On Becoming an Oromo Anthropologist:Dream, Self and RitualThree Interpretations

Aneesa KassamDepartment of Anthropology

University of Durham43 Old Elvet

Durham DH1 3HN EnglandAneesa.Kassam@durham.ac.uk

Abstract

In this autobiographical essay, I reflect on my practice as an anthropologistthrough the medium of a dream experience. This dream occurred shortly before I wasdue to attend a ritual among the Booran Oromo in northern Kenya. In my discussion,I draw on analytical materialfrom anthropology, psychology, literature and philosophy.Using these different, but complementary approaches, I give three interpretations ofthe dream. The first two were provided to me by members of the culture, and arebased on the indigenous Oromo knowledge system. The third proposes a self-analysisof the dream in terms of its structure and function. The entire exegesis isunderpinned by an essay on dreams and dreaming by Foucault (1984). The analysisof the dream serves to situate my work in both theoretical and existential terms. Theclassic in this genre of writing is, of course, Levi-Strauss's (1973) Tristes Tropiques.Keywords: Dreams, Africa, Oromo, Diahgics

Context of the DreamIn 1993, I made the fateful decision to leave my home in Kenya to join my

husband, Gemetchu Megerssa, who was in exile in England. I am a third generationKenyan of Indian origin. Indians have never been fully accepted in Kenya and areclassified as "third class" citizens. Despite our pariah group status, I have always felta deep psychological and umbilical bond with the country of my birth. I had spentlong periods of time abroad in France as a student, but I had never made a "definitive"break with my Kenyan past. I found the move an emotionally traumatic one. Itwrenched me from a sense of my own past and of the identity that I had constructedof myself.

In colonial Kenya, my father's family had been considered a politically andsocially radical one. Ithad been Gandhian and pro-nationalist.1 My grandfather hadfavored the education of his daughters as well as that of his sons. As part of this stand,my grandfather had also played an important role in bringing about racial integration.I had gone to one of the first desegregated primary schools in the country where raceand color were not issues of difference.

In late adolescence, like other members of the 60s generation, I had been greatly

influenced by the French existentialist movement.2 I searched for a deeper meaning

Anthropology of Consciousness 1U(Z-3):MZ. Copyright © 1999 American Anthropological Association

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to my life. I could feel that there existed another dimension to my way of life, butI was unable to find the key that opened the door to this other sensed world. In 1976,I had traveled to India to seek my spiritual roots, but whilst I had found elements ofmy Indian psyche there, I realized that my heart belonged in Africa. In an interviewwith a BBC journalist for the production of two episodes in the Millennium.anthropological film series in 1990, I used an analogy taken from one of DorisLessing's novels to describe this existential quest.1 Like one of Lessing's (1969)characters in the Children of Violence series, I felt that I was locked in a room. Likeher character, I felt that I was touching and sounding the walls of the room, tryingto get beyond them, into another, parallel universe.

My search was eventually realized in 1980, when I was invited to participate asan observer in a University of Nairobi ethno-archaeological expedition to northernKenya.4 During this first visit to the Gabra Oromo nomadic community, I felt thatI had, at last, found the spiritual link that I had been seeking.5 I immediately resolvedto switch my doctoral dissertation topic from the study of a French West Africannovel, to that of the living oral traditions of the Gabra. It was in this way that, withthe encouragement of friends and colleagues, I embarked upon my journey as ananthropologist. I was greatly affected by this "cross-cultural encounter" (cf. Youngand Goulet 1994) with the Gabra. I experienced it as an epiphany, a moment ofhappiness, truth and freedom. Little did I realize at this time, however, that my studyof this society also entailed moral responsibilities and sacrifices.

