[This is a blog my friend Suzanne wrote and she said I could post it here. I thought it was pretty interesting. She is living in Cape Coast, Ghana with her boyfriend Joel, and she teaches at a Teacher Training College.]
Two weeks ago Joel and I sat on the rooftop of Sammo's Guesthouse drinking beer and waiting for dinner when an evangelical preacher by the name of Ezekiel approached us. He was selling drums. Besides selling drums, he was trying to start a church. Ezekiel had an earnest, emphatic way of speaking that Joel and I liked immediately. He talked to us about his travels, his personal path from being a rockstar Rasta to a preacher. He spoke about his drums, how they are made, etc., and I realized that yes, I wanted a drum. In fact, I've always wanted a drum. A lifelong dream that I had around the age of three of being a drummer returned to me and I became immediately excited about my new future as a drummer for a world music percussion band.
But I was uncertain as to whether I wanted to buy one at that moment. Ezekiel could tell I was on the fence, and instead of pushing the issue further he offered to let us take the drum home for two weeks to see if we liked it. Then, after two weeks, he would come to our home and give me a lesson, and, if I liked it, I could buy the drum. The drums are expensive by Ghanaian standards, and he was hoping to sell them to sustain himself and his church. I thought it was odd that he would be willing to part with something so valuable to two people he had only just met. He did not have a phone, so he didn't take my number but simply agreed to follow the poorly sketched map Joel drew by candlelight. This would be unheard of in the U.S., but was only slightly strange in Ghana. He was holding a service that evening and sincerely asked us to attend. We said we would try.
Strangely, after finishing dinner, Joel and I decided to see Ezekiel's church. It was the first time I had ever decided to attend church in the middle of the night. We followed his directions but were quickly lost. We happened upon a man in a white bathrobe who had come outside to bathe or urinate. We asked him if he knew where Ezekiel's church was. He did, and so he led us through a series of streets, into a small building, up a small concrete staircase, across a hastily built wooden platform and into a tiny room painted electric blue. There was Ezekiel, preaching his heart out to a group of five or six people. He stopped the sermon when we entered and welcomed us. We watched with neutral participation as people held up their arms to receive the gospel. No one stopped their meditation when a women collapsed on the floor, her hand falling onto Joel's foot. She lay there for some time until she felt moved to stand again.
When it was time to sing and dance, sister Stella handed Joel and I instruments. Not knowing what else to do, we played them. It all felt very surreal. We didn't stay until the end. Excusing ourselves, we promised to return. As it turned out, Ezekiel was having his one month anniversary of the church two weeks from then and Joel agreed to come to the sermon to film it.
We left and didn't think much more about the sermon, Ezekiel, or our new drum for several days. At first I tried to play the drum, but quickly realized I really had no idea how to play a drum and it soon became another place in the house to rest my keys, papers, etc. But Saturday came and before I had even gotten up from bed, Ezekiel had been to the house for the lesson. He came back around 10am, just as Joel, our friend Casey and I were settling down to breakfast. We invited him to join us. I liked listening to him talk about god. He often seemed either on the verge of laughing or crying and spoke with a permanent sense of awe.
After breakfast we all walked with the drums down to the beach. We found two fallen palm trees to use as benches. Joel and Casey left us to go to town. It was a beautiful day; the ocean crashing behind us, sun filtering through the palm leaves and drumming. Ezekiel was a good teacher and after a few minutes I was able to pound out a simple rhythm. Once I had that down, we moved on to more complicated patterns of African beats from Ghana and Senegal. We had forgotten to bring anything to write with and so he drew the patterns into the sand.
We played for over three hours, sometimes playing very well together and sometimes I would get tripped up and completely lose the beat and get frustrated. At various times we were surrounded by children or curious walkers who would stop and clap along with us or take a turn on the drum. One man turned out to be an old friend of Ezekiel's.
In the past Ezekiel had been known in the hip-life music scene of Cape Coast. He decided to give up his music career when he was "born-again" but it would seem that some people were not ready to accept Ezekiel the Preacher over the Rasta. The man, whom Ezekiel did not introduce to me, said that he used to play in a band with Ezekiel. Ezekiel cut him off by urging him to come to his church service that evening. After he left, Ezekiel muttered something about being unable to live down one's past, and we continued drumming.
