July 11

                Language class today focused on phrases rather than phonetics. I have been frustrated with Ewe class so far because we have been focusing completely on the linguistic side of things. Language is learned by doing, not by studying, and while I see the benefit of pronunciation and the interaction between sounds, I find linguistics extremely dull and I don’t retain much. But today was useful phrases and I was much more engaged. I am still very aware of the difference between replicating and committing to memory and I wonder how much of this we will retain when we get to the Volta region

                The lecture on Highlife with Dr. John Collins was quite fascinating. He seems like such a captivating person. I wish I could just sit down for a beer with him. He has so many stories and he truly lives within highlife music.

                Before Drumming class, Nathan took me to the pharmacy to get me something for my cough, which has been getting progressively worse since we left Canada. As we were waiting to speak to the pharmacist, the cashier, a very tall black girl, walk right up to me with an aggressive look on her face and said. “Hey! Obruni! Asang” And she kept repeating it forcefully, each time making me more and more uncomfortable because I didn’t understand her and she seemed angry. The she said “Iya” When I timidly repeated she cracked a big smile, shook my hand and introduced herself as Annabel. And that’s how I learned how to say “How are you” and “I’m fine” in Twi.

                Tonight was Beth’s birthday, so we went out to Osu with Brown and Kofi, the young men who have been our teachers. We had dinner an sat on a bar patio where they serenaded the birthday girl. Brown got us all playing a drinking game that involved playing and speaking in rhythm. Even the drinking games have percussion here! I won two out of the three rounds I played.

July 7

Today is Sunday and we were given the assignment to go to a church service for field work. We met a Roman Catholic named Pascal who offered to take us to mass.

The first thing I noticed was the choir. A fantastic group of 25 or so singers all in their 20’s and 30’s, with a smooth and animated conductor. Their tone was gorgeous and though i admired their training and cohesion, it was very different from the traditional African tone that I still can’t figure out how to replicate. The hymn were mostly in Twi with some phrases in English, but nothing in Latin. The style of music was very much like modern praise music, and even incorporated some traditional elements. Not at all like the heavy Kyrie Elesion that I associate with Catholic Choral Music. Although I wasn’t sitting in a good place to see the instruments, i believe they were using organ, rattle and gongong.

The congregation was large and very well dressed. Men in button down shirts and polished shoes and ladies in colorful dresses and heels. As they are attending mass at the University campus, I will assume that they are mostly educated and well off. Everyone was very somber and focused, even during worship, which seemed uncharacteristic for a Ghanaian gathering.

The service was long with the usual Catholic rituals like spreading incense, reading prayers and responding in chorus. I thought it was odd to refer to Catholics as missionaries considering the history of the area. But, as people are choosing to come here they must believe that at least some of the things the missionaries brought to their ancestors were positive.

Beth noted, and the others agreed they we were not very warmly received. No one smiled or greeted us, and some of the group felt we were getting dirty looks. My take on it was this: We look like tourists. We already stand out for our skin color but our dess and our looks of uncertainty give us away. We were clearly there to gawk rather than participate. Mass is highly regimented and I could understand how someone unfamiliar with the routines would be annoying and disruptive. we experienced two examples of this. During communion, the congregation folded down the kneeling bar and knelt. Beth and Taylor, who were in the front row, didn’t see this and Pascal had to get up and show them. During the receiving of communion, Alana, who is Catholic, told us that non-catholics cannot accept the bread, but that we could ask for a blessing. When I did, the woman refused and was rather indignant with me about it. An usher told me later that only a priest can give blessings.

In the afternoon we visited Ashiama, another poor neighbourhood.We pulled up to the performance complex and found it closed. Everything is on “Africa Time” here. While we waited, we entertained ourselves by practicing the Akabagor bell and parts of the Gahu dance. One women was entertained by our efforts and came down from her porch to correct our steps. As usual, we were followed by a crowd of children.

                After a long wait, we were me by Adam, the lead drummer, and Nova the composer. During question period, I intentionally asked if there were any female drummers. The answer was that there was no specific rule against it, but there rarely are any. Yesterday, Auntie Jay said it’s because women don’t have the muscles for it, and some drums are forbidden to women. Whatever the reason, it’s definitely  a gender roll fixture. I feel so lucky to live in a society where the gender lines are blurred, and I have never felt barred from any activity because of my gender. In fact, I’ve always taken great pride at being good at male dominated activities.

                Finally, the funeral began. I will not attempt to describe all of the sights and sounds, but it was amazing. The first portion was a performance by the dance and drumming troop. The athletic prowess and graceful coordination was unbelievable. We were very excited to recognize some of the steps from West African Music Ensemble, although their movements were much faster than ours.

                The people at this gathering were all Ewe, but we are not in the Volta region, which is their traditional home. They are part of the mini diaspora which Professor Avorbedor describes in his article “Ewe Rural Urban Interchange.”  They are a community of people who came here in search of work and sought a cultural society to maintain cultural ties to home.

                Interestingly, the participants at this gathering are almost all middle aged. There were plenty of small children around, but they seemed to be barred from participating. Perhaps they are not allowed to participate until they are competent in music and dance, or are old enough to appreciate it’s significance. But where are all the young people? There were no teenagers and no mid 20’s other than the drummers and dancers. Are they just busy with other things, or do they not feel a strong connection to home and tradition?