In 1985, after having completed my degree in anthropological linguistics inFrance under the supervision of Genevieve Calame-Griaule, I had the privilege ofmeeting Gemetchu Megerssa, who is a Macha Oromo from Wallaga in WesternEthiopia. Gemetchu had come to Kenya to resume his university education. He wasthen, as now, an ardent Oromo nationalist. He had been imprisoned a number oftimes by the Ethiopian regimes for his defense of the Oromo peasants, their land andtheir culture/' He had become interested in anthropology through his work withLambert Bartels, a Dutch Catholic priest and anthropologist who was engaged in thestudy of the traditional Oromo religion. By applying some of the methods advocatedby Calame-Griaule and her school, I had begun to explore the indigenous GabraOromo knowledge system.7 I had described an important concept in the culture(Kassam 1986). This French ethnolinguistic approach was similar, in many respects,to the one taken by Bartels (1983:40), whose method consisted in allowing "thepeople to speak for themselves." On reading this and other of my studies on theGabra, Gemetchu was impressed that a non-native anthropologist could attain sucha profound understanding of the culture.

Based on this common approach, Gemetchu and I began to collaborate in anumber of other anthropological projects. In 1988, our intellectual relationshipdeveloped into a more permanent, emotional commitment. At our civil andtraditional wedding ceremonies, our best man was the late Kenyan Booran singer,Abdullahi Jirma. Gemetchu, by then, was in the process of enrolling as a maturestudent for his doctoral degree in anthropology at the School ofOriental and AfricanStudies in London. He had not been permitted to reside in Kenya, and in 1989, hebecame an exile in Britain. Once again, I did not realize that my marriage involvedmaking commitments which would have a profound impact on my life.

June/Sept 1999 On Becoming an Oromo Anthropobgist 3

Following my move to England in 1993, both Gemetchu and myself underwenta series of individual and joint crises. Among these was the traumatic "loss," intransit, of almost all my field-data.8 My former coping mechanisms and socialnetworks had been destroyed. I had been uprooted from my past; my present was likea terrifying abyss which threatened to engulf me; I faced an uncertain future. Mywhole world had collapsed.

In 1995,1 received an invitation from Father Paolo Tablino to attend the BooranOromo gadaammojjii ritual that would take place in the summer as a guest of theCatholic Mission in Marsabit (northern Kenya). This was a unique opportunity, asthe ceremony is held only once every eight years. As part of this ritual, one of themost important in the Promo gadaa politico-religious system, three generations ofmen are initiated: the future gadaammojjii spiritual elders, their sons and theirgrandsons (Kassam 1986,1995, in press). It was in preparing to attend this ceremonythat my dream occurred.

Narrating the DreamI dreamt that I was at the ceremony with Gemetchu. I was taking photographs

of the events. As Gemetchu and I moved through the ceremonial encampment, wecame upon a gathering of people. In the center of this group was the newly appointedpolitical leader (abbaa gadaa). He was making a speech to the crowd gathered aroundhim. He was standing on a kind of ledge or platform. I could not hear what he wassaying, but as I watched him, I felt I knew who he was. He saw Gemetchu and myself,and he asked the ritual experts to bring Gemetchu to the center of the group. There,Gemetchu was initiated into the new group of leaders. I watched proudly. When Iawoke, I realized that the new abbaa gadaa was our friend, Abdullahi Jirma, who haddied in 1989.

I felt that the dream was a very significant one and that it carried some importantportent for both Gemetchu and for the Oromo. Gemetchu was in London at thetime, staying with Hawani Debella, a young Oromo medical student.9 We were bothmentoring Hawani and considered her to be a "daughter." I rang Gemetchu andrecounted my dream to him. He responded by giving me a brief interpretation of thedream.

I thought no more of this dream and did not consider it anthropological "data."I did not enter it into my field diary until I was traveling by truck from the capital,Nairobi, to the site of the ceremony at Sololo, near the Kenya-Ethiopia border. AtSololo, our party of three anthropologists was joined by two other researchers, andlater, by a group of three observers. The numbers of the group had become invasive.Shortly before the main initiation ceremony of the gadaammojjii was to begin, a crisiserupted. This crisis had the character of what Turner (1974) has called a "socialdrama." A group of Booran elders met to discuss the motives of our research partyfor wishing to attend the ritual. They came to the conclusion that we were at the siteto exploit them by taking photographs for commercial purposes. A young celebrantfrom one of the leading families, Boru, who spoke English, was appointed to conveythe decision of the elders to us. We were told that we would either have to pay a largeamount of money or leave immediately. The reaction to this announcement by themembers of our party was mixed, ranging from gloomy silence to angry outbursts. I

