Our Culture, Our Heritage

“It is a dangerous time to be outside, I won't advise you to be part of it”, these were the words of a friend upon enquiries about the annual bugum (fire) festival of the Dagombas, Mamprusis, Nanumbas and Gonjas in Northern Ghana; my curious self was itching to witness the event first hand later in the evening in Tamale; as a first-timer, I had to seek some advice before trooping to the nearby festival grounds.

The advice given by my friend nearly deterred me from witnessing the proceedings later that night, but the sounds of the drums and music from afar were too enticing for my curious self to stay indoors, I had to make my way there. As if I was in a race, I paced off to the nearest chief palace to witness the fire festival, luckily I was on time, the search team had not left; lo and behold, they came out wielding lit straw torches, clad in traditional smocks and singing out war songs as they marched towards the “forest” in search of the kings son, I fell in love with music, the scenery and the sight of women and children happily singing and cheering on as the search party gradually went past them; “it isn't as dangerous as I had been told” I spoke to myself.

As a first timer however, I opted to stay behind and await the arrival of the search party. Not far from me was a young native spectating as I was, I drew closer and struck friendship with him in a bid to learn more about what I was witnessing, he was accommodating and opened up to me easily; In the first of my series of questions I asked why the festival was celebrated, he mentioned it is celebrated by the Dagombas,Nanumbas, Gonjas and Mamprusis in the Northern region of Ghana, history has it that a king once lost his son and he could not be traced after sunset, he organized a search party (they lit torches on their search journey to the forest) for the boy, and was eventually found asleep under a tree in the forest; searchers disposed the remains of the straw torches beneath the tree and returned with the prince alongside cut leaves of the tree to the king. It was subsequently decreed that the festival be celebrated yearly to commemorate this event.

He added that on fire festival days, natives close early from work to prepare for the event, this I personally witnessed as most shops in Tamale closed as early as 4pm, the festival starts around 8; 30pm and rans deep into midnight. Our conversation grew more interesting as we awaited the return of the search party with the prince, my phone camera meanwhile, had done justice to the proceedings, pictures they say are for memories. I again quizzed my new found friend why he wasn't participating in the festival this year, he told me the festival isn't as interesting as it was then, “you can see the number of people standing around”, he said… prior to meeting him I saw a hefty number of people spectating by the road side though they seemed to enjoy the music, the dance and the scenery; he further submitted that religion, modernization, migration and politics is gradually taking the interest of the natives from the fire festival. “We had our tradition before Islam and Christianity came I don't think we should throw our culture away or we will lose our identity”, these were his words as he lamented the loss of interest in the festival. I could not agree further with him.

As we conversed, the night grew older and my eagerness to witness the arrival of the search party grew stronger; “so what happens when they (search party) return”? I asked, he replied that they converge at the forecourt of the chief's palace with the plucked leaves, there will be more music and dancing, firing of musketry and special blessings from the chief then partakers can disperse. Not long, searchers returned from the forest singing and dancing as expected, the noise level rose as they got close to where I stood, the earth virtually shook as a musketry was shot by a reveler, it was scary a bit but my fear washed away later as I got used to the sound of the subsequent shots. We followed the search party into the forecourt of the chief's palace where more gunshots were fired and revelers danced to more traditional music; a noticeable event was the sprinkling of water on natives by the chief, my new friend mentioned that it had been prayed upon and signified blessing and good tidings for the ensuing year. My “host” had seen enough of the festival and asked to take leave of me for home, I thanked him and we parted ways.

As I made my way home I pondered to myself, it is not as dangerous as people perceive it, there were kids, women and students happily involved in the festival, if I had listened to people I would have denied myself the chance to witness rich dagomba culture on display; the time spent was worth it, “next year God willing I shall follow the search party to bring home the chief's son”, I thought to myself. What bothered me and really inspired this piece was the gradual decline in the patronage of the festival by the natives as my friend lamented, I believe this trend is not secluded to the Dagombas but other cultures as well; we are Ghanaians, and what differentiate us is our culture and our tradition, I urge that we make conscious efforts to preserve our tradition so we do not loose trace of who we are. We owe the unborn generations the duty to hold on to the good part of our culture and relay to them someday. Our names, languages, food and festivals define who we are and make us unique from the rest of the world; they are our culture, our heritage.