September 10, 2008
Ghana Journal
Oguaa Fetu Afehye and Recovery
Attending the Oguaa Fetu Afehye was similar to running a hundred mile ultramarathon. By the end of Saturday, I was badly sunburned and suffering from heat stroke. It has taken me three days to feel finally able to sit down and write.
The Oguaa Fetu Afehye is Fanti for Cape Coast Festival, but it must always be referred to in Fanti and not its English translation. As a traditional ceremony, it has roots that extend centuries before the Portuguese and English arrived in the 15th century. When the Cape Coast Castle was being built, the Portuguese were told that they had to leave room for a shrine. The shrine is still there in the courtyard of the castle. The Nana Anafu Shrine, another one in the city, is in the middle of the road. When they built the road, the English had to make a detour around the shrine.
The festival began in the evening on Monday night at Nana Fosu’s Shrine. In the early evening, priests and priestesses began to congregate in a small clearing by the lagoon for the Bakatu Rites, or the blessing of the lagoon. In Fanti Baka means lagoon. Tu means gateway or opening. The Bakatu is the opening of the lagoon after it has rested for several weeks. This ceremony is a tribute to the god of the lagoon before the first net can be cast. Nana Fasu must be honored before anyone can fish in the lagoon. Otherwise, this god will ensure a poor catch for the year.As the priests and priestesses arrived in ones and twos, each wrapped him or herself in blood red or batiked black-and-white robes and lay on the ground resting. They covered their heads with the excess material and curled up on the ground. I was amused that they would come and sleep, not realizing that the Bakatu Ceremony lasted until dawn. They were preparing themselves for the night ahead.
After several hours of waiting, with people coming and going and talking, with others hawking plantain chips and other snacks, the drums arrived in a minivan. The Enyaado, the master drummer, and his drummers carried the drums to their benches and inspected them. After testing the sound, they picked up a large stone and banged the pegs deeper into the sides to tighten the skins. They struck each drum with a variety of hardwood sticks and tested the sounds, carefully choosing a selection of sticks out of a large bag. Slowly several thousand people engulfed the clearing. Close to 11pm, it appeared that everyone—the drummers, the priests, the audience—was ready. Only then, after some unseen signal was made, the head priest picked up a green plastic bucket and stood in front of the six drummers and two percussionists who struck hand-forged cow bells. He nodded to the musicians, and they began a deafening beat that sung out for miles.
The head priest stomped and circled the clearing. With each step he reached into the green bucket and spread a line of sand, until the entire circle was enclosed. Next, he picked up a small broom, called a ak>mfomena (the greater than sign is a replacement for a Fanti letter that looks like a reversed “c” and is pronounced like an extra long and emphatic “o”.), and danced around the circle while the drums traced the rhythm of his steps. It was like a conversation between the priest’s feet and the drummers hands. The priest repeated his dance for five or so minutes and left the circle. A priestess then picked up the broom, bent over and whisked the air as she danced. This continued through out the night and early morning. Each participant danced the same dance repeatedly.
At times a young priest dressed in blood red robes that had been wrapped around his or her waste came into circle and danced him or herself into a trance. They would shout at the drummers in tongues, much like Pentecostals taken over by the spirit. The drummers would sing back in tongues and drum responses. Then these priests would perform the same dance as the others over and over in circles until someone had to force them out of the circle and rest. This went on for more eight hours straight. Dancers would replace dancers and drummers would replace drummers as each tired. The Bakatu Ceremony is more of a marathon in expressing devotion and tribute than anything else. At dawn the drums silenced. A priest took a bottle of gin and poured a libation on the now sacred ground. Everyone dispersed to find a place to rest. The official Bakatu, opening of the lagoon, would commence in just a few short hours. (Link for photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/labanhill/BakatuMidnightRites)
