The Updike Problem

The short story. Names like Updike and Cheever come to mind when I think of this non-commercial (well, except for Jhumpa Lahiri's work) but educational form. In college, we were encouraged to learn from our predecessors, masters of the form. I was immediately drawn to Updike and Cheever's "simpler" stories. I will define "simpler" as those stories that read light and have, for lack of a better word, simpler approaches: a visit from friends, a county fair, time at the pool/beach. Don't get me wrong, most of these stories end up tackling heavier themes, but the approach, the setting, the narration...they always come off to me as so simple.

Let's take one of Updike's stories as an example. In "Twin Beds in Rome," one of his Joan and Richard Maple stories, Updike writes about divorce in a manner that I only wish to emulate. During the course of the story, you forget you are reading about a couple in a very serious point in their lives. He makes you forget about the seriousness of the topic by placing the couple in Rome, on a soul searching journey of sort. And by having this option, he's able to lighten the story - because it just wouldn't make sense to have a too heavy story about an American couple in Rome.

Though I am here conducting research (and one may refer to me as a researcher), I am also a writer. Inevitably, I am going write. I am also going to think about writing. As I work on parts of a longer piece informed by my time here in Ghana, shorter pieces are forming themselves. I say forming themselves because sometimes I sit down to write portions of what I hope will fit into a larger piece - because I'd been inspired by the man I encountered at a dinner party, the one who prayed over his wine (more about him later) - and realize that the significance of that moment is better explored in a short story. I am already on my third short story, having completed one (I think). It is this third one that got me thinking, thinking so much that I believe it deserves time on this blog.

Consider these two (bear with me, I'm yet to edit these):

Parts of one of the three short stories:

It was Obi Nipa who had declared that on June 15th, 1985, Joshua Techi’s third wife, Aba, would die in the same manner the first two had. He’d warned that the course the impending death would take her on would begin at her happiest moment. Everyone had long since stopped listening to the medicine man because he’d wrongly predicted that the year Kwankyire had instead been infested with locusts would be one of great harvest . He’d made the bleak announcement of the upcoming death at dawn, as two drunkards headed home from Our Savior’s Drinking Spot. They’d both heard him, because of the gravity of what’d been said, they’d spread the word. Though their drunkenness was well known and should have weakened the potency of what they'd claimed to have heard, a fear of the possibility lit crackling chit-chatter. When Joshua had been notified, he’d blamed the outburst on the decision he’d made not to invite the old man to pour libation at his upcoming marriage ceremony. The rest had concurred; still harboring a faint concern, they’d continued to ignore the medicine man...

On a funereal morning in June marked by undisciplined call of crows, Kwankyire would bury Aba. The event – for which Joshua had prepared for in two days, disregarding the customary practice of weeks of preparation in anticipation of a well attended affair (as had occurred with his first wife’s funeral) – would lack the pomp they’d come to expect of the couple.

After a morning service that began at dawn and, because of the prescient preacher, ended promptly at 9 a.m., they converged for the burial. The trek from the lone Presbyterian Church building positioned in the center of town to the graveyard far removed in a cavalcade of wildflowers and shrubs paved way for some merciless discussion. The widower, flanked by unsettled mourners (because everyone was yet to make sense of Joshua’s misfortunes), had been overtaken by frailty. Six men, their bare chests dotted with sweat that sometimes drained into black cloths wrapped around their waists, processioned ahead with the coffin that Joshua had ordered to be designed to resemble a bud. At the first and subsequent hints of dissolve in Joshua’s composure, the parade, comprising much of the town’s young and old, slowed its pace. Noticing that he’d assumed the role of conductor he managed a timelier walk, as the journey could steal so much time.

Parts of the the most recent of the three:

George Osei, Head of Archives, would be having a dinner party that evening. Everyone had been invited, even the cantankerous Stella, with whom George had had an altercation over the appropriate place to file a surname like Vic-McDaniels. She’d deemed George’s suggestion nonsense: create a section, among the Ms, for all “Mc(s)” and alphabetize according to the preceding name. But would they encounter another surname like Vic-McDaniels in Ghana? She’d thought not. She’d agreed to a section for all “Mc(s),” but all alphabetizing would be done according to names that followed. After all, she knew a Veronica McAdams and her records could one day arrive at Ports and Harbors Archives. The ensuing back and forth, both participants unrelenting, ended when George emphasized the obvious – he’d been chosen as Head of Archives after Mr. Corqueye’s retirement. Though she’d been the rightful heir to the position – even the men at Ports and Harbors thought so –she’d been relegated to his subordinate after the recent retirement.

