The speaker and his monosyllabic sidekick were Fulani griots and this was the genealogy of Djibo's chief.

Griots are Africa's genealogists, but their role in society is far more complex than that. They are at once praise-singers, storytellers, poets, historians, court musicians, advisers to the chief, conveyors of marriage proposals and mediators in disputes. They are masters of speech and song.

Hassan Tamboura, the most accomplished griot in Djibo, came to the end of the chief's genealogy, turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving his young apprentice blinking nervously in the limelight. He was shorter than Hassan, clean-shaven and bespectacled. 'Moyyi!' shouted the young man one last time and then turned and hurried away.

I did the maths. Twenty generations of names corresponded to roughly five hundred years of family history, all delivered at breakneck speed in the space of a couple minutes. Moyyi indeed.

The first person ever to write about griots was the Moroccan traveller Ibn Battuta. In 1352 he was received at the court of Mansa Suleyman, king of the empire of Mali, and there he encountered a host of griots playing on their lutes and singing the king's praises. It is certain however that there were griots in Mali many centuries before Ibn Battuta got there. Different people groups in West Africa tell different stories about the origin of griots, but here is Hassan Tamboura's version:

Once upon a time in Mali there lived a beggar called Sura Gato. Gato was accustomed to beg from the prophets of God and one day he went to beg from a prophet called Ali Badara. When Badara refused to give him anything, Sura Gato ran to the market place and began to list in a loud voice all the prophets in Mali, conspicuously omitting the name of Ali Badara. Badara flew into a rage and threatened to cut out Sura Gato's tongue, so the frightened beggar revised his prophet list to include Ali Badara's name. Badara was relieved and he showered Gato with gifts. And so it was that Sura Gato became the world's first griot.

The story of Sura Gato illustrates the different powers of griot and chief, and their uneasy co-dependant relationship. Even today a fascinating symbiosis exists between the griots and the patrons they serve. In Djibo, the ancestors of Hassan Tamboura praised the ancestors of the current chief, and his sons will praise the sons. A griot bestows honour on his patron and in return the patron bestows cattle and grain on his griot.

By twelve o'clock, the marriage of the chief's nephew was in full swing. The whole of Djibo had turned up at the village hall, and were waiting outside for the happy couple to emerge. Mopeds wove in and out of the crowd, hooting their horns in celebration. A troupe of griots from Baraboulé wielded their drums and flutes with enthusiasm. Hassan and his apprentice hovered on the edge of the crowd, occasionally raising their hands to sing brief eulogies for passing noblemen.

A large Fulani woman approached me, her golden earrings and necklace glinting in the midday sun.
'Dikko!' she said. 'I give you the name of Dikko.'
Several heads turned.
'Who are you?' I said, taken aback.
'Who am I? I am a griotte, the daughter of a griotte and the wife of a griot, and I have given you the surname Dikko, the surname of Djibo's chief.' The griotte opened her palms with a flourish. I shuffled nervously.
'I have no money with me', I whispered.
'Dikko has no money!' exclaimed the griotte, stepping backwards in mock horror. 'I named him Dikko but Dikko says he has no money.'

Above all else, the Fulani fear being shamed in front of their peers, so even the poorest Fulani man will give to a griot unquestioningly if asked to. Happily I was saved from total mortification by the emergence of the bride and groom from the village hall. My praise-singer cavorted away towards the Baraboulé musicians and began to reel to the beat of their tam-tams.

A griot is feared not only because of his ability to dispense shame but also because of the supernatural source of his wit; for how could a human have such remarkable powers of speech unless he were involved with djinns? Up until recently, griots were buried in the hollows of baobab trees rather than in the ground, lest their magical powers should leak out and spoil the crops.

I do not know any Fulani griots who would admit to consorting with djinns, but griots from other people groups talk openly about the supernatural aspects of their work. Diabaté Isa is a young Songhai griot in Gorom-Gorom (north-east Burkina Faso) who makes his living from the jurkel, a one string guitar made by stretching a cow-hide over a calabash. When I lived in Gorom-Gorom Isa used to give me weekly jurkel lessons; we used to sit cross-legged opposite each other on a millet-stalk mat and I would try in vain to imitate his frenetic fingering. After one particularly discouraging lesson, Isa leant forward and said, 'You know what your problem is? You have no blood in your jurkel.'

Every six months Isa sacrifices a chicken and pours the blood into the sound-hole of his guitar, mixed with a few drops of green perfume. The chicken blood gives him the power to play well and the perfume attracts 'dancing djinns' - benevolent spirits which make his audience get up and dance.

'We'll treat your jurkel tomorrow morning,' said Isa.
'No thank you,' I said.

