessed it. Perhaps this riddle may have been suggested
by the fact that an old white-headed native does in fact look as if his
head had been powdered with flour.[31]
Now comes the last number of a programme quite full enough
even for a blasé inquirer.
“Chindawi!”—“Ajise!” is heard for the last time. “Pita kupite akuno
tusimane apa!”[32] The excitement in which everyone gazes at me is if
possible greater than before; they are evidently enjoying the feeling
of their superiority over the white man, who understands nothing of
what is going on. But this time their excess of zeal betrayed them—
their gestures showed me clearly what their language concealed, for
all went through the movement of clasping a girdle with both hands.
“Lupundu” (a girdle) is accordingly the answer to this riddle, which
in its very cadence when translated,—“Goes round to the left, goes
round to the right, and meets in the middle”—recalls that of similar
nursery riddles at home, e.g., the well-known “Long legs, crooked
thighs, little head, and no eyes.”
Matola himself came forward with an “extra” by way of winding up
the evening. His contribution runs thus:—“Chikalakasa goje
kung’anda, kung’anda yekwete umbo,” which is, being interpreted,
“Skulls do not play” (or “dance”); “they only play who have hair (on
their heads).”
The difficult work of the translator is always in this country
accompanied by that of the commentator, so that it does not take
long to arrive at the fact that this sentence might be regarded as a
free version of “Gather ye roses while ye may,” or “A living dog is
better than a dead lion.” I, too, turning to Matola and Daudi, say
solemnly, “Chikalakasa goje kung’anda, kung’anda yekwete umbo”
and then call out to Moritz, “Bilauri nne za pombe” (“A glass of beer
for each of us”).
The drab liquor is already bubbling in our drinking vessels—two
glasses and two tin mugs. “Skål, Mr. Knudsen”; “Prosit, Professor”—
the two natives silently bow their heads. With heartfelt delight we let
the cool fluid run down our thirsty throats. “Kung’anda yekwete
umbo” (“They only play who have hair on their heads”).... Silently
and almost imperceptibly the dark figures of the women have slipped
away, with a “Kwa heri, Bwana!” Matola and Daudi are gone too,
and I remain alone with Knudsen.
Our manuals of ethnology give a terrible picture of the lot of
woman among primitive peoples. “Beast of burden” and “slave” are
the epithets continually applied to her. Happily the state of things is
not so bad as we might suppose from this; and, if we were to take the
tribes of Eastern Equatorial Africa as a sample of primitive peoples
in general, the picture would not, indeed, be reversed, but very
considerably modified. The fact is that the women are in no danger
of killing themselves with hard work—no one ever saw a native
woman walking quickly, and even the indispensable work of the
home is done in such a leisurely and easy-going way that many a
German housewife might well envy them the time they have to spare.
Among the inland tribes, indeed, the women have a somewhat
harder time: the luxuries of the coast are not to be had; children are
more numerous and give more trouble; and—greatest difference of
all—there are no bazaars or shops like those of the Indians, where
one can buy everything as easily as in Europe. So there is no help for
it; wives and daughters must get to work by sunrise at the mortar,
the winnowing-basket, or the grinding-stones.
At six in the morning the European was tossing restlessly in his
narrow bed—tossing is perhaps scarcely the right expression, for in a
narrow trough like this such freedom of movement is only possible
when broad awake and to a person possessing some skill in
gymnastics. The night had brought scant refreshment. In the first
place a small conflagration took place just as I was going to bed.
Kibwana, the stupid, clumsy fellow, has broken off a good half of my
last lamp-glass in cleaning it. It will still burn, thanks to the brass
screen which protects it from the wind, but it gives out a tremendous
heat. It must have been due to this accident that at the moment when
I had just slightly lifted the mosquito-net to slip under it like
lightning and cheat the unceasing vigilance of the mosquitoes, I
suddenly saw a bright light above and behind me. I turned and
succeeded in beating out the flames in about three seconds, but this
was long enough to burn a hole a foot square in the front of the net.
Kibwana will have to sew it up with a piece of sanda, and in the
meantime it can be closed with a couple of pins.
