This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Hive account@terresco: Rencontres avec l'Afrique : Réception royale

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (Hive account@vcelier), but Hive account@terresco, a French guy.

I was working as a professor of economics at the French high school in Abidjan in the early 1990s. Classes were very rich in terms of nationalities: if you did not have more than 10 different countries represented in your students it was really not luck. I really liked this mix, it was real, without pretense, to the point of having two best friends, that I should have proposed to the Nobel peace prize, one was Israeli, the other one Arab; I let you guess which part.

* * * * *

King's son

I had noted a certain pride in one of my Ivorian students. Not an unpleasant pride, on the verge of arrogance or pretension, no, just a touch, hard to pin down, something different. I had, on several occasions, engaged the conversation with him without succeeding in piercing the mystery. Africans often say that "the man is not good in his own mouth", understand that it is not nice to speak of yourself in laudatory terms: friends or even griots (smooth talker who declaim praises for a notable) are there for that.

Over time, knowing the other students, I had asked questions to his friends in his class, for lack of griot. I ended up knowing that my enigma was the son of a local king whom he would succeed one day. My curiosity, of course, was not content with this information. Who was this twentieth-century king who sent his son not to the bush school but to the white man high school? The opportunity to satisfy this curiosity was finally offered to me a few months later. I had planned a trip to western Ivory Coast and I was cordially invited to come to the village and meet the famous king.

The village of his majesty the king

A few weeks later, at the entrance to a village that was no different from those of the region, I asked the direction of the house of the king. We were among the Agnis, an ethnic group in the west of the country. A young man to whom we had asked the way offered to bring us. A few hundred meters we ran our Renault 4 in front of a clean, but ordinary house.

I had thought to park further, my vehicle may not be suitable for a royal visit, but the not very palatial nature of the place immediately reassured me. My sartorial efforts had been reduced to nothing by the dust of the track and the ambient humidity favoring abundant perspiration.

I had not forgotten the traditional gift, the bottle of Gin so appreciated by local chefs would be welcome. The grocer advised me to get the green bottle which, while embarking the same liquid as his white colleague, enjoyed a superior image. Africans who respect their traditions will never blame you for not knowing it but will always be affected by the slightest effort in the right direction.

My student greeted us with enthusiasm, compensating our pilot for his diligence before I could do it. Introduced into a living room we were very grateful for the work done by a ceiling fan, certainly a bit noisy but so refreshing. Whatever one says: hot air that moves is better than hot air that stagnates. Tea and biscuits were served to us while exchanging news, a long but indispensable activity in Africa even though we had left the day before.

A meeting out of time

Much later we were invited to go to the terrace where his majesty was going to devote us a few moments of his busy schedule. The king was dressed in a blue boubou and a strange cap which I supposed to be the badge of power, the crown of our ancient kings. He was surrounded by his court, the council of the wise, an assembly of old gentlemen no more alert than our parliamentarians. The reception was cordial, the king being so interested in us that I remained a moment frustrated at not being able to question him in my turn. How important was our little professorial life compared to his reign. Africa is a school of patience, I forgot it too often, my turn came naturally. The king was just polite with his guests.

I learned that this gentleman reigned over nearly 100,000 souls, a figure I suppose to be approximate. More interestingly, if the bonnet with silver chips had a cultural significance, it was by the royal chair that the king held his power. The chair, preserved in a protected place, preserved the souls of the dead kings, a whole lineage that centuries after centuries piled their souls in the hard wood. You will ask the same question like me: what happens in case of chair theft? It's serious, the king loses his power until it is found, it is negotiated. Some dauphins make their wealth by theft of royal chair.

I discovered that my pupil, whom I thought was the son, was not the son, but the son of a king's sister. My royal interlocutor had also been chosen by the Council of Notables between the sons of the sisters of the previous king. It seemed easier, the King having many wives, including those of the previous king, also has many children. This could trigger succession wars. We touch on the African conception of marriage, an instrument of family or social solidarity, quite surprising for our European mentality.

The king received people all day, he decided many conflicts, sometimes inheritance, land but mostly adultery. The penalties in case of "normal" adultery were not high, it was a fine that the suitor was to pay to the husband and whose king decided the amount. In the event of recidivism, the king suspected the husband of being satisfied with the situation to make some profit, he then lowered the indemnity to discourage the abuses. If the lady refused to acknowledge the facts it could be complicated, tests were planned to check the guilt, tests that even as absolutely innocent I would not have liked to undergo.

* * * * *

The interview finally ended, the king had to devote himself to his work and his subjects. I thanked him warmly for the time he had given me, the only time in my life that I had approached a king. At the time of taking leave, he took me aside to ask me, as a professional education, what I thought for his dauphin choice between a university in France or the United States. What skill, a fish in the water in two different worlds.

The traditional powers were superimposed on the administrative powers, each finding its place with probably continual struggles. I had asked the king if he thought that the kingship would last a long time, his answer was ambiguous for me, I deliver it to you as my memory recorded it: "Kings may disappear but the custom is stronger that you imagine."

-- Hive account@terresco

Encounters with Africa series:

From Abidjan to Carcassonne series:

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

Encounters with Africa: Royal reception, by @terresco (translated from French)