Call of the song mother
As they gather to mark the beginning of Lent, the Seto people – one of Europe’s last indigenous folk cultures – help preserve their heritage through singing songs passed on through generations of women. Sarah Thomas gives us a glimpse into their unique wa
Snow lies thinly on the ground in the woods just outside Värska, Estonia – one of the most sparsely populated nations in Europe. It’s melting as spring approaches. It’s the day before Great Lent begins in the Orthodox Christian calendar, a period of fasting and abstinence; the last day it’s allowed to eat milk and eggs. At the edge of the trees a woman fries pancakes over an open fire and, gathered in a circle, a happy choir of
Seto women sing to one another and to a small crowd of onlookers. Their headscarves –indicating that they are married – are tied tight to keep the cold at bay. A lead singer calls the verse. The choir choruses a polyphonic response. Their long white lambswool coats sway as they chant songs much older than the trees.
The Seto are one of the last remaining indigenous folk cultures in Europe. They are an ethnic and linguistic minority group numbering about 12,000, with approximately 4,000 of those inhabiting a region referred to as the Kingdom of Setomaa, which was created after the fall of the Soviet Union. An unratified border between south-eastern Estonia and the Pechorsky district of the Russian Federation transects this region, and only 300 Seto now live on the Russian side. The threat of fragmentation posed by the border has galvanised the Seto’s efforts to preserve their cultural identity. They are sometimes referred to as ‘half believers’ by the Orthodox church as their distinctive language and culture twines an original pagan belief system with their 15th-century adoption of Orthodox Christianity.
Threading through the Seto people’s lives are leelo – these polyphonic songs – a cornerstone of their identity. In a leelo the lead singer delivers a verse line, then the choir joins in for the final syllables then repeats the whole line. These songs are mostly the domain of women and are passed on through the generations. Women gather together to sing at community events in traditional dress. In 2009, the Seto’s exceptional preservation of their folksongs over centuries was recognised by the addition of leelo to the UNESCO list of Intangible Cultural Heritage, alongside fascinating skills from Nordic Clinker boat building to Polish tree bee keeping culture.
The songs reflect the beliefs, culture and way of life of their ancestors. There are narrative songs, wedding songs, laments and work songs.
Work songs may include spinning songs, harvest songs, shepherd songs and hand mill songs. Even if the work itself is a distant memory, the songs about it are kept alive. Contemporary leelo are composed, too, weaving current events into song to become the history of the future. The very best lead singers, honoured by the title ‘song mothers’ ( lauluima), are storehouses of memory. The most famous could recite up to 30,000 verses. Not only memory but skill in composition is the mark of an excellent lauluima, who is given their official title on Seto Kingdom Day.
As a gesture of Seto cultural sovereignty, the first Seto Kingdom was announced in 1994 in Obinitsa, and a Kingdom Day is held annually on the first Saturday in August. The Seto believe that their king, Peko, who is also a fertility god, sleeps eternally in a sandstone cave near Petseri, and will awake if the Seto are in great danger. He must be helped to govern by earthly representatives to whom he issues directions through their dreams. The vice king and queen are chosen by the community on Kingdom Day. The candidates must be backed by at least 10 people and a leelo choir must support them by singing their merits. Each one stands on a tree stump and their supporters stand before their choice, the most popular becoming the new ruler until the next Kingdom Day.
This year’s Seto vice queen, Maarja, is one of the choir members gathered today. She wears a headdress – signifying an unmarried woman. She holds regal wooden staff festooned with the handwoven ribbons of her predecessors, and her own. She tells me she learned to weave her ribbon from an old woman, by attaching threads to a door handle to make the loom. I ask her what wood it is. “I don’t know the name in English but smell it.” What I can smell is smoked meat coming from the teahouse kitchen, where another group are preparing a funeral feast. “Juniper!” she remembers.
The Seto vice king looks on, white-coated, trilby-hatted, leaning on his own ribbon-strewn staff of juniper. I had met this man a few nights earlier at a cultural centre-cum-restaurant
Threading through the Seto people’s lives are leelo songs – a cornerstone of their identity
housed on the ground floor of his home. It was the only place near where I was staying that I could buy a meal in March, off season, and I was the only patron. We had chatted over dinner in broken English. He had introduced himself: “Aare. Like King.” I had thought he was describing the meaning of his name, but today I realise he is the king, at least for this year. He raises his juniper staff and says “Power!” He is talking about the power of juniper, not himself. These are a humble people, proud of their identity and finding creative ways to celebrate it.
As the stack of pancakes grows tall, I watch a child discover the large bowl of jam on the table beside them, and spoon it delightedly and messily into his mouth, not yet caught by the cook. The circle of singers relaxes into a laughing gaggle and forms a queue at the table, ready to feast before the downtime.