Its been a while, but life is life, and it seems to roll right along, and before you know it, a whole month has passed.
I went to a memorial service yesterday for the passing of the husband of a woman I know. The funeral was in a town called Kumasi 2 weekends ago, but I was unable to go. Yesterday was the memorial service here in Accra. The whole funeral and mourning process is very different here than what we are use to. The actual burial day can be months and months after the actual passing of the individual. The beginning of the month is usually a big time for funerals, as people have the most money at this point, whereby making it possible to throw a big celebration – which is what it is. On the burial day, people do wear black, but it is a party! People dance and sing and drink. It is common to be confronted by obnoxious drunk men at 10:00 am Saturday morning, making it quite clear they just came from a funeral.
What I attended yesterday was the memorial service, which takes place about a week after the burial, on a Sunday. People generally wear black and white material made into something spectacular (as always), and attend a church service, where the family is called up for condolences, and then following is a lunch for all the friends and family.
In preparation and wanting to ‘fit in’, I bought some black and white material and got a traditional outfit made – long skirt and top. Come Sunday morning, I tried on my outfit, and was embarrassed even looking in the mirror. I looked absolutely ridiculous and simply could not wear the whole outfit. So sporting my very own black top and the traditional long skirt, I was ready to head to church. I’ve been to a few church services here, and this one was actually pretty tame. Then the lunch. The food was great, the music was nice but after being proposed to, and being told that my outfit did not match, I decided to leave. But not quite yet. I was told that it is customary to make a donation to the family. So I went to the front, shook hands with all the family members sitting at a raised head table, and then donated 20.00 Ghana Cedis. Ok, done, im on my way. Not quite. I then hear my name announced with my donation amount, and something about me being white, but that I am from the mountains so I among them…don’t ask. I then awkwardly said goodbye to the man who drove me there, whom I sat next to, who wanted to buy me gum and peanuts, and whom asked to marry me, and left.
Oh Ghana!
