The Jumping of The Bulls Continued

After all the beatings were over it was time for the jumping of the bull.

Slowly people drifted out of the clearing and got back on the same road. The bulls were supposedly waiting in another clearing not so far away.

On the road back we asked Gino to explain what was happening.

Apparently the Jumping of the Bulls is a boy’s initiation into manhood. A herd of bulls are brought together and held in place, lined up side-by-side, by the other men of the village. To prove that he is a man he must run up and jump on the back of the line of bulls, run across their backs and make it to the other side without falling off. If he makes it, he is a man. If not, he is shamed.

“So where does the beating of the women fit into all of this?” I asked.

Gino explained that by the women taking the beatings from men they are showing that they love this man whose initiation day it is, whether it is their son, their brother or their cousin. The more beatings they endure for him, the more they love him.

We got to the second clearing and took our seats to watch the spectacle. A man offered me his little wooden stool. This stool is usually for men to sit on only, women were to sit on the ground and not a stool. I had the face paint already, usually reserved for men only, so the stool kind of finished off that initiation.

The women continued to jump around, blowing their bull-horns and shaking the bells strapped to their legs. As about 25 bulls were herded in I was disappointed, not even a dozen were actually bulls, the rest were cows. But even so, they looked fierce, and fair enough too considering the beatings that they were copping. The cows had patterned scars decorating their bodies, and decorative pieces cut out of their ears, I could not shake the thought that these people were cruel to brand animals like this, to inflict pain on them for their own decorative purposes. But then again, I suppose if the women are willing to take beatings and wear scars for their men, then it isn’t a far cry for them to think the cows can also take beatings and wear scars for them too. The women had moved on from tormenting the men with their horns and instead began tormenting the cows. They were trying to riel them up, and were doing a good job of it. They blew the horns in their ears and pushed them and teased them, preparing them for the show.

At one stage ten or so men formed a tight little circle to have their ‘coming of age ceremony’. I wasn’t allowed to watch this one it was strictly men’s business. But all reports from Elie suggest that I didn’t miss out on anything. They do something symbolic with sticks, and that was about all I understood. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as getting whipped or jumping over a bulls back, so my interest was quickly lost.

The animal cruelty magnified when it was time to try to get the cows in one straight line, I watched in horror as the men pulled them by their horns, their tails and their mouths, hooking their hands around their teeth even, yanking them in place and holding them down. The cows bellowed in agony and mooed in protest and for that it was beaten more, several times I had to cover my eyes with my hands, it was unbearable to watch.

The original plan was apparently to get 8 bulls in line, but the men had such difficulty getting them in place that they decided 4 was enough.

The man of honour stood at the edge of the circle, wearing absolutely nothing. I watched as he psyched himself up, I could almost see the pressure weighing down on his shoulders. ‘It’s only 4 cows’ I thought to myself, but I knew that it wasn’t the animals he was afraid of; I could imagine the shame brought to him if he didn’t jump those cows. I could picture him watching all of those women nursing their fresh wounds, reminding him that it was all for nothing.

The naked man of honour took his run up and jumped effortlessly onto the back of the first cow. He teetered on the edge, balancing on one foot for a second before he ran across the rest of the cows, arms outstretched for balance, wobbling only slightly before landing back on solid ground at the end of it.

He jumped back up and did it again, four times in total, each time he was successful. At another point he stood and paused, full frontal nudity, arms outstretched, the sun behind him, and I thought it was a breath-taking image.

He made it look so easy, I can only assume that it wasn’t, and that there was at least some level of skill involved. However, if I had a choice between leap-frogging cows and getting beaten until blood was trickling down my legs like the women did, I’d choose the cows.

Although the bull jump was not so spectacular, the whole day had been. It was surreal, so surreal it felt normal, and I am aware that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. But as we packed up to go I wondered if some things are so hard for the mind to process that it just shuts down a bit and normalises everything.

We all got back onto the long winding road through nothing. A handsome and shirtless young Hamer man took my hand and we walked in silence side-by-side, hand-in-hand the whole way home. Elie had found an AK-47 and was wearing it across is chest. Hundreds of people littered the road, walking in the same direction. It was another stunning moment, watching the bright coloured beads and dull coloured animal skins around me. Listening to the jingling bells on a hundred women’s legs and listening to twenty-five tired cows mooing as the sun was setting on all of us.