Northern Ghanaian Women’s Artistry: Visualizing Culture 1666905119, 9781666905113

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Northern Ghanaian Women’s Artistry

Northern Ghanaian Women’s Artistry Visualizing Culture Brittany Sheldon

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE Copyright © 2024 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. The author received oral permissions for all quotations and photographs included in the manuscript. Obtained from using the Indiana University Study Information Sheet IRB consent form. All artists and people in the images provided oral permissions and agreed to be identifiable by name. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Sheldon, Brittany Anne, author. Title: Northern Ghanaian women’s artistry: visualizing culture / Brittany Sheldon. Description: Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2024. | Based on the author’s thesis (doctoral)—Indiana University, Bloomington, 2016. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2023033754 (print) | LCCN 2023033755 (ebook) | ISBN 9781666905113 (cloth) | ISBN 9781666905120 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Women artists—Ghana—Upper East Region. | Mural painting and decoration—Ghana—Upper East Region. | Dwellings—Ghana—Upper East Region. | Frafra (African people)—Material culture. | Heritage tourism—Ghana. | Culture in art. Classification: LCC ND2867.6.G52 U67 2024 (print) | LCC ND2867.6.G52 (ebook) | DDC 759.9667—dc23/eng/20230727 LC record available at https:​//​lccn​.loc​.gov​/2023033754 LC ebook record available at https:​//​lccn​.loc​.gov​/2023033755 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

This book is dedicated to the Ghanaian artists who are at its heart. I am forever grateful for your hospitality, kindness, patience, and willingness to share your knowledge, experiences, and ideas.

Contents

Acknowledgments ix Introduction

1

Chapter 1: Bambɔlse: History and Identity Chapter 2: House Tours





41

Chapter 3: Artistic Processes: Plastering and Painting Chapter 4: Designs

63 117



Chapter 6‌‌: Artistry Today: Adaptation and Resurgence Appendix: Interview List



151

167 193

201

Bibliography Index





Chapter 5‌‌: Artistry Today: Decline

Glossary

23

217

225

About the Author



239

vii

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my family and friends, whose love and moral support have made this project possible. First and foremost, I am grateful to my parents, who cheered me on through highs and lows, put up with me through good and bad, and were always there on the other end of the phone, ready to listen. Thank you also to Jeromy Anderson, who supported me through the final stretches of this project. And thank you to the rest of my family: Jillian, Lydia, and Tom Zeidner; Christine, Dayton, Aubrey, Anthony, and Brett Jackson; Scott Sheldon; and my late grandmothers Jackson and Sheldon. And to my dearest friends: Vanessa Fonts, Heidi and Jorel Difuntorum, Karen Bruce, and the Hull family. I could not have completed this study without funding and support from the faculty and staff of Indiana University (IU). Thank you especially to the Art History Department, Mathers Museum of World Cultures, and GradGrants Center. A big thanks to my advisers, mentors, teachers, colleagues, and peers, both in the United States and Ghana, who contributed to the completion of this project. First of all, I am enormously grateful to Patrick McNaughton, Diane Pelrine, Maria Grosz-Ngaté, and Gracia Clark, who lent their guidance and have given their support, both intellectually and through their countless recommendation letters. Thank you also to Dr. David Adu-Amankwah (a.k.a. Uncle Dave), Dr. Levi Ofoe, and Dr. Avea Nsoh for introducing me to the Twi and Gurenɛ languages. And thank you to my other mentors and supporters, including Elisabeth Cameron, Suzanne Gott, Christine Mullen Kreamer, and Mary Jo Arnoldi. Numerous friends and colleagues have provided essential mentoring and emotional support. I would like to especially thank Elizabeth Perrill, Genevieve Hill-Thomas and Stanton Thomas, Rebecca Fenton, Candice Grant, Jennifer Hart, Christopher Richards, Bernard Woma, Molly Keogh, Carmen Paz, Allison Martino, and Emma Kessler. And thank you to Katherine Wiley for her personal and professional support, first as my friend, then as my editor. ix

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I am incredibly grateful for the funding that supported this project. This includes grants and fellowships from the IU Friends of Art organization; the IU Office of the Vice President of International Affairs; the US Department of Education Foreign Area and Language Studies program; the Summer Cooperative Language Institute; the West African Research Association; the Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Program; the Smithsonian’s Summer Institute in Museum Anthropology; the American Association of University Women; and the University of Rochester Frederick Douglass Institute for African and African-American Studies. I cannot adequately express my gratitude to the individuals and institutions in Ghana who supported my research. First of all, I would like to thank the US Embassy in Accra and, specifically, the public affairs staff members such as Shannan Magee, Traci Mell, Nii Sarpei Nunoo, and Shaakira Raheem. Thank you to all of those who hosted me during my time in Ghana, including Auntie Akosua, Adjeley Akwei, and Ama; Sharon Swyer and her family; Helen and Gifty Atipoka and the rest of their family in Winneba; Cecilia at the Water Company Guesthouse in Bolgatanga; Anita Horm and her son Alfred in Tamale; Auntie C at the “Obruni House” in Osu; and the staff of the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology Institute for Renewable Natural Resources guesthouse. A very special thanks to Dr. Kafui Kwesi Agyeman for his unfailing and extraordinary generosity and hospitality during all of my visits to Kumasi. Also in Kumasi, I would like to thank “Auntie Vic,” Peekay, and the entire family of Bridget Kyerematen-Darko for their hospitality and warmth. Thank you to Dr. Abdulai Salifu Asuro in Tamale, who was kind enough to greet me during my visit. I would also like to say thank you to all of the other tourists, volunteers, students, and others I met as I traveled around Ghana. Thank you to remote advisors and colleagues such as Ann Schunior and Allison Greenwald, whose passion for Sirigu artistry bolstered my enthusiasm for my research. A special thanks to Alice, who gave me my first motorbike lesson and suffered the consequences with kindness and patience. And thank you to Lydia Ajono in Bolgatanga for her conversation and inspiration. Numerous mentors, assistants, and guides made my research possible. First, I want to thank Dr. Avea Nsoh, who went above and beyond to help me as a teacher, a guide, a mentor, and a friend. I could not have completed my project without the constant support of Azubire Job Apobelum, my assistant, adviser, and interlocutor. Thank you also to my other assistants and guides, including Monica, Nathaniel, and Gifty. A special thanks to those who helped to arrange and coordinate community and house tours, including Mariama Alhassan and Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba in Bongo, Azo’uue Awaho in Zuarungu-Moshi, Atalem Oliver in Sumbrungu, Azuurɛ in Buŋɔ, and others. Thank you to the chiefs and spokesmen of Sirigu, Bongo, Zeko, and

Acknowledgments

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Zuarungu-Moshi for welcoming me into their communities and sharing their histories. Thank you to the Ghanaian artists, experts, and culture brokers who made this project possible. A special thanks to the staff and members of the Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art, including Bridget Kasise, Francisca, Faustina Ayambire, Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire, Albert Atingane, Aweere Aduko, Selina, and Celestina. Thank you particularly to Melanie Kasise, who generously shared her home and her time on multiple occasions. And thank you to Bridget Kasise, not only for her help with my research, but for her dedication to the success of Sirigu’s artists. A special thanks to Cornelia Schepers for her friendship and hospitality. I have numerous individuals to thank in Ghana’s Upper East Region. At the Centre for National Culture, I would like to express my gratitude to Kombat Fuzzy and Mr. Anaba Anyelom, whose knowledge, ideas, and written work contributed enormously to my project. Thank you also to Mr. Soyiri for dedicating hours of his time to sharing his experiences, thoughts, and ideas about trends in Ghanaian artistry. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Rolland Wemegah both for sharing his experiences working with Sirigu artists and for helping to arrange and facilitate a collaborative presentation for the students of the Department of Industrial Art at Bolgatanga Polytechnic. I would also like to express my gratitude to Lydia Miller, Joseph Asakibeem, Felix Frederick Amenga-Etego, Rex S.A. Asanga, Samuel Ade-Am, Alhaji Hakeem Ishmael, and John Adams for their promotion of Indigenous artistry in the Upper East Region, as well as their help with my project. I would like to thank all of the staff, members, and affiliates of Aid to Artisans Ghana (ATAG), especially to Bridget Kyerematen-Darko, David Owusu-Mensah, Kate Kumi, and the rest of the ATAG staff, who made my first trip to Ghana possible and graciously welcomed me into the Ghanaian art world. I would also like to give special thanks to Richard Mensah, who gave me a thorough introduction to Accra and continued to be there for me during all of my subsequent visits to the country. Thank you also to the numerous KNUST-affiliated teachers, students, artisans, and other members of the arts industry who were kind enough to share their time and express their thoughts. To name just a few, thank you to Vesta E. Gyamfi, Professors Andrews Amoako Temeng, Rudolph Steiner, Mariama Ross, Abraham Ekow Asmah, R.T. Ackam, Eric Appau-Asante, and doctoral student Emmanuel Antwi (“Emmlan”). A special thanks to the staff of the KNUST libraries, including Richard Bruce Lamptey, for their help in locating student project work. Thank you also to the students with whom I worked in the KNUST Department of Integrated Rural Arts and Industries, including Aaron, Adwoa, Bafa Boateng, Cheryl, Emanuel Badu, Eric, Fred Amankwah Kyei, Idrisu Josef, Jasmine, Kwabena, Kweku Asare,

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Masara, Nana Ando, Patrick, Peace, and Samuel Otoo. And to the ATAG- and KNUST-affiliated artisans, culture brokers, and members of the arts industry such as Asamoah Addo Kwaku, Abraham Tetteh, Erasmus and Addo Kwan Victor in Aburi, Ahmed Iddrisu in Kumasi, Lawrence Benson (“Brother”), David Apim-Tetteh, Elvis, Eva Yeboah, Florence Ankom, Augusta Banini, Robert Cudjoe (“Mayele”), Nicholas Afari (“Nacama”), Nana Asabre, Nuku, Robert Ellis, Samuel Lovi in Nungua, Sheik Ali, Dan Quaynor, Mr. Kwaku Adu Mensah, Del Boampong, Godwin Agbeko, Marcus Clottey, Mawuli Akpenyo, Ofoli Ahinakwah, Ralph Ashong, Cynthia Azasoo, and Evelyn Manu. In addition to consulting their written work, while in Kumasi, I was able to meet with some of these scholars and students, interview them about their research, and get advice from them about my project. Thank you to the other artists and culture brokers who took the time to speak with me during my research. This includes Bernard Akoi-Jackson, Fatric Bewong, Ato Annan, Attukwei, Akwele Suma Glory, Kofi Dawson, Rikki Wemegah-Kwawu, Boamah David Kwaku in Ntonso, Nana Esi Nisin VIII, John Owoo, Audrey Destandau and Alliance Française, Mr. Kofi Setordji at the Nubuke Foundation, Kati Torda at Sun Trade, Poem at Wild Gecko, Frances Ademola at the Loom Art Gallery, and Ellie Schimelman at the Cross Cultural Collaborative. I would also like to thank Thom Sheriff and Solomon Wollie Wollimoh at the Golden Tulip Hotel. You helped me to place northern Ghanaian women’s artistry into a broader national context. Thank you also for recognizing the importance and spreading knowledge of rural artistic traditions to urban audiences. I would like to thank several Ghana Museums and Monuments Board affiliates. At the National Museum in Accra, I owe significant gratitude to Mr. Raymond Orison Agbo, Mr. Frederick Kofi Amekudi, Dominic Kuntaa, John Addai, Nana Nyarkua Ocran, and others for helping to make my exhibition of women’s artistry possible. At the Upper East Regional Museum, I would like to thank Mr. Mahmoud Malik Saako and Prisca Yenzi for their friendship and support throughout my research. Thank you also to the staff at the National and Regional Archives in Accra, Tamale, and Bolgatanga for assisting me with my archival research. At the Northern Regional Archives in Tamale, I would like to specifically thank Layla Issifu, Helen Aloba, Alimatu Issahaku, A. Abdulai, Stephen K. Klu, and Razak Issahaku for their kindness and assistance. Thank you also to Abu Bakari Iddrisu Saeed at the Tamale Centre for National Culture for your tenacity in helping me to answer my research questions. And thank you to the staff at the Ministry of Information in Accra. At the University of Ghana in Legon, I would like to thank Professors Akosua Adomako Ampofo, Kwame Amoah Labi, James Anquandah, Benjamin Warinsie Kankpeyeng, and Helen Lauer, as well as Philip Owusu,

Acknowledgments

xiii

G. Aba Mansah Eyifa, Judith Opoku-Boateng, Kajsa Hallberg, and many others for their advice and support throughout my research. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the Fathers and other members of the Catholic Church in Tamale, Bolgatanga, Sirigu, and Navrongo. In Sirigu, thank you to Father Paul Kapochina and Father Sylvanus; in Navrongo, thank you to Reverend Monsignor Camillo K. Sarko; in Tamale, I would like to thank Father Christian, Father Bonke, Reverend Edward Kuukure, and Most Reverend Philip Naameh. Finally, thank you also to individuals involved in Ghana’s tourism industry, such as Wisdon Ahadzi with the Ghana Rural Ecotourism and Travel Office. In Bolgatanga, thank you to Hakeem Ismael and John Adams at the Upper East Regional branch of the Ghana Tourism Authority.

Introduction

Now and in the past, women in northeastern Ghana embellish the walls of their earthen homes with bold red, black, and white designs. These include animal motifs such as cows, crocodiles, and lizards, and geometric designs composed of interlocking and repeating triangles, diamonds, squares, ovals, and straight and zigzagging lines. Such paintings are known as bambɔlse.1 In the past, women were solely responsible for surfacing the walls of their earthen homes. Earthen architecture is ideally suited to the local environment: the clayey tɔnɔ soil used for construction is readily available and costs nothing. In addition, thick mud walls regulate the temperature inside rooms, protecting against the 100- to 115-degree dry season temperatures. Earthen walls are also fragile and subject to rapid erosion from driving rains and harsh winds. To prevent deterioration, women coat the walls of their homes with plaster, known locally as bole, paint them using locally derived mineral pigments, and coat them with organic varnish (Taxil 2006, 152). The bambɔlse designs that women traditionally paint on the walls of their homes are both aesthetically striking and culturally meaningful, evoking critical elements of personal and cultural identity. In the past, bambɔlse designs were painted on exterior and interior walls. In the former case, paintings were highly visible to passersby and visitors, often attracting attention and praise; they were also vulnerable to sand and water erosion by wind and rain. Paintings on exterior walls typically lasted up to several years, depending on their position and exposure to wind and rain. Walls that “faced the rain,” meaning that they were particularly exposed to the elements, tended to fade rapidly. Interior walls were often painted, and, unlike those on outer walls, walls inside rooms could last upwards of ten years because they were protected from the weather. Bambɔlse can be defined and understood in various ways. Scholars, for instance, have offered multiple definitions based on their conversations with women artists. Anaba Anyelom used the term bambɔlse in referring to both decorations and the act of decorating (1995, 3). Fred Smith defined bambɔlse as “embellished,” “decorated,” or “made more attractive” (1978a, 1

2

Introduction

36).2 Issahaku echoed Smith’s definition and added that bambɔlse paintings were meant to increase the aesthetic merit of the building and, possibly, to impact the status of the compound owner (1991, 6). Similarly, Corine Norman reported that bambɔlse was intended to add color, form, and beauty to the harsh environment while also providing a means for women artists to proclaim their interpretations of the world to admiring onlookers (1997, i).3 The artists I spoke with defined bambɔlse in various terms, ranging from the simple and straightforward to the detailed complex. Ayɛyu’urɛ Agurigɔ, for instance, defined bambɔlse simply as “a type of painting . . . [that] includes designs” (interview, January 21, 2013). Many women focused on the beautifying function of bambɔlse. Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, for her part, described bambɔlse as “designs that are made to beautify the room or the walls” (interview, January 21, 2013). Similarly, Be’endiŋeya Adugebiire defined bambɔlse as something “meant for beauty’s sake” (interview, February 5, 2013). Many also emphasized the admiration they received, the pride they felt, and the respect they earned as artists. As Azo’uue Awaho put it, “when you go into [a woman’s] room, and you see [bambɔlse], when you go out, you say ‘ah, this woman is really the woman of respect.’ When you go into her room, you don’t even want to go out” (interview, Zuarungu-Moshi, February 5, 2013). Women painted their walls to beautify their homes and express personal, familial, and cultural pride. Now and in the past, women are also known for their expertly molded pots and intricately woven baskets, which they typically embellish with the same designs used in wall painting. Potters create a variety of clay vessels in a range of shapes and sizes, which are used for household activities such as cooking, serving food, and storing water. Some of the larger types of pots include dukɔ, a rounded vessel with a short rim, used for cooking and storing food and water; yore, used for storing and drinking water; zero dukor and saa dukor, used for preparing vegetable soups, sauces, and tuo zafi (thick porridge); and uwa, a rounded and perforated type of pot used for steaming meat and fish. Small and medium pots and bowls include lapia and lasuliga, serving bowls; two-handled masala bowls, used for baking masa (millet cakes); and yogila, pots for storing and drinking water.4 Weavers primarily make two types of baskets: the bulbous “Bolga” (or Bolgatanga) basket and the square-bottomed pi’ɔ basket. The round-bottomed Bolga basket is made and used throughout the area, while the pi’ɔ basket is most common in Sirigu. Along with plastering and painting, women produce these products primarily during the dry season, when their farming activities have ceased. These various forms of artistry are connected through shared tools, techniques, and design repertoires. Traditions of basket-weaving, pottery-making, and bambɔlse appear to have long been part of this area’s traditional culture for the last hundred years or more, passed down from generation to generation.5

Introduction

3

In the past, the actions of women’s artistic production and the products of their work pervaded domestic spaces and shaped the movements of everyday life. Women came together within their households and neighborhoods to collect grasses for weaving and clay for molding. They sat on their plastered courtyard floors, discussing the business of everyday life as they prepared their materials, wove their baskets, and built their pots. Their husbands and children drank water from decorated pots tucked away in courtyard corners. Women fetched ingredients for sauces and soups from striped and diamond-covered baskets stowed in the recesses of their rooms. Their children watched as they cooked and served the daily dinner of tuo zafi, the thick sorghum or corn porridge that is a staple of local cuisine, in pots and bowls incised with designs. These daily activities were set against a backdrop of earthen walls painted with designs evoking an array of quotidian and essential elements of culture. As Wemegah put it, the interior space of the compound provided a “congenial atmosphere for procreation and upbringing of children, who in turn become the custodians of the cultural values of the society, perpetuating the various ancestral stocks of the people” (2009, 83). By shaping the physical spaces and lived experiences of the domestic realm, women constructed the conceptual space in which Indigenous culture was perpetually created, reproduced, and updated to accommodate changing circumstances; this recalls Bourdieu’s habitus, the ideas, norms, and expectations unconsciously shaping and shaped by the spaces and objects of our daily lives (1990). Through their daily and artistic activities, women historically constructed their domestic spaces and, in so doing, shaped the lives and identities of themselves, their families, and their communities; in doing this work, they influenced and were influenced by the broader societies and cultures in which they operated. BACKGROUND: CONTINUITY AND CHANGE Contemporary women’s artistry exists against a backdrop of complex socio-political, economic, and religious circumstances. Individual artists choose whether and how to continue their traditions based on a range of personal, financial, and social factors. In many ways, traditional cultural practices continue to have a strong presence in the rural communities this study is concerned with. Affiliations with clans and lineages are still recognized, and ancestors are still honored through regular sacrifices to shrines. The dry season continues to be filled with funeral ceremonies enlivened by music, dance, and drink; the items needed for such festivities, such as bows, arrows, and quivers, are still made by hand and sold at local markets.

4

Introduction

Traditions of pottery production and basket-weaving remain strong. In some cases, bambɔlse continues as well. Some women are incentivized to continue painting their walls thanks to development efforts that bring financial benefits and new audiences; other women no longer paint their walls due to declining support for and interest in their artistry. This discussion considers the decline and revitalization of women’s artistry, highlighting specific examples of households, artists, and artistic production, emphasizing complexity and nuance over comprehensive theories. THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK This book focuses on women’s artistic processes, specifically bambɔlse, and traces this tradition’s historical and ongoing practice in northeastern Ghana. Based on extensive observations and interviews, the discussion delves deeply into artistic processes and addresses the broader meanings of bambɔlse in the region, exploring how it is tied to understandings of gender, social hierarchy, and memory. Rather than portraying artistic practices as static, this book demonstrates how artists adapt to changing circumstances, which helps bambɔlse persist in the face of eroding factors. Accompanied by vivid descriptions, this book helps bring artistic practices and products to life for readers, making it broadly valuable for scholars and students. A primary focus of this discussion is the role of women’s artistic practices in shaping individual and collective identities and cultures. Wall painting is a collaborative activity that brings together women, families, and neighborhoods. The creative process is social, involving chatting, joking, laughing, and singing. Thus, wall painting projects reinforce social and familial bonds and facilitate community cohesion; such connection has been crucial to the development and adaptation of artistic processes and methods. Women historically developed their artistic traditions collaboratively, with each element of production representing a “locus of multiple interactions and of constant adjustments among its elements” that formed a shared system of accumulated knowledge (Lemonnier 1986, 154). The adaptability of this shared system has allowed for changes in materials and techniques over time. As Lemonnier put it, “action itself is constantly adapted to transformations in the material, to the characteristics of the tool, to the evolution of know-how; technical knowledge in turn takes account of the available tool, of the effective action, of the material worked” (1986, 154). Through their collaborations, women have historically connected households and communities, spreading their artistic technologies across the area through various social mechanisms (see chapter 1). Today, artists continue to develop and adapt their technologies in response to shifting circumstances and new markets (see chapters 3 and 6).

Introduction

5

In the past, women painted their walls with designs that reflected and reinforced social structures, gender roles, identities, values, and traditions. They worked in groups, each contributing according to her knowledge and ability, and created compositions reflecting personal and collective ideas and aspirations. Their application of designs to walls allowed artists to assert individual and collective identities. Women recreated motifs they had learned from their mothers while also adapting and inventing according to their own preferences. In this way, their painted compositions reflected connections with the past and adaptations to change over time. My interpretation of women’s artistry in northeastern Ghana is focused on aesthetic products and social processes; this is due to my training in African art history, a sub-discipline born out of and blending elements of art history and anthropology. My thinking has been shaped by scholars such as Bourdieu (1990), Lemonnier (1986), Wolff (1993), Banks and Morphy (1997), Morphy and Perkins (2006), and Gell (1998); these and other scholars have informed my understanding of artistic processes and products as embedded within the specific social contexts in which they are made and used. As Morphy and Perkins wrote, “through their material possessions people produce an image of themselves in the world, and these material possessions also operate to create the stage on which people lead their daily lives—they are markers of status, gender relations and so on” (2006, 10). Women in northeastern Ghana traditionally create products and embellish spaces with images that evoke and reinforce social norms, gender roles, hierarchies, beliefs, and values, thereby setting the stage for daily life. The meanings encoded in bambɔlse compositions are continually shaped and re-shaped by the contexts in which they are created and experienced. As Wolff wrote, “all action, including creative or innovative action, arises in the complex conjunction of numerous structural determinants and conditions” (1993, 9). In particular, artistic creation and interpretation are products of social interaction. In thinking about artistic production, products, meanings, and functions within societies, I am also guided by Gell’s view of “art as a system of action, intended to change the world rather than encode symbolic propositions on it.” Gell’s framework rejects the notion of art as a visual code for the communication of meaning; his approach focuses instead on the practical mediatory role of artworks in social processes (1998, 6). Taking this view, we can see bambɔlse compositions not as collections of symbols communicating universal, unchanging ideas but as sites for generating meaning through social interaction. Artistic interpretation informs and is informed by its context. The act of interpretation is complex, multi-layered, and influenced by multiple factors. As Rovine wrote of bogolanfini, bambɔlse can be compared to a foreign language, “a text that can be read if one learns the vocabulary” (2008, 22).

6

Introduction

Interpretation is thus affected by the interpreter’s knowledge and experience. Meaning is also determined through social interaction and shifts according to the specific interpreter and the circumstances of interpretation; this can result in apparent contradictions and inconsistencies that can be difficult to untangle for an outside researcher like me. The complexities I encountered during my research led me to see interpretation as a performative process of social interaction. As Jones and Stephenson have argued, “interpretation, like the production of works of art, is a mode of communication. Meaning is a process of engagement and never dwells in any one place” (1999, 9). Some of the women I spoke with during my research, particularly those in Sirigu, codified the names and meanings of bambɔlse designs according to shared ideas and goals; other women, for instance, in Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, and Sumbrungu, created and used their bambɔlse compositions as sites for storytelling, education, and remembrance. In general, wall paintings function—in the past and sometimes still today—as agents and mediators of social action, facilitating societal cohesion, cultural continuity, and adaptation to change. This book addresses how women’s artistic processes change over time, exploring the history of women’s artistry and highlighting their role in facilitating the incorporation of new influences into Indigenous culture. Existing studies generally present women’s artistry as a consistent and enduring element of Indigenous culture, emphasizing overarching systems of artistic practices, aesthetic goals, and symbolic repertoires. This project seeks to complicate this image, recognizing variations in individual training, knowledge, experience, techniques, skills, and ideas that inevitably exist among artists and within their communities; it is thus about the dynamism of bambɔlse. This book documents shifting architectural and artistic practices during a time of changes in education, employment, domestic roles, migration, and tourism. While painting practices and prevalence have changed over time, this art form is still seen by many as an essential element of traditional culture and identity. Now and in the past, wall painting processes and products can be seen as agents of individual and collective identity construction. Many of those I spoke with described bambɔlse as an ancestral tradition passed down through the generations and continued to be valued as an essential part of Indigenous culture, regardless of the extent to which wall painting practices continued in their individual homes and communities. Today, the creation and interpretation of bambɔlse compositions continue to facilitate the construction and performance of identity; this was illustrated in various ways during my observations of and interactions with artists, especially in the contexts of artistic production and interpretation (see chapter 3). For instance, during their demonstrations of plastering and painting processes, women chose their materials and methods with the intention of

Introduction

7

performing specific identities. In Zuarungu-Moshi, artists used what they considered their most traditional materials and techniques, those they had learned from their mothers during childhood; their intention was to replicate what they felt to be the most authentic version of their artistic processes based on their understanding of my interest in their traditional artistry. In Bongo, women combined traditional and modern elements to demonstrate their creative knowledge and skills and their preference for newer, more durable materials that have come to be associated with wealth and prestige. In both communities, bambɔlse has declined, but women still embraced the opportunity to demonstrate their long-held artistic skills and knowledge to an interested audience. In Sirigu, women have revitalized and adapted their artistic traditions for new markets and audiences; artists in this community regularly employ and share their knowledge and skills with tourists and researchers, including me. In this context, artists have modified their traditional artistic processes to be easily understandable to outside audiences. Following the work of scholars such as Richard Bauman (1984) and Victor Turner (2018), I view artistic demonstrations by each group of women as examples of interactive, intercultural processes through which artists fashion and refashion personal and collective Indigenous identities (Graham and Glenn 2014, 11–12). Today, in the context of significant change, wall painting is critical in preserving personal and collective memories. As with identity, I view the construction and preservation of memory as an active, dynamic process that occurs through social interaction. As Mary Nooter Roberts and Allen F. Roberts wrote, “memory is not passive, and the mind is not simply a repository from which memories can be retrieved. Rather, memory is a dynamic social process of recuperation, reconfiguration, and outright invention that is often engendered, provoked, and promoted by visual images” (1996, 23–24). In my experience, artists used their painted compositions to recollect, reconstruct, and share individual and collective memories of spaces, possessions, relationships, experiences, and lessons; thus, their artworks served as repositories for preserving and sites for actively reinvigorating these memories. This book also addresses the adaptation of women’s artistry to the tourist market and questions established notions of authenticity, building on the work of scholars such as Rovine (2001) and Steiner (1994), and thereby makes a vital contribution to our understanding of traditional African culture in tourist contexts. This book highlights how the artists of northeastern Ghana have been and continue to be active producers of tradition, continuously incorporating new social, cultural, technological, and religious influences into their artistic practices to earn income and strengthen traditional culture (Lane 1988). This book describes past and present lifestyles, circumstances, and artistic practices, drawing from the written reports of other scholars, my personal

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observations, and discussions with artists and other interlocutors in my research area. I use the past and present tense in several ways throughout the book. I use the past tense in discussing specific observations, circumstances, and conversations that took place during my field research in 2012 to 2016; I also use the past tense in referring to historical societal and cultural conditions and practices that have been observed and written about in the past and may or may not continue today. I use the present tense in discussing situations and practices that, to the best of my knowledge, persist in the present moment. My goal is to be as accurate as possible while also avoiding the ethnographic present that pervaded scholarship of the past; in this paradigm, Indigenous peoples were labeled by White researchers as “primitive” and “tribal” and given a “special, ambiguous, temporal status.” This idea went hand in hand with the trend of salvage anthropology, in which marginalized, non-Western groups were viewed within Western scholarship as perpetually on the verge of vanishing. In this framework, Indigenous peoples were bound to their eternal, unchanging traditions and seen as incapable of emerging into the “modern world” (Clifford 2002, 160–61); this was harmful in its misrepresentation and misunderstanding of Indigenous cultures and its perpetuation of global hierarchies—within academia and beyond—that continue to disadvantage marginalized, non-Western individuals and groups today. My aim in this book is to present a view of present-day cultural and artistic practices based on my own observations in the field while also providing a backdrop based on information from artists and past researchers; for this reason, the discussion often alternates between the general and the specific, reflecting how I experienced women’s artistry in both theory and practice. When asked about plastering and painting procedures, women often responded according to their general knowledge rather than their individual experiences. In other words, they would tell me how things were typically done, not necessarily how they had personally done them. In practice, women demonstrated the dynamism of their traditional practices, highlighting the inevitability of change and adaptation over time. I use the words “tradition” and “traditional” throughout this discussion in referring to practices and beliefs handed down from generation to generation. These terms were used frequently by the artists I spoke with in referring to the artistic methods, materials, and designs that they learned from their mothers. Some of these traditions are ongoing, some have changed over time, some have declined, and some have ceased entirely; this reflects the dynamic nature of tradition. As Henry John Drewal wrote, “tradition is a desired, not a necessary, continuity with the past” (Ravenhill et al. 1992, 27). My discussion of tradition follows the definition provided by Williams, who described tradition as the handing down of knowledge from one generation to the next and acknowledged tradition as an active process of selection. Williams wrote

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of traditions that “only some of them or parts of them have been selected for our respect and duty” (2014, 252). Guided by Williams, I view tradition not as immutable but as changing and adapting according to shifting circumstances. This book’s discussion is predicated on the assumption that traditions change according to shifting circumstances and that their durability and strength depend on their ability to do so. As Margaret Thompson Drewal has written, “when ritual becomes static, when it ceases to adjust and adapt, it becomes obsolete, empty of meaning, and eventually dies out” (1992, 8). In this discussion, the word “traditional” is often used in contrast with “modern” to indicate change over time. The word “modern” holds various meanings depending on the context in which it is used. As Williams wrote, the terms “modern,” “modernize,” and “modernization” have come to be broadly associated with ideas of improvement and desirability (2014, 156). Similarly, my use of the word modern follows that of my interlocutors, for whom this term was associated with ideas of newness, improvement, and advancement; for them, the concept of modernity was linked with images of cars, Levi jeans, cell phones, and KFC. In the context of architecture and artistry, the term “modern” was used for more recently adopted materials and methods, which were contrasted with more “traditional” materials and techniques associated with the past. As with the concept of “tradition,” I view the idea of “modernity” as socially constructed, complex, and dynamic rather than static and unchanging. POSITIONALITY The discussion in this book derives from my perspective and personal experiences. I encountered the communities, artists, and traditions of northeastern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso as an outsider; this position informed the interpretations included in this book. My research followed the anthropological tradition of learning about cultural and artistic practices through observation, participation, and interaction. Specific settings and social interactions shaped my experiences. As Gell wrote, culture is manifested through social interactions, including interactions between researchers and informants. “Even if one sits someone down and asks them to ‘tell us about your culture’—in this case the interaction in question is the one between the inquiring anthropologist and the (probably rather bemused) informant” (1998, 4). My observations, experiences, and interactions with Indigenous artists have shaped my understanding. I came to this research project as an outsider and a product of White settler colonial culture in the United States. My extensive time with, attention to, and experience of culture and artistry in northeastern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso has allowed me to form the

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insights and conclusions that enable me to write knowledgeably about the subject of my research. This knowledge was shaped by the words and actions of numerous Indigenous interlocutors, and throughout this book’s discussion, these individuals are frequently named and quoted; this is a gesture of gratitude toward the many individuals who welcomed me into their homes and communities and a response to reflections on my positionality within the context of my research. As Jessica Hernandez has written, “understanding one’s positionality allows one to foster the type of relationship they have to work toward and the actions they have to take as either settlers or unwelcome or welcome guests” (2022, 3). As an outsider, I take it as my responsibility to acknowledge my positionality and work to repay the hospitality and generosity of the Indigenous interlocutors who made this project possible. This book’s foregrounding of Indigenous voices, ideas, and lived experiences contributes to a broad shift away from a paradigm in which ancestral and Indigenous knowledge is marginally acknowledged or wholly ignored in favor of Western academic authority (Hernandez 2022, 14). My work follows the example of scholars such as Robert Farris Thompson (1973; 1983), Patrick McNaughton (1988; 2008), Gracia Clark (1994), David Doris (2011), and Elizabeth Perrill (2022), among others, who have published work that foregrounds and demonstrates a deep respect for Indigenous knowledge. As Gracia Clark said of her work with Ghanaian women, “I thought it was appropriate to recognize them as experts, that their point of view should be taken seriously,” and just as seriously as White, Western scholars (Monson 2020, 107). This book also frequently mentions the names of artists and other interlocutors, following the general trend away from the anonymity that long pervaded discussions of African artistry. As Sidney Littlefield Kasfir wrote, the long-pervasive convention of anonymizing African artists within Western scholarship denied artists individuality, reinforced the idea of African artistry as static and unchanging, and limited the potential for viewing African artistry as dynamic and adaptive (1992, 44). This book contributes to the broad shift within African art scholarship toward recognizing and respecting individual Indigenous artists and their work. LITERATURE REVIEW AND CONTRIBUTIONS This book is a significant contribution to the scholarly literature on African women’s artistry and specifically to scholarship on traditions of aesthetic embellishment. Parallels to the wall painting practices of northeastern Ghana can be found in the similar traditions of Wé, South Sotho, Ndebele, and Igbo women, among others. Wé-speaking women in Côte d’Ivoire traditionally

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embellished pots, walls, and bodies with designs and, through their artistry, garnered respect, inspired admiration, and subtly highlighted the spheres over which they held control (Adams 1993). Igbo women in Nigeria have historically been known for their uli paintings on bodies and walls for spiritual devotion and aesthetic enhancement (Willis 1989; Onwuakpa 2016). South Sotho women in South Africa and Lesotho painted their homes’ walls with designs passed down from one generation to the next, creating murals that connected artists with their ancestors (Riep 2014, 28). Ndebele women in South Africa painted their walls with designs that evoked traditions of adornment, domestic spaces, everyday life, and modern culture. Motifs representing beaded adornments that served as markers of women’s individual and social identities evoked the traditional realm; images of electric lights, clocks, and cars conjured the modern, urban world and its material products (Schneider 1985, 60–62; Marschall 2002). As with paintings in northeastern Ghana, Ndebele murals reflected and reinforced elements of tradition and adaptation to changing circumstances over time. These examples provide useful comparisons for this book’s discussion of artistic processes, creative adaptation to changing circumstances, and the cultural importance of aesthetic embellishment. African Art and Agency in the Workshop, edited by Sidney Littlefield Kasfir and Till Förster, provides a valuable look into the nature of collaborative artistic production. The introduction explores the “role workshops play in the process of creativity—and particularly of how the creative practice of one artist in the group relates to that of another or to the workshop as a whole” (2013, 7). The discussion provides parallels to the cooperative artistic processes of women in northeastern Ghana. The chapters explore an array of examples. For instance, Silvia Forni’s chapter considers the uniquely collaborative nature of stylistic development among the potters of Nsei, Cameroon, where artists worked in their separate, individual homes but were still connected within a tight network of familial and commercial relations, forming a multi-sited workshop “in which each artist contributes to the creation of a locally shared style” (Kasfir and Förster 2013, 104). It is possible to draw parallels with artistry in Sirigu, Ghana, where familial, social, and commercial connections have facilitated the codification of a local style and repertoire of bambɔlse designs (see chapter 6). The art of bogolan in Mali provides another valuable example of artistic tradition, adaptation, and collaboration. Victoria Rovine has written extensively about bogolan, or bogolanfini—a type of cloth made from strips of woven cotton fabric and decorated with geometric designs rendered in plant dyes and dark mud—and its various manifestations in both rural and urban realms, addressing an array of producers, processes, audiences, and markets. Rovine’s book, Bogolan: Shaping Culture Through Cloth in Contemporary Mali, explores the traditional production of bogolanfini by rural women