The most recent of the three is what I consider my attempt at a simpler story. What I have shared here is the opening paragraph. In my opinion, it is undeniably ridiculous - to fight over "Mc(s)?" Now, I'm going to ask you a question that many of my Writing Seminars professors liked to pose to their classes: after reading the first paragraph what do you think this story is going to be about...................

For a second, let us forget that I am the writer of this piece. If asked this question my answer would be that this story, only because of the foolish reason George and Stella quarrel, is going in one direction: George has a thing for Stella and instead of expressing his feelings he's returned to the sandbox, choosing to fight with her. To be honest, I haven't gone anywhere with this piece so even I don't know where it's headed. But what I do know is where I would like it to go. When Colson Whitehead (one of my favorites), the quite young and modern African American writer, author of The Intuitionist and John Henry Days, publshed Sag Harbor in 2009, he said in an interview: "Having written a string of books that were heavy on the ideas and social critique...I wanted to try something more modest and personal." Of this recent story, I say the same (sans the "personal" because all of my pieces are personal in some way), in the present. Compared to his previous work, Sag Harbor is a simpler story - he says modest - about a black teenager's summer vacation in a predominantly white town in the 1980s, think Nantucket. Yes, there are treatments of heavier themes like race and class, but the approach is simple.

I went into this recent story knowing exactly what I wanted to do, write a simple story, and the first paragraph would alert the reader of that goal. The first story I share is along the lines of what I'm used to writing - heavier stories. I wouldn't have chosen reincarnation as the topic of my research if that weren't the case. But why is that the case? Because as I have already said, I like Updike and Cheever's simpler stories much more than I like their heavier ones. So it's not because I don't like simpler stories; Sag Harbor is one of my favorite novels.

In my quest to write a simpler story, a la Updike, it has dawned on me that as a writer of West African fiction I may not have enough options; the simple story may just not be an option. After all, will the average West African couple on the brink of a divorce vacation in Rome in search of their souls?

George Osei is the fictional representation of Uncle George (he's not my uncle, I call him that as a sign of respect and familiarity), a real person I discussed in my first entry. He is my Richard Maple. I have become fascinated with Uncle George (as he is with me) during my time here. Uncle George was a family member's boss, let's call that family member Stella. During my first month here I visited him at his office. He'd asked me what I was in Ghana for so I told him. Not expecting Uncle George to become one of my favorite subjects, he confessed, for about an hour, about his experiences with reincarnation. Before I get into it, let me describe Uncle George. Uncle George is a member of Ghana's haves. He occupies a spacious office at the Headquarters of Ghana's largest insurance company. Whenever you visit his office, no matter who you are, you will have to face the wrath of his very well rehearsed secretary: Do you have an appointment with him? Who may I say is after him? Might I know what this is concerning? Well, let me see if he's available. She's damn good, she should be a telemarketer. If he weren't black, and Ghanaian, he'd be the perfect Updike protagonist - the well to do, educated, cosmopolitan man with a wife, kids, and a comfortable home. And Uncle George hosts dinner parties too! How Cosmopolitan! How Manhattan! Yes, how Updike! More on the dinner party later. But there's one major problem (apart from being black and Ghanaian) that disqualifies him, he may or may not be a reincarnation (in amalgamated form) of his dead siblings who came before him but died during, or not too long after birth.

According to Uncle George, his mother had had three children before him but each time the child died during or not too long after birth. Afraid that there'd been an uncoquerable (at least not on her own) force taking her children from her she sought assistance from a Bosom, a deity. The deity granted her a child (Uncle George), and informed her that he'd brought her three children back to her. But the force taking her children away was still too great and would want the children back. So there'd be some conditions: if she didn't want Uncle George to be taken away he'd have to be made wholly unattractive - he would not be able to cut his hair, a few marks would have to be made on his body, and he'd have to adopt the worst of names, Kwame Bonsam, translation, Kwame Satan. Ultimately, his unattractiveness would make him undesirable to the force. She concurred, and until his family was confident that he'd stay, Uncle George never cut his hair and his name stayed Kwame Bonsam; the marks on the other hand, remain.

In Uncle George I saw the Updike protagonist and my ticket to a simpler story. But when "Stella," my family member, heard of this history, she responded "...that is why he's such a bad person." According to her, anyone once named after Satan had no choice but to be a bad person. I might have rolled my eyes at this statement but it is this statement that has spurred the "Updike Problem." Oh, by the way, "Stella" and Uncle George still work for the same company but now at different departments...they got into it some time ago. But now that they are in different departments, they are cordial with each other. Writers, we never pass on good gossip!