Anthropology of Consciousness [10(2-3)1

listened, without taking part. Boru asked us what response he should take back tothe elders. I responded that I had a message for the elders. I told him to tell themthat we had come to the ceremony in peace and that we did not wish to disrupt thissacred occasion. I added that we each had different purposes for attending. I said thatour primary objective was not, however, to photograph the ritual, but to learn aboutit. I said that we would, therefore, be willing to leave our cameras behind. Borureturned to the elders with my message. Shortly afterwards, he came back,accompanied by the two principal elders, one of whom was the head of theceremonial encampment (abbaa galmaa). The Abbaa Galmaa told us that we couldremain at the encampment and observe the events fully. He instructed us that if wewanted to photograph the ritual, this could be negotiated with the individualfamilies. The conflict was, thus, amicably resolved.

The following day, after the gadaammojjii elders had been shaved and had goneinto seclusion, the incoming members of the new generation group of their sons wereinitiated. A large crowd, composed of some of the participants, Booran visitors fromthe surrounding villages and ourselves, had gathered to witness the initiates cross thethreshold and pass through an archway into the collective cattle enclosure. Thiscrowd lined both sides of the passage way. One of the officials was standing in themiddle, haranguing the crowd and explaining the proper ritual procedures to them.He also made allusion to the matter of the photography and to the peaceful resolutionof this problem by the Booran. All of a sudden, he pointed to me and asked me togo into the center of the enclosure. Although I was confused and did not understandwhat he was saying, I felt that a part of my dream was being reenacted in reality. Inthis instance, however, it was I, and not Gemetchu, who was being called into thecenter of the group.

On my return from the field, I recounted the dream and this scene to Hawani,who offered a second interpretation. Gemetchu, by this time, had returned toEthiopia under the new regime to take up an anthropological post at the Universityof Addis Ababa. Before considering the two emic interpretations given of my dream,it will first be necessary to examine dreams and dreaming in the Oromo conceptualframework.

Dreams and Dreaming in OromoTo my knowledge, there has been no theoretical study of dreams (abjuu) and

dreaming (abjochuu) in the Oromo culture. Megerssa's (1993, 1996) studies of theOromo theory of knowledge and consciousness provide, however, a useful frameworkfor considering the dream phenomenon.

For the Oromo, dreams, omens, prophecies and visions belong, like thetransformative practices of ritual, to the realm of uumaa, or "creation" (Megerssa1996:97 )• Uumaa encompasses both objective and subjective realities. The Oromobelieve that all material and non-material phenomena, which form part of God orWaaqa's creation, are subject to the determining force of ayyaanaor laws of causality(Megerssa 1993). It is ayyaana that gives all things their intfinsic character anddefines their shape, size, number, gender and the manner of their development (cf.Megerssa 1993:258ff). More specifically, the notion of ayyaana articulates theOromo conception of time. In the Oromo belief system, all things come into being,

June/Sept 1999 On Becoming an Oromo Anthropologist 5

exist and pass into the non-material world through time. Uumaa refers, therefore,to all that has existed in the past, exists in the present and will exist in the future. Itis through ayyaana that the destiny of all things is played out. The Oromo believethat this created universe is dynamically held together through the laws of safuu." Inthe Oromo world-view," Megerssa (1993:261) explains, "safuu provides the moraland ethical code according to which events, whether at a personal, social or cosmiclevel take place." Safuu, stands, therefore, for the moral dimension of all relationships(Megerssa 1993:260tf, 1996:97). The Oromo believe that the harmonic orderbetween all animate and inanimate matter in the universe can only be maintainedthrough the collective performance of ritual. Ritual experts (wayyuu) instruct thecommunity in following the proper procedures. Certain visionary leaders of thecommunity, through their exemplary observation of the laws of safuu, are able tocommunicate directly with the Divine Being. The Oromo prophets (raaga) and sages(nama beekumsaa) are able to hear the "whisper" (hasaasa) of Waaqa in their sleep,and to discern the future of Waaqa's creation. This foresight is communicated tothem in their dreams and visions for the benefit of the whole community.

