Högtidsgåvan, The celebratory gift

Antropologen Wilhelm Östberg berättar om de fem dekorerade lädersmyckena till vänster:
I Keriodalen i västra Kenya deltar vi i firandet av en bykyrkas 10-årsjubileum. Alla är festklädda. Präster från andra kyrkor i regionen hade kommit på besök och mässan inleddes med stor procession. Trummor.
När det blir dags för offergången bidrar alla så mycket de kan, eftersom det är en särskild högtidsdag för kyrkan. En del kommer med pengar, men de flesta har med sig rikligt av det trakten ger: hirs, bananer, kassava, surmjölk, tobak, jordnötter, mango. Det blir alldeles fullt på golvet framför altaret. Utanför kyrkan står några får och getter bundna och de gåvorna välsignas också av prästerna. En liten grupp unga kvinnor går fram till altaret. I händerna bär de små vackert utsmyckade läderlappar. Flickorna lägger ner sina offergåvor på golvet framför prästerna.
Här på trakten använder kvinnorna skinnkjolar som hålls upp av ett läderbälte, ofta prytt med kaurisnäckor. Under kjolen bär unga kvinnor dessa rektangulära skinnlappar, dekorerade med pärlor i olika färger, ibland kompletterade av tunna lameller gjorda av strutsäggskal eller knappar eller små metallpärlor. Ofta gnids lädren in med rödockra för att lysa ännu mer.
Flickorna har fått lädersmyckena vid sin initiering, när de förbereddes för att vuxenlivet och för att gifta sig.
Jag förundrades över att de unga kvinnorna skänkte dessa intima plagg till kyrkan och att det är män som lever i celibat, som tar emot dem. På kyrkbacken efteråt försöker jag försiktigt föra just den saken på tal. Men jag får inte napp. De jag talar med verkar inte tycka det är något märkligt. ”De ville ge det vackraste de hade till sin kyrka.” Dessutom klär sig många hellre i bomullsklänningar än skinnkjol. Deras ungflicksprydnader var för givarna redan på väg att bli minnen av något som nyss var.

Dagen därpå frågade jag kyrkoherden vad han tänkte göra med de unga kvinnornas gåvor. Det visade sig att han lämnat dem vidare till systrarna, alltså de nunnor som bodde vid kyrkan. När jag ställde samma fråga till dem, funderade de litet och sa sedan att de kanske kunde dekorera väggen i en korridor hos dem. Systrarna berömde hantverket. De gladdes åt att se hur smidigt skinnet var, hur olika läderbitar hade fogats samman för att bidra till mönstret, och de kommenterade vad pärlorna kostat. När jag frågade om de kunde avstå några till museerna i Kabarnet, Nairobi och Stockholm var de helt med på noterna. Visst vore ett sådant hantverk något att visa på museum.

Sköteslädren är vackra och det är förstås skäl nog för att de ska hamna på museum. Men vad är berättelsen om dem? Det finns inte regelbundenheter i mönster eller färgsammansättningar, som kunde bli föremål för analys. Den som syr ett skötesläder använder det hon kan komma över och gör något hon tycker ser bra ut. När jag frågade vad pärlrader, läderremsor, färger och placering betydde fick jag svaret att de gjorde det som såg bra ut. Mer vet jag inte om sköteslädrens estetik och symbolik hos pokotfolket i Keriodalen. Att smyckena gör flickorna attraktiva säger sig självt. På ett museum kan de också illustrera en skildring av hur flickor blir giftasvuxna och börjar ett nytt liv.

Dessutom råkade det bli så att just dessa skötesläder lärde en svensk museiintendent något om sina egna värderingar och förutfattade meningar om katolska präster och nunnor.

(Texten är bearbetad och förkortad från ett av kapitlen i boken ”Nyttan av en halv kalebass. Berättelser om föremål från Afrika” (Carlssons förlag i samarbete med Etnografiska museet).

