Divo. A small city in the Centre-Western region of the Ivory Coast, the cradle of the roots of the Djiboi people. This is where Manou Gallo was born on August 31st, 1972. Raised by her grand-mother who was looking after her like her own daughter, Manou was rather autonomous from early on: ‘At this time, I was leaving like a little savage. I was helping cultivating the fields, drawing water from the well. I wasn’t going to school, but my grandmother taught me traditions, respect, and values’. It is easy to imagine Manou, wearing tiny shorts as they were all clothes she had, her big smiling eyes, her head full of lice, climbing mango trees and running freely in the alley-ways of Divo. While waiting for her friends after school, Manou was already beating rhythms, banging on her legs, stomping with her feet, marking the tempo with her voice: Rhythm was her obsession: “When I was a little girl, I was already going from backyard to backyard, these places where each family comes together everyday to cook, sing, in one word to live together. I was meeting my girlfriends and sooner or later we inevitably started singing, dancing and beating on iron boxes”. In the Ivory Coast, playing music is an ongoing tradition taking place at funerals, births, or to welcome newly born twins as well as for any event of everyday life: In Divo, life follows the traditional Djiboi rhythms. From a material point of view, life is just basic, but it is full of warmth and people live there feeling good in their heads.
It is precisely during a funeral for which the appointed drum player never showed that Manou first impressed an audience: Always dragging a stool behind her, she went towards these big drums, the talking drums (‘Atombra’ in Dida, the language of the Djiboi people). She climbed up to the height of the braced skin and started beating on them. Her mastery was already amazing. In the heart of Bada, the village which represents the most ancient part of Divo and where traditions have remained most alive, people were just amazed: ‘Everybody was really astonished, and a bit shocked also since women are not allowed to touch these drums. In some extent, they were taking me for a witch. My grandmother was supporting me and on this occasion, she explained to me that this was a gift, transmitted to me trough a dream her own mother had and who died the day I was born. When at the age of 8, I was getting seated to play drums during this ceremony, I could feel the power of my ancestors on my fingertips’.