Читать книгу Water Brings No Harm - Matthew V. Bender - Страница 12

1

The Giver of Abundance and Peace

Water and Society on the Slopes of Kilimanjaro

There once lived two neighbors in the forest. They used to love and help each other. They were both girls and they did not want to get married. Their names were Kibo and Mawenzi.

One day, Mawenzi wanted to prepare a dish of bananas, but she found no fire in her hearth. She went to ask for some live embers from her neighbor because it was getting too late to go to the shop and buy a matchbox.

When she was near Kibo’s hut, she could smell something nice being cooked there. “Hodi?” she asked, meaning “May I come in?” Then her friend said, “Karibu.” That means “Welcome.” After greetings, Mawenzi asked for some fire. Before she was given it, Kibo gave her some of the sweet food she was pounding. This was dried bananas well cooked and mixed with some milk. Then Mawenzi left for her home.

On the way, she thought to herself how to get more of that food, and an idea came to her head. She put out the fire, went back to Kibo’s hut, and said the fire went out because of the cold weather. So Kibo gave her more of her food and some fire.

Mawenzi did the same thing again for a third time. But Kibo didn’t take the time to listen to her. They started to quarrel, and at the end, Kibo took the pestle she was using to pound her food and started to beat Mawenzi very hard on the head several times.

Mawenzi ran back home crying and started to nurse her wounds, which she still does today.¹

THIS LEGEND of Kibo and Mawenzi, recited to me in Kilema in 2004, has been told in various forms across Kilimanjaro for centuries.² In the story, the neighbors represent the peaks of the mountain: Kibo, the white-capped peak that dominates the landscape, and Mawenzi, the lesser peak to its east. The purpose of the story is to explain their difference in stature and the latter’s jagged appearance. Kibo is depicted as bountiful, generous, and wise, while Mawenzi is eager to take advantage of her neighbor’s good fortune. The legend reveals much about how people define themselves in relation to their surroundings. For them, Kibo is more than the highest peak of the mountain; it is the source of life, a symbol of vitality, and the embodiment of all that sustains them.

The term “Kilimanjaro,” which we now use to refer to the entire massif, comes not from the mountain itself but rather from outsiders. The peoples of the mountain inhabited not a singular space, but rather a diverse one defined by numerous valleys and ridges. Kibo, visible from all parts of the mountain, served as the geographic focal point. With its distinctive white cap and frequent cloud coverage, it came to be considered the source of water and, therefore, of life itself. For generations people have revered it, made offerings to it, washed themselves while looking in its direction, and buried their relatives so that they face it. Its centrality to local life can be seen in proverbs and adages such as “Endure like Kibo” and “As Kibo moves not, so may life not be removed from you.”³ As Charles Dundas described in his 1924 study of Chagga culture, Kibo is the “Giver of Abundance and Peace.”⁴

This chapter discusses the mountain communities of Kilimanjaro and the centrality of the waterscape to their development up to the mid-nineteenth century. It does so by examining what it meant to “manage” water and how water management in turn shaped the development of social, political, and cultural institutions and relationships. Water was clearly a necessary resource, essential to agriculture as well as a multitude of other human needs, from brewing to bathing. Water management involved numerous kinds of sources—streams, springs, waterfalls, mifongo—each with different properties, uses, and seasonal variations. Because of the diversity of sources, the organization of communities on mountain ridges, and the persistent threat of drought, water management empowered a wide range of people. These included the societies that managed mifongo, the wamangi and elders who possessed rainmaking skills, the women responsible for procuring domestic water, and even children who were entrusted with protecting watercourses. Yet as reverence for Kibo indicates, the significance of water extended well beyond its physical uses. The resource held deep religious significance; it was key to beliefs about creation, the actions of the spirit world, and Kibo as the source of all life. It also held tremendous cultural power, defining notions of inclusion and exclusion based on categories such as status, education, gender, and generation. The need to manage water in its physical, cultural, and spiritual dimensions engendered a wide range of social interactions and empowered many different actors. Because of this, Kilimanjaro was not a hydraulic society—one where, as Wittfogel imagined, the need to control water led to centralization of power.⁵ Rather, the dynamic nature of the waterscape led to a diverse yet interconnected body of knowledge that promoted decentralized control.

THE WATERSCAPES OF KILIMANJARO

Mount Kilimanjaro has long stood among the continent’s most notable geographic features. Though impressive in its stature, the mountain has been of greatest value to human societies because of its water features. The humid zones of the mountain—the temperate and tropical woodlands—are most pronounced on its south and east sides. The moisture that gives rise to them originates from monsoon winds that come off the Indian Ocean. As these winds confront the mountain from the southeast, they rise along its slopes and generate precipitation as the atmospheric pressure drops. The north and west sides of the mountain, blocked from these winds, lie in rain shadows. Most precipitation falls in two periods: a long rainy season from March to June known as the kisiye, and a shorter period in October and November called the fuli.⁶ Most of this water flows down the mountain in rivers and streams—some of which flow year-round and others only during the rains—while a lesser amount seeps into the ground and reemerges as springs. Smaller watercourses converge into larger ones as they flow southward, eventually forming the Pangani River more than 40 kilometers beyond the mountain.

The mountain’s renowned ice cap lies on the upper reaches of Kibo. What appears as a single layer is actually three separate ice fields situated around and inside the volcanic caldera.⁷ Within these fields are sixteen glaciers, most bearing the names of German mountaineers. The glaciers have been mapped only since 1912, which creates some uncertainty as to their size in earlier times. Glaciologists estimate that in the early nineteenth century, they covered about 20 square kilometers of Kibo’s surface, compared with 2.5 square kilometers today.⁸ This indicates that the white cap used to be more prominent. Though the ice represents a substantial holding of fresh water, it contributes little to the downhill water supply. Studies indicate that the glaciers are not large enough to act as reservoirs or contribute to downstream water flow.⁹ Furthermore, the chemical composition of glacial melt differs from downstream springs and rivers.¹⁰ As much as 96 percent of the surface water that flows through mountain settlements originates as precipitation in the rainforest and temperate woodlands.¹¹ Aside from the permanent ice, Kibo and Mawenzi also receive around 100 millimeters of seasonal snowfall annually.

Though little water from the glaciers makes it to the lowlands, those who first settled the mountain’s slopes viewed Kibo as the heart of the waterscape. According to Dundas, people believed “that it is the water from this ice that feeds the forest springs which waters their gardens.”¹² This perceived connection between the peak and surface water made sense, given that seasonal rainfall and high river volume coincided with seasonal snowfall. As the white cap grew, rivers and streams filled with water, and as it shrank, the dry periods emerged. Though people understood Kibo to be the source of water, they did not know until the twentieth century that ice and snow accounted for its white appearance. Dundas asserts that most people believed the white cap to be formed by hail, which fell periodically in the settled regions of the mountain.

