Abstract
Imagine, if you would, a bare concrete building in one of the less desirable areas of Zanzibar City. A woman is sitting on the earth in the middle of the main room, with a black cloth over her head and upper trunk. She is surrounded by a closely pressed crowd of women chanting and clapping sticks in rhythm to a ground bass from three musicians who are sitting by one wall. In front of her are a group of men who are more detached from the proceedings than the women, but who are also occasionally chanting and throwing in comments. One of the men appears to be in a trance with sweat standing out on his face and rigid muscles. He occasionally makes strange moaning sounds or whirls round in a striking, melodramatic gesture. Two or three of the other men take a more active part in leading the chanting from time to time, and one of them, who is sitting in front of the woman, addresses a string of sotto voce remarks to her, clicking away near her ears with what looks like a giant pair of scissors.
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