African Initiation by Louisa Calio

all rights reserved. African Initiation by Louisa Calio

Author third from left, with her Ghanaian family hosts

Part One: Ghanaian Festival

… Once again the Kwando family welcomed them. They had arrived auspiciously. “Tomorrow will be the most important Ga festival,” Kwame said. How privileged they felt when he spoke with the elders to get them permission to enter parts of the ritual normally excluded to outsiders.

“You’ll come to our most sacred ceremony in which the Unseen appears,” he continued in a whisper. “I may be a Christian, but I’m an African first, and the Unseen can never be ignored or trifled with. The Unseen represents our greatest fears, our blindness, addictions and the hour of our death. Its face is covered by raffia and Its body is shaded by a white powdery paste, because the Unseen has walked in two worlds: the world of the living and the world of the dead. The call of the drums is a warning to pay attention, because no one knows the hour of his death. Pay attention, they say, because what is unseen eventually becomes visible.”

“Kwame, you’re an African theologian!” Will exclaimed, truly impressed. “We’re so fortunate to have you with us,” Lucia added. Their remarks made him feel warm all over. It was inspiring to be appreciated and respected as an elder for his love of African religion and art. Most of his friends had laughed at his interests. They were westernized, into pop music and making money. They had called him “old man,” but now he felt proud to be like the ancestors rooted in knowledge and wisdom and ready to pass on the secrets of his traditions to any who demonstrated a sincere interest. He liked these new friends.

Tirelessly they watched hours of dance and ceremony under Africa’s hot sun. Later that afternoon, Kwame led them to a secluded area far from the festivities. On a deserted and dusty road, huge clay drums made the heaviest sounds they ever heard. Although there were spectators in ordinary dress who carried fruit drinks to watch, when “the Unseen one” appeared, their casual manner disappeared and they backed away in awe. The children present drew in closer to their parents, grabbing at their clothes and burying their faces behind their legs or in their skirts when It passed. Faceless and hidden under a flowing, long raffia headdress, the frightening specter approached slowly and deliberately. At first Will and Lucia had a million questions, but as the Unseen neared, they were consumed by the moment and the mystery, unable to utter a word until the ceremony ended.

Later that night, Ashneen and her husband, Ashtai, came to chat with their guests in the small house. Ashtai didn’t spend much time at home. He lived in a man’s world and was usually off to the country, inspecting farms for the Ministry or meeting his male friends in town to discuss politics. He showed little interest or participation in his family’s day to day activities. There seemed to be a distant respect between husband and wife, but Lucia sensed little warmth. Ashneen’s life was filled with work both for income and her children.

She told Will to take a long walk with her husband. Lucia continued to gaze long and hard at the elder standing under a full moon’s light in the doorway of the blue house: mother of ten, fit, beautiful, brown skinned with long tightly curled jet black hair. She wondered whether Ashneen was happy, lonely or contented with her life? Her cool, serene goddess-like demeanor made it difficult to know.

“You can come in now, Essie,” Ashneen called to the shadows and Essie popped out as if on cue.

“Lucia, we’re going to make you a woman tonight,” she said powerfully.

In this world, being made a woman didn’t happen by birth, age or menstruation alone. It was marked. What would it mean to be made a woman? Lucia felt both thrilled and afraid. She remembered parts of Africa practiced female circumcision. She’d never consent to that!

But more like a dancer led between two partners blindfolded.

“We blindfold you, because many times we walk the paths of life unseeing. It is only the Mother’s love and her moon’s light that illumines our night passages,” Ashneen explained before lifting her veil.

When Lucia opened her eyes, moon‑light had turned everyone and everything silvery‑blue. The women washed her hair and body from head to foot in the warm waters Essie had heated over the fire.

“Water is the Mother’s element. She revitalizes us through her ancient sources. That’s why we bathe you in water,” Ashneen continued.

Closing her eyes, Lucia let the water seep in deeply, cleansing beyond the skin. Essie’s gentle hands patted her dry and then lovingly wrapped her in a beautiful gold and red garment, a woman’s cloth, decorated with ancient symbols of the feminine.

“Let’s go inside, I’m going to pierce your ears,” the elder said with that same gentle but commanding voice. But the sudden fear of a bacterial infection in the tropics prompted Lucia to try to say no. “Maybe we’d better wait on that,” she ventured.

Ashneen’s manner reassured her. With needle, thread and banana skin backing, she went ahead painlessly puncturing her ear lobes. Hidden under a piece of red cloth was a pair of gold earrings shaped like Snakes, a gift from her initiator.

“These are to be worn for at least six months straight. The snakes are a symbol of the two currents of life: positive and negative. Wear them with awareness. Now unwrap your dress,” she directed.

Lucia began to sweat. Suspiciously searching the room for what could be next, she was pleasantly surprised by three rows of decorative white and red beads on the bed. Wrapping the beads ceremoniously around her hips, the women tied up all the ends.

