Ejura

On Friday, Tettey and I went to the immigration office in Accra to see if the passport I had paid an extra $20 to receive at an earlier date was ready. And of course, it wasn't. However, "This is Ghana," a phrase I hear time and time again from the locals.
I knew I couldn't stay any longer and so Tettey dropped me off at the station and told me he would pick it up and keep it safe for me until I returned.
The station was a mad house. A huge dirt lot, packed bumper to bumper with transport vehicles of every size, shape, colour, offering various levels of travelling comfort. I took a van that afforded me some leg room but was packed, shoulder to shoulder, with locals on what would be a 6 hour journey across many unpaved roads, lead by an over ambitious driver who nearly killed us amidst the loud protests of all the passengers.
And, just like everywhere else, the bagagge man attempted to hit me up for more money saying that I didn't pay enough for the room I was taking up in the back. But, as has happened many times since then, a few kind souls dragged me from a losing battle by telling me to say I had no more money to offer, to which the baggage man slammed the door shut on our argument and my bags.
I arrived in Kumasi, but not at the station where I thought I would end up. Yet again, another kind soul shared a taxi with me to the station where I could hitch a ride to Ejura, hired two porters for my heavy load and broke my money into smaller bills when the taxi driver said he had no change for my enormous 10 cedi bills. I offered to pay the man who was looking out for me but he refused, told me he must get to school and sauntered off.
I am finally starting to realize why everybody deems this country and its people some of the warmest and friendliest in the world.
The ride to Ejura was another 2 hour climb up through the mountains in central Ghana. It is incredibly lush and beautiful up here and on my tro tro journey here through the night, there was a roaring thunder storm - the windows of the tro tro leaked through and onto the passengers, the large spats of rain made visibility limited throught the front windshield and through my window I could see the sparking veins of lightning tear through the sky just above the mountain range.
Being in a new region, with a new climate, new customs and inhabited by a different people is completely overwhelming, not to mention the prospect of teaching at what I am told is a very disorganized school on Monday, so I will save some stories for when I have combed through the tangled mats in my brain.
One story I will share though is today, Nathan, a fellow volunteer from Kansas City, Missouri took me to a church he has been frequenting in a town called Mampong, about an hour outside of Ejura. Upon leaving the church we heard the thundering sounds of the west african rhythms to which I was immediately drawn.
It was coming from the palace of the chief of Mampong. We asked if we were allowed to enter and after the permission was granted, we were lead into a ceremony by an assembly member of the goverment who looked after over 5000 people in the many surrounding communities of this area. After witnessing the ceremony, he stood with us for a long while and answered all of our questions with the utmost patience and here is what we learned...
The ceremony is called Akwasidae which is a ritual day. It happens every 6 weeks when the chiefs from the smaller communities, the Queen Mothers, the Key Makers as well as some of the community get together to pay homage to the chief.
The chief is the custodian of all the land in and around Mampong - exactly how far that extends, I do not know. If people are to invest in a plot of land, they do it through the chief.
He is also the link between the people and their ancestors.
He was flanked by three men known as the linguists. They communicate for the chief. What he says and what others say when they want to speak to the chief is all filtered through the linguists who are appointed so because of their eloquence.
The Key makers, along with the Queen Mothers nominate the chief and also have the power to dethrone him.
There are guards that kneel before the chief and block the pathway to him with the golden hilts of their swords. You must pay the guards in order to greet the chief and this is what much of the ceremony consisted of - paying homage and greeting the chief.
We were allowed to greet the chief from a distance and as a show of respect, we removed our feet from our sandals. The men who wear the traditional robes take the cloth off their left shoulder to do the same.
A horn blower stands behind the chief and blows to both signify the greatness of the chief and to call upon the ancestors who on this day, Akwasidae, are said to come and interact and eat with the people. The Queen Mothers prepare a specal dish for their arrival.
There is dancing during the ceremony to signify unity and the braveness as well as the greatness of the chief. And, like all the other ceremonies I have been to, libations are poured for the ancestors.
There are many other things to tell of in this ceremony but some I have yet to understand and some we didn't have the time to ask about. However, it was an incredible pocket of culture to stumble into.
That is all for now. Internet is much further away than it used to be but I will still try to make it here once a week to update.
Hope you are all in good health and spirits.
David