                Then came the Kinka which is a communal activity. Almost immediately, a man named Victor saw me tapping the rattle part on my lap and motioned for me to join him. I had played this particular rhythm before, but when new ones were introduced I learned them quickly. I was sorry to be missing out on the dancing, but I was in my element on the percussion. Pretty soon I started to notice men and boys pointing at me. I think a white woman drumming competently was a bit of a novelty. A few people had asked to play the Kidi and Sogo drums and had been politely told no.  The drums required special skills, and this was not the place to start learning. Towards the end, one of the younger men pointed at me and said “give her a drum. She can drum.” And so I was permitted to play a Kidi drum alongside a group of expert drummers. Kinka drumming starts out easy enough, but the patterns get more complicated as the song goes on, and by the end I was barely hanging on for dear life. But I was clapped on the back and my hand was shaken by every man. I was so honored by that recognition.

                As a thank you to our hosts. Michael had a us sing “Afrika duplo low,” a song Nova had written. Even with the help of the ensemble singers, we were really uncomfortable. We have the idea in North America that only formally trained singers should sing and nothing should b performed until it has been rehearsed to perfection, instead of the more hands on process of trial and error.

July 6

Today we did a tour of W.E.B. Du Bois’ house. He was a prominent scholar and considered to be the father of Pan-Africanism. He was very close to president Nkrumah and lived the last years of his live in Ghana. Most of the information I already know from the readings, but the thing I noticed most was the condition of the books in his personal library. He is portrayed as such a revered personality, and yet the valuable knowledge, personal passions and original compositions are rotting away. Our tour guide really didn’t know where the money to restore them would come from but he said it was their top priority.

We then went into the mausoleum where he and his wife are buried. It is a gazebo which was once his favorite spot. Along the walls were 6 Akan stools like the ones we used to use in WAME, each engraved with an Adinkra symbol

As we left, Michael and the tour guide struck up a conversation about modern music in Ghana, whether groups still incorporate traditional elements, and how the older generations are reacting to the change. Possibly it’s globalization, possibly it’s that the youth are too distracted to learn traditional music and pass it on.

Last night I had a panic attack. I won’t go into the details of the circumstances but it did raise an interesting cultural experience. In the first world, we are used to having a private space to cry, so grieving is mostly done alone. But here in the echoey hostel, even with the door closed everyone can hear you! In most cultures, grieving is done communally. In our culture, it’s embarrassing. Ours is probably the only culture in the world that employs professional counsellors to help us deal with depression.

At the end of the day we visited the JayNii foundation on the beach in Jamestown. This is an organization that provides funding and education to street children from the slum. We were greeted at the entrance by Auntie Jay, one of the founders of the program. The children sang and dance for us and we joined in.

Then we walked along the beach and headed into the slum. We were overwhelmed by the sights and the sounds. First came the fishing boats. Huge hollowed out canoes that made us think of voyageur canoes from back home, only these were cut from whole tree trunks with an axe-like chizzle. The thought of such a large ocean going vessel being made completely by hand is amazing. I wonder where they get the tree trunks from in a bustling metropolis like Accra?

Then there were the kids, which were my primary focus for most of the time. They seemed to come out of the woodwork. Little boys and girls chasing us , hugging us, grabbing our hands and chanting “how are you?” The others were a bit uncomfortable being hugged by strange dirty children, but I was in my element. Only when a little boy pushed his runny nose into my belly that i realized how dirty they all were.

Now I will attempt to describe the conditions. the first shocking thain was the urine and feces in the street where the children and the stray dogs and cats play. The houses, which seem to be just boards and a tin roof are only big enough for one room. We could even see people sleeping. How many people live in one house? They must not keep very many possessions. I can’t help but think of my packing list and how extensive I found it. I bet I have more belonging in my suitcase than these people have in their entire house.

The further we got, the more uneasy we felt. Not for our safety, but for the awkwardness of the situation. We were so aware that we were staring and we felt intrusive. The bus ride home was very somber.

On the way back to the bus we heard a great roar and a crowd of young men streamed into the street. A soccer match had just ended and the local team had won. We saw the victorious team ding a victory lap in a crowd of fans. Only, the jog resembled a dance with each foot falling at exactly the same time. In a place where one person can have so little, music, sports and community are not just entertainments, they are livelihoods. They are sources of joy that people clig to because humans need happiness. The problem with us is, we have so many sources of happiness that no one alone is sufficient.

On the somber and tense ride home a few of us jumped out to get a beer, and after some friendly conversation we were starting to feel better. We decided to take turns flagging a cab, and on my turn i was charged twice what the boys were offered.

We stopped at a liquor store and struck up a conversation with a small group of middle aged men sitting inside. Somehow, we discovered that the owner, whose name was Sam, and I both had a recent birthday, so he invited me to join him for a drink, which turned out to be a large snifter of cognac. I lively conversation ensued, most of which was blurred by the cognac for me. What I do remember is that all of the men were educated. Sam was in finance and his friend was a pilot. Both had been to Canada. Sam had actually done his degree at Queens University, and his favorite hockey team was the Edmonton Oilers.