What then happens to my simple story? What happens to the story about tension between coworkers because of an undisclosed love, and through this story, in the style of Updike, maybe comment on gender inequality, the confusion that foreigners create in Ghana and dangerous record keeping in the country? Will that story never materialize because if I really want to write accurate fiction I must recognize that no matter how much Ghanaian characters may fit an Updike mold on the surface, there's a heavier, less simple, backstory (like death and reincarnation) that might actually explain this tension, and might actually be the more accurate story.

It can be said that if I hadn't been conducting research on reincarnation I would have never known of Uncle George's past and the influence it may have on his present, making my simple story a possibility. Fair statement. But how "true" will the simple story then be. Though simple, the Updike stories I love are true manifestations of the lives of such people. For example, everytime Henry Bech appears in an Updike piece I can't help but see similarities between him and the fairly successful Jewish writer I know. I haven't even spent that much time with this writer but the little I know of him and Bech makes me think that he is Bech and Bech is him. And not to mention, Richard and Joan Maple could be several of the white couples in my neighborhood in California.

Naturally this question will come up (if it doesn't, it should): Are you then saying that you can't write a simple story, set in Ghana, about coworkers who constantly fight as a result of their inability to express their love for each other? Or for that matter, any simple story set in Ghana? And while you are at it, skillfully insert some social commentary? No, that is not what I am saying. It has been said though that you can't set a love story in Africa, but I don't know about that. What I am saying is that the more Cosmpolitan Ghanaians I have encountered, the ones who serve as inspiration for a realistic Ghanaian "simple" story, all have not so simple backgrounds.

Before I go on I think it is important that I make a point. It is the cosmopolitan crowd that offer opportunities for simpler stories - they are worldly, educated, comfortable, sophisticated, modern, etc. They are the ones a story like "Twin Beds in Rome" could be written about. Otherwise, we are left with the poor. The divide between the haves and have nots is so great that it has become evident to me that when writing an accurate story about Ghanaians I have only two options when it comes to a character's financial situation: able or unable. Forget middle class! A person is either able to live comfortably or unable to live comfortably in Ghana. I don't want to say rich or poor because though I would call those who are unable to live comfortably, poor, I don't know if I would call those who are able to, rich. And think about it...how can you write a simple story when your character is marked by a not so simple (but very heavy) characteristic: poverty. So when it comes to a simple story, count the poor out! The problem of poverty is so great that it infiltrates every aspect of a person's life. With the poor, everything could be said to be the result of poverty - a too serious situation for simple stories.

So other than Uncle George, what other proof do I have that the cosmopolitan crowd have not so simple backgrounds? Allow me tell you about the man who prayed over his wine. Uncle George hosted a dinner party for a few colleagues. I attended, with "Stella" in tow. Naturally, I was introduced to "everyone and their mother." As the guests did their colleaguing, I was left to people watch. Many of them caught my attention for one reason or another. But I was taken aback by the man who prayed over his wine before sipping; were we at church? Outside of church, it'd been the only place I had ever seen wine being prayed over. Surely I had seen people pray over their food; I pray over my food. But never wine. So I asked Stella after the party, and in Twi she responded: "Ne fie enye," literal translation, "His home is bad." The literal translation is not easily understood. Actually, this is a very esoteric saying, not all those who speak Twi will even understand what is meant by ne fie enye. For those of us who are in the know we know that whomever this is said about comes from a home destroyed by some kind of dark force, often witchcraft. According to Stella, death had been rampant in wine prayer's family - with the most recent being the death of his wife. Wine prayer, as a result, is a very cautious man who protects himself with prayer every chance he gets. How many Americans at a dinner party hosted by their colleaugue have this to worry about? And pray over the wine they've been served because of their bad homes?

Back to "Twin Beds." Let's say George and Stella are married and are on the brink of divorce. Would they take a trip to Rome to try to work out their problems? Probably not in real life; in fiction though anything is possible. But in accurate fiction about a cosmopolitan Ghanaian couple, it is unadvisable to place them in Rome when they are about to get a divorce. Forget simplicity, it is just too unbelievable. In Ghana, and this holds true for all ethnic groups, marriage is more than two people coming together; it is two families coming together. When divorce comes into play there's just no way to make it simple because all family members present at the traditional marriage (in most cases more important than the white wedding) take part in the divorce. One cannot simply take his or her spouse to another country for soul searching because the marriage is more than the two of them - it is the two of them and their parents and their siblings and their uncles and their aunts and their...And then there may be other things to consider - might witchcraft come into play? Might a background marked by dieties come into play?