In terms of settlement, the most important zone is the temperate woodland, or agroforest belt. These highland areas are where the ancestors of the current populations chose to settle when they arrived at the mountain more than five hundred years ago. Approximately 100 kilometers in length but only 12 kilometers in width, the agroforest belt wraps around the mountain’s south and east sides. It features fertile volcanic soils, thick vegetation, moderate temperatures, ample rain, and widespread surface water. The topography slopes downhill gradually, with alternating valleys and ridges that emerge in a radial pattern from the upper reaches of the mountain. These valleys, carved over millennia by swiftly flowing water, run deep by the point they reach the agroforest belt. The ridges afforded early communities protection from hostile neighbors as well as wild animals. The richness and diversity of the region are difficult to overstate. In general, temperatures fall and precipitation rises as one approaches the peaks, meaning that the highland areas receive considerably more rainfall than the foothills. Precipitation also decreases as one moves eastward along the southern slopes; it decreases even more as one turns northward along the eastern side of the mountain. Within each mountain ridge, one finds even more variation, with microclimate conditions generated by elevation, sun and wind exposure, and other factors.

One way to conceptualize the diverse conditions of the agroforest belt is to distinguish between three geographic regions: the southwest, the southeast, and the east. The southwest, known since the twentieth century as Hai, features gradual slopes, broad ridges, and a series of deep ravines formed by the mountain’s most voluminous rivers: the Sanya, the Karanga, the Kikafu, and the Weru Weru.¹³ It has the most surface water of any region of the mountain as well as high rates of annual rainfall, its middle-altitude areas averaging 1,500 millimeters and upper areas exceeding 2,000.¹⁴ The southeast, known as Vunjo, is more rugged and steep than Hai. It features narrower ridges with more sharply descending ravines. Its main rivers—the Mue, the Mwona, and the Himo—are less voluminous than those of Hai and lie in shallower valleys. Rainfall is similar, however, averaging 1,500 millimeters per year in middle elevations. The east is referred to as Rombo. Lying on a broad, gradual incline, it is the most distinct of the three in terms of geology and hydrology. The terrain slopes like Hai but with much shallower ravines. Annual rainfall averages are lower than the other areas, reaching around 1,000 millimeters in middle elevations and 1,400 millimeters in upper ones. The most significant difference is the relative dearth of surface water. Rombo contains only one year-round river, the Lumi. While there are a number of rivers that appear seasonally, there are fewer watercourses in Rombo than in either Hai or Vunjo. This contributes to a landscape that is lush compared with the plains but substantially less verdant than the south side of the mountain.

Another factor to consider when thinking about the lands and waters of Kilimanjaro is timing. The bimodal rainfall pattern determines growing seasons, as temperature is largely consistent year-round. During periods of normal weather, precipitation can be highly variable, falling unevenly and causing localized shortages or flooding. The mountain also experiences periodic drought conditions, which has a tremendous impact on surface water. Rivers, streams, and springs that are normally permanent experience reduced flow, while seasonal ones dry up entirely. In his study of nineteenth-century Kilimanjaro, Wimmelbücker shows that prolonged droughts often resulted in famine, leading to political destabilization and warfare between rival chiefdoms. Famines were so common that they were often named in reference to the impacts they had. In the mid-1930s, for example, a severe drought afflicted much of Kilimanjaro. In Machame, it came to be known as njaa ya mowishi, or “the famine in which people had to eat raw whatever they came across.”¹⁵ Those who settled the mountain thus came to realize that though Kilimanjaro was a place of relative water abundance, this abundance was by no means absolute. The often-unpredictable nature of rainfall is reflected in adages and fables, the most notable being kipfilepfile kirundu kechiwa mvuo kilawe. Translated as “a little rainy cloud that never became rain,” it reminds people that they should not trust that rain is inevitable, and that they should be prepared for conditions of scarcity.¹⁶

Kilimanjaro is a landscape defined by juxtaposition. It is an area of high altitude surrounded by flat grassland, an island of water abundance in a sea of aridity. The waters of the mountain generate a rich, green expanse of vegetation absent from the brown grasslands. The altitude moderates temperatures, creating an area of relative coolness in stark contrast to the intense heat of the steppe. The mountain even sets itself apart in terms of safety; its sharp slopes and cool temperatures discourage dangerous foes such as lions, leopards, tsetse flies, and mosquitoes. The hospitable conditions of the mountain have long been attractive to human communities. Given the presence of water in a region that is largely arid, it is likely that hunter-gatherer and pastoral communities had visited the mountain’s foothills for thousands of years. Around five hundred to six hundred years ago, the ancestors of the mountain’s current peoples began to settle the agroforest belt. Drawing on the resources of the mountain, they developed a highly sophisticated agrarian society.

THE PEOPLES OF KILIMANJARO

The agrarian peoples that have come to be known as the Chagga are of Bantu descent, closely related to other Northeast Bantu peoples such as the Taita and Meru, and more distantly to the Swahili.¹⁷ Throughout much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, outsiders considered the peoples of the mountain to be a singular group who shared a common origin and spoke similar dialects of the same language. In the past thirty years, however, historical linguists such as Derek Nurse, Gérard Philippson, and J. Christoph Winter have shown that the dialects of Chagga language are distinct enough to be considered individual languages.¹⁸ The linguistic evidence paints a more complex picture of Chagga origins than had been assumed, giving the possibility of multiple migrations over a period of more than two hundred years. These migrants settled on the ridges of the agroforest belt on the southern and eastern slopes. Within each ridge, people spoke the same language, but across the mountain, dozens of different “Chagga languages” came into being. Together they formed a dialect continuum in which people on neighboring ridges could understand their immediate neighbors, but not those living further away. The linguistic diversity of the mountain is exemplified by the numerous terms for water. In 1955, J. E. Goldthorpe noted more than five “Chagga” terms for water—moha, murra, mudha, mringa, and mota—as one passed from west to east, likely a smaller number than had existed in previous centuries.¹⁹ This shows how the rivers that carved the mountain’s valleys over millennia have influenced the linguistic landscape as well.

These migrants settled the highlands of the agroforest belt because of its moderate temperatures, its fertile soils, the security provided by the rugged landscape, and the prevalence of water. By the sixteenth century, a consistent pattern of agriculture had emerged, focusing on small homesteads known as vihamba (sing. kihamba). These were 2–4 hectares in size and contained dwellings, granaries, burial plots, stalls for livestock, and gardens for cultivating crops.²⁰ Kihamba gardens featured mixed cultivation of food crops and fodder grasses under the shade of canopy trees (fig. 1.1). For families that practiced polygamy—indicating high status in the clan—each wife possessed a separate dwelling in the kihamba and her own areas of cultivation. Families grew a wide range of crops, bananas being the most prominent. Well suited to the humid conditions of the agroforest belt, high in calories, and low in labor need, they emerged as the dominant food on the mountain. Bananas were so central to local diet that people came to identify themselves as wandu wa mbdeny, “people of the banana groves.”²¹ As many as twenty-one different species were grown, with varieties for cooking, brewing, and eating raw.²² They also provided shade for the other crops of the vihamba. By the nineteenth century, common staples intercropped with bananas included yams, cassava, beans, taro, sugar cane, sweet potatoes, maize, pumpkins, and papaya.²³ Most homesteads also featured dracaena (masale), a spiritually significant shrub used to mark boundaries and notable locations. Across the mountain, people considered vihamba to be the permanent property of the families that resided on them. Fathers provided elder sons with a homestead at the time of marriage, each containing at least a piece of the original estate. The youngest son inherited the remainder of the original homestead, including the original buildings and the most centrally located gardens. Yet women performed the bulk of the labor in these gardens; men assisted by clearing land and irrigating.²⁴