Sam had two distinct scars, one on each of his cheekbones. He told me that as a child he had epilepsy and his parents had taken him to a medicine man for a cure. They cut his cheeks with a knife and put herbs into the wound and he hasn’t had a seizure since. It is so hard in western society to believe that that would work, and we crave a scientific explanation. But in this man, traditional and modern both have a place.

July 5

Today we began with an orientation of the University. The international studies building has a beautiful tiled courtyard with golden Adinkra symbols on all of the railings. These symbols have special meanings and significance to Ghanaians. I recognized several of them from the reading about Storytelling.

One thing I am finding difficult is the fear of interacting with strangers. I am already afraid that i might have picked up a “professional friend.” Canadian women get a lot of warnings to be careful of foreign men and the sense of stranger danger has really stuck with me. I worry about how gender roles will restrict my field work. How will I be able to interview people if I am afraid to trust anyone?

On the walk back, we observe that here in the University it really doesn’t feel like the third world. The people are well dressed, the cars of mostly new and often expensive, and the architecture is beautiful and well kept. Even our hostel is comfortable and clean and not lacking in any amenities. But in Ghana, school costs tuition from grade 7 up, so those that make it to University are the richest portion of the population. As such, the campus is not an accurate sampling of Ghana.

July 4

Today was spent climbing in and out of vehicles. Undoubtedly a great way to see the city, but not the most leisurely activity. We started the day in the market, where we bought fruit from a young girl who giggled at me when i tried to say “Medasi” to her. then we bought water from an older woman named Mary. Mary is a clever businesswoman who takes advantage of her proximity to the University international hostel by getting to know all the international students by name. As a result, whenever any of us need water or other mundane items, we all go to Mary.

So far, I feel very safe here. People are polite and friendly, but not pushy like in South Africa, or full on intrusive like in Cuba. I don’t feel so much like a walking bag of money here. The one exception is  the kissing noise that men and boys sometime make at me. A man grabbed my elbow today as I walked down a crowded street. I shrugged him off hard and shot him what Joe described after as a look of death. In Canada, it is very rude, even an assult, for a strange man to touch a woman in any way, and so my reaction once again showed my Canadian-ness. It was reflexive, and i didn’t know how else to react.

We decided to go to Osu for lunch and chose a “chop shop” just off the main road. Here my Canadian-ness really showed as I waited quietly and politely to be served, and by the time i got the server’s attention she yelled at me. My friends’ orders had already been processed and why was i just standing there? So rather than fight her, I just didn’t eat.

In the evening, we went to a film screening and concert. The first band was called “ This House is Not For Sale” who describe themselves as ‘highlife fusion.’ A trumpet, bari saxophone, drums bass and acoustic guitar/singer. The music was upbeat and lively with distinctive pop and jazz influences, but also with a strong African flavour provided by the lead singer and guitar.

The second group was lead by Koo Nimo, who I have read is Ghana’s most famous and influential folk singer. The band was made up of almost all traditional instruments and was very recognizably African in it’s style. It was a great example of classic palm wine guitar, using traditional instruments and rhythms, and original lyrics by Koo Nimo.

July 3

Happy 28th Birthday, me! Here begins the biggest birthday present ever: an adventure in Ghana.

First night in Ghana. We arrived safe and sound with no major catastrophes. In New York a three hour layover turned into five when JFK airport was hit by a storm. Once the flight was finally ready to leave, the American flight attendants had their hands full trying to get the passengers to form on straight line. Jill had told me that queuing is not a well observed cultural norm in Ghana, and this confirmed it for me. That is, I suppose, one of the many European customs that i take for granted.

Once we arrived, our first task was to exchange money. I broke $400 American into Cedis, but the lady at the till (who was asleep in her chair when i approached the window) changed all of my money into 50 Cedi Bills. I have since discovered that nothing in Ghana costs as much as 50 cedi and small verners never carry enough change for that. Of course debit and visa are out of the question. It makes me realise how dependant on big chain stores and manufacturers we are in North America. My generation never carry cash because we don’t need to. Literally every store has a debit machine. Even my school has one to accommodate the spending habits of our families. But here, the economy revolves a lot more around small business and change is a valuable commodity.

The next task was selecting a taxi. we carted our bags out to the curb and batted away several would be cab drivers while Tyler pulled out his ipad. We had been warned to be careful who we accept as a cab driver and Tyler wanted to reread the instruction email. We eventually agreed that the cars labeled “taxi” were safe enough, flagged one and climbed in. At the gate of the University campus, the guard stopped us. Our driver got out and argued with the guard for a good 20 minutes, while we sat in the back seat bewildered. Apparently, they expected him to submit his license, and then pay to get it back when he left the campus. In the end, he just paid the money up front and kept his licence. This confirmed what I’ve heard that bribery is  common and often expected here.