One last time, let me play the devil's advocate by asking: Why be accurate? Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, athor of Half of a Yellow Sun and a Hopkins MFA (Writing Sems), has said that once, after one of her many talks, she was approached by a gentleman who expressed sympathy that all the men in Nigeria were abusers like a character in her book. She responded snidely, saying that she'd just read a novel called American Psycho and was also sorry that all the men in America were psychopaths. The man's comment is exactly why those who write about Africa must try to be accurate, especially those with a Western audience. In no way am I condoning what the man said to Adichie, only a fool takes a work of fiction to be a complete representation of a people he or she may not know much about. But the man's point is well taken because a Western audience is inevitably going to read a piece of foreign fiction with anthropological eyes. It's natural and understandable. As such writers, we must be attentive to this. This is not to say that I cannot write a story about an abusive husband because not all men in Ghana are abusive; it is to say that the story will have to make sense, in Ghanaian terms.

Wole, Wole, Wole.

On November 5th I attended the opening ceremony of the 20th Annual Conference of the Pan African Writers' Association (PAWA) in Accra. I was going for Wole,and Wole only. Yes, the other thinkers on the panel had inspired me at several junctures - Professor Francis Abiola Irele's (now at Harvard's department of African and African American studies) canonical writings on the African novel have been important educational tools for me - but when it comes to African literature there are two names that stand out. One is overdue for his Nobel Prize: Chinua Achebe. The other is the winner of the 1986 Nobel Prize in Literature: Wole Soyinka.

Like most African hosted events, the ceremony began much later than it was supposed to - an hour and a half later, to be exact. Everything that happens in "Sun, Sweat, and Marraige," a short story I wrote my sophomore year, happens because an event does not begin at the time it's supposed to. After reading the story, my colleagues were surprised that I was able to write an entire story on "lateness," and make it realistic. If only they knew that for me, writing about lateness is writing about daily life in Africa. Just like they were writing about their American realities - a Thanksgiving dinner gone wrong, a hapless 4th of July, or a summer trip to the shore - so was I writing about my African reality. In Ghana - and I can comfortably extend this to all of Africa - even some of the most enlightened citizens, like the organizers of the PAWA event, fall victim to what I can't help but deem an inherently African trait. I know there's probably a philosophical discussion that could be had on this - what does this penchant for delay mean? - but I'll leave that for later.

Not too long after it began, I think it was after the introductions and welcome speech, it all came to a halt. The power went out and they didn't have a generator on site. So we waited another 30 minutes as nobody could hear what was being said without the microphone, somewhat entertained by drumplay (I say somewhat because a lot of us were annoyed), for the power to return. And when the lights surrounding the cabana style stage came back on, the microphones decided they'd give out too. So for a while speakers spoke without being actually heard. All this probably sounds too ridiculous to be true but I couldn't make this up...I don't even think anyone would believe it in a fictional piece. But it happened, and it happened to the tune of groans. Miraculously, when Wole Soyinka rose for his remarks, the microphones decided to work.

At his age, over 70 years, I was impressed by his vigor. And then there's his hair, classic. His thesis was straightforward: Was the election of Barack Obama as President of the United States a sign of the end to the "vs." condition of human nature? Could we, Africans, finally give up on our "us" vs. "them" mentality? Before answering the question, he asked us to consider another: Did the collapse of the Berlin Wall bring forth an end to class warfare? Certainly not! So does that then mean that the election of Barack Obama will not bring an end to the deep rooted versus condition? Not exactly. What the election offered Africans was an opportunity for revisionism.

Soyinka reminded us of the iconic image of the little frightened black American girl being escorted to school by Southern guards at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. At the instant that photograph was taken (in the 1960s), a same photograph could have been taken of a young African girl in one of the many African countries ruled by dictators. Unfortunately for that little African girl, the same photograph could be taken of her daughter or granddaughter in present day Africa, in Zimbabwe maybe. Obama's ascension to the presidency does not bring an end to the versus condition; instead, the African is encountering the parallels between his life and that of the American. By virtue of his father's nationality, the African calls him (Obama) brother. From there, the African opens himself up to the possible likeness between his existence and that of the American. Because with his interest in Obama, he is naturally exposed to the struggles of not just African Americans, but of Jews, Muslims, The Japanese, The Indians, etc, and is compelled to revise his theory of "us vs. them." The result? There may be a new African on the horizon, one who may, just may, see "us" in "them."

