It was Sunday. The singing of the methodist faithful signaled that the service was nearing its close. Tomaz and I sat on our beds in anticipation. After the previous day's attempts today would be the day. The meeting with the Chief. He was the tribal and political leader of all of Ahtana West, and also an advisor to the president. We got our gifts together, two bottles of wine (one for the assemblyman and one for the chief) we had purchased in Accra. We waited for Emmanuel. He was exactly on time, and dressed up. After seeing him, I began to wonder if my flip-flops, dusty and yellow from the mud, were good enough. But it was time to go. We walked silently in the Ghanian heat, I clutched my bag with the bottles of wine, we turned toward the Methodist church. A well dressed, smiling man approached us, the pepsi can he was holding in his hand stood out. So this is the mysterious chief, was my first thought, by Tomaz's look I could tell he was thinking the same thing.
But it wasn't, the man, who was named Kofi, shook our hands and told us that he wasn't the Chief but the assemblyman (and the Mayor), and said that he would accompany us to the Chief. And so we went. We walked and walked as the Major greeted his constituents at every step.
We came to a house that looked similar to the others. Contrary to our expectations it did not stand out. The only modern conveniences that we could see were two TV's on the veranda and a few plastic chairs, which Emmanuel and the Major arranged into a straight line. One for Tomaž, one for me, and two for them. We sat. We sat in silence for a few minutes until a boy came up and said something to Emmanuel and Kofi which we couldn't understand, but we were able to understand his gestures: we were waiting for the Chief in the wrong place. And so our little proccession moved a little further into the courtyard. Some women sat on a long bamboo bench. A group of young men sat on another bench. And on a third bench sat an elderly man with his eyes closed. Emmanuel and the Mayor arranged the chairs in the same way as they had before, seating Tomaž and I in the middle. We sat in silence. After a few moments the Mayor rose and turned to the elderly man, who sat on the bamboo bench, and the Mayor began to address him with great reverence and seriousness. At first Tomaž and I didn't realize it was the Chief. We were expecting a very serious politician, but the Chief reminded us of the smiling Dali Lama. He was dressed in a blue short sleeved shirt and a colorful traditional skirt. He pleasently smiled at us and observed us.
The ancient tradition of chiefhood is present in many places in Western Africa. The Akana word for chief is »nana«. The expression »chief« was coined by Europeans during colonialism and, even though the translation isn't really the best, it has stuck. The position of Chief is both traditional and constitutional in Ghana. Because they are close to the people they are often a big help to politicians. The Chiefs of certain areas are even more politically active, serving in the house of Chiefs in Accra, and even acting as the Presidential advisors.
The man on the bamboo bench was Otumfuor Baidoo Bonso XV, the Chief of the entire region of Ahanta West. When the mayor finished his introduction he rose, stepped toward the chief, and with his left hand on his back, slowly and respectfully bowed. He signalled to us that we should do the same. We bowed, somewhat awkwardly :) After this ritual the Chief engaged us in a pleasent and friendly conversation. He was in a very good mood. He talked excitedly about soccer (Ghana had just won a big match), encouraged us to visit Cape Three Points (a beautiful penninsula between Dixcove and Princess Town), he gave us alot advice, wished us a long and happy marriage, and said that he would pour a libation in blessing of our marriage from the gift we brought him, he encouraged us to stay even longer, saying that he would be happy if we lived here for 80 years. We sat and talked for a few minutes, we gave the Mayor the wine which he then gave to the Chief. With this our visit ended. The Mayor gave the signal to leave. We rose and all went our own ways full of good impressions.