Ordinary members of the community can also experience this spiritual worldthrough their dreams. The Oromo believe that the key social relationships that areforged by individuals in the course of their lives create psychological bonds betweenthem. The ayyaana of two or more people may, thus, be able to communicateintersubjectively through their thoughts and dreams (Hawani Debella, personalcommunication). "Bad" dreams are traditionally dealt with ritually, by performinga cleansing action.10

In the Oromo theory of knowledge, uumaa, ayyaana and safuu are, thus,interrelated concepts. They are fundamental to the being and becoming of allexistence, expressed by the paired concepts of jiruuf-jireenya ("work and living"),signifying human experience. This Oromo conception of the dream as a form ofknowledge that connects different aspects of time shares some striking resemblanceswith Foucault's (1984) view of dreams and dreaming.

Foucault's Essay on DreamsThis essay, which was first published in 1954, preceded the publication of the

French translation of a study on Dream and Existence by the Swiss psychotherapist,Ludwig Binswanger. In this introductory essay, Foucault (1984:19-78) examines therelations between dreaming, imagination and existence. He suggests that thepsychoanalytical approach to dreams, and in particular Freudian analysis, "exploresonly one dimension of the dream universe" (1984:56). Such an approach is unable,he explains, to uncover the multiple layers of significance of the dream. This isbecause it is limited to the interpretation of the symbolic imagery of dreaming,whether of a sexual or of an archetypal nature. For Foucault, however, such dreamimages have a "grammar." He suggests, therefore, that the meanings of these imagesshould be treated as a composite whole and should take account of their indexical,or contextual features. The meaning of the dream must, therefore, be understood bythat "which precedes it, sustains it, and allows it to give body to what it means"(Foucault 1984:35). The dream universe represents, therefore, an idios cosmos, aworld of its own. This imagined world has its own structures and laws. It is also set

Anthropology of Consciousness 110(2-3))

in a spatio-temporal context. In trying to decipher this "language" of the dream, itis necessary to see it, he recommends, in relation to the "existential structures" of thelife of the dreamer. The meaning of the dream becomes thus, more than the sum ofits parts. It is an expressive and creative act, which can be seen not only in relationto the past of the dreamer, as in Freudian analysis, but also to her/his future, as in theJungian framework. The dream serves, thus, an epistemic function and contains anethical dimension. This approach is consonant with the Oromo conception of timeand dreaming.

Based on Binswanger's work, Foucault outlines, therefore, an alternative,phenomenological, approach to the study of dreams. This approach, which isinspired by the philosophy of Heidegger, stresses that "human subjects are formed bythe historical cultural practices in which they develop" (Dreyfus and Rabinow1982:xvii). The analysis of the meanings contained in these practices is basicallyhermeneutic in nature (Dreyfus and Rabinow 1982:xvii). It consists in giving "aninterpretation of the interpretation" embodied in everyday, lived experiences, suchas, in this instance, those of the dreaming subject.

Dream AnalysisMy dream can be categorized as a "prospective" or forward-looking one (Fordham

1966:104). In structural terms, it is made up of two interconnected parts, the sleepingdream, and its modified, dream-like actualization in the field situation. The mostsalient image, which connects both parts of the experience, is that of the crowdscene. This crowd scene represents, symbolically, the archetype of the "center"(Chetwynd 1982:71-3). It is this notion of the center that provides the focal pointaround which the three social relationships prefigured in the dream revolve.

In her interpretation of the two parts of my dream experience, Hawani focusedon the psychological marriage relationship (Jung 1971:163^0. Hawani comes froma distinguished priestly family which is renowned for its knowledge of the Oromoculture. Members of her family have played an important role in the nationaliststruggle. She herself is in exile. After interpreting my dream, she told me that hermother, who lives in the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa (Finfinne), is frequentlyconsulted by neighbors on the significance of their dreams.

