Ghana’s two worlds at Xmas
Christmas is an occasion for merry-making and it is normally celebrated in grand style. This year, the Daily Graphic decided to reach out to our brothers and sisters in the hinterlands, who are often left out of the festivity in terms of media coverage, to find out how they also celebrate the occasion.
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And from the Dwarfs Island in the Eastern Region, Nzulezo in the Western Region, and the Witches Camp at Gambaga in the Northern Region, we bring our cherished readers an in-depth and exclusive coverage of Christmas celebration in those deprived communities.
Quiet Xmas on Dwarfs Island, By Kofi Yeboah / DWARFS ISLAND
The pomp and ceremony that normally characterises the celebration of Christmas was totally absent on the Dwarfs Island in the Afram Plains where many of the inhabitants celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ on a quiet note.
There were no Christmas church services, parties for children, beautiful dressing, fire crackers, balloons, Christmas decorations and fanfare to mark the occasion.
But for some intermittent Christmas carols played by Volta Star Radio in about a 30-second promo on small battery-powered radio sets, there was no sense of Christmas on the island, as the people lived their normal, secluded life.
For the inhabitants of two villages on the island (Alavanyo and Ekorvikope), Christmas was not on their minds at all because they were going through sad and solemn moments.
At Alavanyo, the people were in a state of mourning following the death of a relative a week earlier.
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The deceased, a young man, had fallen sick but he died just as his relatives prepared to rush him to Donkorkrom across the Volta Lake, about a two-hour journey for medical care.
At Ekorvikope, the inhabitants were still counting the cost of a bushfire that razed five houses on December 1, 2013 and abandoned them in the cold, harmattan weather.
Lack of access to healthcare and fire outbreaks are major causes of death on the Dwarfs Island.
Arrival on Dwarfs Island
As at the time of leaving Accra on Monday, December 23, 2013, the Christmas fever had gripped the national capital, with increased human and vehicular traffic, beautiful Christmas decorations adorning offices and homes, display all kinds of merchandise in shops and many more.
And travelling through Nsawam, Nkawkaw and Donkorkrom en route to the Dwarfs Island, the Christmas fever held sway, as the atmosphere in those towns was filled with similar pomp and ecstasy.
But when I arrived on the Dwarfs Island in the Afram Plains North District in the Eastern Region on Tuesday, December 24, 2013, it was a tale of two worlds.
The atmosphere on the island was in sharp contrast with the mood in Accra, Nsawam, Nkawkaw and Donkorkrom, the Afram Plains North District capital.
The island was dead as far as Christmas was concerned.
Villages on the island
There are 869 villages and an adult population (18+) of almost 1.7 million living on the Dwarfs Island.
Although I could not visit all of them, the atmosphere at Sinafukope (my base), Kosivikope, Alavanyo, Cidekope, Ekorvikope and a few others I managed to visit did not suggest Christmas was in the air.
Most of the inhabitants on the island hail from Battor in the Volta Region, and at the time of my visit, many of them were said to have travelled to their hometowns to celebrate Christmas.
Nevertheless, my hosts accorded me a warm reception that promptly flushed out from my memory the exciting Christmas atmosphere back in Accra and even the dreadful experience of crossing the Volta Lake on a small boat driven by a 9.5 horse power outboard motor.
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Generally, many of the boats use 45 and 50 horse power outboard motors for sailing on the lake.
The fascinating idea of spending Christmas in a typical village for the first time, much so on an island inhabited by dwarfs in the past, banished any fear that filled my thoughts.
Christmas Eve
Soon, night began to fall, as the sun gradually retired to bed. The darkness became thicker with each passing minute.
There is no electricity on the island!
A few battery-powered lamps available provided some faint beams.
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That was all the ‘electricity’ they had.
Under such circumstance, I craved for electricity supply from the Electricity Company of Ghana (ECG) even on a ‘dum sor, dum sor’ basis.
