In two months I'll be back in the States. We won't dwell on that sobering fact now, though... On a more positive note, this weekend was definitely one of the most fulfilling and enjoyable ones I’ve had in Ghana thus far. On Friday, I finally made it to a recording studio and laid down a couple of verses. A month or so back, I met a local MC named El. He’s part of an up-and-coming hip-hop crew called the Skillions that seems to be pretty popular here in Accra. I gave him a CD and he must have liked what he heard, because he called me up this week to ask if I’d drop a verse on his mixtape. I ended up driving over with Jason a couple of my friends from Legon. It was a great recording setup, and the guy I collaborated with is a really talented artist too. My friend from Legon Julian (who’s car we drove over in) is a producer as well, so Jason, El and I decided to rap to one of his verses on the spot too. It came out pretty hot, if I do say so myself.
This foray into the Ghana hip-hop scene was more fruitful than my recording attempt last weekend. On that unfortunate day, I drove for 30 minutes, waited an hour and a half to enter the studio, and was greeted by a power outage as SOON as I stepped in the booth. We tried to wait it out, but after another hour of watching the chickens scratch at the dirt road in front of the studio, we decided we’d take a rain check on the studio time. One thing the experience did teach me is that my patience has been significantly enhanced since I’ve been here. I mean, to drive for a while, wait another 90 minutes, and to watch the lights go out moments before I’m set to record… In the States I’m sure most people would be a bit more than peeved that their valuable time had been wasted. (“Do you know how many Facebook profiles I could have looked at in the last hour?!?!” “What about all of the TV commercials I missed?!?!”) We just laughed the experience off, and I spent the rest of the hot day enjoying myself with friends off campus. But I digress…
The session this past Friday afternoon went well, but I had to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for my 5:45 departure time the next morning. Ten of us international students in ISH decided to take a trip up to Dagbe, a cultural resort in the Volta Region. Located in the town of Aflao, the village isn’t too far from the Togo border, and it was a refreshing change from the city life in Accra. Of course, getting out of the city would turn out to be an adventure in itself. First, we missed the 6:30 bus leaving from Accra by about 5 minutes, so we got first dibs on the next bus leaving three hours later. Three turned out to be the magic number of the day, as our bus broke down that many times until a replacement came. Without interruption, the trip is supposed to take three hours, but we ended up getting there around 2:30. But as I said before, my patience here has reached unprecedented thresholds, and even when I saw smoke billowing out of our bus’ engine while sweat pored down my brow, I was barely perturbed.
Anyway, for 45 Ghana cedis a night (approx. $50 USD) visitors get a room in a guesthouse, three meals a day, and private classes from members of the village. These classes include basket weaving, kente weaving, cooking, traditional dance, and drumming. I was lucky enough to attend dance classes followed by drumming on Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning. The whole package was especially pleasant since our party was the only visiting group in the village at the time. These classes were amazing, and in addition to getting the best workout I’ve had in months, I felt more connected to my heritage than I ever have before. From the opening ceremony of libation pouring to the intense routines we memorized, I maintained a special feeling that I hadn’t yet experienced here in Ghana. Anyone who knows me well understands that I absolutely love music for a lot of reasons, but I have to say the musical experience I had in Dagbe was a lot different from switching on my iPod. The experience of pounding those drums, stomping my bare feet on ground, and rhythmically punching the air with clenched fists was more cathartic than words can describe. With each beat of the drum and step of the dance, I felt increasingly closer to a lost past that washed up on the shores of the Atlantic generations ago. Even the sweat pouring out of my pores felt like the release of a lifetime of cultural confusion and identity crisis. In a strange way, I had a sensation of physically purging myself of emotional and psychological baggage that I’ve been carrying for a long while. The intense physical experience helped me release the pressures (both externally and internally imposed) of double-consciousness and the Western hegemony that’s caused so much fragmentation throughout the Diaspora. While I’ve felt self-conscious about my appearance for some time in Ghana, my fair skin no longer felt like a burden. My American accent and Western dress no longer mattered. I was home. While the village I was in may not have been the residence of my direct ancestors, I know deep inside that this is the kind of place in which my roots reside. I had an overwhelming time dancing and drumming at Dagbe, but that was really only the beginning of my experience in the village.
After drumming class Saturday night, I showered quickly and got a chance to relax with my thoughts before dinner was served. I sat alone outside for a while, but soon I was joined by Gabriel (also known as Kwaku). He was one of the two elders who had poured out libations and spoken to the spirits of the village ancestors during the opening ceremony. As I often do with people here, I introduced myself as Kwame. (In addition to given names, most Ghanaians also take the name designated to the day of their birth. [i.e. Saturday born = Kwame.]) Although I can get by with conversational Twi at this point, my language skills were pretty useless here— the Volta region is home to the Ewe people who speak the language of the same name. Anyway, Gabriel knew enough English to have a conversation with me at the time, so I eagerly asked him the meaning of the prayers he had uttered earlier that day. He explained that he was paying homage to his father and various other members of the village who are no longer living. He explained that he always gives glory to those who came before him, even symbolically asking them to drink before he uses water to wash his face. Although his English was limited and quite deliberate, I was able to comprehend the significance of his Ewe prayer thanks to his explanation. Throughout our interaction, there was relative silence in the area, but as he finished his explanation, I heard the sound of a baby crying in the village. I often laugh at myself for finding meaning in most everything I experience, but the sound of wailing in the distance really did have a strange effect on me given the context of my conversation. There I was, a baby, sitting with an elder, paying homage and sharing the traditions of our ancestors. It took effort for me not to cry myself.
After dinner, I went into the village with a few friends. Our fellow exchange student Charles, a Canadian of West Indian descent, coordinated the trip and he actually went up a day early to join his old friends. See, much like myself, Charles came to Ghana for primarily cultural reasons. He’s been here since January and has spent a lot of time in the village, so we soon learned that Charles is treated like a regular member of the community. He took us around, and we found a large tent under which a group of children were gathered. (My lil' homie Selorm and his schoolmates are pictured above.) I’m sure they get visitors every now and then thanks to the resort, but most of the kids still seemed rather intrigued by our presence. I had a great chat with a few of the young boys, and gave some advice to a recent high school graduate who hopes to attend Legon in a year or so. Afterwards, Jason, Charles, and James (the village resident and master drummer who had played for us earlier) went to James’ home. It turns out Charles was actually staying in his home, and was making the most recent of many trips up there. We met a few people along the way, and the four of us connected in a way only brothers can. I suddenly realized in James’ home that we’re already halfway through the trip, and although I miss friends, family and certain creature comforts, I’m not that excited about leaving the Motherland. The next morning I didn’t really want to leave the village either, but by noon I found myself in a little van back to Legon. I’ll definitely go back to the village before I leave, and hopefully I’ll have more experiences that will help me make sense of the questions I’ve had racing through my mind. Until then, abusua, yebehyia bio. (See you later, family.)
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