Some families also developed secondary fields known as shamba in the foothills at the edge of the agroforest zone. On these plots, they cultivated grains such as maize and eleusine (Eleusine coracana, or finger millet). The practice of cultivation in the foothills differed markedly from cultivation in the vihamba in that crops were usually grown in monoculture. The most important shamba crop was eleusine, used primarily for producing an alcoholic brew called mbege. In times of drought, it could also be used as a famine food. For eleusine, planting took place just after the kisiye, and the crop grew to maturity during the dry period with irrigation. The cultivation of this crop during the dry season as opposed to the rainy season has been explained as a defense against vagrant animals. Dundas notes a story in his writings that attributes the practice to the misfortune of a farmer named Salia. One day Salia tried to scare off elephants that were ravaging his eleusine.²⁵ Because of the rains, his gunpowder was damp, and he was unable to load his weapon to shoot at them. As he tried to dry his powder, he caused an explosion that killed himself and thirty-nine other people. Learning a lesson from this misfortune, people then refused to plant eleusine in the rainy season, instead planting it after the rains so that it would ripen in the dry period. Despite the prevalence of this story, it is more likely that the practice started because eleusine ripens better with the direct sunlight of the dry period. It may also reflect that eleusine was a prestige crop. Because men performed the bulk of labor related to the crop, the practice helped distribute labor more evenly over the course of the year.

FIGURE 1.1. A kihamba (Matthew V. Bender)

Social development centered on the vihamba and agricultural life. According to Moore, mountainside society initially consisted of “many small, fairly autonomous settlements, most composed of several localized patrilineages [kishari, pl. vishari], a few consisting of one very large patrilineage.”²⁶ These were led by the most senior men. Settlements tended to be located at the highest points of the ridges where land was flattest. Over time, neighboring communities developed greater connections with one another. Moore notes, for example, that the practice of developing age-sets (rika) cut across the settlements.²⁷ On Kilimanjaro, age-sets were corporate social groups that served as units for organizing corvée labor and warfare.²⁸ Each initiation class formed a division, or ilumbo, within the age-set. These units provided an important means of organizing much of the cooperative work of the mountain. It is important to note that water management remained outside the age-set system, and age-sets were never mobilized for irrigation projects. Given the topography of the mountain, the increasing cooperation among neighboring groups made sense as a means of facilitating access to resources. Settlements closer to the forest had prime access to timber and water, while those closer to the plains had better access to goods procured from beyond the mountain, notably iron ore and pottery. Mifongo, originating above areas of settlement and used as far downhill as the shamba lands, acted as connecting arteries through the mountain ridges, encouraging cooperation throughout any given ridge. Thus, water influenced the development of these communities by being a divisive force, separating communities onto different ridges while also fostering partnership between those uphill and downhill on the same ridge.

Political centralization followed these lines as well. The institution of chieftaincy developed gradually as dominant families on each ridge asserted increased authority over others. In most cases, these families were located farthest uphill, in the areas of greatest water abundance. By the early nineteenth century, cooperating settlements on the same ridges had coalesced into around forty chieftaincies, each led by a chief (mangi). The largest of these from west to east were Siha, Machame, Kibosho, Uru, Moshi, Kirua, Kilema, Marangu, Mamba, Mwika, and Mkuu. Wamangi governed in partnership with councils of lineage heads, called njamaa, and their main claim to power was likely their control of the warrior age classes.²⁹ Each chiefdom consisted of districts called mitaa (sing. mtaa), administered by district heads called wachili (sing. mchili), who were appointed by their mangi.³⁰ Over the nineteenth century, the power of the wamangi grew alongside the rise in regional trade and an increase in warfare among groups on the mountain. It is important to note that their role did not include control of land, surface water, or irrigation.

The ability to control rain proved crucial to the wamangi and clan heads’ claim to authority. Rainmaking knowledge tended to be held by ranking members of clans and by professional spirit diviners (wamasya, sing. mmasya). In times of drought or flooding, these individuals made offerings to spirits deemed important to the water supply. These powers could be used for the benefit of the people, or to further one’s political interests. Wimmelbücker notes the example of Mashina, a chieftainess who ruled Mamba at the beginning of the nineteenth century.³¹ According to oral narratives, she turned against her own people and ordered her rainmaker, Kisolyi, to hold back the rains in order to bring famine and punish her people. She was later ousted from power. This story illustrates the power of a mangi to command control of rainfall, as well as the power of the people to depose leaders who mismanaged the resource. Another example Wimmelbücker provides is Makimende, a mmasya who became renowned for his rainmaking skills during the drought of 1897–99.³² He traveled throughout the southern chiefdoms, and he became a close confidant of Mangi Marealle. A few years later, his medicines proved ineffective, and Marealle sentenced him to a punishment of fifty lashes and having his cattle taken away. These two examples indicate how one group of specialists did not have a monopoly on rainmaking. Rather, rainmaking knowledge could be exercised by elders, wachili, wamangi, and wamasya, often in competition with one another.

In addition to their economic practices and social structures, the peoples of the mountain shared common rituals and forms of spiritual expression. Initiation, midwifery, burial rites, and worship practices developed very consistently. A collective notion of spirituality, based on the mountain’s geography, lay at the heart of these. It framed the mountain as having four regions of spiritual significance: the vihamba, the homeland of the living; the rainforest, the home of the spirits (waruma, sing. mruma); Kibo, the dwelling place of the creator Ruwa; and the lowlands, the surrounding plains devoid of life and full of dangers and evils. Most daily worship centered on reverence to the waruma.³³ Though they dwelt primarily in the rainforest, they frequented forest groves, waterfalls, banana groves, and dracaena plots, and they possessed the power to intervene in everyday events. If people lived in harmony with the spirits, then the spirits would ensure abundance and peace. If people did not, then harmful outcomes would ensue. This was especially important for water, as many springs were thought to be controlled by waruma who would cut the water flow if they became agitated.³⁴ To retain good relations with the spirits, the living made offerings and included them in rites and rituals. Professional diviners, the wamasya, could be called upon in dire situations, as could other ranking members of the clan deemed to have knowledge of the spirit realm. People also developed the notion of a supreme spirit known as Ruwa.³⁵ They considered him to be the creator of the mountain, the one who shaped vitality out of the desolation of the plains. Linked to notions of life, fertility, protection, and goodness, he nurtured his peoples by providing the fertile soils of the vihamba and the waters that filled streams and rivers. According to Anza Lema, people regarded Ruwa as the giver of rain, and they “delighted in the sound and feel of the rain, sensing its promise for a good season in which they harvested plenty and prospered.”³⁶ They also considered rain to be Ruwa’s spittle or saliva, a symbol of health, happiness, prosperity, well-being, and favor.³⁷ Reverence to Ruwa took the form of veneration and spitting in the direction of Kibo as well as ritual offerings of animals and mbege made in watercourses.