Back in Accra and other parts of the country, Christmas Eve is normally a special occasion characterised by fanfare to herald the birth of Jesus Christ.
But at Sinafukope, on the Dwarfs Island, we spent Christmas Eve chatting in the dark on the compound of my host, Kodzo Amegbanu, who is the regent of the village.
At about 10 p.m,, Mr Amegbanu, described as an astute hunter, dressed up for a hunting expedition.
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This time, he had a clear mission to accomplish, and that was to deliver a game for the celebration of Christmas the following day.
And barely three hours later, he returned home with the Christmas celebrant – a big grasscutter!
“This is a feat of real marksmanship,” I congratulated him.
But beyond celebrating his marksmanship, the real interest was the fact that he brought home my favourite bush meat.
Christmas day
By 8 a.m. on Christmas day, I was ushered to a laid table of well-massaged banku and sumptuous ‘akrantie’ soup.
Indeed, it was far better than the cholesterol-filled fried rice and chicken many people might have eaten in Accra and other cities on Christmas Day.
On my way to the Dwarfs Island, I carried along two packets of Cream Cracker biscuit and four mini bottles of Sprite soft drink for my personal consumption.
But on Christmas morning, I decided to surrender them to the children as Christmas gifts, and the excitement that token of a gift generated was very humbling.
In a matter of minutes, word had gone round and, I believe, all the children in the village, numbering about 40, had pounced upon the two packets of biscuit and four mini bottles of soft drink.
That was the only special thing they ate on Christmas day, apart from their normal local dishes.
If I had anticipated that, I would have bought more of the biscuits and drinks for them.
I felt so sorry I had not done enough.
But I had a lot more Christmas package for them – my favourite poem (Old Roger) and song (Kofi stays at home) in primary school.
It was difficult for them to learn but one boy, Godsway, demonstrated good aptitude by being able to recite the poem and sing the song to pick a cash prize at stake.
That short edutainment with the kids enlivened their day, although for a brief moment, as they returned to their normal lifestyle in the village.
Christmas meal
One Christmas tradition among the inhabitants of the Dwarfs Island is the slaughtering of an animal to prepare a feast for communal consumption.
That tradition was upheld by my host with the preparation of ‘dzokoli’ and a locally-bred and spiced chicken.
‘Dzokoli’ is prepared from corn dough like ‘gari foto’.
And when it was served hot with the spiced chicken, I could not restrain my hand, mouth and jaws from constant interaction.
The interesting thing to me though was not about how delicious the food tasted but the communal consumption of the food.
Every male adult in the village gathered around the food to eat. It was so beautiful.
Cultural display
Soon again, night had fallen and thick darkness had taken control.
But the children, led by Atsu, would not allow the thick darkness to suppress their joy on Christmas night, as they staged a beautiful cultural display.
The dance, song and drum were all enjoyable.
And as I sailed across the Volta Lake the following day, Boxing Day, on my way to Donkorkrom en route to Accra, I could still hear the melodious voices of the children and the drum beats from a long distance.
“Waaaooo! What a Christmas celebration on the Dwarfs Island!” I exclaimed.
X’mas with the 'witches' and Lordina's paradise on earth By Maxwell Akalaare Adombilla, WITCHES CAMP, GAMBAGA
It was the eve of Christmas, the period in which Christians all over the world would often wind-down their shopping escapades, book the church activities to attend, which friends and family members to visit and what gift to give to who, as they prepare for the annual celebration of the birth of Christ.
But mine was work as usual and the destination was the Gambaga Witches Camp in the East Mamprusi District in the Northern Region. The camp has over the past decades served as home-away-from-home for hundreds of women accused of witchcraft.
As I rushed out of my Kwashieman residence in Accra at around 5 a.m. on December 24 to start the unfamiliar journey, I was greeted by a lively atmosphere; the type that normally heralds planned celebrations and enjoyments in the national capital.