“The color red stands for your life’s blood and the wound that bleeds monthly without killing a woman. White is for the waters of life and fertility. The beads will make you a wonderful lover for your husband,” Essie said.

“How do I take them off?”

“You don’t.”

Naked except for three strands of glass beads and a pair of gold earrings, she ingested her womanhood in a way she had longed to, in a way she wished she could have shared with her mother, sister and grandmothers. She felt proud to be linked to an ancient lineage of women.

“I’m sure all women did this once. Thank you,” she said, as a deluge of tears rolled down her face. She tried her best to hide them.

“Never be afraid to cry. We cry when the Earth-Mother is thirsty. You can call me Mother now and Essie Sister. You’re part of us forever,” Ashneen said.

Lucia sobbed, releasing a flood of emotions as they held and comforted her, sharing in the part of her womanhood that was sorrow.

The six month visit in Ghana had finally come to an end. Although it was the last night for sharing a supper or sitting by the fire to tell or listen to a story, no one could eat or find voice to speak. Only the sound of the crackling fire broke the heavy silence. Ashneen was away, but had promised to be back by morning. Ashtai had already left for the country. Only Kwame, Essie and the young children remained to sit out their final vigil.

The fire light made strange shapes and outlines on their faces reminding Lucia of African masks, but there was no doubt in her mind that Essie’s face was streaked with tears. She reached over and hugged her friend.

“Are you crying? You won’t miss us that much. We’ve been a lot of extra work for you.”

“Take me with you?” Essie blurted. “Take me and my baby? I’ll be a big help to you. You’ve seen how well I cook and sew. You work and need help.”

Lucia was surprised. She thought Essie was happy in Tasai. Then she thought about the void left by the death of her husband, the slim chances for a widow with a child to remarry, her limited economic opportunities, and she understood her pain. Had she not just left the experience of Philadelphia, she might have tried rescuing her. But she was more conscious of the complexities of rescuing another human being now. Instead, she gave her sister Essie a long hard embrace and promised to write. They both sobbed deeply.

“Stop this,” Kwame said, assuming the authority of the male elder in his father’s absence. “If anyone is going to America, it will be me.”

Lucia was hot with anger. The privileges of the old male world felt like porcupine quills on her sensitive skin. She saw Essie wilt before her, a crushed flower. She was ready to meet fire with fire. Yes, Essie was only a sister‑in‑law in a hierarchy where a woman had a low place to start, but how could he be so cruel! She hadn’t seen this part of Kwame before. She wanted to say something, but, as if he knew, Will gently squeezed her hand, whispering, “Stay cool.”

Atola stood up and broke the mood. “Let’s do our farewell dance and song,” she exclaimed. “We owe it to our guests, Kwame.”

The value of ritual was never more apparent. It helped them channel their feelings in a creative way. After a good work out Lucia felt different, remembering that Kwame was as much a captive of his role as Essie was of hers. The dance tired them enough for them to get a good night’s rest.

Suddenly Africa’s spell was broken. Lucia and Will found themselves looking forward to modern conveniences: flush toilets were never as appealing, hot showers anytime, accessible cool drinking water, elegant restaurants with air conditioning and smooth highways looked immensely inviting. Boarding the flight, they waved good‑bye to the Kwando family promising to write and meet Kwame when he arrived in America. As the 747 headed skyward, West Africa became a point of light on the horizon.

During the flight they overheard other travelers recounting their journeys.

“Africa, you can keep it,” exclaimed an attractive black woman in her twenties. Seated beside her a tall, slim man in a white shirt and tie tacitly agreed.

Will interrupted, curious to learn more. “Did I hear correctly? Are you saying you didn’t have a great time in Ghana?”

The couple looked at him with astonishment, their mouths agape. “Great time! You must be joking. We arrived on a charter with our group of high school teachers from Chicago three weeks ago. We were sent to the University of Accra for lodging. You’ve been to college, man, these people must be kidding! We stayed in a malaria infested dormitory without screens or glass on the windows, a bare mattress on the floor and no working bathroom! Half our group got sick with malaria and the other half sick from bad water.”

Will and Lucia were astonished. Had theirs been a charmed visit? Could the Nkisi have worked? Could Kwame be right? Does what we expect color our experience?  Kwame’s words came to mind, “Before any important act or decision pray to the ancestors for guidance and protection. What is visible comes first from the invisible. The gods were with you because you made a ritual asking for their protection and intervention.”

The couple had wondered how the two worlds of matter and spirit mixed or whether they had indeed made contact with the ancestors through Nkisi, but they knew it was more than luck that guided them to Kwame from the start, and they were grateful someone or something was watching over them.

From the unpublished novel,  Lucia Means Light

From the unpublished novel,  Lucia Means Light all rights reserved Louisa Calio

To be continued.