Despite the presence of numerous shared cultural, economic, and religious practices, the peoples of the mountain held no sense of shared political identity. The most salient forms of identity were local, based on family, clan, and age-set. Chiefdom identities became more important throughout the nineteenth century, though these proved fluid as chiefdoms merged, separated, and asserted authority over one another. Though mountain people did have some sense of community with one another, a shared geography, and a common belief that people from outside the mountain were different and lesser, they did not see themselves as part of the same polity or ethnicity.

MANAGING WATER RESOURCES

The key factor that facilitated the development of these societies was the prevalence of water. Ample rainfall and an abundance of surface water sources—streams, rivers, springs, and waterfalls—shaped the landscape and gave the agroforest belt its vitality. These were essential to the intensive agriculture of the vihamba and the high-density settlements that formed on the mountain’s ridges. Over centuries, people developed intricate ways of managing their resources. They also came to understand the natural patterns of rainfall and stream flow, as well as the challenges of periodic drought. People did not utilize water passively; they actively managed it.

The mountain offered many natural sources of water, including rainfall (see table 1.1), springs, streams, rivers, and waterfalls, as well as man-made irrigation works. These sources each had different characteristics that mattered to users: proximity to the homestead, ease of access, seasonal availability, turbidity, taste, spiritual significance, and claims of ownership. Therefore, most people practiced a multiple-source water economy, in which they procured water from different sources, at different times of year, and for different tasks. Rain was the one source of water utilized by all, as it nourished the crops of the vihamba. Surface water sources could supplement rainfall during the dry months or prolonged periods of drought, but more often they were used for domestic purposes such as cooking, brewing, watering livestock, cleaning, and manufacturing mud blocks used for construction. Decisions about where to collect water were highly localized and dynamic. Patterns of water usage were as unique as the people themselves, varying from homestead to homestead and over time. Though individuals could make claims on naturally occurring water sources, this did not imply ownership, as it was forbidden to charge people or accept payment for water from these sources.³⁸

Perhaps the most notable surface water feature was the extensive system of man-made irrigation canals known as mifongo (sing. mfongo).³⁹ These were excavated ditches designed to divert water from rivers and channel it, using the power of gravity, directly into areas of settlement, where it could then be used for irrigating vihamba and shamba as well as for domestic uses. Mifongo came into use between two hundred and four hundred years ago. The technology was likely imported from neighboring areas with histories of irrigation development,⁴⁰ and it developed into the most extensive system of mountainside irrigation in Africa. It is difficult to know the number of canals that existed in 1850, considering the lack of data and the challenge of counting a system that was by its nature dynamic; canals were built, abandoned, and resurrected in response to need. In the 1920s, Gutmann estimated that as many as one thousand canals lined the slopes of the mountain.⁴¹

Mifongo across Kilimanjaro (fig. 1.2) shared common design characteristics. Each began with a dump (nduwa), a swell within a river that would provide a consistent supply of water. From here, an intake (kiwamaenyi) constructed from banana trunk diverted the water into a main canal, which turned away from the river and toward its destination. From this point, the waters flowed downhill at a gradual slope. Once they reached their destination, they were again diverted, this time into secondary canals leading directly into the vihamba. Floodgates made of banana trunks and leaves prevented water from flowing into the secondary canals until the appropriate time. Water from canals could be gathered into a wooden container, gourd, or clay pot for domestic purposes, but most often it was used for flood irrigation of crops. Beyond these general design characteristics, canals had a number of variations. Some canals that drew from small rivers featured multiple intakes to maximize the water supply. Many had culverts or aqueducts to lead water over other streams or under heavily traveled paths. Some had reservoirs that stored the overnight flow and increased the amount of water available during daylight hours. The biggest variables were length and number of branch canals. Mifongo could be as short as a quarter of a kilometer or as long as several kilometers, with only a handful of branch canals or dozens.

TABLE 1.1. Mean monthly rainfall in millimeters for selected locations (minimum 10 years of recorded data)

Data from Paul Maro, Population Growth and Agricultural Change in Kilimanjaro, 1920-1970, research paper no. 40 (Dar es Salaam: University of Dar es Salaam Bureau of Resource Assessment and Land Use Planning, December 1975).

FIGURE 1.2. An mfongo (Matthew V. Bender)

The development of new mifongo was a highly ritualized process limited to men in the community. Custom expressly prohibited women and children from tasks related to constructing or maintaining them.⁴² The process of creating a new canal began with a group of men’s determination that a new one was needed. They designated a leader, or founder, who took the lead in organizing labor and designing a plan for the canal. All men who planned to use the water aided in its construction and ongoing maintenance. Once the labor had been assembled, the founder began the process of surveying of the route.⁴³ For areas with clearly defined slopes, he determined the path by eyesight alone. Where the slope was less clear, he could survey the land by placing a banana leaf on the ground, pouring water from a calabash, and seeing what way that water flowed. Alternately, he could study the walking paths of fire ants to determine the slope.⁴⁴ After determining the path and slope, the founder commanded the men to excavate the primary canal to the desired depth and width. Once they completed that, they constructed the canal intake by excavating an appropriately sized opening from the source river and building the weir using banana trunks. Lastly, each man excavated his own branch canal from the main one. Once the project was complete, the founder became the first meni mfongo (canal headman), who held responsibility for its continuing management. Although most mifongo were designed by one of the users, some were constructed on others’ behalf by professionals who served as experts in irrigation management. Those who designed successful mifongo gained a reputation, and this translated into a powerful social status. In Kilema, the names of the most esteemed canal founders in history—Anjelini, Maleto, Matanda, Mchau, Mtenga, Mlikamburu, Reu—are remembered to the present day.⁴⁵

Considering the richness of the landscape and the relative abundance of water, one may ask why people went to the trouble of constructing such an immense network of canals. One reason is that mifongo allowed for more flexibility in cultivation. Relying on rainfall alone, farmers were limited to two growing seasons—during and following the kisiye and fuli—in all areas of the agroforest belt except those of highest altitudes. With irrigation, they created a year-round agricultural calendar and maximized their land and labor resources; eleusine cultivation is a great example of this flexibility. A second factor was the challenging placement of natural watercourses relative to areas of settlement. Many of the principal rivers lay in deep ravines as they passed by the vihamba. Women and children, responsible for procuring domestic water, had to descend a steep slope, fill a clay pot with water, and then ascend with the pot atop their head. These inclines were difficult to climb and were often on borderlands. Harry Johnston recalled hearing stories about women who were kidnapped while gathering water from rivers and then forced to become junior wives of their captors.⁴⁶ Animals such as leopards and lions also frequented these areas. By providing a reliable supply of water directly into areas of settlement, the mifongo not only reduced the risks associated with procuring water but also eased the labor burden. Lastly, mifongo provided a safeguard against drought. Though men irrigated vihamba regularly, they did so with increasing frequency in times of drought to compensate for insufficient rainfall.