According to Hawani, the dream indicated that I was on a spiritual quest withGemetchu for Oromo knowledge. In this quest, Gemetchu's and my ayyaana were,thus, closely identified. We were united in our search for this knowledge. When themembers of the group in my dream, in which Abdullahi Jirma was a central figure,invited Gemetchu to join them, they were extending their protection to Gemetchu'swork. This gesture was a recognition that he was someone with a true and pure heart.It meant that the spirits of the Oromo ancestors, represented by Abdullahi, approvedof his work. In short, the dream was a sign of recognition, acceptance and approvalof the important work that Gemetchu was carrying out on behalf of all the Oromo.

Turning to the second part of the experience, she said that it represented amirror-image of the sleeping dream. In the reality of the field situation, the Booraninitiates, their families and the wider community had gathered to witness the "true"events of their culture. My good heart towards the people and their culture had beentested and proved by the part I had played in the resolution of the crisis which had

June/Sept 1999 On Becoming an Promo Anthropologist 7

confronted our party of researchers. So I, too, had been called into the center of thegroup. This was also a recognition and acknowledgment of the value of my work. Shetold me that the Oromo believe that the souls (lubbuu) of husband and wife comefrom the same river, and hence they share the same ayyaana. This bond is reinforcedthrough the marriage ritual and the performance of the sacrifice of rakkoo." AsGemetchu's wife, I represented our common search for truth. Although Gemetchuhad been unable to attend the ceremony, since his ayyaana and mine were one, I wasthere on behalf of both us. He was, thus, present through me.

Hawani added that both parts of the dream revealed that it was a spiritualexperience, which was linked to my work with Gemetchu on the Oromo culture andits knowledge system. .She said that although we had both been traversing difficulttimes which were full of despair, our quest was one of the heart and would eventuallybe rewarded.

Gemetchu's brief exposition of the dream differed from that of Hawani, but wasnevertheless based on the notion of ayyaana. He focused on the relationship betweenthe living and the dead. Like Hawani, he comes from a highly regarded Oromopriestly family. His grandfather, Ruda Kura, was one of the last traditional leaders(abbaa bokkuu, "father of the sceptre") of the Oromo in Western Ethiopia (Bartels1983:45). He had been a student activist in the Oromo national struggle in the early1970s, but had decided to redirect his energies into documenting the Oromo oraltraditions and system of knowledge. This was accomplished when he was initiatedinto the ranks of the traditional Oromo oral historians or "men of knowledge" inKenya between 1985-1991 (cf.Megerssa 1993). Before his untimely death, his friendAbdullahi had been a companion in this quest.

For Gemetchu, the new gadaa, or political leadership which the whole Oromocommunity had been struggling to establish, existed virtually in the world of theancestors (iddoodugaa, "world of truth"). Like so many of Gemetchu's contemporarieswho had lost their lives in the struggle, his friend, Abdullahi, had been denied theopportunity to be part of the new gadaa. His contribution to their common struggle,was, however, being realized in death. Abdullahi formed, thus, part of the new gadaain waiting.

In the space-time of my dream, the past, the present and the future had beendynamically brought together. The dream experience marked, thus, an importantturning point on my personal trajectory. It constituted what Foucault (1984:52)terms "a center of becoming." I will now propose my own reflexive analysis of thefunction of the dream and the crucial part it played in connecting the different partsof my experience. In this discussion of the therapeutic role played by the dream, Iwill also draw on themes from both the existentialist (Camus 1942, 1951) andanthropological (Turner 1969; van Gennep 1960) literature. I will focus on therelationship of the self and the cultural "other"

Dream, Self and Ritual

In existentialist terms, by deciding firstly to become an anthropologist andsecondly to marry into the culture, I had made intentional choices. In so doing, I hadgone against the norms and conventions of my ethnic group. I had gone "native"both through my work, and by marrying outside my race. These actions meant that

Anthropology of Consciousness 110(2-3))

I was now doubly estranged, marginalized not only in terms of my collective groupstatus, but also of my marriage status at the level of my own ethnic community. Inmaking these decisions, I had, however, not been fully conscious of their long-termimplications. One unforeseen consequence of my social "revolt" had entailedleaving my home. I experienced this departure as a symbolic death.

