A Peek into Ghanaian Funerals

 

Just days after describing Ghanaian funerals in my last post, I happened to be invited to one myself!

Earlier last week, my lovely coworker, Mr. Folley, asked if I would be interested in joining a group of ABANTU staff in attending the funeral of Obaapanin Maame Akua Yeboaa (“Stacey” for short) - Dr. Rose’s mother-in-law (Dr. Rose is the Director for ABANTU’s West African Regional Office... and I was kidding about the Stacey nickname btw). The funeral was to take place on Saturday, a few hours outside of Accra. ABANTU would be arranging transportation for our staff members.

I apologized, explaining that I had already committed myself that day. I didn’t think too much of it. I have never met Dr. Rose’s family, let alone her in-laws from out of town. And my relationship with Dr. Rose isn’t quite as close as my relationship with other staff members as her work often requires her to travel.

“Next time, though! I promise!”

And then came the realization that I was speaking about a funeral.

“When it comes to these events, we don’t usually want there to be a next time!” Folley laughed.

A day or two passes and my coworkers inquire with increasing frequency whether I will be attending the funeral on Saturday. I pick up on the subtle hint. My response evolves from “oh, no unfortunately, I have plans that day!” to “Well I had plans but I think I might cancel them” and eventually settles on “what time are we meeting?”

I felt a little silly. Here I had just finished writing about the unrivaled cultural significance of Ghanaian funerals and yet I declined the invitation in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t until I realized that I was literally the ONLY coworker not attending the funeral that I clued in to the fact that my attendance was quite important. Not because I’m important, (though my mother promises me that I am) but because the act of demonstrating your support is important. And although this is the case in Canada too, it’s not practiced quite to the same extent as Ghana. Can you imagine the look on your boss’s face if you drove four hours out of town on a weekend to attend her mother-in-law’s funeral after working at your job for two months? Exactly.  

As directed, I showed up at Accra Mall for 6am. I knew it was ridiculously naive of me to show up on time (we left about an hour and fifteen minutes later) but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I was expecting that staff would pile into two or three cars. Instead, Folley (who was also on time) directed me to a bus that the family had hired to bring Accra friends and family to and from the funeral. Yeesh, This is a big deal.

I sat with two coworkers, National Service Students doing their one-year placement at ABANTU. They laughed at me for bringing a thermos of coffee for the trip - confirming that I cannot go one day without my morning coffee (even if it is instant).

After a long and bumpy 3.5 hour journey, we parked in front of the Methodist Church in Awisa - a small village in the Eastern Region. The three-story chapel was packed so additional seating was provided for the near-250 people outside. Even then, the size of the crowd was such that not everyone had a seat (there happen to be three funerals taking place that day). Pamphlets and booklets were passed around containing short biographies and photos of the deceased and their families. 

 

The site was quite beautiful. Hundreds of guests both inside and outside the church created a sea of black and red - the traditional mourning colours. The elder men would wear their fabric wrapped around their torso and thrown over one shoulder, baring half their chest. It seemed customary for the elder women to wear a black or red headpiece.

Dr. Rose greeted us warmly, giving each one of us an enthusiastic hug. She genuinely looked happy and grateful that we came! Which reminds me, one of the things I noticed about the funeral is that no one appeared particularly sad. In fact, if it weren’t for the characteristic mourning colours, you really wouldn’t have any idea that people were gathered for a death. I am told this is likely because the family has plenty of time to grieve between the time of the death and the execution of the funeral.

I think the age of the deceased can impact the overall tone of the funeral, as well. When it comes to the ones we love, there is never really a right age to die. But Obaapanin Maame Akua Yeboaa reached the age of 87 in country where the life expectancy is 56. I get the impression that mourning focuses on the celebration of a long rather than the mourning of a death. For instance, whenever I put on my “funeral face” to shake hands with the family members, I would look them in the eyes and say that I was so sorry for their loss. And this was met with either a laugh or a look of confusion.

“You’re sorry? Why? Did you do something wrong?”

This reaction could be chalked up to my obroni status, which by its very nature provokes laughter in many Ghanaians, even those at funerals. But I’m not so sure... I have a feeling Ghanaians have a way of dealing with death that’s a lot healthier than many of us back home.

And while we’re on the subject - my obroni status, my “obronihood” - Ah! How it colours (or uncolours) all my experiences! I was actually concerned about being the only obroni at the ceremony, I didn’t want to give off the impression that I took to funerals as a tourist activity. Luckily, I was greeted really warmly! Like really warmly. People even asked me to take photos of them which is unheard of in Ghana except from swarms of children (seriously, the kids here are total camera hogs).

My biggest fan that day!

As I’ve mentioned before, obronihood is a double-sided coin - at times it attracts the type of attention you don’t want, other times it grants you the positive reinforcement you need to feel comfortable and welcome. I did indeed attract a lot of attention, particularly from a crowd of older women, but it was friendly and harmless attention, flattering even. Sometimes people are just really excited to see something out of the ordinary - be it a cute puppy, an ugly hairdo, a hot air balloon, a snowsuit or a white person. I’m quite happy to be a conversation piece.

Videographers distracted by the entrance of a politician!

Only one person was able to steal the limelight of my loyal fan club of old women. I was just in the middle of entertaining them with my Twi, when suddenly the entire congregation jumped to their feet and started waving their hands and handkerchiefs in the air! Crying out for someone!

Startled, I look towards the entrance of the chapel and who was there? Why none other than the leader of the opposition position party and former presidential candidate, Nana Afufo-Addo! It was like seeing Michael Ignatieff! Kinda... or McCain...

Nana Akufo-Addo (the one with glasses), NPP Presidential Candidate

Services were longer than usual since there were three funerals taking place. After a few hours it became a little difficult for those of us standing outside in the beating sun - hungry, hot, dehydrated, tired... okay maybe that was just me.

Why wouldn't you include a marching band in a funeral procession?

After the services, we were treated to a large buffet-style lunch, which proved to be an opportune time to collect donations from attendees. Afterwards, we went to another area of the village where music and dancing were taking place. A few chiefs made appearances as well.

The families in mourning were seated along the periphery of the “dance floor” (I feel funny calling it that but that’s kind of what it was) and guests would line up to shake their hands and give their condolences.

We boarded the bus about 3:45 and after getting lost a few times, we made it back to Accra around 8:15pm.

In the end, I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to attend this funeral, especially in the company of ABANTU staff who always look out for their obroni sister. Though I wasn’t thrilled about waking up at 4:30am on a Saturday, the remote location in a small village enhanced the experience for me, allowing me to bear witness to a moving display of community support. Though I would feel a bit morbid saying “Can’t wait for the next funeral!”  if one happens to pop up, I may just cancel my plans once again.

People line up to give their condolences to the families

Drummers playing music at the funeral