Once water had been procured, it was used for a wide range of purposes. Within the domestic sphere, women used water most often to prepare food. Boiling was the most common method, with bananas and yams prepared into stews. People also drank water, but much of this occurred away from the kihamba and did not figure into the household allocation. Other domestic uses included washing and cleaning. According to Abbott, the peoples of Kilimanjaro were “comparatively clean, actually washing themselves occasionally. The wives are compelled to perform their ablutions daily and soap is in great demand.”⁴⁷ Raum observed that mothers usually washed babies daily.⁴⁸ While most washing took place in rivers, some also took place at home using water from pots. It is difficult to estimate the quantity of domestic water that a family consumed daily in the late nineteenth century, as it differed depending on location, proximity to sources, and time of year. Using interview data from Kilema, I estimate that an average family consumed two to three pots (roughly 40–80 liters) per day when water was readily available.⁴⁹ Based on the patterns of water use inherent in the canals, it is safe to assume that rates of consumption were similar in other areas of the south and were lower in Rombo.

Procurement of domestic water was considered the work of women and children (fig. 1.3), and the process of collecting it could be arduous and time-consuming. In Rombo, the longer distances to water sources made the rigors especially trying. For both safety and companionship, women often traveled in groups. While doing so, they conversed and sometimes sang songs to help pass the time. One woman remembered a song that she sang frequently with friends:

We have been back from taking water. (x2)

Here we are our husbands we are pleased to arrive safely.

Here is the water our husbands, now we have water for cooking, and bathing.

Let me enter to my home my husband.

I come very tired my husband. (x2)

Don’t punish me please if I am late because I bring water to our family and our animals.

I am tired, I am tired.⁵⁰

Water was also important in constructing buildings and enclosures. The basic form of house architecture was a conic structure constructed of thatched banana stems, bound together by horizontal stays of wattle and reaching as high and wide as 7–8 meters.⁵¹ People used water from nearby canals and streams to produce mud blocks and adhesive for these as well as other types of enclosures. Water was also necessary to bless newly constructed homes. As Dundas notes, on completion of a hut, the father of the one who built it would boil grass and banana stems—symbols of nourishment to people and animals—and all those present would wash their hands in the warm water, saying “May this house give warmth.”⁵² Thus water served a key role in preparing the home and ensuring good fortune for those who occupied it.

FIGURE 1.3. Women collecting water from a river (Arch.photo.cssp)

Another use of domestic water was for brewing mbege. This alcoholic beverage, made from bananas, eleusine, the bark of msesewe trees (which contains quinine and acts as a bittering agent), and water, served a number of purposes. As a ritual brew, it was an integral element of virtually all ceremonies, from celebrating the birth of children and sending the deceased into the spirit world to marriage rites and initiation into adulthood.⁵³ Here it served as a means of offering tribute to the spirits, Ruwa, the wamangi, and elders. The brew could be used as a currency to pay fines or bridewealth, as a proxy for corvée labor, or as an offering for the use of canal water. In the early twentieth century, a market for nonritual brew developed as well. Either men or women could prepare mbege, depending on its intended purpose. Knowledge of how to brew was carefully controlled within the household and only given to children after they had achieved maturity.⁵⁴ For mbege meant for ritual consumption, brewers procured ingredients from places of significance to the clan, the water coming from springs considered to be favored by the spirits. Brewing required on average 25 percent more liquid than what would become brew.⁵⁵ If a family needed to produce two pots of beer to celebrate an initiation, two and a half pots of water were required.

Agriculture required the biggest volume of water. Some of this water was needed for tending livestock: goats, cows, and later chickens. Since families kept their animals in stalls, this water had to be carried to the kihamba in pots. Water could also be used to kill rodents that threatened crops. If an area of the kihamba showed signs of rodent activity, men flooded the area using water from a canal or using stream water carried by pots. Of all agricultural uses, irrigation was the largest for most families. Men irrigated their crops in the kihamba and shamba by opening up a branch of a canal and flooding their field for a specified amount of time. Irrigation patterns depended on the location and the time of year. During the rains, men irrigated only if necessary. During the dry seasons, and especially during droughts, men applied water frequently in support of kihamba crops. For shamba, irrigation enabled dry-season cultivation of eleusine and other grains.

Mifongo were managed on a day-to-day basis by the meni mfongo and a society comprising all the men who held the right to use its waters. By the nineteenth century, the position of meni mfongo had become a position for life, either passed from father to son or selected by the committee of users.⁵⁶ They held responsibility for organizing all the management tasks including routine maintenance, emergency repairs, the setting of irrigation schedules, policing the canal to prevent pollution or misuse, and leading the rituals necessary to appease the spirits. The committee supported the meni mfongo by providing labor for the canal in exchange for the right to use water.

Successful management of mifongo depended on the completion of numerous tasks. Some of the most vital related to the spirit realm. People believed that the waters originated as a gift from Ruwa and that the spirits, particularly that of the founder, continued to influence the workings of the canal. The continued success of the canal depended on not only maintaining it physically but also maintaining the favor of the spirit. The meni mfongo held responsibility for organizing these offerings. Periodically, he would call together the committee and key elders to hold a ceremony near the canal intake. The ceremony began with an invocation to the spirit of the founder, such as the following: “Owner of this canal, I come to you because it is you who gave me this canal. I therefore beg you to give me water from this canal. May Ruwa bless us.”⁵⁷ Those gathered then slaughtered a goat and threw the skin and intestines into the river.⁵⁸ They took the meat back to the vihamba and then roasted and ate it. The ceremony served to pacify the founder and bring prosperity to the canal, while reinforcing the position of the meni mfongo and the importance of the knowledge he possessed.

Another key responsibility of the meni mfongo was organizing routine and emergency maintenance of the canal. Because of mifongo’s earthen construction and use of natural materials, they could be damaged by the increased water flows of the rainy seasons. These waters also deposited silt that filled the intake and the primary canal. These problems demanded that all users mobilize, sometimes with very little notice. Routine maintenance took place at the end of the kisiye and fuli.⁵⁹ Once the rivers had crested, the meni mfongo organized the users to perform maintenance. Each family with rights to the canal provided at least one man for labor. Households that could not manage this, such as widowed women, made an offer of mbege instead.⁶⁰ Older men often accepted this responsibility, however, leaving younger men to more physically demanding work such as clearing forests or participating in warfare. The first step was to remove grasses and eroded soil from the primary canal, restoring its width and depth. The group performed this work with the intake closed so that running water would not interfere. This stage of maintenance required the most time, and it took place in the mornings over the course of a few days. Next, the workers restored the canal’s intake. This involved removing the excess silt built up from the rains, reconstructing the weir, and ensuring that an adequate amount of water again flowed into the canal. Rehabilitating the intake took less time and effort than cleaning the primary channel, and only a few men participated. At the conclusion of these efforts, the men gathered at the home of the meni mfongo and celebrated with a meal and mbege.

Emergency maintenance had to be carried out much more quickly. Once the meni mfongo had been notified of a break or blockage, he sounded a call to the men using a horn. Those who heard the sound of the horn knew to assemble at his home the next day prepared to carry out whatever maintenance was necessary. The meni mfongo then organized those who came, proceeded to the location of the problem, and supervised repair of the canal. This work was likely much less pleasant than routine maintenance as it most often took place during the rains, when temperatures were cooler, the rivers higher, and the terrain muddier.

