Art Worlds in Ghana

Outside the Artists Alliance

I met with the artists for selfish reasons, because I wanted to, because it was amazing to meet these creative people and see their work. Still, I used the opportunity to set up contacts for the JAC and ask the artists if they could help us out on our upcoming projects. Many of them said they would be happy to come work with the kids for a session – to teach them about art, and for the kids to see what it is like to be a professional artist. When we have an auction with the children’s work, it will help to be able to say that, say, Larry Otoo was involved.

It was these artists and institutions that gave me hope about the art world in Ghana. The art I saw was so vibrant and beautiful, so clearly full of talent, that it made me wonder why we don’t have more contemporary Ghanaian and African art in our museums and institutions. We have plenty of old carvings and artifacts, but where are the Larry Otoos and Kofi Setordji’s inside the MOMA or Metropolitan walls? Not to mention the African museum walls?

The artists I met with told me I have to advocate them when I go home, not realizing that just because I am American does not mean I have any real influence. I will do what I can to spread awareness of Ghanaian art in my small world, and maybe it will reach some big ears. I can hope.

I just read Holland Cotter’s review of the African Art Museum of the SMA Fathers in New Jersey, which is one of only three African museums in the country. Cotter is exuberant about the wooden carvings and masks, but rightfully points out that there is more to African art than this, even though it’s what we usually see in museums — there is also metalwork, and guess what, gold-weights too!

I could not help from shaking my head as I read the words. Where are the Ablade Glovers, the Wiz Kudowors? What about all the contemporary art and painting in Africa, where’s that? I plan on writing to the SFA to see what they think of my buddies over in Ghana.

I have a great collection of photos from the school and Environmentalism Day, but my camera memory card caught a virus so I can’t post any of my photos right now (don’t worry, they still exist). Anyway, here are some old photos for now to brighten up the page.

This was at a JAC recording session way back when. AfroQueen, one of the singers (in the pink dress), decided I was her best friend, so here we are. The men in the background are clearly amused.

Alfred had some fun taking pictures in the kitchen. This is the Indome, Ghana’s version of ramen but a little bit healthier?

Here I am with Euphemia’s grandma and friend Prospa.

Thank you Mom for compressing the photos for me. I don’t think photo compressing sites like Ghana’s slow internet.

Thursday, June 3

“One of the best-known rules throughout much of Africa, the Middle East, and Asia is avoidance of the use of the left hand. In Ghana, the left hand is used solely for holding one’s toilet paper, and nothing else… Never shake hands, point, gesture, eat, give, or receive with your left had.”

–Ghana, Culture Smart!, by Ian Utley

I went with Kelvin for my first meal in Ghana on the beautiful South La Beach (La short for Labadi), right around the corner for the JAC office. Kelvin was going to order me fried chicken and French fries, but I wanted to try something typically Ghanaian: tilapia and banku (a kind of sour ball of maize that you dip in stew or hot sauce. Unless, like me, you don’t like hot sauce).

Service in Ghana is often slow (things generally move more slowly here), but the food finally came: a glorious platter of a crisp brown tilapia fish, framed by a ball of doughy banku and a dollop of ketchup and hot sauce.

“Go ahead, eat,” Kelvin said.

“I’m just waiting for the waitress to bring silverware.”

Kelvin began to laugh. He explained that here, people eat with their hands.

“Oh, right! I read about that.” I looked down at the daunting whole fish and said to Kelvin, “You go first.”

He took a steaming bite of fish in his hands and showed me how it flaked off. He motioned for me to break off some of the maize.

I grabbed and bit and brought my fingers to my mouth, when Kelvin half-laughed, half-cried, “Not with your left hand!”

“Oh right, I read about that too! Sorry.” I quickly put the maize down.

I washed off my left hand in the bowl of water the waitress had brought. I ate the rest of the meal with my hand right hand only and kept my left on my lap.

Glad I made that first mistake with Kelvin and not someone else. Whoops.

Oh, and if you’re out to eat and the person you’re with pours a bit of their drink into their glass, swills it, then tosses it out onto the ground – it’s probably not a libation to the ancestors. They’re just cleaning their glass. (But they do offer libations sometimes! I’m not crazy.)

And if you exit the airport and men in suits and IDs ask you where you’re going, they’re not the taxi drivers who want to rip you off, they’re the officials who need to see your baggage stamp before you leave. The taxi drivers are over in the next room.

Also, don’t bother trying to buckle your seatbelt. Even if there’s a belt, there’s no buckle. (Mom, ignore this plz.)