The number of vehicles on the road was unusually large compared to those I normally see during my occasional dawn exercises, while stores were hurriedly opened and Afehyia Pa, Merry Christmas or both expressions readily poured out of the mouths of people who were meeting for the first time on that day.
When I later zoomed pass Langbinsi in the East Mamprusi District in the Northern Region, my feeling of the mood across the country became clearer; there was happiness in the air and many people were well prepared to enjoy themselves with the little that they could lay hands on.
That was understandable because for a nation that came out intact from a tensely fought general election in 2012 only to spend eight months in 2013 deciding the winner in court, ending the year in unity could just be the biggest hamper that Ghanaians could give to themselves.
Yet, not all the over 25 million people in the country had the opportunity to appreciate and participate in this merry-making event with their families and loved ones.
Gambaga Witches Camp
At the Gambaga Witches Camp, where about 76 women of varied ages and cultures are seeking refuge for mere speculations of being witches, it was desolation, toiling for daily bread, suppression of anger against their accusers and the general battling for survival as usual.
"I know Christmas is tomorrow but I don't know what will happen. I haven't prepared for it yet," Madam Aishietu, who converted to Christianity some nine years ago, told the Daily Graphic on Christmas Eve.
Aishietu, who could not readily tell her age, has been at the camp since 2004. That was after she had suffered some few hefty slaps and escaped a death threat for an allegation her newly found neighbours in the flimsy circular huts have each been tainted with.
"They said I could see and that I killed one of the neighbour's sons. When I denied it, they chased me, beat me up and finally brought me to the Gambarana (Chief of Gambaga) for the rituals," Aishietu said with some pain in her voice while struggling to winnow her battered millet in the hazy harmattan.
As she juggled our impromptu conversation with her powdering of the millet and the subsequent winnowing, I realise her confusion in using some objects for the job she was doing, such as an arm-length wooden pestle, an oblong mortar, a calabash and two worn-out silver bowls of different sizes.
In some cases, she would pick one of them only to realise it was not the one she needed; she would then drop it and repeat same until her two shaky hands got hold of the right one.
Life in the camp, she said, was not too pleasant but it was better than staying in her village and getting killed.
In the course of the conversation, I got to know that her children, who she left behind in the village, have now settled in places she does not readily know, partly making occasions such as Christmas hustle and bustle days for the dark-coloured woman.
Rituals to determine a witch
Allegations of witchcraft in the country are medieval issues. In an article titled 'Independent spirits: the politics of policing anti-witchcraft movements in colonial Ghana, 1908-1927, the author, Natasha Gray, wrote of how chiefs presided over allegations of witchcrafts in the ancient day Fankyenko in the Akyem Abuakwa state.
The story has not changed to date. At Winkogo, where I come from, in the Talensi District in the Upper East Region, the chief occasionally presides over cases of witchcraft, mostly brought by a neighbour against a colleague over the death, sickness, impotence and barrenness of a family member.
In some cases, Naba Moses Komkisibugum Agazuah would be unable to reach an accord and as a result, refer the matter to the police.
In some parts of the country, particularly in the Northern Region, the story is slightly different. In this area, people accused of witchcraft, mostly women, are banished from their communities and sent to one of the six witches’ camps for cleansing.
Victims
But before one stays in the Gambaga Camp, as is the case with the Gnani, Kukuo, Kpatinga, Bonyase and Nabuli camps, the person is first sent to the Gambarana, who is the overlord of the fast developing Gambaga township, for prove of the allegation.
"When they come, I perform my rituals and consult with my gods to see if the person actually sees. After that, I cleanse the person and give her a place to live in the camp," the Gambarana, Chief Yahaha Wuni, said in Mampruli, the dialect of the Mamprusi people.
Twenty-year-old Hafisha (not her real name), who was alleged to have been the beneficiary of her mother's witchcraft, later recounted that the posture of a slaughtered cock was used to decide if indeed her mother was a witch.