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artists as well as the interconnected development of modern artistic processes and forms by artists working in the urban spaces of Bamako. Rovine presents bogolan as an “artistic tradition that thrives simultaneously in its original form and modern, global incarnations” (2008, 15). The example of bogolan can be compared with the tradition of bambɔlse in northeastern Ghana, where rural artistry persists and has been adapted to accommodate changing circumstances and new markets. The collaborative artistic processes of northeastern Ghanaian women can be specifically compared to those of the Groupe Bogolan Kasobane, a group of artists who were pioneers in the revival of bogolan.6 The group is known for their large-scale, elaborate paintings on cotton surfaces, which they produced working simultaneously, each focusing on their section of canvas; through their collaborative artistic process, they created paintings that combined the group members’ individual ideas, techniques, and styles and reflected their collective vision (Rovine 2008, 74). The wall painting process in northeastern Ghana is similarly collaborative, with artists working side by side to create compositions that integrate individual and shared styles. My discussion of women’s artistry in northeastern Ghana builds on numerous published and unpublished sources by Ghanaian and outside scholars. Starting in the 1920s, a series of colonial- and independence-era ethnographers and scholars conducted research and published studies on the cultural and artistic traditions of Ghana, including Alan Wolsey Cardinall (1920), Robert S. Rattray and D. Westermann (1932), Meyer Fortes (1945; 1949), and Madeline Manoukian (1951). These historical publications provide critical information about and illustrations of past cultural and artistic practices in northeastern Ghana. Labelle Prussin’s 1969 study, Architecture in Northern Ghana: A Study of Forms and Functions, provides an overview of Indigenous architectural traditions in northern Ghana and celebrates both men’s traditions of building and women’s embellishment of earthen walls. This publication provides valuable contextual and comparative information for today’s architecture, material culture, and lifestyles. Prussin’s work is also significant for its framing of Indigenous architecture; she sought to elevate what was (and is) often referred to as “primitive architecture” and “building technology” to the status of “architecture.” She argued that architecture is both the process of building and the enclosure of space that creates an environment with a specific nature and quality and, “as such, it is a quantification, graphically and formally, of the system of values inherent in a culture” (Prussin 1969, 1). Prussin’s writing was critical in shaping my thinking about northern Ghanaian architecture in terms of its physical forms, features, and social and cultural importance. Blier’s 1987 study entitled The Anatomy of Architecture: Ontology and Metaphor in Batammaliba Architectural Expression is also important for

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examining traditions of earthen architecture and embellishment as critical expressions of culture. Publications by Alexander Atta Yaw Kyerematen (1964) and Herbert Cole and Doran Ross (1997) offer views of northern Ghanaian architecture and artistry in the broader context of Ghanaian culture. Both publications provide illustrations and descriptions of decorated earthen compounds in the communities of northern Ghana. Cole and Ross’ discussion is particularly remarkable for its analysis of the combined architectural and artistic roles of men and women. The text describes “sophisticated, sculpturally satisfying male-made walls” that are “further transformed by women in to rich, complex, often delicate patterns, creating an architectural environment which is simultaneously an object of pride for the family and a reflection of the good taste of the female decorator” (Cole and Ross 1997, 90). This assessment is notable for its equitable celebration of male and female artistry and its equal attribution of agency in artistic pursuits. In the 1970s, Edward DeCarbo (1977) and Fred Smith (1979) completed in-depth studies focusing on women’s artistry, including bambɔlse. Their reports are valuable not only for their written descriptions but also for their photographs of wall painting, pottery, and basketry; unfortunately, while Smith published a number of articles, neither he nor DeCarbo ever published their full research findings. In the 1980s and 1990s, photojournalist Margaret Courtney-Clarke published several books illustrating and describing women’s architectural embellishment in South Africa, Ghana, Burkina Faso, Mauritania, Nigeria, and the Atlas Mountains region of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia (Courtney-Clarke and Goldblatt 1986; Courtney-Clarke 1990; Courtney-Clarke and Brooks 1996). It should be noted that Courtney-Clarke’s publications are not based on extensive, in-depth research and are problematic in their discussions of “vanishing” cultures; even so, their numerous color photographs offer valuable comparative evidence for examining the more recent artistry of northeastern Ghana. Reports from students in the School for International Training Study Abroad program also informed my early research and perspective. Christine Cowhey’s (1996) and Corine Norman’s (1997) unpublished studies provide information about women’s wall painting practices at a critical point of transition for artistry in the community of Sirigu, which has become a stronghold of Indigenous artistry and features prominently in this book. Unfortunately, except for Courtney-Clarke’s work, these studies were never published. This book builds on and updates the work of these earlier scholars. Recent scholarship has focused on northeastern Ghanaian artists’ adaptations of their traditional products to the tourism market. Rhoda Woets’ 2014 article “This Is What Makes Sirigu Unique: Authenticating Canvas and Wall Paintings in (Inter)national Circuits of Value and Meaning” addresses

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Sirigu artistry as an example of the recasting of ethnic artifacts into the category of world art; the formation, styling, and marketing of heritage in Africa; and the demand for authenticity during a time of intensifying global connectivity (11). Following the work of scholars such as Sally Price (2007), Woets discusses Sirigu artists’ innovative adaptations of their products in response to demands from new markets and audiences. Similarly, Ann Cassiman’s 2011 book chapter “The Commodification and Touristification of Architectural Pride: An Example from Northern Ghana” discusses ideas of “tradition” and “authenticity” as they relate to artistry in Sirigu. Cassiman’s chapter addresses the translation and commodification of heritage, identity, and “traditional” material culture for the cultural tourism market (2011, 191). This book similarly engages with questions of authenticity through specific examples of cultural and artistic adaptation. Following Henry John Drewal, I view the concept of authenticity as a “continually negotiated, rhetorically constructed” category. As such, my focus is on “reasons behind various constructions in order to understand how and why certain views emerge, hold sway, or decline” (Ravenhill et al. 1992, 24). I am interested in the social structures and incentives that motivate artists to engage in certain activities and abandon others. My research also draws from the work of Ghanaian scholars such as Morrow Issahaku (1991), Anaba Anyelom (1995), Abraham Asmah (2013; 2016), Rolland Wemegah, and Eric Appau Asante (2009; 2011; 2015), all of whom have written about artistic practices in northeastern Ghana. These scholars’ reports include valuable details about artistic processes, materials, contexts, and meanings based on research with artists and other members of communities in northeastern Ghana. The work of these scholars is essential for providing Ghanaian perspectives on Ghanaian artistry. I hope these and other Ghanaian scholars will continue researching and publishing on topics related to this book’s discussion. PERSONAL BACKGROUND AND FIELD RESEARCH My interest in African art started in my childhood when I became fascinated by soapstone carvings from Kenya. I took my first African art history course as an undergraduate at the University of California in Santa Cruz. I was immediately captivated by the culturally meaningful adinkra symbols and proverbs of Akan artists in Ghana and pursued research on this topic as a master’s student at Indiana University. While I found my research on the male-dominated Akan art world intellectually engaging, I became dissatisfied with the lack of scholarly attention paid to Ghanaian women artists. So, upon beginning my doctoral work at Indiana University, I sought a research topic

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that would challenge me academically and allow me to contribute meaningfully to the study of women’s arts. My interest in symbolic art forms led me to discover rural women’s wall painting traditions in Ghana’s Upper East Region. I was captured by the intricate compositions of red, black, and white designs painted by rural women on their household walls and knew I had found a topic to which I could dedicate myself. Initially, my project was focused exclusively on Ghana’s Upper East Region. As my research progressed, it became clear that I needed to expand my scope to include several communities in southern Burkina Faso; this is because, despite significant linguistic diversity in the area, communities on either side of the border are connected through common ancestry, intermarriage, and shared cultural and artistic traditions (see chapter 1). Ultimately, I focused my research on nine communities, all of which lie within a thirty-mile radius of Bolgatanga, the capital of Ghana’s Upper East Region: Sirigu, Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, Sumbrungu, Navrongo, and Gumongo on the Ghanaian side of the border, and Gɛliŋɔ, Buŋɔ, and Zeko in Burkina Faso. I chose each community for different reasons. I was drawn to some by reports from previous scholars, and I came to others based on the advice of my mentor and language teacher, Dr. Avea Nsoh, and my research assistant, Azubire Job Apobelum (Job). The balance of the book’s discussion is weighted toward the communities of northeastern Ghana, so general descriptions focus primarily on this area. I devoted particular attention to Sirigu because, in recent decades, this community has come to dominate the area’s artistic landscape. Sirigu’s artists have come to be renowned for their work, especially their wall painting and pottery, within Ghana and beyond. Zuarungu-Moshi is a small Gurenɛ-speaking community located about six miles west of Bolgatanga. Bongo is a medium-sized community located north of Bolgatanga and east of Sirigu, where they speak Booni, a dialect related to Gurenɛ and Nankam (see chapter 1). Sumbrungu is a Gurenɛ-speaking community eight miles north of Bolgatanga along the Accra-Burkina Faso highway. I visited the Atoobiisi section of Sumbrungu several times, guided by Job and his friend, a resident named Atalem Oliver (Oliver). Oliver brought me to two houses with painted walls, Asabea Yire and Anaba-Dongo Yire, and arranged for me to interview the women artists who had painted them. In these interviews, the women gave me tours of the painted rooms, explained the names and meanings of the designs, and told me about the circumstances of their completion.7 Navrongo is a large community that has historically been known for its rich tradition and distinctive style of wall painting. My visits to Navrongo focused on the state of domestic wall painting practices, focusing on the town’s rural Puŋu section, the only area where I could find compounds with painted walls. Except for Sirigu, wall painting has declined considerably in these communities.

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As mentioned, my research took me across Ghana’s northern border to several communities in Burkina Faso. Zeko is a large, Gurenɛ-speaking community about twenty miles north of Sirigu. I visited this community because it features prominently in the history of bambɔlse (see chapter 1). I went to Zeko to learn about this history from the current Zeko chief. I visited the compound of the chief, Sa Majeste Naba Belem Zi’ire (His Grace the Chief Belem Zi’ire), and interviewed him along with his two elderly spokesmen, Sia Sɔ Salam and Karihu Nyɔka Mumuni. I also visited Buŋɔ with Job and a local guide named Azuurɛ. Buŋɔ is a Gurenɛ-speaking community about thirteen miles north of Sirigu, just over the Burkina Faso border. Azuurɛ guided me to this house, as well as Alumbɛ Yire in Gɛliŋɔ, and contributed his thoughts to our conversations about wall painting. Working with numerous artists in multiple communities gave me a broad view of the area’s artistic continuity and variation. METHODS My field research began at Indiana University with an extensive literature review on northeastern Ghanaian artistry and training in multiple Ghanaian languages, starting with Akan-Twi (or Twi). Twi is spoken by seven million people, approximately 44 percent of Ghana’s population, making it broadly useful during my travels and studies there. I also studied Gurenɛ, one of the most spoken languages in northeastern Ghana. My language training allowed me to better understand and connect with the cultures, communities, and people I worked with. I traveled to Ghana for the first time during the summer of 2011 to complete an internship with Aid to Artisans Ghana, a non-governmental organization based in Accra; this was my first opportunity to engage directly with Ghanaian people, cultures, and languages. This experience also allowed me to begin building connections with multiple Ghanaian institutions and individuals from the realms of art and academia. I first visited Ghana’s Upper East Region in 2012, accompanied by my Gurenɛ professor, Dr. Avea Nsoh, who was born in and maintained strong connections with the area. During this first trip, we visited Bolgatanga and several surrounding communities, including Bongo, Zuarungu-Moshi, and Sirigu, which ultimately became my primary research sites. During subsequent trips to the Upper East Region, I was based primarily in Bolgatanga; from this base, I went to communities such as Bongo, ZuarunguMoshi, and Sumbrungu, visiting each for several hours at a time and on multiple occasions. I traveled to Navrongo several times and, at one point, stayed for a week. I visited Sirigu numerous times and stayed for periods of

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one to five weeks at the guesthouse of the Sirigu Women’s Organisation of Pottery and Art (SWOPA), where I interacted with the organization’s staff, members, and visitors. On one visit to Sirigu in 2013, I stayed at Aburipoore Yire (Aburipoore’s House), across the road from the SWOPA compound. While in Sirigu, I visited many of the community’s houses multiple times and worked closely with numerous artists and other community members. I also took day trips from Sirigu to Navrongo, Gumongo, and communities across the Burkina Faso border, such as Zeko, Buŋɔ, and Gɛliŋɔ, all of which were approximately thirty to forty-five minutes away by motorbike. Transportation was a challenge throughout my research. At first, I bought a motorbike in Bolgatanga and received lessons from a woman named Alice. The motorbike was too large for me, and after several attempts at mastering it, including two harrowing journeys from Sirigu to Bolgatanga, I gave up. Ultimately, I relied on Job to pick me up from Bolgatanga or Sirigu and take me to and from my research sites. My fieldwork methods consisted primarily of interviews, house tours, and participant observation. At first, I attempted to collect life histories from individual artists, asking them about their experiences with and knowledge of wall painting, pottery, and basketry. The level of specificity and detail varied widely between women’s narratives, demonstrating differences in personality and communication style and ultimately serving to underscore the individual character of each. I also conducted “photograph interviews,” which involved presenting groups of women with photographs of wall paintings in Margaret Courtney-Clarke’s book African Canvas (1990); however, reproduced images of painted walls proved to be inadequate points of reference for discussing designs. It became clear that interviews were more effective when held in the presence of painted walls; I, therefore, began conducting house tours, which involved visiting houses and interviewing household members, beginning with elderly women artists, then also speaking with house owners (or landlords) and other members of the family. I talked with household members about their individual knowledge of, experience with, and attitude toward traditional artistry. On each house tour, artists showed me the wall paintings they had created and explained the names and meanings of their designs. These tours gave me a broad, nuanced view of ongoing practices, knowledge, interpretations, and opinions of traditional artistry among the area’s communities, households, and individuals. I spent the most time with artists in Bongo, Zuarungu-Moshi, and Sirigu, conducting numerous individual and group interviews and house tours. These interviews covered a range of questions about artists’ individual and collective training, knowledge, experiences, ideas, and opinions. I spoke with members of several women’s groups, including Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba in Bongo,

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Ate’eletaaba in Zuarungu-Moshi, Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba in Sumbrungu, and SWOPA in Sirigu (see chapter 6). In Sirigu, I conducted group interviews on bambɔlse designs and meanings, artistry and identity, and artistic expertise. I also observed, participated in, and documented building, plastering, and painting processes in Bongo, Zuarungu-Moshi, Sirigu, and Bolgatanga. In some cases, I attended pre-planned projects; in others, I commissioned local experts to demonstrate their traditional artistic practices (see chapter 3). The first plastering and painting project I observed occurred during my first visit to Sirigu in 2012. While staying at the SWOPA guesthouse, a group of tourists told me they had just been able to arrange a wall painting workshop the previous week, so I spoke with SWOPA staff and requested my own workshop. Faustina Ayambire, SWOPA’s head art teacher, arranged for the workshop at her childhood home, Akoluzo Yire. This workshop involved a full demonstration of local plastering and painting processes. In March 2013, I commissioned two plastering and painting projects in the towns of Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo. In both communities, I asked the women I had been working with to demonstrate their plastering and painting processes; many had not painted their walls for many years, but they still retained their artistic knowledge. I also attended pre-planned plastering and painting projects at Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu and Melanie Kasise’s house in Bolgatanga. By observing plastering and painting in several communities, I gained an understanding of similarities and differences in the area’s artistic systems, materials, techniques, and styles. I worked with several assistants during my field research. Even though I had completed introductory training in Gurenɛ, once of the primary languages spoken in the area, I required help with translation and transcription. My assistants translated for me during interviews, sometimes transcribed interview recordings, and acted as guides, advisors, and interlocutors, drawing from their lived experiences of local geography, languages, social and cultural norms, and incidental trivia not available in textbooks or on maps, filling in the gaps of information in my “official” research. My primary assistant was (and is) Azubire Job Apobelum (Job), a former linguistics student of Dr. Avea Nsoh. He worked with me throughout my field research and has been an important interlocutor and mentor during my writing process. He is from Zoko, a small rural community about thirteen miles north of Bolgatanga. He received his bachelor’s degree in Gurunɛ (or Gurene) from the University of Education in Winneba. He is married to Cecilia Apobelum, and they have several children. He is a farmer and grows crops on the land surrounding his compound. He lives in a house with painted walls, and the women in his family weave baskets and hats; he is well-versed in the traditional artistry on which my research is focused.

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Job is also highly knowledgeable about the area where I conducted my research and had numerous family connections, friends, and acquaintances he could call to coordinate interviews and house tours. When he was unfamiliar with a town we were visiting, he would arrange for us to be met by a local guide. These guides were always men, but they had grown up watching their mothers plaster and paint their walls, mold pots, and weave baskets, so they were interested in the topic of my research and contributed to our interviews and conversations. When we visited Kassem-speaking communities, such as Navrongo and Tiébélé, we were often accompanied by Job’s friend Bawa, who was fluent in Kassem.8 I also worked with another Kassem-speaking research assistant, Monica, who was one of Dr. Avea Nsoh’s former linguistics students and lived in the Navrongo area. Several other friends and acquaintances assisted with transcribing interviews. While in Sirigu, I also frequently spoke with and received valuable information from Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire, a local tour guide and member of the Aburipoore household. I returned to Sirigu in 2016 and 2017, after concluding the initial phases of my field research, for two brief visits during which I consulted with the artists and culture brokers I had previously worked with about their wishes regarding the products of our work together. I spoke with Melanie Kasise and Bridget Kasise, the founder and director of the SWOPA, and groups of women in Sirigu, Zuarungu-Moshi, and Bongo. While their specific words varied, there were some common themes. They felt it was critical to honor individual artists and record their work for the benefit of future generations. And they asked that I publish the information they had given me so that the importance of their artistic traditions and practices could be recognized outside their communities, among audiences within Ghana and beyond. MISSING DETAILS AND DISCREPANCIES Throughout this discussion, I have included as many specific details as possible. For instance, I have attempted to name all of the individuals and households discussed within the text. The names included in this book are drawn from my notes, recorded interviews, and transcriptions. While I was able to record and include the names of almost everyone I worked with, a few did not make it into my notes. One reason for this is that, in the context of plastering and painting projects, I was not always able to record the names of the individual women whose artistic techniques I describe in the book; this is because such processes were noisy and hectic, with people arriving and departing throughout the day, and I was sometimes unable to record every detail. Throughout the discussion, there are references to specific amounts of time, but these are often approximations. For instance, in the case of the

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plastering and painting descriptions, I include the number of minutes between each step in the process based on photograph time stamps; this is meant to give a sense of pace and should not be taken too literally. In reality, women switched back and forth between plastering, painting, and smoothing without clear breaks between stages in the process (see chapter 3). General descriptions of artistic processes are drawn from interviews in which women often spoke in generalities, describing the timing of each stage in their artistic processes as “some time” or “a little while”; this is because timing generally varies depending on factors such as weather and time of day. Artists, therefore, rely not on specific prescriptions but on knowledge and expertise gained through lifetimes of experience. Women also did not typically give specific details, such as exact dates, concerning their personal histories. The older women I spoke with did not necessarily know their ages; likewise, they typically did not know the exact ages at which they began their artistic training. As babies, they were strapped to their mothers’ backs as they slapped plaster onto their walls. As toddlers, they stood by in compound courtyards, watching their grandmothers paint symbolic designs. Some of them began poking at piles of plaster and playing with balls of clay as early as five years old. In general, their artistic training was incremental, spread out over years and decades; a specific point of mastery could not typically be named. Throughout this book’s discussion, I aim to describe and discuss my interactions with and observations of specific artists and their work as faithfully and accurately as possible. CHAPTER OUTLINES The goal of this book is to provide an in-depth and specific discussion of northeastern Ghanaian and southern Burkinabé women’s artistic practices, both historically and today. Chapter 1 explores the history of bambɔlse and its association with notions of ideal womanhood. Chapter 2 provides an overview of social systems and connections among the communities, households, and families in the rural communities of northeastern Ghana, then illustrates this with descriptions of four specific houses. Chapter 3 focuses on women’s artistic production, drawing heavily from my observations in the field, focusing specifically on processes of plastering and painting, emphasizing description over analysis. This discussion is based on my observations of artistic processes in both rural and urban contexts. Chapter 4 describes a selection of more and less common bambɔlse designs and discusses their meanings. Chapters 5 and 6 conclude the discussion with explorations of contemporary lives and lifestyles, architectural and artistic preferences and practices, and examples of artistic decline and resurgence in northeastern

Introduction

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Ghana. Chapter 5 addresses factors contributing to the decline of bambɔlse, including changing materials, techniques, values, and preferences; this chapter also provides reactions to the change and loss of traditional artistry from artists and other members of their communities. Chapter 6 explores examples of artistic persistence and resurgence, focusing especially on Indigenous artists’ responses to shifting circumstances and incentives. The goal of these chapters is to present women’s artistry from several angles. To the greatest extent possible, I foreground the voices and work of individual women artists, drawing from specific examples to reveal the complexities involved in their artistic knowledge and practices. Existing studies generally present (with some exceptions) women’s artistry as a consistent and enduring element of Indigenous culture, emphasizing overarching systems of artistic practices, aesthetic goals, and symbolic repertoires; I aim to complicate this image, recognizing variations in individual training, experiences, techniques, knowledge, and opinions that inevitably exist among artists and their communities. NOTES 1. This term has several possible pronunciations and spellings due to variations in language, dialect, and pronunciation across the area. Other alternatives include bɔmbɔresi, bambɔresi, and bɔsimbɔresi (Azubire Job Apobelum, personal communication, September 5, 2013). The two most common are bɔrenbɔrisi and bambɔlse. Both of these pronunciations are used throughout the area, but the latter seems to be used more widely. After consulting with local language experts such as Rolland Wemegah and Anaba Anyelom, who confirmed that both spellings are valid, I have opted to use the spelling bambɔlse. 2. Smith also reported that the term goliga was used by Frafra people to describe painted and incised wall decorations (1979, 172). I did not encounter this term during my research, but the Gurenɛ word gulega (gulesi, pl.) means “design, pattern” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 60). 3. Greenwald described bambɔlse as elaborate wall decorations composed of geometric and figurative motifs in deep reds, strong blacks, and bright whites painted by women on the walls of their compounds (2014, 1). Wemegah used the term bambolse only to mention that it is the local term for mural painting in Sirigu (2009, 84). Other reports do not use the term at all, instead referring to paintings as murals or designs, or mention the term only briefly without providing any additional information (Courtney-Clarke 1990; Cowhey 1996; Eustace et al. 2002; Appau Asante et al. 2015). 4. This is a selected list. See Wemegah for further information about the most common types of pots made and used in Sirigu, including names, images, and functions (2009, 103–07).

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5. For instance, Cardinall wrote in his 1920 report: “weaving baskets from grass is quite a high art. All shapes and sizes are made and different colours used” (1920, 95). 6. Groupe Bogolan Kasobane is also an example of the recent trend among many African cultures and communities toward transferring Indigenous artistic traditions across gender lines. In Mali, rural women artists have even trained male artists in the traditional processes of creating bogolanfini. In the context of northeastern Ghana, as in Mali, men are increasingly taking up artistic pursuits that have historically been the purview of women. Bambɔlse designs have also influenced and been incorporated into the work of multiple academically trained artists working in rural and urban contexts within the Upper East Region and beyond. While these trends are worthy of investigation, they are not a primary focus of this discussion. 7. Across the highway from these houses was a large community center, built out of cement blocks and painted with designs in the Indigenous style. These paintings had been done by a trained local artist named Samuel Ade-Am, who lived and worked in Navrongo. Samuel (or Sammy) Ade-Am had done paintings inspired by women’s symbolic artistry in several locations: a small church in Navrongo’s Puŋu section, the Next Generation Home for Bolgatanga’s at-risk youth, and Navrongo Senior High School. While the subject of Ade-Am’s painting activities holds substantial potential for interrogating shifts in gender roles and norms, it is beyond this project’s scope. 8. I visited the Burkina Faso community of Tiébélé, a popular tourism site known for its wall painting tradition; however, I ultimately chose not to include it in this survey.

Chapter 1

Bambɔlse History and Identity

Traditional artistry has historically been—and continues to be—an essential part of individual and collective cultural identity. Elderly artists were trained from childhood to plaster and paint walls, mold pots, and weave baskets. They were trained by mothers and grandmothers who told them about the histories of these traditions. Many still recall this early education, can recount what they learned, and continue to consider artistic knowledge and practice as essential elements of their identities. This chapter focuses on questions of history and identity. The discussion begins by exploring cultural and artistic histories, focusing specifically on bambɔlse, then addresses women’s ongoing association of traditional artistry with the notion of ideal womanhood. ETHNIC AND LINGUISTIC BACKGROUND AND CONNECTIONS Traditional artistry in northeastern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso exists against a backdrop of ethnic and linguistic diversity. This discussion primarily concerns communities populated by people from the Gurensi, or Gurenɛ-speaking; Nankani, or Nankam-speaking; and Kassena, or Kassemspeaking ethnic groups.1 The Gurensi and Nankani peoples are also referred to collectively as Frafra, which refers to both ethnicity and language. This term comes from the traditional greeting, “fara fara,” which conveys sympathy to a farmer hard at work hoeing in the field or to a person recently involved in a funeral (Cardinall 1920, viii; Smith 1979, 6, footnote 1; personal communication, Azubire Job Apobelum, April 12, 2016).2 The ethnic groups of the area are culturally distinct, with variations in their lifestyles, cultural practices, and spiritual beliefs. Still, there is significant mixing among them, facilitated by migration, marriage, trade, and cooperative labor. 23

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Local oral tradition speaks to migration histories and ongoing connections among the area’s people. Take, for instance, Sirigu Chief Naba Adumbire Akɔra’s story of his ancestors’ migration from Zeko to Sirigu, a journey of about twenty miles. At one point in the past, the chief said, the Zeko community had grown large and continued to increase. One of his ancestors decided that they “should not settle at one side, they should migrate. . . . So, as a clan, [they] migrated from Zeko.” When they got to Sirigu, he said, “it was a vast land, a forest, so they decided to settle here” (interview, September 21, 2013).3 While one brother moved from Zeko and settled in Sirigu, another went to Navrongo, establishing a connection among the three communities.4 At the time of these early migrations, Navrongo was predominantly Nankani, but over time large numbers of Kassena people moved to the area and became the dominant ethnic group. While Kassem continues to be the primary language spoken in the Navrongo area, many people also speak Nankam due to their Nankani roots. Sirigu has remained a Nankani community in which Nankam is the primary language. Today, elders from Zeko retain authority in Yelewongo, Sirigu, and Navrongo, while the Nankani people are still considered to be the custodians of the land.5 Despite national boundaries, the area’s people continue to recognize their ancestral connections. As the Zeko chief and his spokesmen explained, “it is this political demarcation that divides us. We have Ghana and Burkina. Had it not been that, it is one people altogether; one people, one language, and one cultural practice” (interview, Sa Majeste Naba Belem Zi’ire, Sia Sɔ Salam, and Karibu Nyɔka Mumumi, February 6, 2014). Ancestral and ongoing connections among the communities can be seen in the area’s shared cultural and artistic traditions. As the Sirigu chief put it, “the [traditions] are the same because our ancestral father taught us a particular culture, so as they came and settled here and the others went there, we have the culture in common. Even though . . . the Kassem language has dominated [in Navrongo], they still stick to their culture” (interview, Sirigu chief, September 21, 2013). Connections among the communities of northeastern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso can be seen, for instance, in the shared tradition of wall painting. This chapter’s discussion delves into the history of this tradition. HISTORY OF BAMBƆLSE Knowledge of bambɔlse’s history varies from one artist to the next. Some have a general understanding of this artistic tradition and its origins; others can relate specific information and details passed down through generations. The exact date of bambɔlse’s origin and the details of its development are not entirely clear. Still, evidence suggests that this tradition emerged at

Bambɔlse 25

least a century ago, if not earlier. For example, in his 1920 report, Cardinall described the walls of houses in the Kassena area as painted with mural decorations that included “red, white and black in unsymmetrical forms” as well as “tortoises and crocodiles with cowrie eyes.” Cardinall’s publication also includes a photograph showing a compound and the caption “chief of Navarro’s compound, showing the painted exterior walls,” indicating vertical black stripes adorning the compound’s exterior (1920, 98–99). Similarly, a black-and-white photograph published in Robert S. Rattray and D. Westermann’s 1932 report pictures a Kassena compound painted with vertical black lines, accompanied by a caption that reads, “the outside walls of Kasena compounds are often coloured with white and black stripes” (Figure 154). DeCarbo wrote that oral narrative dated the origin of bambɔlse to the introduction of round houses by the Nankani migrant and ruler-to-be, Butu of Zeko, at least fourteen generations earlier (1977, 115).6 The Zeko chief and his spokesmen similarly reported that women had been painting their walls for many generations—since people first began living in earthen houses (interview, February 6, 2014). While specific knowledge of bambɔlse’s history varied among artists in the area, their understanding of this tradition suggested its longevity. Apuntuguna Aberinga, for her part, did not know the precise date of bambɔlse’s origin but recalled that “when I was born, I saw bambɔlse.” Even the one who taught her about this tradition, she said, “grew to meet [it].” She could not say precisely when it came about, “maybe [it has] 100 years, ten years . . . I don’t know the age” (interview, October 11, 2013). As Selina Nyaaba put it, bambɔlse came from “the oldest generation, some years far back that I cannot even remember or trace” (interview, January 22, 2013). And as Grace Anaba stated of bambɔlse’s history, “I came and met it” (interview, February 5, 2013). While the details of these accounts vary, it seems clear that women have passed down the tradition of bambɔlse through many generations. The tradition of bambɔlse has historically been common among Gurenɛ- and Kassem-speaking communities. More specifically, the accounts of both locals and outsiders suggest that the tradition originated in the area surrounding Navrongo, particularly in the Burkina Faso communities to the north, including Zeko, Buŋɔ, and Gɛliŋɔ (DeCarbo 1977; Smith 1979; Issahakku 1991; Anyelom 1995). From there, it spread to the south, connecting Kassem- and Gurenɛ-speaking communities across the region. Some accounts trace the origin of bambɔlse to the Kassem-speaking area surrounding Navrongo. For instance, as the Zuarungu naba (chief) told Fred Smith, “painting originated with the Kassena. It is from the northwest. It started somewhere in the area of Navrongo or farther west.” A Kassena compound owner confirmed this, reporting to Smith, “we have always painted our walls. We cover all of the walls with attractive designs because it is our

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tradition” (quoted in Smith 1979, 174). According to the Zuarungu naba, the tradition spread south from the Kassena area to communities such as Bongo and Zuarungu. As he said, “people saw it and copied it, and now it is all over” (quoted in Smith 1979, 173–74). Ayampɔka Nyaaba similarly learned from her mother that bambɔlse originated in the Navrongo area, passed through Yelewongo, and, when it came to Bongo, the women “copied it from those people” (interview, January 22, 2013). While the exact temporal and geographical origins of bambɔlse are unknown, it seems clear that people today understand this tradition as part of their histories and something that has long fostered intercultural connections throughout the region. Many associate the origins of bambɔlse with the sources of its materials—zigmͻrligo, gare, kugesabela, kugpeele—in communities to the north of Navrongo, such as Buŋɔ, Gɛliŋɔ, and Zeko. Agombire Atampugre, for instance, had learned that bambɔlse “came from Buŋo, a community in Burkina Faso where we get some of our materials” (interview, October 12, 2013). The Zeko chief and his spokesmen linked the origin of bambɔlse with Zeko, where zigmͻrligo (reddish-brown pigment) and gare (red pigment) can be collected from the ground and kugpeele (white pigment) and kugesabela (black pigment) can be found in rocky areas and riverbeds. As they put it, “the materials are abundant here, they dig them here and use . . . [them] to make the wall painting, so . . . it is from this place that the bambɔlse originated.” It was their ancestral mother, they said, who first dug them from the ground and used them to paint her walls. She then passed along her techniques to her children and grandchildren, who, when they grew up and married in other places, also painted the walls of their husbands’ homes, spreading the tradition (interview, February 6, 2014). Asokipala Aberiŋa likewise linked the origin of bambɔlse to a woman from Zeko named Ayu’am, who had married to Sirigu and brought the tradition with her (interview, September 25, 2013).7 These accounts highlight the role of intermarriage and migration in facilitating the collaborative development of plastering and painting techniques by women working across time and space. It seems likely that bambɔlse originated to the north and spread south to communities such as Sirigu, where the chief described bambɔlse as “part of the Indigenous culture.” He said when a room is built, “the women will make sure that they will plaster it so it will not fall . . . [and] they will use the kugesabela, the kugpeele, and then the zigmɔrligo. They . . . plaster the wall so that it will not get collapsed. So it is part of our culture in Sirigu here.” As far as the history of this tradition, he said, “our great-grandfathers were used to it. When they would build the room, the women would make sure they plaster it so that it wouldn’t collapse, and it is through that that made them have interest in it, and they are still doing it. . . . Even the women of today are still doing it. So it is our culture. We cannot do without it” (interview, February 25, 2013). Selina

Bambɔlse 27

Figure 1.1.  These are zigmɔrligo, reddish-brown gravel, on the left and gare, brighter red stones, on the right. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

Nyaaba had learned as a child that bambɔlse had “started somewhere around Sirigu, Nyariga, and Zoko area and spread to other places,” further suggesting the longevity of this tradition in the area (interview, January 22, 2013). In speaking of bambɔlse and its history, elderly women focused on several key functions: protecting and beautifying the walls, attracting admiration and generating pride, and connecting artists with their ancestors. As Apodɔleba Asuŋɔ, Janet Abuo, and Abisizina put it, “our ancestral mothers were doing the painting to support the wall, to keep it from collapsing and make it beautiful. So we also . . . are doing it” (interview, January 30, 2014). As Grace Anaba put it, “when we do bambɔlse, it makes the place look neat. Doing the paintings and sprinkling with am keeps the walls from growing fungi” (interview, February 5, 2013). Plastering and painting practices were thus a vital part of protecting walls, supporting and protecting them from growing mold. Focusing on the aesthetic value of bambɔlse, Amaalebɔba Atiŋa said it “was meant to beautify the room.” Traditionally, she explained, their ancestors “had no other paint but . . . our local paint. . . . When the room was built, they had to paint it and to make the walls beautiful. So that is how it came about” (interview, September 5, 2013). As Azo’uue Awaho put it, bambɔlse

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Chapter 1

Figure 1.2.  These are kugpeele stones. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

“is an ancient type of plastering . . . [done by] ancient people . . . to attract people, to make [the] room beautiful” (interview, February 5, 2013). For Asokepa’ala Aeŋɛpaɛ, bambɔlse was “part and parcel of our ancestors, and we do it for beauty’s sake. When we plaster and paint, anyone coming somewhere who sees the wall says ‘ah, this house is nice,’ so that is why we were doing it” (interview, October 7, 2013). As Api’irama Apuuri and Adeebͻba Apiyire said, “we grew to meet our mothers’ mothers doing it. And when our mothers’ mothers died, our mothers took over.” The purpose of bambɔlse, they explained, “was to make the room beautiful and attractive, so when we grew . . . we took over because we also want our rooms to look beautiful” (interview, January 28, 2014). These paintings did not simply beautify a household’s walls; they were also meant to evoke admiration and respect from others. A woman painted her walls with bambɔlse to ensure visitors to her home would see it as attractive, which reflected positively on her household. Dina Aeŋepaɛ, for instance, said of bambɔlse’s history, “I only know that it was our ancestral thing. Our great grandmothers were doing it, and their grandmothers did it and also transferred it to their mothers, and they were doing it” (interview, October 1, 2013). Alice Aeŋepaɛ likewise knew of

Bambɔlse 29

Figure 1.3.  Akake Nsoh is grinding a ball of black kugesabela against a stone slab resting on a piece of corrugated metal collecting the powdered pigment. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

bambɔlse as “something that our ancestors [thought was] beautiful, and they decided to plaster and paint it, and everybody now continues to do it” (interview, October 1, 2013). Ramatu Aeŋepaɛ had learned that bambɔlse originated with the “ancestral mother” who, after her room was built, “decided that ‘I want to make my room more beautiful than the other women.’ So she plastered her room and painted it with the bambɔlse.” Other women appreciated her designs and “requested that she should paint it for them, and she did it. So it was through that bambɔlse came about” (interview, October 7, 2013). Bambɔlse was passed down through generations of women and served a vital role in connecting women with their ancestors. Through plastering and painting, women remembered the women who taught them these processes and the generations before them. In this way, bambɔlse was a vital means for preserving ancestral knowledge and histories.