Another important management task of the meni mfongo was his setting a timetable for use of the canal: who could use it and when, and how much water could be used at a given time. Guidelines varied widely across Kilimanjaro, as they reflected local circumstances such as the size of the canal and the number of users. In most cases, meni mifongo allowed users to draw as much water as they needed for domestic purposes but required it be taken in the mornings, when the water was usually clearest, most clean, and thought to possess healing powers. This allowed women, the primary collectors of domestic water, to complete this work in the mornings and dedicate their afternoons to cultivation. For irrigation, meni mifongo granted each user a specific period of time in which he could open his branch canal and irrigate his lands. This reflected how time, rather than volume, was the standard for water measurement before the twentieth century. In some areas, a turn lasted half a day, so one user could irrigate from sunup to midday and another from midday to dusk. Irrigation rarely took place at night. The criteria by which the meni mifongo set the timetable reflected the individual politics of each canal. Gutmann noticed that in Marangu, irrigation began with the users who were farthest downhill on the right side of the mfongo. “Then follows the one who lives higher up, and so forth to about the middle of the country. Then the sequence shifts to the left side, again beginning with the one living farthest down. If the left lower half is finished, the upper half follows the same sequence until every user had had a chance to water. Then the series starts all over again.”⁶¹ This pattern could be flexible depending on the availability of water. Two or more users could share a turn if the canal had sufficient flow. If one user’s crops began to wither, the meni mfongo could require that the “person who has the water . . . must turn the water over to the man with the dry field.”⁶² The meni mifongo reserved special privileges and the right to alter the timetable at any time. For many canals, they claimed complete rights to the water on every third day.⁶³ Since irrigation for a whole day was rarely necessary, they would then grant those who needed more water part of this day in exchange for vegetables, eleusine, or mbege.

In addition to a timetable, most canals had bylaws covering issues ranging from access to cleanliness. These functioned as a legal code for the canals, enforced by the meni mifongo and backed by possible punishments. The following are bylaws enforced for canals in Kilema:⁶⁴

• One is not permitted to break the timetable.

• One must close one’s own canal after irrigating so that others may use the waters.

• One must attend all activities of the canal, such as maintenance.

• One must not deliberately dirty the canal.

• One must not accidentally dirty it by washing clothes or eleusine in or near it.

• One must not bathe in the canal.

• One must obtain cooking water in the mornings.

• One must dig a pit for the disposal of dirty water so that it will not flow back into the canal.

Violation of these bylaws by anyone, including women and children, resulted in punishment. The most common was a fine; if one violated a bylaw, the entire family would be banned from the canal until one or more barrels of mbege were delivered to the meni mfongo.⁶⁵ For severe transgressions, the violator and his or her family could be banished from the mfongo entirely. Children were taught from a very early age to respect the bylaws of the canals, and if they were caught urinating in them, playing in them, or in any way fouling them, they could be punished by whipping. Furthermore, special prohibitions existed for pregnant women. Aside from the normal restrictions against women’s performing any labor on canals, expectant mothers were prohibited from crossing canals or approaching their intakes.⁶⁶

While conflict among the users of a canal fell to the jurisdiction of the meni mfongo, the mangi played a role in conflicts among users of different canals within a chiefdom. For example, if a canal drew too much water from a river, leaving downstream canals dry, the mangi could set limits on the upstream canal or order that the intake be reconstructed to reduce flows. These sorts of conflicts were more prominent in the dry months, when the rivers were lower and farmers needed to irrigate eleusine. Disputes over a water source between chiefdoms could be adjudicated through negotiation or warfare. By the nineteenth century, wars stemming from control of mifongo became increasingly common, the victorious chiefdom winning the right to claim as much water as it wished.⁶⁷ The wamangi had little direct involvement in water management, aside from these limited roles, until the twentieth century. Rather, these duties remained in the hands of local specialists and societies of users.

SPIRITUAL AND CULTURAL MANAGEMENT

While physical management of water resources was extremely important, this was not the only way in which these resources were managed. Given the centrality of water to cultural and spiritual practices, we must think of water management and of those who manage it in much broader terms. By looking in depth at the spiritual and cultural dimensions of water, and how these properties were managed, we see that management of water resources on Kilimanjaro encompassed a wide range of actors and therefore was inherently local and decentralized.

Managing the spiritual properties of water was vital in these communities. It was the abundant streams, rivers, and rainfall that allowed people to grow bananas, brew beer, and construct mud houses. Water, more than anything else, distinguished the vihamba from the foothills and the lowlands. Lack of water meant death. Knowledge of water’s importance had brought the people to Kilimanjaro and, in their minds, separated them from dryland peoples such as the Maasai. In popular imagination, the mere idea of leaving the mountain for the plains generated tremendous anxiety. Charles Dundas observed:

Not only is the magnificence of the mountain such as [to] compel attachment, but as soon as the mountain dwellers leave it, life becomes intolerable for them. The plain affords them neither their accustomed food nor abundance of water, down there they become the victims of malaria, a prey for the ferocious lion, the blundering rhinoceros and the crafty buffalo, or the loathsome crocodile, all of which are unknown on the mountain, and finally they are exposed to the burning heat. Nothing affrights the mountain dweller more than the threat of being sent to a dry country.⁶⁸

The association of the mountain with all that was good and the plains with evil and danger was so powerful that it persisted into the twentieth century.

The association of water with life and lack of water with death fostered other dichotomies, including the mountain versus the plains, civilized versus uncivilized, and pure versus impure. The most powerful of these was good versus evil. Mountain peoples believed not only that water was inherently good, but also that it had the power to eliminate evil by purifying both the landscape and its people. According to accounts from elders, Ruwa created the mountain itself as a way to distinguish good from evil and reward those peoples he considered to be good.⁶⁹ He also used the powers of water to keep evil from reclaiming the mountain. One example, recorded by Dundas, is a fable very similar in style to that of the great flood in the Bible’s book of Genesis.⁷⁰ It involves a great man, Mkechuwa, who died and left behind much wealth to his children. They showed little sympathy for the poor. Ruwa, angered by this, sent his minister to the community disguised as a man with boils all over his body. The man went to the people and begged for food, as well as fat to anoint his boils. Most turned their backs on him, saying, “Have you no shame?” At last he came to a man of mercy, who offered him food, washed his whole body, and anointed him with fat for his boils. At this time, the minister revealed himself to be the minister of Ruwa. He told the man to bring people of his clan, his family, and his friends to live at his home, for “events are at hand.” He then warned the man by saying, “If you hear a noise as of a great water running fiercely, hold fast to the supports of the hut. And on hearing this noise, remain in silence. For Ruwa shall pass among men in his strength.” Eight nights later, Ruwa brought a great flood from the forest:

The water carried away the evil people and all others, and their huts and their food and all their possessions. And the merciful man when he heard this noise, did everything as he had been commanded. And they were saved, all who were with him. The water by its force carried all those people with their cattle, sheep and goats far into the plain. And those people Ruwa turned into elephants. And their cattle became buffalos and eland and their like. And their sheep became pigs and porcupines. And their dogs became leopards and hyenas and their like.⁷¹

When the man of mercy awoke, he found the whole country empty. He and his people then set out to repopulate the mountain and build a great society. This fable aligns the powers of water with those of Ruwa. Through Ruwa’s actions, water acts as an agent with the power to cleanse, reward, and punish. As water flows from the forest to the plains, evil is washed away and the landscape is recreated for the benefit of the virtuous, thus reestablishing the dichotomy of the mountain as good and the surrounding lands as evil.

