First of all, I’m Ewe. [Cue the exclamations of, “What?! I didn’t know!” Well, now you know. But if you’ve known kyɛɛ that I have a brother called Delali and have never connected the dots, that’s your own wahala.] I suppose part of the problem is that all the parts of my lineage that aren’t Ewe are Akan, and Twi-ification works as potently on the individual/familial level as it does on the country-wide/diaspora-wide level. The unfortunate dynamics allow Akan-ness to dominate. Being conscious of it is good, so that you can join me in the resistance.
I love the Volta Region. It feels like home, it brings me an irrational sense of calm, the Ewe that I can’t even speak is my favorite family of languages. Unfortunately, as of 2017, I hadn’t been to Volta for a while. I had also, thanks to several schedule conflicts and cancelled plans, never been to my family’s home village. Thinking about this some time in the last quarter of last year, I texted my father, and he and my grandfather coordinated this trip.
I was told we would depart at 6 am. I was up at 5. By 7:15, I was sitting outside with my eternally punctual grandfather, waiting for the rest of my family to finally be ready. Typical.
Our road trip party consisted of my grandfather, my parents, my brother, myself and our driver – a family friend from the very same village we were travelling to.
We could have just gone straight to Vakpo (which is where my family comes from) and back, but where’s the fun in that? Some of the juiciest parts of journeys don’t have much to do with the destination.
Our first proper stop was for the sake of my brother.
I think Delali, as of now, has dreams of becoming a professional footballer. When he heard of the Right to Dream Academy, he was highly intrigued and wanted to see it. We pitched it to our parents, and that’s how we ended up there. Even now, I’m not sure whether the academy is technically in the Volta Region or the Eastern Region. All I know is that it’s close to the Volta River, and it was on our way.
It turns out that Right to Dream looks a lot sexier on the website and in the pictures. (Doesn’t everything?) It was mildly impressive, nonetheless. The fields looked good, well maintained and functional. That last comment is a guess, since I know very little about football beyond the fact that Marcus Rashford is a gorgeous human being – but my brother seemed pleased with the training grounds.
The campus was devoid of students; school was out of session for the Christmas/New Year break, but if I had to guess, I’d say the school probably functions as every other Ghanaian school with a good/special reputation: the feces dey there, but you no really go see am unless you naa you dey the system inside. Outsiders get fed with the marketing schemes, the deceptive website pictures, and the pitches the faculty give to visitors on tour.
Our next important stop was Ho. It was my first time being in the capital of the Volta Region. We really only stopped for gas, snacks and paper plates, but I got unnecessarily excited because, hello, Ho! Honestly, the extent of my exploration of the city consisted of walking up and down Independence Avenue, looking for a shop that sold paper plates (we didn’t find one. The best we got was take-away bowls), but I did learn how to say a new phrase from one loud STC mate: “Kabakaba midzo!” It means “Hurry up, let’s go!” I may not have spelt that right, but I can say it as I heard it.
Side-note: the Harmattan was so much deeper there than it was in Accra.
Back in the car, my mother said she wanted to see if she could find some Ewe kente. To this, my grandfather responded something like, “Well, if you are this keen on sending yourself into debt…” and I laughed out loud.
The “joke” stopped being quite so funny when we got to a kente retail shop in Ho and the cheapest cloth I saw was GHC650.
The kente itself, however, was absolutely gorgeous. In the next part, I’m going to go deeper into the distinctiveness of Ewe kente and origin folklore, but for now, here’s a summary of thoughts I had: With the expensiveness of Ghana-made kente, is it not obvious that the only people who will be able to afford it are the highly affluent Ghanaians in high contact with Westernization, as well as Westerners themselves? The average Ghanaian doesn’t seem to me to have 650+ cedis to spend on a few yards of the same cloth they have the highest level of cultural rights to. Will these facts directly translate to the eventual owners of these garments of highly commercialized Ghanaian culture being the people for whom the cultural, spiritual and intellectual significance is least? Are weavers themselves wealthy? Is the business of producing these expensive products lucrative enough to make the participants of its production system affluent? Who’s benefiting (the most) from the kente industry? Why are my questions so winding, formal and academic-sounding? I’m so full of questions…