Before There Were Books, There Were Voices. Honoring the Keepers of Memory.
A Very Divine Welcome, Dear Reader
Close your eyes for a moment and imagine this:
You are sitting beneath a great baobab tree as the sun begins its slow descent.
The air is warm. The village has gathered—elders on woven mats, children squirming with anticipation, mothers nursing babies, young men returning from the fields.
A fire crackles nearby, sending sparks toward the darkening sky.
And then, a voice begins to speak.
It is the voice of a griot. And tonight, they will carry you across centuries.
They will introduce you to heroes you’ve never met, and ancestors whose blood runs in your veins.
They will make you laugh, make you weep, make you remember who you are and where you came from.
This is not a scene from a movie. This is the heartbeat of African culture, alive for centuries and still echoing today.
Storytelling as the Heartbeat of African Culture
In Africa, storytelling has never been merely entertainment. It has been essential to survival itself.
Long before written languages were widely adopted, oral traditions preserved everything that mattered—genealogies, histories, laws, spiritual beliefs, medical knowledge, and cultural values.
The stories were the library. The storyteller was the librarian. And every listener was a participant in keeping the knowledge alive.
Stories served multiple sacred purposes:
- Education: Children learned their culture, values, and history through tales that slipped wisdom into their hearts while they were busy being entertained.
- Preservation: The memory of ancestors, events, and traditions was kept alive through careful oral transmission across generations.
- Healing: Communities processed trauma and loss together through stories that offered comfort and collective understanding.
- Community bonding: People gathered, shared an experience, and were reminded that they belonged to something larger than themselves.
These traditions continue today.
They have adapted to modern times, but their essential purpose remains unchanged: to connect people to their past, their present, and one another.
The Griot—West Africa’s Living Library
At the heart of West African storytelling stands a figure unlike any other in human history: the griot.
A griot (pronounced gree-oh) is many things at once—historian, storyteller, musician, genealogist, spokesperson, diplomat, teacher, and praise-singer.
In different cultures, they are known by different names: jeli or jali in Mande cultures, guewel in Wolof, gawlo in Pulaar.
There is no single English word that fully captures what a griot does because no single word could. Their role is that expansive, that essential.
They have been called “living libraries” and “walking history books.” Both descriptions are true—and still incomplete.
The Sacred Role of Griots in Society
Griots were not merely performers passing the time. They held the memory of an entire people in their minds and hearts.
Their responsibilities were staggering:
- They preserved the oral history of their tribe or people, tracking all births, marriages, deaths, battles, and significant events.
- They could memorize the history of every member of a clan or tribe going back centuries—a feat of memory that seems almost impossible to our modern minds.
- They served as counselors to kings and queens, offering wisdom drawn from the accumulated knowledge of generations.
- They acted as mediators in disputes, using their respected position to bring peace to troubled relationships.
- In the Caribbean and Americas during the slave trade, griots became the vital link connecting displaced Africans to their lost cultures and histories. They carried the memory of home when home had been stolen.
- Beyond recounting the past, griots were also said to have the ability to see one’s future—a gift that made them both revered and feared.
Their fate was tied to the prosperity of the leaders they served. A griot’s livelihood depended on the success of their king or queen, which meant they were deeply invested in wise leadership.
They were not neutral observers; they were active participants in the health of their community.
Born Into the Role—The Hereditary Tradition
One did not simply decide to become a griot. The position was traditionally passed down from father to son, mother to daughter.
A griot was born into and trained by a griot family. It was a hereditary caste, ensuring that knowledge, techniques, and traditions were preserved across generations with meticulous care.
For those not born into griot families, it was possible—though less common—to be taught by a master griot.
But the deepest knowledge, the most sacred stories, remained within family lines.
Women griots, known as griottes, were equally important to the tradition.
They sang songs of praise and advice, intervened in interpersonal affairs, and served during key life-cycle events like births, marriages, and funerals.
Their voices carried the particular wisdom of women’s experiences through generations.
More Than Storytellers—The Many Hats of a Griot
To understand a griot fully, consider all the roles they filled in their communities:
- Historians: Keepers of genealogies, royal lineages, and community histories stretching back centuries.
- Advisors: Counselors to kings and leaders, offering wisdom drawn from the accumulated knowledge of the ancestors.
- Arbitrators: Mediators in disputes, using their respected position to bring peace to warring parties.
- Praise-singers: Celebrating the accomplishments of leaders and heroes—but also capable of devastating satire if a leader strayed from wisdom and justice.
- Musicians: Masters of traditional instruments whose music carried emotion and meaning alongside the words.
- Genealogists: Reciters of family lines so detailed that individuals could trace their ancestry back dozens of generations.
- Diplomats: Messengers and negotiators between communities, carrying words of peace or warning across distances.
A single person carrying all these responsibilities. A single voice holding the memory of a people.
The Instruments of Storytelling
The griot’s voice was often accompanied by instruments that added layers of meaning to the stories:
- Kora: A 21-string lute-harp with a gourd resonator, often called “Africa’s harp.” Its ethereal sound has become synonymous with griot tradition.