Tired out at last I sank on my bed, and dropped into an uneasy
slumber. It was perhaps two o’clock when I started up, confused and
dazed with a noise which made me wonder if the Indian Ocean had
left its bed to flood this plain as of old. The tent shook and the poles
threatened to break; all nature was in an uproar, and presently new
sounds were heard through the roaring of the storm—a many-voiced
bellowing from the back of the tent—shouts, cries and scolding from
the direction of the prison, where my soldiers were now awake and
stumbling helplessly hither and thither in the pitchy darkness round
the baraza. A terrific roar arose close beside my tent-wall. Had the
plague of lions followed us here from Masasi? Quick as thought I
slipped out from under the curtain and felt in the accustomed place
for my match-box. It was not there, nor was it to be found elsewhere
in the tent. Giving up the search, I threw myself into my khaki suit,
shouting at the same time for the sentinel and thus adding to the
noise. But no sentinel appeared. I stepped out and, by the light of the
firebrands wielded by the soldiers, saw them engaged in a struggle
with a dense mass of great black beasts. These, however, proved to be
no lions, but Matola’s peaceful cattle. A calf had been taken away
from its mother two days before; she had kept up a most piteous
lowing ever since, and finally, during the uproar of the storm, broke
out of the kraal, the whole herd following her. The two bulls glared
with wildly-rolling eyes at the torches brandished in their faces,
while the younger animals bellowed in terror. At last we drove them
back, and with infinite trouble shut them once more into the kraal.
The white man in the tent has fallen asleep once more, and is
dreaming. The nocturnal skirmish with the cattle has suggested
another sort of fight with powder and shot against Songea’s hostile
Wangoni. The shots ring out on both sides at strangely regular
intervals; suddenly they cease. What does this mean? Is the enemy
planning a flanking movement to circumvent my small force? or is he
creeping up noiselessly through the high grass? I give the word of
command, and spring forward, running my nose against tin box No.
3, which serves as my war chest and therefore has its abode inside
the tent opposite my bed. My leap has unconsciously delivered me
from all imaginary dangers and brought me back to reality. The
platoon fire begins again—bang! bang! bang!—and in spite of the
confused state in which the events of the night have left my head, I
am forced to laugh aloud. The regular rifle-fire is the rhythmic
pounding of the pestles wielded by two Yao women in Matola’s
compound, who are preparing the daily supply of maize and millet
meal for the chief’s household.
I have often seen women and girls at this work, but to-day I feel as
if I ought to give special attention to these particular nymphs, having
already established a psychical rapport with them. It does not take
long to dress, nor, when that is finished, to drink a huge cup of cocoa
and eat the usual omelette with bananas, and then, without loss of
time I make for the group of women, followed by my immediate
bodyguard carrying the camera and the cinematograph.
I find there are four women—two of them
imperturbably pounding away with the long,
heavy pestle, which, however, no longer
resembles cannon or rifle fire, but makes
more of a clapping sound. Matola explains
that there is now maize in the mortars, while
in the early morning they had been pounding
mtama and making the thundering noise
which disturbed my repose. This grain is
husked dry, then winnowed, afterwards WOMAN POUNDING
AT THE MORTAR.
washed and finally placed in a flat basket to
DRAWN BY SALIM
dry in the sun for an hour and a half. Not till MATOLA
this has been done can it be ground on the
stone into flour. Maize, on the other hand, is
first husked by pounding in a wet mortar, and then left to soak in
water for three days. It is then washed and pounded. The flour will
keep if dried.
After a while the pounding ceases, the women draw long breaths
and wipe the perspiration from their faces and chests. It has been
hard work, and, performed as it is day by day, it brings about the
disproportionate development of the upper arm muscles which is so
striking in the otherwise slight figures of the native women. With a
quick turn of the hand, the third woman has now taken the pounded
mass out of the mortar and put it into a flat basket about two feet
across. Then comes the winnowing; stroke on stroke at intervals of
ten and twenty seconds, the hand with the basket describes a
semicircle, open below—not with a uniform motion, but in a series of
jerks. Now one sees the husks separating themselves from the grain,
the purpose served by the mortar becomes manifest, and I find that it
has nothing to do with the production of flour, but serves merely to
get off the husk.
The winnowing is quickly done, and with a vigorous jerk the
shining grain flies into another basket. This is now seized by the
fourth woman, a plump young thing who has so far been squatting
idly beside the primitive mill of all mankind, the flat stone on which
the first handful of the grain is now laid. Now some life comes into
her—the upper stone passes crunching over the grains—the mass
becomes whiter and finer with each push, but the worker becomes
visibly warm. After a time the first instalment is ready, and glides
slowly down, pushed in front of the “runner” into the shallow bowl
placed beneath the edge of the lower stone. The woman draws
breath, takes up a fresh handful and goes to work again.
This preparation of flour is, as it was everywhere in ancient times,
and still is among the maize-eating Indians of America, the principal
occupation of the women. It is, on account of the primitive character
of the implements, certainly no easy task, but is not nearly so hard on
them as the field-work which, with us, falls to the lot of every day-
labourer’s wife, every country maid-servant, and the wives and
daughters of small farmers. I should like to see the African woman
who would do the work of one German harvest to the end without
protesting and running away.