The cleansing power of water arises in relation to the body as well as the landscape. Several cultural and religious practices involved using water to purify the body when it was harmed. On Kilimanjaro, wrongdoings were considered to be the actions of spirits, and as such they were not merely temporal concerns. Rather, they implied a continuing evil influence on the victim of the transgression, one that could only be eliminated with a rite of purification. Dundas notes numerous examples of grievances subject to rites of purification. Victims included a man bitten by a woman, a man struck by his wife with a cooking pot, a man greeted while carrying a carcass on his head, a man wounded by a leopard, a man who pronounced a curse, a betrothed girl who became pregnant by another man, a woman who bore twins, any goat that bore twins in its first delivery, and any sheep or cow that bore twins at any time.⁷² In order to right these wrongs, the victim needed to undergo purification. These rites were the responsibility of specialists, members of a particular clan who possessed knowledge to placate the spirits. In many chiefdoms, certain clans developed a reputation for their purification skills, such as the Wako-Mariwa of Marangu.⁷³

The following is an example of a cleansing ceremony recorded by Dundas.⁷⁴ In the first step, the unclean person gathers the necessary ingredients: the skin, dung, and stomach contents of a hyrax, the skin and blood of a monkey, the shell and blood of a snail, certain herbs, the tail of a lizard, the skin of a gazelle, the blood of a female sheep, rainwater taken from a hollow tree in the forest, fresh water drawn from a spring in the early morning, two black sugarcane stalks, and fresh mbege. Then the specialist arrives, along with other members of the clan and family. The specialist digs a hollow in which to mix the ingredients and then makes two gateways of sugar cane. As the people gathered pass through the gateways, the specialist dips his gnu tail into the mixture, brushes the people, and says while facing Kibo, “The evil and uncleanness become gentile as these that you will not be tormented again.” He then sprinkles the liquid over their heads to imitate rain. The specialist repeats this the next four days, in both the morning and evening. Following the last performance, everyone gathers the remaining liquid and casts it into a river while saying, “The evil and sin and uncleanness which comes from us go with this river. The water of this river carry it to the plain.”⁷⁵

This purification ceremony illustrates the significance of water in these types of rituals. The unclean person gathers two distinctly pure forms of water, one from the forest (the home of the spirits) and another from a spring in the early morning. The water serves as the base of a medicine used first to anoint the person and his or her family, second to simulate rainfall (which implies the bringing of new life), and third to carry the evil from the vihamba to the plains. Water therefore assumes several functions: it cleanses the individual of evil, it brings that person life or rebirth, and it extracts evil to its rightful domain, the plains. The properties of water inherent in ceremonies such as purification appear in various adages, further demonstrating the significance of spiritual knowledge of water in daily life. One of these is mringa uwore mbaka voo, “water brings no harm.” The adage implies that if a destructive event such as a flood occurs, it is the product of either intervention by a malevolent spirit or desire by Ruwa to purify the landscape. As a gift from Ruwa, water itself can bring only good unless it is tampered with.

The management of water also figured centrally in education and initiation practices. These were social rituals that defined people in relation to those around them, conferring upon them social status and community membership. Through its placement in these rites, water marked various stages of transition for individuals as they progressed to adulthood. Its cleansing and curative properties contributed to the rebirth of the person at various stages in life. In his 1940 study of childhood on Kilimanjaro, Otto Raum defined education as “the relationship between members of successive generations.”⁷⁶ In the era before mission schools, children received education by listening to and learning from their elders, following elders’ instructions and examples. These interactions took place in many different contexts (within the home, at the home of an elder or specialist, on the grounds of the kihamba, in the forests, etc.) and could involve one-on-one instruction, group instruction, or hands-on training in everything from speaking and cooking to religion and farming.⁷⁷

As a vital resource, water was a prominent theme in childhood education. From an early age, children learned the nature and significance of the water sources around them from their parents and elders. They were taught to respect the physical sources as well as the spiritual forces that gave them vitality and continuity with their ancestors. As children entered adolescence, they learned the processes associated with procurement and distribution. Girls learned from their mothers how to collect water, from where, and when, while boys learned how to irrigate, as well as the responsibilities of canal construction and maintenance. The adolescents also came to understand much about the world around them, politically and socially, through the concept of water. These lessons together created adults who would continue this physical and social system well after the death of their elders.

The lessons taught to children about the importance of water began at an early age. As soon as they could walk, they heard stories, fables, and tales designed to instill proper behavior and respect. Leoni Motesha, from Mkuu Rombo, recalled such a fable from her childhood involving a wolf and a goat:

The two were the best of friends, until the goat had two children. Then the wolf began to use every trick possible to eat one of them. Near their homes was a small pool that most animals used for taking water. One day the wolf went to Mr. Lion, the chairman of the animals, and told him that the goat children were spoiling the water by swimming in it. The lion decided to charge the wolf with standing guard over the water. One evening the two goat children came to the pool to take some water. The wolf ran to them, caught one, and ate him. The other child went home and told her mother that the wolf had eaten her brother. The mother goat went to the lion and told him to arrest the wolf because he had killed one of her children. The lion responded by saying that it was her punishment because her children had spoiled the water. The mother goat returned home, crying all the way, and from that day the goat and the wolf became enemies.⁷⁸

Stories such as these drew on the power of negative reinforcement. By showing the misfortune of one family caused by children swimming in a water source, this story intends to frighten small children away from unacceptable conduct. Wilhelm Maunga, also from Mkuu, recalled a similar story that also involved animals:

There once was a pool for all the animals. That is, except for the hare, because he refused to give his labor when they constructed it. The hare always came and took water and then spoiled the rest by swimming in it. The wild animals chose the monkey to guard the water. The hare used a trick and took a bottle of honey and asked the monkey to let him have some water in exchange for some honey. The monkey agreed, so the hare gave him honey. The monkey tasted it and said, “It is very sweet, give me another one.” The hare told him that he would if he could tie the monkey’s legs together. The monkey agreed, and the hare tied his legs. But the hare didn’t give him any honey. Instead he filled his pot and spoiled the water. The next morning the other animals came to the pool. They were very annoyed to find the monkey’s legs all tied up and the water spoiled. The animals punished the monkey and never let him guard the pool again.⁷⁹

This story draws on imagery similar to that of the first, but its moral is different. The antagonist is the hare, who commits a number of transgressions: not participating in the construction of the pool, stealing water, and fouling the watercourse. Yet the monkey, who is susceptible to the trickery of the hare, is blamed. The moral is that children should strive to be like neither. In other words, they should keep the waters clean while being vigilant and smart in protecting water from the actions of others. Fables and stories of these sort were common across the mountain. In Kilema, for example, a common fable threatened children by telling them that if they urinated in a watercourse, their mothers would be swept away with the waters to the plains, never to be seen or heard from again.⁸⁰

As children grew older, they became more interested in water management because of its association with adulthood. Young boys mimicked the work of elders, using sticks to create small channels to drain water from puddles. Raum noted the following example of boys creating their own miniature mifongo:

One sees boys come out after a heavy shower and look for a pool. Squatting down at its edge they begin to challenge one another: “Who can make a canal that would drain the pool?” Every boy begins to dig a canal. The unskillful is laughed at and called a woman. If all are equally successful, they shout with glee: “Who isn’t a man?”⁸¹

Children gained more responsibilities with water as they approached adolescence. Girls learned from their mothers the skill of procuring water for the household. This required teaching about the sources available at various times of year and about how to choose the best water for a given purpose. As girls took over responsibility for collecting water for the home, they freed up their mothers to perform other labor such as tending crops and brewing. Boys began to learn more about the importance of the canals. Elders taught young boys that the canals were part of their heritage left by their ancestors. In his book on Chagga education, R. Sambuli Mosha noted the following riddle:

Riddle: Father left me a bowl from which I have been eating ever since.