"They said if she (Hafisha's mother) is aware, the fowl should lie supine and if she is not aware, the fowl should lie prostrate; like whatever the thing (the fowl) will do, that will show whether she is aware or not. They said that and then slaughtered the thing and through that, they said she is aware and all sort of things," Hafisha said, while struggling to holdback tears dripping from her pulpy eyes.
Since then, Hafisha has been forced to live in one of the huts with her accused mother while continuing with her secondary education.
As we concluded the conversation, she used a veil that was draped on her shoulders to wipe off the tears on her cheeks and that drew attention from the dozens of children who were anxiously waiting to feast on the Christmas buzz being readied under a nim tree.
Hafisha later told me she had aggregate 31 when she wrote the Basic Education Certificate Examination and yet she, her mother and some of her siblings are entering their second year in the camp for allegations that her mother removed a neighbour's son's brain and gave it to her; hence, her exceptional intelligence in school.
When I asked if she is intelligent, she pulled a deep sigh followed by "yes, but not that much."
Christmas surprise from First Lady
Unlike middle-aged Maymuna, a native of the Gambaga township, who hurriedly got some tomatoes, two ‘olonkas’ (tin) of long-grain rice and drips of oil at the market in the evening of December 24 in preparation for Christmas the following day, Fatimata Wundana, who is seven years old at the camp, had no idea what she will do for Christmas.
December 24 was as normal as any other day in the camp; she undertook some personal chores, prepared a local dish in her hut and when night came with the harsh harmattan cold, she rested her frail body on the mat, which is as braided as the floor itself.
In the morning of December 25, nothing looked special until a colleague alerted her of a meeting in their rectangular zinc-roofed building, which serves as a meeting ground, church auditorium, classrooms and offices for the 31-year-old coordinator of the camp, Mr Sampson Laar.
The walk to the meeting was at a snail’s pace. That was understandable, given that most of the women are spending their post-menopausal ages in the place.
As they sat on the wooden benches and cemented floor ready to listen, streams of smiles drip on their wrinkled cheeks. That was after they set eyes on the 15 bags of rice, five crates of minerals and some gallons of cooking oil parked in front of them.
After some few native gospel songs accompanied by some ‘old-lady’ moves, the camp coordinator announced the purpose of the gathering; the First Lady, Mrs Lordina Mahama, through the East Mamprusi District Assembly, has given them the items for Christmas celebration.
Before he concluded his remarks, hilarious praises and shouts of appreciation poured out from the otherwise quiet and calm women.
The sharing of the items was rather clumsy, as everyone wanted to be served first.
However, those who were first to pick the drinks waited impatiently for all to get theirs before they began to drink.
Many of them had to open the drinks with their teeth, leaving the elderly women in search of help from the younger ones, as they could not use their teeth to open it.
Entrenched perceptions and Lordina's paradise
Apart from the tainted image of the camp being a residence for 'witches,' the place, which is almost the size of a standard football pitch, is not different from the ordinary residences around.
It is within the town and just a few steps from the main road that connects the Walewale, Langbinsi, Gambaga and Nanlerigu townships.
Like those in the camps, most houses in those townships are thatched huts; there are street lights in some of the areas, yet not all households have light and access to water is a walking distance, depending on where one lives.
The idea of living in a witches’ camp makes Hafisha, the high school young woman accused of benefiting from her mother's witchcraft, and Mabel (not her real name), a graduate of high school, dread showing their mates and friends where they live.
As a result of such perception, many have advocated that the camp be closed down to, at least, prevent more accused witches from being sent there.
The Chief of Gambaga, like the DCE of the East Mamprusi District, Mr Adam Imoro, consider that view as lame.
"Unless otherwise all these people (in the camp) would've been dead because where they come from, if they accuse you and you don't run, they will kill you and no one will cough," Mr Imoro said, pointing to the camp as the safe refuge for such victims.
Fatimata, who escaped an attempt to slaughter her and her four children, said the camp would continue to be their residence until things change.