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THE PƆGEMINKA: BAMBƆLSE AND IDENTITY Women’s artistry is inextricably linked to local ideas about ideal womanhood, expressed by the concept of the pɔgeminka, a woman who “loves herself” and is worthy of respect. As Rita Kasise and Agombire Atampugre put it, the pɔgeminka is “a lady who wants neatness, cleans her surroundings, washes her cooking utensils, the calabashes, and all the compound, to make sure the environment is neat, the calabashes are cleaned and stocked, and the bowls are also washed and placed at an appropriate place. If such a thing is done, they call her pɔgeminka” (interview, January 8, 2014). Traditionally, a pɔgeminka is trained in wall plastering, painting, pottery, and basket-weaving. Neatly plastered, painted, and maintained walls, perfectly molded pots, expertly woven baskets, and meticulously cleaned calabash bowls are the tools with which the pɔgeminka has historically cared for her family and kept her environment neat. A woman’s artistic activities are not just about caring for and beautifying her home but are also about creating and displaying herself as a particular kind of woman, one who is highly valued. The history of bambɔlse is wrapped up with concepts of ideal womanhood and the pɔgeminka. Apuntuguna Aberinga, for instance, linked the story of bambɔlse’s development with that of the pɔgeminka. She had been taught that “initially,” women had only plastered their walls and left them unpainted without the bambɔlse. But, she said, “it came to a time one lady thought it wise that, ‘no, I want to decorate my wall so that it will look different from the other women.’” This woman gathered the pods of the baobab tree and burnt them into ashes that she used to make the designs.8 The woman who brought the idea, “they called that lady pɔgeminka.” It was due to the development of bambɔlse, Apuntuguna said, “that everybody wanted to be pɔgeminka, so they learned how to do it, and it came about” (interview, October 11, 2013). Agombire Atampugre related the development of bambɔlse to the pɔgetezaata, lazy woman, and the pɔgeminka. “In the olden days,” she said, “they just plastered it rough, used the cow dung . . . and left it like that.” At this time, “it was considered that every woman was just a careless woman, pɔgetezaata. They didn’t care for themselves; they didn’t want something that was good for them.” But, she said, “it came to a time they said ‘no. When you wear your shirt, and you have different colors, it looks nice, so why can’t we put colors on our walls so that our walls will also look nice?’” So “they put up some designs and mixed the colors” to create their red, black, and white compositions. And “it was from there that they got to know that when they do it that way, it will look nice.” She attributed this development to the pɔgeminka. It was one woman, she said, who “thought, ‘I want to make myself neat, and I want to make my walls beautiful.’” It was this woman who

Bambɔlse 31

first painted her walls with bambɔlse designs. Others “saw that it was good and they called [the woman who had created it] pɔgeminka. Then everyone wants to be pɔgeminka, so they keep on doing it. And that brought about the history” (interview, October 12, 2013). Bambɔlse has historically been a key means by which women beautify their homes, garner respect and admiration, and demonstrate personal and familial pride, thereby earning the title of pɔgeminka. Azuurɛma Anontebesum, for instance, said of bambɔlse: it “portrays the culture . . . [and] tells viewers the kind of woman you are.” When you enter someone’s house and see that she has plastered with cow dung and left the walls “rough,” without smoothing its surface or applying the designs, “you see that woman not to be a competent woman.” Bambɔlse, she said, is something that makes the walls neat “and . . . tells you the kind of woman who is owning [a] room.” Azuurɛma saw bambɔlse as an essential component of a woman’s role as a wife. She compared this with a woman’s ability to prepare tuo zafi, a mainstay of local cuisine, saying that a man will not marry a woman if she is not able to prepare this dish well, implying that skills in plastering and painting held a similar importance (interview, February 5, 2013). Abugerɛ Ayɛba’asɛ, for her part, saw bambɔlse as an integral component of ideal womanhood. Bambɔlse, she said, is an essential part of making the “environment, all the floor, all the other things neat, so that anyone who comes in will know that this woman is the pɔgeminka.” If you “go into [a woman’s] room and . . . see that [it] is filthy, the walls are not well painted, she hasn’t arranged her [belongings] well, then it would have been better that you stay outside.” Bambɔlse, she said, is “not just to make the walls beautiful, but it tells you what kind of woman who [owns] that room” (interview, February 12, 2013). These comments highlight the visibility of bambɔlse as an integral part of how this art form acts on women. A woman is literally surrounded by her walls, the adornment of which—or lack thereof—sends an immediate message about her to her onlookers. Ayampɔka Nyaaba described bambɔlse as one of the critical duties of a respectable woman. As she explained, when you enter the pɔgeminka’s room, it “looks neat.” The pɔgeminka gets up in the early dawn to “sweep the place . . . [and] build a cooking place called kura, with three stones where she can put the pot.” She clears the ash and paints the area with zigmɔrligo gravel to wash the blackness away. She explained, “when we burn the fire, it becomes black and doesn’t look attractive and doesn’t tell people that you are a good woman.” Her clay “cooking pots are washed and polished with shea butter . . . to make them look neat and attractive.” For her metal pots, she uses “silver shine to wash . . . after eating to keep [them] neat.” The pɔgeminka, she said, also paints the walls of her house with bambɔlse designs, both for

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the sake of beauty and as a symbol of respectability. As she put it, bambɔlse “entertains people and tells people the kind of person you are.” When a visitor “sees [the bambɔlse], they know that the pɔka [woman] who made the designs is pɔgeminka” (interview, January 22, 2013). And “the moment they get into the house before they realize you have brought them water, [the bambɔlse] is a source of entertainment.” Even if they are “in a hurry to leave . . . when they see that thing, and they are looking at it, before they realize it, they have spent time” (interview, January 22, 2013). Here she suggested that bambɔlse can impact visitors, causing them to spend more time in a woman’s house and further integrating them into her social circle. This art, therefore, plays an essential part in a woman’s construction and maintenance of her social network. Rose Yaaro described the pɔgeminka as “someone who is very neat [and has] received good moral training from her mother.” Such a woman “is neat at doing things.” She ensures that her clothing and environment are neat before doing anything else. “When she wants to cook her food, the cooking utensils, [she] makes sure they are neat and the food [is] well prepared.” She also keeps her environment and her clothing neat. “There are so many features that will make one identify a particular woman as pɔgeminka,” including bambɔlse. As Rose explained, if you pass by a house painted with bambɔlse, “you say ‘Eh! Can you imagine this, even the outside [is painted]? What of the inside?’” From this, she said, you can “pre-tell” that the one who did the paintings is the pɔgeminka. “So it is part of the pɔgeminka” (individual interview, January 22, 2013). Selina Nyaaba described bambɔlse as a duty of the pɔgeminka. She said, “if you try and you are doing it, you are one of the pɔgeminka.” As with the pɔgeminka’s other duties, she explained, bambɔlse is “something that will also beautify the room and make it neat.” She recalled that, during her childhood, people valued bambɔlse a great deal. When a woman painted the walls of her house with bambɔlse, she said, “anyone somewhere seeing it would admire and know that you are also pɔgeminka . . . [one of] those people who are capable of doing it.” In those days, she said, bambɔlse “was part of our culture . . . so [people] patronized it.” Women garnered respect and recognition for their work, which sometimes resulted in commissions from others. As Selina put it, “those who knew how to do it best were even sent to other communities to do it for [others]. People came and requested [for artists] to go and do it for them” (interview, January 22, 2013). While women are not traditionally compensated monetarily for their work, they receive food and refreshments for their labor. Mariama Alhassan described bambɔlse as “something we do to beautify the room, to attract people, either passing by or those who enter the room.” It shows, she said, “the women [who] are capable of doing it and are therefore

Bambɔlse 33

women of integrity, women who love themselves, not that careless kind of woman, but women of dignity: pɔgemenkesi” (interview, January 21, 2013). Asadaarɛ Nyaaba similarly described the pɔgeminka as a woman who likes herself. “When you go to her room,” she said, “all of the walls are . . . plastered with designs, and she will use the dawa dawa pods, cooked and sprinkled on it, to make it look neat and attractive, plaster the platform and make it neat for people to see.” When you see this, she concluded, “nobody will even tell you that this pɔka is a pɔgeminka, but looking, seeing it yourself, you realize it on your own.” Others, she said, “just do it the cheapest way. They just do something that will keep the wall from falling . . . [and] just leave the walls plain . . . they are not the pɔgeminka” (interview, January 21, 2013). These stories suggest that women do not simply see the practice of bambɔlse as a way to make beautiful walls; it is also a way through which they make themselves into particular kinds of valued women. WOMEN’S DAILY LIVES AND BAMBƆLSE DESIGNS Bambɔlse imagery representing elements of women’s daily lives and domestic duties reinforces ideas about gender roles and ideal womanhood. These include, for instance, motifs referring to food preparation. A wall at Asabea Yire in Sumbrungu featured motifs identified as ben-ɔresi, clay bowls used to soften bean leaves for preparing soups, or kuto dukerɔ, coal pots.9 These were rendered as double-lined Vs with rectangular bases striped with red, black, and white diagonal lines. Ben-ɔresi, the women explained, are “meant for the women.” So, when they were painting, they remembered to put this design on the wall (interviews, February 14 and September 5, 2013). Women at Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi painted multiple small fish because, they explained, this is a common ingredient used in cooking. Similarly, a wall at Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu featured a large fish with a striped upper fin and tail, its body embellished with zigzagging red, black, and white lines. Agombire Atampugre related this image to the processes of plastering and painting the walls. She explained, “when we were plastering the wall, they went and bought fish for those who were doing the plastering. So that is why we decided to put it there, to symbolize that we use fish for cooking” (interview, March 11, 2013). Women in Zuarungu-Moshi identified a thick vertical line with wing-like sections of cross-hatching projecting out to the sides as a fan, or peŋo. This motif, they explained, represented the process of fanning a cooking fire to feed its flames (interview, March 19, 2013). These examples highlight the centrality of food preparation and bambɔlse in constructing women’s identities. A woman gains respect by caring for her household and family, which involves gathering ingredients, preparing food,

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plastering, and painting walls. By painting her walls with bambɔlse designs referencing her responsibilities within the household, she announces to viewers that she is a respectable woman. These examples also point to the universal importance of food in people’s lives, for instance, as an agent of social cohesion. Women typically pause their plastering and painting projects and gather in the shade to share a meal. Such breaks offer opportunities for rest, rejuvenation, and social interaction. These moments are essential in building and strengthening bonds among groups of women. By painting images referencing the preparation and sharing of meals, women further reinforce social bonds by inserting reminders of such moments into their everyday lives. Some designs refer more directly to plastering and painting activities. For instance, the doviisi design represents dawa dawa tree leaves, an important resource in the area used for food, medicine, and purification (Anyelom 1995, 41–42). The pods of the dawa dawa tree, or kansaŋesi, are also among the ingredients used to produce resins for coating painted walls and pots. The doviisi design is most commonly rendered as vertical parallel lines with a fringe of short downward-pointing diagonal lines on either side. According to Anyelom, the doviisi motif is traditionally used to decorate walls, pots, brass

Figure 1.4.  This is a wall painted with doviisi (dawa dawa tree leaves), hands, and a bunsɛla (snake) rendered in relief. Asabea Yire, February 14, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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Figure 1.5.  Women are painting together, one creating a white background for a design using a kugpeele stone and the other two outlining snake and ateyesia designs with black paint using millet stalk brushes as another woman gestures from behind. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 7, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

bracelets, and faces (1995, 42). The latter association refers to the Nankani tradition of scarification. Nankani men’s and women’s faces are traditionally adorned with scarification designs, mainly for aesthetic purposes. These facial markings traditionally include “leaf-shaped cuts” known as no-dovia, referring to dawa dawa leaves (Rattray and Westermann 1932, 330–31). While this tradition has faded over time, such markings can still be seen on women’s faces today. Doviisi is perhaps the most common design referring to plastering and painting activities, but other motifs also refer to this tradition. Examples could be seen, for instance, at Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi. For instance, a motif called ateyesia referred to the hard work of plastering and painting. This design was rendered as a horizontal band filled with zigzagging lines. Ateyesia refers to “people holding their waists.” The women explained: “Every activity,” they said, “it is the waist that steers; it is the waist that will support you.” So “when you are working, and you become tired, you try to hold your waist, support yourself, just to rest.” They related this design to the hard work of plastering and painting, explaining, “when we become tired, we have to

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Figure 1.6.  This is a wall painted with a narrative scene of a man standing in the courtyard of his house next to a relief-rendered coiled python, or wɔbezifo (a.k.a. wɔbekimɔ), surrounded by scattered black-and-white dashes, a tree, and rows of ben-ɔresi (clay bowls) or kuto dukerɔ (coal pots) motifs. Asabea Yire, Sumbrungu, February 14, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

hold their waist and relax” (interview, March 19, 2013). These comments suggested the pride that these women took in their work. They did not engage in plastering and painting as a hobby but saw these activities as difficult and highly valuable labor. A set of narrative scenes at Asabea Yire in Sumbrungu spoke to the importance of neatness and related this specifically to plastering and painting. While it seems bambɔlse compositions did not typically include narrative scenes in the past, such imagery has grown more common over time (see chapters 4 and 6). The scene began with an image of a house and, standing nearby, a relief-rendered male figure. The man had thick, black hair and wore a striped shirt, pants decorated with black-and-white dots and dashes, and black shoes. Coiled to the right of the man was a python, or wɔbezifo (a.k.a. wɔbekimɔ), rendered in relief and embellished with black-and-white dashes along the length of its body.10 Spaces surrounding the man and python were filled with stylized images of trees and scattered black-and-white dashes arranged in groups of three. Extending across the top of the wall and to the

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side of the python were rows of ben-ɔresi (clay bowls) or kuto dukerɔ (coal pots) motifs. This scene was set in the space of a compound, indicated by the presence of the house and cooking vessels; this was a compound that had not been properly maintained by household members, who had failed to keep their environment neat. A sense of disorder, or “filthiness,” was conveyed by bushy trees and scattered dashes filling the spaces. The “bushiness” of the compound, the women explained, had encouraged a wɔbezifo (python) to enter. The scene depicts a man, one of the household members, who has thrown up his hands in surprise “because he least expects the wɔbezifo around his environment.” The women had painted this scene as a warning. Wɔbezim (pythons), the women explained, normally live in the bush, “if you don’t clean the surroundings, [they] will grow bushy.” And “if you allow your house to grow bushy, the wɔbezifo will move in.” They had painted this scene to “portray neatness.” They explained, “those people who make their houses neat, their surroundings neat, the wɔbezifo is afraid to go near” (interview, February 14, 2013). The lesson continued onto the adjacent wall. This time, the painted imagery specifically related the importance of neatness to plastering and painting. The composition began with another python, rendered in relief as a wavy line embellished with black-and-white dashes, slithering across the wall. To the creature’s right was a set of five hands rendered in black and outlined in white. The doviisi (dawa dawa tree leaves) design, rendered as a series of vertical lines fringed with downward-pointing diagonal lines, filled the lower portion of the composition (see figure 1.4). These combined images were intended to evoke a scene of women plastering and painting the walls of the “bushy” compound. The hands referred to the physical work of plastering and painting. As the women explained, the hands were meant to show “that we don’t use any tool to do it but our natural hands” (interview, February 14, 2013). The doviisi motif referred to plastering and painting materials, specifically the organic am varnish sprinkled onto freshly plastered and painted walls. In this visual narrative, women from the household were busy plastering and painting their walls, but they had neglected to keep the rest of their compound neat. The resulting “filthy environment” allowed a wɔbezifo to sneak up on them as they worked. The women painted this scene as a warning, specifically aimed at women: it is not enough to plaster and paint the walls. Women must also keep their environment neat, lest unwanted visitors enter their midst undetected (interview, February 14, 2013). This set of paintings spoke to ideas about women’s household roles. The painted scenes reminded women that they must devote themselves to the general upkeep of their compounds and highlighted plastering and painting as vital means by which they should keep their houses neat.

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ARTISTRY AND IDENTITY, CHANGE AND ADAPTATION Now we will explore how this artistic practice looks in practice and how it has shifted throughout the region. Lifestyles, circumstances, and architectural and artistic practices have changed considerably in northern Ghana over the last several decades (see chapter 5). While artists in Sirigu have been working to revive and maintain traditional artistry, bambɔlse has declined significantly in other communities across the area (see chapter 6). In Sirigu, many women still consider bambɔlse an essential element of ideal womanhood. As Asokipala Aberiŋa said, “you cannot be a pɔgeminka without bambɔlse” (interview, January 8, 2014). Women in other communities continue to earn the title of pɔgeminka while also adapting to changing circumstances by integrating modern materials and equipment into their domestic spaces and daily lives. As Asadaarɛ Nyaaba put it, if you get to a woman’s house “and you want to know that this woman is a pɔgeminka,” you can judge based on how she keeps her house. The pɔgeminka will rise in the early dawn, sweep the surroundings, wash the plates and bowls, gather any leftover food in a bowl, heat the soup for breakfast, then wash and put everything away again. And “these days,” she said, “now that we are using cement, the pɔgeminka will make sure her courtyard is well plastered with cement, and it looks neat.” These things identify a woman as a pɔgeminka. “The one who is not pɔgeminka,” she concluded, “would not have done those things.” Be’endiŋeya Adugebiire, for her part, defined the pɔgeminka as a lady who keeps her environment neat, with her cooking area and utensils clean and properly arranged. In particular, she must keep her calabashes clean and ready to serve water to her visitors, “if you get to [a] house and you are being given water, the calabash alone will tell you that this woman is the pɔgeminka” (interview, February 5, 2013). Illustrating this point, Azo’uue Awaho proudly showed me a ceremonial calabash bowl that had been elaborately decorated with pyro-engraved designs. “When a visitor comes, and I prepare the food for them in the ceremonial calabash,” she said, “it is far better than serving [them] in the aluminum bowl” (interview, February 5, 2013). For many women, even those who still appreciate traditional artistry, bambɔlse is just one of the many ways a woman can achieve the status of pɔgeminka; this points both to the adaptability of women and the centrality of domesticity in defining ideal womanhood.

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CONCLUSION Shifts in architectural and artistic preferences and practices have been accompanied by shifting notions of identity. In general, the decline of bambɔlse has not meant that women have ceased to be considered pɔgemenkesi; instead, the concept of the pɔgeminka has shifted to accommodate artistic change and decline. Today, as in the past, the pɔgeminka is defined primarily by her respectability, which she earns by caring for her family, tending her household, and receiving guests with proper hospitality. Central to this is a woman’s ability to make her home “look neat and attractive” (interview, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, January 21, 2013). Although some women still link the tradition of bambɔlse with the pɔgeminka, most do not see it as an indispensable requirement of ideal womanhood. These ideas will be explored further in the following chapters. NOTES 1. There are numerous variations in the spellings of these terms. I have chosen these spellings based on the most common spellings and pronunciations used by my research informants and scholars in or from the area. 2. According to Smith, the current designation of Frafra is a twentieth-century British creation (1979, 6, footnote 1). According to Job, “fara fara” is a common greeting toward those engaged in work (personal communication, Azubire Job Apobelum, April 12, 2016). In this discussion, I use the term “Frafra” when referring collectively to the Gurensi and Nankani ethnic groups and their languages and dialects. When speaking specifically about specific individuals or communities, I use the specific ethnic or linguistic designation. 3. Cardinall likewise reported that three brothers came from Zeko to settle Navrongo, and after a dispute, one of them became the chief (1920, 21). 4. As the Sirigu chief put it, “while they have settled here, the brother also settled there, so we have a common relation” (individual interview, September 21, 2013). 5. The Zeko chief’s spokesmen told me, for instance, “anytime a man or a person from Zeko here goes to any of these places, be it a case in the chief’s palace, or whatever, when they know that this person is coming from Zeko, then they will ask that person to handle the matter.” Likewise, they told me, “when there’s any case or gathering, the Yelewongo still respect us because they remember their ancestral home” (group interview, February 6, 2014). 6. It is difficult to estimate the length of time equivalent to fourteen generations. While this estimation was likely meant to be more conceptual than literal, we can still determine an approximate length of time based on available definitions and information. The Oxford English Dictionary Online, for instance, defines a generation as “the average time it takes for children to grow up, become adults, and have children of

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their own, generally considered to be about thirty years, and used as a rough measure of historical time.” As of 2010, most children in the Upper East Region were born to women who are between the ages of twenty and forty, with a peak at approximately twenty-five years old (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, figure 8.1). Based on these numbers, fourteen generations could reasonably be estimated to be between 280 and 420 years, placing the potential origin dates of this tradition between 1557 and 1697.   7. Asokipala had learned that “there was one, a woman called Ayu’am, she was from Zeko and married in Sirigu here at Asiimsagebɔ Yire. In her biological home, they were doing this bambɔlse. So when she married here [in Sirigu] and gave birth to her first son, she went back to her biological home, where they were doing that bambɔlse and bring. Her biological home they do pottery work and then leather work and the bambɔlse, so she went and brought the leather bag, which they put the bambɔlse on the leather bag” (interview, September 25, 2013).   8. Apuntuguna continued, “it was later that they discovered this kugesabela, so we now stick to the kugesabela and forget of the pods of the baobab trees” (interview, October 11, 2013). This account recalls women’s addition of ash to plaster in Pô, as observed by Leslie Rainer (1992).   9. The women identified these motifs variously as ben-ɔresi and kurefɔɔra (interviews, February 14 and September 5, 2013). 10. Women in Sumbrungu used several terms for this python, including wɔbekimɔ (a.k.a. wɔbezifo), which refers specifically to a python or boa constrictor, and bunsɛla and waafɔ, which are other terms for snakes (interview, February 14; interview, September 5, 2013; Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 26, 181–82, 185).

Chapter 2

House Tours

This chapter takes us on tours through a selection of houses, exploring compound spaces, meeting household members, and learning about their lives. These tours focus on four specific houses in the rural communities of Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, and Sirigu. Descriptions of these houses give a sense of trends in architecture and domestic artistry today. Set against a historical backdrop, these examples also illustrate how houses’ layouts, building materials, and contents have shifted dramatically in recent decades. Understanding this change is essential to understanding how bambɔlse practices have altered and how women have modified them to adapt to changing circumstances. In rural communities across the area, coal tar and cement plaster, commercial paint, and metal roofing have become increasingly common. Today, the walls of compounds are rarely adorned with traditional bambɔlse designs. The exception is Sirigu, where artistic traditions are being preserved and promoted. Even in communities where artistry has declined, older women retain their knowledge and ability. COMMUNITY AND HOUSEHOLD ORGANIZATION Before embarking on tours of specific houses in northeastern Ghana, here is a brief introduction to the area’s communities, households, and families. Communities in northeastern Ghana are primarily rural, each composed of sparsely distributed compound houses separated by farmland and centered on a market area.1 Towns are connected by networks of dirt, gravel, and sometimes paved roads. Communities and households are defined by their histories and ancestral connections. Historically, the ethnic groups of the area were divided into clans, each of which was linked by a common ancestor, the clan founder. Clans were divided into lineages, each descended from one of the clan founder’s children (Fortes 1949, 4). A town, or teŋa, was the land on 41

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which a clan’s founding ancestor initially settled; towns were, therefore, all but synonymous with the clans of which they were composed.2 Communities were divided into sections, or segments, each corresponding to an individual lineage claiming descent from one of the clan founder’s sons. Each of a town’s sections was further divided into individual households. Over time, households divided as their members increased and split off to build new compounds within the bounds of family-owned land. Communities, clans, and lineages were not strictly bounded and separate from one another but connected and overlapping (Manoukian 1951, 30). Connections among communities were facilitated and reinforced by exogamous marriage practices, which compelled individuals to marry outside their clans; this generally meant that women moved from their natal communities to those of their husbands upon marriage (Rattray and Westermann 1932, 232; Cassiman 2006, 195–96). After marriage, women kept the traditions of their natal homes while also adopting those of their husbands, which resulted in the blending of cultures within households and communities across many generations. Such migration facilitated the formation and maintenance of connections across the area (see chapter 1). Today, while there has been a significant change in lifestyles and traditions, systems of social organization and ideas of ancestral connection have remained essentially unchanged. Each household has its own founder to whom each subsequent head of the household, yidaana, claims descent. The yidaana is typically the most senior man of the household. This position of authority is traditionally inherited along patrilineal lines and is conferred based on age and gender. When the yidaana dies or grows too old to fulfill his duties, his role passes to the next most senior man, typically either his brother or the eldest son of the household (Manoukian 1951, 34–35; Rattray and Westermann 1932, 269).3 When the adult son of a household reaches adulthood, he may either stay in his father’s home or build a separate residence. In the latter case, the son typically builds a new compound on his family’s land adjacent to his father’s house. If he is offered the role of yidaana in his father’s household, he may choose to return and take over the position, or he may opt to allow a younger brother to act as landlord.4 Traditionally, compounds are typically named for their founders. If, for instance, the founder of a house was Aburipoore, it is referred to as Aburipoore Yire, meaning Aburipoore’s House. The house’s name may change over the generations, taking on the names of the founder’s successors, especially if they gain popularity, fame, or status (Cassiman 2006, 183–84, footnote 29). In practice, this means that the name of a house might refer to its current owner, his father, or his uncle, or it may retain the name of a

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long-deceased ancestor. Regardless, a compound’s name reveals information about its ownership and history. An individual household typically comprises a yidaana, his mother (if living), his wives and children, and often his brothers and their families, as well as other extended family members. Primary authority is traditionally held by the male and female heads of the household, the yidaana and the deodaana. The yidaana has significant social and economic power, for instance, over the distribution of farmland and resources, the allocation of labor, and the arrangement of marriages (Manoukian 1951, 27). The deodaana is the senior woman of a household or, in some cases, a woman who is the head of her compound (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 33). Typically, this role is filled by the yidaana’s mother, if she is living, or his senior wife. The deodaana holds significant authority: she oversees all the other women in her household and is responsible for managing domestic affairs such as caring for her husband and children, preparing food, and cleaning (Rattray and Westermann 1932, 262). Fortes described the deodaana as highly esteemed in the eyes of the public and considered the “pillar of the [house owner’s] domestic establishment” (1949, 59). Although it is not common, in some cases, the deodaana may serve as the head of her household, for instance, if she is widowed or if her husband is otherwise absent.5 COMPOUND CONSTRUCTION AND ORGANIZATION The most traditional type of home is an earthen compound-style house consisting of multiple circular and rectangular rooms joined together by a low outer wall to form an approximately circular shape. In earlier times, rooms were topped with earthen or thatch roofs, in either case, supported by foundations of wooden rafters (Smith 1979, 106–107). Rooms were entered by low, rounded doorways covered with doors made from dried grasses (Asabea Yire, interview, March 7, 2014). Walls were often pierced with small, rectangular, or sometimes circular windows that allowed light to enter and facilitated ventilation (Smith 1979, 117). A compound could comprise one or more sections, each consisting of a courtyard surrounded by rooms. In a larger compound, each section was divided from the next by low, approximately two- to three-feet-tall walls. Earthen structures were made from coarse, sandy soil, known locally as tɔnɔ (or tintɔnɔ), which was mixed with water to create a thick mud. This mud was then used to form balls or bricks from which walls were constructed. Walls were typically built from earthen balls stacked in courses to form curvilinear rooms and spaces. Today, walls are often constructed of earthen bricks formed in rectangular molds and dried in the sun, then stacked in courses and bonded with earthen

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mortar to form rectilinear rooms and spaces. Cement blocks are also popular, although they are much more expensive than the locally available materials. Those who can afford to do so build large, rectangular houses constructed entirely of cement blocks; this is much more common in urban areas. In rural communities, it is common to see houses that incorporate cement block rooms alongside earthen structures. Metal roofs have grown increasingly popular because they require far less maintenance than the traditional earthen and thatch roofs they have now largely replaced. Small, open windows have been mainly replaced with larger, squared windows covered with screens or wooden shutters. Low, rounded doorways with thatch coverings have given way to large, rectangular doorways and wooden doors. In the past, walls were plastered and painted using materials derived from the local environment. Today, women often add cement and coal tar, a viscous black carbon-based material, to their plaster. In some cases, they also use coal tar to paint bambɔlse designs on the walls (see chapter 3). Although it is more expensive than other options, those who can afford to surface their walls with commercial paint; this is because commercial paint and cement-block construction have come to be associated with modernity and wealth (see chapter 5). It is common to see multiple architectural forms, styles, and materials combined in a single compound, indicating shifts in household finances and preferences over time. Now and in the past, men typically dominate the compound’s exterior spaces, particularly the area immediately outside of the entrance, known as the zanyɔrɛ. As Rattray and Westermann put it in their 1932 report, “this [space] belongs essentially to the males, the women folk in turn being regarded as supreme within the compound” (1932, 247, figure 1-23). A large baobab or mango tree usually shades the zanyɔrɛ; in some cases, additional shelter is provided by a small shelter, called a paka, built of tree branches and roofed with grass or wood. During the day, the household men often sit in the shade on large, gnarled roots of the shade tree, on benches constructed of tree stumps and boards, or in the paka, and receive guests, hold discussions, and nap. Prussin aptly described the zanyɔre as “a gathering place for all greetings, meetings, and negotiations, a resting place, and a shelter from the heat of the afternoon sun” (1969, 61). Even though this area is traditionally associated with men, women may also sit in the shade of the zanyɔrɛ area as they engage in activities such as basket-weaving. Immediately beyond the compound entrance is the cattle yard in which stand the conical earthen thatched-roofed granaries containing the household’s stores of dried millet. Before this, located just inside the compound entrance, there may be a room dedicated to the compound founder in which are kept his possessions, such as his bow, arrows, quiver, and leather bag. Such spaces are rarely entered or occupied but serve symbolic purposes,

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connecting household members with their ancestral heritage (Prussin 1969, 62; Smith 1979, 77). Also located just inside the compound entrance is the household’s primary ancestral shrine, known as sɔ (father) or msɔ (my father). Shrines within a compound are linked with traditional spiritual beliefs and practices. The yidaana (male head of the household) is traditionally responsible for building and regularly making sacrifices to ancestral shrines in his home. These include, for instance, shrines dedicated to his father’s and mother’s spirits. Additional ancestral, medicinal, and personal shrines may be placed within the compound, where they watch over the household. In the past, such shrines were often located within the courtyard and rooms of the deodaana (senior woman of the household), highlighting her essential role within the home (Fortes 1949, 59). In general, such shrines, dedicated to the house owner’s father, mother, and through them, their antecedents, serve as vital links between individual households and the broader lineages and clans to which they belong. Although Christianity and Islam have become increasingly popular throughout the region, traditional spiritual beliefs and practices are still being maintained. Shrines can still be found in many houses, even those in which some members have converted to Christianity or Islam. Beyond the zanyɔrɛ and cattle yard typically lies the large central area of the compound, which is usually occupied by the yidaana (male head of the household) and his senior (or first) wife. Sometimes a compound might be composed of only one section, with a single courtyard surrounded by rooms. It is more common for compounds to be divided into multiple sections, organized according to the size and composition of the household. These large, multi-section houses are designed to accommodate multiple generations of family members. The yidaana’s elderly mother and father, if they are living, may have their own section of the compound. Adult sons of the yidaana often remain in their father’s house, each occupying their own area with their wives and children. It is also common for a man, especially the yidaana, to have multiple wives. As of the 2010 census, 36 percent of marriages in the Upper East Region were polygamous (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 44). If a man has multiple wives, he must provide a separate compound area for each; this is vital to the harmony of the household, as a woman’s designated space within the compound represents her autonomy within the home (Rattray and Westermann 1932, 262; Fortes 1949, 59; Smith 1979, 81–82). Although they occupy separate spaces within the compound, women within a household—including co-wives, mothers, daughters, and in-laws— typically work together in performing daily tasks and raising their children. Due to this cooperative parenting, it is common for people to reference multiple mothers and fathers in discussing their childhood memories and familial relationships. Co-wives typically refer to one another using sibling

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terminology: a senior wife is called pɔgekiima, older sister, while a junior wife is called yibega, meaning younger sibling.6 This terminology serves both to suggest a familial relationship and to establish a hierarchy of authority among the co-wives within a household. Women’s lives center primarily on the interior spaces of the compound: the courtyards and rooms. These are the spaces where they raise their children, care for their husbands, prepare food, mold pots, weave baskets, and store their most precious items. As mentioned, the compound’s largest and most central section is typically occupied by the yidaana and his senior wife; while this area nominally belongs to both the yidaana and deodaana, the latter maintains primary authority within and is the caretaker of this section. In the most traditional houses, the deodaana (senior woman of the household) has in her courtyard a room called a denya’aŋa, composed of multiple round sections, including a sleeping room and kitchen. The sections of this multi-part room are traditionally round with flat earthen roofs, called gɔserɔ, bordered by raised edges and reached by a notched wooden ladder or earthen stairs. These flat, earthen roofs—particularly the one covering the kitchen— are typically pierced with one or more ventilation holes, called suresi. These holes are covered with dried calabash halves or pieces of broken pottery during the rainy season (Cardinall 1920, 99; Rattray and Westermann 1932, 249, 253). The denya’aŋa’s earthen roof is used for drying the family’s harvest of groundnuts and millet before they are stowed in the household’s granaries. A woman might also have a workshop, called a bɔpaka, for activities such as pottery production (Norman 1997, 7).7 The denya’aŋa is a multi-functional space of spiritual contact, food preparation, childbearing, and mourning. This room is considered the residing place for the family’s spirits. It is a place where older household members can communicate with their ancestors; ancestral shrines are, therefore, often placed near a compound’s entrance and on its earthen roof. And, when a household member dies, their body is laid in state in the denya’aŋa until their burial (Anyelom 1995, 30; Eustace et al. 2002, 23). Traditionally, the denya’aŋa dominates the compound’s interior space and visually proclaims the deodaana’s influential role within the household. The denya’aŋa traditionally contains the essential items of womanhood, where a woman keeps her most treasured possessions. As Evylem Akambɔyu’urɛ explained, this was historically the first room built in a house. The denya’aŋa had to be prioritized so that valuable items were not left outside while the other rooms were being built. “So we build that one first” (interview, February 26, 2013). The denya’aŋa typically contains a large stone shelf, known as a niirɛ (or nere or neere), for grinding corn or millet. Hollows at the back of the shelf

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Figure 2.1.  On the left is a denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) with the horizontal zaalenya’aŋa or female zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design, a baobab tree, relief-rendered ɛbega (crocodile), coiled waafɔ (pythons or snakes), and nii (cows), and an upper border of Akun Nyana nii designs, and on the right is a rectangular room with vertical zaalenya’aŋa and upper and lower borders of Akun Nyana nii. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 11, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

called niirɛ boko (or nere boko) serve as receptacles into which the ground grains are swept. Typically, baskets containing dried millet stalks and other ingredients for cooking sit on the floor. Calabash bowls often hang on the walls. Long guinea grass mats, called sunɔ, are typically stored on a platform of wooden poles suspended from the ceiling with ropes. These are used as sleeping mats during life and, after death, play a role in burial procedures. During the preparations for burial, the body of the deceased is covered with a sunɔ (mat) made from local grasses, which is then removed and burned at the gravesite (Rattray and Westermann 1932, 187, 253; Eustace et al. 2007, 24; Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 26). As Atampɔgebire and Abelezi’ire put it, when someone dies, “[we] use [the sunɔ] to cover him or her and carry [them] to the gravesite, [where we] remove the dead body, bury, and burn the sunɔ” (interview, September 4, 2013). One of the most critical components of the denya’aŋa is the ki’imaneŋa shelf, which typically projects from the earthen wall to the left of the entrance and features a wave-like scalloped edge, which is typically stacked with the

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deodaana’s set of pots (Rattray and Wstermann 1932, 251–53; DeCarbo 1977, 114). These pots include three types: kaleŋa, lamolga, and pilego. The largest is the kaleŋa, which forms the base of the stack and is used for storing millet, beans, or groundnuts. The lamolga is a bowl that sits in the middle of the stack and holds foodstuffs such as dry meat, fish, or millet. Sometimes a set may include two lamolga bowls stacked on top of one another. The pilego is a round pot with a lid that sits atop the stack, inside which are stored ingredients such as salt, pepper, and other seasonings, as well as precious items such as money and jewelry. Fibers attach the lid pulled through holes pierced through the body of the main pot and its cover, typically tied in such a way as to inhibit unauthorized access to its contents (Wemegah 2009, 109). In the corner of the denya’aŋa typically hangs another of a woman’s most important possessions: a bag that is loosely woven from kenaf fibers, known as a zaaleŋa, containing her set of calabash bowls (Haverkort 2007, 13). This type of bag is traditionally given to a woman by her parents when she is married (interview, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 19, 2013). The zaaleŋa holds her most valuable possessions, including medicine, jewelry, and special ingredients with which she may prepare food for unexpected visitors (Anyelom 1995, 32–33). Tesuntɔ might be attached to the zaaleŋa’s netted ropes and hang from the exterior. These are donut-shaped cushions, traditionally woven from kenaf fibers and more recently made from cloth, used for carrying loads on the head (interview, Asokipa’ala Aberiŋa, September 25, 2013). DeCarbo referred to the zaaleŋa as “a necessary possession for a mature female” (1977, 64).8 The most important items are held at the bottom of the zaaleŋa, between two large calabashes, in the kumpi’o. In their 1932 report, Rattray and Westermann described the kumpi’o as the shrine of a woman’s soul during her lifetime (166).9 The zaaleŋa is a highly personal possession, and it is a serious taboo for anybody to look inside without the owner’s permission (Anyelom 1995, 32–33). As Rattray and Westermann put it in their 1932 report, “a woman does not permit any one else to touch her kumpio or look inside; should any one do so and the owner, or even her child, sicken and die” (166–67). In many cases, the items included in the denya’aŋa are made by the room’s owner and, therefore, as DeCarbo put it, proclaim “her place in the world, not as symbols but as testaments to her and to the cultural world she oversees. Their care and ordering, like the quality of manufacture, provide a focal point from and to which everyday life proceeds. Activities of birth, sacrifice, and funeral example this focus” (1977, 114). These activities and the items held within the denya’aŋa are symbolically referenced through painted designs traditionally painted on the compound walls, visually reinforcing their importance.

