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.