Yaa Jid-dah? (How’s home?)

This train just keeps rolling and I haven’t felt this continuously occupied in a long while.

The recent gap between the last and current post has been due to my week-long (literally, seven days) stay in the village where my parents were raised and met; Gambaga. (This is a super rural part of Ghana where it’s still the norm to cook using firewood or charcoal pits)



Tamale (where I ususally live) to Gambaga (the village) route



The entire (and I do mean ENTIRE) family congregated there to memorialize, mark and mourn the life of my paternal grandmother, Joekib Kombian. Although the time spent there was very personal and intimate for me, I still think that the Ghanaian funeral process is a worthwhile cultural experience to document. 

I’ve never been privy to the details of a traditional Ghanaian funeral, let alone the intricacies of our tribal (Bimoba) customs, combined with the conventional Christian service.

As my dad explained it, “Wisdom here is equal to age.” Funerals in Ghana are social events, on par with the ornateness of a large wedding. The passing of an older individual and community pillar will see a comparatively larger audience than that of a young child. My grandmother was a wife, mother of seven, and surrogate mother to many of her grandchildren and orphaned relatives. She was also the mother of one of the first people in the entire tribe to complete school from primary to University level and to leave the country (my dad), and was fiercely respected.

It’s here that I’ll note that my count-down of family members will go on a temporarily halt due to the very nature and sheer amount of relatives I saw within those seven days. Within the lines of the local customs the people in attendance ranged from my grandmother’s:

-     Husband (my grandfather), children (my dad and his siblings), sons & daughters in-law (my mom), grandchildren (myself), great grandchildren (some of my cousins are parents!)

-     Siblings (her remaining brothers and sisters + their spouses, children, etc)

-     In-laws (my grandfather’s brothers and sisters + their spouses, children, etc)

I’m getting confused already :p
So that was strictly family.

Then you add in all of the people who were remotely close to my grandmother or any key members of the family. So for example, five of my mother’s siblings attended (especially since they had all grown up in the village and had known grandma from childhood), but my dad also had classmates from his school days make appearances. Elders and tribal chiefs (entourage in tow) from neighboring villages were also called to attend. Needless to say, there were MANY, MANY people.




Bulls used for the funeral



So now that the extensive guest list has been cleared the next major element becomes the issue of being able to feed everyone during the funeral time period. As is the local tradition, people offer support and condolences in the form of livestock and meat (African’s LOVE their meat) to be prepared during the funeral. The family was given a bull and several goats purely for use during the funeral.



Cooking was divided within three camps; my grandparents’ house, my mother’s childhood house and a family guesthouse that we had acquired to accommodate everyone from out of town. Every day of the funeral each group would divide and conquer in a mass cook-off to ensure that all of the core family, elders and distinguished guests had enough food and were well fed. Everything from the local corn flour dishes with soup to  rice, salad and pasta were prepared. I even went on a grocery shopping quest with my aunts to buy a ridiculous amount of fresh vegetables; enough to fill up the back of a pick-up truck.

Dancing with grandpa (left) and his younger brother (right)
at the funeral house

Friday & Saturday (Jan 27, 28) were the main days of the funeral, but in the days leading up to and afterwards there were a few standard practices that were recognized. Each morning, everyone made at least one visit to “The Funeral House” (my grandparents’ house) to greet my grandfather specifically as well as any other elders on the premises. From that point onwards you normally went around from hut to hut, greeting a variety of family members and village locals and who had some connection to the family. For me this was a very interesting experience because the last time I had spent a significant amount of time in Gambaga was when I was 5 (17 years ago – ouch!) and so there more than a few people whom I could not place or recognize. The reverse was also very much true!

The tribal attitude toward death in old age is very celebratory; in this respect it made perfect sense that every night that week there were speakers set up and music blasting outside of the funeral house so that people could dance to honor the life of the departed.

Little did I know that this was to be an introduction to the traditional Bimoba funeral day (Friday). We were joined by the whole village, including drummers and dancers who led a 6 hour dancing session.

Funeral crowd

Traditional dancers and drummers

Young and old, male and female are joined in a moving dancing circle (representing the Circle of Life or something symbolic I’m sure, I just watched The Lion King last night so I have that song on the brain). The Bimoba trademark is some serious hip shaking with a waist garment made of cowrie shells. I was pretty impressed by the men who were able to move incredibly well. I,  on the other hand was only able to make a modest effort as I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle while trying to move in a circle in time to the rhythm, whilst shaking my hips. It wasn’t pretty but people appreciated the effort J.

 

A feeble attempt at dancing with cowrie shells!

Saturday took on a different tune with a (more) traditional, outdoor church service. This was what I had anticipated and what I was more familiar with, from a Canadian perspective. Readings were done by factions of the family, expressing what grandma had meant to us, how she had changed us and why we would forever miss her. It was a nice moment that I’m glad I got to share with many people who felt the same way.

Sunday marked a day of Thanksgiving – that’s to say that as an immediate family we all kind of paired off to go and thank elders, chiefs, community members and friends for attending to celebrate and pay their respects with us. My uncle and I went to one of the surrounding towns to thank one of the pastors for officiating the Saturday memorial service. One of my cousin’s classmates (whose dad happens to be a Bimoba chief in a surrounding town) had also attended Friday’s festivities, so we paid him a visit, expressing our gratitude.  

The experience of saying goodbye to my grandmother was a bittersweet realization of the passage of time. I had last seen her seven years ago and had surely taken it for granted that she would be around on my next visit to Ghana. Conversely I truly felt the meaning and bond of family within the Ghanian context – a sacrifice, respect and love that knows no bounds.