Koncoran

I’ve found something that scares me more than scorpion horses or large primates. The Koncoran. I’m sure I’ve mentioned them before and I’ve always left situations involving them incredibly anxiety ridden, but at each encounter I find new reasons to add to my fear. Koncorans are men dressed in costume made of either strips of bark or shredded rice bags and covered from head to toe. Sometimes there are other men with them to keep the Koncoran under control (you begin to understand my fear now?) and lots of small boys chasing them around, banging on bedongs and dancing. The Koncorans are supposedly possessed by spirits. Ok…And they make you pay them money to pass them on the street. The costume doesn’t scare me, the possibility that they may be eating the bark on their costume and therefore tripping doesn’t scare me, but the fact that they are unaccountable for their actions (due to spirit possession) does scare me. And did I mention they are usually wielding one or more machetes and banging them together while chasing people around? Koncorans are pretty common in Brikama, being a Mandinka village. When I see them I usually turn around and go the other way, praying that he doesn’t notice the toubab sneaking down the street, hiding behind trees. Easy target. I’m usually successful in my avoidance of the Koncorans but a few weeks ago, not so much.

We were on our monthly Brikama to Sanyang Beach bike ride. Kelsey, Josh, Lucia, Sam, Katie, and I were riding our bikes down the road that leads to Sanyang. It was a beautiful day. Hot, steaming hot, but still beautiful. We had an Ipod and speakers in my basket and were bike dancing our way to the beach to Biggie Smalls when I began noticing a couple of odd things. An old topless woman laughing at us and pointing down the road, a gigantic group of small boys dancing on the side of the road….and then I saw them. Not one, but two Koncorans in full get-up. Four machetes between the two of them. They look up and see six toubabs riding their way looking especially vulnerable and fragile with our mandatory peace corps helmets on. I saw money signs in their crazed eyes. I screeched to a halt and hid behind Kelsey who was telling me a story about how she heard that if you try and run from them than they’ll throw their machete at you. I’d do pretty much anything to avoid a large rusty knife thrown at me. As I’m ready to flee and leave my friends to deal with this on their own, the first less scary Koncoran who was dressed in a lovely pastel colored shredded rice bag, waved at us and motioned that he’s letting us pass. I should have realized, it’s never that easy here. As we’re riding past the first Koncoran, the second, scarier one dressed in Senegalese style of all red, blocks our way and starts lumbering towards me, slapping his two machetes together. The koncoran behind us turns around and blocks us in and starts doing the same thing. We were trapped. Now, one thing you should know is that most volunteers avoid giving out money for two reasons. First, if we gave it to everyone who asked we’d be broke within one day of being paid. Secondly, I think we like to try and avoid the classic toubab stereotype of just throwing money and candy at people. Thank you tourists. That being said we were all still in that mindset and even considering the situation, we were reluctant to give the Koncoran money. The children were all yelling that he wouldn’t let us pass until we paid him. “M mang kodo le soto.” I don’t have money we were yelling at him. They started clanging their machetes together in an even more threatening way, if that’s possible. I was on the verge of panicking when Katie gave in and threw 25 dalasi at one of them. He picked it up and looked at the bill, looked at his partner, and looked at us for a long time. After what felt like forever he pointed his machete at us, and then down the road. We just stood there confused. Is he letting us pass? Or is he going to throw his rusty machete at me if we try and go? He did it again and we still just stood there. I guess he got tired of the stupid Peace Corps volunteers he had been wasting his time on because he and his fellow Koncoran walked past us and started back toward Brikama. We were free! We made it to the beach, had the best day ever, and as we were dance-biking our way back, a gelly passed us. There were maybe 15 men on top of it drumming and dancing, two of which were our Koncoran friends, wind blowing through their costumes, looking a little muppet-babyish, and probably laughing at our nerdy helmets all the way home.

A few days after this incident, I was talking to Sarjo, one of the Gambian staff members about Koncorans:
Me: So the Koncorans, do they hurt people?
Sarjo: [looking stoic and austere as usual] oh, sometimes. But the ones you need to look out for are the flying koncorans.
Me; WHAT?! They fly too? Do they actually fly or just pretend? Are you messing with me Sarjo? Sarjo: [now giggling] yes, they fly. They only come at night and while normal koncorans come out whenever, these flying ones have to be invited to your village. They will put a curse on certain
compounds and they will hurt you if you are outside.
Me: Uhhhh....ok...How will I know when they are coming?
Sarjo: Everyone in your village will know and your host mother will tell you.
Me: WHAT IF I DON’T UNDERSTAND MY HOST MOTHER?!

And now, for the past week, there has been a Koncoran camped out across the street. The boys that will be taken into the bush for circumcision have been gathered in the compound across the street and a Koncoran has been placed there to protect them. I think? Anyway, I have to say that falling asleep every night to the sound of clapping machetes and a shrieking koncoran is absolutely no fun. And its given new inspiration to my Larium dreams…