Bila je nedelja. Nekajurno petje metodističnih vernikov je naznanjalo bližajoči se konec nedeljske pobožnosti. S Tomažem sva v posebnem pričakovanju sedela na svojih posteljah. Po neuspelem poskusu prejšnjega dne, je končno prišel dan D. Srečanje s Chiefom. Nekakšnim plemenskim in političnim vodjem celotnega Ahtana West, ter celo predsednikovim sodelavcem, kot nama je bilo rečeno. Izza postelje sva vzela steklenici vina (eno za župana eno za Chiefa), ki sva ju za to priložnost kupila že v Accri. Pobrisala sva prah z njiju in čakala Emanuela. Bil je točen, pražnje oblečen. Ob njegovi brezhibni podobi sem sama malo dvomljivo pogledala svoje japonke, prašne, skorajda rumene od blata. A bil je čas za odhod. Skorajda brez besed smo hodili po ganski vročini, k sebi sem stiskala torbo z vinom, ko smo zavili proti metodistični cerkvi. Približeval se nam je urejen, nasmejan možakar, v oči je bila pločevinka Pepsija v njegovih rokah. No, to je torej ta skrivnostna oseba, je bila moja prva misel, isto je govoril tudi Tomažev pogled. A ni bil, možakar z imenom Kofi nama je stisnil roko in pridal da on ni Chief, da je župan, da pa gre z nami do njega. In smo šli. Kaj leži za vso to famo, sem premlevala sama pri sebi. Hodili smo in hodili, župan se je na vsakem koraku obregnil ob katerega od svojih vaščanov.
Prišli smo do hiše, ki ni bila nič kaj posebnega. Proti pričakovanjem sploh ni izstopala. Edini "moderni" dodatek sta bili dve televiziji na verandi, par plastičnih stolov, ki sta jih Emanuel ter župan zavzeto postavljala v ravno linijo. Enega za Tomaža, enega zame, ter dva za njiju. Usedli smo se. Tako v tišini smo sedeli nekaj minut, ko je prišel fant, katerega besed sicer nisva razumela, sva pa razumela gesto spremljevalcev, da Chiefa ne čakamo na pravem mestu. Tako se je celotna procesija premaknila nekaj metrov globlje v dvorišče. Tam so na veliki klopi iz bambusa sedele ženske, na drugi nekaj fantov, na tretji je miže sedel starejši možakar. Emanuel ter župan sta ponovila skrbno urejanje plastičnih stolov v ravno vrsto, naju s Tomažem sta posadila na sredo. Molče smo obsedeli. Čez nekaj trenutkov je župan vstal, se obrnil proti starčku, sedečem na bambusovi klopi, ter začel, sila resno, s svojim nagovorom. S Tomažem nama prvih nekaj trenutkov ni bilo nič jasno. Ves čas prisoten starček, takozvani Chief, ni v ničemer ustrezal najinim prvotnim predstavam. Pričakovala sva namreč resnega politika, busujski Chief pa me je še najbolj spominjal na smejočega Dalajlamo! :) Oblečen je bil v modro majco s kratkimi rokavi ter dolgo, barvno tradicionalno krilo. Smeje si naju je ogledoval.
Starodavna tradicija chiefov je razširjena v številnih delih zahodne Afrike. Akanska beseda zanj je "nana". Izraz Chief so vpeljali Evropejci v času kolonializma in čeprav prevod ni najbolj posrečen, se je prijel. Položaj Chiefa je tudi formalno priznan. Ker je bližje ljudem, je pogosto v veliko pomoč politikom. Chiefi posameznih območij pa so tudi direktno politično aktivni - so člani National House of Chiefs v Accri in celo predsednikovi svetovalci.
Možakar na bambusovi klopi je bil Otumfuor Baidoo Bonso XV., chief celotne regije Ahanta West. Ko je župan zaključil z njegovo predstavitvijo je vstal, stopil proti njemu, se počasi, z levo roko prislonjeno na hrbet, spoštljivo poklonil. Pomignil nama je, naj posnemava njegovo dejanje. Nerodno sva se priklonila:). Temu svečanemu obredu je sledil zanimiv pogovor. Chief je bil zelo dobro razpoložen. Z navdušenjem je govoril o nogometu, nama predlagal obisk Cape Three Pointsa (po njegovih besedah čudovit polotok med Dixcove in Princess Town), dal številne napotke, nama zaželel dolgo zakonsko srečo, ter dodal, da naj živiva v Busui vsaj 80 let! :) Nekaj minut smo še obsedeli, županu sva izročila steklenico vina, ki jo je prav pesniško opel preden jo je Chiefu izročil. S tem se je obisk zaključil. Župan nama je pomignil da gremo. Vstali smo torej, ter polni vtisov odšli vsak svojo pot.
Sonja
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