Women's Day at the Cape Coast Festival

The 47th Oguaa Fetu Afahye, or Cape Coast Festival, is underway. The Cape Coast Festival is one of two main festivals in the central region of Ghana, the other being the Panafest every other year. People from every nook and cranny of West Africa drive or fly in to Cape Coast for the first week of September to celebrate Oguaa Fetu Afahye. And Cape Coast's residents are all about it too - mere acquaintances were asking me in July if I was excited for the festival, which was a month and a half away.

August 27th to August 31st was comprised of fundraising, communal labor, harvest presentation, a choral concert, Youth Day, Akoms Night and Bakatue/Regatta. I was busy at work those days and wasn't able to make it to any of those events. Plus, I was told the fun really starts in September.

Today I finally managed to duck out of work for a few hours to attend a ceremony for the Women's Day. The official festival program states that it was 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. The NGO I work for only has two volunteers right now, and we had planned to meet up around 1 p.m. at Ato Austin Garden for the event. One of the volunteers, Lauren, was in the village Jukwa teaching women basic health issues and ended up waiting 2.5 hours for a tro-tro after she was done. The ceremony stopped about an hour short of the projected time, so she missed it. The other volunteer Danielle couldn't make it either because she had to go to class at the University of Cape Coast. My boss, Kirsty, was hanging out with her parents who are in town, so I ended up going alone.

Before setting out, I asked Lawrence where to find Ato Austin Garden. Lawrence is our full-time Ghanaian staff member who works as a Volunteer Coordinator. Lawrence knows everyone and everything about Cape Coast.

"Do you know where the Heritage House is?"
"No."
"Do you know where the First National Bank is?
"No."
"You know Kingsway."
I nodded.
"The First National Bank is up the street from Melcom (our mini Target). Go up to the street and it's opposite First National Bank."

There are no addresses or street signs in Cape Coast. We go by landmarks.

I got a shared taxi for 50 pesewas into town at the Kingsway drop-off, which took a lot longer than usual because of all the people in town for the festival. I walked up to the First National Bank, crossed the street and stopped. I was looking for a crowd of people and was listening for music and saw and heard neither. I went over to an umbrellaed stand with three men standing at a booth selling something, phone credit probably, and asked them where Ato Austin Garden was. One of the three knew and pointed me to behind the building they were parked in front of, and then proceeded to ask me if I was going to Kakum. It so happens that I've been to Kakum National Park twice since mid-July. I get asked "You go to Kakum?" and "You been to the castle yet?" at least twice a week. It's funny to me that so many Ghanaians assume obronis are in Cape Coast only to see the slave castle and Kakum. No man, I just asked you where Ato Austin Garden is, not Kakum. I care about the major social issues in your country - I'm not a damn tourist.

I walked past the building and saw four colored tents lined up in a row shading about 75 seated women. My entrance from that side would have been too grand, so I walked down the hill and went to the gate on the side. Three small girls with baskets on their heads were standing at the gate peering in. When they saw me approaching, their curiosity quickly transformed into: "50 pesewas for one orange," recited like a destitute prayer, and I didn't hear the others because I shook my head and told them I wasn't hungry. Two of them left, but one lingered and asked me again if I wanted her pastry for 30 pesewas. I smiled and told her they look good but I'm not hungry. She smiled back and ambled away.

Still at the gate, I turned my attention back to the program. I had expected there to be a couple white faces in the crowd, thinking the Women's Day would have drawn in NGO volunteers, but there were none. My eyes settled on a woman who I felt had been staring at me since I'd gotten to the gate. She was sitting on the edge of the tent closest to the gate. She motioned for me to come over and pointed to the open chair behind her.

I would have eventually walked through the open gate and found a seat myself, but I was more than grateful for the invitation. Yes, I am a woman, but the festival is a Ghanaian festival honoring Ghanaian women. I wanted to attract as little attention to myself as possible.

As I entered the scene from the side and walked to my seat, I was reminded I could never attract little attention to myself as a white blonde 20-something in Ghana. Nearly every head in the crowd turned toward me, including the MC. I smiled at the woman who had invited me, whispered "thank you...medaase" and sat. Ghanaians always smile happily when I tell them "medaase." Lawrence explained that they see it as an honor that we've willingly left our country of riches to be in Ghana. Similarly, they love when foreigners make an effort to speak the native language, which works out well because I enjoy surprising them with the little Fante I know. (I think I like surprising people with what I know in general.) Speaking Fante with Ghanaians whenever possible is my way of thanking them for giving me this beautiful country to live in and to serve. It's the bottle of wine I would bring to a dinner party I was invited to.

I was on the outer edge of the far right of the crowd, but I could see everything I needed to see. There were about 20 male and female government officials sitting in the shade of a tree behind the tents, five men over the right shoulder of the MC working the sound system and a tent of 15 drummers and dancers over the MC's left shoulder. The MC was speaking in Fante, but I was hoping it was just his personal preference and the next person he would pass the mic to would opt to speak in English. After about five minutes he introduced an older woman who was sitting at a center table in front of the first row of chairs. She was a bigger woman with glasses, a bright gold turban and well-tailored and elaborate bright gold dress and draped shell necklace. In fact, everyone was dressed beautifully. These women I was surrounded by were in their 40s or older and seemed well-established, not to mention forward-thinking for attending an event dedicated to them when historically, Ghana and most other African countries have not been known for paying tribute to their women.