After three hours, I was worn out and there was a storm coming in from the ocean. I decided to call it a day. I had already decided I was going to buy the drum, realizing that by taking it from Sammos in the first place I had pretty much made a decision. As we packed up our stuff, Ezekiel asked me the question. I told him yes, I would take it, and we agreed to head back to the house to wait for Joel and Casey and to write down the patterns I had learned that day. The drum cost 500,000 cedis, about US$50. I wasn't certain that I had that much money in the house and told him so. He said to pay whatever I could.
As we were walking up the hill to the house he told me that he was selling the drums so that he would be able to afford a place to stay. As it was, he and his brother were sleeping on the floor in the one-roomed church. I asked how much he was hoping to raise; 1.5 million (US$150). This, he said, would cover his rent for the next three years, yet in order to move into the house he needed to pay all or most of it up front. In another country, this would seem strange, but in Ghana, it's just another bit of paralyzing, nonsensical economics.
We got back to the house and I remembered the stash of money the school had given to me for teaching extra lessons during the winter break. It was about 600,000 cedis given in 2000 denominations (about US$60 in $0.20 increments.) I asked him if this would be acceptable. When I brought out the money, it became clear to me that he had not expected for me to buy the drum and if I did, he expected perhaps a swap: Joel's filming for the drum. I handed him the stack of money and said we should count it. It was only then that I noticed how strange his reaction was. Seeing the money in front of him, his money, being able to move out of the church, you could tell it meant a lot to him. He said he didn't want to take the money, that Joel and I were already doing too much for him. Really, Joel is doing a lot for him, he has agreed to film his sermon and then edit it down to a one hour program. Yet, Joel wants to do this, just as I want to buy a drum. Ezekiel's reaction was sweet, but also didn't make a lot of sense to me. He had given me a drum lesson and a beautiful drum. In return, I gave him some money. Very simple economics. I told him as much and fixed us some tea.
Joel and Casey arrived home shortly thereafter, just ahead of a heavy tropical storm. We invited Ezekiel to stay for dinner. Casey was preparing Red-Red with fried Plantains. I went in to the kitchen to clean up and Joel stayed in the living room talking with our new friend. After a few minutes Joel came into the kitchen. Now he seemed somewhere between laughing and crying. Ezekiel, he said, had told him about his situation and how the selling of the drum would allow him to get a home for himself and his brother. I guess it was at that moment that I stopped looking at it as a straight forward transaction and saw, for the first time, what an impact this had had on Ezekiel's prospects. A start to something. A way to get his church off the ground. A way, perhaps, out of his past.
The rain passed and Ezekiel, loaded with a borrowed raincoat and a rain bag for the second drum, left to prepare for his sermon. We finished dinner. Joel left early to be able to set up his equipment and Casey and I followed later.
Somehow I managed to find the building again; although I wasn't certain I was in the right place until I heard Ezekiel's voice booming out and bouncing off the buildings. Casey and I climbed the same stairs and entered the little room. This time, there were even fewer people there than before; three people, Joel and Ezekiel. If Ezekiel minded, he didn't let it show. He was still preaching as if the entire world were listening. Casey and I scuttled past the people and tucked ourselves into the corner.
It was, however, naïve to think we'd be able to remain anonymous. Ezekiel called each of us angels and asked us to come to the front of the room where he prayed over us and then introduced us to the other church-goers. Then he told this story of the drum to the congregation. Though it is a small group of people, they're devoted to this church. They are as committed to its success as Ezekiel. Therefore, they were equally grateful that the drum had been purchased.
After the service, people continued to mill about the room and out onto the platform. I gave Ezekiel the left over Red-Red and Plantains as he hadn't had time to eat. Casey, who had been furtively strumming the drum in the corner grabbed a chair next to Ezekiel and, though Casey is paid project by project and really has no steady income, turned to Ezekiel and said, "I'd like to know how to drum. Can I buy a drum from you?"