Sulila has taken his place in the centre of his band, holding his
stringed instrument in his left hand, and its bow in his right. This
instrument is a monochord with a cylindrical resonator cut out of a
solid block of wood, the string, twisted out of some hair from the tail
of one of the great indigenous mammals, is fastened to a round piece
of wood. Instead of rosin, he passes his tongue over the string of his
bow, which he then lifts and applies to the string, bringing out a
plaintive note, immediately followed by a terrible bellow from Sulila
himself and an ear-splitting noise from the “xylophones” of the band.
Strictly speaking, I am inclined to regret having come out on a
scientific mission: there is an inexpressible delight in seeing this
strange artist at work, and every diversion caused by the working of
the apparatus means a loss of enjoyment. Sulila is really working
hard—without intermission he coaxes out of his primitive instrument
the few notes of which it is capable, and which are low, and quite
pleasing. Equally incessant is his singing, which, however, is less
pleasing, at least for Europeans. His native audience seem to accept
it as music par excellence, for they are simply beside themselves with
enthusiasm. Sulila’s voice is harsh, but powerful; it is possible that its
strength to some extent depends on his blindness, as, like a deaf
man, he is unable to estimate the extent of the sound-waves he
produces. He takes his words at such a frantic pace that, though my
ear is now somewhat accustomed to the Yao language, I can scarcely
distinguish one here and there.
But the most charming of all Sulila’s accomplishments is the third,
for he not only plays and sings, but dances also. His dance begins
with a rhythmic swaying of the knees, keeping time to the notes of
his fiddle, while, with the characteristic uncertainty of the blind his
face turns from side to side. After a time the swaying becomes deeper
and quicker, the dancer begins to turn, slowly at first, and then more
rapidly, at last he revolves at a tearing speed on his axis. His bow
tears along likewise, his voice sets the neighbouring bush vibrating,
the band hammer away like madmen on their logs—it is a veritable
pandemonium, and the public is in raptures.
As already stated, I could not help secretly regretting the
impossibility of giving myself up unreservedly to the impression of
these performances, but the duty of research must always be the
predominant consideration. The hours spent over the camera,
cinematograph, and phonograph, involve more hard work than
amusement. This cannot be helped, but, if some of the results turn
out satisfactorily, as has fortunately happened in my case, all
difficulties and discomfort are abundantly compensated.
It is not easy to get phonographic records of the voice, even from
natives who can see. You place the singer in front of the apparatus,
and explain how he has to hold his head, and that he must sing right
into the centre of the funnel. “Do you understand?” you ask him on
the conclusion of the lecture. “Ndio” (“Yes”), he answers, as a matter
of course. Cautious, as one has to be, once for all, in Africa, you make
a trial by letting him sing without winding up the apparatus. The
man is still shy and sings too low, and has to be encouraged with a
“Kwimba sana!” (“Sing louder!”). After a second trial—sometimes a
third and fourth—the right pitch is found. I set the apparatus, give
the signal agreed on, and singer and machine start off together. For a
time all goes well—the man stands like a column. Then something
disturbs his balance. He turns his head uneasily from side to side,
and there is just time to disconnect the apparatus and begin
instructions again from the beginning. This is what usually happens;
in many cases undoubtedly it was vanity which induced the singer
coquettishly to turn his head to right and left, saying as plainly as
words could have done, “See what a fine fellow I am!”
With Sulila the case is much worse. He is so in the habit of moving
his head about that he cannot stop it when standing before the
phonograph, and the first records made of his voice are terribly
metallic. With the swift impulsiveness which distinguishes me, and
which, though I have often found cause to regret it, has repeatedly
done me good service in this country, I now make a practice of
seizing the blind minstrel by the scruff of the neck the moment he
lifts up his leonine voice, and holding his woolly head fast as in a
vice, regardless of all his struggles; till he has roared out his
rhapsody to the end. Most of the songs I have hitherto heard from
Yao performers are of a martial character. Here is one which Sulila
sang into the phonograph at Masasi on July 24:—
Tulīmbe, achakulungwa! Wausyaga ngondo, nichichi? Watigi: Kunsulila(1)
kanapagwe. Jaiche ja Masito; u ti toakukwimi. Wa gwasite(?) Nambo Wandachi
pajaiche, kogopa kuona: msitu watiniche; mbamba syatiniche; mbusi syatiniche;
nguku syatiniche; kumala wandu putepute; nokodi papopu; kupeleka mbia
syakalume. Gakuūnda(?) Mtima wasupwiche: Ngawile pesipo Luja. Kunsulila
ngomba sim yaule kwa Bwana mkubwa: Nam(u)no anduwedye atayeye mapesa
gao. Sambano yo nonembesile.[32a]
The meaning of this is:—
“Let us be brave, we elders. They asked: What is a war? They say:
‘Mr. Sulila is not yet born.’ Then comes (the war) of the Mazitu; guns
are fired; then they ran away. But the Germans came; it was
dangerous to see; the bush was burnt, the ants were burnt, the goats
were burnt, the fowls were burnt—the people were finished up
altogether; the tax came up (they had) to bring a hundred jars (of
rupees). They were not satisfied. (Their) heart was frightened. Mr.