"I'm not a witch, yet they accused me of bewitching my brother's son. They even wanted to kill me; they beat me up, chased me with sticks and knives and my brother threatened to slaughter me by inflicting this wound on me," she recounted bitterly, while pointing to a smoothed scar on her mid-neck.
Her home, she said, is now a ‘no go place’ to her as the brother's wife has vowed to get her killed should she return.
Fatimata, however, admitted her current residence is not entirely befitting; hence, her happiness upon hearing news that the First Lady, Mrs Lordina Mahama, had cut the sod for the construction of a dormitory block for them.
The construction of the project, which is some 100 meters from the current camp, is progressing steadily, and when completed it will house four of the women in each room.
Utilities are to be provided and there will be a vocational centre for the women and their children to learn a trade.
The leader of the women, who is locally referred to as the Mangazia, later told me she and her colleagues could not wait to move into their prospective home.
"It will be a relief to us, more like a paradise to those of us here," Magajia Tachira Mutaru said in a rare lively voice.
But as I boarded a motorbike ready for my return trip, I wondered if the perception behind those living in the camp will change should the victims and the dozens of their children move into that paradise being prepared for them.
Celebrating Xmas in the middle of a lake: Tales from Nzulezo - By Seth J. Bokpe, NZULEZO
Rain fell like tiny teardrops from the dark sky, somewhere behind a bank of clouds lay the moon, too weak to cast a shadow on the blackish lake or the wooden structures on stilt.
Oblivious of the showers, a group of bare-chested and barefooted boys and girls run in circles, twisting and jumping to Fuse ODG’s hit song, Antenna, which is blaring from two giant speakers in front of a drinking spot.
A battle of fire crackers ensues as two groups of children throw the explosives at each other, occasionally jumping into the lake to escape the bang.
The whole scene is like a massive carnival without the crowd to rock it. It is 7 p.m. on Christmas eve at Nzulezo, Ghana’s ‘little Venice’ nestled in the heart of the Amazuri wetlands in the Jomoro District in the Western Region.
Life at Nzulezo
Life at Nzulezo cannot be described as rosy. There is no health facility. The sick and pregnant women have to be ferried between five and 10 kilometres to the nearest health facility at Eikwei. But first, they have to reach Beyin, the nearest town by the roadside, before travelling almost 30 minutes by road to Eikwe in the Nzema East District, also in the Western Region.
Women in their period are not allowed to wash down in the village. They leave the community early in the morning in their canoes to bath outside the Nzulezo vicinity.
The reason, Mr Erzoah said, was that it was a taboo for women in their menses to bath within the immediate environs of the community. The irony, however, is that the people urinate in to, bath and wash in the very water they drink.
“By age three, most of the children know how to swim. By seven years, they can catch fish.”
The only school on the ‘stilt island’ is a windowless primary school with only five teachers- the headmaster is the only trained teacher. His subordinates are five pupil teachers paid by the community.
For a community whose pupils, including 13-year old Kaku, could neither speak nor write English, the blackboard had some few Japanese words—a handiwork of a Japanese volunteer.
The History
Nzulezo’s history is one shrouded in mystery. The inhabitants claim their ancient village came into existence between the 14th and 15th century. They migrated from Mali after years of wars with the people of what is now present day Senegal. Led by a snail god, they hustled through the dry lands of Nzema before seeking refuge in their present settlement.
“If we leave here, an epidemic will break out and we’ll all die,” one of the villagers told me as we paddled through a rather small opening on the lake comically known as ‘monkey maternity’ because it was where a barrel of monkeys hang out.
Fascinating buildings
The most fascinating features that catch the eye at Nzulezo are the shanty wooden homes standing on wooden legs propped up by strong stilted pillars buried deep in the lake. Each house is built with bamboos, woods and roofed with aluminium and zinc sheets.