It was not until the publication of 'Roots' in 1976 that griots started to get the international recognition they deserve. 'Roots' is 'the true story of Alex Haley', a black American who travelled to the Gambia to research his family tree. There he found an old griot who knew the genealogy of Haley's Gambian ancestors and performed it to musical backing. Haley was impressed:

"Spilling from the griot's head came an incredibly complex Kinte clan lineage that reached back across many generations: who married whom; who had what children; what children then married whom; then their offspring. It was all just unbelievable. I was struck not only by the profusion of details, but also by the narrative's biblical style." - Alex Haley, Roots (Picador, 1976) p. 629

The phrase 'just unbelievable' was apt. In a 1978 lawsuit, 'Roots' was exposed as a piece of fiction and Haley was ordered to pay $650,000 to Harold Courlander, whose novel 'The African' he had plagiarized. Moreover, a transcript of that famous griot scene in Gambia showed how grossly Haley had manipulated the griot, asking for a story that fitted in with his predetermined American narrative. Haley's reputation was damaged but 'Roots' continued to thrive. Even today the book is marketed as a true story and enjoys rave reviews on Amazon from unsuspecting new readers.

The popularity of griots has been further enhanced by growing interest in African music. Some of West Africa's griots are packing up their lutes and boarding planes for Paris and New York in search of new audiences and lucrative recording contracts. Others are staying home and enjoying the extravagance of their traditional patrons. Kandia Kouyaté is of several griottes to have hit the jackpot in recent years. She is known in her home country Mali as "la dangereuse" because the beauty of her voice makes people go into a trance and fall over. Kouyaté has many patrons, including the mysterious Malian millionaire Babani Sissoko, who once gave her an aeroplane. Try her 2002 album 'Biriki', but first make sure that you are sitting down.

Back in the village, Tamboura Hassan is still waiting for his big break; if you want to buy a cassette of his music you have to go to Djibo market. Hassan lives with his wife and five children in a mud-brick house in the old Fulani quarter of town, and he does not yet own a bicycle let alone an aeroplane. Nevertheless, the last few days have been good for Hassan. The marriage of the chief's nephew was a success, and Dikko Hamadou rewarded his griot to the tune of two cows and a bull. A generous gesture which the Tambouras of Djibo will be praising for at least the next five hundred years.

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An interview with Hassan Tamboura: 10 September 2005
(translated from Fulfulde)

What is a griot?
A griot is a slave but not a tanner or a blacksmith or a silversmith. A griot is a wordsmith. His skill is in hoddu (lute) and haala (talk). His work is yesude (listing genealogies) and yettude (singing praises).

When did you become a griot?
I was born a griot. All my ancestors from the very beginning were griots, right down to my grandfather. My father was also a griot, but someone made him angry and after that he never sang again. It was my grandfather who taught me hoddu and haala.

Who are the best griots in Burkina Faso?
There are many good griots here in the north: Saala of Aribinda, Maabo Laamu of Sikire, Jaayi Laabetu of Dori, Al Mustapha of Markoy. But the best griots come from Mali - Bukari Hamade Farane, Bara Sambare and the sons of Yero Askula.

Do griots cooperate with each other or do they compete?
When Bara Sambara visited Djibo, he asked me to tell him the genealogy of the Amiiru [the Fulani chief of Djibo]. I gave him the principal line, but I held back some of the details. You must always hold something back, or your work will lose its value.

What is your favourite activity as a griot?
Accompanying the Amiiru when he goes to visit the bush villages in his province. I walk behind him wherever he goes and I sing his praises. When we arrive at a village we go to the house of the delegé [the administrative authority in a village] and I recite a genealogy. Everyone gives more generously when I am with the Amiiru.

What is the hardest thing about being a griot?
It can be hard when you travel in an area where you are not known. When you come to a new town you must ask who the wealthy people are and work hard to learn their genealogies. Even if you perform well, they might not give you anything, not even a hen. It is hard to sing from an empty stomach.

When you are in the middle of a long genealogy, do you ever forget what comes next?
Occasionally.

What do you do when that happens?
I talk until I remember. I describe the exploits of those I already named. I say 'Moyyi' (Good) and 'Goonga' (True) until I remember.

I met a griot in Boukouma who told me that it would take me seven years to learn all the genealogies he knows.
(laughs) Seven years is a very long time even for a stupid person.

When you praise someone, what kind of things do you say?
You give examples of the person's courage or intelligence or goodness. In the past you could talk about the battles a man fought in - you could recount his mighty deeds. But today the mighty deeds are different. Today the mighty deeds involve travelling to distant places or studying at university or getting a well-paid job. Even if someone else in your family does these things, you will be honoured because of it.