It's the night before the battle of Kirina.
Sundjata, the young prince of Mali, has ordered oxen slaughtered for his soldiers, they've eaten well, but nobody around the fires is at ease.
Tomorrow they face Sumangaru, the sorcerer king of Sosso. He's the richest and most powerful king in the land, and all the other kings pay him tribute.
This isn't their first meeting. Sundjata has already shot an arrow at him, and Sumangaru caught it in mid-air and laughed. Then Sundjata threw a spear, and it bounced off his chest.
The men know a lot of them won't come back.
Then a man asks to speak to them. "Let me talk to the men," he says. "Let my words fill their hearts."
He stands among the fires and fires up the crowd.
"Kingdoms and empires have lifetimes like man. They too are born, grow, and disappear. Today a new kingdom rises as one dies. Sosso was the growth of yesterday, whereas Mali is for tomorrow."
He reminds them who their ancestors were, praises each king who has joined them, and tells them the prophecy over the man leading them.
When he's done, the fear is gone, and they go off to prepare for the battle.
His name is Balla Faseke, and two days ago he was living in Sumangaru's palace as Sumangaru's own jeli, playing the music after each of the king's victories.
Blood
A jeli keeps a people's history and puts it to work, advising kings, settling disputes and moving people to act.
You might know them as griots. Among the Mande people of West Africa, they're called jeli in the north and jali in the south.
You didn't apply for the job. The word jeli means blood, and you were born into it.
While other children learned to hunt, a jeli's children were learning to speak, to play, and to hold their people's whole history in their heads. None of it was written down. Jelis married other jelis and passed it on for hundreds of years, and if a family forgot, that piece of history was gone.
Every king had a jeli, and every jeli had a king. Some kings barely spoke for themselves; their jeli did it for them.
The First Theft
Sundjata's jeli was Balla, the son of his father's jeli. Balla taught him the history of his people and the rules of a warrior's conduct, and they became closest friends.
When Sundjata's father, King Maghan, died, the throne went to Sundjata's older half-brother, Dankaran, but Dankaran's mother, Sassouma, was the one really ruling. She feared Sundjata would one day take the throne from her son, and she'd already tried sorcery to kill him and failed.
So what does she do? She goes after the person he trusted most.
She had Balla sent on a mission to Sumangaru, the cruel king of Sosso, sure that losing his jeli would derail Sundjata.
Sundjata was twelve. He walked up to his brother past armed guards with their swords drawn, grabbed the king by the collar and said, "You have stolen my jali given to me by our father King Maghan."
The king threw him out, and Sundjata and his mother went into exile.
The Room at the Top of the Tower
Balla had been handed over to the most feared man on the savanna, and Sundjata's half-sister Nana was sent too, as a bride. Balla earned the king's respect with good advice, and the two of them waited.
One day, while the king was away, Balla climbed into the most secret room in the tower.
Human skins hung on the walls. Nine heads sat in a circle around a huge clay jar of water, all of them kings Sumangaru had killed. A yellow and white snake rose out of the jar, and Balla recited a spell until it slid back under the water. He tried to scream and no sound came out.
Then he saw the balafon, wooden bars played with small mallets. It was Balla's favourite instrument. This one was Sumangaru's, and the king played it after each victory to sing his own praises.
In a room full of dead kings, Balla sat down and played.
The bars rang at the slightest touch. The nine heads opened their eyelids, and their lips lifted into smiles.
Sumangaru was far away, but he was bound to that balafon, and he knew. He raced back, ran up the tower and burst in with his sword drawn, shouting.
"It is I, Balla Faseke," the jeli said calmly.
And he played on, this time in honour of the king, his voice filling the room with Sumangaru's praises. The king stood there flattered and captivated.
"I shall never touch the balafon again," Sumangaru said. "From now on, you shall be my jali and it shall be your duty to play on this instrument after each of my victories."
Balla had climbed those stairs with no business being there. He came down as the jeli of the most powerful king on the savanna.
"In this way Sumangaru stole Sundjata's jali. War became inevitable."
The Long Wait
Was he waiting, or was he surviving?
You could say he was waiting all along. The story says he and Nana bided their time. Jelis were respected enough to walk between enemies "without being attacked," which is how they started peace talks, and maybe he was doing a version of that from deep inside the enemy's house.
Or he was simply staying alive. Sundjata was a boy in exile, nobody in Sosso could have known he'd ever return, and a jeli needs a king to serve.
Jelis were also known for shaping their speech so that one message could carry several meanings. So I do wonder what was in those praise songs.
Two Riders
Sundjata grew up in exile and came home a great warrior with an army behind him, but he still couldn't touch Sumangaru.
Nana had the answer. One night, over wine and flattery, the king told her he could only be hurt by the spur of a white rooster.
Two days before Kirina, two riders in disguise came to Sundjata's camp. It was Nana and Balla, bringing the secret that would end the war. "Balla, I have missed your advice and friendship as I grew," Sundjata said.
Which brings us back to the fires, and the end of Balla's speech. The greatest talker in the army told them the talking was over.
"But these are just words: power lies in deeds. Be men of action. Do not respond with your voice, but tomorrow carry out the deeds that will bring fame and glory to you and your ancestors."
The next morning Sundjata's arrow grazed Sumangaru's shoulder, and his powers left him. He fled, and Sundjata became emperor of Mali.
A Secret Between You and Me
Balla's family is the reason you know any of this.
He's the founder of the Kouyate family, jelis to Sundjata's Keita line since the 13th century. Kouyate means "There is a secret between you and me." When D.T. Niane put the epic on paper last century, the griot who told it to him was a Mamadou Kouyate. Sundjata built the empire, and the Kouyates made sure you'd hear about it.
They kept the balafon too. Sundjata gave it to Balla, and it's still with the family in Niagassola, in northern Guinea.
The job went well beyond kings and wars. Jelis told the history of the bride and groom at weddings, and they were expected to keep the powerful in line. Women were part of it too. Men usually narrated the epics while women sang the praise songs, and in Mali today women often lead the big stages.
Your Turn to Listen
The jali who tells this story ends it with one line: "The past is only the seed of the future."
A jeli's whole job was making sure names and stories weren't lost. We've built something with that in mind. It's a game called Jeli, with close to a thousand people from African history in it. You get a clue, you pick the name, and then you get their story. Keep playing and you climb the Jeli's Path, from Listener all the way up to Living Library.
Everyone starts as a Listener. "You sit with the elders and listen. Every name is new."
Jeli opens to everyone soon.
The scenes and quotes here come from Nick Bartel's retelling of the Epic of Sundjata.
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