The Funeral

On Thursday our night watchman, Mohammad, invited us to attend a funeral with him. An elderly neighbour of his had passed away and the community was going to be holding a traditional Dagombe funeral celebration. In African Traditional Religion, funerals are a cause for celebration, particularly if you have passed away on the grounds of your own community and have bared a number of children to leave behind. It is believed that deceased ancestors will continue to be with the community, therefore it is important to give them a proper farewell in order to please them so they can return as a good spirit. Ayda and I were more than happy to have an opportunity to observe the celebration and we brought along two of our little next door neighbours to check it out.

The funeral took place at a mud hut community just north of Jiisonayilli and as we ventured over, there was no question we were headed in the right direction. We could hear gun shots, cow bells, drums, and people chanting from across the road. When we arrived we were greeted warmly by Mohammad and introduced to his wife and young son. We then joined the rest of the crowd to watch the “parade” of people conduct three circles around the deceased’s compound. Elderly men were decked out in their traditional clothing: a kente cloth smock, boots, and floppy velvet hats that look like a toque worn above the ear. Some rode on horses (which is interesting because we’ve never seen a horse in Tamale or in the fields), others danced and swung their smocks in a circular motion to the music. Younger men followed behind beating drums or shooting rifles into the air. The women danced among them all, shuffling their feet in something that resembles a two-step but with more lateral movement up top.

After the parade of people had circled the compound three times they performed three circles around an open area where the dancing would be taking place. Then the crowd began to split and three large circles were formed around various groups of drummers. In each circle people were approached individually by the drummers and beckoned to come show their moves in the middle. The crowd watched, moving to the music, and taking turns placing coins on the forehead of the dancers. My favourite dancer was a very short man wearing a big white smock and rose tinted glasses. He went out there moving slowly, tapping his boots and swinging his smock. He gradually began to move faster and faster, twisting his body to make his smock swoop in big circles, and flashing a big, contagious grin.

As dusk approached, a huge wind built up and we had to hurry back to get the girls home. The funeral celebrations were scheduled to break at 6pm for Muslim prayers and then continue all through the night until morning prayers the following day.

I awoke this morning trying to figure out why my ears felt like I’d been to a rock concert the night before, and then realized it was the gun shots ringing in my ears.