Creole drum

An Anthology of Creole Literature in Surinam

[p. 183]

Chapter 7
Wie Eegie Sanie

Wie Eegie Sanie (Our own things) is the name of a nationalistic cultural movement founded around 1950 by Surinamese students living in Amsterdam. In the multiracial society of Surinam, it is difficult to determine precisely what ‘our own things’ are. They might be something quite different for the descendants of Javanese immigrants than for maroon descendants in the bush. The name might best be interpreted as the expression of an ideal: we want to have ‘our own things,’ our own Surinamese culture, our own identity as an independent nation. The movement was clearly a reaction against the imposition of the Dutch language and culture. As such it had much in common with the reaction in 1932 of the Martinique students in Paris, who wrote a flamboyant manifesto, Légitime Défense, which might be regarded as the birth of the new cultural ideal centered on the concept of ‘négritude.’¹ But compared with Légitime Défense, Wie Eegie Sanie represented a much more balanced reaction. Its spokesmen always stressed their essential openness to influences from other cultures. They even accepted Dutch culture as part of their cultural heritage, but they wanted to shape their own national culture, in which all Surinamese people could participate.

In order to understand this kind of reaction against the language and culture of a colonial power, one has to remember that the typical colonial society lacks an indigenous elite. The most prominent people in the colonial society are those born in Europe, who have a different set of cultural values. But at the same time they function as the colonial elite and therefore exert a normative influence in society. They are followed and imitated by other groups. Acculturation therefore seems an inevitable phenomenon in colonial society.

The generation of Wie Eegie Sanie was raised under these conditions,

1 This manifesto was published in Paris and contained statements such as the following by Etienne Léro: ‘The Antillian, stuffed to the neck with white moralism, with white culture, with white education, with white prejudices, displays the puffed-up image of himself. To be a good copy of the pale man has for him social as well as poetic self-justification. He can never be decent enough, starched enough in his own eyes.’ (Translated from the French)

[p. 184]

and to say that they were greatly encouraged to assimilate to the Dutch way of life is an understatement, as we have already seen. Students with the best results at school (which also means the most acculturated pupils) were given the chance to go to Europe to complete their studies in Holland. There they discovered that their acculturative efforts were not nearly so greatly appreciated as at home. Especially among fellow students the soulless imitation of Western habits was scorned, and non-European behavior was applauded as something new and original. What might have been a reason for pride back home became a badge of shame and disgrace.

Mr. Bruma, explaining the cause of Wie Eegie Sanie in a public speech, goes even further. He considers language and culture as an agreement or civil contract between people. We agree to call a cat ‘cat’ and a dog ‘dog.’ If now these same people are forced to ignore their agreements, they feel themselves guilty of treachery. This makes them unhappy and calls forth resistance. Wie Eegie Sanie tries to free every individual from biases against his own language and cultural values, not in the belief that it is better than any other but that it is equally valuable. This movement teaches self-respect as the essential basis for mutual understanding between different groups.

Vidia Naipaul, comparing the situation in Surinam with that in other West Indian countries, writes:

The Dutch have offered assimiliation but not made it obligatory. This tolerance and understanding of alien cultures is greater than the British, and the very reverse of the French arrogance which makes the French West Indian Islands insupportable for all but the francophile. And one cannot help feeling it unfair that the Dutch should have their own cultural offerings spurned by their former colony. Suriname has come out of Dutch rule as the only truly cosmopolitan territory in the West Indian region. The cosmopolitanism of Trinidad is now fundamentally no more than a matter of race; in Suriname diverse cultures, modified but still distinct, exist side by side. The Indians speak Hindi still; the Javanese live, a little bemused, in their own world, longing in this flat unlovely land for the mountains of Java; the Dutch exist in their self-sufficient Dutchness, the Creoles in their urban Surinam-Dutchness; in the forest along the rivers, the bush-Negroes have re-created Africa (Naipaul 1962:170).

Naipaul may have underestimated the fierce cultural reaction in some French West Indian islands, as shown for example by the group that published Légitime Défense, and by the work of Aimé Césaire

[p. 185]

and his contribution to the négritude movement (see Kesteloot 1965). It remains a fact, however, that Wie Eegie Sanie is an exceptional movement, unparalleled in the Caribbean, and for which there is as yet no fully acceptable explanation (but see Voorhoeve and Renselaar 1962).

