The town burned with liberation fever, and people flocked here from all over Africa. Journalists from around the world also arrived. They came out of curiosity, uncertainty, and even the fear growing in Europe’s capitals — what if Africa explodes, what if the blood of white men flows here, and, even, what if armies are formed, and then, supplied with weapons by the Soviets, attempt — in a gesture of hateful vengeance — to strike at Europe?
…
In the morning I bought the local newspaper, Ashanti Pioneer, and set out in search of its editorial offices. Experience teaches that one can learn more passing an hour in such an office than in a week of walking around to see various institutions and notables. And so it was this time.
In a small, shabby room, with a strange mix of odors, overly ripe mango and printer’s ink, I was greeted effusively by a cheerful, corpulent man, Kwesi Amu. “I am also a reporter!” he exclaimed by means of introduction, and as though he had been waiting for this visit for who knows how long.
The course and temperature of the first greeting are of utmost significance to the ultimate fate of a relationship, which is why people here set much store by the way they salute each other. It is essential to exhibit from the very beginning, from the very first second, enormous, primal joy and geniality. So, for starters, one extends one’s hand. But not in a formal manner, reticently, limply: just the opposite — a large, vigorous gesture, as if one’s intention were not so much to offer one’s hand as to tear the other’s off. If, however, the other manages to keep his hand, whole and in its proper place, it is because, understanding the ritual rules of the greeting, he has likewise executed the same broad, forceful gesture. Both of these extremities, bursting with tremendous energy, now meet halfway and, with a terrifying impact of collision, cancel out the two opposing forces. Simultaneously, as the hands are rushing toward each other, the two individuals share a prolonged cascade of loud laughter. It is meant to signify that each is happy to be meeting and warmly disposed to the other.
There ensues a long list of questions and answers, such as “How are you? Are you feeling well? How is your family? Are they all healthy? And your grandfather? And your grandmother? And your aunt? And your uncle?”—and so forth and so on, for families here are large with many branches. Custom dictates that each positive answer be offered with yet another torrent of loud and vibrant laughter, which in turn should elicit a similar or perhaps an even more homeric cascade from the one posing the questions.
You often see two (or more) people standing in the street and dissolving with laughter. It does not mean that they are telling each other jokes. They are simply saying hello. And if the laughter dies down, then either the act of greeting has come to an end and they will now move on to the substance of the conversation, or, simply, the newly met have fallen silent to allow their tired vocal cords a moment’s respite.
After completing the raucous and cheerful ritual, Kwesi and I started to talk about the Ashanti kingdom. The Ashanti resisted the British until the end of the nineteenth century, and really never fully capitulated to them. Even now, after independence, they hold themselves at a distance from Nkrumah and his supporters from the coast, whose culture they don’t value highly. They are closely attached to their extremely rich history, their traditions, beliefs, and laws.
In all of Africa, each larger social group has its own distinct culture, an original system of beliefs and customs, its own language and taboos, and all of this is immensely complicated, intricate, and mysterious. That is why anthropologists never spoke of “African culture,” or “African religion,” knowing that no such thing exists, and that the essence of Africa is its endless variety. They saw the culture of each people as a discrete world, unique, unrepeated. And they wrote accordingly: E. E. Evans-Pritchard published a monograph on the Nuer, M. Gluckman on the Zulu, G. T. Basden on the Ibo, and so on. Meantime, the unschooled European mind, inclined to rational reduction, to pigeonholing and simplification, readily pushes everything African into a single bag and is content with facile stereotypes.
“We believe,” Kwesi told me, “that man is composed of two elements. Blood, which he inherits from his mother, and spirit, donated by his father. The stronger of these components is blood, which is why the child belongs to the mother and her clan — not to the father. If the wife’s clan orders her to leave her husband and return to her native village, she takes all the children with her, for although the wife lives in her husband’s village and house, she is there really only as a guest. This possibility of returning to her clan gives the woman a place to go should her husband abandon her. She can also move out herself, should he prove to be a despot. But these are extreme situations; usually, the family is a strong and vibrant unit in which everyone has a traditionally assigned role and everyone understands his or her duties.
“The family is always large — several dozen people. The husband, the wife (or wives), the children, the cousins. The family gathers as frequently as possible and spends time together. Time spent communally is highly valued and accorded much respect. It is important to live together, or near one another: there are many tasks which can be accomplished only collectively — otherwise, there is no chance of surviving.
“The child is raised familialy, but as he grows, he sees that the borders of his social world extend further, that other families live nearby, and that these families together constitute the clan. A clan comprises all those who believe that they have a common ancestor. If I believe that you and I have an ancestor in common, then we belong to the same clan. Such a belief carries enormous consequences. For example, a man and a woman from the same clan are forbidden to have sexual relations. This is subject to the strongest possible taboo. In the past, parties violating it were both condemned to death. But even today it is a serious transgression, one that can anger the spirits of the ancestors and bring great misfortune down upon the clan.
“At the head of the clan stands the chief. He is chosen by a clan assembly, which is led by a council of elders. The elders are village chiefs, heads of individual clans, functionaries of all kinds. There can be several candidates and many rounds of voting, for the choice matters deeply: the position of chief is hugely important. From the moment of his selection, the chief becomes a holy person. Henceforth, he is not permitted to walk barefoot. Or to sit directly on the ground. One is not allowed to touch him or speak a bad word about him. One can tell from afar that a chief is coming — because of the open umbrella. A great chief has an enormous, decorative umbrella, held by a special servant; a lesser chief walks about with an ordinary umbrella purchased from an Arab in the marketplace.
“The clan chief has a function of the utmost significance. The central element of the Ashanti faith is the cult of ancestors. The clan comprises a great number of individuals, but we can see and meet only a small percentage of them — those that live on earth. The others — the majority — are ancestors who have partially departed, though in reality they still participate in our lives. They look at us, observe our behavior. They are everywhere, they see everything. They can help us, but they can also punish us. Bestow happiness upon us, or bring about our ruination. They decide everything. That is why maintaining good relations with the ancestors is a precondition for the welfare of the whole clan and of each and every one of us. And it is the chief who is responsible for the quality and closeness of these relations. He is the mediator and link between two integral parts of the clan: the world of the ancestors and the world of the living. It is he who communicates to the living the ancestors’ will and decision regarding any given matter, and it is he who pleads with them for forgiveness if the living have violated custom or law.