Memories

Chief Mourner

I was the chief mourner, a dove crying for my love, Cock Robin.

The school play was “Who Killed Cock Robin,” an ancient Nursery Rhyme from

the 17th Century. We acted this out so well parents enjoyed themselves. The tune

we used to sing the rhyme was  catchy and entertaining.

That was one of the only times I saw Daddy at a school event. He had to be there,

an Ashanti man coming to watch her eight year old daughter as the chief mourner.

Ashanti’s an Akan tribe from central Ghana, with their tradition of ‘celebrating

funerals as part of their social lives, would appreciate this re-enactment.

We were all clad in the exact traditional outfits, especially the chief mourner, dressed

as the widow all clad, in a black kaba and slit (Top and long skirt) with a black silk

scarf tied like a turban. We remember some images and events in our lives so clearly.

This school play was one of them. It was extremely enjoyable for many reasons.

Most Ghanaian tribes in general are the’ world’s best mourners’. As morbid as this

statement is, there is some truth in it. Like the play and like writing , we have a format,

structure, approach, purpose and a willing audience. Our teachers could be innovative

and added humor to the whole play.

Mourning is even more established these days. The format is totally transformed

making the structure of funerals even more elaborate and extravagant for all the

wrong reasons.

In my opinion they should be a solemn celebration of life, allowing the family to

see off a dear one with respect.