This woman turned out to prefer speaking in Fante as well. About a minute into her speech, a lady a few seats to my left and back a row got my attention and motioned for me to sit closer to her. With the help of the lady next to her she was switching the apparently less comfortable white chair with the red chair next to it. She patted the top of it and nodded at me to sit. I thanked them, thinking they had offered me this seat because it was closer to the action, but then the lady on the right said, "I want to tell you what she is saying. You don't understand any of this, do you?" I smiled and shook my head, "No, I don't." I was grinning like an idiot at her kindness.

The first thing my new friend Cecilia told me was that this woman was the grandmother of the Cape Coast community and is speaking on behalf of all the women of the area. Cecilia said the grandmother is happy with this new tradition of having a day dedicated to women during the Oguaa Fetu Afahye. She wants to continue with this tradition each year and wants there to be so many in attendance that the entire Ato Austin Garden would be filled to the edges with people.

Cecilia leaned forward and softly translated for me about every five minutes throughout the rest of the two-hour program. The grandmother discussed the Ghanaian woman's rites of passage through courting, marriage, child birth and old age. Throughout her near-hour speech, I switched my attention between the little man in the festive pants and vest with no shirt underneath and the canary yellow umbrella pole in his hands, his arms almost fully extended directly out from his chest. How did he manage to hold it steady for almost an hour? I imagined what a funny scene it'd be if his arms suddenly gave out and the umbrella collapsed on him and the grandmother.

The next part of the program was an open mic session for the audience. A couple women gave a semi-brief speech about random subjects regarding women. For example, a lady from a bank in Kumasi told us the importance of the woman being the one in the family in charge of saving.

Next thing I knew, I heard the MC say the word, "obroni." Obroni is the nonderogative term Ghanaians use for "foreigner." I knew he was talking about me, as I was still the only white person in the arena. Yep, all eyes now on me. I was leaning on the right side of my chair and became aware that I was scratching my face in a way that probably looked like I was raising my hand. I looked back at Cecilia and she was laughing with the other lady, Francis. Then, to my great pleasure, the MC turned away from me and continued rattling off something in Fante.

I leaned back in my chair toward Cecilia and she asked, "Did you have anything to say or do you have any questions?"
"About.. women? Not right now, no."
"He thought you were raising your hand."
"Oh, no. I didn't mean to."
Then Francis tapped my shoulder and said loudly, "You should say something!"
Cecilia nodded and said, "You should."

I turned around in my seat to see both of them. It seemed to be more than a lighthearted suggestion.

"Well, I guess I could find something to say. Let me think for a bit."
"You should say something!" Francis said again.

Then we listened to another woman who had been living in Cuba for the past 20 years but emphasized several times that she is a Ghanaian. She led a prayer dedicated to the women and the success of the remainder of the festival and the success of next year's Women's Day at the festival.

I was working out what I'd say if I had to talk. All I could think of was this book I started to read called "Half the Sky" and what it means to be a Ghanaian woman. All of a sudden, Francis was waving her hand above her head and grabbed my arm with her free hand and thrust it into the air. "She will speak next!" she told the MC. I looked back at Cecilia for an out, but she was smiling.

It was quiet while I was making my way up to the MC, which felt neither good nor bad. He handed me the mic and answered his ringing cellphone as he walked to the right of the tents. I smiled at the group of dignified and vibrant women sitting before me and said, "Hello. My name is Michaela. Ekuwa." They smiled and laughed lightly at my mentioning of my Ghanaian name. When obronis speak in Fante or use their Ghanaian names while talking to Ghanaians, it's like we're playing a chord on the guitar for them when they're not expecting us to be musically inclined.

The rest of my speech went something like this:
"And I'm from the U.S. I want to thank you for sharing this special day with an outsider. Although I am a woman, I am not a Ghanaian woman. I've worked with women in America, Peru and now Ghana, and I must say Ghanaian women are the strongest of all. They are strong in their outlook on life, they are strong in their words, strong in their actions, strong in their love, strong in their hope and strong in their faith. There is a Chinese proverb that says, 'Women hold up half the sky.' I believe this is true. And some days, in Ghana, the women hold up more than half the sky. Happy Women's Day."

I'm such a cheese ball. A respectful applause followed and I handed the mic to the MC who shook my hand and snapped my middle finger and said, "Medaase, Ekuwa. Ekuwa? Wednesday born?" "Yes, Ekuwa," I told him and went back to my seat. Cecilia and Francis were still clapping when I got there. The program resumed but it seemed to be drawing to an end. A woman carrying a box offered my row water sachets and before I could grab one, Cecilia dug out from her purse a bottled water and put it in my hands.

I felt happy yet undeserving of such good treatment by a small society that I didn't entirely belong to. But as I thought about it more, it is my society. It's going to be my society for the next couple years or however long I stay in Ghana. I am truly looking forward to making the most of it.