Answer: The irrigation canal.⁸²

Riddles and sayings such as this reminded the youth of the importance of the canals as well as the hard work their fathers and ancestors put into developing them. When boys neared the age of fifteen, they were given the task of irrigating the kihamba.⁸³ Fathers taught their sons how to spread out the water from the canal by using many small canals and banana sheaths. This ensured that they brought water to the plants as a gentle trickle rather than a quick flow that would wash away soil and manure.

Teaching of mfongo design and management began as boys neared initiation. On the mountain, initiation involved a series of teachings, rituals, and ceremonies that marked the transition into adulthood.⁸⁴ Initiation rites for both girls and boys involved division into age-sets, followed by group education in the proper ways of being an adult. This culminated in circumcision, a physical act that symbolized the rebirth into adulthood that had taken place. Water played a crucial role throughout this process. First, boys had to be taught the workings of the system and the responsibilities of being a member of a canal society. Gutmann writes of a canal cleaning ceremony that took place during an initiation in Marangu.⁸⁵ The boys were gathered together and sent to a canal to learn the art of cleaning it from a teaching elder. They removed their clothes and had their heads shaved. The elder then called on them to enter a dry canal on their hands and knees and begin removing the grasses that had grown inside it. As they did this he sang a song:

Aleh, my novices, my helper.

Awaken the train of male novices. Lelele hm . . .

Aleh, my novices, I have put my arm in here.

May the juice plant and the mossy fern spring up.

Hoh heh haja ja ja ja ja!

Aleh, my novices, may it prosper, you men, my comrades!

Hah ja ja ja hm . . .

Aleh, my novices, may it rise in billows, up and down, ei you men!

Hah ja ja ja hm . . .

Hei you men, comrades, I am beginning the procession, I am beginning the march.

Hoh heh hm . . . hm . . .

Now I relinquish it to the helper of the child.

He must tell it to his younger brother who comes after him.

Hoh heh hm . . . hm . . .

Aleh, my young brother.

What is it billowing up and down here?

Like the juice plant and the mossy fern!

Hoh heh hm . . . hm . . .

Which springs up there like the sprouting grass.

Hoh heh hm . . . hm . . .

The word lelele was onomatopoetic, referring to the sound made by the rushing of water into an empty canal. The elders repeated the song as the boys cleaned the length of the canal. Gutmann concluded that the sound signified the rebirth experienced by the boys through initiation.

After the boys had cleaned the canal, the teacher opened the weir and released water back into the canal. He then instructed the boys to live life as the grasses. As the boys had sent the grasses out from the canal, so must they send out shoots that would flourish in their homesteads.⁸⁶ The cleaning of the canal, therefore, was symbolic as well as practical. The boys learned an important skill, while the ceremony itself symbolized their transformation. Just as the grasses were removed from the canal and given new life outside it, so the initiates were pulled from the nurtured state of childhood and released into adulthood.

Circumcision, the culminating step in the initiation process, drew heavily on the perceived powers of water. The cleansing properties of water helped wash initiates of the impurities of childhood and prepare them for adult life. In his book, Dundas describes a circumcision ceremony for girls and provides a vivid description of the role of water.⁸⁷ After much preparation, the girl and her female relatives gathered. The women all came with a gift of eleusine. Before the actual operation, the relatives took the girl to a canal to be washed by one of the senior women. The elder sprinkled only the toes of her right foot, saying, “We wash you of all the uncleanness of heretofore, now we cleanse you of the uncleanness of childhood that you may follow a new path to your death.” They then led the girl to a hut to be anointed and then to the hut of an elder, who performed the operation. Afterward, the elder tested the girl for her virginity, and if she passed, much celebration and mbege drinking ensued. After three days, the elder returned to wash the girl, and they began a period of instruction in the domestic duties of womanhood. Water thus served as an agent that purified the girl of the uncleanness accumulated during childhood and that fostered her rebirth as a woman.

The education and initiation of children illustrate water’s importance in an array of social and cultural transactions. Especially important is the way in which water arose as a form of knowledge. For the youngest children, they were taught basic knowledge of water sources at an early age as a way of protecting these communal resources from children’s immaturity and inexperience. Initiation represented the time when adolescents were granted deeper knowledge of water and became privy to its cleansing and life-giving powers. The ceremonies themselves were also significant in that they reproduced the power and authority of the knowledge holders, in this case elders and ritual specialists.

* * *

Analyzing the water-management practices that developed on Kilimanjaro, one clearly sees how people’s impressions of the waterscape shaped a web of linkages between water and society. Mountain communities developed a highly nuanced understanding of the dynamism and diversity of the water supply as well as a broad understanding of the knowledge needed to manage it. People needed water to nurture crops and cook bananas, but they also valued it for its power to cleanse people and generate new life. Water could be known in many ways, and people at various levels of the social strata had differential access to this knowledge. Children were denied knowledge of water until they reached initiation and were considered adults. Women were denied knowledge of procuring, controlling, and managing water resources, while they often knew more about water quality, the day-to-day tribulations of finding water, and methods of carrying, storing, and using water. Meni mifongo held knowledge of canal management that made their services and expertise tremendously important to the whole of the mountain.

By the nineteenth century, the peoples of Kilimanjaro had developed a highly successful system of intensive agriculture, one that enabled them to prosper and grow significantly in size. Around 100,000 people lived on the slopes of the mountain by 1850, spread across more than forty mountain ridges. The period brought many changes to the mountain. It experienced a dramatic rise in trade with peoples from beyond the mountain, particularly Swahili long-distance traders. The growing importance of this trade fueled the rise of chieftaincy and the increasingly assertive power of the wamangi. It also led to a rise in warfare on the mountain, pitting rival chieftaincies against one another and forcing weaker chiefdoms on the mountain to either forge alliances or accept subordination.

Despite this trend toward political centralization, the management of water remained decentralized. Wamangi asserted little authority over water until the colonial period. This reflects the mountain’s multiple-source water economy, in which people relied on a diversity of water resources rather than a single one that could be easily monopolized. It also indicates the extent to which water management empowered a wide range of people in the community, from rainmakers to canal specialists, from men to women, from elders to children. Management of the resource was widely distributed, and widely shared, relying on a web of intersecting knowledge. At the heart of this knowledge was a shared heritage among the people and the belief that the mountain was the source of life.