The language problem has been one of the most important issues in Wie Eegie Sanie. Surinam Creole was regarded as the only true national language because it lacked roots elsewhere. Moreover, it already served the very useful purpose of a contact language between ethnic groups, more so than Dutch or any other indigenous language. So they decided that Creole should become the national language. They started to use Creole on all occasions and indeed succeeded in turning it into a respected language.

One of the most convincing arguments of Wie Eegie Sanie has been the achievements of Creole poetry. Members of Wie Eegie Sanie had started to write poetry in Creole in Amsterdam, and in 1952 the Frisian cultural periodical De Tsjerne devoted a complete issue to the new Creole literature.² At that time only a few acceptable poems existed in Creole. We reproduce in this chapter some of those first poems. Following chapters will show how rapidly Creole found acceptance as a means of literary expression.

2 De Tsjerne, Suriname-numer, September 1952.

[p. 186]

Eddy Bruma

Mi braka mama
na tap' hen bangi e dyonko,
ala pikin go sribi kaba.
Mi owru mama, kon, opo go sribi,
mi sab fa yu weri mama.

Now fosi mi de si
pe yu wiwir e weti,
èn den proy na ondro yu ay.
Kon, mek mi grat den safri-safri
fu mek yu no wiki, mama...

Èn noya di y'e lafu na ini yu sribi,
m'e si yu takru tifi, o lobi mama.
Kon, wiki, go na yu bedi,
yu dyonko nofo kaba.

Kon sdon, dineti,
di neti fadon,
na mi mofo-doro, mi p'kin.
Winti e way,
a e wunwun wan singi
gi wi...

S'don tiri, no dray-dray,
dungru fadon.
Safri na singi e kroypi
e kon
na mi.

Wan kondre ben de...
A no dya,
a no yana,

[p. 188]

 

 

 

 

no na farawe presi.

 

Wan dey...

 

 

 

Wan mama ben de...

 

A no dya,

 

a no yana,

 

no na farawe presi.

 

Wan dey...

 

 

 

Suma no pari,

 

suma no hari,

 

mi boto mu go,

 

suma pikin

 

no tap na babari

 

sa go.

 

 

 

Sribi mi p'kin,

 

sribi mi brudu.

 

Neti fadon.

 

Mama sa hor wakti,

 

te sribi kon.

 

 

 

Nengre, un pari,

 

uma, un hari,

 

mi boto mu go.

 

Watra sa swari

 

na p'kin,

 

te mi boto

 

no lo.

 

 

 

Ma winti no wani.

 

A no dya,

 

a no wani.

 

Na farawe presi

 

a gwe.

 

 

 

Na watra ben kowru.

 

Na neti ben kowru

 

sote.

 

Gado n'e meki pikin tide

 

fu tamara

 

a dede.

 

 

 

Mama, no sari,

 

yu, pikin fu doti,

 

mama fu wan dey.

[p. 190]

 

 

 

 

San yu kisi tide,

 

tamara yu lasi

 

agen.

 

 

 

Kon sdon dineti

 

- neti fadon -

 

na mi mofo-doro, mi p'kin.

 

Winti e way,

 

a e tyari wan tori,

 

wan tori

 

fu er-tin-tin...

Chr. H. Eersel

Gron nati, kowru, fini alen de kon.
Fara baka busi stondoyfi de soktu...
Wan fru wan mi de yere fadon
den dropu alen na tapu mi fensre.

Grontapu de sari sondro son:
langa watr'ay de lon na strati.
Mi de si den dungru spuku-bon
moksi so safri tron blaka loktu.

Dan neti de saka blaka didon,
leki wan bigi dedekrosi
tapu na kowru nati gron.
Dan tiri de regeri ala presi.

Jo Rens

Sortu prisiri sa gi doti
di de brenki na trawan ay?

[p. 192]

 

 

 

 

Luku busi, luku birbiri,

 

kriki, swampu pe fisi lay.

 

 

 

Firpenki na tapu den bon sidon

 

de bari lafu fu den;

 

watra de singi na mindri den ston

 

de kari wi nanga hen sten.

 

 

 

Na liba de kowru na faya fu son

 

di weri den bromki sote.

 

Kankantri ben kari wan winti kon

 

fu prati katun alape.

 

 

 

Pitani, na ondro den bon

 

pe na fosi libi ben seti,

 

pitani pikin, fu san yu de krey?

 

Tide na Gado feeste-dey.

Trefossa

No pori mi prakseri noyaso,
no kari mi fu luku nowan pe.
Tide mi ati trusu mi fu go
te na wan tiri kriki, farawe.

