Music and Dancing in Ghana

Music and dance performances are primarily passive art forms for the entertainee, in most of my experience to date.  You’re either entertaining, or being entertained; there’s rarely much, if any, reversal of the roles within a performance.  The energy of the performance is on a one-way track from the performer to the audience, who absorbs it like so much dark matter; if the entertainer is good, and the crowd is right, the applause and/or cheers will reflect a fraction of that energy back to them.  But it’s hardly a perpetual motion machine.   

One of our evening cultural activities was a performance by a drumming group.  The first part of the evening went much as we’re used to; they drummed, we listened, they finished a set, we clapped, they performed a trick move or upped the intensity of their drumming, we politely clapped harder or cheered.  We understand this type of performance.  This was good.  Then the second half of the performance began - a circle formed, and one by one people drew themselves out to dance in the center of it.  We were part of that circle.  The Ghanaians wanted us to dance.  The Americans wanted to watch the entertainment the way we're used to - seated.  The gap between cultures was there, and felt like it grew wider and more disappointing at every change in performers. 

David bridged the gap for us.  The whitest white boy you’ve ever seen just popped up from his plastic chair and started hopping and spinning and jiving around the circle, like a pale octopus on a top.  It was energetic, it was uninhibited, and it was genuine.  The swell of enthusiastic cheers from the Ghanaians was genuine as well.  He was the best received dancer of the evening.  It wasn’t about his suave moves, or even his lack thereof; I don’t think what he did was half as important as the fact that he did something at all, with no reservations. 

You go, David. You. Go. 

I was caught on the cusp of going out to dance for the longest time.  Suspended between the persuasion to accept and embrace the invitation to this cultural experience and the equal and opposite persuasion to not make a fool of myself.  I never did quite muster the courage to go out into the circle on my own assertion.  But, fate or karma or whatever clearly didn’t intend to let me sit this one out.  My personalized invitation came in the form of a little boy who danced his thing in the center of the circle, then marched straight over to me, turned, and gave a little push with his fanny in my direction.  An undeniable “your move, lady”.  Well, it would definitely have been rude to decline …

I did the best I knew how to just shut down mentally and dance like the drums were telling my arms and legs what to do.  I don’t think it worked in its entirety, as I do have some recollection of what I was doing and thinking while I was out there.  I remember first trying to mimic the dancing of the other women I’d seen, which seemed well received.   When that got stale and I got the feeling I wasn’t quite done I just started flailing appendages.  Winding up my arms like windmills, running in place, jumping and spinning in a circle.  It was fun … in a manner of speaking.  I imagine if I did things like that more often I would come to enjoy the dancing itself; for this time,  I was satisfied to just survive the anxiety of an unrehearsed performance, something that scared me for no good reason.  I also got a high-five of approval from our team leader when the circle was over, so I must’ve done alright.  

The cameras missed my solo - but there is photographic evidence that I was out there, bopping about. 

It took awhile, but we finally got most of our volunteer force out and dancing.  Go us!

      
Several people had cameras, one or more may even have had video.  Fortunately (for me, at least) our performance was lighted by only a solitary street lamp and churned up a lot of dust, which made for pretty poor quality pictures.  Oh darn.   

This is what 90% of the photos from the evening look like.  I picked this one because you can still make out the Packer-Favre jersey one of the drummers was wearing.  Go Pack Go!