Not forgetting his day job, Soyinka discussed the effect this gentle wave of revisionism is having on African writers. Truth is, there's nothing original about a narrative focusing on the crimes against Africa. Certainly not the ones focusing on the West's crimes against Africa. Today, no applause will be offered to the writer who simply revisits the themes of "Things Fall Apart" and "Death and the King's Horseman." But much of Africa's intellectual thought and production has been in reaction to these wrongs. Probably more than any other writers, African writers use their mediums to protest against these wrongs and advocate for a better Africa. So where does that leave today's African writers, especially those seeking prolificacy. Today's writer must not only recognize this "wave" brought on by Obama's election but also globalization's role in the emergence of this revisionist mentality. He or she must know that now, there are many nuances, delicacies, that will not allow Okwonkwo's (or a recreation of Okwonkwo) demise to come at the hands of Western control alone. Africa is now part of a wider world, today, Okwonkwo's demise - if still the result of some kind of association with the West - may have more to do with him and those who look like him that those who don't.

After the ceremony, I made my way into the VIP lounge. Let me be more accurate, I forced my way there and was able to introduce myself to Mr. Soyinka. Though we didn't talk for long, I appreciate the opportunity I had to sell myself to him as "the next great African writer." I think he thought I was crazy, but at least he smiled.

Meeting with Bishop

According to J.B. Danquah’s Akan Doctrine of God, the Akan tradition necessitates the “cleansing and refining of the inner nature in man through myriad lives…the return of a soul to earth is not like a condemned criminal to be hanged, but more like a little child ready to learn more and to do better…” But the majority of Christian denominations reject reincarnation. Christians refer to Hebrews 9:27, “Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment,” to debunk the idea of a return of the dead to this world. At my grandmother’s funeral in 2007, I witnessed the accommodation of two opposing views. It is in acknowledgement of the return of the dead, and upon that return a mission to do "better," that Akans bestow their wishes upon the dead. At the same time, a figure that represents opposition to reincarnation (a man of the Chrisitian God) plays a major role in Akan funerals because demands of a new order have to be met. If the Akan Doctrine stipulates that through reincarnation can man truly “...do better”, what are the implications of the peculiar duality of embracing and rejecting reincarnation? Through accurate fiction, informed by my research in Ghana, I hope to, if not answer, provoke readers into discussion.

Let me first define the Akan, something I have so far failed to properly do. The Akans are Twi speaking peoples, comprising of the Ashantis or Asantes (found in the Ashanti Region and the largest among this group), the Fantes (found in the Central Region), the Akuapim, the Kwahu, the Akyem (all found in the Eastern Region) and the Brong (found in the Brong Ahafo Region). Ghana has a total of 10 regions. Currently, you can find several Akans in Greater Accra, the region in which the capital city of Accra can be found.

The man in the picture is Bishop Akwasi Sarpong, the former Archbishop of Kumasi, the largest city in the Ashanti Region. Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana, with the largest being the capital, Accra. He is the author of "Ghana in Retrospect" and "Nobility Rites of the Akans," two books that have so far been very helpful to me. He's certainly aged, hence his current emeritus status. Of this man my grandfather says: "There's no greater scholar." We met on the night of October 26at his house, a beautiful home on a large compound that the church has purchased for him. The journey to his house was a bit challenging though. We had spoken on the telephone on two occasions and on both occassions Bishop had given me step by step directions to his house. But since he's "Bishop" (as everyone affectionately refers to him), I expected most people in Kumasi to know his whereabouts. For this reason, though I wrote down his step by step instructions, I did it casually, knowing that "everyone" would know where Bishop lives. I hope I'm not giving the impression that everyone in Kumasi is Catholic and that is why they all know who Bishop is. To the contrary, Kumasi is littered with all sects of Christianity - in no way is this an exaggeration, Kumasi truly is diverse on this front. Since each sect boasts large numbers of loyal parishioners, Bishop's popularity speaks volumes of the reach of his books, lectures, and in general, personality. Another reason why he's so popular in Kumasi (and in fact Ghana as a whole) is because two of the most popular Secondary Schools in Ghana, Opoku Ware Secondary School (all boys) and St. Louis Secondary School (all girls), are Catholic schools located in Kumasi. Bishop was for a very long time a staple at both institutions. He served as teacher, counselor, priest, father, grandfather, etc, to many of these students. In fact, when my aunt who currently lives in San Bernadino, CA, called me not too long ago to inquire about my research, she was very excited when I told her I would soon be meeting with Bishop. Having attended St. Louis she told me how wonderful he'd been to her and her other classmates, even giving her and other day students rides to school when he found them on the streets of Kumasi in their Louis uniforms.