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Today, it is still possible to find the traditional denya’aŋa at the center of some houses, especially in the area’s rural communities. However, the denya’aŋa—at least in its most traditional form—has grown less common over time. In many houses, the traditional multi-part rounded room has been replaced with a flat-roofed rectangular room, referred to as a denya’aŋa or bɔ’ɔ (room). According to Job, this change is that although the denya’aŋa is traditionally round, many people are now “modernizing” this type of structure because the rectangular form is easier to build (interview, September 4, 2013). While the form is different, the function remains essentially the same. Older women still have many of the same traditional possessions—the zaaleŋa net, ki’imaneŋa shelf, and sets of calabashes and pots—as in the past. And a woman’s room continues to play an important role, both while she is alive and after her death. The preceding discussion of past and present architectural materials, methods, and stylistic preferences in rural northern Ghana reveals both change and continuity. The following tour of several houses in the area offers specific examples of how architectural and artistic traditions are being maintained, abandoned, and altered to accommodate ever-shifting lifestyles and circumstances. AWAHO YIRE, ZUARUNGU-MOSHI Zuarungu-Moshi is a small Gurenɛ-speaking community with approximately four sections, at least one school, and a health center. Residents of this town attend the market in Bolgatanga, about six miles west on a partially paved road. Alongside the single dirt road leading into town were scattered compounds composed of square and rectangular rooms, most built from local tɔnɔ (coarse sand) with unpainted walls. I first came to this community after visiting Zuarungu, a town about five miles down the road toward Bolgatanga. I had read about Zuarungu’s wall paintings in Fred Smith’s 1979 dissertation and wanted to see if the people of this town were maintaining this tradition. I arrived in Zuarungu for the first time with my mentor, Dr. Avea Nsoh, in July 2012. We drove into town on my new motorbike and headed for the central market. Dr. Avea asked passersby if there were any painted houses or anyone we could speak with who might know about bambɔlse. Each person told him that no one in the community painted their walls or remembered such things. I had come prepared with the names of specific houses discussed by Smith in his publications but still did not have enough information to find what we were looking for. Eventually, we were told we might have more luck if we continued to Zuarungu-Moshi.

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We arrived in Zuarungu-Moshi and drove through the center of town until we reached Awaho Yire (Awaho’s House). We were welcomed into the courtyard by several of the household’s younger women, who fetched the senior woman of the house, Azo’uue. She told us that several women in the community knew about bambɔlse; some still had paintings in their rooms. I returned to this community at each research stage and worked with a core group of six older women. They took me on tours of Awaho Yire and several other nearby houses, where I spoke not only with elderly women artists but also with other household members, including younger women, house owners (or landlords), and the Zuarungu-Moshi chief. Awaho Yire was a relatively large compound composed of rectangular and round metal-roofed cement block rooms. The rooms had been wired with electricity and equipped with television sets. A black plastic tank stood in the compound courtyard, supplying water for the household. The walls had been plastered with cement and covered with mint green and white commercial paint. Except for some paintings added to a separate, detached room behind the compound, the walls were not painted with bambɔlse (see chapter 3). A small round cement-block grass-roofed room stood on the left side of the path leading up to the house. According to Job, this was a type of room used for manufacturing kɔa, or local hoes (personal communication, n.d.). Near the house, standing in the shade of a large tree, stood a paka: a small shelter consisting of four earthen pillars covered with pieces of wood enclosing low benches made of stacked logs. Traditionally, this is where the yidaana (male head of the household) would sit during the day. Azo’uue Awaho was the deodaana (senior woman of the household) and widow of Awaho, the late yidaana. Their son, Awabire Awaho, a.k.a. Bozin, had taken over the role of yidaana after Awaho’s death. Bozin lived in the compound with his wife, Alebezi’ire Awabire, who was thirty-five years old and had come from Pie.10 Bozin’s brother, Akolgo Awaho, also lived in the compound along with this wife, Atampɔgebire Akolgo, who had come from Dubila (a community near Zuarungu). Some household members identified as Christians; others identified as Traditionalists, meaning they followed the traditional spiritual practices of the area. Household members were engaged in various occupations. Bozin worked selling cement blocks and driving a tipper truck, a type of truck used to haul goods. Atampɔgebire worked as a hairdresser. The family also engaged in farming and tending crops such as millet, guinea corn, groundnuts, rice, Bambara beans, and corn. Tucked in one corner of the compound was a small yard with two round earthen shelters for the household’s animals, one with a large rectangular doorway and metal roof and the other with a low entrance and grass roof. Many women in the area, including some in the house,

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manufactured shea products. I could see the evidence of this work in the piles of shea nuts on the compound floor. The women of the household varied in their artistic training and abilities, which were primarily divided along generational lines. Abelezi’ire and Atampɔgebire, the younger women in the family, had not received artistic training as children. Abelezi’ire had been sent out of the area, to Kumasi, as a child and therefore did not learn to plaster and paint. After marrying and moving to Zuarungu-Moshi, she said, “I saw people doing it and also learned to do it.” As a child, Atampɔgebire saw her grandmother paint the walls, but she “did not know the importance of it [and] was not interested in learning it.” Her attitude changed as she grew and matured. After moving to her husband’s house and seeing that women in the area also plastered and painted their walls, she gained an appreciation for the area’s traditional artistry, and she became “serious in learning it” (interview, September 4, 2013). Azo’uue and her colleagues had all learned to plaster and paint from childhood. Azo’uue had learned about plastering and painting “from my mothers. When my mothers were doing it, we would also do it.” She continued learning after marriage. After moving to her husband’s house and seeing that her husband’s mothers were also plastering and painting, she said, “I also took part in doing it” (interview, February 5, 2013). Awaho Yire featured some novel decorations, distinctive features that set it apart from others in the area. A group of figural statues stood atop the compound wall, flanking the entrance. These statues appeared to have been carved from wood (or possibly made of plaster), and their surfaces had been painted with bright, solid colors. The figures included a snake, two lions, several cattle egrets (Bubulcus ibis), and Jesus. The snake referred to the family name, Awaho, formed by adding an A to waafɔ (or wahɔ), meaning snake.11 The lions were placed on either side of the entrance to intimidate potential intruders. As Bozin put it, the lion “is a very brave and strong animal and the king of the forest, so if you are going to somebody’s house and you see such things, then you know that someone in the house . . . is very brave” (interview, January 28, 2013). In addition, the figure of Jesus standing over the entrance served protective and symbolic functions. Bozin explained, “as Christians, when you have [such as figure] in your midst, you don’t feel panicked at any time; you always feel comfortable” (interview, January 28, 2013). This theme continued with the double doors at the entrance to Bozin’s rooms, which had been carved with images of Mary and Jesus. These figures offered spiritual comfort to household members while announcing their Christian faith. These specially commissioned statues and carved doors were novel forms of decoration, unique within Bozin’s cultural context.

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Awaho Yire offered an example of a household combining multiple spiritual beliefs and practices. Although only some family members identified as Traditionalists and others as Christians, they honored the spirit of their father through the construction and maintenance of a traditional ancestral shrine. The room to the right of the compound entrance was a memorial to Awaho, the late yidaana; this was a round cement block room with a pointed metal roof. To the side of this room, wedged into a corner, was a small ancestral shrine composed of a mound topped with a broken piece of pottery. Animal offerings—skulls, tails, and feathers—and the streaked remnants of libations suggested this was a well-tended shrine. The room dedicated to Awaho combined elements of tradition and change in its form and contents. As with the rest of the compound, this room’s cement block construction, commercial paint, and metal roof pointed to the household’s modern taste. In keeping with tradition, Awaho’s possessions— including various items associated with war dances, such as clothing, animal pelts, spear, and kɔlegɔ (guitar)—were kept inside the room (interview, Atampɔgebire and Abelezi’ire, September 4, 2013). Alongside these traditional items was a statue of Awaho, sculpted and painted in a style similar to that of the compound’s guardian figures. Awaho was seated in a chair, adorned with a matching set of striped red, orange, and white trousers, smock, and cap. This brightly painted portrait was a uniquely modern addition to this room type. Members of the Awaho household explained that they had placed a portrait of the late yidaana in the room to “remember [our] father and any visitor who comes, they will say that ‘oh, this is their father, and this is a picture they have molded’” (interview, Atampɔgebire and Abelezi’ire, September 4, 2013). With its unique combination of elements, this room could be seen as a modern update on a traditional mode of memorialization. Azo’uue’s denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) stood at the compound’s center. As in many other houses, this room had been modernized in form and construction. It was a rectangular room built of cement blocks, surfaced with the same green and white commercial paint as the rest of the house. The room was entered through a wooden door with a screen. A large staircase extended along the room’s right-hand side, leading to a flat roof encircled by a low wall featuring decorative cement blocks. The room’s interior was bare but for a dukɔ and suŋɔ standing in the corners. Such items serve essential functions, both during a woman’s life and after her death; this, along with the room’s flat roof, suggests that even though this room had been modernized, it retained some of its most essential functions (interview, Atampɔgebire and Abelezi’ire, September 4, 2013). Although they had not been invited to paint the walls of Awaho Yire, Azo’uue and her colleagues retained their artistic knowledge and abilities. They demonstrated this when I commissioned them to plaster and paint

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the veranda walls of a small room that housed an electric grinding mill (see chapter 3). This room was located behind and separate from the main compound and was therefore deemed acceptable for applying traditional bambɔlse designs. WEGUNABA YIRE, BONGO Bongo is a medium-sized community located north of Bolgatanga and east of Sirigu, where they speak Booni, a dialect related to Gurenɛ and Nankam. The town comprises eight sections, a large market area, and multiple schools and hospitals. A broad paved road runs through the center of town and past its market area. The streets are lined with commercially painted metal-roofed cement block buildings. I visited Bongo for the first time with my mentor, Dr. Avea Nsoh, originally from Vea, a community less than ten miles away. He was, therefore, familiar with the area and knew that the women in Bongo would be able to tell me about bambɔlse. In addition, one of his former students from the University of Education in Winneba, Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba (Joe), lived in the Wegurigo section of this community at Wegunaba Yire and was able to help us arrange interviews. I traveled to Bongo with my research assistant, Job, numerous times, riding on his motorbike along a partially paved road, past the large stacks of boulders for which this area is known. Many of the women in Bongo no longer painted their walls, but most had been trained in plastering and painting and retained their knowledge of these traditions. I conducted most of my Bongo interviews under a large tree in the zanyɔrɛ (entrance area) of Wegunaba’s House, which was situated near two large schools and the Wegurigo women’s group’s “God’s Power Weaving Center.” Wegunaba Yire was a large compound with multiple sections. It was considered a yikatɛ, a large, important house (Job, personal communication, n.d.). Ayameŋa Agambire, the chief of Bongo’s Wegurigo section, was the Wegunaba Yire yidaana (male head of the household). He was sixty-two and lived in the compound with his wife, Apɛgemɛ Ayameŋa. Also living in the house were Ayampɔka Nyaaba and Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, the elderly widows of the late chief, Asadaarɛ’s son Joe (Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba), Ayampɔka’s son Baba Nyaaba, his wife Ama, and their children. Joe was forty-one years old, had studied linguistics at the University of Education in Winneba, and worked as a teacher. Baba was forty-two years old, worked as a farmer, and was next in line for the Wegurigo chieftaincy. Ama was thirty years old, had come from Aflao, a community in the far southeastern corner of Ghana in the Volta Region, and had lived at the house for ten years.

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Wegunaba Yire comprised round and rectangular rooms with metal and earthen roofs. Benches made from rocks, chunks of concrete, and logs had been built to the sides of the compound entrance. Also flanking the entrance were two round earthen zɔŋɔ, grass-roofed shelters for chickens. Inside was a yard for the household’s goats, sheep, and cows. The animals were let out to graze during the day and brought back in at night. The entrance was barred at night—secured by a large piece of corrugated metal and logs inserted into the sides of the zɔŋɔ—keeping animals in and intruders out. Inside were several ba, conical earthen granaries used for storing millet. Near the animal yard stood a small, grass-roofed shelter enclosing a shrine. The presence of this animal yard, with its animal shelters, granaries, and shrine in the area just beyond the entrance, reflected the typical design of compounds in rural communities across the region. Compound walls had been constructed from local tɔnɔ (coarse sand), then plastered with cement and coal tar, a viscous black material derived from coal (see chapter 3). Some walls were surfaced with commercial paint, although much of this was streaked and fading. Many of the walls were pocked and crumbling—according to Asadaarɛ, many of the rooms in the house had been built more than thirty years before. Although bambɔlse was added to a wall at the back of the house, none of the walls within the compound were painted with designs. In general, the household had turned away from this traditional art form because they had come to see it as outdated and inconvenient (interview, Ayameŋa Agambire, September 12, 2013) (see chapter 5). The women in the household varied in their artistic knowledge and experience. Having grown up outside the area, Ama had not learned about local artistic traditions during her upbringing. Since moving to Bongo ten years earlier, she had learned little about bambɔlse. Both Ayampɔka and Asadaarɛ had learned to plaster and paint from childhood. And although they had not painted any designs on the interior walls of the compound, Asaadarɛ and Ayampɔka retained their artistic knowledge and abilities. They demonstrated this when I commissioned them to plaster and paint the back wall of Asaadarɛ’s room (see chapter 3). Ayampɔka had learned to plaster and paint as a child from her mother and grandmother. After her grandmother passed away, it was left to her mother to teach her. Along with the other children in the house, Ayampɔka was tasked with gathering materials for plastering and painting, including cow dung and bole, the “smooth sand” used for making plastering, as well as zigmͻrligo, a brownish-orange type of gravel traditionally used to make primer (see chapter 4). She learned to plaster and paint alongside the other children in her house. She recalled, “it was my mother who demarcated [the designs] and asked us to trace, so she showed us how to make the designs.” Once she had demonstrated that she “really knew how to do it,” her mother tasked her with

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training others. She “asked us to lead the other who doesn’t know how to do it yet, so we would be doing it for the other one to trace.” Ayampɔka noted that her father had particularly supported her artistic training. She said he “put an effort in educating me how to make this bambɔlse.” He wanted to ensure that the walls in the entrance area of the compound, zanyɔrɛ, could be plastered and painted with designs (interview, January 22, 2013). Asadaarɛ had learned about plastering and painting from her mothers. As a child, she and the other children would help by fetching water, collecting bole (smooth sand), gathering cow dung, and grinding flour to make food for the workers. They would “get up early in the morning and go to houses with cows to fetch the cow dung and then bring it home and mash it with water.” Once they gathered the materials, they soaked the cow dung, mixed it with bole to make plaster, and scooped it into calabash bowls. They placed the plaster-filled bowls near the walls, then observed as the older women surfaced them with plaster and painted them with designs. After watching for some time, Asadaarɛ and the other children were allowed to participate. As they practiced plastering, their mothers would inspect their work to see whether they were doing it correctly. She recalled, “if we put too much on the wall, they would advise us not to use too much because it would fall off. They would teach us how to do it properly. Our mothers would stick their fingers into the plaster to see how deep it went, and they would show the younger girls how deep it should go.” Through observation and participation during her childhood and adolescence, Asadaare learned how to plaster and paint bambɔlse designs (interview, January 21, 2013). Ayameŋa and Apɛgemɛ stayed in a small rectangular earthen metal-roofed room to the left of the compound entrance. The outer walls had been surfaced with coal tar and cement plaster. The veranda walls were coated with bright blue commercial paint. Farther into the compound were two sections, one occupied by Asadaarɛ and her son Joe, the other by Ayampɔka, Baba, and Ama. Farther into the compound was a section shared by Asadaarɛ and her son Joe. Their section included several crumbling rooms that the household planned to demolish and rebuild during the dry season. Asadaarɛ and Joe stayed in rectangular, metal-roofed rooms, the outer walls of which had been sprayed with cement, resulting in rough, stucco-like surfaces. The walls had previously been coated with salmon-colored commercial paint, but much had worn away, leaving only a few painted edges. The paint used for these walls had come from Asadaarɛ’s son, who lived and worked as a teacher in Accra, where he had his own house. Asadaarɛ explained that her son “built his room . . . and used the paint. When there was surplus, [the household] decided that once the paint is there, there was some left, then they will use it for their mother” (interview, September 9, 2013). Here is an example of

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a household in which decisions about compound construction and embellishment were affected by a family member living in an urban area, where cement-block construction and commercial paint are typical. As mentioned, these materials are expensive and are not affordable for most rural households (see chapter 5). The chipped and faded state of the commercial paint on the walls of Wegunaba Yire suggested that this rural household could not afford the upkeep of the more expensive commercial paint. Ayampɔka stayed in the next section of the compound, which she shared with Baba and Ama. Ayampɔka, Baba, and Ama stayed in a long, rectangular, metal-roofed building with two rooms plastered with coal tar and cement, then coated with emulsion paint. Two other rooms stood nearby, one belonging to Ayampɔka, the other used by Ama for cooking. The da’aŋa, or kitchen, was a square, earthen structure with no roof. A denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) had previously stood in the corner occupied by the da’aŋa. They had decided to demolish the denya’aŋa because it was deemed “useless. Nobody [was sleeping] there.” On the other side of the courtyard was a small, square earthen room, or bɔ’ɔ, with a flat, earthen roof. Its flat, earthen roof had been built using wooden crossbeams. This roof, accessed by a few earthen steps at the side of the bɔ’ɔ, was used for drying crops and sleeping during the intense heat of the dry season.12 The denya’aŋa had been built with a similar roof. This type of roof had been common in the past but had grown less common over time. Job explained this is due to the difficulty of construction and maintenance. Such roofs are constructed with wooden beams, which must be replaced every two to three years. He said, “any year you can experience some damages, you have to remove the wood and replace it with new ones,” or the roof will collapse. Asaadarɛ and Ayampɔka gave this as one of the reasons that the earthen-roofed denya’aŋa had been destroyed, explaining, “we don’t have the wood to be replacing it all the time.” Metal roofs have become increasingly common due to their much longer lifespan. As Job explained, “when you get the zinc, that ends it. It lasts longer” (interview, September 9, 2013). While they had not painted any designs on the interior walls of the compound, Asaadarɛ and Ayampɔka demonstrated their artistic knowledge and abilities when I commissioned them to plaster and paint the back wall of Asaadarɛ’s room. As with Awaho Yire, this wall was located outside the compound and was therefore deemed an acceptable location for a traditional painted composition.

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AKOZULO YIRE, SIRIGU Akozulo Yire was located along the road into Sirigu from the neighboring town of Zoko. The compound was fairly large, composed primarily of rectangular rooms, some built from tɔnɔ (coarse sand) balls, others from sun-dried bricks. Some of the rooms had earthen roofs; others were roofed with metal. One of the rooms featured a low, earthen platform for grinding millet. Several rooms were painted with bambɔlse designs, some rendered in coal tar, some using Indigenous pigments, some still bright, and some considerably faded. On my first visit to the compound, several outer walls of the compound were painted with rows of triangular, zigzagging, diamond-shaped, and oval-shaped designs. These brightly painted walls greeted visitors as they traveled along the road toward the Sirigu market. Akozulo Yire also demonstrated the ever-shifting nature of bambɔlse. I visited the compound several times over two years, and each time I returned, walls that had been boldly painted with designs had faded while other walls had been adorned with fresh paintings. Nsoh had been the yidaana (male head of the household) of Akozulo Yire until his son, Akalaɛ, took over. Although he was officially serving as yidaana, Akalaɛ was away, working in Accra, and visiting only occasionally; this left Akake Nsoh, the deodaana (senior woman of the household), to serve as the landlord. Akake was originally from Mirigu and had moved to Sirigu when she married Nsoh. After marrying to Akozulo Yire, Akake also brought her sister to marry Nsoh and live in the house as a co-wife. Akake was sixty-five years old, a Christian, and worked as a farmer. During her youth, she had learned about plastering, painting, and pottery-making from the women in her household. Through practice, she had become an expert and had even trained other women (interview, September 26, 2013). Akake’s daughter, Faustina Ayambire, had grown up in Akozulo Yire and had shown exceptional ability in artistry from a young age. She had learned from her mother and grandmother how to weave baskets, mold pots, plaster, and paint walls (interview, Faustina Ayambire, July 24, 2012; “Ayambire Faustina,” Facebook). As an adult, Faustina married to Ayameŋa’s House, located in another section of Sirigu. Akake and Faustina were members of the Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art (SWOPA). Faustina worked as SWOPA’s art teacher and, in this capacity, was responsible for teaching both colleagues and visitors how to paint bambɔlse designs (interview, Akake Nsoh, September 26, 2013; interview, Faustina Ayambire, July 24, 2012). Faustina also led the organization’s Abimbeere (or Abingbeere) group, which focused on canvas painting. Faustina was highly active as an artist and teacher, regularly participating

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in wall painting projects and producing canvas paintings. Akake was the leader of Asuŋɛtaaba, the women’s group in her section of Sirigu. In this capacity, she called the members of her group for various projects (see chapter 6). However, due to her responsibilities as both deodaana and landlord of her household, she could rarely engage in art production or participate in SWOPA’s programs or activities. Even so, she retained her artistic knowledge and abilities (interview, Akake Nsoh, September 26, 2013). Akake slept in a rectangular, earthen, metal-roofed room at the compound’s center. The adjacent courtyard was surrounded by walls painted with geometric and animal motifs. A small room to the right of the courtyard entrance was boldly decorated with diamond and oval motifs. The highlight of this courtyard was a squared room with rounded edges and an open, rectangular doorway. An earthen staircase stood before the room’s façade and led up to an earthen roof. While household members did not mention its specific function, this room may have served as the denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room). The exterior was painted with a combination of geometric and animal motifs, including designs with triangles, diamonds, and ovals, a star and crescent, a cow, crocodile, and fowl. A low wall along the side of the courtyard featured a crocodile and fowl, both rendered in relief (see chapters 3 and 4). Akake’s sleeping room stood on the other side of this courtyard. The wall facing the courtyard had once been painted, but the designs had faded almost completely. During my first visit to Sirigu, I commissioned Akake, Faustina, and their colleagues to demonstrate their artistry by plastering and painting this wall with fresh bambɔlse designs (see chapter 4). ABURIPOORE YIRE, SIRIGU Aburipoore Yire was located in Sirigu along the main road leading into town. Agombire Elias Aburipoore (Apoore) was the yidaana (male head of the household), and when I first visited, his mother, Akanvole, was the deodaana. However, well into her nineties, Akanvole had essentially retired from her duties. Apoore’s wife, Asaase, had functionally taken over the role of deodaana. Also living in the household were Apoore’s sons, daughters-inlaw, and their children; this included Aburipoore Sampson Abiiro (Sampson), Aburipoore Akongyame (Prosper), Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire (Ferreol) and his wife Aburipoore Beatrice Akolpɔka (Beatrice), and Aburipoore Atingane and his wife Aburipoore Susana Anibire (Susana). Also living in the house was Agombire Atampugre, Apoore’s sister. Atampugre was forty years old and was born at Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu. She had grown up in the Aburipoore household alongside her brother Apoore. As children, both Atampugre and Apoore watched the women in their

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household mold pots, weave baskets, plaster, and paint walls. Atampugre had married to Baseeŋɔ, another section of Sirigu, but had since moved back to her natal home after her husband passed away. Atampugre recalled her artistic training, “my mother taught me. I learned [to plaster and paint] from childhood. When I was a child, my mother was doing it. Always wherever they were going to plaster and paint, I followed up. When my mother asked me, ‘when you grow up, will you have interest in these things?’ And I said yes.” Then, when Atampugre was older, her mother asked her again and once again said, “yes.” Her mother responded by throwing a sasega, a type of stone used in plastering and painting processes, to her (see chapter 3). “When she threw that sasega to me, it implied that my mother had transferred the gift, or the talent, to me. So that was why I was able to make [bambɔlse]” (interview, October 12, 2013). Atampugre had grown to be a key leader and teacher, training her colleagues in various realms of artistry. As she put it, “once I am serious, I want to teach you, whenever you are doing it, I will just hold your hand and tie it to my hand and then teach you how to do it. So when [this] is done, it will not take more than two years even before you will be able to do it” (interview, January 16, 2014). When Atampugre and Apoore were children, Akanvole had molded pots and carried them to other communities, such as Navrongo and Chuchuliga, to trade them for food. Akanvole had trained her daughter Atampugre in pottery-making from a young age in keeping with local tradition. Noticing that Apoore was interested in pottery-making, Akanvole taught him as well. Apoore was particularly interested in creating pottery to bring money into the household. Watching his mother trade her pottery in the market, Apoore decided that he would also learn how to make pots to earn income for the family (interview, Sirigu, January 29, 2014). Apoore had also been trained in basketry, bambɔlse, and canvas painting. When I spoke with him, Apoore considered himself an expert artist and took great pride in his abilities (interview, Sirigu, January 29, 2014). Apoore also noted that his participation in female-dominated realms of artistry has been challenging. He has been called, for instance, burapɔka, meaning a man who performs the activities of a woman. Bura means confused, pɔka means woman, with the combined term implying a confusion of gender roles (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 26, 139). But he said that he is not bothered by such comments (interview, Sirigu, January 29, 2014). Apoore’s willingness to pursue these artistic practices despite the criticism he endured suggests that he found the potential for both financial gain and personal enjoyment in these activities. While he had learned to make pottery for economic reasons, Apoore was motivated to plaster and paint for aesthetic reasons. As he put it, bambɔlse “is meant for beauty’s sake . . . whenever [artists] plaster and paint a wall, it looks beautiful” (interview, January 29,

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2014). He had taken an interest in bambɔlse because its beauty attracted him. Apoore’s involvement in women’s artistry perhaps suggests a loosening of gender roles in some areas. At the same time, the critiques he faced also worked to reinforce more traditional configurations of gender. Aburipoore Asaase, Apoore’s wife, was born in Nabango. She had learned to paint bambɔlse designs after she married to Aburipoore Yire. As Asaase explained, “I learned to do bambɔlse from the women in Sirigu. In my childhood home, I was doing pottery. I learned to do wall painting from Akanvole,” her mother-in-law (interview, March 11, 2013). In her married home, she learned how to paint and the names and meanings behind the bambɔlse designs. Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire was the son of Apoore and Asaase. He worked for SWOPA as a tour guide, in which capacity he led visitors through the community and taught them about Sirigu’s cultural and artistic traditions. Raised in a household of artists, he became an expert in such topics. Aburipoore Beatrice Akolpɔka was twenty-five years old and had come from Bolgatanga. She had previously earned money by selling amane (small dried fish used in cooking) in the market but had ceased to do so because of a recent price increase. The compound was small, with a central courtyard, cattle yard, and several rectangular rooms. Akanvole’s denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) stood prominently on one side of the courtyard. The rooms were arranged in a roughly circular formation, set side by side and connected by walls. Most compound walls were painted with designs primarily rendered using Indigenous pigments. The house was entered through a space between two rectangular rooms. A was placed in the entrance area, or zanyɔrɛ, in the shade of a nearby tree; this is where Apoore, the Aburipoore yidaana, would often sit. Upon entering the compound, the animal yard stood to the left. This enclosed space was surrounded by a low wall, with a conical grain silo at the center. Atampugre stayed in a small, earthen, thatch-roofed room adjoining the cattle yard. The outer walls of her room were covered with geometric designs, which had originally been rendered using Indigenous pigments. At some point, the paintings had been partially refreshed with commercial paints. The juxtaposition of Indigenous pigments and commercial paints created a striking contrast. Atampugre also had a small, circular pottery studio wedged into a corner across the courtyard. Unfortunately, her studio collapsed during the rainy season, rendering it unusable. The family planned to rebuild this room at the next opportunity (interview, October 12, 2013). In the meantime, pottery-making activities were taking place in the courtyard and a small room to the side of the cattle yard.

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Apoore and Asaase stayed in a rectangular, metal-roofed building with two rooms and a veranda, which stood directly across from the compound entrance. Ferreol and Beatrice stayed in a similar structure on the opposite side of the courtyard. The exterior walls of both buildings had been painted with designs using Indigenous pigments. While the outer walls were painted with Indigenous pigments, Ferreol had insisted that the interior walls be coated with commercial paint, even though it is more common for such surfaces to be covered with zigmͻrligo plaster and painted with Indigenous pigments (interview, March 11, 2013). Although Ferreol was a key proponent of Indigenous artistry, he likely insisted on commercial paint in his room to demonstrate his modern taste. The denya’aŋa, which dominated one end of the courtyard, was composed of two rounded rooms, the outer walls richly adorned with geometric designs and animal motifs, all rendered with Indigenous pigments. An adjoining staircase to the right of the denya’aŋa led up to the flat earthen roof. A small, rectangular room stood to the right, wedged into the corner of the compound.13 Sandwiched between these two rooms was a staircase, which led up to the rooms’ flat, earthen roofs. CONCLUSION These house tours give a sense of change and continuity in architecture and artistry today. The homes described in this chapter demonstrate how traditional elements persist alongside shifts toward modern methods and materials. The following chapter delves into continuity and change in traditional artistic practices, focusing specifically on plastering and painting. NOTES 1. The 2010 census defines “urban” and “rural” based on population size: “localities with 5,000 or more persons were classified as urban while localities with less than 5,000 persons were classified as rural” (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 19). 2. According to Rattray and Westermann, the history of any ethnic group in the area was “the history of every clan of which the tribe is composed. . . . In the Northern Territories, to speak of a town (i.e., a group of compounds) is still, to the Native mind, to conjure up the idea of the place of residence of a particular clan” (1932, 233). 3. This refers to the eldest son of all the sons within the household, including those of the house owner and his brothers. The terms father and mother must be understood within the cultural context. As Albert Aeŋɛpaɛ explained, children consider anyone— be they in the same household, community, or even related area—who is old enough

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to have given birth to them as a father or mother and anyone similar in age as a brother or sister and address them as such (personal communication, October 7, 2013). 4. In my experience, the terms house owner and landlord were sometimes used interchangeably, but they held different connotations. Often, in the absence of the house owner, a landlord will play a supervisory role, but his or her position and authority is subordinate to that of the house owner. I encountered, for instance, several cases in which women acted as landlords because their husbands had traveled to cities for work (see chapter 5).   5. As of 2010, in the rural communities of Ghana’s Upper East Region, approximately 26 percent were women. At this time, the number of female heads of households had increased over the years, possibly due to trends such as women delaying marriage and choosing to be single mothers (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 36).   6. I use the term “co-wives” in referring to multiple women married to the same man. My research assistants commonly used the term “rival,” but I have opted for a more neutral term.   7. The Gurenɛ word bɔpaka means “porch, a small room attached to the entrance of a room” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 22). In this case, such a room might be a workspace attached to or placed on the side of the denya’aŋa.   8. DeCarbo wrote that this type of woven net bag, called a zono in Kassem, was typically constructed of braided string attached at the top and at several points along the midsection, hung and filled with calabashes, with the largest placed mouth-upward at the bottom, one of comparable size inverted atop the first, and the remainder of the collection stacked in descending size (1977, 64).  9. Rattray and Westermann reported, “A kumpio is where a woman keeps her valuables, beads, &c., and is also the shrine of her soul (sia) during her lifetime. . . . The kumpio also contains things which will only be used on the owner’s death in connexion with her funeral custom—dried fish, dried okro, dried meat of a hare, a large bead called pera nigo (ram’s eye)” (1932, 166). 10. I wrote in my notes that she had come from Pie, a community in Kongo. She seemed to be referring to an area near Wa, in the Upper West Region (interview, September 4, 2013). 11. The convention of forming names by adding an A to the beginning of a word is common across the area. 12. The interior spaces of such rooms may also be used for sleeping, but this bɔ’ɔ was not used for this purpose (interview, September 9, 2013). 13. This room had been built for a younger member of the household who was away from the house at the time of my January–April 2013 visit, so I was able to stay in this room for a brief time during my visit.

Chapter 3

Artistic Processes Plastering and Painting

This chapter focuses on women’s artistic processes. Artistry has traditionally played a vital role in daily life: women come together from different neighborhoods and households to create paintings, pots, and baskets. Artistic production is integrated into domestic routines. Women intermittently pound clay, bathe children, stir tuo zafi (thick porridge) for dinner, and soak stalks of grass for basket-weaving. They use sieve-like pots to steam meat, earthen bowls to serve meals, and patterned baskets to store dried millet and carry surplus crops to the market. Vibrant wall paintings of symbolic motifs in red, black, and white pigments, representing vital elements of Indigenous culture, permeate the compound space. Women’s artistry is the stuff of daily life, shaping individual and collective culture and identity day by day. This chapter focuses on building, preparing, plastering, and painting household walls, addressing physical settings, materials and sources, artistic roles and techniques, training, decision-making, hierarchies, and interpersonal interactions. The discussion combines the “typical” or “traditional” with deviations and exceptions. My goal is to juxtapose the general with the specific, exploring continuity and variation and ultimately illustrating the complexity inherent in artistic practices. In doing so, we see that blending traditional and modern materials and techniques has characterized the development of plastering and painting processes over time. This chapter also explores how plastering and painting processes shape individual and collective identities. Women work collaboratively, joining with women from their families, neighborhoods, and communities. Women strengthen bonds by working together side by side through the preparation, plastering, and painting processes. The standard of cooperation builds women’s capacities, allowing them to undertake projects they would not be able to take on as individuals or even with a small group. The system is made possible by a spirit of reciprocity: the idea that if one person helps another with 63

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plastering and painting, that person will receive help when needed. Through the process of artistic creation, women also construct and reinforce cultural traditions, identities, and values. Plastering and painting processes also reflect aspects of hierarchy visible in other parts of life, offering a window into the social organization and particular power structures that persist. As mentioned, large compounds often house multiple generations of family members. Although they typically (and ideally) occupy their separate spaces, the adult women of a household, including elderly grandmothers, daughters, and daughters-in-law, often work cooperatively in caring for their home and family (see chapter 2). They also operate according to strict hierarchies based on seniority and marriage order. Such rankings are replicated and reinforced in processes of plastering and painting, in which context authority is based not only on age and seniority but also on each woman’s level of experience and skill. BUILDING Before describing plastering and painting, it is useful to discuss the materials and methods involved in the building process. Compound construction and repairs are typically undertaken during the dry season between January and April. When a yidaana (male head of the household) needs to undertake such work, he calls on his relatives, neighbors, and friends to aid him. The bulk of the work is done by men and boys, with women typically assisting by carrying water and preparing food. The yidaana may hire a professional mason, but he may lead the work himself. Regardless of the building method, the process traditionally begins with the yidaana pouring libation, using akpeteshi (local gin), and praying. He asks the gods and ancestors “to guide . . . the successful construction of the compound,” to give strength to the workers, protect them from malevolent spirits and accidents, and bless the family who will occupy the house being built (Wemegah 2009, 76). In the past, houses were constructed using a technique known as wet-wall or puddled-mud, in which coarse, sandy soil, known locally as tɔnɔ (or tintɔnɔ), is mixed with water to form a thick mud.1 When using this method, the yidaana or mason began by digging a large pit in which he formed balls of tɔnɔ and water. Younger men and boys carried the hand-molded balls to the building site and placed them along the pre-marked perimeter of the room being constructed. They molded the balls together and pressed them into the ground, forming a solid line of tɔnɔ for the wall’s foundation. They repeated this process with the second layer, placing another row of tɔnɔ balls onto the first and kneading them together. They continued this process with each tier until they built the wall to the desired height. No internal reinforcement was

Figure 3.1.  Faustina Ayambire holding tɔnɔ, coarse sand, in her left hand and bole, smooth sand, in her right hand. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

Figure 3.2.  Ayɛriga Akuta forming balls of tɔnɔ (coarse sand) in a pit dug with a local hoe, assisted by young men from the household and women bringing basins of water they have carried from a stream almost one mile away. Ayɛriga Yire, Zoko, January 12, 2014. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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Figure 3.3.  Young men from Ayɛriga Akuta’s family are building the walls of their new house, with one young man sitting on top of a wall using a wooden board to level the surface of a newly added layer of fresh tɔnɔ (coarse sand) and another young man standing by, ready to assist. Ayɛriga Yire, Zoko, January 12, 2014. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

needed; each tier of wet, clayey soil coheres to the last, forming a solid vertical mass as the layers settled and dried (Prussin 1969, 29–30). Today, this wet-wall or puddled-mud construction method is still sometimes used to build houses in rural communities. But, as previously mentioned, it is now more common for houses to be built out of sun-dried bricks. These are formed by pouring thick tɔnɔ mud into rectangular molds baked in the sun. These sun-dried bricks are placed in layered rows and bonded with earthen mortar to form walls. It is also common for rooms and houses to be built using cement blocks, stacked in rows, and bonded with mortar made from a mixture of tɔnɔ and water. Cement-block construction is an expensive option and is more common in wealthier urban areas and less so in lower-income rural areas (see chapter 5).