Aug 10

Today was the official wedding ceremony. We all dressed in our nice clothes and crammed in the sweaty van for the drive to a city called Ho. After the usual round about directions we arrived at the Royal Charismatic church. It’s a pretty basic hall, but its decorated in streamers and balloons and colored chair covers just like weddings back home. The service began with worship. A choir of about 10 and a back up band performed and the congregation danced. The music was gospel, but distinctly African, and I’m assuming it was in Ewe

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                When the bride came down the isle with her father, she was dressed exactly like a western bride. Her dress was a strapless corset with a flowing skirt and a long vail. She wore a string of pearls and white gloves. Amazin how yesterday’s engagement ceremony was so African and the actual wedding is so saturated with western culture. The service was much longer than the ones back home, in English but wuth an Ewe translator. Both the minister and the translator were animated and extremely dramatic. There was the exchanging of vows and rings and a signing of a registry just like back home.

Then came the part that we were unfamiliar with. A man in a white smock took the stage and began to prophesize. At first he started with the general word of the lord, and then his focus became more specific for 5 cedi you could line up on the stage an d he would tell you your personal fortune. All of the news was good. As you’d expect for the price of 5 cedi, all the women would marry and have successful children and then men would find success in business. Then he would put his hand on the person’s forehead and push them over. All of us were a little bothered by this part. Probably because we didn’t believe it was real. In our culture, ministers don’t shout and jump around, and no one claims to be able to conjor the word of God on demand. The fact that he charged money and his new was always good made us even more skeptical. We are so much more judgmental of bizarre cultural events when our own religion is involved. We believe we know the right way to do it because it is so close to our hearts.

August 9

There is a certain amount of anticipation that goes along with hot mornings and loud pop music that precedes a wedding. Today is the start of a 2 day wedding ceremony for Kwasi and Tashi’s daughter, Maggie. A table and rows of chairs have beens et up under a red and yellow striped tarp and everything waits in quiet anticipation. Even the children are anxious, dressed in their little dresses and dress pants.

The ceremony began with the welcoming of the grooms family, the bride’s family, the chairmen of the Unity Drumming Group, and the students from Canada. After a few speeches, the groom’s family went into the house to inspect the dowery, which was wrapped in golden paper inside the veranda. The MC held a list of inventory of all the items that were expected to be there, and they went through it in careful detail. There was a lot of alcohol and pop, a walking stick and sandals for the grooms father, cloth for his mother and a suitcase full of clothes for the couple.  There was a heated discussion when it was discovered that the rings were packed in the suitcase. The minister insisted that they were needed for the ceremony, so the suitcase was unwrapped and the rings were found.

Back at the tent, the groom was asked a series of public questions. Was he single? Did he wish to marry? Then he was asked to pay a transportation fee to bring his bride to him, and he asked how much more for express? Everyone laughed.

The bride entered with her attendants, wearing a brown and gold dress that was of the same material as the groom’s. Long black hair and a huge golden headdress, and of course a beaming smile. She was also asked questions, and then she was asked to produce her dowry. She went to the veranda with her attendants and brought back a bottle of Champaign and several bottles of schnapps. She poured a glass of Champaign for her husband and poured a little on the ground. She fed it to him and he did the same for her. Then the schnapps was poured into a calabash, and everyone important went off to the cobblestones to pour the liabation. Then the minister gave a short service in Ewe. I didn’t understand it, but it had the same tone as a southern Baptist preacher. Lastly was the exchange of rings and the presentation of the couple.

Dowry seems to be a tradition in every culture. In this case, it is very clearly the bride’s family paying the groom in kind for taking their daughter. In our culture, wedding gifts are a big thing. And they seem to be some kind of spin off or cheap coverup of the dowry tradition. But in our culture, the payment it to the bride and groom from all of the guests. We also have an inventory ceremony in the form of opening the gifts. We make a list of who gave what so we can mail out a long list of thank you cards. It seems that some of the deepest set traditions of all cultures are preserved in weddings.

Aug 8

Today I spoke to a teenaged girl named Precious about the experience of going to school in Ghana. I’ll go back tomorrow and ask her a few more questions to fill out the interview.

Another funeral today. Or rather, the second funeral for the same death. I tried to sit with Tashi, Kwasi’s wife. She didn’t speak enough English to give a proper interview, but she did answer basic questions. She sat amoung the women and sang along with the songs she knew. Once in a while a friend would get her up to dance, and she would, pulling me up with her. She explained some of the proceedings to me, especially the initiating of new memebers. Tomorrow is her daughter’s wedding, and she seems so calm and settled here singing and dancing

Today we also went to Jogage, which is Kwasi’s mather’s village. We joined the procession of dancers which were lead by our teacher aids, Kofi and Oliver. I walked with Kwasi and he pointed to a trail of water marks where liabation had been poured. We arrived at a palm branch awning with several elders sitting under it. Kwasi took my hand and told me to follow him exactly. He lead us around the circle and shook hands with each of the elders. Greetings and formalities are very important here and I have shaken hands with more people in the last few days then I can keep track of. There was a long formal litany of introductions and pouring of liabation.

Then the dance began. Kofi and Oliver were in the center of the performance, Oliver as lead dancer and Kofi as lead drummer. There were 4 young boys in the dance troop, and I could tell by the look on Oliver’s face when they danced that they were his students. I know that look very well. Kofi was in his element. Part way through the performance, his hand split open and he didn’t notice.

Aug 7

Another intense day of drumming with Kwasi. I slept in this morning, so I shoveled down breakfast, threw on some clothes and stumbled the few meters to the drum circle. I was still only half awake when we began. I spent the morning in a hypnotic daze aware only of cross rhythms and the wind.