Back to the trip to his house. I had allowed myself enough time for the trip, just in case. From my location at "Tech" (The Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology) to Bishop's home in the Opoku Ware area, I'd been told the trip would take about 30 mins. Knowing Ghana as well as I do, I knew 30 minutes could easily turn into an hour and a half, so that was the amount of time I allowed myself. When I entered the car, I informed the driver that I was on my way to Bishop Akwasi Sarpong's house. He didn't allow me to say anything further; instead, he exclaimed that he knew exactly where to take me. I was confident that the man knew exactly where to take me because after all, everyone knows where Bishop lives. It really was a roughly thirty minute trip. The driver dropped me off at at a house that had a sign board indicating that, yes, "this" was the Archbishop's home. When I entered, I stumbled upon a gardener who informed me that the Bishop was not home. I'd arrived about an hour before our meeting time so I wasn't too worried that he wasn't home. But after a 30 min wait, the garderner came up to me asking me "exactly" who I was after. I replied, "Bishop." After a quick back and forth, I elaborated: "Bishop Akwasi Sarpong." That was when he informed me that I was at the wrong place. Bishop Akwasi Sarpong, no longer the Archbishop, had moved from the Archbishop's residence. At that point, I understood why Bishop had stressed that I follow HIS directions. Thankfully, I immediately found a taxi driver who was willing to make the trip to Bishop Sarpong's house, according to his directions.

When I finally arrived at his very secluded home, I confessed to him that I had disobeyed him. I wish I had never informed him because he immediately gave me an unwanted yet warranted lecture on the importance of listening to the elderly - something I've noticed a lot of older people in Ghana love to do. I suppose they're attempting to regain the control that their old age is stripping from them. Seeking privacy, Bishop sought a secluded home when he retired. So, truth is that now, besides those who have to know, nobody knows where Bishop lives.

Our conversation was long and it covered several topics. What impressed me most about him was that he provided me with a wealth of information without referring to a single book. Bishop is a man who has been able to combine aspects of traditional Akan religion with Catholicism. He argues that there are more similarities between the two than differences. For example, the major role symbolism plays in both religions - Catholics' deference to stuatues of the Virgin Mary can be compared to the stock many practitioners of traditional African religion place in their religious symbols. Because of Bishop, Catholic churches in Ghana are known to be more in tune with indigenous religious practices than any other churches. Being a Catholic priest, and rising to the rank of Archbishop, Bishop in no way subscribes to the teachings of traditional Akan religion exclusively. What he has done is to find parallels between the two as to not completely encourage a disregard of tradition, because in all honesty, the traditional religion is the root of Akan culture.

On the question of reincarnation Bishop was very blunt: "There are no parallels." And as a Catholic Priest, he let me know that that was the one topic he could not and would not try to find a happy medium. In no way does Catholicism consider any possibility of the return of the dead to earth. The Akan religion on the other hand considers a myriad of possibilities. We went over these possibilities together. There are some, according to the religion, who are reincarnated and those who are not reincarnated. The place the dead goes to (for Christians/Catholics the options are Heaven and Hell), is known as Asamando. Those who can't go to Asamando are as follows: young people, those not married, the immature ( yet to fully taste life), bad people (murderers, rapists), and those who die bad deaths (like women who die during childbirth, those who die of leprosy, epilepsy, or a car accident). They are known as Samankywenkywen which literally translates as "Ghost, wait, wait." There are two categories of young people though who don't fit in this category: a young man who's between 12 to 14 may be accepted into Asamando because he could become a leader or chief among the dead and heroic young men may be accepted, especially if they die in the defense of the people. If unaccepted, he Samankywenkywen must come back to earth. They must come back specifically to right a wrong: for the young people the wrong is the inability to fully taste life, for the bad people the wrong is their evil act, and for those who die bad deaths the wrong is the unfairness of their death.

According to the Akan doctrine, there are also those who decide to come back and those who must come back. Akans believe that the soul, okra (which is also the Twi word for cat), is in existence long before it comes to this world in human form. And before birth, each soul has two destinies: nkrabea (what God tells the soul to do or what the soul tells God it wants to do) and hyebre (what the sould decides to do on his or her own without any participation from God, we can call this free will). If it's one's destiny to be reincarnated, that is if he or she must or decides to return to earth, he or she can and probably will return.