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PRELIMINARY PLANNING AND ARRANGEMENTS Traditionally, when a room or house is newly built or repaired, the earthen walls must be surfaced with plaster and paint to protect them from wind and rain; this is still the case, although some elements have changed. The owner of the room or house is responsible for making the arrangements, funding the project, and deciding how the walls should be surfaced. For an entire compound, the yidaana (male head of the household) will call upon the deodaana (senior woman of the household) to organize the project. For a single wall, the room’s owner will typically take charge and sometimes even complete the project without assistance. Likewise, for a small project, the household’s women might complete the work on their own. The deodaana will typically seek aid from her extended family and neighborhood for a large project. Regardless of who organizes the project, participants must be informed and invited, materials must be gathered, and food must be prepared. I observed several wall painting projects in Sirigu, Bongo, Zuarungu-Moshi, Bolgatanga, and Accra (see chapter 6). Two of these projects were planned and executed by members of the households and communities where they took place. I observed a plastering and painting process at Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu, for instance, that was initiated and funded by the household members with assistance from Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art (SWOPA) (interview, March 11, 2013). Likewise, I witnessed a painting project at the home of Melanie Kasise in Bolgatanga. I was not involved in the preliminary planning or arrangements for these projects. I commissioned several other projects and acted as the patron. During my first visit to Sirigu, I arranged a wall painting workshop at Akozulo Yire with Faustina Ayambire, SWOPA’s head art teacher. Faustina organized a plastering and painting project at Akoluzo Yire, her childhood home, where a wall needed resurfacing (see chapter 2). The deodaana (senior woman of the household), Akake Nsoh, would traditionally have organized the project. However, since this project was arranged as a SWOPA workshop, Faustina took charge. As the project’s patron, I was responsible for the cost of materials and refreshments, in addition to a workshop fee. I also commissioned groups of women in Bongo and Zuarungu-Moshi to demonstrate their plastering and painting processes. In Bongo, Job, as my assistant, worked with Mariama Alhassan, the leader of the Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba women’s group, to plan the project (see chapter 6). As the leader of her group, Mariama was responsible for making the arrangements, coordinating with, and organizing her colleagues whenever there was a request for plastering (interview, January 21, 2013). Mariama arranged for a plastering and painting project Wegunaba Yire, the home of two group members, Asadaarɛ

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Nyaaba and Ayampɔka Nyaaba. In keeping with tradition, Mariama consulted with and received permission from the yidaana, Ayameŋa Agambire, before the project. The owner of the room is traditionally also consulted. In this case, the room’s owner, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, was participating in the project, which implied her approval. In Zuarungu-Moshi, Job worked with the deodaana of Awaho Yire to arrange for a plastering and painting project. The yidaana, Bozin, and owner of the room were also consulted and gave their approval before the project was undertaken. Azo’uue and other Ate’eletaaba women’s group members participated in the project, which consisted of her neighbors and colleagues (see chapter 6). Although this was not explicitly stated, it seemed clear that my presence and involvement in these projects—particularly those I commissioned— impacted their processes and outcomes in various ways (see introduction). In some cases, my presence seemed to influence the chosen designs and how they were described; specific examples are highlighted in the following and in the next chapter (see chapter 4). PLASTERING Traditionally, a project begins with its leader setting a date that will work for all parties involved. Multiple factors must be considered in determining the best time for plastering and painting to take place. First, social and cultural factors play a role in determining the date. Funeral celebrations, for instance, are held during the dry season. When someone dies, their body is buried immediately. Then, during the dry season, a funeral is held to honor the deceased and put them fully to rest. Funerals are elaborate, multi-day events featuring abundant food, music, and dance. They are held during the dry season because this is the time of year when farming activities have ceased, and families can spare the time to prepare and participate. Due to their importance, these events take priority over most other commitments. Therefore, plastering and painting projects are often delayed or even canceled due to such obligations. For instance, the project at Aburipoore Yire was paused halfway through so that household members could attend a funeral. Weather is one of the most critical factors that must be considered in planning a project. Along with building, plastering and painting projects typically occur between February and April. The ideal window begins after the winds of the harmattan, which are strongest between December and February, have ceased to blow. If these winds have not died down, the walls will dry too quickly and gather dust between each phase of the plastering and painting process. The window closes at the start of the rainy season when moisture in the air will cause the plaster and paint to dry too slowly, complicating the

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process. And within this time frame, the weather must be carefully monitored to “determine the time appropriate for plastering, because . . . when there is too much wind when we plaster, it will crack” (interview, Francisca, January 16, 2014). Those with the most experience and expertise are important in determining the proper timing. Several projects I observed took place during mid-March, at the height of the dry season. At Aburipoore Yire, the weather was ideal for plastering and painting: the wind was calm and the sun was blazing. In Zuarungu-Moshi, the day of the project was quite windy. Conditions were similar in Bongo, where the wind was joined by gathering clouds. In both of the latter cases, the weather seemed somewhat threatening (at least to me), but the artists still deemed conditions acceptable for plastering and painting. The amount of time a project will take depends on several factors, including the number and size of the walls being surfaced, and the number of people taking part in the project. An average project might take one to two days to complete. The project at Aburipoore Yire, for instance, was large. Over two days, approximately twelve women plastered and painted the outer walls of two rooms. In Zuarungu-Moshi, Azo’uue and her colleagues painted the interior walls of a veranda. About seventeen women took part. In both cases, the number of participants was appropriate for the project size. In Bongo, the situation was somewhat different. The women chose to paint a long back wall of a room at Wegunaba Yire. Nine women participated in the project, a small number for the size of the wall; this somewhat slowed the process, but they still completed the project in one day (interview, March 12, 2013; interview, February 12, 2014). The project at Akozulo Yire was a case study in bad timing. It took place in June, at the height of the rainy season, and the air hung heavy with moisture; this complicated the plastering and painting processes, slowing drying times. In addition, at the time of the project, Sirigu was verdant with ripening crops, and most of the town’s residents were occupied with farming duties. Approximately nine women helped with the project, but many participants could not stay for the entire day as they could not spare much time away from their farms. These factors combined to extend what should have been a one-day project over two days, consequently taking even more time away from farming duties. Preparations for a plastering project typically begin days, and sometimes weeks, before the actual event. Especially in the past, children from the household and neighborhood were enlisted to help gather and prepare materials, including water, bole (smooth sand), and cow dung for making plaster. Children would also often accompany their mothers in fetching the pigments used for making paint; this was not only helpful, but it was also an essential part of training the next generation. Artistic training began during

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early childhood. Young girls learned through observation and participation in gathering materials, mixing plaster, preparing the wall, applying plaster, smoothing, and painting. Children began by watching their mothers periodically surface and resurface new and newly repaired household walls. Rose Yaaro recalled, “when I was a child, my mother knew how to do [bambɔlse], so whenever she was doing it, I would go and observe” (interview, January 22, 2013). As Abisibɔba Nyaaba put it, “on the day of the plastering, then we [would] also observe our mothers and also take part in doing all the activities that were done on that day” (interview, March 14, 2013). The training process was gradual, extending through adolescence and up to young adulthood. The older women I observed made plastering and painting look effortless, but their seemingly innate skill resulted from decades of training and experience. As we will see, these traditional training and knowledge transfer systems have declined over time. Today, young girls increasingly attend school, and young women often leave their homes to pursue higher education and employment; this erodes traditional artistic knowledge since it removes young girls and women from decades of training (see chapter 5). The women I worked with told me about their childhood contributions to plastering and painting projects. As Asadaarɛ Nyaaba recalled, when the women of her household were preparing for plastering, “the children got up early in the morning and went to houses with cows to fetch the cow dung and bring it home and mash it with water. Those who were lucky and their own houses had cows, they just get up early and got [cow dung] from their own house.” After collecting the cow dung, they would mash it in water and leave it to soak for three days. Once they had collected enough and had allowed the cow dung to soak, they mixed it with the bole (smooth sand) (interview, January 21, 2013). Abisibɔba Nyaaba recalled similar duties. “When we were children,” she explained, “our mothers would ask us to go and fetch the bole.” After they had gathered bole and cow dung, they would go with their mothers to “dig the zigmɔrligo [red gravel] and carry it home.” Then their mothers would “buy the kugesabela [black gravel] and the kugpeele [white stones] and settle a day for the plastering” (interview, March 14, 2013). Both now and in the past, women with expertise in plastering and painting processes play an essential role, often taking the lead in guiding and training their less experienced colleagues. Women in Sirigu referred to experts as miniba, meaning those knowledgeable and able to lead others in particular activities and areas of knowledge. A single plastering and painting project might involve multiple miniba, each knowledgeable in a specific aspect of the process (interview, January 16, 2014). Expertise often coincides with age, meaning older women typically take the lead. Younger women tend to observe and assist but often play a more limited role (interview, Ferreol Anaba Amizia, September 20, 2013). At Aburipoore Yire, for instance, the

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household’s younger women, Beatrice and Susana, participated in the project by helping prepare plaster, cook food, and serve refreshments to their older colleagues. Still, neither contributed to the painting process; this is not just about experience and expertise but also about custom. There is a traditional prohibition against women of child-bearing years painting their rooms with bambɔlse. Many believe that if a young woman paints her room with bambɔlse, she or her children will die. At Ayeliba Yire, for instance, Asokipala Aberinga said that when she was in her father’s house, she was very curious to learn about bambɔlse. Still, she was told that “women who are at the age of giving births, it’s a taboo for them to do it (interview, September 25, 2013). Another belief dictates that women who are menstruating or have recently engaged in sexual activity should be excluded from involvement in plastering and painting projects (interview, January 16, 2014). These beliefs and prohibitions persist today, although it seems likely that they have loosened somewhat over time. The plastering process typically begins early in the morning, before the sun rises, when the deodaana (senior woman of the household) starts preparing am, the organic varnish that she will use to coat the walls at the end

Figure 3.4.  A cauldron filled with water and plant materials is boiling over a fire to make am, the varnish that will be sprinkled over the walls’ surfaces after they are painted. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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of the plastering and painting process. Am is brown and transparent, made of organic material, comprising only a few components, and enriched with saccharides (i.e., sugars) (Bourgès 2006, 161).2 It is made by boiling plant materials, including locust bean pods (Parkia nilotica or Parkia biglobosa), known locally as kansaŋesi or dawa dawa; zinzira, seed pods from the zinzirega tree, a type of acacia (Acacia scorpioides); and bark and leaves from local trees, known as sia and ampoua. These ingredients are placed in a cauldron of water and boiled throughout the day, with women continuously stirring the mixture with a hoe or stick and periodically skimming the surface. At Aburipoore Yire, Agombire Akanvole—the yidaana’s (male head of the household’s) mother and the titular deodaana (senior woman of the household)—would have traditionally handled such preparations. However, at ninety-eight, Akanvole had become too elderly and infirm to undertake her traditional duties. Asaase, Akanvole’s daughter-in-law and an expert in her own right, had taken over. On the first day of plastering and painting, Asaase woke up around 4:00 a.m. to build a fire and begin preparing the am.3 Mid-morning in Zuarungu-Moshi, Azo’uue and one of her colleagues stirred their boiling cauldron of am with a broken stick and the wooden end of a hoe. They periodically paused their stirring to dip a calabash bowl into the cauldron and skim the frothy surface of the boiling mixture. They set the bowl aside, waited for about one minute, then slowly added the slightly cooled am back into the cauldron. As they did this, the frothing liquid calmed slightly and ceased threatening to boil over. This process was repeated throughout the day to prevent the liquid from boiling over and ensure that the mixture boiled evenly. The women knew the varnish was ready when it had reduced to a certain level, the color had changed, and the surface had taken on an oily sheen. They remove the plant materials at this point, leaving only the syrupy liquid. In general, the practice of plastering and embellishing walls goes back to the earliest traditions of earthen architecture (Rainer 1992, 46). Archaeological evidence suggests that inhabitants of Neolithic settlements in Iraq, Iran, and Turkey surfaced the walls of their mud-and-timber houses with gypsum plaster, which was developed as early as 7000 BCE (Ching, Jarzombek, and Prakash 2010, 12). As early as the seventh millennium BCE, inhabitants of Çatal Hüyük, Turkey, coated the walls of their houses with white plaster and decorated them with red and black geometric designs and figural motifs rendered in mineral and organic pigments (Easton 2003). As we have seen, the specific origin point is less certain in northern Ghana. Still, women have long been plastering and painting their walls for protection and beautification (see chapter 1). Women artists use the term takɛ, meaning to plaster, or takerɛ bole, in referring to plastering their walls with bole, or clay-rich soil, often referred

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to in English as “smooth sand” (figure 3.1). There are numerous recipes for making plaster. In the past, the specific composition depended mainly on the materials available in the local environment; today, a household’s preferences and financial circumstances are also significant factors. Materials are chosen and mixed in such a way as to ensure maximum strength, water resistance, and adherence to the wall while also minimizing shrinkage while drying (Rainer 1992, 47). Working within and among households and communities, women have collaborated across generations to develop and modify the materials and ratios for their plaster recipes, shifting periodically according to changing influences and circumstances. The most traditional ingredients for making plaster are bole (smooth sand); cow dung or donkey dung, known locally as na’ambeto or bagabisigo; boiling am; and water.4 Clay-rich soil is a standard ingredient in earthen plasters. Describing plastering and painting processes in the context of southern Burkina Faso, Rainer wrote that “earth plasters are the earliest known plasters, and the most compatible with earthen structures. Clay rich earth has been in use as a rendering material . . . at least eight thousand years,” referring to the plastered walls of Çatalhöyük dating from 6000 BCE (1992, 47). From then on, earth-based mortars and plasters have been used worldwide to fill spaces in walls and to protect and decorate walls, ceilings, and floors (Lima, Faria, and Santos Silva 2020, 1). Each type of earth has its unique properties due to its specific composition and content ratios of clay, silt, sand, and gravel. These properties must be carefully considered in determining the correct types of earth to use in mixing plaster. If the clay content of the earth is too high, sand must be added to control shrinkage. A typical proportion is one part earth (clay and silt) to three parts sand (Lima, Faria, and Santos Silva 2020, 1). For instance, women in northern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso have determined that bole is the most effective type of earth for mixing plaster. Women in this area also traditionally added cow dung to their plasters due to its water-resistant properties (Bamogo et al. 2020). In this area, cow dung is typically made up of small vegetable fibers, clayey minerals, and quartz consumed by cows. Scientific research has shown that adding cow dung effectively limits the spread of cracks, hardens, and stabilizes plaster, making it more watertight and weather resistant. Plaster mixed with cow dung has also been proven effective in regulating interior temperatures (Bamogo et al. 2020, 42, 50). Exactly where and how the materials are collected, both now and in the past, varies among communities, individuals, and specific cases. As we have seen, cow dung may be collected from the cattle yard of the household where a project is taking place and, if necessary, from neighboring houses’ cattle

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yards. In the past, women walked long distances, carrying loads of bole on their heads. Abisibͻba Nyaaba remembered her mother waking her up before dawn so they could travel the long distance from Mirigu to Mayoro (about six miles) to collect their bole (interview, January 16, 2014). Today, although some women must still carry materials and supplies on foot, increased access to donkey carts, bicycles, motorbikes, and cars can make the work much more manageable. It is also common for children and young men from the household and neighborhood to assist in gathering and transporting bole. The collection of bole is traditionally guided by experts (i.e., those with the most skill and experience). Experts, for instance, are the authorities on the best places to collect bole. And, at a collection site, the expert can identify the best quality bole. As Francisca put it, “there is some smooth . . . and [some] rough bole, so when the expert comes to see that the bole is too smooth and it will not be good for the wall, [she] will advise her colleagues to fetch the rough bole and mix it with the smooth one so that it will be good for plastering” (interview, January 16, 2014). The expert also takes the lead in determining how much bole should be collected for a particular project. Water is an essential ingredient for plastering. Before the plaster can be mixed, large quantities of water—the exact amount depending on the surface area being plastered—must be fetched. Ideally, the women are assisted by young men and children from their households and neighborhoods, but sometimes they must transport the water themselves. The difficulty of this task depends on factors such as the proximity of a water source, such as a creek, dam, or borehole, and on the availability of hauling equipment, such as a donkey cart, which can be used to carry multiple gallons of water at once.5 If such equipment is not available, water must be carried on heads, one basin at a time (figure 3.2). For the project at Aburipoore Yire, young men from the household and neighborhood used a donkey cart to collect bole near the compound on the day before plastering began. Members of the Aburipoore family fetched barrels of water from a borehole located just across the road at the SWOPA compound and carried the water back to the compound with the donkey cart. Ready access to water was a crucial factor, as they were undertaking a project of considerable size. They also received help from plenty of strong young men and children in the household and neighborhood. Sampson, one of the young men of the family, helped to gather the materials that would be needed, including multiple barrels of water. With plenty of assistance from younger children and the use of the donkey cart, they were able to complete their work with relative ease. At Wegunaba Yire, gathering bole for the project was unnecessary, as there was a deposit of smooth sand near the wall that was being surfaced. A large blue barrel had been filled with water, likely drawn from a borehole, for the

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Figure 3.5.  A group of women is sitting and standing next to a large blue barrel of water and the wall as some of them outline ɛbega (crocodile) and Ziiba pugeto agurinu’usi motifs and others stand by and observe, ready to offer advice and assistance. Wegunaba Yire, March 12, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

project. Women at Awaho Yire reported considerable challenges in preparing for their plastering and painting project. They had not received help from young men or children in their households or neighborhood. The women, many of whom were elderly, had to complete the preparations themselves. Although the surface area to be plastered was small, these limitations made it relatively difficult to prepare for the project. For instance, they had struggled to gather enough water for the project due to the distance of the borehole. They were fortunate to find bole at a source near the plastering site. They said that bole had become more difficult to find over time as the land had dried. But they still knew where to find it. They had gone to this spot with their pickaxes, dug the bole they needed for the project, and brought it back. Women at Awaho Yire also collected their own cow dung, which they fetched from their cattle yards early in the morning. As they gathered the fresh cow patties, they put them into buckets of water to keep them moist. They coordinated as a group, each collecting patties from cattle yards in their homes and their neighbors’ homes. With each group member contributing a portion, it was easy to gather enough for the project. Through their

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collaborative effort, they completed the task in only a couple of days. It is common for individuals, families, neighbors, and friends to work together to gather materials for plastering and painting; this is part of a broader system of mutual support and reciprocity that not only facilitates work but also plays a crucial role in building and maintaining collective identities. As with preparing the am, making plaster starts early in the morning, when the air is still cool. In Zuarungu-Moshi, the women made their plaster from the most traditional ingredients. They began with a pile of bole that was positioned near the veranda that was to be surfaced. Drawing water from a barrel, the women soaked and mixed their cow dung in buckets and basins. They took turns mixing the plaster, adding water and soaked cow dung to the bole pile, alternately using their hoes, hands, and feet until the pile was thoroughly mixed. Over the last fifty years, it has become increasingly common for commercial ingredients, especially coal tar and cement, to replace cow dung in plaster mixtures. Coal tar is a thick dark liquid of extremely high viscosity. It is a by-product of coal carbonization and is widely available and used in various contexts, including the construction, paint, and plastic industries (Singh, Goyal, and Kaur 2015, 28–29). Coal tar, bitumen, and pitch are commonly used in making plaster because they prevent the passage of water and water vapor and are resistant to acids and alkalis (Beas 1991, 43). One negative aspect of using coal tar in plaster is that it leaves behind a sticky residue on the hands that can only be washed off using kerosene, making the clean-up process slightly more difficult. The artists seemed to consider this only a minor inconvenience. The women artists I spoke with could not recall when they began using coal tar in their plaster, but it seems likely that it has been used in the area since at least the 1970s. As Dr. Avea Nsoh explained: “I suspect it might [have been] the late seventies or early eighties because I was . . . old enough to notice [its] arrival” (interview, July 23, 2012). DeCarbo noted the use of coal tar in his 1977 study, suggesting it had already gained some popularity by this point. Regardless of when it arrived, coal tar is now widely used in making plaster. As Apuntuguna Aberinga explained in Sirigu, “in the olden days, we used the cow dung and then the gray gravel [zigimͻrligo], but now we don’t use the cow dung anymore.” Instead, she said, “we buy the coal tar” (interview, January 16, 2014). The addition of coal tar to plaster has become popular first because it saves women considerable time and effort by obviating the need for several steps in the plastering process since coal tar renders the walls water resistant without the need for additional layers of primer, paint, and varnish. Secondly, coal tar plaster is considered more effective in resisting water absorption and, therefore, better able to protect the walls than the traditional cow dung plaster.

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Figure 3.6.  Aburipoore Sampson Abiiro (Sampson) is mixing a pile of plaster with his feet and a locally made hoe while Aburipoore Susana Anibire (Susana) stands by, ready to add more heated am to the plaster. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

Coal tar was mixed into the plaster at both Akozulo Yire and Aburipoore Yire. At Aburipoore Yire, Apoore explained that they had used coal tar in their plaster for many years (interview, March 11, 2013). They heated the coal tar over the fire at both houses before adding it to the bole pile. At Aburipoore Yire, several members of the household and neighborhood contributed to the plaster mixing process. A large pile of bole had been collected near the compound. The hard, sunbaked earth under the pile had been splashed with water to prevent the plaster from drying out as it was mixed (interview, March 9, 2013). Near the pile, three cauldrons—two filled with am and the third with coal tar—were propped up on charred bricks over low flames. Sampson and Adͻŋͻ Kennedy, a young man from the neighborhood, mixed the heated coal tar into the plaster using their feet and hoes as Susana, one of the household’s young women, poured boiling am from a white plastic bucket onto the pile. As Apoore and Asaase explained, they used heated coal tar and boiling am (or hot water) to mix their plaster because this made it “stronger.” Mixing cold water along with the coal tar, they said, would cause the plaster to “crack” (interview, March 11, 2013).6

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At Akozulo Yire, two teenage boys assisted with the plaster mixing process. A pile of bole had been gathered near the wall being plastered. A cauldron of am and a can of coal tar were heated over a small fire nearby. Using locally made hoes, the two boys competed to see who could mix the pile faster. Akake added heated coal tar to the pile as they worked. Job observed the boys and, judging them as novices, stepped in to teach them proper plaster mixing techniques. Later in the process, Faustina chipped in, stepping into the pile and mixing the plaster with her feet. Along with coal tar, cement has become a popular plaster ingredient due to a widespread belief that it is low maintenance, long-lasting, and durable. Cement plaster is considered superior to traditional cow dung plaster because it does not typically need to be renewed as frequently. Women at Wegunaba Yire, for instance, used cement to mix their plaster. They had grown up learning from their mothers to make plaster with bole and cow dung and had also begun adding coal tar and cement to their plaster over time. They had started experimenting with cement plaster about five years earlier due to an increase in the price of coal tar. They had found that the cement was durable, held up well, and “didn’t crack” (interview, March 9, 2013).7 On the occasion of their plastering and painting demonstration, the women were assisted by a man who mixed the plaster in a pit on the site of a bole deposit near the wall being surfaced.8 He stood in the pit, using a hoe and his feet to mix the cement, adding cement from a large bag as he worked. Mariama stood by, adding water from a fluorescent green bucket. There are drawbacks to surfacing earthen walls with cement plaster. Cement’s waterproofing properties protect only the plastered surface and do not extend to the earthen wall beneath the impermeable surface coating; this leads to walls washing away behind the plaster and detaching from it. In addition, cement plasters tend to be more rigid and brittle than earthen walls and do not adhere well to these surfaces; this often results in cracked, bulging, and detached areas of cement plaster (Rainer 1992, 60). The improper combination of materials can exacerbate such problems; this was demonstrated, for instance, at Wegunaba Yire. Here, the women had surfaced the earthen wall of Asadaarɛ Nyaaba’s room with plaster made from tɔnɔ (coarse sand) and cement, then sprinkled the freshly surfaced wall with boiling am (varnish). Shortly after they completed the project, parts of the plastered surface cracked, chipped, and detached from the wall; the women explained this had happened because they had sprinkled the wall with boiling am. Normally, they said, “when we use the cement and the coal tar to plaster . . . we don’t boil the am and sprinkle it. We just leave it like that and it looks nice.” The boiling am, they concluded, had “weakened the power of the cement because cement doesn’t want hot [am].” In other words, they concluded that the improper combination of materials had weakened the cement plaster, causing

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it to crack and detach (interview, February 12, 2014). Despite these potential problems, cement plaster is still more durable than cow dung plaster, which must be renewed every three to five years. Cement is also the standard surfacing material for cement block buildings, which are linked with ideas of modernity and prestige across the area. Cement plaster, therefore, has come to be associated with wealth. Before a wall can be plastered, it must be prepared. These preparations depend on the state of the wall. If there are holes in the wall’s surface, they must be patched to create an even surface. As Francisca explained, “they don’t just start plastering when they have some pocks in the walls. When they plaster it that way, the wall will fall” (interview, January 16, 2014).9 At Wegunaba Yire, for instance, the women plastered a wall in which there were numerous large “potholes” that needed to be filled before plastering could begin. They started early in the morning, moving across the wall and patching. They filled the holes with thick, chunky mortar made of tɔnɔ (coarse sand), which had been mixed with water in a large pit near the wall. Unfortunately, patching the holes in a wall does not always prevent the plaster from falling. At Wegunaba Yire, for instance, the women filled large portions of the wall with mortar. As Asadaarɛ explained, they later realized that “we should have let the patched holes dry for a day before continuing.” Instead, they completed the entire project in one day. The damp mortar was covered with layers of plaster and primer. The women said that this and the sprinkling of hot am weakened the wall’s integrity. It was due to these factors, they concluded, that “it all fell down in the rain” (interview, February 12, 2014). In the end, Asadaarɛ replastered the fallen portions with cement, but most of the designs painted on the wall’s surface were obscured or erased (interview, September 9, 2013). A wall that has been previously plastered and painted also needs to be “keyed” to ensure a bond between the plaster and the wall; this means that the wall must be dampened and scraped with a hoe to make it rough so that it will accept the plaster (Rainer 1992, 39). For instance, the wall at Akozulo Yire was being resurfaced after having been painted previously. Before plastering could begin, Akake and Faustina scratched the faded residue of designs from the wall using rocks and hoes, creating a rough surface onto which the new layer of plaster could adhere. If a wall is newly built and has never been plastered, it is rough and does not need to be keyed. For example, at Awaho Yire the veranda walls had not been painted previously. The walls, therefore, only needed to be dampened with water before plastering could begin. Once the wall is ready, plastering can begin. First, the plaster must be transported from the pile to the wall. Traditionally, plaster is carried in bowls made from dried calabash halves, known locally as wama. Today, metal basins, plastic buckets, and bowls are also used for this purpose.

Figure 3.7.  Faustina Ayambire and Akake Nsoh are scraping the dampened wall of Akake’s room using locally made hoes to create a rough surface onto which a new layer of plaster can adhere. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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Figure 3.8.  Women are applying plaster to the wall using their hands. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

Some women carry plaster while others stand side by side at the wall. They scoop handfuls from the containers and deftly slap the plaster onto the wall, using swift upward motions. They make this work look easy, but it requires considerable skill: they must apply an even layer of plaster in just the right amount. Too thin and it will not sufficiently protect the wall; too thick and it will “fall down.” Experts guide their colleagues in gauging how much plaster should be applied to the wall to achieve the ideal thickness.10 As artists in Sirigu explained, “the expert . . . will insert the finger [into] the bole . . . and see whether it is okay for painting or it is too much. When she dips in the finger, and it goes deep, then it means they have to scratch some off.” Agombire Atampugre recalled her mother, Akanvole, observing her less experienced colleagues as they plastered. She would use a stick to direct, saying, “this way, go and correct this place” (interview, January 16, 2014). As they direct their colleagues through the process, experts might also train any daughters and granddaughters who have come to observe. Abisibɔba Nyaaba, for instance, remembered her mothers teaching her how to plaster. As a small child, her mothers would allow her to practice on a small wall “to learn from that place.” She and her young colleagues would continue with

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this practice until, as she put it, “we were able to make the small wall, so if they observe that we were now better in doing it, then they allowed us to also take part in plastering a complete wall” (interview, January 16, 2014). After a wall has been covered in plaster and is still damp, the women may choose to add relief images. The most common relief-rendered motifs are animal figures, such as cows, pythons, and crocodiles (see figure 2.1). Sometimes women divide their compositions into upper and lower sections with groups of horizontal raised lines called kunkugera. Experts always build relief designs. First, an expert will trace the outline of the desired design in the moist plaster using her finger or a smooth, rounded quartzite stone, known locally as sasega. The women sprinkle the area with water as they build the figure out from the wall in layers of plaster, defining the shape with their fingers and palms (Cowhey 1996, 28; Norman 1997, 14; Wemegah 2009, 89). The mud must dry completely, or it will fall. As Rita explained at Akawi’ire Yire, “at times when you use the mud to build it and it’s not dry . . . it comes off again” (interview, February 28, 2013). Relief images are often embellished, for instance, with painted designs and cowries inserted to represent the eyes of animal figures.

Figure 3.9.  Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ is using a sasega stone to smooth the wall’s freshly plastered surface. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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Once a wall has been completely covered, the women let the plaster sit for a short time—approximately ten to twenty minutes.11 The exact point at which the wall has dried sufficiently to proceed is determined by experts, who make their judgments based on years of experience. The next step is to smooth the plaster. They splash the wall with water, sometimes mixed with cow dung. They start rubbing the moistened plaster with their palms. Then they use their wetted sasi (smooth stones) to rub the plaster with rapid circular motions. Sasi are important tools of artistry, used for multiple purposes in the plastering and painting process. These stones come in different sizes, each used for a slightly different purpose. Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, for instance, recalled that her mother had three different types of sasi: the biggest type to smooth the rough surface of the newly plastered wall, the medium stone to smooth it further, and finally the smallest to make the plaster completely smooth (interview, January 21, 2013). Smoothing the wall’s surface is an essential part of the process and serves multiple functions. On a practical level, smoothing the plaster provides an even surface on which to paint. In addition, this polishing action also realigns the clay platelets, bonding and reducing the space between them to a minimum, compacting the plaster and thus maximizing its ability to resist water penetration (Rainer 1992, 130). On an aesthetic level, smoothing makes the wall shine, a quality which is highly desired by the women (interview, March 9, 2013). The artists with whom I spoke considered the quality and evenness of the surface on which a composition is painted to be nearly as important as the painting itself.12 Plastering processes are not strictly linear. Instead, it is typical for multiple parts of the process to occur simultaneously, with women working side by side, each engaged in a different task. Women in Zuarungu-Moshi, for instance, worked on various sections of the wall: one applied plaster, another splashed cow dung water onto a plastered and slightly dried area, while a third woman smoothed a section of already plastered and wetted wall. ZIGMϽRLIGO PRIMER After the walls have been plastered and smooth, they might also receive a coat of zigmͻrligo, a reddish-brown primer made from laterite gravel.13 The decision whether to add this primer depends on factors such as the techniques and styles standard in the area, as well as individual and group preference. Today, zigmͻrligo primer is rarely used, especially in plastering exterior walls. Zigmͻrligo is still sometimes used in plastering the interior walls of rooms, as it is believed to be highly effective in regulating temperatures. The declining use of zigmͻrligo can be attributed to at least two factors.

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First is the popularity of coal tar and cement plasters, which render the wall water-resistant without needing additional layers of primer, paint, and varnish. Secondly, zigmͻrligo has come to be closely associated with past traditions. Those who want to present themselves as modern therefore reject the use of zigmͻrligo, opting instead to surface their walls with commercial paint; this recalls, for instance, the use of commercial paint to surface the compound walls at Awaho Yire. Even at Aburipoore Yire, where the walls were painted with bambͻlse, Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire opted to coat the interior walls of his room with commercial paint to signal his modern taste (see chapter 2). When demonstrating their plastering and painting techniques, women at Awaho Yire and Wegunaba Yire chose to add a layer of zigmͻrligo primer specifically because of its association with tradition. I was the patron for these projects, and the women knew I wanted to see their traditional techniques. As is generally the case, the term “traditional” is flexible. For instance, the women at Wegunaba Yire wanted to show me the methods they considered most “traditional,” but there were also practicalities to consider. They mixed cement—not considered a traditional material—into their plaster because it was available and suited their needs. This example demonstrates blending of traditional and modern materials and techniques that has characterized the development of plastering and painting processes through time. Zigmͻrligo can be challenging to acquire. In some areas, this gravel may be dug from the ground; otherwise, it must be purchased from the market. For women in Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo, the closest source of this gravel is southern Burkina Faso. In the past, women would travel long distances to collect zigmͻrligo. Today, it is common for women from Burkina Faso communities, such as Zeko, Buŋɔ, and Gɛliŋɔ, to gather the gravel and bring it to market. Before bringing it to market, they grind the gravel into powder and form it into large balls. As the patron for the projects at Awaho Yire and Wegunaba Yire, I provided funding, and Job—acting as my assistant—helped to obtain the materials. Job acquired most of the zigmͻrligo for the two projects from the market, while the artists gathered the rest. Job purchased ten balls of zigmͻrligo in total and divided them equally between the two projects; this was not an easy task. He tried first at the Sirigu market, but the woman who typically sold the gravel did not have any. She told him she had some at her house but had not brought it to market because people were not painting yet (personal communication, Job, Bongo, March 12, 2013). I found this odd, as March is typically the height of plastering and painting season. I did not get an explanation for this. Likely, the seller did not bring the zigmͻrligo to market because, due to the prevalence of coal tar and cement plasters, demand for zigmͻrligo has declined. Even so, Job returned the next market day and was able to buy the zigmͻrligo from another seller.

