Losing their shirts

Two women find that to see a fetish priest in Ghana, they have to bring a lot of money -- and take off their tops.

By Tanya Shaffer

Jun 4, 1998 | "You ladies have some small gift for the chief?"

I'd been preparing for this moment for the past eight months, ever since I'd read Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart" and learned the ceremonial role of the bitter kola nut in West African culture.

My English friend Katie and I were on our way to visit the Tongo Hills shrine, one of Ghana's few tourist attractions. We'd met as volunteers on a building project on the coast and discovered a mutual fascination with West African tradition. When we learned we'd need to offer gifts to a couple of local chiefs in order to gain permission to visit the famous shrine, I knew just the thing.

We'd finally located the pyramids of glistening nuts hidden behind tiny red chili peppers at the chaotic marketplace in Bolgatanga. Carefully, we'd wrapped them in banana leaves, tying them with a slim rope of braided vines.

"Kola nuts," I now proclaimed, loosening the knot, and the leaf opened outward like a flower.

We were in the village of Tongo, at the base of the hills. The walls of the chief's mud hut were lined with animal bones and skins. A framed photo of the chief shaking hands with Ghanaian president Jerry Rawlings graced the wall behind the low bench where the chief sat, draped from head to toe in indigo fabric. Heavy tribal scarring marked his wizened, papery cheeks, and his lively eyes danced with mischief. Two little boys about 4 years old sat on either side of the bench, and the interpreter, dressed in Western clothes, perched beside them on a tiny wooden stool.

Now the boys snickered, hiding their mouths with their hands.

The chief's interpreter chuckled uneasily. "Nobody brings the chief kola nuts. Even Jerry Rawlings," he indicated the photo, "brought some small money for the chief. It is not the chief himself. It is the elders. They will expect the chief to buy some pito to share. Otherwise they will say he has been greedy, and kept all for himself."

"American dollars are fine," he said very low. Then, glancing at Katie's pasty face and pressed bermuda shorts, "Or pounds sterling."

"How much in cedis?" I whispered.

He pursed his lips. "Whatever you want to give."

I pulled out a crumpled 500-cedi note and handed it to the interpreter, who smoothed it and presented it to the chief.

The chief grumbled a few words, then laughed abruptly.

"The chief wishes you a safe journey."

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