So is this coflict between Christian doctrine and Akan doctrine resolvable? According to Bishop, it's not. By his assessment, the Akans who subscribe to Christicanity/Catholicism (and there are many many many of them), either don't know this conflict (because it's never been brought up) or reject the Akan teachings on reincarnation if they know. After all, and this is one thing he said that really surprised me, there's nothing to come back for. I truly hope that is not the case. If reincarnation can be looked at through the lense of immigration (where death may be defined as the relinquishing of a Ghanaian identity and reincarnation may be defined as the embrace of a foreign identity), then is it true that Ghanaians who leave for more promising lives abroad believe that there's nothing to come back for? During the Kufuor government (which went out of power January 2009), there was a big push to encourage Ghanaian expats to return home. The government believed that during the expats' time abroad they had been exposed to greatness and that this exposure would make them crucial contributors in the country's journey to greatness. They wanted them to return home from "death" and do better. As a proud Ghanaian American I would like to think that there's something to come back for.

The scholars that I have read so far have made it very clear: traditional African religion is traditional African culture. You cannot separate the two, they inform each other. In his book, West African Traditional Religion, Kofi Asare Opoku writes:

"Africans are engaged in religion in whatever they do-whether it be farming, fishing or hunting; or simply eating, drinking or travelling. Religion gives meaning and significance to their lives, both in this world and the next. It is hence not an abstraction but a part of reality and everyday life. In other words, as Professor Idowu has so aptly put it, Africans are 'a people who in all things are religious.'"

It can be argued that because of the reach of Chrisitianity in Ghana and other African countries the so-called "religion" in which Africans engage in in whatever they do is Christianity. From my observations, I will not dispute this fact - Christianity is everywhere. But African tradition/religion - the words tradition and religion can be used interchangeably because African traditonal religion is not an abstraction but a way of life - is also everywhere. My research considers a place that this tradition is most alive: the Akan funeral. The Akan funeral (not including the event held one week after someone's death and the major celebration that takes place on the one year anniversary) is a three day affair - it begins on Friday and ends on Sunday. I have already discussed the major role played by pastors on the Saturday of the funeral. But on Friday evening, the body is sent to the family home of the deceased. There, in-laws present gifts that should be buried along with the deceased, the highlight of the evening's activities. Just before that evening's activities come to a close, some members of the deceased's family - a first born child, sisters, family members chosen as mmama (they prepare the deceased's body for laying in state) - gather around the body (stripped naked and lying on the floor) in a room closed to everyone else. There, tradition takes hold: libation is poured on the body, a few words are said over the body (some wishes, some grievances), and the body is bathed and prepared the for viewing. This is the practice of all Akans, Christian or non-Christian. So when Bishop suggests an ignorance and disregard on the part of the Akan Christian/Catholic when it comes to the topic of reincarnation, I find it difficult to just leave it at that. Because as has been so far cofirmed by some of my professors and family members, wishes are sent with the dead because Akans believe that the dead will see to its granting. Is the Akan then picking and choosing what he or she wants to believe? Or is he or she choosing to follow some traditional religious doctrine with a grain of salt because of the contest it poses?

This research is still in its early stages. One aspect of the research that I have come to appreciate so far is the interchangeability of the words religion and tradition when it comes to the African. At first, I was too focused on the abstraction of religion, complicating the study. Though it may seem like something small, it is comforting to know that my lense can be expanded.

Where did all the Vultures go?

I've been informed that there are no more vultures in Ghana. Because of witchcraft - that is, their suitability as vessels for witchcraft - all Ghanaian vultures have migrated out of the country. For if they'd continued to stay ... well, let's just say, they're better of wherever they are.

So, even the vultures are leaving.

When I arrived at Kotoka International Airport on September 9th, the customs officer asked for my "surname." My surname? "My last name?" "Yes, your last name." "Nnuro." "Innuro?" "Yes, Innuro." I had returned home to Ghana on several occassions; never had I felt like a lost boy returning home. This time, maybe because of my mindset - I was home to seek answers to questions that my foreign education had encouraged me to ask - I was a bit more sensitive. According to my short exchange with the customs officer, I had not only lost my Ghanaian grasp of the English language but had forgotten my own last name, excuse me, surname.

My first week and a half were filled with formalities. I made my way to every family member's home-those who are truly family (in the biological sense) and those who are not. The introductions went something like this: "...Papa Nnuro (the name commonly used for me) will be here for about a year...he has come to do some research at the university..." For what? The answer, up till now (and I am in my second month), escapes many. I have heard several variations of what I am in Ghana for, at times, I get confused myself. The answers vary not because I haven't properly explained what I am in Ghana to do - after all, the professors, pastors, reverends, bishops, holy people, etc., get it. I believe it's because beyond the few who make their living in the field of inquisition, nobody ever considers doing something like I'm doing. Not because they can't but because it's not feasible - financially, spiritually, and socially.