Sulila telegraphed to the District Commissioner: ‘He may skin me to
make a bag for his money.’ Now I am tired.”
The tribes in the south-eastern part of our colony are very
backward as regards music; they have nothing that can be called
tune, and their execution never gets beyond a rapid recitative. In
both respects, all of them, Yaos, Makua and Wanyasa alike, are far
behind my Wanyamwezi, who excel in both. Only in one point the
advantage rests with the southern tribes—the words of their songs
have some connected meaning, and even occasional touches of
dramatic force. This is remarkably illustrated by Sulila’s song.
The Mazitu have made one of their usual raids on the unsuspecting
inhabitants of the Central Rovuma district. Which of the many
sanguinary raids on record is meant cannot be gathered from the
words of the song, it may be one of those which took place in the
eighties and nineties, or the recent rising—probably the latter, since,
so far as I am aware, there was never any question of taxes in the
previous disturbances. In this case, moreover, it is not so much a
war-tax that is referred to, as the payment of the hut-tax introduced
some years ago, which has during the last few months been paid in at
Lindi with surprising willingness by people who had been more or
less openly disaffected. This may be looked on as a direct
consequence of the prompt and vigorous action taken by the
authorities.
The interference of the Germans marks a turning point in the
fighting of the natives among themselves. The feeling that more
serious evils are coming upon them is expressed in terms of their
thought by speaking of the destruction of all property. First the bush
is burnt, and all the ants in it destroyed, then comes the turn of the
goats, which here in the south are not very numerous, though the
fowls, which are the next to perish, are. Finally, many people are
killed—Sulila in his ecstasy says all. Now come the conditions of
peace imposed by the victorious Germans: a heavy tax in rupees,
which must be paid whether they like it or not. In the eyes of those
immediately affected the sum assumes gigantic proportions, they
become uneasy and contemplate the step which, here in the south
may be said to be always in the air—that of escaping the
consequences of the war by an emigration en masse. Then appears
the hero and deliverer—no other than Sulila himself. In the
consciousness of his high calling, he, the poor blind man, proudly
calls himself “Mr. Sulila”[33] He sees his country already traversed by
one of the most wonderful inventions of the white strangers—the
telegraph wire. He telegraphs at once to the Bwana mkubwa, that
his countrymen are ready to submit unconditionally,—they have no
thought of resistance, but they have no money. And they are so
terrified that the Bwana might if he chose skin them to make a bag
for the rupees—they would not think of resisting. This is the end of
the song proper—the last sentence, “Now I am tired,” is a personal
utterance on the part of the performer himself, fatigued by the
unwonted mental effort of dictation.
Here at Chingulungulu there are several such minstrels. The most
famous of them is Che Likoswe, “Mr. Rat,” who, at every appearance
is greeted with a universal murmur of applause. Salanga has a still
more powerful voice, but is so stupid that he has not yet succeeded in
dictating the words of one song. If I could venture to reproduce my
records I could at once obtain an accurate text, with the help of the
more intelligent among the audience; but I dare not attempt this at
the present temperature, usually about 88°. I will, however, at least,
give two songs of Che Likoswe’s. One of them is short and
instructive, and remains well within the sphere of African thought,
that is to say, it only contains one idea, repeated ad infinitum by solo
and chorus alternately.
Solo:—“Ulendo u Che Kandangu imasile. Imanga kukaranga”
(“Mr. Kandangu’s journey is ended. The maize is roasted”).
Chorus: “... Ulendo u Che Kandangu....”
Che Likoswe’s “get-up” and delivery are very much the same as
Sulila’s, except that, in conformity with his name, he sings, fiddles
and dances still more vivaciously than his blind colleague, who is
also an older man. He is, moreover, extremely versatile—it is all one
to him whether he mimes on the ground, or on tall stilts—a sight
which struck me with astonishment the first time I beheld it. The
song itself, of course, refers to a journey in which he himself took
part. The most important incident from the native point of view is,
that all the maize taken with them by the travellers was roasted—i.e.,
consumed, before the goal was reached. Mr. Rat’s other song is much
more interesting; it has an unmistakable affinity with Sulila’s war-
song, and gains in actuality for me personally, because it is