Asking permission

It is customary for visitors to the region to visit the chiefs, bring gifts, and receive their blessing to travel on the land. So on our first full day in Tamale, we put on our cleaner shirts and headed to the chief’s palaces. There were three that we were to visit, and two more of a modern day sort, the metro director of education, and the office of the mayor.

Jahanfo, the president of Sister Cities, ushered us into the portico at the Chognaa palace. Similar to ZoSimili Naa, the Chognaa palace was a compound of circular buildings, framed with a ten-foot wall and washed in a deep blue. While still cement, these huts were crowned with a conical thatched roof that allowed heat to escape. The thick walls and circular construction provided “natural air conditioning.”

The chief himself was traveling, but his deputy and village elders received us. The portico, three walled and roofed against the sun, was cool. Woven into the design of the walls were holes to keep the air circulating. Children from the village and palace peered through the slats watching the proceedings. Jahanfo presented the leader of our delegation, T., who in turn introduced us, beginning with chaperones and moving to seniors, juniors and our sophomore. He expressed our deep gratitude for the hospitality shown us, and presented the deputy chief with “a small token of our appreciation.” Though rumored to be fluent in English, the chiefs spoke to us only through their interpreters. With a wry smile, the deputy suggested that he had better open our gift to make sure it was suitable for the chief. His curiosity assuaged, we shook hands and piled back into the van.

We knew we’d arrived when the van drew up to the then familiar pattern of the palace compound. Gupkegunaa palace was painted yellow and the portico where we were received was a bright mint green. The chief sat on a dais in an ornately carved wooden chair, upholstered with brocade. He wore a heavy smock pleated at the waist, which left the fabric full around his hips. A white terry cloth hat framed his forehead and provided the setting for a large oval onyx. Thought the room was shaded, he wore his sunglasses through our audience. The keys and remote entry to his Mercedes dangled from his fingertips. Village elders sat with their back to the chief on the tiered steps leading to the dais or squatted against the wall of the portico.

We were ushered into two rows of plastic chairs. As before, the chief spoke through an interpreter, and again we followed the formal procedure of introductions and thanks. A cell phone rang, and one of the elders rose and walked to the open wall to take the call. Coming forward to offer our gift, T. kept his head below the level of the chiefs, nodding slightly as they shook hands. The chief scooped a handful of kola nuts from an aluminum kettle that sat by his chair and presented them to T. to distribute to us in a sign of welcome. The kola nut, the original source of flavor and caffeine in coca cola, is traditionally chewed in a social context throughout West Africa. We receive the chief’s blessing and welcome, shake his hand and return to the van.

At Dakpema palace, a pale blue compound and home of the “big chief”, the chief of Tamale, we were received inside. The chief sat barefoot, feet elevated on a leather hassock, his molded plastic chair draped in tapestry. We repeated the formalities again, Jahanfo presents T., T. introduces the group. But with the greater importance of this chief, the speeches were a little more formal, and more of our entourage rose to give testimony to our generosity, and we to their hospitality. The chief invited us to return the following day to the Damba festival, a cow would be slaughtered, and goats, and the meat would be distributed to the people. After the feast would be a procession, drumming and dancing. With this invitation, we received the chief’s blessing and another handful of kola nuts, and were ushered from the room.