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To prepare the zigmͻrligo, women in both Bongo and Zuarungu-Moshi began by soaking their chunks of zigmͻrligo in buckets of water and cow dung early in the morning on the day of plastering. They soaked the balls of gravel for several hours until it had softened and begun to break down, then they worked together to mix the zigmͻrligo primer. In Zuarungu-Moshi, one woman stooped over a bucket where large chunks of zigmͻrligo had been soaking for several hours, scooping handfuls of soaked gravel and crumbling it between her palms. She picked out and discarded stray stones as she worked. She processed the gravel in batches. After working the mixture for a while, she paused to break down additional chunks of soaked gravel into tiny bits, which she added to the bucket. She periodically added more water and cow dung to the mixture. Another woman stood by, occasionally rinsing her colleague’s arms with water poured from a calabash bowl. In both Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo, the process of dissolving the gravel and mixing the primer took several hours. The primer was ready to be applied to the wall once the gravel had been fully dissolved and all stones had been removed from the mixture. The final product was a thick reddish-brown liquid.14

Figure 3.10.  Several women are splashing zigmɔrligo primer onto the freshly plastered wall’s surface using sɔɔrɔ, small brooms made from dried grasses, while other women stand back and observe. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 7, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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The zigmͻrligo primer can be applied once the plaster has dried to the appropriate level—somewhat dry, but still slightly tacky—to receive the primer. When the timing is right, women carry the primer to the walls in various containers. In Bongo, the women used their hands to coat the wall’s surface.15 In Zuarungu-Moshi, the women splashed the primer onto the walls’ surfaces using their hands and sɔɔrɔ, small brooms made from dried grasses. They patted and slapped the walls’ surfaces until they were evenly coated with primer. Through the processes of plastering and coating the walls with zigmͻrligo primer, the women worked side by side, some standing up on toes and wooden benches, others bending down until they covered every inch of the walls’ surfaces. As some women applied primer, others tended to tidying—scraping up bits of fallen primer and plaster, evening the walls’ edges, and generally keeping the area neat. They carefully coated the wall with just the right amount of primer—too much or too little, and it would not have adequately adhered. If this happens, the zigmͻrligo layer will “fall down.”16 Once the walls were evenly coated, the women smoothed the surfaces with sasi (smooth stones) dipped in zigmͻrligo primer. PREPARING PAINT Typically, while some women are plastering and some are preparing zigmͻrligo primer, others are preparing the red and black paint that will be used to make designs. Red paint can be made from zigmͻrligo gravel or brighter red gare stones composed of hematite and kaolinite (Bourgès 2006, 161) (see figure 1.1). Preferences between zigmͻrligo and gare vary across space and time. In many places, gare is considered too bright. For instance, women in Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo prefer the duller red of zigmͻrligo. In Sirigu, the brighter red gare has displaced zigmͻrligo as the preferred pigment (personal communication, Faustina, July 26, 2012). This preference change seems to have occurred over the last several decades. In her 1990 report, Courtney-Clarke wrote that while women in Zeko, a community in southern Burkina Faso, typically used the bright, “blood-red earth pigment, gare,” their sisters in Sirigu did not (118). Perhaps ancestral and marital connections between Sirigu and southern Burkina Faso resulted in a transferal of pigment preferences over time. These shifting color preferences demonstrate how these artistic practices are not static but shift over time, partly due to changing personal preferences, which can be influenced by contact with other artists. Black paint is made from kugesabela stones, composed of poorly crystallized iron oxide and kaolinite (see figure 1.3). White is rendered using a type

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of stone known as kugpeele, which has been variously identified as limestone or talc (Wemegah 2009, 86; Bourgès 2006, 161, Rainer 1992, 129) (see figure 1.2).17 Anyelom reported that the chalky white pigment is waterproof and, when sealed with am, renders wall surfaces impervious to water for at least two years (1995, 55).18 These pigments—kugesabela, zigmͻrligo, gare, and kugpeele—can be found in various places. As has been previously discussed, they are most abundant in southern Burkina Faso, specifically in the vicinity of communities such as Zeko, Buŋɔ, Gɛliŋɔ, Yelewongo, Puo, and Genongo (interview, Zeko Chief Yire, February 6, 2014; personal communication, Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire, October 1, 2013; Anyelom 1995, 54) (see chapter 1). Women in Buŋɔ and Gɛliŋɔ told me that they dug red zigmͻrligo and gare gravels from the ground and collected white kugpeele and black kugesabela stones in nearby streams (interview, January 28, 2014). Other sources for zigmͻrligo and gare were Dazongo (or Dazuŋɔ), a section of Sirigu, and Kandiga, a neighboring town (Anyelom 1995, 54). In the past, it was common for women to travel long distances to gather their materials. Members of multiple households in Sirigu, for instance, recalled traveling to Burkina Faso communities such as Buŋɔ, Yelewongo, and Gɛliŋɔ to gather their gare, kugesabela, and kugpeele (interview, Aburipoore Yire, March 11, 2013; interview, Azorko Apusunɛ, September 13, 2013). Traveling on winding dirt roads and paths, this would be a journey of up to fifteen miles each way. Although this travel was arduous, it allowed women from different communities to form and maintain personal and artistic connections across the area. Means of and locations for obtaining pigments have changed over time. It has become increasingly common for zigmͻrligo, kugesabela, and kugpeele to be sold in the market. As with zigmͻrligo, kugesabela is typically ground into powder and formed into large balls sold at the market. Gare and kugpeele are sold in their original gravel and rock forms (see figures 1.1 and 1.2). Some materials are more difficult to find than others. Gare, for instance, is not commonly sold in the local markets and can often only be found in distant locations (personal communication, Faustina Ayambire, July 26, 2012). In Sirigu, SWOPA staff members increasingly assist in obtaining this pigment, which they purchase from distant communities using the organization’s truck and personal motorbikes. The gare used for the projects at Aburipoore Yire and Akozulo Yire, for instance, was purchased from Nalerigu and the Tamale area—seventy-two and 122 miles away, respectively—with the assistance of SWOPA (interview, March 11, 2013).19 This is one of the many ways in which SWOPA encourages and facilitates the continuation of traditional artistic practices in Sirigu (see chapter 6). Once they have been obtained, the pigments must be processed. The only pigment that does not need to be processed is kugpeele, as these white stones

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Figure 3.11.  A woman is making black paint by mixing powdered kugesabela pigment into water and buŋtɔ, a leafy mucilaginous vegetable. Wegunaba Yire, Bongo, March 12, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

are rubbed directly onto the wall like chalk (see figures 1.5 and 3.22).20 Balls of kugesabela, zigmͻrligo, and gare must be ground or pounded into fine powders before they can be made into paint; this can be done in several ways. A woman in Tiébélé (Burkina Faso) used a wooden mortar and pestle to pound her kugesabela. At Wegunaba Yire, a woman ground her kugesabela on a large boulder in the shade. She used a large rock to smash the gravel ball into small chunks before grinding it with a stone against the boulder to make a fine powder. She collected the ground pigment in a small metal pot. Once she had finished her work, she used a local broom to clean the area and arranged the remaining bits of black dust on a piece of yellow plastic. At Akozulo Yire in Sirigu, Akake ground her kugesabela against a stone slab placed on a piece of corrugated metal, which collected the powdered pigment as it fell from the end of the slab (see figure 1.3). Women at Aburipoore Yire received assistance from SWOPA in processing their kugesabela and gare due to the large quantity of these pigments needed for the project. Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire took the materials to Bolgatanga, where they were processed by a gold-grinding machine. As the women plastering and painting at Aburipoore Yire put it, “initially [we] used to grind it

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[ourselves], but [we] are no more strong, so [we] sent it to the machine to grind it for [us] . . . the gare and the kugesabela” (Sirigu, March 9, 2013). This example suggests that, for those who have access to them, modern technologies can facilitate the maintenance of these artistic traditions. Once the pigments have been ground into a fine powder, red and black paints are prepared. Red paint is prepared by mixing gare with water. Black paint is created by mixing the kugesabela with water and buŋtɔ, a leafy mucilaginous vegetable.21 Buŋtɔ leaves are mashed between the fingers in water, creating a viscous liquid. The powdered kugesabela is mixed into the solution to make thick, black paint.22 PAINTING Once the preparations have been completed, painting can begin. The painting process—from planning to execution—varies somewhat among communities, households, and specific groups. Traditionally, designs are chosen by the owner of the wall being painted. However, in many cases, the owner defers to the expertise of the artists, trusting them to determine what will look best. Regardless, the owner retains the final say in choosing the designs. At Wegurigo Yire in Bongo, for instance, the yidaana (male head of the household) and the room’s owner were consulted before the plastering and painting project. The yidaana approved the project and made no specific requests or suggestions. Likewise, the room’s owner, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, did not make any requests, deferring instead to her colleagues’ expertise in planning the composition. In some cases, designs are chosen and compositions are planned in advance; in other cases, women choose their designs as they paint. Decisions are often made collaboratively, and, in general, painting is a joint effort. Smith wrote in his 1979 dissertation that “usually the woman coordinating the activity (typically the deodaana) will present her views, and then in consultation with the other women will decide on the particular motifs and designs to be used. There is normally much discussion and sharing of opinion at this time” (127–28). While this was written decades ago, such decision-making processes remain essentially unchanged today. The deodaana (senior woman of the household), experts, and all other participants work together throughout the process. In some cases, experts play a critical role, acting as leaders, guides, and teachers.23 In other instances, collaboration plays a more prominent role, with participants contributing according to their individual preferences and abilities. Various implements may be used in applying paint to the walls. The most traditional brushes are early millet, or naara, stalks from which the seeds are

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removed, and bundles of chicken feathers held together with string. In Sirigu, it has become common for women to use commercial brushes. In the past, women often outlined and articulated their designs with incised lines.24 We can see this, for instance, in the photographs of Margaret Courtney-Clarke, taken in the late 1980s, showing painted walls embellished with incised outlines, stripes, and cross-hatching. Rainer reported that women in Pô, Burkina Faso, sometimes added incised motifs using “small pointed stone[s]” after they had painted their walls with black and white designs. Such incisions were used “to break up and enhance the larger . . . patterns,” emphasize outlines, and add details to designs (1992, 131–32). The addition of incised lines to painted compositions has decreased over the years due to multiple factors.25 In his 1995 report, Anyelom suggested that incised lines had declined in popularity because women found this technique shortened the lifespans of their paintings. Writing about the vugdoo design, composed of raised and incised lines, Anyelom wrote, “the pattern has been discovered lately to be impractical in the sense that it causes the murals to have a short life span, when the patterns are incised on the wall with the sasinga [sasega]” (1995, 48–49). Perhaps incised lines compromise the protective capacity of plaster by providing access points, or channels, through

Figure 3.12.  These are two early millet, naara, stalks that will be used as paintbrushes. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 7, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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Figure 3.13.  This is a paintbrush made from fowl feathers and dipped in kugesabela paint. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 7, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

which water can penetrate and erode the walls’ surfaces. The women I spoke with named other reasons for moving away from incised lines, reflecting changes in the twenty years since Anyelom’s study. At Akozulo Yire, for instance, Akake explained that it has become challenging to find “the very smooth and stiff” sharp-edged sasi (smooth stones) ideal for carving lines into the wall’s freshly plastered surface (interview, September 26, 2013).26 At Awaho Yire, Azo’uue and Be’endiŋeya explained that they found it increasingly difficult to keep their tools properly due to changes in lifestyle and priorities. Their mothers, they said, had been able to make their designs with sasi because “they were stable. They tried to keep their tools at the right place so that it would not get lost.” Unlike their mothers, the women with whom I worked in Zuarungu-Moshi considered themselves to be careless and unable to “keep our tools properly. . . . When you keep it, and you don’t go to check whether it is there or not, sometimes the day you need it . . . you go there you get there and it’s not there” (interview, February 11, 2014). It seems likely that this change was also related to shifts in their lifestyles and priorities. As we will see, while both women retained their artistic knowledge and abilities, they also embraced modern conveniences such as commercial paint (see chapter 5).

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Even so, incised lines are still sometimes incorporated into wall painting compositions. In Bongo, for instance, Mariama and Selina explained that the decision of whether to outline designs before painting is a matter of individual choice. If “you choose to use the sasega [smooth stone], you can use it. If you choose to use the brush, you can also use it” (interview, March 12, 2013). In Sirigu, the question of whether incised lines will be added to a composition is typically left to the experts (interview, Rita Kasise, January 16, 2014). These comments suggest that shifts in artistic practices are gradual and uneven. Older traditions endure alongside new developments, allowing women to choose from a breadth of creative possibilities. The following descriptions of painting projects in Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, and Sirigu include information about materials, techniques, and steps. The focus here is on the process, not on form or iconography. In the next chapter, we will turn toward the meanings of specific painted motifs and their meanings (see chapter 4). This chapter’s discussion also highlights differences in painting processes and styles across the area, demonstrating how these artistic practices are not uniform but shaped by artists’ knowledge, preferences, and cultural and geographical contexts. PAINTING PROCESSES: ZUARUNGU-MOSHI AND BONGO At Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi, the women covered the interior walls of an enclosed veranda with painted designs. The painting began after the women had allowed the layer of zigmͻrligo primer to dry for approximately thirty minutes, at which point it had achieved a dull glow. All the women contributed throughout the process, taking turns in painting, advising, and assisting, each contributing to her ability (see figure 1.5). They made their decisions as a group, determining that two women should start, then when it “got to a certain level,” others would join in (interview, March 7, 2013). They proceeded this way, working in shifts, due to limited space, materials, and tools. I repeatedly asked whether they were discussing elements of the painting process, deciding who would paint, when, and where. I wondered if Azo’uue, as the deodaana (senior woman of the household) of Awaho Yire, had directed the project. They explained that no, “we are a group. We know each other’s talents, and we each take part according to our individual abilities.” They did not have a designated leader and had not planned their compositions in advance. Instead, they said, “we just started painting. Anyone who knows how to draw something can just draw.” They took turns, each painting to

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her own ability, without the need for consultation or permission (interview, March 7, 2013). Job explained that the method of painting we observed in Zuarungu-Moshi was similar to that he had observed growing up in the area. As a child in Zoko, he had followed his mothers to watch them paint. All Indigenous women, he said, knew how to paint. They did not plan their designs in advance, consult, or tell each other what they should do. If one woman knew how to paint a crocodile, she did it. According to Job, the unstructured, collaborative system of painting that women at Awaho Yire demonstrated was a faithful representation of the area’s historical traditions (personal communication, March 7, 2013). At Awaho Yire, two women started to paint, standing on benches positioned to either side of the doorway at the center of the veranda’s long back wall. Using millet stalk and fowl feather brushes, they traced bold, black lines of kugesabela along the wall’s upper edge and down along either side of the central doorway. They painted freehand without first tracing the designs. Traditionally, Azo’uue and Be’endiŋeya explained, they would have started by tracing their designs with sasi (smooth stones), then painting over the lines in black. However, they did not have the proper sasi for creating incised lines on this occasion. As the first two women completed the wall’s upper borders, others claimed sections of the wall and began painting. Over about two hours, they covered the walls with geometric and figural designs. They rendered their designs in black kugesabela and white kugpeele against a reddish-brown zigmͻrligo primer backdrop. The designs were highly embellished and decorated with black stripes, cross-hatching, and dots. The doorway at the center of the back wall was surrounded by a thick border and crowned by an erratically zigzagging python, both filled in with white pigment and embellished with tight black cross-hatching. In another area, a small crocodile motif was adorned with dots on its body and stripes on its arms and legs. The painting process was not linear or strictly ordered but proceeded organically. The women alternated between black and white pigments, outlining, filling in sections, and adding layers of pigment until they were satisfied. One woman painted a large rectangle of the tana design. She started by making a row of vertical white stripes, then enclosed these within a black border, added vertical black stripes, then finally brightened the white lines with an additional layer of pigment. Spaces within and between designs were largely filled in with white pigment. As some women painted, others stood behind them, evaluating their work and offering suggestions (see figure 1.5). At the left-hand side of the wall, after one woman had finished outlining an upper border, her colleague suggested that the upper line was too thin. After some consultation, the painter

Figure 3.14.  This is a view of freshly painted walls with zaandaa or bambɔlse at the top, running along the center from left to right a boy standing next to a scorpion and an owl, dulego (large bird), kasurega (wall gecko), and at the bottom a kɔlegɔ (guitar) on the left and a tree on the right. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 19, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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traced back over the line with her millet stalk brush—dripping black paint as she went. Appearing to find her brush soggy, limp, and unwieldy, she alternated between dabbing and pulling her brush along the painted line until she finally achieved the desired thickness. She proceeded to fill in the upper border with a series of equilateral triangles separated by groups of diagonal lines. As she worked, her colleague stood behind her, expressing her opinions animatedly as she pointed and gestured toward the wall. The painting was laborious and challenging at times; this was due, for instance, to the supply and quality of tools. I watched one woman use a broken stub of millet stalk to fill in the bodies of two snakes with black cross-hatching, awkwardly completing the design a few small lines at a time. Another woman filled in the large black triangles of the lusi design using a millet stalk that had gone limp from extended use, making it awkward and difficult to use. There were many women and barely enough tools to share among them. But they made the best of what they had to work with. A spirit of cooperation pervaded the entire project. For instance, three women worked collaboratively in one small area on a set of tightly packed designs. They had nearly completed the black outlines, and as I watched, they rubbed their white kugpeele stones over the spaces within and between their designs. One woman reached over the other two to trace a horizontal line above. The women moved freely from one design to another, one area of wall to the next, taking over for each other and contributing to one another’s designs. The result was an entirely collaborative composition. The painting proceeded quickly—the surface area was small, and plenty of women had shown up to help. They finished their paintings in one day. After the walls had been allowed to dry completely, Azo’uue completed the process by sprinkling the paintings with am (varnish).27 Several days after the finished paintings had been sprinkled with am, they had darkened considerably. The walls glowed with a rich brown hue. Black and white designs stood out subtly against the dark backdrop (figures 3.14 and 3.15). At Wegunaba Yire in Bongo, painting began after the women let the reddish-brown zigmͻrligo primer dry for approximately forty-five minutes. In preparation for the project, the women consulted with the yidaana (male head of the household) and the room’s owner, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, about their design preferences. Both declined to make specific requests and left the planning and decision-making up to the group. The women outlined their designs using sasi (smooth stones) and used both millet stalk and fowl feather brushes to paint. Two women, Ayeyu’urɛ Agurigo and Zinaabu, began painting designs in a small area at the far right of the wall. Zinaabu used a sasega (smooth stone) to incise the outline of nayiga kunvuke—a motif representing a type of box that works as a trap, made in such a way that if a thief attempts to open it

Figure 3.15.  This is a view of a freshly painted wall with an upper border of lusi (drums), then below this a strip of mɔtana (strip-woven cloth), ɛbega (crocodile) and a young man’s doore (walking stick) to the left, bondibega (donkey’s mane) at the upper right, abayeti (gossip) at the center, ɛbesi (crocodiles) and snakes. Awaho Yire, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 19, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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the owner will know it has been disturbed—into the plaster at the top of the wall. Ayeyu’urɛ and Zinaabu explained that they always outline their designs before starting to paint so that the designs will “look fine.” As Job put it, “they have to outline it, see whether it is good or not, then they paint it” (interview, March 12, 2013). Ayeyu’urɛ and Zinaabu began painting over their outlines with millet stalk brushes, standing side by side on a bench beside the wall. After a short while, they decided, in consultation with their colleagues, they should switch to fowl feather brushes. Zinaabu climbed down from the bench and carefully pieced together bundles of fowl feathers to make new brushes. The millet stalks, they explained, were “too breakable.” They set the stalks aside, soaking them in water so they would soften. Later in the day, they would use them to fill in the smaller areas of their designs (interview, March 12, 2013). Ayeyu’urɛ and Zinaabu painted over the traced outlines of their designs, dipping their brushes into a shared bucket of black kugesabela paint. They worked collaboratively, contributing freely to one another’s work. They moved from top to bottom, completing the nayiga kunvuke design first. Once

Figure 3.16.  Ayeyu’urɛ Agurigo and Zinaabu are using a fowl feather brush and kugpeele stone to create the black outline and fill the white sections of the wanzagesi design after finishing the nayiga kunvuke design above as a colleague stands by and observes. Wegunaba Yire, Bongo, March 12, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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they traced over the incised lines, they filled in the black and white sections of the designs, adding layers of pigments until they were satisfied with the saturation level. Once they had completed the nayiga kunvuke design, they moved down to render a section of wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) (figure 3.16). Several women contributed to this design. Ayeyu’urɛ and Zinaabu started the design by creating a white rectangle and a zigzagging white line above this. Ayeyu’ure added a white zigzagging line against the rectangle’s white background, then carefully enclosed the area within a white border. As she worked on this portion of the design, a colleague stood by and advised her, then took over and continued the design. After the white foundation was completed, another colleague took over to outline and fill in alternating black triangles, completing the design. She worked slowly and deliberately, wielding her fowl feather brush with some difficulty, taking care to keep the black paint contained within the designated areas. At the central section of the wall, another group of women painted a pair of crocodiles against a white background. They started by rubbing the white kugpeele stones onto the wall to create a backdrop against which to paint their designs (figure 3.5). They explained that they began their painting this way because a white background is needed to make the designs look nice. However, there was some disagreement about the painting method. Several women felt that, rather than covering the wall with white, they should start painting designs directly over the zigmͻrligo background (interview, March 12, 2013). Ultimately, they compromised on painting some of the designs with one method and some with the other. As had been true for the artists in Zuarungu-Moshi, the process here was highly collaborative, with all participants contributing to the final product. One woman started by outlining one of the crocodiles using her sasega (smooth stone). Another colleague stepped in and scratched it out, saying it was too small, and drew a larger oval. Several colleagues stood immediately behind her as she worked, advising her to trace over and deepen the line with a thicker stone. There was some debate about whether the crocodile should be outlined in black or white, with black winning out in the end. There was another discussion about whether they should start painting from the crocodile’s head or tail, ending with a decision to start at the tail. After outlining, the women filled the crocodiles’ bodies with black dots; there was no need for discussion on this point because, as they explained, they all knew how a crocodile should look. Some women painted while others smoothed already painted areas with their sasi (smooth stones). Progress was slow, as the wall was large for the number of women contributing to the project. The women’s activities drew the attention of onlookers. An older man stopped to admire their work. He said it had been a long time since he had

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seen women painting, and he appreciated their work. A younger man passing by said he had never seen such activities before and found them very interesting. He asked if he could go near the wall and observe, but the women told him he should stay back and give them space. They assured him he could return and see the final product after they had finished. Throughout the day, women switched back and forth, rotating between outlining, painting, and smoothing. All of them were extensively involved with mutual advice-giving and consultation. While some painted, others stood back, gesturing at the wall, intensely discussing, evaluating, and offering opinions about every detail of the composition. Ultimately, despite occasional disagreement, the overall tone of discourse was overwhelmingly congenial and mutually supportive. PAINTING PROCESSES: SIRIGU AND BOLGATANGA In Sirigu, it is typical for plastering and painting processes to be highly organized, with women meeting before a project to make their plans. Painting is highly orderly, with experts serving as leaders and teachers, guiding and instructing their less experienced colleagues. The style of painting is also distinct. While in Zaurungu-Moshi and Bongo, designs were rendered mainly in black and white, with the reddish-brown zigmɔrligo primer serving as a backdrop, Sirigu artists typically created compositions in which the red, black, and white pigments were bolder, and more evenly balanced. SWOPA has played a key role in these changes. In addition to encouraging and supporting traditional artistry, the organization has done a great deal to codify wall painting processes, designs, and meanings; this has been motivated by a genuine commitment to supporting local artists and their work and a need to satisfy an international tourist audience seeking a visually captivating and easily understandable version of traditional artistry (see chapter 6). In Sirigu, a group of expert artists described their painting process. Painting, they said, is typically led by miniba (experts), who guide their colleagues and observe their work, “deciding what to put on the wall and how to make it.” The process begins with one or more experts outlining the designs in black. Then they mark spaces of the designs with dashes of red paint and ask “the other women to insert the colors there” (interview, Rita Kasise, January 16, 2014). If an expert observes one of her less experienced colleagues doing “something which is not good, [they] will say ‘oh, it is better that you do it this way, rather than doing it the way you are doing it’” (interview, Abisibɔba Nyaaba, January 16, 2014). Although this was a general description, it accurately reflected the painting processes I observed at Akozulo Yire and Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu.

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Figure 3.17.  This is a view of the freshly painted outer wall of Akake Nsoh’s room with an upper border and vertical dividing line of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle), a pair of basi (lizards), and a backdrop of zaaleŋya’aŋa (the female version of the netted rope bag design). Akozulo Yire, July 27, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

The group of women at Akozulo Yire painted a small wall on one end of the deodaana (senior woman of the household) Akake Nsoh’s room. This wall had been previously painted, but the paintings had faded. The wall stood on one side of a small courtyard, surrounded by other walls painted with geometric designs and animal motifs (see chapter 2). Although they normally would have planned their composition in advance, this plastering and painting event was arranged quickly, so they were not able to do so; instead, they chose the designs in consultation with one another during the painting process. They started with the upper border, determining they would paint strips of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle)—a design composed of repeated horizontal triangles and ovals—at the top of the wall and down the center. Next, they decided to fill the remainder of the wall’s surface with zaaleŋya’aŋa, the female version of the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design, to complement the male version on one of the nearby walls. Zaaleŋa is a design composed of repeated, interlocking vertical or horizontal diamonds common throughout the area (see chapter 4).

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Figure 3.18.  Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ is standing on a bench and using a commercial paintbrush to outline an upper border of Akun Nyana nii, Agombire Atampugre is outlining a baŋa (lizard) motif also using a commercial paintbrush, and Faustina Ayambire is standing by holding a pot of black paint. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

As the project’s patron, I was also included in the decision-making process. Faustina asked me to choose an animal motif for the centerpiece of the composition. After discussing symbolism, I selected the baŋa (lizard) motif for its association with friendship (see chapter 4). The women decided to paint a mirrored pair of lizards, one on either side of the composition. When the painting began, Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ—one of Sirigu’s most experienced artists—took the lead. After painting a bold black line down the wall’s right side, she began outlining a band of Akun Nyana nii along the wall’s upper edge, starting at the right and moving left. She used an extremely worn, red-handled commercial brush to pull thick black paint across the wall’s freshly plastered surface. In Sirigu, it was common for women to use commercial brushes, rather than the more traditional fowl feather and millet stalk brushes, to paint bambɔlse designs. This shift seemed to be a matter of both access and preference. Commercial brushes were available for women to purchase in the local market, and it appeared that these brushes were much easier to use than the more traditional painting implements (Akake Nsoh, interview, September 26, 2013).

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Ayampɔka wielded her brush with the ease of an expert, working free hand, not relying on preliminary tracing or guiding instruments. She stood on a shaky wooden bench, held steady by Akake, who was seated at one end. Faustina stood by, holding up a pot of black paint. To create the design, Ayampɔka painted two horizontal lines, placed about one-and-a-half feet apart, then inserted a row of diamonds and ovals between. She completed an initial outline of the design. At this early stage of the painting process, the lines were not perfectly straight, there were some smudges, and paint occasionally dripped onto the lower portion of the wall. While Ayampɔka painted the upper border, her colleagues began working on other parts of the composition. Atampugre and Faustina, working side by side, outlined the two lizards that would serve as the composition’s focal point. Faustina outlined one lizard into the fresh plaster using the end of her paintbrush handle. She asked me to join her, instructing me to paint over her traced outline in black. Although it is not standard practice in Sirigu, Faustina traced outlines of the lizard and zaaleŋya’aŋa designs so that I would “know exactly where to paint.” Faustina and her colleagues explained that they wanted to teach me how to paint so that when I returned to my hometown, I could also start doing it (personal communication, July 26, 2012). I painted the lizard’s outline slowly and carefully as Atampugre and Faustina worked around me, outlining the horizontal band of Akun Nyana nii down the center of the wall and filling in the remainder of the wall with the zaaleŋya’aŋa design. Once the designs had been completely outlined, the miniba (experts) marked the composition with dashes of gare, indicating which sections should be filled in with red paint. Their less-experienced colleagues—a.k.a. “learners”—followed them, carefully painting the marked spaces. Once this was finished, they began filling in the white sections of the design, but they were interrupted at this stage of the process. Due to the moisture in the air, the plaster and paint had not yet dried sufficiently for the white pigment to be applied. At this point, it was also getting late in the day, and it would soon be dark. The women stopped painting and waited until the next day to complete their work. When I returned the next day, the red and white sections had been filled, the black lines had been retraced, and the composition was complete. Despite the somewhat unfavorable conditions (i.e., the last-minute planning and off-season timing), the project at Akozulo Yire was successfully completed. In the end, the wall of Akake’s room had been covered with the bold red, black, and white designs for which the community is known (figure 3.17). The project at Aburipoore Yire was much more typical of Sirigu painting processes, especially in terms of its planning and timing. The artists met in advance to plan the project and choose designs. The timing was set for a

Figure 3.19.  This is a less-experienced artist, or “learner,” using a commercial paintbrush to fill sections of the zaaleŋya’aŋa design that have been marked with red paint by an expert. Akozulo Yire, Sirigu, July 26, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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hot, sunny day in the dry season—the ideal time of year for such projects. As was the case at Akozulo Yire, painting processes were highly structured, with Ayampɔka and Atampugre acting as the miniba (experts), guiding and instructing their less experienced colleagues through the project. I was struck by the contrast between projects in Sirigu and those in Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo, particularly the differences in planning, hierarchy, and collaboration. In Sirigu, plastering and painting projects had become highly structured and organized. Job described this as a “modernized” version of traditional processes. Historically, such change had typically resulted from connections among individuals and communities facilitated by travel and marital migration (see chapter 1). In the case of Sirigu, recent changes seemed to be at least partially motivated by the demands of an international tourist audience desiring a neatly packaged vision of traditional artistry (see chapter 6). Atampugre began the painting process after allowing the plaster to dry for about twenty minutes. She started with a small wall at the end of Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire’s room. As the room’s owner, it was Ferreol’s prerogative to

Figure 3.20.  These are freshly painted outer walls with upper borders of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle), zaandaa, the male version of the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design on the rooms to the left and tangɔleŋa (strip-woven cloth) on the room to the right. Aburipoore Yire, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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request specific designs. But he left the decision up to the artists, who had met weeks before the project to plan their composition. For this wall, they chose Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle) for the upper border and zigzagging lines of tangɔleŋa (bent tana, strip-woven cloth) for the remainder of the wall. This composition mimicked that which had recently been painted on the adjacent wall to the right. The group felt it would “look nice to have walls next to each other . . . look similar” (interview, March 9, 2013). Atampugre stood on a large wooden table next to the wall, holding a metal bowl of black paint in her left hand and a medium-sized, red-handled commercial brush in her right. She began at the top edge of the wall with Akun Nyana nii, starting at the far right and moving across to the left. She painted about two-thirds of this upper border before outlining the tangɔleŋa design. The freshly plastered wall, slightly moist and gleaming in the sun after its recent smoothing, offered no resistance to Atampugre’s brush. She worked freehand, swiftly outlining the designs in rich, bold, steady strokes of black paint. She made the work appear effortless. Atampugre completed the black outlines for a portion of the composition, then began filling in sections with red paint. She stood back periodically to survey her progress and evaluate her work. She called on one of her colleagues to assist her, and they worked collaboratively to extend the tangɔleŋa design about halfway down the wall. They stood back to assess and determined that some of the tangɔleŋa design had extended down too far, throwing off the overall compositional balance. Atampugre set about fixing the error. She used her sasega (smooth stone) to scrape off and re-smooth the overextended section, then repainted the lines. As she corrected the mistake, her colleagues worked alongside her, smoothing other areas of the composition. As Atampugre and several colleagues painted designs on the end of the building, others were plastering the long back wall. Once the surface was fully plastered and allowed to dry for about fifteen minutes, this wall was ready to be painted. The women had decided to paint this wall with an upper border of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle) and zaandaa, the male version of the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design for the remainder of the wall. They planned to paint the building’s opposite, courtyard-facing wall with zaalena’aŋa, the female version of the design. This gendered pair of designs’ exterior and interior positioning reflected traditional ideas about the organization of compound space. As Job explained, “you know that a man is supposed to be outside and the woman inside” (personal communication, Sirigu, March 9, 2013) (see chapter 4). Atɔgepuurum Azorko Apusunɛ began outlining the designs on this wall. She started with the upper border of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle), then painted the network of diamonds that would become the zaandaa design. Atampugre joined her. She traced over Azorko’s black lines, bisected the

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diamonds with vertical black lines, and filled alternating sections with black paint. She moved swiftly and confidently, painting clear, even lines, making the work appear effortless. As she worked, Atampugre kept an eye on Azorko’s progress and occasionally paused to correct her errors or offer help with a particularly tricky area. It seemed clear that Atampugre was acting as an instructor, passing along her skills to an apprentice. As Atampugre and Azorko worked, their colleagues stood behind them, deciding which sections of the design should be filled in with red paint while Ayampɔka marked the wall accordingly with dabs of paint. These marks guided less experienced painters, a.k.a. “learners,” who stepped in to fill the indicated sections. They worked slowly and laboriously, painting with sketchy, uneven strokes and frequently straying outside the lines. Atampugre and Azorko continued to work alongside them, outlining and filling in black sections of designs. As some women painted, others followed them, smoothing the designs with their sasi (smooth stones). Moving their flat stones in small circles, they pressed the black and red pigment into the plaster, adhering it to the wall’s moist surface (Rainer 1992, 130). They worked carefully, going over each section line by line to avoid smearing the paint. As the women put it, they did this to “brighten and make [the wall] beautiful” (interview, March 9, 2013). After smoothing, they allowed the paintings to dry for about twenty minutes, then began to fill in the white portions of the designs.28 They rubbed the kugpeele onto the wall like chalk, moving their stones back and forth over the plaster until they achieved an opaque layer of bright white pigment. They did not smooth these portions of the designs with their sasi, as “the rubbing necessary to impart the white color simultaneously serves to polish it” (Rainer 1992, 130). Once the designs were complete, the experts retraced the black outlines, covering errant strokes of red and white paint. Over one day, the women completed paintings on the small side wall and long back wall of Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire’s room. About one week later, they continued their project, moving to the other two walls of Ferreol’s room. They painted the shorter side wall with wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) and zaandaa. On the long front wall, they painted an upper border of wanzagesi and a lower border of Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat). They had previously told me that they planned to paint the remainder of this wall with zaalena’aŋa, the female version of the zaaleŋa design, but they had apparently changed their minds. Instead, they were filling the wall with horizontal strips of the wanzakenya’aŋa, the female version of the wanzakesi design, also known as wanzagetulema (overturned or disarranged broken calabash pieces). Their decision to make this change was based on discussions regarding the complementarity of motifs within the compound (see chapter 4).

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Figure 3.21.  This is a woman using a sasega stone to smooth a black line of the tangɔleŋa design. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

When I arrived, the women had completed the black outlines and started filling in the designs’ red and white sections. They demonstrated several examples of making and fixing mistakes, collaboration, and training as they

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Figure 3.22.  This is a group of women painting and smoothing designs, with one woman using a sasega stone to smooth a black line of paint and several others using kugpeele stones to fill white sections of the tangɔleŋa design as two women stand back and observe. Aburipoore Yire, Sirigu, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

worked. Azorko and Ayampɔka were working side by side, squatting at the left side of the wall, outlining strips of wanzagetulema. This design comprised repeated equilateral triangles striped with diagonal lines in alternating directions. While outlining the design, Azorko realized that her triangles were too narrow. Recognizing her mistake, she painted new lines, this time properly spaced. She then scraped off the erroneous portion of the design with her fingers and palm and patched the area with fresh plaster. Ayampɔka, acting as Azorko’s instructor, sat back and observed, advising and assisting Azorko as she corrected her error. In another area, several women made a similar mistake while painting an upper border of the wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) design. Just as Azorko had done, they misjudged the width of their triangles and had to redo a portion of the design. In this case, Atampugre stepped in to correct the error. She painted over the erroneous section with red pigment, redrew the black outlines, and filled the remaining portions with white. As the elderly artists worked, Beatrice and Susana brought them refreshments. They served calabash bowls full of zom ko’om, a mixture of flour,

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Figure 3.23.  This is the freshly painted wall of Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire’s (Ferreol’s) room with an upper border of wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces), a lower border of Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat), and in the middle wanzagenya’aŋa, the female version of wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) on the long front wall and zaandaa, the male version of the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design on the shorter side wall. Aburipoore Yire, March 15, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

water, shea butter, and pepper; pito, a local type of beer made from sorghum or millet; and akpeteshie, a potent local gin distilled from fermented palm wine or sugar can juice—all intended to give the workers energy for their labors (Akyeampong 1996, 215). Sporadic bursts of singing and ululating further energized the women. At several points, a woman named Akareeba stopped her work and, without preamble, began walking back and forth behind her colleagues, waving her arms as she sang loudly, calling out refrains and rousing the others to sing. Another woman punctuated the singing with periodic ululations. While the tone was bright, the lyrics were not always optimistic. One of their songs spoke of change and loss. They sang about the decline of local appreciation for bambͻlse (wall painting) since the arrival of the solembiisi (foreigners). Asking the question, “who still requests for us to beautify their walls?” their song lamented that such requests had become all too rare. These lyrics reflected the commonly held belief that the arrival of foreign materials such

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as coal tar, cement, and commercial paint had played a critical role in the decline of bambͻlse across the area (see chapter 5). While the women were painting and singing, Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire arrived at the compound with a group of German tourists visiting for the day. Acting as a SWOPA tour guide, he led them inside the compound, where they gathered in a large group. Using the decorated outer walls of the denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) as an example, Ferreol gave the tourists a brief explanation of traditional wall painting practices. He told them about Indigenous pigments and painting processes, including the role of expert painters. He referred to his grandmother, Akanvole, who, at ninety-eight years old, was Sirigu’s oldest surviving expert. The visitors were eager to know the meanings of the symbols adorning the compound walls. Ferreol gladly obliged, explaining a selection of motifs and placing them in contexts of local histories, beliefs, and traditions. These tourists’ presence in Sirigu was largely thanks to the creation of SWOPA, a cultural tourism organization aimed at bringing the community’s traditional culture and artistry to the attention of new audiences. This visit served as a reminder that, while the arrival of foreign materials had led to a decline in traditional artistry, interest from foreign tourists was contributing to its resurgence (see chapter 6). Perhaps the women’s song was not only lamenting the decline of bambͻlse, but also celebrating the patronage and appreciation they received from SWOPA and the foreign tourists it brought into the community. As is typical—in Sirigu and elsewhere—plastering and painting processes were not linear or strictly divided among participants. The women did not finish one section, then move to the next. Instead, they were in constant discussion, evaluating the correct timing for each stage, delegating and switching tasks as needed. As some women painted and smoothed the wall, others stood behind them, holding bowls of paint, offering help (figure 3.22). Observers gestured and pointed as they discussed, evaluated, and advised their colleagues’ work. Women contributed to one another’s designs, stepping in to adjust and revise as they saw fit. Participants worked side by side—instructing, advising, assisting—according to ability and need. Atampugre referred to this as “division of labor” (personal communications, Sirigu, March 9 and March 15, 2013). Asaase completed the final step in the plastering and painting process: late in the afternoon, she splashed the wall’s painted surfaces with a final coating of am (varnish). Over time, this am coating darkens the paintings, giving them a rich hue and a shiny reddish patina. As mentioned earlier, this layer of varnish helps to seal the walls’ painted surfaces and protect them from the area’s harsh winds and rains. I also observed a painting project at the home of SWOPA founder Melanie Kasise in Bolgatanga. In March 2014, she invited Agombire Atampugre,

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Figure 3.24.  This is Aburipoore Asaase sprinkling the freshly plastered and painted wall with a coat of am, organic varnish. Aburipoore Yire, March 9, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

Apuntuguna Aberinga, and Aniah Akura to complete a set of paintings on the interior walls of several rooms belonging to Melanie’s son, Eric. He was away in London, but he had sent money so that work could be done on the house. As part of this, he specifically requested that the interior walls of his rooms be painted with bambͻlse designs. The rooms were constructed of cement blocks, the interior walls were coated with white paint, and the windows were covered with metal bars. The artists maneuvered their brushes around and under the metal bars of the window to execute their designs in acrylic paint on the smooth, white surfaces of the walls, easily adapting their traditional motifs and processes to this urban building. Their adaptability resulted from decades of experience completing projects in both rural and urban settings, working with various combinations of surfaces and materials (see chapter 6). At Melanie’s house, they were willing and able to work in an urban setting and employ commercial products while using them in ways that echoed traditional artistic processes. This was a large project, and the artists had already been working for three days when I arrived. They had covered the walls of one large room and moved on to a second room, where they were progressing rapidly. They

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Figure 3.25.  This is Apuntuguna Aberinga painting a black border around a python that has been outlined at the center of the wall, below a completed section of the wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) or wanzageki’isika (male wanzagesi), as Aniah Akura stands by with a pot of red paint. Melanie Kasise’s house, Bolgatanga, February 27, 2014. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

planned to complete this room, then continue in the bathroom and around the doors until they ran out of paint. I watched the artists apply their red, black, and white designs onto the smooth, white walls. They began by sketching their designs onto the walls with charcoal, then traced over the lines with black paint. They started by painting borders and central areas with geometric designs such as zaaleŋa (netted rope bag), wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) and wanzageki’isika (decorated wanzagesi), Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat), and Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle). Following Eric’s explicit request, they added large animal motifs to their compositions, including ɛbega (crocodile) and waafɔ (snake). As the room’s owner, it was his prerogative to choose the designs that would be painted on his walls. The artists selected the remaining designs in consultation with Melanie, who acted as the house’s owner and proxy for her absent son. Melanie had chosen Atampugre, Apuntuguna, Rita, and Aniah for the project because she knew they were experts. Even so, there was a hierarchy of expertise within the group. Job explained, “they can all do the designs, but Apuntuguna and Atampugre are more expert than Rita and Aniah.”