To keep the structures up, the stilts are regularly changed as soon as they begin to show signs of decay. The community is also partly on a dry land where there are toilet facilities for both visitors and inhabitants.
In all, there are 19 stilt blocks, each accommodating two or three rooms. This is home to some 450 or 500 people, depending on who you are talking to.
Here, apart from Multi TV dishes that keep the community linked to the dry land beyond the murky waters, telecommunication constantly suffers epileptic seizures. No telephone calls go through.
The houses within the village are linked to one another by a number of narrow walkways which enable residents and visitors to move easily from one end to the other.
With darkness enveloping the entire community, loud and spontaneous cheers exploded when the streetlights that cast their bright lights on the creaky floorboards serving as the only street in the community and the dance floor came on.
The streetlight gingered an instant azonto competition, forcing children who were helping their parents in the kitchen to abandon their chores to join the craze.
Older men beaming with smiles sat in groups emptying a pot of palm wine, while some of the women with the support of their daughters got busy in the kitchen preparing the night’s meal.
“Christmas celebration has just begun,” Daniel, the owner of the Home Stay Guest House, one of two lodges in the community, said while tightening screws on a speaker outside before moving it into his drinking spot.
In spite of its small size, Nzulezo boasts of six drinking spots and a restaurant under construction which is scheduled to be opened on December 28, 2013.
A dream of a man who only gave his name as Christian was the establishment of the most glamorous structure in the community, with fancy green roof to serve both local and international dishes.
By 10 p.m., the showers had ceased but the tempo of the celebration was gone although all six drinking spots increased the volumes of their speakers.
With the exception of one person who refused to go down easily, the remaining dancers had fallen asleep, their snores blending in cacophonic sounds.
The noisy firecracker-throwing children also succumbed to fatigue and were cuddled in the arms of their parents.
By 12 a.m., almost the entire community was asleep, but the music continued loud deep into the night until I surrendered to sleep myself.
Christmas Day
At 6 a.m. on Christmas Day, the loud music had been reduced to seasonal greetings read by a raspy-voice presenter Ahomka FM.
Everyday life for the many indigenes of Nzulezo centre around paddling and rowing through the murky waters of the Amanzuri – but this does not stop their commercial side.
By 8 a.m., the silence returned, women left in boats to sell locally made gin distilled by their men and cassava from their farms, returning with bread and other goods in the evening.
A huge can of tomato paste sat by an old lady who sold it in spoonful at 10 pesewas per portion.
Some of the men also take advantage of the tourists streaming in to sell their iconic carved canoes—a symbol of their triumph over the vast lake and the only means of transport.
Children took plates to buy rice and beans from a food vendor whose icy eyes did not encourage photography.
Rather sadly, the festive mood, the food and drinks, the conventional Christmas atmosphere had disappeared---a false hope from the activities of the night before.
No Xmas, no church
Between the two churches---the Nzulezo Christ the King Catholic Church and the Nzulezo Methodist Church, the latter was prepared for a Christmas service but the congregation was nowhere to be found.
Eight plastic chairs lined up in front of the pulpit in the fancy church built with plastic panelling, obviously standing out as the most elegant structure.
The Catholic Church, on the other hand, had a building that had seen better days, a single plastic chair was in the middle of the room.
“Most of the people who go to the church have either gone to the market or have travelled so it doesn’t look like there would be any church activity today,” 13-year-old Kaku told the Daily Graphic.
But for Francis Erzoah, the village historian and wood carver, the low key celebration of the birth of Christ was because “We don’t celebrate Christmas that much here. Ours is the New Year. If you come here during the New Year, you’ll be surprised.”
In the absence of the music, the food and the fanfare, children found solace in fishing just behind their houses—disentangling fish from nets that had been laid the night before.
“We don’t sell it. We use it at home. If we have a lot of it, my mother makes kako (dried salted fish) out of it,” Kwame said.
Asked what Christmas was about, he smiled, shook his head and mumbled something about Jesus before paddling away.