It is interesting to learn Gahu from Kwasi. It is the same dance as the one we learned in WAME, but like all good games of telephone, the steps are slightly different from one interpretation to the other. Some of the words and rhythms in the song are different too. Such is the nature of oral tradition. Every teacher and every performer does it slighty different, so the one we know is unique to the WAME class of 2012. Maybe that makes it less authentic, or maybe that is part of the process.

It’s neat to watch the little boys. They are no older than 3 and they follow Kwasi everywhere. Each has a set of drum stics perpetually in his hand and they will play any drum they are goven, including the big boba if Kwasi lets them. The interesting is, their rhythms are pretty close to being correct. They will grow up to be amazing drummers just from exposure.

Aug 6

I am still mulling over the Boko experience from last night. I’m having a hard time thinking of it objectively. I wanted to buy into it. I wanted so badly to believe that there is some form of supernatural help for all the bad things that have happened in my life. I wanted so badly to believe that I am a good person who has just acquired some bad spirits. I guess therein lies the basis of religion.  A need to believe that we belong to a higher cause than our base instincts. The desire for help from powers higher than ourselves, and an explanation as to why bad things happen to good people.

I saw what became of my lost soccer ball today. One of the men go ahold of it and organized a game for all the men in the village. I sat on a tree root and watch for a while, feeling a little jealous because I wanted to play by that it wasn’t my place to ask, Gender roles are more divided here in the village than anywhere I’ve ever seen. The boys and girls don’t play together and I rarely even see the men and women speaking to each other. My whole life, I have enjoyed breaking gender roles. I always thought it was unfair that boys get to have more fun than girls, and even as a Canadian girl I wanted to be a boy. I still do in some ways, and even as a grown women I take pride in my masculine qualities. I am happy that my donation became an important part of the community, but I am upset that I didn’t get to partake in it, or even receive a thank you for it.

Aug 5

A  strange day. The day began with a long and hard session of drumming with Kwasi. In the afternoon  we were taken with Kwasi to a funeral of the Unity Drumming Group, of which  he is a member. Most of the afternoon is a blurr to me because of the red liquor that Jambolo, the driver, was distributing. They call it red. It is poured from a crown royal bottle and tastes like sherry only way stronger. Apparently, it is the home brewed alcohol called Akpeteshi with herbs added to it. I do remember being taken by Kwasi to shake hands with the dignitaries and dancing a sort of Konga with a woman named Akua, but the rest is a blurr.

After supper, Michael took me to see the Boko, which is a diviner who tells your fortune or Kpoli by consulting the Afa divination. According to Michael, the most intelligent members of society often become Bokos and the rituals of learning Afa are very secretive.  He came out from behind a curtain with a young assistant. Godsway acted as interpreter, as the Boko was very old and did not speak English. I sat on a grass mat beside the assistant with my legs extended. The Boko sat in a reclining chair, and Godsway sat in an upright chair beside him, so I was looking up at them both from my place on the floor. I paid 10 Cedi and was told to whisper my question to the money. The assistant shuffled a collection of stones and beads and asked me to choose 17. He asked me to put them in my hands and divide them. He tossed a string of beads back and forth and consulted them to know which hand to open and set aside. Then I divided the remaining stones and he went again. We continued until there was only one left. He told me that dark brown seed pod meant the answer to my question was no.

From there the assistant gave me two beads, one for yes, one for no and told me to shuffle them, one in each hand. The Boko asked the questions in his easy chair and the assistant consulted the beads and told me to reveal on hand or the other. There were so many questions that I lost track, but the brown seed pod was revealed each time except for one, regardless of how many times I changed hands. After many repeats, Godsway told me the Boko’s result. The summary version is that I am the daughter of the Sea God, I am surrounded by many evil spirits, and to get rid of them I must give up alcohol, peanuts, and wearing the color red.

August 4

                Today was shrine day. I will be writing a very long ethnography describing today’s proceedings, so I will try here to write only a short summary. Beth and I arrived at the shrine around 8am. The day’s proceedings had not officially begun, but there was an old women building a fire at the front of the shrine and holding her limbs to the flame. Someone told us that she was part of the sick ward and the fire was supposed to heal her. A woman with a small child offered to show us how to salute the shrine. Get down on all fours and touch your tongue to the floor, then touch your right elbow to the floor and then your left. (I later regretted putting my tongue to that floor when I saw all the things that go on it, as well as the way it is cleaned.)

                The ceremonies run all day. The drums play at intervals throughout the day, and goats and chickens are sacrificed in shifts for various things. When the animals are offered for sacrifice, they are first tested to see if the offer will be accepted. The animal is made to lie down, and if it tries to get up, the Gids do not accept. After a few tries, the person offering is asked to make some kind of confession. Once all the animals are accepted, the offerers stand in a circle and strangle the animals while the drums play. The corpses are then bled over the fetishes (stone and wood objects on an altar, meant to represent the God’s) and then taken out to the back to be butchered and cooked. At the end of the day, the meat is served and everyone present is expected to partake in the meat, even the baffled Canadian observers.