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Apuntuguna and Atampugre acted as leaders, while Rita and Aniah followed; in these roles, Apuntuguna and Atampugre were responsible for outlining designs while Rita and Aniah filled in the spaces. The artists collaborated, consulted, and divided their labor throughout the process. They worked together to decide where each design should be placed and how it should be rendered. They considered factors such as the size of each wall and the relation of one wall to the next. They weighed individual opinions and preferences, negotiating and compromising as they planned and completed their compositions. Atampugre and Apuntuguna, for instance, worked together to render the ɛbega (crocodile) and waafɔ (snake or python) motifs. Atampugre traced the outline of the body while Apuntuguna followed up with the legs. When Apuntuguna took over, there was considerable discussion about how the legs should be rendered, and the two artists had to reconcile their differing ideas. Atampugre, Apuntuguna, and Aniah similarly discussed the rendering of the waafɔ—debating, for instance, the size of the head and the number of coils—until they could agree. There were also mistakes. Rita, for instance, filled in the wrong section of the Amizia zuvaka design with red paint. Atampugre, Apuntuguna, and Melanie consulted as a group and determined that the design’s arrangement should be adjusted to accommodate the error; this recalls the management of mistakes at Aburipoore Yire, where experts guided their less experienced colleagues in adjusting designs to correct errors. In addition to correcting the mistake, Atampugre and Apuntuguna decided to mark the design sections to avoid future errors. There was much collaboration, discussion, and mutual critique throughout the process; as the artists said, “the one cutting the path will not know it is crooked.” They explained that they needed one another “to be here so that if we are there putting up the design and it is going wrong, the other one will advise us that ‘your design is going wrong so it is better you put it this way’” (interview, February 27, 2014). This project demonstrated both differences and similarities between painting processes in rural and urban settings. At Melanie’s house, the artists painted in the cool interior of tree-shaded rooms rather than laboring under the blazing sun. They rendered their designs on white-coated cement-block walls instead of freshly smoothed bole plaster, and locally derived pigments were replaced with acrylic paint. The need for lengthy and arduous preparation processes was eliminated, as the artists required only a few pencils, paintbrushes, several cans of paint, and small containers of water, all purchased from town or available in the house. Despite these differences, these urban painting processes were remarkably similar to their rural counterparts. The artists worked together, consulting with the project’s patron, to determine the selection and placement of designs.

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They collaborated in rendering their compositions, dividing tasks, critiquing, and correcting one another’s work. There was an overall tone of mutual respect, conviviality, and fun. The artists laughed and joked as they worked. It seemed clear that while the materials and setting had changed, the essential elements of creativity and collaboration remained. The examples described in this chapter demonstrate rural artists’ capacity to adapt their traditional artistry to new circumstances and settings. NOTES 1. Wemegah described this as “rich soil consisting of a mixture of sand and clay and decaying organic materials” (Wemegah 2009, 74). 2. Bourgès used EDX-analysis, X-ray diffraction, and chromatographic analysis to determine the components of various materials used in plastering and painting processes (2006, 161). 3. Sadly, both Agombire Akanvole and Aburipoore Asaase have since passed away. 4. Wemegah noted the use of donkey dung in plaster. In my research, I only encountered the use of cow dung (2009, 74). In addition, Rainer reported that in the community of Pô, Burking Faso, “ashes are mixed into plasters which are to be left undecorated. The addition of ashes provides water repellency and gives the plaster a lighter color” (1992, 126). I did not, however, observe ash being added to plaster. 5. The term “borehole” refers to “a deep vertical hole of small diameter, bored into the earth . . . to obtain water” (Oxford English Dictionary Online). In this context, a borehole is a hole drilled into the earth down to the water table and fitted with a pipe and a hand pump. Such boreholes, ubiquitous in the rural communities of northern Ghana, are an essential source of water in the area. 6. Job agreed with this explanation, saying that they use the boiling am to make the coal tar plaster “soft.” As he put it: “you know, the cold water, it will get freezing. It won’t melt and mix. They heat the coal tar and if you pour cold water in it, it will form bubbles and will not mix with the bole. If you don’t have the am for now, you can use only boiled water” (personal communication, July 26, 2012). 7. Rita Kasise and Agombire Atampugre noted “it is dangerous” for women to apply cement plaster to the walls using their hands. “There are some chemicals in the cement. You use it and you will get some sores in your hands. So if you want to use your hands to plaster, you first have to rub your hands with local shea butter” (interview, January 8, 2014). Even so, women still apply cement plaster to the walls with their hands, as can be seen here. I do not know if the women at Wegunaba Yire rubbed their hands with shea butter. 8. I did not get the name of the man helping on this occasion, but he was likely a member of the Wegunaba household or neighborhood. 9. The artists often used the phrases “fall” or “fall down” in referring to plaster coming loose from the wall due to its not having sufficiently adhered to the surface.

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10. Rainer found that women at her research site in Pô, Burkina Faso, applied their plaster in two layers, each approximately five millimeters (0.2 inches) thick. In my experience, women applied only one layer of plaster. 11. When asked about the exact amount of time the plaster should be allowed to dry, women commonly explained that they waited “some time,” without providing more specific details. When I observed plastering processes, the exact timing was often difficult to gauge, as plastering was often done in sections, and multiple activities were often happening simultaneously. The estimation of ten to twenty minutes is based on my personal observations and photographic records. 12. As Corine Norman put it: “a beautiful painting is judged primarily by its design and color use, but also by the smoothness of the surface” (1997, 15). 13. Bourgès described this as a “red laterite earth called zigi molego . . . (the preparation layer below the decoration)” (2006, 161). 14. In Bongo, the women told me they had started soaking the gravel around 7:00 a.m. In both cases, they were well into the process of mixing the zigmͻrligo between 9:00 and 10:00 a.m, and the plaster was ready by 11:00 a.m. 15. They did this, they explained, because they did not have the appropriate sɔɔrɔ for applying primer. The only sɔɔrɔ available to them were too stiff for this purpose (interview, March 12, 2013). 16. It seems that the number of layers of zigmͻrligo vary. For the projects I observed, the women applied one layer of zigmͻrligo, while Rainer reported that women applied two layers (1992, 129). 17. Wemegah wrote, “white pigments used by muralists are obtained from lime stone. Locally known as kugupela, limestone is imported from Yelewongo, a town along the Burkina Faso border and also sold in the Sirigu market” (2009, 86). Bourgès reported, “the white is talc [Mg3(Si4O10(OH)2)], aluminium, silicium, and magnesium” (2006, 161). Rainer likewise identified the white stones as talc (1992, 129). 18. Anyelom reported that the white pigment, “got from a chalky stone,” is “waterproof and combined with the resin extraction from dawa dawa [i.e. am] . . . [it makes] the wall surfaces impervious to water for periods lasting up to two years or more” (1995, 55). 19. Greenwald wrote in her 2014 essay, “the red gare stones, which were once found in Sirigu but today are rare and very difficult to find, are brought into the community by SWOPA’s pickup truck. Every few years, SWOPA takes four or five women to fields near Tamale and . . . other areas of the Upper East [Region] to collect the stones” (47). 20. Previous studies have mentioned alternative processing and application methods for kugpeele stones. Norman wrote, “all the stones may be ground to a powder and mixed with water. However, the women prefer to use the kugpele as is directly onto the surface” (1997, 13). Greenwald wrote in her 2012 report of a painting project in which she was involved, noting that they used “all natural materials for the design, but it lacks the brightness of the normal materials because we ground the white pigment instead of applying it like chalk” (14). In her 2014 essay, Greenwald again mentioned the option of pulverizing the kugpeele stones and mixing them with water,

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noting that in this case the paint is applied to the wall using a brush (4). I did not see or hear about kugpeele stones being processed in this way during my research. 21. Based on its appearance and specific properties, it seems most likely that this plant is Corchorus capsularis, known as white jute, or Corchorus olitorius, known by names such as Jew’s mallow, jute mallow, krinkin, tossa jute, bush okra, and West African sorrel (PROTA4U). These plants are grown in Ghana (Abbey et al. 2006). Buŋtɔ leaves are also edible and are sold in the market as a popular ingredient for flavoring soups. 22. A similar type of plant is used in Burkina Faso, where it is known as bulvaka. Rainer reported that women in Pô, Burkina Faso, used macerated bulvaka leaves to make their black paint and their plaster and laterite primer. Rainer wrote, “the preparatory plaster and the laterite, the ground coat for the decorative painting, are mixed with cow dung soaked in water and strained . . . with the addition of bulvaka leaves, which are also macerated in water and strained before using, to give a viscous liquid binder. The black employed in the decorated surfaces is composed of black earth taken from a river bed nearby, dried and crushed . . . and mixed with the same bulvaka leaf binder” (1992, 127). 23. Wemegah reported that painting is typically overseen by the most competent, experienced, and expert decorators responsible for tasks such as outlining designs and indicating where colors should be inserted (2009, 89). Norman referred to painting experts as “headpainters” and noted that such women were particularly respected (1997, 11). 24. Anyelom reported, “a long time ago abstract motifs used to be engraved on wet plaster by the muralists with a smooth stone known as sasinga [or sasega]” (1995, 31, 56, footnote 3). 25. The same may not be true for areas outside the geographical and cultural scope of my research. The use of incised lines may still be common, for instance, among the Tallensi peoples, for whom the use of incised lines in wall decorations has historically been more common. 26. Anyelom suggested that incised lines had decreased in popularity because women found this technique shortened the lifespans of their paintings. Writing about the vugdoo design, composed of raised and incised lines, Anyelom wrote, “the pattern has been discovered lately to be impractical in the sense that it causes the murals to have a short life span, when the patterns are incised on the wall with the sasinga” (1995, 48–49). Perhaps incised lines compromise the protective capacity of plaster by providing access points, or channels, through which water can penetrate and erode the walls’ surfaces. 27. The women explained that if the paintings do not dry completely before the am coating is applied, the paintings will fade (interview, March 19, 2013). 28. This timing is an estimate based on photograph time stamps. It appears that the women began to apply the white pigment after about ten minutes, then decided it was too soon and paused for another ten minutes before continuing.

Chapter 4

Designs

This chapter discusses the names, meanings, and styles of selected bambɔlse designs. Examples are drawn from tours through houses and painting demonstrations in Sirigu, Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, Sumbrungu, Navrongo, Gɛliŋɔ, and Buŋɔ This chapter provides a partial view, covering a selection of bambɔlse compositions and motifs, including common and less common designs, as well as narrative images and scenes. Examples of specific paintings and interpretations reveal variations in forms, names, and meanings. Similarities among motifs and meanings across households and communities reflect historical and cultural connections; differences result from variations in the circumstances, perspectives, and experiences of groups and individuals. Examples also illustrate the dynamic nature of bambɔlse forms and meanings, demonstrating that this art form is not static and unchanging. Instead, designs and interpretations shift over time and across space, responding to ever-changing circumstances. This chapter explores the meanings of bambɔlse designs and how they work in the world—both now and in the past—arguing for the importance of these paintings as sites for education, remembrance, identity construction, and cultural preservation. As such, designs and their interpretations provide insight into societal values and are a way through which people work to shore up meaning in their lives and prevent damage from rapid social change. DAILY LIFE Some wall painting designs refer to elements of daily life, past and present; this includes motifs relating to farming activities. Farming is an essential part of life for the rural communities of Ghana’s Upper East Region. Crop farming and animal rearing are vital sources of income for most households in northern Ghana (Baidoo, Yusif, and Anwar 2016, 9). Rural compounds are typically surrounded by fields of crops such as millet, peanuts (a.k.a. 117

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groundnuts), rice, corn, beans, sorghum, and okra. Compound interiors are commonly occupied by livestock and poultry such as cows, goats, and chickens (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 130–35, 181). In rural households, all family members—including men, women, and children—take part in tending the fields and caring for the animals. The importance and prevalence of these activities are illustrated by references to them in bambɔlse designs. In Sumbrungu, for instance, the walls at Asabea Yire featured several designs that referred to farming activities. A motif of sideways Vs and S-shaped lines referred to the blades and chains of a block hoe (or cattle hoe), nii kuure, used for plowing (interview, March 7, 2014).1 Also in Sumbrungu, women at Anaba-Dongo Yire identified a series of vertical, wavy lines as mi’isi, meaning “ropes used for tying animals or for other purposes” (interview, February 14, 2013). The inclusion of such designs in wall painting compositions highlights the ongoing importance of farming and animal rearing in people’s lives today. Several designs referred to traditional compound houses’ forms, features, and spaces. Examples could be seen on the wall of a room in Asabea Yire. Women from this household and their neighbors had painted designs on the interior walls of one room in the compound. Several of these designs referred to traditional grass roofs and door coverings, standard features of traditional houses that have grown less common over time (see chapter 2). Bands of wide arches were identified by the women as bɔ’ɔ nɔɔrɛ, meaning the entrance to a room. More specifically, this motif referred to the woven grass doors traditionally used to cover low, rounded doorways (interview, March 7, 2014). Two different designs, both with curving lines for blades and straight lines for handles, were identified as geo (or geero), meaning sickle, “a simple tool for cutting the grasses to make the roof” (interview, February 14, 2013; interview, March 7, 2014). They explained that, in the olden days, “there was nothing like zinc. When you made a building, then you had to roof it with grass, and to roof it with grass, you had to use the sickle to go and harvest the grass” (interview, March 7, 2014). Also evoking compound spaces, women at Asabea Yire identified another design as takɔla, or windows. This motif was rendered as a series of squares, each divided into quadrants by bold Xs and filled in with black and white. For them, these hourglass motifs called to mind the small windows typically incorporated into earthen walls to provide ventilation (interview, September 5, 2013). These designs were painted on the walls of a modernized room, with a metal roof, wooden door, and shuttered windows; in this context, these designs conjured images of traditional compounds with earthen walls, open windows, and grass-covered doors and roofs (see chapter 2). Perhaps the artists chose these designs as nostalgic reminders of their childhood homes;

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bambɔlse designs such as those described here help preserve memories of architectural materials and features that have become less common over time. ROLES, DUTIES, AND PROPER BEHAVIOR Some paintings refer to household roles, duties, and proper behavior within the household. Women at Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire in Sirigu, for instance, had painted the front wall of the compound with a portrait of the late yidaana (male head of the household) that spoke to ideas about the traditional role of men as protectors of their homes. Akambɔyu’urɛ was depicted standing under the mango tree outside the compound’s entrance, near the spot he had routinely occupied when he was alive. He wore a cross around his neck to show he was a Christian. He was dressed as a hunter, wearing a patterned apron and headband, and equipped with a bow and quiver of arrows. This portrayal did not reflect his occupation during his life but was intended to serve as a warning for potential thieves. As Evylem, one of the women from the household, put it, “once there [are] cattle in the house, the thieves sometimes attempt to steal.” Therefore, members of this household had chosen to depict Akambɔyu’urɛ “using the bow and arrow to protect the cattle.” Evylem explained that “when someone is passing by, and they see these things, they say ‘ah! If you come to this house to steal [the cattle], your life is in danger! We will shoot you with the bow and arrow!’” (interview, February 26, 2013). Akambɔyu’urɛ’s portrait projected the image of a strong protector to those within the household and the broader community. This portrait of Akambɔyu’urɛ also served as a memorial. After his death, Evylem explained, “we decided to put his picture on the wall, just to remember him” (interview, February 26, 2013). This portrait can be considered an update on traditional modes of honoring and memorializing the dead. The positioning of Akambɔyu’urɛ’s likeness can be compared to that of the room dedicated to the compound founder, which is traditionally placed near the compound entrance (see chapter 2). At Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire, a painted memorial to the late yidaana was given similar pride of place within the compound. Akambɔyu’urɛ’s hunting garb evoked traditional funerary ceremonies at which the deceased is honored by household and community members (Smith 1987, 46; Atampɔgebire and Abelezi’ire, interview, September 4, 2013). During these events, men from the deceased’s family dress as hunters, with dansigesi (striped smocks) and lɛba (triangular aprons) made from locally woven strips of cloth, zuwama (helmets), tiini (bows), pɛɛma (arrows), loko (quivers), kanɛ (spears), animal skins, and sometimes knives and guns (Smith 1987, 49; Adjei 2016, 48). Fully suited and armed, the men engage in

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a series of mock battles known as the war dance (Smith 1987, 48). The war dance is associated with hunting and warfare, evoking and celebrating local traditions and histories. Pictured in a striped and patterned triangular apron and cap, equipped with bow, arrow, and quiver, Akambɔyu’urɛ’s portrait conjured images of the funeral ceremonies at which he had been ushered into the ancestral realm. The portrait of Akambɔyu’urɛ also represented key elements of tradition and change in funeral and wall painting traditions. Today, it has become common to feature a portrait, usually a framed photograph, of the deceased at their funeral. Such portraits are not part of traditional funerary proceedings, but they have been added, Job explained, “because the youth nowadays prefer those pictures” (personal communication, February 26, 2013). Members of the Akambɔyu’urɛ household had opted to put their own twist on this new tradition by replacing the standard photograph with a portrait painted on the compound wall. In addition, it was not formerly common for women to include human figures in their bambɔlse compositions, but this has also changed over time; this is especially true in Sirigu, where the walls of the Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art (SWOPA) compound are covered with narrative figures and scenes (see chapter 6). The same women who painted the SWOPA compound were called upon to help the women of Akambɔyu’urɛ with their memorial portrait. Traditional household roles, ideas of masculine leadership, and means for honoring the dead were combined and updated in this portrait on the front wall of Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire. A narrative scene at Wegunaba Yire in Bongo spoke to the important role of older family members. As previously discussed, it is common for multiple generations of family members to live within the same compound (see chapter 2). The sons of a household often stay into adulthood, bringing their wives into the home and adding children to the family. The yidaana (male head of the household) and deodaana (senior woman of the household) continue as leaders until they retire and pass on their roles to the next generation. After retirement, the former yidaana and deodaana take on new roles and responsibilities. As the women at Wegunaba Yire put it, “when the elderly men and women are in the house, they don’t just go useless, but they have a role to play” (interview, March 18, 2013). The women at Wegunaba Yire painted a scene on the compound wall illustrating one of the duties that an older man in a household might fulfill. The scene pictured two ducks next to an elderly man. His pipe indicated the man’s advanced age. Job explained, “it’s the old people who smoke the pipe” (interview, March 18, 2013). The figures were stylized and rendered with black outlines and minimal detail. The women explained that ducks like to stay in the water, so if you are someone who keeps ducks, you must go out “to where they swim and bring them home.” Every evening, “it is the old man’s

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duty in the house to see that all animals and birds in the house are in the kraal [animal yard] before they close the gate” (interview, March 18, 2013). The artists explained they had painted this scene to teach the younger generation about the importance of older family members. The youth, they said, no longer value the elderly, but rather see them as useless. “So we painted this scene to show [them] the importance of age so they will value the elderly and give them their due respect” (interview, March 18, 2013). Women at Awaho Yire painted a design that spoke to ideas about proper behavior within families and households. Identified as abayeti, meaning gossip, this motif was rendered as an oblong area of cross-hatching enclosed within a bold black line (see figure 3.15). The connection between the design’s form and meaning was not clear, but perhaps the net-like field of crisscrossing was meant to conjure the web of relationships among household members. The women explained that there is always a lot of gossip in large families. They painted this design to teach children that “when you are living together, or if you are a girl and you get married to a big family . . . you should beware of this gossip: it is not something that will help you and the family.” Instead, they said, “as we live together, it is more appropriate to face the one who may have done harm to you, rather than going to someone who is innocent and telling them that someone else has done something to you,” risking that they will tell someone else (interview, March 19, 2013). The women painted this motif to educate audiences about behaviors that should be avoided to maintain harmony within the large, multi-generational households that are common in the area (see chapter 2). In the past, when it was common for compound walls to be painted with designs, such designs would have been viewed and perhaps discussed by household members daily, making them important tools for education. Although bambɔlse has become far less common over time, artists in Zuarungu-Moshi still intended to use their paintings as sites for education. WOMEN’S LIVES AND IDENTITIES Some of the most common wall painting motifs refer to women’s daily lives, spaces, and possessions. Wanzagesi and zaaleŋa are two of the most common such designs. Wanzagesi relates to calabash bowls, or wama, and broken calabash pieces. The zaaleŋa design refers to a netted rope bag that traditionally hangs in a woman’s room and contains her set of calabash bowls (see chapter 2). Calabash containers are traditionally used throughout the area. They are made from the bulbous fruit of the calabash tree (Crescentia kujete), which is harvested, dried, cut in half, and hollowed out. The bisected

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hard shell may be used as a bowl, cup, or container with a lid. The interior surfaces of calabash vessels are typically tan. Exteriors range from rich yellow to tortoise-shell brown, often with a warm glow resulting from coatings of shea butter and other natural fats (DeCarbo 1977, 114). Although plastic and metal bowls are increasingly common, calabash bowls are still used for various purposes. Such vessels traditionally play an important role in women’s lives and the domestic sphere. Women use calabash bowls, for instance, in preparing and serving food and water for their families and guests.2 Traditionally, when a newly married woman travels to her husband’s home, she must bring with her a new calabash to be used in providing water for her husband and visitors to the household (Anyelom 1995, 38). A woman’s set of calabashes are potent symbols of hospitality. The pɔgeminka (honorable woman) is responsible for greeting visitors by providing them with water and tuo zafi immediately upon arrival. She must therefore keep her calabash bowls clean and have a ready supply of millet flour for such occasions. In the event of divorce, the calabash is returned to the wife’s family, symbolizing the dissolution of the marriage and the wife’s right to remarry. Calabashes are also linked to ideas of friendship and love. As Faustina Ayambire said, if “I want to take you as a friend, then I give you a calabash” (interview, July 26, 2012). Wanzagesi literally means “a used or broken calabash, used for odd jobs” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 183). In its most basic form, the wanzagesi design is rendered as a band of repeated equilateral triangles (see figures 3.23 and 4.1).3 A band of repeated arches may also be identified as wama, referring to overturned calabash bowls. Women at Asabea Yire in Sumbrungu identified a strip of triangles as sia wanzagesi. This design, they explained, referred “to [the] particular sia, [or tree], that is in the forest and bears those fruits, the wama.” In other words, their name for the design evoked the calabashes and the trees on which they grow. When the wanε is broken, the women said, the pieces are called wanzagesi (interviews, February 14 and September 5, 2013). Pieces of broken calabash are used for daily activities, such as stirring and serving food, and artistic production, including pottery-making, plastering, and painting. Broken calabash pieces are also used to make a type of rattle called a kinka’asi, created by drilling holes in pieces of broken calabash and threading them onto a stick. Young girls use such items for playing games (interview, Rita Kasise and Ennett, February 28, 2013). Wanzagesi designs may be stacked to cover a large portion of a wall or appear as solitary bands stretched across the center or upper or lower edge. Wanzagesi designs are also used to decorate walls, pots, and baskets. On baskets, the motif generally takes a triangular or diamond form; on pots, it is typically rendered as repeated arches.

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Figure 4.1.  This is a view of the freshly painted back wall of Asadaarɛ Nyaaba’s room with an upper border of tana (strip-woven cloth), a lightbulb, a tree and dog, a self-portrait of Rose Yaaro (or Ayampɔka Rose Yaaro), a car, a cat, and bunsɛleduma (snakes) at the left, a man with ducks, lusi (drums), ɛbesi (crocodiles), and zaaleŋa or bambɔlse at the center, nayiga kunvuke, wanzagesi, and Ziiba pugeto agurinu’usi at the right. Wegunaba Yire, Bongo, September 18, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

The wanzagesi design has many forms, names, and meanings, reflecting the various aspects and uses of calabash bowls and pieces (interview, Atampugre, February 8, 2014). The variety of wanzagesi designs also seems to reflect women’s aesthetic preferences, specifically their desire to enhance the visual interest of their painted compositions. In Sirigu, stacked sets of white, red, and black triangles were identified as wanzagesi n sagelum taaba, meaning broken calabash pieces stacked together (email communications, Dr. Avea, January 31, 2016, and January 10, 2023). It seems likely that the name for this design referred both to literal stacks of calabash pieces and the stacking of triangles in the design. At Aeŋepaɛ Yire in Sirigu, Ramatu identified a strip of bisected triangles as wanzakawelese, meaning “wanzaka that has been divided into two” (interview, October 7, 2013). The name wanzakawelese may have referred to the process of creating calabash bowls by dividing the calabash fruit into two halves and the division of triangles in the design. In both cases, it is possible to read these variations on the wanzagesi design from literal and aesthetic angles. Variations of the wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) design may be rendered in a few different ways. Some common forms include horizontal bands of stacked red, black, and white zigzagging lines; repeated equilateral triangles striped with diagonal lines in alternating directions; and alternating sets of diagonal lines overlapping at each intersection. At Atole-Yaaba

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Yire, the name wanzagetulema was used for designs composed of repeated horizontal diamonds with ovals or crescents at their centers and half-ovals to their sides (interview, Akurigo Akolego, March 5, 2013). As Ramatu Aeŋepaɛ explained, women create the wanzagesi design in multiple ways “to make it look different.” But even though the designs are different, she said, “they are all wanzagesi” (interview, October 7, 2013). As Agombire Atampugre explained, “a decorated donkey is still a donkey.” In other words, there are multiple versions, but they are all wanzagesi (interview, February 8, 2014). Wanzagesi designs are often grouped into gendered categories: wanzageki’isika or wanzagendaa is the male version, while wanzagetulema or wanzagenya’aŋa is the female version of the design (interview, Atampugre, March 11, 2013). Wanzaki’isika is also commonly interpreted as decorated wanzagesi, meaning an embellished form of the standard design, or stacked wanzagesi, referring to the stacking of triangular shapes. At Atoeyu’urɛ Yire, Apiirɛ Aberinga interpreted wanzaki’isika as “wanzaka with lines” (interview, October 4, 2013). Similarly, Agombire Atampugre referred to this design as “the wanzaka that we have decided to insert some designs there” (interview, March 11, 2013). In addition to being the female version of the wanzagesi design, wanzagetulema is often interpreted as disarranged, misplaced, or overturned broken calabash pieces. Agombire Atampugre also related wanzagetulema to the double-sided sa’abega tool used in pottery-making (personal communication, February 4, 2014). Emphasizing the symbolic importance of wanzagesi designs, Atampugre explained, “you cannot do pottery work without the wanzagesi.” Showing me a pair of broken calabash pieces, she explained that when a calabash is broken, the pieces are still used for pottery work. “So even though it is broken, it is still valuable. That is why we paint it on the wall.” Whenever someone asks about the design, “we can show it on the wall and say, ‘this is wanzagesi and they are used for these activities’” (interview, March 11, 2013). The close association of this design with both pottery-making tools and female identity speaks to the importance of potterymaking in women’s lives, both now and in the past. Gendered pairs of designs are often strategically placed in complementary positions. For instance, the interior walls of a large room at Akawi’ire Yire had been painted with zaandaa, male zaaleŋa (netted rope bag), which was complemented by the female version on the compound’s exterior. Women from the household explained that in their tradition, women are supposed to be more beautiful than men, “so we have the female one to be more beautiful than the male one” (interview, February 28, 2013). In this case, women used their bambɔlse composition to reinforce traditional understandings of gender and notions of ideal womanhood.

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Paintings at Aburipoore Yire in Sirigu offered a case study on using designs to communicate ideas about gender. During the first part of the project I observed at the Aburipoore compound, the women had painted the outer walls flanking the compound’s zanyɔrɛ, or entrance area, with zaandaa, or male zaaleŋa (see chapter 2 and figure 3.20). This design version was particularly appropriate for zanyɔrɛ, as this area was traditionally considered a male space. The artists who had completed the paintings explained, “men are the custodians of the house, and they normally sit outside. And the women . . . take care of the room and they are inside” (interview, March 11, 2013). Reflecting this gendered division of space, they had initially planned to complement the outer wall’s zaandaa design with its female counterpart, zaalenya’aŋa, on the opposite side of the building. However, they decided to paint the opposite wall with wanzakenya’aŋa, or female wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces). Given its association with pottery-making, the choice of wanzakenya’aŋa seemed entirely appropriate for a household of potters— especially on the walls surrounding the courtyard where pottery-making activities often occur. The use of male and female designs on the walls of this compound thus marked spaces as male and female while also drawing attention to women’s artistic activities. I watched as the artists painted wanzakenya’aŋa, female wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces), in the courtyard; this motif was composed of horizontal rows of repeated triangles striped with diagonal red, black, and white lines in alternating directions on the long front wall of Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire’s room (see chapter 2 and figure 3.23). This design complemented the wanzagendaa, or male wanzagesi, across the courtyard on the veranda wall of the rectangular room belonging to Apoore, the yidaana (male head of the household). Wanzagendaa comprised wide horizontal bands of zigzagging red, black, and white lines; this design seemed appropriate for the room occupied by the man at the head of the household. Atampugre explained that motifs in gendered pairs were common because “there is no man without a woman.” She went on: “In the traditional set-up, a man alone cannot own a house, and a woman alone cannot own a house, so they both have a role to play in claiming ownership of the house. So that is why there is the need for the man and the woman” (interview, March 11, 2013); this is a good example of how designs can be used to reproduce and reinforce particular understandings of gender ideals, even if these ideals are not always achieved in practice. The gendered categorization and pairing of designs is a common feature of bambɔlse compositions; such pairing generally reflects traditional ideas of gendered roles and spaces. In the case of Akawi’ire Yire, women celebrated female identity and beauty by painting the female version of zaaleŋa on the compound’s outer wall. At both Aburipoore Yire and Akawi’ire Yire, women

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intentionally paired male and female versions of the designs to reflect ideas about gender complementarity. The zaaleŋa design represents the netted rope bag traditionally hanging in a woman’s room and holding her most valuable possessions (see chapter 2). This motif is one of the most common and possibly one of the oldest bambɔlse designs; this was suggested, for instance, by women in Bongo and Zuarungu-Moshi referring to this motif interchangeably as bambɔlse and zaaleŋa. As one woman in Bongo said, “this is the original bambɔlse” (interviews, March 18 and March 19, 2013). This design’s prevalence and fundamental position within the bambɔlse tradition suggests the importance of the zaaleŋa as an important symbol of women’s personal and cultural identities. In its most basic form, zaaleŋa is rendered as a series of interwoven Xs.4 Women in Bongo and Zuarungu-Moshi, for instance, painted this form of the design on their walls during the projects I observed (see chapter 3). In Sirigu, zaaleŋa is typically composed of interlocking diamonds, which may be vertically or horizontally oriented. Here, the design is typically rendered in three primary forms: vertical single-outlined diamonds, vertical double-outlined diamonds, and horizontal single-outlined diamonds. The diamonds are often, but not always, bisected lengthwise. This design may also be embellished with cross-hatching or incised lines (Anyelom 1990, 33–35, plates 12–14). Zaaleŋa has various other forms and meanings as well. At Aeŋepaɛ Yire in Sirigu, Ramatu Aeŋepaɛ referred to a series of double-outlined diamonds as zaaleyamuunɛ, meaning full zaaleŋa; Ramatu explained this was a version of the zaalenya’aŋa design in which the diamonds had not been divided, or bisected, but instead had been left “full.” Ramatu also identified a series of horizontally oriented bisected diamonds as zaanpulega, explaining that pulega referred to the horizontal orientation of the diamonds (interviews, October 1 and 7, 2013). At Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire, Evylem Akambɔyu’urɛ identified a band of horizontal black diamonds with ovals at the centers and to the sides as zaanpuleŋa, meaning “the zaaleŋa that has been slanted” (interview, February 26, 2013). According to women in Sirigu, the multiple versions of this design refer to the ways zaaleŋa is woven and the different purposes for which it is used. As Atampugre explained, “we make different designs like the zaantulema and the zaandaa and the zaalenya’aŋa and the zaanki’isika, based on their uses” (interview, February 5, 2014).5 As Abisibɔba Nyaaba said, “we are not just putting anything on the wall and giving it names, but we have it in reality” (interview, February 15, 2014). By this, she meant that they do not just embellish their designs for embellishment but rather use their paintings to depict items from their everyday lives. For instance, the zaaleŋa might be

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woven with either triple or double ropes, and this variation is reflected in the male and female versions of the design (interview, Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ, March 14, 2013). But even though the different types of zaaleŋa are woven in various styles and have different names, Abisibɔba Nyaaba explained, “they are all zaalesi” (interview, February 15, 2014). As with wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces), zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) designs are also grouped into gendered categories: zaandaa (or zaalin-daa) is the male version and zaalenya’aŋa the female.6 Women in Zuarungu-Moshi, for instance, rendered zaandaa as repeated diamonds and triangles filled in with cross-hatching and zaalenya’aŋa (or zaalin-nyanga) as a series of interlaced diamonds bisected by vertical lines, each capped with a small circle (interview, March 19, 2013) (see figure 3.14). In Sirigu, artists often identified the vertical single-outlined version of the design as zaandaa, the horizontal single-outlined and vertical double-outlined versions as zaalenya’aŋa (figure 4.2). SWOPA’s “Wall to Wall” booklet describes the two versions of the design as zaalin-daa (male zaaleŋa), which “shows a continuous vertical line and symbolizes the male characteristics of life,” and zaalin-nyanga (female zaaleŋa), which “shows a continuous horizontal line and symbolizes the female characteristics of life” (Haverkort 2007, 13). The gendered pairing

Figure 4.2.  This is a large dormitory building with several versions of the zaaleŋa design. SWOPA Guesthouse, Sirigu, July 28, 2012. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

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of the zaaleŋa design reflects ideas about the complementarity of gender roles and identities within the community and household; in other words, these gendered pairings of designs represent and reinforce the idea that both men and women are needed for the proper functioning of society. Throughout my research, I found that, while there were some trends and consistencies, interpretations of designs were not always straightforward; instead, they often varied according to viewers’ perspectives and experiences. This was demonstrated, for instance, by explanations of several zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) designs by two Sirigu artists, Rita Kasise and Agombire Atampugre. First, Rita and Atampugre gave their interpretations of three zaaleŋa designs on the walls of the SWOPA compound (figure 4.2). The first version of the design consisted of a series of double-outlined bisected vertical diamonds, which Rita and Atampugre identified as zaalenya’aŋa, or “old lady.” They explained the diamonds had been painted vertically to show that old ladies “like work, so even though they are old, they still insist that they work.” The diamonds were double-outlined to show that old ladies lack the stamina to stand on their feet. They “still want to stand, so they need support” (interview, January 20, 2014). In other words, for them, this design suggested the perseverance of older women. Rita and Atampugre interpreted a second version of the design composed of single-outlined bisected vertical diamonds as zaandaa, the male version. They explained that this design was painted vertically with only one line around each diamond because men can stand up strong without needing extra support. The third version of the design consisted of single-outlined bisected horizontal diamonds, which Rita and Atampugre also identified as zaandaa, another version of male zaaleŋa. In this case, they interpreted the design as “young lady.” They explained that the diamonds in this design were positioned horizontally to represent young ladies lying down. As Rita said, “young women “are lazy . . . [and] don’t want to work. Sometimes when they do [a] little work, then they become tired and . . . [go] to bed” (interview, January 20, 2014). Rita’s and Atampugre’s interpretations of these designs suggested their ideas about both gender and age. These ideas were rooted in their perspectives as active, middle-aged women of forty and fifty years old and their experiences with men and younger women. Their assessment of younger women, in particular, seemed to reflect general attitudes among the older generation of women about the work ethic of younger women (see chapter 5). On another occasion, Agombire Atampugre gave me her interpretation of two zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) designs at her house, Aburipoore Yire (see chapter 2 and figure 2.1). While the designs were similar in appearance to those that Rita and Atampugre had described at the SWOPA compound (at

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least to my eyes), Atampugre’s explanations of their names and meanings were distinctly different. One of the zaaleŋa designs was the double-outlined bisected vertical version, and the other was the single-outlined bisected horizontal version. Atampugre identified both designs as zaalenya’aŋa, female zaaleŋa. The vertical version of the design had been painted on the small rectangular room of a young man from the household. Atampugre explained that this design was “dancing” to reflect the youthful vigor of the room’s young occupant. She explained, “we painted the vertical one on this room because it is a room for the youth, who are always strong and energetic.” The horizontal version of the design was painted on the outer walls of the denya’aŋa, the traditional room belonging to the deodaana (senior woman of the household). She described this design version as “lying down,” resting, and watching the dancing on the walls of the neighboring room. She explained, “the horizontal one is [on] the old lady’s room, and you know the old lady is weak, and that is why she is lying down” (group interview, March 11, 2013). As had been the case at the SWOPA compound, Atampugre’s interpretations of the zaaleŋa designs at Aburipoore Yire reflected her perspective as a middle-aged woman and her associations with both gender and age. At the same time, although the zaaleŋa designs at the two locations looked similar, Atampugre’s explanations varied. It was as though Atampugre was not just interpreting the designs based on their basic appearance but was also adapting her explanation according to the specific context in which they appeared. This example demonstrates that interpretations of designs can vary among different communities, households, individuals, and even the same individual in different locations and moments in time. Other examples similarly demonstrated variations in ideas about and associations with the gendered pairings of the zaaleŋa design. In one case, I was told that the zaandaa (male zaaleŋa) design was bigger than its female counterpart, composed of smaller diamonds because men do not take their time to do things, whereas women do. In another case, I was told that zaalenya’aŋa was bigger than zaandaa because women grow larger than men (personal communication, Azubire Job Apobelum, February 1, 2014). The multitude of explanations for the meanings of these designs reflected the subjective nature of interpretation. Each person drew from their knowledge and experience in explaining each design. As Atampugre and Rita said, “everybody has their way of explaining things” (interview, February 1, 2014). Zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) and wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) are the most common designs that evoke women’s identities and spaces, particularly the interior space of the denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room), but this space can also be evoked in less conventional ways. Anaba-Dongo Yire in Sumbrungu offered an example. Here, women created a relief-rendered representation of a ki’imaneŋa shelf. This sculptural assemblage stood out from

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the wall, measuring about two feet wide, two feet tall, and six inches deep; this was a smaller version of the traditional shelf. The rounded front wall and scalloped edge were embellished with black-and-white dashes and crosshatching, set against a reddish-brown zigmɔrligo backdrop. Built out from its surface were a series of relief objects. On the far right was an elongated vertical oval, subdivided into four sections, each inserted with a circle, representing a zaaleŋa (netted rope bag). Next to this were two circles, one nestled on the other, representing the kaleŋa and pilego pots that would normally be stacked on the ki’imaneŋa shelf. And on the left were two calabash ladles, or bi’isi, and two tesuntɔ, the woven donut-shaped cushions used for carrying head loads. Set within a square, metal-roofed guest room, this was not an actual ki’imaneŋa shelf but rather a scaled-down sculptural representation of this type of shelf, along with the essential items women traditionally store within a denya’aŋa. As with many rural houses today, the Anaba-Dongo compound had been built without a denya’aŋa. In this context, the relief-rendered assemblage served as a reminder of this traditional woman’s space, suggesting the importance that it still held as a symbol of female identity. RELATIONSHIPS Also relating to women’s lives and experiences are designs referring to traditional gender roles and relationships among men and women. This includes the doore, or walking stick, design, which is typically composed of a curve-topped vertical line with a curved top, often rendered in relief.7 Traditionally, the walking stick is a standard part of a gentleman’s attire, especially for occasions such as courtship, divination, and arbitration. The doore motif is therefore associated with ideas of status and prestige, painted as a sign of respect for the yidaana’s (male head of the household’s) authority. For the women painting this design, it is also a reminder of youthful days and the romance of courtship (Anyelom 1995, 21–23). Such ideas were evoked by two versions of the doore design that the women painted in Zuarungu-Moshi during the project I observed at Awaho Yire (see chapter 3). One was rendered as a slender vertical line with a bold curve at the top and groups of short diagonal lines jutting out from the sides; this was the graceful, leather-fringe-embellished walking stick of a chief. As the artists explained, “the chief is assumed to be an elderly person, so . . . he cannot walk without a stick.” They had painted this design, they said, as a sign of respect. The other version of this motif was thicker, boldly outlined in black, and filled with cross-hatching against a white background; this, they explained, was the walking stick of a young man (see figure 3.15). “When you are a bachelor, and you want to go hunting women,” they said, “you must

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have a stick to support yourself. When you go to a lady’s house, you set the stick so that she can see, and when you are about to go, then the lady will fetch it for you and escort you out” (interview, March 19, 2013). Here, the women represented and reinforced traditional gender roles and hierarchies while recalling fond memories of their younger days. At Akayu’urɛ Yire, a low dividing wall featured a chipped and faded painting of a husband and wife, with both figures dressed in traditional clothing and the man smoking a pipe. Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ and her colleagues had painted these figures to show a man and woman wearing the “traditional African dress.” The painting had chipped away considerably, but the figures appeared to be wearing striped clothing made from locally woven strips of cloth. While in the past, this type of clothing might have been worn daily, today, it is typically reserved for ceremonial occasions such as funerals. For everyday wear, it is now more common for people in rural northern Ghana to dress in factory-produced clothing brought into the area by way of national and international markets. The image of this couple wearing traditional, locally produced clothing evoked both ongoing funerary traditions and memories of dress worn in the past. The man was depicted with a pipe to show his advanced age and status as an elder. As Ayampɔka put it, “traditionally, when a man grows old, he now learns to smoke a pipe, so that is why we put an old man smoking a pipe.” For Ayampɔka, the couple also evoked ideas about marriage. In local culture, she explained, “always a woman is someone who does not forget of her biological home, even no matter how old she is, she still tries to go home. When sometimes she is annoyed . . . [she may even] just start collecting her things to go home” (interview, March 14, 2013). Perhaps Ayampɔka and her colleagues had painted this image of a man and woman standing together in solidarity to remind Ayampɔka and her husband of their commitment to one another. One of the most common designs, sukuu kɔma agurinu’usi, refers to the importance of children within families and communities. This design evokes the image of a line of school children holding hands as they walk along the road.8 More generally, it symbolizes friendship and unity (Anyelom 1995, 36–37). Sukuu kɔma agurinu’usi is typically composed of vertical black parallel lines joined by stacked Vs, set against a white or red-and-white background. The vertical lines may also be capped with tiny circles. At AdopaDuŋɔ Yire, Abisibɔba explained that when the school children go out in their uniforms together, holding one another’s hands, “it is good for them. So that is why we also put it on the wall” (interview, March 14, 2013). Similarly, women at Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi explained, “the school children are normally in uniform, and they try to play and shake hands. It’s good for them, so we also put it on the wall to always look at” (interview, March 19, 2013).

