my drumming class was away at a funeral.

my teacher's senior-brother's wife is dead and you see her face on everyone's 'in loving memory' t-shirts and in the tears and in the dancing and in the singing. the first day in the afternoon is parades of men and women in reds and blacks dancing drumming singing down the street and you wouldnt know someone had died for all the joy and freedom in the way their bodies moved. later that night we join drum circles and dancing and stars stars stars. stars might be my favorite thing about Ghana. we sleep for two hours until the drums start again around midnight which means it's time for the all-night wake. we sit and listen to words in Ewe, understanding only 'amen' and 'hallelujah' and then music starts and everyone stands and they pull you in and old women old men young girls young boys take your hand and grab your waist and it's a mob of free movement free emotion sweat smiles. liberating. and all the while there is sobbing on the outskirts of celebration, those wiping tears, those wailing. and at first we are uncomfortable with such a dichotomy of emotion. dancing then crying, crying then dancing, happiness and sadness don't often exist in the harmony that i see this day. and i think this harmony was possible because of how truthfully these emotions were expressed. nobody is afraid of doing what they feel like doing when they feel like doing it--crying screaming laughing dancing--and at home we feel naked with such truthfulness because this means vulnerability. and sometimes you may want to scream your sadness to the world but you cant because nobody screams theirs. but here, someone will scream back.


grave-hopping. maybe more admirable than the aged traditions of flower-dropping.

his shirt read:
i'm not a bitch
i'm THE bitch
and it's MISS bitch to you