August 3

                Today we are attending an Ewe festival. We were given minimal instructions on what to expect and I’m still not completely sure of what is going on. When we arrived, we were told we were walking in the chief’s processional. After much deliberation about where to go, we were taken a few blocks away and joined an enormous parade. The chiefs were being carried on high floats and the street was packed with dancers and drummers. Every few minutes the drummers would put down and start a new piece, so it took hours to travel a few blocks. People were constantly grabbing us to dance and taking our pictures.

                When we finally arrived at the event grounds, there was more deliberation about where we should go. One man thought we should be confined to the foreigners’ section, but Kwasi insisted we sit with him in the chief’s tent. We sat in the shade of the tent and tried to listen to the speeches, but it was very hot and we did not understand anything of what was being said.

                Sitting behind us is the War chief of the Gbanne Clan, advisor to the Paramount chief in matters of war. He sta on an elaborate arm chair with his feet on a golden rifle. He wore orange Kente cloth and a black velvet hat with golden moon and stars, and many gold bracelets.  He is surrounded by attendents, including a woman to fan him and another to bring water for his guests.

                When it became obvious that we were uncomfortable with the heat and the Ewe speeches, Torgbe Kwasi Adzimah himself rose and motioned for us to follow him. He invited us to his home where he gave us beer, red , and banku with goat soup. He gave us a warm welcome and a short speech about life, and asked us to refer him to our parents. He said to live simply and let others build us up. The he returned to the festival, and we sat as his table drinking and talking about matters of little importance from home.

                Despite the heat and the monotony of the speeches, I am sorry that we missed the rest of the festival. Although the procession was a great experience, I have a feeling that we left before the real show got started. I don’t even know what the festival was for! Someone said that  it had to do with the pineapple harvest, but I really didn’t see enough of the proceedings to piece anything together.

August 3

                Today we are attending an Ewe festival. We were given minimal instructions on what to expect and I’m still not completely sure of what is going on. When we arrived, we were told we were walking in the chief’s processional. After much deliberation about where to go, we were taken a few blocks away and joined an enormous parade. The chiefs were being carried on high floats and the street was packed with dancers and drummers. Every few minutes the drummers would put down and start a new piece, so it took hours to travel a few blocks. People were constantly grabbing us to dance and taking our pictures.

                When we finally arrived at the event grounds, there was more deliberation about where we should go. One man thought we should be confined to the foreigners’ section, but Kwasi insisted we sit with him in the chief’s tent. We sat in the shade of the tent and tried to listen to the speeches, but it was very hot and we did not understand anything of what was being said.

                Sitting behind us is the War chief of the Gbanne Clan, advisor to the Paramount chief in matters of war. He sta on an elaborate arm chair with his feet on a golden rifle. He wore orange Kente cloth and a black velvet hat with golden moon and stars, and many gold bracelets.  He is surrounded by attendents, including a woman to fan him and another to bring water for his guests.

                When it became obvious that we were uncomfortable with the heat and the Ewe speeches, Torgbe Kwasi Adzimah himself rose and motioned for us to follow him. He invited us to his home where he gave us beer, red , and banku with goat soup. He gave us a warm welcome and a short speech about life, and asked us to refer him to our parents. He said to live simply and let others build us up. The he returned to the festival, and we sat as his table drinking and talking about matters of little importance from home.

                Despite the heat and the monotony of the speeches, I am sorry that we missed the rest of the festival. Although the procession was a great experience, I have a feeling that we left before the real show got started. I don’t even know what the festival was for! Someone said that  it had to do with the pineapple harvest, but I really didn’t see enough of the proceedings to piece anything together.

August 2

Dagbamete is a beautiful village. We will spend our last 10 days here. It is not half as rustic as I was expecting. The people don’t have much, but the buildings are in good repair and the streets are clean. As always, we are followed everywhere by a gaggle of young children, who were very excited to see the soccer ball I brought.

                Our host and drumming instructor is called Kwasi, and he is both formidable and wise, with a twinkle of humor and understanding. Our start up lesson today indicated that we are in the hands of yet another drumming master. He had some great lines that I should remember for my own practice.

-          The happier you are, the better your grade

-          If you do not understand, that is my problem. It is my job to solve that problem for you.

-          Never say you can’t do something. If somebody can do it, you can do it because you are a somebody.

The Kathy Armstrong Lodge, the village guest house where we are staying, is quite lovely. It’s cleaner and better kept than most of the hotels we have stayed at. A hot meal is served to us three times a day in the common area. It remids me a lot of the Gros Morne Cottage Hospital Hostel in Newfoundland.  I wonder how many visitors this place gets in a year?

August 1

                Today was a 13 hour bus ride, so there is not too much action to report. It is amazing how exhausting doing nothing can be! But even the dullest of days has observations. Today was yet another reminder of the concept of “Africa Time.”  The bus was supposed to leave at 6am and we were not on the road until almost 7am. We lost another two hours stick in gridlock traffic coming through Kumasi, and so we arrived in Accra almost three hours late. My observation: Africa Time is an exercise in flexibility. The bus alone is at the mercy of mechanical issues poor roads and traffic conditions that we don’t even consider in North America. Insisting on punctuality here would drive a person crazy, so the only way to coup is to relax your standards about time limits and accept that many things are beyond your control. Plans change, go with it. Not to say that Ghanaians don’t get irritated by delays just like everyone else. I’ve seen plenty of stressed out Africans on this trip, especially where cues are concerned. But it is still an attitude to be appreciated. 

