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Recollecting The Past: Sallah In The 1980s And 1990s

Feature Article Recollecting The Past: Sallah In The 1980s And 1990s
JUN 18, 2018 LISTEN

Growing up in Zongo has multiple blessings that are definitely unquantifiable. Quite often Zongo boys (and girls) are labeled, pigeonholed and pushed around as notorious and unconventional in their dealings. But there is always something I am proud of as a Zongo boy – the euphoria of Sallah. Considering how much change has affected Sallah since the turn of the twenty-first century, I will focus my attention on the last two decades of the twentieth century.

In the 1980s, Maamobi and Nima communities served as the hive of multiple activities that culminated in spontaneous joy anytime Azumi was approaching. From Islamic narrative, Azumi is very important, as it marked a period of 29 – 30 days for Muslims to devote many days unbroken to reflect over the Qur’an and also empathise with those on the fringes of society. While religious purity is emphasised, Azumi has a sociological significance. It marks the time for mending broken relations and making new friends. It also marks the occasion for some Muslims to offer special dua’a for deceased relatives and friends. In fact, Azumi is an occasion for the intersection of religio-social and humanitarian activities in Zongo communities.

Azumi affected Christians, too. In the period under consideration, most of us had no knowledge about religious differences, especially from the point of view of religious dogmas. We did not have many of the skirmishes that at some point threatened the unity in Islam in Ghana. We did not know about Ahlus-Sunnah -Tijaniyya tensions. Christian and Muslim children were barely conscious of the differences in the two missionary-oriented religions. During Azumi, Christians like Muslims would not eat much. And if they did, they had to do so it surreptitiously and in an obscure place in order not to ‘disturb’ the religious serenity of their Muslim neighbours.

As children, Azumi was the time to display precociousness in organising social events and childhood games. We the boys had a game that had its name connected to a song we sang any time the game was in session – Madandala. Madandala was a type of childhood game where we mimicked some domestic animals. We usually displayed our animal-like character in the night after the sun had set and Muslims had had their last prayer for the day. Both Christian and Muslim children participated in this game. We would move from house to house, singing, dancing, and in return were showered with coins. The high point of Madandala was the power imbued in the person who had symbolically transmogrified as an animal. The girls would definitely not come closer, as they were driven by fear to keep a distance.

And after 29 or 30 days fasting, Sallah was the most wanted visitor. In the last few days of Azumi, parents got busy getting new cloths and dresses for their children. It is interesting to note that, most Christian children would compel their parents to get them new clothes as well for Sallah. This, as I have alluded to, was because as children, we had a sense of communal ownership of Sallah. On the eve of Sallah, those young men who had dexterity for cycling – both motor bicycles and bicycles – would be preparing for Kashikashika. There was one particular young man in Maamobi, Soofo, who never ceased to amuse and charm spectators with his agility for cycling. He would hold his spectators spellbound as he lifted the front tyre of the motorcycle in the air, while the hind tyre remained on the ground. We called that style adege (adaga – to lift).

Much as Sallah has religious significance, in the 1980s and 90s, local ethnic chiefs in Zongo communities appropriated the occasion to the display and legitimize their political authority. They would ride horses from Independence Square to their respective political enclaves. And usually their ethnic men and women flanked them and sang praise songs in their honour. Sallah was the valve for ethnic and political mobilisation. As children the best of Sallah was when Junior Jesus himself joined the drama!

After Kashikashika, we the young boys would gather in a friend’s compound house to treat ourselves to special chinkafa and tuo chinkafa. It was the day we temporarily suspended tuo zaafi. It was almost as if most mothers and young women reserved their culinary skills for Sallah. And again, since most of us in Zongo hardly ate performed rice, which were by the way rare in the period I am writing about, we used to eat tu gyimi. It was only on festive occasions that we ate perfumed rice. Also, while we knew about so-called soft drinks, we usually had soft drinks on festive occasions. Those were the days when only rich men and women could consume soft drinks on non-festive days. But Sallah gave us the opportunity to demonstrate some opulence. We usually saved money towards Sallah. And so, the occasion affords us the time to manifest our bourgeois taste.

The Muslims in 1995, under the aegis of the national Chief Imam, Sheikh Osman Nuhu Sharubutu, prevailed over the Rawlings’s government to have two recognised holidays: Id Fitr (end of Ramadan) and Id Adhar (feast of sacrifice). This marked the cliff of Sallah. While we the children celebrated the parliamentary act that offered two national holidays to Muslims (certainly, we did not understand the nuances of the act, other than having uninterrupted Sallah), our primary school teachers were aggrieved. This was because they would no longer get fresh meat to eat on the day of Sallah. I remember very well that some of our teachers at Kotobabi Presbyterian Primary School (KPPS) - Accra, before 1995, would punish Muslim pupils for not reporting to school. As I have said, the idea was not because such pupils missed important lessons. The idea was because the teachers would miss meat. The trepidation of teachers was high during Buban Sallah. I knew some of my teachers who never antagonised Muslim pupils on the eve of Sallah.

There is so much to be written about Zongo before the twenty-first century, but for the sake of space, let me end it here. Special Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim friends, particularly Naidatu Hameed, Naidatu Abdul Karim, Sadia, Mother, Kende, Neemah, Kashifatu, Bashiru Shehu, Issaka Sulemana, Swala Salia, Mohammed Salia, Adamu, Aishatu Rufai, Ayi Musah, Mallamfa Faisal, Tamin Abu Salman (fellow of the Balls), Dr. Mustapha Mahama, Sister Rafa, Ishmael Qatari Shabaa, Mohammed Awal, Sister Laura, and Sister Serkina.

Allah ebamu sabon shaikara!
Satyagraha
Charles Prempeh ([email protected]), African University College of Communications.

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