Easter Evangelicism

The sandy dance floor throngs with sweaty bodies. Tinny music blasts from a very big and very old cassette player. Dance moves perfectly in tune to some kind of invisible rhythm that seems inaudible to those of us of a paler persuasion. Lots and lots of sweat. Lots and lots of abdominal muscles. An American volunteer lunges into the dancing circle with all the grace and skill of a copulating triceratops. The crowd of rhythmic and ripped Ghanaians make room for her as she performs what looks like a bizarre attempt at a sexy Macarena. Because they are very nice people they choose not to point and laugh. But I do. Soon she is forgotten and the party resumes its equilibrium. Awful music, excellent dancers with six-packs. This is not how I remember celebrating Easters back home.

We may have known that Easter in Ghana was a pretty big deal on driving through Kumasi’s industrial outskirts. A behemoth billboard looms over the highway forcefully punting the sale of ‘Turn the Other Cheek Glycophosphate’. Just beyond it lie ‘King of Hosts Funeral Catering Services’ and – invitingly for shoplifters – ‘Forgive and Forget Metallic Plumbing Products’. Goofy is the inappropriate mascot for ‘My Redeemer Lives Fast Foods’ and, as a reminder, ‘Remember the Sabbath Cement Mixers’ looks to consolidate your home as well as your place in heaven. A local stadium promotes the inevitably one-sided match between the terrifyingly named ‘Ashanti Warriors’ and the almost certainly crap ‘Forgiveness FC’. This kind of fervent Christian evangelicism may be off-putting to many people. But those are not the people who have lacked a lie-in for three months travelling through Islamic Africa. For such people, Jesus’ name has never looked sweeter. Or quieter. Or less French.

And well the locals here may be particularly grateful for their lot. They live on an island of prosperity and stability in a region where democracy is more of a guideline than a hard-and-fast rule. They have loads of gold, cocoa and, more recently, oil. The beach they are setting ablaze with their timeous manoeuvres is so picturesque it’s cheesey. Turquoise waters, palm trees, white sand – the whole shebang. Like the garden of Eden itself. Adam and Eve, however, weren’t slowly pushed off their land as a result of the artificially raised cost of living from the discovery of offshore oil deposits. Semantics. These problems, however, seem a world away for this gyrating mob whose biggest worry seems to be the occasional cuts in the music as a result of the independence-era solar panel malfunctioning. Yes, as the sun dips and casts long palm-tree shadows over the glittering sand it becomes pretty apparent that these guys do have a lot to be thankful for. Whichever way they choose to show it.