July 31

Today was our second day at the Tamale Youth Cultural Center. Today began with a performance from the dance troop. Like all groups, it was high energy and wonderful to watch. This group was distinguished by the amount of accessories they used. Fans and hats, cowrie jewelry and anklets covered in metal rings which jingled to the rhythm of the dance. The men wore large belts around their waists with 6 rope loops draped off of them, with which they made a trick of flipping up onto their abdomens with a hip movement. As we have learned firsthand, there is a large amount of hip movement in Dagbon dancing.

                The names of the two drums that I didn’t know yesterday are Lunga and Gong-gong. Gong-gong is the larger drum, and it has a string across the head that acts as a simple snare. You engage or mute the snare by pushing on the skin.  The drums are accompanied by a piccolo-like petatonic flute. Between the snare and piccolo sounds, it sounds very much like a British fife and drum band. Tamele is very fr north and I understand they hardly had any British contact. At the very least, not as much as the coastal cities. But the two styles of music are so similar that it’s hard to believe it was a coincidence. How did military regimental music make it so far north?

                This afternoon, we went to a small village outside of Tamale where a group of women have a shea butter cooperative. A friendly woman named Alima showed us around the grounds and the phases of how shea butter is made. The nut is separated from the fruit, ground and roasted, separated from the waste and finally processed into soap and lotion. The cooperative is a wonderful opportunity for these women, but their business is stunted by exploitation from exporters. From the information we were given, it sounds like very little profit from their sales actually gets back to the women themselves.

July 30

This morning we paid a visit to the Tamale Youth Home Cultural Center for a drum and dance workshop. The center began as a cultural center to house the drum and dance group, but has since expanded to include a seamstress shop and a childcare center.

                We learned a new dance called Bamaya, a traditional dance from the Dagbon people. The dance involves the little hour glass shaped drum called a dondo in the south, and a big drum carried over the shoulder also played with a stick. I will have to find out the names later. Because the drums are played over the sholder, the drummers can join in the dance.  The dance is done in a circle and involves much more twisting and swirling than any other dance we’ve learned. We had great fun playing with the pom pom adorned belts that were provided for the dance.

July 29

Elephants! So many elephants!                                                                                                                                

                We went on an early morning hike, which felt so familiar. After two hours we finally saw elephants at the water hole below the resort grounds. Two older males were bathing in the pond. We stood for a long time and watched from a respectful distance.

                Back at the resort, after a very British breakfast of toast and tea, I saw two more elephants right behind our dorm room! All that effort over the last two days to find elephants and the elephants have found us!

                It is nice to know that a beautiful resource and a proud symbol like the elephant is being used to help the economy. This is also a nature sanctuary where the elephants appear to be living wild and healthy. Both the economy and the elephants are benefitting from this set up. But again, outside of the park staff, I wonder how much the average Ghanaian knows about elephants and how much these conservation ideas are valued? 

July 28

Today was a bumpy Trotro ride up to Mole national park. We stopped in a small village with round mud huts with thatched roofs for lunch. We sat and ate with the goats and I discovered the discomfort of African ant bites! The buys here are every bit as aggressive as the ones back home, but for some reason, they itch so much worse!

Late in the afternoon, we went on safari on the roof rack of a jeep. I enjoyed wizzing around the park in the fragrant jungle breeze. The bumps and the wind and the sense of holding on reminded my of Grandad’s ATV and Harold’s boat, and I was very happy. We didn’t see any animals outside of some blesbok and a few baboons, but I didn’t mind. At the end of the tour we finally saw an elephant and everyone was very excited.

Again, I have to wonder about cultural display. Our guide, Moses, was extremely knowledgeable about the area and the animals, but all of the patrons were westerners, every one. Does the average Ghanaian know much of this information? How many Ghanaians actually visit this park apart from the maintenance staff? This is yet another beautiful view of Ghana that really isn’t as accurate of a representation as we would like to think.

July 24

Elmina castle was much larger and more impressive than Cape Coast. This one was built and run by the Portuguese and the tour guide was even more specific about the atrocities committed on the site. One disturbing though was how efficient the layout of the castle was for its purpose, with mess halls above the cells, tunnels to the loading docks, and a private balcony overlooking the female cell. There is a cannon ball at one end of the courtyard, where the women who resisted rape were chained. After a day or so in the hot sun they were made to lift the cannon ball. If they could not, they were flogged. I lifted it without too much trouble, but after a day in the hot sun with no food or water I imagine it must have been near impossible.

The tour focused very heavily on rape and cruelty, to really emphasize how terrible the conditions were.  But once again, the tour ended with an art gallery and gift shop! It really is quite a mixed message about what emotions to feel.


