Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Kim Foote
the only time each year that families owning slavery artifacts might
display them.
The only families who observe this rite are those whose ancestors
were amongst the town’s original settlers or who were prominent
citizens. On Thursday and Saturday, libations are performed for
relatives who’ve died a “normal” death, whereas Friday and Sunday
are for deaths considered unnatural, like from suicide or AIDS. When
one’s close relative dies, he or she must provide food and drinks for
three successive Bronya. This proves to be too expensive for some
people, and they’re barred from participating until they can afford it.
Mr. Sikayεfi and I follow Mr. Mensah and the woman up an alley
that turns into a courtyard. On the ground, a raised cement square
with a hole in it catches my attention. Mr. Mensah explains that it’s an
altar. Sprinkled around the hole are offerings for the ancestors: a piece
of chicken cooked in a red stew, white mashed yam, and εto—mashed
yam made red from palm oil.
Several family members stand on a narrow porch beyond the
altar. They hold hands and bow their heads in prayer. I’m surprised
to hear them emit a soft chorus of “Amen” instead of an indigenous
Akan spiritual term. Mr. Mensah, looking none too pleased, tells me
that they were praying to the Christian God for blessings during the
libation pouring.
Christianity is no new concept in southern Ghana. It was
introduced to Elmina in the 1400s with the arrival of the Portuguese,
but there are some, like Mr. Mensah, who prefer to retain the
indigenous spiritual concepts.
Mr. Sikayεfi announces our presence and purpose for visiting.
The family consents and we shake their hands from right to left, as
tradition dictates. Mr. Mensah and I get seats next to each other, near
an altar in the corner. He tells me to take pictures, but I can’t. I feel like
I’ll be intruding. Moreover, I know how sensitive some Ghanaians are
about getting photographed, especially when they end up on postcards
or in advertisements and don’t receive compensation.
Mr. Mensah passes my camera to Mr. Sikayεfi, who snaps away
while I take mental photos. Most of the attendees are over fifty and
female, and mostly all wear black-and-white cloth. Some of the men
wear theirs traditionally wrapped, almost like togas, including the
tall, thin elder with bright white hair sitting in front of the altar. Mr.
Mensah points out the parrot carved into the elder’s stool. It’s the
emblem for the Anona clan, to which the family belongs.
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