A tale about the four leather skirts:
In the Kerio valley we take part in the celebration of the 10 years anniversary of a village church. It is a simple building; the floor is a slab of concrete and steel beams support a tin roof. The altar is built from local stone and the back wall is made of concrete, which runs at the height of one meter along the borders, like rink boards. The rest is open, to let the wind in to cool the air. The Kerio Valley is dry and hot.
The church is located in the part of the Kerio valley where the marakwet people are living. It’s not far from the river border between them and the pokot, and the congregation has got members from both groups. That was one of the reasons why the church was placed here. There have always been thefts of cattle and honey between the communities and the Catholic Church wanted to contribute to good relations. It’s a good thing then to pray and sing together and to have a dialogue. But after the church was built, the relations have worsened. Automatic weapons have been introduced in the valley on a large scale; rich people in Nairobi and Kampala are providing gangs of plunderers with weapons. The gangs assault the dwellings and shoot blindly around them to make the inhabitants go away, they take the animals and bring them to gathering spots agreed on beforehand. Enormous trucks are waiting there and then the cattle are transported to the slaughterhouses. The income winds up in the pockets of the upper class in the cities, people who deserve to be called ruthless profiteers. That is why, at even intervals, war recurs in the Kerio valley. The daily life of this small congregation is unpredictable. Armed youths are keeping watch while the villagers work in the fields. The animals are hidden away in the nearby mountains. Now, however, it was a period of calm in the valley, the market places were open, you could visit each other and the congregation had the courage to prepare for their 10 years anniversary.
There were lots of people in the church and many of them had dressed up for the occasion. Young women glistened with oil and were wearing colorful bead jewelry. Priests from other churches in the region had come visiting, and the mass was preceded by a large procession. The sound of drums. Traditional blessings were read out by a handful of elderly men. They were wearing high caps and mantles made of fur. In their hands the sinendet plant, always there at ceremonies, as a prayer for well-being and prosperity.

When the time has come for the sacrifice to be offered everybody contributes as much as they can, since this is a special day of feast for this church. Some bring money, but most bring ample amounts of what the earth yields: millet, bananas, cassava, sour milk, tobacco, peanuts, mango. The floor in front of the altar is filled up. Outside the church some sheep and goats are tied and they, too, are blessed by the priests as gifts. A small group of young pokot women walk up to the altar. In their hands they carry little beaded leather patches that are gleaming in the sunshine. They put their sacrifices on the floor in front of the priests.
Pokot women wear leather skirts that are held up by a leather belt, often decorated with kauri shells. In the front the young girls wear these rectangular patches, decorated with colored beads and sometimes with thin plates of ostrich eggshell or buttons or little metal beads. The leather patches are often rubbed with red ochre in order to make them shine more.
I was surprised that the young women presented the church with these intimate garments and that the receivers of the gifts are men who live in celibacy. Afterwards, outside the church, I try to bring up the issue, but without success. Those I talk to don’t appear to think this is something remarkable. “They just wanted to give the most beautiful things they got to their church.” Besides, many of them rather wear in cotton dresses than leather skirts. To them, their young girls’ ornaments were already on their way out and were becoming souvenirs of something just passed.
The following day I asked the vicar what he was going to do with the young women’s gifts. It turned out he had passed them over to the sisters, the nuns living near the church. When I asked them the same question they thought for a while, then said the lap patches (In older ethnographic literature these garments are called aprons. My own associations from that word don’t agree with these elegantly sewn and decorated leather pieces. Apron more sounds like cleaning day and the baking of bread rolls, when instead this is about being dressed up to look as good as possible. What should they
be called? Girdles is not an adequate word and pubic patches sounds too clinical. My suggestion for the translation of atiro (atelo) is lap patch.) might be put up on the wall in a corridor in their house, as decorations. The sisters praised the quality of the handiwork; the smoothness of the leather, the way the different pieces had been joined to contribute to the pattern, and they commented on the price of the beads. And when I asked if they would let the museums in Kabarnert, Nairobi and Stockholm have some of the lap patches they were clearly positive. Such handicraft would really be something to show in a museum.
The fact that these lap patches are beautiful is of course a good reason for them to end up in a museum. But what is their story? There is no regularity in their patterns or color combinations that could be analyzed. A woman who makes a lap patch will use what she can get and produces something she thinks looks good. When I asked for the meaning of the rows of beads, straps of leather, colors and placement I was given the answer that they did what they thought looked good. So, I don’t know more than that about pokot aesthetics or symbolism. For obvious reasons, the lap patches make the girls more attractive. In a museum, the patches can be used to illustrate the process of maturing, how girls grow up to be ready to marry and start their new lives. Besides, it just so happened that these lap patches taught a Swedish museum curator something about her own values and preconceptions about Catholic priests and nuns.