Our hotel in Cape Coast wasn't really close to anything that sells full meals, so we had to be creative with out supper. This is what I tried:

A quick demonstration of how to weave kente cloth:

July 23

Today was a tourist day. We began in a National Park of preserved rainforest with catwalk bridges in the canopy of huge trees. The park was very well kept and it was encouraging to see how many natural species of plants and animals are being cared for. All over Africa, environmental conservation is an issue, and it is good to see that the Ghanaian government is making an effort on this. I hope this value is being instilled in Ghanaians, not just in the tourists. The tour guide walked us through the pharmacy that is the rainforest floor. There are plans for everything from asthma cure to glue. On top of eco preservation, it is also good to see so much traditional knowledge being preserved.

We then visited the “crocodile restaurant”. It is a large patio in the middle of a pond inhabited by crocodiles, which you can see swimming in the water and sunning themselves on the bank. We watched a woman feed them with a piece of raw chicken on a long stick, while a group of school children posed for pictures. Obviously, there is an attempt to keep students informed about ecopreservation.

Then we drove to Cape Coast Castle; an impressive white washed structure that looks very similar to the castle I visited in Cuba two years ago. This makes sense because they would have been built around the same time for the same colonial purpose.

Of course, the most striking feature was the dungeon.  They’ve left it dank and dark and completely devoid of any defining features.  As the article “dungeon tourism” had said, it leaves more room for the imagination. But the imagery was clear and you couldn’t help but imagine the smell and the cramped conditions as the prisoners were literally piled in on top of eachother. The most disturbing part was the condemned chamber where the trouble makers were left to die. Even today with the room clean and the door left open, the room is suffocating.

When the tour is over, they conveniently lead you through the art gallery and the gift shop, which caused noticeable disgust for everyone. It’s difficult to think of spending money on souvenirs after such a dark experience. But as the Dungeon tourism article says, it is still a tourist attraction and there are still people who need to make a living off of the tourist traffic Marketing such a terrible piece of history is sucha delicate act, but it is a piece of history that should not be forgotten.

We sat outside on the rocks and were followed by a group of children selling water. The smallest girl was named Philomina, who asked a lot of questions, and the other three were all named Elizabeth.  12 year old Elizabeth said she wanted to come to Canada with me and be a student in my school and she giggled when I said that her parents and siblings would miss her too much. Philamina was playing with my empty Fanta can and threw it down the hill when she was done with it. Beth retrieved it and explained that we get in trouble for littering in Canada. The children all agreed that litter does stink and it doesn’t look very nice. Is this encouraging critical thinking or just imposing western values? I offered my Canadian pencils to the girls and they disappeared immediately.

At 4:30pm we were seated in the castle courtyard and treated to a performance from a local Asafo regiment. The Fanti people of this region had a tradition of warrior fraternities that predated colonialism. These fraternities did their membership through patrilineal descent (odd, as everything else is matrilineal) and were used as military and navy during times of war, but also for disaster aid for things like fires. Naturally, the British exploited these warrior organizations for their own use when they arrived.

There were several elements of the ensemble that were different from other ensembles that we’ve seen so far. First of all is their dress. The men wore robes they way they might wear a kente cloth, only it was white with black shapes and yellow red and green strips on it. It reminded me of Canadian aboriginal designs from back home.

There were two women in the troop and they led the singing, which I have never seen before. The announcer explained that one of their pieces was traditionally for women, as it features rattle which can double as a gourd to carry water to the men in times of war. However, the women lead all 4 songs and I wondered if this was specific to this group or a normal feature of Fante performance. The singing itself was more tonal and involved much more harmony than other groups we’ve heard. Again, I wonder if this is a function of culture or specific to this ensemble.

Other features included very large metal bells, a drum sporting carved breasts. This was also the first group I’ve seen to use spoken word and theatre as part of the performance.

July 21

This morning was a private drum lesson with Oko and it was worth every penny. He is such and indepth teacher who really emphisises the importance of technique. He observed that I must play djembe, which was flattering that he recognized my skills, but he then said that Panlogo was a completely different set of techniques and that I was going to have to relearn everything.

                We had our “performance” with the Akrowa Ensemble today. Some of the group were nervous about the idea of performing something we had only practiced twice, but once we got going we realized that it was very different from a performance back home. Music is a community participation event where everyone does something and nobody just watches. They wanted us to participate, not just watch, so they gave us the tools to participate with.

                

Kokrobite is a flocking ground for visual and performing artists. They are all used to interacting with tourists and we have made many friends here. However, I have yet to be approached by and extremely friendly women. I guess they are all too busy. The fisherman community is still very active here. Each morning they haul themselves out past the surf on their hollowed out canoes using long ropes anchored somewhere out past the surf break. There is music for hauling and for paddling, but especially for hauling the boat back to the beach, which is likely the hardest job. This is where the panlogo song originated. The women sit on the beach when the catch comes in and sort and clean the fish. I would have liked to interview a fisherman or a fisherman’s wife, but I don’t feel right interrupting their work. All of the boats lining the beach have names painted on them in bright colors, but all of the names are in English. I am going to guess that the custom of christening a boat is a British innovation.

                The village itself is an interesting sight. There is a vast difference from the main stretch with its resort and a few restaurants, and the local residents. But across the board the streets are cleaner, the houses are larger and sturdier looking than the neighborhoods we saw in Accra. You can also see large buildings along the beach and up onto the hill, which would indicate that wealthy people at least own property here, of not reside here permanently. I wonder if the majority are owned by Ghanaians for foreigners?