When I returned to northern Kenya to attend the gadaammojjii ritual, I was, seenin hindsight, in a deep state of grief. My dream had, however, prefigured the healingprocess that was about to take place. Like the initiates, I too, was in a liminal phase,betwixt and between two worlds and two selves (Turner 1969; van Gennep 1960),that of the past and that of the future. By attending the ceremony, I began thetransformative process of reconnecting my past with my present and hence, with myfuture.

After returning from the field, I worked on the data that I had collected. I hadbeen profoundly moved by the ritual events I had witnessed. I had also establishednew relationships with some of my research companions and experienced a sense of"communitas" (Turner 1969:96) with some of the celebrants. The writing up of mynotes became a source of great inner joy and satisfaction. The description of theceremony afforded an aesthetic and creative space into which I could escape from myimmediate problems. Through this work, I began to remake myself and hence tointegrate slowly into my new life and home in the quiet beauty of the northeast ofEngland.

I did so, however, with a new consciousness and a new sense of identity. Byleaving home I had broadened my horizons. After "losing" my data, I had begun totake a wider interest in the problems of the Oromo in diaspora. I now came to seemy work on the Gabra and Booran in relation to the Oromo as a whole. I was nolonger acting blindly, but with a sense of commitment to a larger political andcultural cause. At the microsocial level, I had, thus, made the transition from the "I"to the "we" in both my married and social relationships (Cohen 1994:24). I hadcrossed the divide between anthropological self and cultural "other" and had becomepart of the larger Oromo community. I was engaged in striving with the Oromo foran ideal beyond myself. This struggle gave my life a higher purpose and meaning. Mydespair began to turn to hope.

My dream had, thus, served to reconstitute my wounded self. It brought abouta symbolic rebirth. It is appropriate that this dream took place in the context of theBooran Oromo gadaammojjii ritual. For in Oromo, ritual is the source of both personaland social becoming. It is the place where the axes of the past and of the present ofboth the individual and society cross; it also the transformative space through whichthe future emerges

Dreams and ReflexivityIn narrating my dream experience, my intention in this essay has been to reflect

upon my practice as an anthropologist. In G.H. Mead's (1934-134) definition,reflexivity is the turning-back of one's experience upon oneself. Through theheuristic device of my dream, I have shown how my work has been closelyintertwined with my personal history and emotional attachments. This discussionhas indicated that my dream played an important role in helping me to master my

June/Sept 1999 On Becoming an Oromo Anthropobgist 9

feelings of dislocation and to integrate my new experiences into "existing cognitiveand affective structures" (Ewing 1994:571-2). This process of change related notonly to my self, but also to my work. Through my work, I gradually moved, as Landes(1986:138) puts it, from anthropology as "lure of the self to its practice as a"philosophy of living." This philosophy of engagement in the Oromo cause marksa continuity with my earlier encounters with Gandhism and existentialism. Inexistentialist thought, faced with the meaningless of existence, we can eithercommit real or symbolic suicide, or engage in the struggle against injustice insolidarity with our fellow human beings. As Gandhi's example has demonstrated,this humanist philosophy of non-violence does not preclude political action. Byassuming this struggle we engage constructively with the world and experience ourown freedom. My anthropological work constitutes thus, more than a means oflivelihood; it represents a whole way of life.

These factors impinge on my theory and method. Despite its best efforts, due toits historical roots as a "child of imperialism" (Gough 1968), anthropology remainsa discipline of the study of alterity. This subject-object relation is, by its very nature,exploitative and parasitic. As the eruption of the crisis provoked by our attendanceat the ritual indicates, the power structures that enabled me and my colleagues toobserve this cultural performance are still in place in a postcolonial world. Thishistorico-politicaI situation poses almost extricable ethical problems to which thereare no facile solutions. Whilst the ethnolinguistic approach remains an importantmethodological tool in my work, I have come to realize that it needs to take accountof not only of the poetics, but also of the politics of culture (Clifford and Marcus1986).