No tak na lon mi wani lon gowe
fu di mi frede strey èn krey nomo.
Ma kondre b'bari lontu mi sote.
San mi mu du? Mi brudu wani bro.

Na krikisey dren kondre mi sa si
pe ala sani moro swit lek dya
èn skreki-tori no sa trobi mi.

Te m' dray kon baka sonten mi sa tron
wan p'kinso moro betre libisma,
di sabi lafu, sabi tya fonfon.

[p. 187]

Eddy Bruma

My black mother
dozes on her bench,
all the children have gone to bed.
Old mother, come rise, go to sleep,
I know how weary you are, mother.

Now only do I see
where your hair to white has turned,
and the creases beneath your eye.
Come, let us softly smooth them out
that you do not wake up, mother ...

And now that you laugh in your slumber
I see your ugly teeth, Oh dearest mother.
Come, wake up, go to bed,
you've dozed enough for the while.

Come sit then tonight,
now the night has ascended,
on my threshhold, my child.
The wind is blowing,
it hums a song
for us ...

Sit silently, do not stir,
dusk has ascended.
Softly does the song creep on
and comes
to me.

There was once a land,
not here,
not there,

[p. 189]

 

 

 

 

not in places far off,

 

on a day ...

 

 

 

There was once a mother,

 

not here,

 

not there,

 

not in places far off,

 

on a day ...

 

 

 

Who does not row,

 

who does not pull

 

- my boat

 

must row -

 

whose child does not stop to howl,

 

will die.

 

 

 

Sleep my child,

 

sleep my flesh,

 

the night has ascended.

 

Mother will watch

 

till sleep has arrived.

 

 

 

Negroes row!

 

Women pull!

 

My boat must go.

 

Water will devour

 

the child,

 

if my boat

 

does not row.

 

 

 

But the wind is unwilling.

 

It's not here,

 

it's unwilling.

 

To places far off

 

it has blown.

 

 

 

The water was cold.

 

The night was cold,

 

excessively so.

 

God creates no child today

 

so that tomorrow

 

he dies.

 

 

 

Mother, be not sad,

 

you child of the earth,

 

mother for a day.

[p. 191]

 

 

 

 

What today you received,

 

tomorrow you'll lose

 

again.

 

 

 

Come sit then tonight,

 

now the night has ascended,

 

on my threshhold, my child.

 

The wind is blowing,

 

he brings a tale,

 

a tale of

 

once upon a time ...

Chr. H. Eersel

Moisture-seeped and cold is the earth.

Gently does it drizzle.

Far off in the forest ringdoves coo ...
One by one I hear the patter
of raindrops on my window.

The world is morose without sun:
long tears roll down the street.
I see the dark trees apparition-like
slowly merge and lose themselves

into the darkening sky.

Then black night descends
like a large shroud of death
on the wet, cold earth.
Then silence reigns supreme.

Jo Rens

How can a feast give off specks of dirt
which blind another's eyes?

[p. 193]

 

 

 

 

Behold the forest, behold the shrubs,

 

the creek, the swamp where it teems with fish.

 

 

 

Firpenki⁵ sits laughing

 

in the trees;

 

Water gurgles between the stones

 

and calls us with its voice.

 

 

 

The river cools the fire of the sun

 

which saps the flowers so.

 

The cotton tree had beckoned a wind

 

to help disperse his cotton everywhere.

 

 

 

Pitani,⁶ under the trees

 

where life at first came about,

 

pitani my child, why weep you so?

 

Today is a feasting day of God.

5 Firpenki must be a kind of bird unknown to us.

6 Pitani is the Carib word for ‘child.’ It is used in this poem to indicate the true Surinamese, born and raised on Surinamese soil.

Trefossa

Do not come between my thoughts just now,
and call me not to look elsewhere.
My heart today is urging me
to a far-off quiet creek.

Say not that I'm intent on flight
because I fear the struggle and can only weep.
But the worldly din has overwhelmed me so.
What must I do? My blood is hankering after peace.

There at the creek

I shall a realm of dreams espie

where everything is lovelier than here
and tales which frighten me will not confuse.

When I return again
perhaps I shall become a slightly better man
who knows to laugh and take a beating too.

3 The poem tells a well-known story dating from the time of slavery, in which a certain lady, Suzanna Duplessis, is said to have drowned the child of a female slave during a boat trip on the river because she was irritated by its incessant crying.

4 It is customary among the workers in the building trade, to have a party and to pass drinks around when they have reached the roof of a house. This party is called opo-oso. In all probability the image of the building of a house refers to the building of an independent Surinam.