It is not financially feasible because Ghana is at a place where educational ambitions beyond the hard sciences and mathematics are considered excess. While a venture like mine may be thought noble, it is viewed as the perfect example of American excess. As one West African novelists aptly put it, and I paraphrase, Africans don't have the luxury to read a novel when there are so many other things to be done. What then could be thought of a research study, financed, in anticipation of a novel? It's excess I tell you, EXCESS!

As far as being spiritually unfeasible is concerned, the comment one of the many subjects I will be interviewing made about this project sums up why the "non-inquisitive" Ghanaians (what seems like 95% of the population) I have come in contact with would refrain from conducting a study like this. He said: Papa, don't get so wrapped up in this project that you get to a point where you end up saying that there is no [Christian] God. Ha! Therein lies the fear of many - that pestering their spiritual stance with possibly challenging thoughts would cause them to deny their Christian God (more on the man who made this comment later).

And finally, socially. Who in their right mind, Ghanaian or non-Ghanaian, wants to talk about reincarnation. Let alone talk about the possibility of betterment through reincarnation.

It's as if I have come to Ghana speaking a new language, a language that I want everyone I meet to be conversant in (because it will help my research). It is a language that most would rather refrain from speaking, especially since there are so many others to be spoken. Why talk about the subconscious conflict between the indigenous Akan religion and colonial Christianity when we could talk about the impending demise of the Ghana Cedi (the currency). I have come to the conclusion that I can't expect everyone to immediately get what I am here to do. I can't expect a proper introduction when I have come to this country speaking this rarely spoken language.

At the University of Ghana, Legon, I have met my language mates. The professors I have come in contact with have been wonderful. On my first day there, Professor A (I haven't received permission to use the names of my professors on this blog so from henceforth I will refer to each one as Professor ___, an alphabet representing the first letter of their last name, surname) of the Sociology Department took charge of me, driving me around the campus in his outdated yet strong BMW. He took me to the offices of a total of four professors. At each professor's office I received the proper introduction and welcome that I had been yearning for. Each fit the cliche: the overbusy college professor. They all made it clear that they were there to help, but that I was more or less on my own. No problem, I thought. Each gave me a list of books; by the end of the day I had amassed a total of fifteen.

I have grown quite fond of these professors and everyone of them deserves to be highlighted on this blog. And I'm sure by the end of my time here Professors Triple A (three have last names beginning with the letter A) and T will receive their due respect. Let me begin with one professor who I think should receive the initial introduction. One of my Professor As, is, in so many ways, the Ghanaian version of Noam Chomsky. This professor is yet to confirm that he subscribes to socialist ideology and he's at most, 55 yrs. But like Chomsky, he's a celebrated linguistics professor. Like Chomsky much of his writings have sought to challenge. Like Chomsky, he's a treat to listen to. And like Chomsky, his expertise are constantly sought during political and other "intellectual" discussions on televion and the radio. Once a week, he can be heard on Ghana's most popular radio station, Peace FM, as part of a political roundtable. I take much delight in telling people that Professor A is one of the professors with whom I'm working. I'm yet to ask him though if he's concerned about the rapid decline of Linguistics Departments on college campuses, an issue that for some unexplained reason I consider an interesting topic of discussion. Maybe when we get to know each other much better I could pose that question to him, until then I'll keep wondering.

On Monday (10/26), I will be sitting down with Bishop Akwasi Sarpong. Bishop Sarpong, now retired, was the Archbishop of Kumasi - the biggest city in the Ashanti Region of Ghana. Bishop Sarpong has written several books on Ghana, specifically, accounts on Akan traditions and religion. Of the fifteen books I have been assigned to read, four are by Mr. Sarpong. This is sure to be a treat. So I will be leaving for Kumasi, where Bishop Sarpong still lives, tomorrow morning. It is a 4 hr bus ride from Accra (the capital city of Ghana). I am very excited about the opportunity to speak with Bishop Sarpong but I am certainly not looking forward to the 4 hr. bus ride. I have to go to bed now but I know there are some topics I have left unaddressed; ie, the vultures and the man who made the comment about my losing my religion. That is the exciting thing about keeping a blog (and finally having reliable internet, oh Africa), you can leave things unaddressed - and hopefully keep the readers wanting more - because there's always a next time.

But a bit about the vultures - as a writer, I am always on the lookout for some intriguing symbolism. I have hypothesized before that my research may lead me to a story about immigration, maybe "the vultures" is where the story begins...