My dream can be seen, thus, as forming a kind of recursive loop, through whichI returned to the initial impulse that had first led me to seek some deeper meaningto my life among the Gabra. My return to the field was made, however, with a fullerunderstanding and consciousness of my anthropological role. Consciousness, Mead(1934:18, 334) explains, is a social act. The reflexive understanding of the partplayed by my dream in bringing about my own becoming as a person and as anengaged social being was achieved "dialogically" or through a back and forth processof communication (Tedlock and Mannheim 1995). The content analysis of thedream was made by two members of the culture who elucidated its meaning byplacing it in the framework of the indigenous theory of knowledge. This inverted theconventional interpreter-interpreted relation. On the other hand, as the dreamingsubject, only I could see the dream's significance to the rest of my life.

In a reflexive anthropology, dreams can, therefore, become a source of data anddialogue. They can serve as a means of transcending our cultural differences and ofexpressing the "universal similansm" of the human condition (Blair and Prattis1994). This has been evidenced by a number of anthropologists who have recountedtheir dreams of the field (cf. amongst others, Ewing 1994; George 1995- Jackson1978; Tedlock 1991).12

Notes

Acknowledgements: My study of the B*x)ran Oromo Radaammojjii ritual was funded by grants fromthe Nuffield Foundation, University of Durham Staff Travel Fund (1995) and the Department of

Anthropology of Consciousness [10(2-3)1

Anthropology (1998). 1 would like to express my thanks to both these institutions for their generoussupport. 1 thank also all those colleagues who commented on an earlier version of this essay.

'See Gandhi's autobiography (1930) for his political and social views.2 For an overview of the themes of existentialism, see Macquarrie (1972).1 The Millennium television documentaries were pnxluced jointly by the BBC and Meech Grant

Productions (Canada). They were accompanied by a book edited by Mayhury-Lewis (1992).4 This expedition was led by Dr. Daniel Stiles. 1 was then a lecturer in the Department of Literature

at the University of Nairobi.' The Oromo (formerly pejoratively known as the "Galla") are a confederation of territorial groups.

They live in Ethiopia', Kenya and parts of Somalia. They number some 25-30 million people. They wereconquered and assimilated into the Ethiopian nation-state by the politically and militarily dominantAbyssinian ethnic minority at the end of the nineteenth century. The Oromo practice agriculture in thehighlands and pastoralism in the lowlands. The pastoral Gabra and Booran belong to the southernmostof these groups. They occupy a region which straddles the Kenya-Ethiopia border. Due to their relativeisolation from mainstream development, they are the most traditional of the Oromo groups. Theycontinue to perform the rituals of what was once the pan-Oromo godaa politico-religious system. For thecurrent situation of the Oromo in Ethiopia, see Baxter (1978).

6 See Megerssa (1993:60//) for autobiographical details of how he became an anthropologist and howhe underwent a Griaule-like (1965) initiation into the Oromo knowledge system.

7 For a bibliography of Calame-Griaule's work see Chiche et al. (1989:421-41).H This data was eventually recovered in 1996." Hawani was 21 years old at the time. 1 have described my relationship with her in Debella and

Kassam(1996).10 Brehony (1998:342) describes the ritual of karradaarachuu which is traditionally performed by the

B(x>ran to eliminate the negative effects of a bad dream. The head of the household announces to thewhole encampment that a collective ritual "to make peace in the cattle pen" (naRaa karaattii facaasaa)needs to held. This is done whilst the animals are still inside the enclosure. It is performed in each penby a young girl. She encircles the enclosure, first to the left and then to the right, drops ash on the groundand then prays at the entrance. Afterwards, the coffee ritual (buna qalaa) may also be performed.

" In the traditional Oromo marriage ceremony, a sheep is sacrificed as a symbol of the bond betweenthe couple and their families (cf. Bartels 1983:261-265).

12 For some of the directions that are being taken in current dream research and for dreaming as socialbecoming see Tedlock (1987,1991).

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