- Balafon: A wooden xylophone with gourd resonators, producing a warm, melodic tone that dances alongside the storyteller’s words.
- Ngoni: A stringed instrument, ancestor of the banjo, whose rhythms drive the narrative forward.
- Goje: A stringed instrument played with a bow, similar to a fiddle, capable of conveying deep emotion.
These instruments weren’t mere accompaniment. They were part of the storytelling itself, with rhythms and melodies conveying emotion and meaning alongside the words.
A skilled griot could make an instrument speak almost as clearly as their voice.
The Epic of Sundiata—A Griot’s Masterpiece
The most famous example of griot storytelling is the Epic of Sundiata, which tells the story of Sundiata Keita, founder of the Mali Empire in the 13th century.
Sundiata’s name is a compound of “Sogolon” (his mother) and “Jata” meaning “lion”—Sogolon’s lion.
The epic tells of his miraculous birth, his childhood paralysis, his eventual ability to walk through powerful sorcery inherited from his mother, his exile, and his triumphant return to defeat the sorcerer-king Sumanguru Kanté.
There is no single authoritative version of this epic. Each griot adds details that relate to their own lives and audiences, keeping the story relevant across generations.
Some historians believe that if all the different chapters from all the different versions were combined, it would take several days to recite in full.
The epic is so deeply woven into the fabric of West African identity that traditional lyrics from it have been adopted into Mali’s national anthem.
A story told by griots centuries ago still pulses in the heart of a modern nation.
The Relationship Between Oral and Written Traditions
Oral and written storytelling traditions in Africa have never been separate.
They have developed in parallel, influencing each other throughout history.
Ancient Egyptian scribes, Hausa and Swahili copyists, and contemporary African writers have served as crucial transitional figures between oral and literary traditions.
They carried the old ways into new forms.
One cannot fully appreciate the works of literary giants like Chinua Achebe without placing them in the context of Africa’s oral tradition.
His novels echo the structures, the wisdom, and the communal sensibility of the stories told under baobab trees.
Written literature often incorporates elements from oral tradition—mythic fantasy characters, storytelling structures, and the blending of reality with the fantastic.
This connection shows that the old ways are not lost. They are transformed. They are carried forward.
The Healing Power of Stories
For many African communities, storytelling has never been merely entertainment. It is a form of therapy.
Liberian author Mayonn Paasewe-Valchev writes folklore books specifically to help young people “who are grieving or going through some kind of loss understand that they are not alone.”
In her stories, children find companions for their grief and hope for their futures.
In areas where trauma and loss run deep—whether from conflict, displacement, or the lingering wounds of colonialism—tales of ancestral courage and community resilience offer a path toward healing.
Stories remind people who they are. Stories remind people that their ancestors survived, and so can they.
Some communities hold storytelling gatherings specifically for healing and conflict resolution. The story becomes medicine. The griot becomes healer.
This connects deeply to the mission of the Divine Book Awards. We celebrate books that uplift, that inspire, that remind readers of their own strength.
The griots have been doing exactly this for centuries.
Challenges and the Modern Griot
The tradition faces challenges in the modern world. Many elder griots are aging.
Some local languages are fading in urban areas. The pull of screens and global culture threatens to drown out the old voices.
And yet.
New generations are finding innovative ways to carry the tradition forward.
In Liberia, a storyteller known as Legriot uses TikTok to share stories with over 12,000 followers.
He creates dialogues between folklore characters to tackle modern conversations, proving that the old stories still have something to say about today’s world.
Some scholars are exploring whether artificial intelligence could become a “digital griot” for Black and Afro-diasporic communities—a repository of stories and wisdom accessible to all.
The medium may change. The tools may evolve. But the need for stories—and for those who tell them—remains eternal.
Connection to Your Divine Journey
When you hold a book that moves you, that inspires you, that makes you want to be a better person, you are connected to an ancient lineage of storytellers stretching back centuries.
The griots were doing exactly what the Divine Book Awards celebrate.
They told stories of strong characters who modeled courage and integrity.
They taught moral lessons wrapped in entertainment.
They lifted up their communities with words of praise and hope.
King Peggy’s story, which I’ve shared elsewhere on this site, echoes this tradition.
A woman whose ancestors and dreams guided her to a destiny she never imagined.
A woman who became a king because the ancestors—and the stories—called her name.
When you read King Peggy’s story, you participate in something ancient. You become another link in the chain of listeners and tellers that stretches back to the baobab trees, and the firelight.
The Story Continues
Every time we read a book, we participate in this ancient tradition.
Every time we recommend a story to a friend, we become griots for a new generation.
Every time we gather—whether in person or online—to discuss a beloved tale, we sit in that circle beneath the tree.
The griots are not gone. They have simply changed form.
They are the authors writing books that heal.
They are the bloggers sharing stories that inspire.
They are the teachers reading aloud to spellbound classrooms.
They are the parents passing down family legends to wondering children.
The story continues. It always continues.
Question: What stories have shaped your life? I’d truly love to know. Drop me a note or share in the comments. Let’s celebrate the storytellers—past and present—who make our world richer.
With gratitude for all who keep the stories alive,
Destiny Divine
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