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Women at Wegunaba Yire in Bongo identified the same design as Ziiba pugeto agurinu’usi, meaning girls from Ziɔ holding hands (figure 4.1). Ziiba refers to people from Ziɔ, a Burkina Faso community to the south of Ouagadougo, and pugeto means girls, so this name translates as girls from Ziɔ holding hands. The name for this design likely pointed to a belief among some communities in the Frafra area, including those of the Bongo District, in an ancestral connection with Ziɔ (personal communications, Dr. Avea Nsoh, January 31, 2016, and January 10, 2023). The women explained that the design referred to a game of shaking hands that the pugeto, or girls, at Ziɔ used to play. As the artists said, “when they were playing this game, we saw that it was good, so we . . . put it on the wall” (interview, March 18, 2013). This design evoked pleasant images from women’s everyday lives and memories. LOCAL ENVIRONMENT Many wall painting motifs are intended to be educational, to serve as sites of instruction and remembrance. The primary audience for such education is the youth. The artists I spoke with emphasized the importance of teaching future generations about elements of the local environment and culture, past and present. Many educational paintings dealt with aspects of the environment, primarily focusing on animals—from the pleasant to the dangerous, the useful to the problematic. Animal motifs are often—but not always—rendered in relief. Their bodies may be embellished with polka dots, stripes, or triangles. As with other designs, animal motifs are often rendered in male-female pairs. For example, during the project I observed in Bongo the artists painted a large pair of crocodiles on the wall at Wegunaba Yire (figure 4.1). The two creatures faced each other, unified by their mirrored positioning and matching style. The artists explained, “every living creature has a male and a female, so we decided [to paint] a male and female crocodile” (interview, March 18, 2013). This example recalled the ideas expressed through the gendered pairings of the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) and wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) designs described earlier. Images of animals can evoke a sense of pride. Nii (cows) are among the most common animal motifs (see figure 2.1). Along with crop farming, animal rearing is a crucial source of income in northern Ghanaian households (Baidoo, Yusif, and Anwar 2016, 9). Rural families typically rear cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, and guinea fowl. Nii are perennial symbols of wealth, used in marriage exchanges, and essential for farming (Anyelom 1995, 24). As Atampugre put it, “a naafɔ [cow] is part of human life in Frafra tradition.

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Every house wants to have a naafɔ . . . it is something that you cannot do without” (interview, March 11, 2013). In the context of wall painting, paintings of cattle evoked a sense of pride. At Aburipoore Yire, for instance, the entrance to the denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) was flanked by two cow motifs, which had been rendered in relief and embellished with triangle and diamond designs (see figure 2.1). As Agombire Atampugre explained, nii are painted on the wall as visual declarations, proudly announcing to visitors that there are cows in the house (interview, Atampugre, March 11, 2013). Similarly, one of the walls at Akayu’urɛ Yire featured a relief-rendered hump-backed cow, its body adorned with red, black, and white triangles incised with lines. As Ayampɔka explained, women paint images of cows on their compound walls to show that, according to local tradition, “it is not good for a human being . . . to live without a naafɔ [cow].” For instance, she said, a man must have a naafɔ to get a wife to marry. And “even if you do not have a naafɔ, it should be put on the wall to remind you that anytime you get money, then you must have a naafɔ, else you will be made valueless” (interview, March 14, 2013). Painted on the walls of houses, these images of cattle signaled a household’s status and wealth while also serving as reminders for the younger generation of the critical role of cattle in both economic and social processes. Both ɛbega (crocodile) and waafɔ (snake or python) motifs are also common.9 Such motifs were painted to tell various stories, each intended to teach a specific lesson. In some cases, images of ɛbesi (crocodiles) were included in compositions to educate audiences about wildlife in the area, both past and present. In the past, crocodiles were common throughout the area, but this has changed over time. For instance, women in Bongo explained that they had painted crocodiles on the wall of Wegunaba Yire because “it is difficult for the youth nowadays to see ɛbesi; it is no more common as it used to be. When it is drawn on the wall, then the children will see and ask ‘what is this?’ And we teach them that this is a ɛbega and it lives in ponds and rivers, so that is why [we] put it [there]” (interview, September 18, 2013) (figure 4.1). In this case, they used their painting to teach the younger generation about the past and preserve cultural memory in a rapidly changing environment. In the Sirigu area, crocodiles can still commonly be seen swimming in and bathing on the shores of rivers and lakes. At Aburipoore Yire, women had painted a large, relief-rendered image of a crocodile on the denya’aŋa wall “to teach the children” about the ɛbesi (crocodiles) in their local environment (interview, Atampugre, March 11, 2013) (see figure 2.1). In this case, the painting functioned to educate audiences about the ongoing presence of crocodiles in the area.

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Specific animal motifs, including both ɛbega (crocodile) and waafɔ (snake or python), also traditionally hold significance related to ideas of lineage and ancestry; specifically, these are among the animals that are regarded as totems. Traditionally, across the area, it is common for clan members to observe avoidances, also known as totems or taboos. A totem is an animal or other living thing that is said to have helped, or in some cases harmed, the founding ancestor or his family and which, therefore, clan members must avoid killing or eating. As Cardinall put it, “everyone has some animal which is a species of alter ego—not to be slain or eaten, an animal which is recognized as one’s friend, one’s brother” (1920, 39). Totems include animals such as crocodiles, pythons, squirrels, monkeys, and dogs, as well as certain types of trees. At Aburipoore Yire, for instance, the image of a baobab on the outer wall of the denya’aŋa represented the ancestral tree of the household (see figure 2.1). Children take up the clans and totems of their fathers, and after marriage, women keep their totems and those of their husbands. While this tradition has likely changed to some extent, totems are still commonly observed in the area today. For instance, it is common in Sirigu for the waafɔ (snake or python) and ɛbega (crocodile) to be regarded as totems and painted on compound walls as symbols of ancestral connection. At Aburipoore Yire, a large pair of pythons were coiled above the denya’aŋa’s entrance, where it represented the family’s “spiritual mother, from Yua, who protects the household” (interview, March 11, 2013) (see figure 2.1). In the old days, Agombire Atampugre explained, every household had a python living in the denya’aŋa. When a mother left the house, she could leave her baby in the care of the python. The python coiled with its head in the middle and its tail outside so it could lull a crying baby to sleep by putting its tail in the baby’s mouth to suck.10 Painted on the wall of the Aburipoore Yire denya’aŋa, the python symbolized the “spiritual mother [who] protects the baby and the family in general” (interview, March 11, 2013; Haverkort 2007, 11). In general, such images serve as reminders of the ancestral presence in and protection over households. The ɛbega (crocodile) is considered a symbol of protection in multiple communities, including Sirigu and Paga (about sixteen miles northwest of Sirigu). In Sirigu, crocodiles are believed to be the temporary abodes of ancestral spirits (Wemegah 2009, 96–99). Crocodiles are also important in Paga, where they are referred to by the people as “the souls of our ancestors and our souls too” (Atanga 2019, 325). Local belief holds that an individual’s life and death are linked with their ɛbega. As Cardinall wrote, “the life of a man or woman is identical with that of his crocodile, alter ego. When he is born the crocodile is born; they are ill at the same time; they die at the same time. It is said that when a man is at the point of death one can hear at night the groaning of his crocodile” (1920, 39).

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The ongoing importance of crocodiles in Paga is illustrated by the Paga Crocodile Pond, a sacred pool where the numerous crocodiles of the community congregate. Today, the Paga Crocodile Pond has become a popular tourism destination, described by the Ghana Tourism Authority as “a sacred pool where protected crocodiles can be seen, touched and fed” (Visit Ghana n.d.). Advertisements for the Crocodile Pond feature photographs of tourists sitting on and petting crocodiles. Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire explained you “can call a crocodile out from the pond, you can touch, you can feed, you can move the tail—they are friendly.” Shared reverence for crocodiles points to ancestral connections among Kassena and Nankani communities and households across the area (see figure 2.1). As Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire said, “we are all from the same area” (interview, March 9, 2013). The cultural importance of crocodiles was reflected in multiple Sirigu paintings. An example could be seen at the entrance to the SWOPA visitors center. Surrounding a sign reading “Welcome SWOPA Visitors Centre” was a painted composition that included three figures, a two-headed crocodile, and two chickens. Figures and background were richly rendered with black, white, and red patterns of stripes, diamonds, and triangles. The two-headed crocodile was stretched across the bottom of the composition, with a fowl at each end. Standing to the right of the crocodile, holding a tall staff, was the crocodile’s caretaker (interview, Agombire Atampugre and Abisibɔba Nyaaba, January 20, 2014). As Aniah Azuurɛ and Abisibɔba Nyaaba explained, “the ɛbega [crocodile] lives in water, and if you want it to come out, you have to give it a nua [chicken].” In this painted scene, two chickens had been purchased from the caretaker and were being used “to invite the ɛbega to come out so that you can have a look at it” (interview, January 20, 2014). Reflecting local beliefs, ɛbesi (crocodiles) in the painted scenes at the SWOPA compound were represented as friendly, harmless creatures. As Faustina explained, “crocodiles don’t harm people.” For instance, the crocodile at the SWOPA entrance was about to eat the chicken on the left but then decided to release it on the right (interview, July 24, 2012). When asked about this crocodile, Faustina said, “this is a crocodile, and the crocodile is the savior; it saves lives.” She explained further, “some say that crocodiles harm people, but it is not that. Crocodiles don’t harm the people, so you can see that [this crocodile] should have chopped [eaten] the head here, but the crocodile did not do that. He left it, and it is going to go” (interview, July 24, 2012). At Atole-Yaaba Yire, Akolego and his son had painted a man standing on the back of a goat, holding a chicken in his outstretched left hand, and reaching out toward an ɛbega (crocodile) hovering to his left. Akolego explained, “the ɛbega [crocodile] is in the pond, and [he] eats animals and nuusi [chickens], so if you want the ɛbega to come out from the water so that you see it, you use the nua [chicken] . . . you stand by the bank and then you use the nua,

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wave [it] in the water. So when the ɛbega sees that there is a nua waiting for it, it will come out.” Akolego explained that he and his son had painted this scene on the wall “just to portray the culture and the environment . . . things that are found around us” (interview, March 5, 2013). These examples point to the ongoing recognition of totems in Sirigu today. While crocodiles and snakes are regarded as totems and revered in some communities and households, they are feared in others. The latter was true in Zuarungu-Moshi, where women painted two ɛbesi (crocodiles) on the walls at Awaho Yire during the project I observed. Both crocodiles were stylized and embellished, with black outlines and bodies adorned with stripes, cross-hatching, and dots (see figure 3.15). Ԑbesi, the women explained, normally stay in the water. They said that if an ɛbega (crocodile) ventures onto the land, it has likely come out to eat something. The image on the wall was meant to instruct onlookers that when they see an ɛbega on the land, “they should try to beat it up so that it will go back into the water because it is coming to swallow the animals.” The women also wanted to warn fishermen about the dangers of ɛbesi in the water. Especially if a fisherman’s net is full, the women explained, “the ɛbega is likely to tear up the net and do harm to them.” Fishermen, they concluded, “should pray that they shouldn’t meet the ɛbega” (interview, March 19, 2013). In this case, women painted crocodiles on the walls to warn audiences about dangers in the local environment. These examples demonstrate the diversity of meanings that a single type of image can hold and the various functions that it can serve. For some, images of crocodiles represented the presence of such creatures as benevolent or dangerous elements of the area. For others, images of crocodiles conjured beliefs about life, death, and connections with their ancestors. In all cases, images of crocodiles served as tools for educating audiences about various aspects of history, belief, and everyday life. Women at Awaho Yire also painted multiple scenes with bunsɛleduma (snakes), each intended to teach a different lesson (see figure 3.15). One wall featured a narrative scene highlighting the women’s emphasis on educating the youth. At the top of one wall, the women painted a small section of sukuu kɔma nyɔgenu’usi (school children shaking hands), here composed of tightly packed vertical parallel lines, each capped with a small black circle and joined by diagonal lines. They painted this, they said, because “the school children are normally in uniform, and they try to play and shake hands. It’s good for them, so we also put it on the wall to always look at” (interview, March 19, 2013). Below the sukuu kɔma nyɔgenu’usi design, the women painted two bunsɛleduma, rendered as thick white lines outlined in black and embellished with cross-hatching. A group of nuusi (chickens), rendered in silhouette,

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stood on top of the bunsɛleduma. The bunsɛla (snake), the women explained, lies on the ground in a coil, waiting to catch nuusi as they pass by. The women painted this scene to teach the children that if they see bunsɛleduma lying coiled up on the ground, “they should scare the nuusi away” to save them from being eaten by the snakes (interview, March 19, 2013). Another scene depicted a meeting between two bunsɛleduma (snakes), rendered as thick, black-outlined zigzagging lines embellished with cross-hatching. When two snakes meet, the women explained, they often fight. In the process of fighting, they said, one snake might bite the other to death. Then the victorious snake might use a specific type of grass or leaf to bring the dead snake back to life. So, they said, “when you meet something like that if you are not a coward, you can hide somewhere and watch.” When the fight is over, you can go and pick that leaf, look at the type . . . and use it as treatment when someone is bitten by a snake” (interview, March 19, 2013). In other words, they painted this scene to teach onlookers how to identify plants that can be used to cure snake bites. It seems possible that paintings like this one were intended to preserve traditional medicinal knowledge in response to the increasing prevalence of Western medicine. As with the crocodile images, women at Awaho Yire painted these images to teach their audiences—especially children—about the power of the natural environment, a message that is perhaps increasingly important as children spend more time in school and less time exploring the world around them. Baŋa (lizard) motifs were also common.11 Basi are wall lizards that live in houses, dwell in the corners of rooms, and eat mosquitos. Children also hunt them for meat (interview, Faustina, July 26, 2012; interview, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 19, 2013). They are part of everyday life. As with other animal images, basi motifs are commonly stylized. For instance, at Akozulo Yire in Sirigu, the women painted a pair of basi across the center of their composition (see figure 3.17). Each lizard was outlined in black, rendered with minimal detail, and embellished with designs. Faustina explained that the baŋa is a symbol of friendship. She said, “mosquitos give us malaria, so when the basi eat the mosquitos, we don’t get malaria. . . . That’s why basi mean friendship” (interview, July 26, 2012). Anyelom described the lizard motif as a symbol of Nankam wisdom. The lizard, he wrote, constantly nods its head, encouraging onlookers to talk less and think more while also discouraging gossiping and backbiting, particularly in family matters (Anyelom 1995, 26).12 Women also use their paintings to warn audiences about the dangers associated with kasuresi, or wall geckos, local pests that cling to and lay eggs on the walls of houses (see figure 3.14).13 It is popularly believed that the consumption of their eggs—for instance, as the result of being mixed in with a batch of peanuts—may cause swelling and even death. There is particular

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concern about potential harm to infants: if a baby is left unattended, it is believed that a wall gecko might come and lick its lips, which will cause the baby to develop epilepsy (interview, Sumbrungu, February 14, 2013).14 In the context of wall painting, kasuresi motifs were negative symbols, serving as warnings. Women at Awaho Yire, for instance, painted a tiny black kasurega on the wall “to differentiate the kasurega from other basi [lizards].” They wanted to “show the danger involved” in killing or eating the kasurega and its eggs (interview, March 19, 2013). As we have seen, women paint various designs that evoke the presence of wildlife in the area, both past and present, and changes to the environment over time. In the Puŋu section of Navrongo, for instance, a design composed of vertical, zigzagging lines spoke to the presence of deer in the area. At Nasara Yire, Kaduah Tɛɛdewe identified this design as the knees, or “knee bones of a bush animal which is called isega,” meaning deer (interview, January 26, 2013).15 While deer can still be found in the forested areas of Navrongo, other designs evoked memories of past wildlife that had grown less common over time. In Zuarungu-Moshi, the artists at Awaho Yire painted a large bird with a small head, slender neck and legs, and a large oval body painted in black and white (see figure 3.14). They identified this as a dulego, a “kind of a big bird in the forest . . . black like a turkey.” They used to see such birds, but they had grown less common over time. They painted the dulego, they explained, to teach onlookers of the potential consequences of killing this type of bird, including sickness and even death. It seemed that the dulego was associated with a taboo. According to local belief, killing a dulego would result in sickness and even death. The women explained that the consequences could be dire for the perpetrator and their entire generation if certain rituals were not performed. They said, “that is why we drew it on the wall, to show the children that whenever they see this bird, they should know that you don’t kill it” (interview, March 19, 2013). In another area, the women painted a large bird with a long neck and spotted body, called a tankone, meaning grey heron. This type of bird, they said, dwelled in the forest and was “not all that common here.” They painted the tankone “just to attract people and show the kind of things that are in our environment” (interview, March 19, 2013). Another design known as gyiraninni, meaning lions’ eyes, spoke to the former presence of lions in the area.16 An example of this design could be seen, for instance, on the veranda wall at Asabea Yire in Sumbrungu. Here, black-outlined white dots inserted between the hourglass shapes of lusi were identified as gyirannini. The women had painted this design, they explained, to show that in the past, lions were common in the area (interview, February 14, 2013).17 Lions are no longer common in the area; hence, the motif evoked memories of past landscapes and wildlife. These are just a few examples of

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paintings that documented the local environment and functioned to both educate audiences and preserve the area’s history. TRADITIONAL CEREMONIES AND FESTIVITIES Some of the most important designs refer to local traditions, focusing particularly on ceremonies and festivities associated with funerals. As mentioned previously, kɔa (funerals) are extremely important among the peoples of northeastern Ghana. They occur over multiple days and are occasions for ritual, feasting, drumming, and dancing. They bring together families and communities, functioning as critical drivers of social cohesion. Both men and women, particularly women identified as pɔgemenkesi (honorable women), play essential roles during funeral ceremonies (Smith 1987, 46). The importance of funerary traditions is also emphasized and reinforced by the designs painted by women on their walls. For instance, some of the paintings described earlier evoke traditional funerary ceremonies through which the deceased is officially removed from the world of the living to join the realm of the ancestors. Zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) and wanzagesi (broken calabash) designs, for example, call to mind a ceremony performed for a woman’s funeral during which calabashes from her zaaleŋa are broken, signaling her removal from the everyday domestic life of the household and indicating “that she will be using the calabash in the next world” (Smith 1987, 51; Haverkort 2007, 12). The zaaleŋa design also evokes a special ceremony that concludes a funeral and involves returning selected items from her zaaleŋa to her natal home; this includes her kumpi’o, the shrine of a woman’s soul during her lifetime, carried by her eldest daughter to her father’s house (see chapter 2). Through ceremonies such as these, the deceased woman is symbolically “brought home” (Smith 1987, 51).18 The tana design, which represents strip-woven cloth, evokes not only funerary traditions but also trade histories and ideas of wealth (see figures 3.15 and 4.1). During a funeral, the presence of the deceased and their role in the household is evoked by the display of their clothing. For a man’s funeral, his clothing, especially his dansigesi or zantigesi (smocks), is displayed on the roof next to the compound entrance. For the ceremonies, men of the compound adorn themselves in their finest clothes, wearing smocks, trousers, and aprons made from locally woven strips of cloth. These garments allude to local histories of trade, connection, and cultural exchange. Strip-woven cloth, or tana, originated among the Mossi people in Burkina Faso and was formerly brought to the area by traders passing through the area. Tana was used in making loincloths, caps, and tunics for special wear (Fortes 1945, 11, footnote 1; interview, Akawi’ire Yire, February 28, 2013).

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Over time, people from Gurensi, Nankani, and Kassena areas also learned how to weave (interview, February 28, 2013).19 Today, tana is woven and sold by both Mossi and non-Mossi weavers. Despite its foreign origins, tana has been fully integrated into local traditions, and smocks made from this cloth are worn as symbols of cultural heritage. And due to its historical connections with commerce and trade associates, tana continues to be associated with ideas of wealth and prosperity. The importance of tana, strip-woven cloth, is demonstrated by the prevalence of the tana design in bambͻlse compositions. In its most basic form, the tana design is composed of vertical black and white lines arranged in a horizontal band (figure 4.1).20 In this case, the striped pattern of the traditional smock is translated directly onto the wall. As Fred Smith was told by a local woman named Asumbire, “the women look at what the men are wearing and copy it” (1979, 143). We can see an early example of the tana design in Rattray and Westermann’s 1932 report, which includes a photograph featuring a Kasena compound painted with vertical black lines. A man stands next to the house wearing a striped dansika (smock), its pattern echoing the design painted on the wall (figure 154). The design’s longevity reflects this cloth’s enduring cultural importance as a symbol of social standing and wealth. As with other designs, tana can be rendered in multiple forms. Variations include, for instance, tana designs composed of black-and-white checkerboards and groups of diagonal stripes in alternating directions. In Sirigu, tana has taken on a distinctive form known as tangɔleŋa (bent tana). This version of the design is typically composed of parallel vertical zigzagging lines (see figure 3.20). A group of artists at Akawi’ire Yire explained that this design version represented coils of strip-woven cloth (interview, Rita, Theresa, Ennett, February 28, 2013). For them, this design modification was a matter of aesthetic preference. As Ennett put it, “we have not made [the lines] straight like they are on that cloth, but we have only bent it so that it will make the design look nice.” Rita added, “because the tana [strips] are long if you make [the design] straight straight, it would not look beautiful. . . . So we made them zigzag to make the design look beautiful” (interview, February 28, 2013). These examples illustrate that even long-enduring designs can be modified, showing how bambͻlse is not static but alters with shifting traditions and artists’ changing aesthetic preferences. Like strip-woven cloth, the tana design is linked with ideas of wealth and prestige. There are a couple of reasons for this. Cloth has historically been very costly. Anyelom reported, for instance, that in the past, a “woman’s cloth could cost as much as . . . a cow,” emphasizing the exorbitant price of cloth by comparing it to another expensive and prestigious commodity. Both now and in the past, the tana design is painted onto the walls of a compound as a symbol of a family’s wealth and prestige.21 As we have seen, tana is

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also associated with histories of trade and commerce; this is evidenced, for instance, by the use of mɔtana and gurentaba as alternative names for the tana design. Mɔtana recalls the Mossi origins of strip-woven cloth, while gurentaba speaks to the integration of tana into Gurensi culture (personal communication, Dr. Avea Nsoh, January 31, 2016). Motifs representing strip-woven cloth celebrate histories of cultural and artistic exchange and integration through their forms, names, and meanings. Tana designs are also associated with ideas of tradition and change. For instance, during the project I observed at Awaho Yire, women painted several sections of mɔtana, rendered as wide, horizontal bands striped with vertical black and white lines (see figure 3.15). Women at Asabea Yire in Sumbrungu had also painted the mɔtana design on their walls, rendered as alternating groups of diagonal lines. The Sumbrungu artists had painted this design because, they said, they had been told by their mothers, “in the olden days . . . it was only the mɔtana that they wove and wore” (interview, March 7, 2014). For artists at Awaho Yire, this design represented the “materials that are woven and used for clothes,” meaning woven strips of cloth. They had painted mɔtana, they said, because “it is our traditional culture” (interview, March 19, 2013). In both cases, the artists had painted mɔtana to represent traditional dress and differentiate this from modern clothing. Artists at Awaho Yire, for instance, explained that they had painted mɔtana “to show the difference between the traditional wear and the modern one” (interview, March 19, 2013). Women at Asabea Yire had likewise painted this design to show that the mɔtana “is our traditional cloth, not the one we are wearing today” (interviews, February 14, 2013, and March 7, 2014). As mentioned previously, “modern” clothing, including factory-produced shirts, slacks, and dresses, has become increasingly common for everyday wear in the rural communities of northern Ghana. Today, strip-woven cloth is reserved almost exclusively for formal and ceremonial occasions. Due to its associations with history and tradition, women paint the tana design on their walls to preserve the past in a moment of cultural change. Saba, meaning amulets, is another design closely linked with traditional culture, spiritual beliefs, and funerary ceremonies. The word saba refers to amulets (or talismans) that are typically triangular or square and made of leather. They were traditionally attached to smocks worn by hunters, warriors, or powerful medicine men.22 In the past, and still in some cases today, saba were also attached to men’s clothing and weapons in the context of funerary ceremonies. Such amulets are connected to both Islam and Indigenous religious practices. They traditionally contained spiritually potent materials, such as verses from the Koran or the skins of wild animals (Anyelom 1995, 39). In the context of war dances, they provide protection during parts of the

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performance designed to test spiritual potency.23 Women in Bongo associated saba with protective herbs that were prepared by soothsayers and could be applied to the body or wrapped in leather and worn around the neck or waist (interview, January 29, 2013). Agombire Atampugre related the saba design to memories of her late father, who had worn a smock with attached saba for ceremonial occasions such as war dances. These saba, she explained, were “not just for beauty’s sake, but they also have inward meaning.” They were talismans, charged with powerful substances, and worn for protection (interview, February 5, 2014). The saba motif typically comprises interlocking vertical or horizontal diamonds in various combinations of red, black, and white; this design can also be painted in a narrow vertical space, in which case it is typically composed of a vertical string of diamonds. At Atole-Yaaba Yire, a checkerboard design was identified as a nabafuo, or chief’s smock, that had been hung with saba “for protective measures” (interview, Akolego and Akurigo Akolego, March 5, 2013). When painted on the wall, the saba motif does not hold any spiritual power, but it evokes beliefs and practices related to spiritual protection (Anyelom 1995, 39). The saba design honors local histories and traditions, especially those of hunting, warfare, and ceremonies honoring the dead. Several bambͻlse designs evoke the drumming and dancing that are a central component of traditional festivals and funerals. Such events, particularly funerals, are traditionally enlivened by song and dance. At a funeral, musicians play while men and women dance. These activities are evoked by wall painting motifs representing musical instruments, including lusi and lundaasi (drums), kɔlegɔ (guitar), and wia (whistle) (see figures 3.14, 3.15, and 4.1). The terms lusi and lundaasi refer specifically to hourglass-shaped, double-headed drums worn on a strap over the shoulder. An ensemble of these drums typically includes at least one higher- and one lower-pitched drum and additional drums in the middle range. The names for the drums that make up such ensembles refer to their different sizes. The representation of such instruments in wall paintings indicates the importance of music in local traditions, both now and in the past. Lusi and lundaasi designs are often rendered as a strip of white or unpainted vertical diamonds against a thick black band. In some cases, the diamonds are decorated with diagonal stripes. For instance, a wall at Atole-Yaaba Yire was entirely covered with the lusi design, rendered as a series of vertical diamonds filled in with curving horizontal and diagonal stripes. Akurigo Akolego mimicked the motion of holding and playing a drum as she explained that this design represented “instruments used for dancing” (interview, March 5, 2013). A wall at Akayu’urɛ Yire was all but covered with lusi, here rendered as a series of large vertical diamonds striped with diagonal lines. Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ chanted “gung, gung” and mimicked the beating of a drum as

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she explained the design’s meaning. She and her colleagues had painted the lusi design, she said, both because they thought it was beautiful and to teach their children about the importance of musical entertainment in local culture (interview, March 14, 2013). Paintings at Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi evoked multiple musical instruments that traditionally accompany funerary festivities. Here, lusi and lunda’asi designs were rendered as rows of diamonds set against bold horizontal strips of black (see figure 3.15). The kɔlegɔ (guitar) was represented with a round white body, long black neck, and connecting strap (see figure 3.14). The wia (whistle) motif was rendered as a small, black-outlined oval filled in with cross-hatching. These instruments, the women explained, represented the drumming and dancing “that is the only source entertainment in [the] area.” Traditionally, they said, the men drum while the women dance. And “when they are drumming the lusi, there should be somebody who is also blowing the whistle,” giving a tune to guide those singing and dancing (interview, March 19, 2013). Some images painted by women on their walls evoke the performance of war dances at funerals. As previously mentioned, funerals traditionally involve a series of mock battles associated with histories and traditions of hunting and warfare. Women at Awaho Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi, for instance, evoked this tradition with a narrative scene composed of two figures, a man and a woman, both stylized and rendered with minimal detail. The man stood bent-legged, in motion, with a bow, quivers, and arrows. The woman was ululating, emitting shrill noises to focus the man’s attention and, as the artists explained, “give him more spirits to be serious in his war dance” (interview, March 19, 2013). During funerary ceremonies, women energize those participating in the war dance with exuberant ululations (Fortes 1945, 27; interview, March 19, 2013). These images emphasized the importance of funeral ceremonies, proclaiming each woman’s desire to be properly celebrated with such ceremonies upon her passing (interview, Zuarungu-Moshi, March 19, 2013). As Anyelom reported: “It is quite normal for . . . old women in the area to request for grand funerals for themselves on their sick beds, to be carried out after their death, as their last wishes.” Artists express their hopes by painting images evoking funerary festivities and ceremonies on their walls. Such designs “ [call] to mind what an old woman expects her funeral to be like after her death” (Anyelom 1995, 17, 45). MEMORIES, HISTORIES, AND CONNECTIONS Two designs in Sirigu are unique to this community: Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle) and Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat). Both motifs refer to

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specific histories, individuals, families, and connections. As the women at Akawi’ire House put it, these are “original Sirigu designs” that women from this community have created to honor specific individuals (interview, February 28, 2013). These two examples illustrate how designs change over time and how they can be used to remember particular figures and stories. Akun Nyana nii is typically composed of repeated horizontal diamonds, each with an oval at the center and half ovals to the sides, all between two horizontal black lines, and placed at the upper edge of the wall (see figures 2.1, 3.17, and 3.20). Sometimes this design is interpreted as gyirannini (lion’s eyes) or wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces). In Sirigu, it is most commonly known as Akun Nyana nii. This design celebrates the cultural figure Akun Nyana, a cultural hero from Gɛliŋɔ, Burkina Faso, celebrated throughout the area for his wealth and generosity. Although I do not know the exact dates of Akun Nyana’s life, it seems he was alive within the last several decades. Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire recalled that when he was a child, his grandmother and her colleagues would travel to Gɛliŋɔ to gather their pigments and, while they were in the area, they would hear people talking about Akun Nyana and his wealth. As Ferreol explained, Akun Nyana used his wealth to build schools and hospitals for the community. “And when he died, his name was used to name after those buildings . . . to remember this man for the great things he was doing at that time” (interview, October 1, 2013). The memory of Akun Nyana was also preserved and celebrated through wall painting. In Sirigu, he was particularly celebrated for his wealth in cattle. As members of the Akawi’ire household explained, “when you have many cattle, they take you as a rich man” (interview, February 28, 2013). Akun Nyana was known not only for the size of his herd but for the wisdom of his cattle. As the story goes, every day, Akun Nyana’s cattle followed each other in an orderly line, led by a specially trained member of their group, out to graze in the morning and back home in the evening, without need for supervision (interview, Abisibɔba, March 14, 2013; interview, Sia Ataŋa, January 28, 2014). The Akun Nyana nii, meaning Akun Nyana’s cattle, is rendered as a horizontal string of diamonds and ovals representing the adult cattle moving along the path in a neat row and half-ovals representing calves walking to the sides. Typically, the design’s outlines are rendered in black, the ovals are filled with red, and the spaces between the ovals are filled with white; this evokes variations in the cattle’s coloration. As Rita put it, “some cattle look black, some look white, some look reddish, so when they are following each other, it makes [a] design” (interview, February 28, 2013). According to Ennett, this design was developed because women observed the spectacle of Akun Nyana’s extraordinary cattle and “just made art out of what [they] had seen” (interview, February 28, 2013). Abisibɔba Nyaaba explained that

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seeing the behavior of these cattle and believing it to be good, women in Sirigu “decided to also put [the design] on the wall so that we will remember” (interview, March 14, 2013). The Akun Nyana nii design demonstrates how designs can be repositories of memory and, by painting this design on their walls, women play an essential role in preserving history. Akun Nyana is celebrated not just in Sirigu, but also in communities to the north, where he continues to be admired for his remarkable cattle, great wealth, and generosity (interview, Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire, October 1, 2013). For instance, a wall at Abaa Yire in Buŋɔ featured a design called Akun Nyana boberi, rendered as a band of double-outlined, horizontal, bisected diamonds outlined in black against a white backdrop. The word boberi has several definitions, but here it refers to “someone who dresses neatly and nicely” (personal communication, Job, January 6, 2022). Sia Ataŋa, a woman from the neighborhood, explained that Akun Nyana was “a wealthy person [who] . . . normally dresses richly.” She shook her arms and pumped her elbows to emphasize Akun Nyana’s financial power and strength as she and her colleagues explained the meaning of the design.24 The women had never seen Akun Nyana with their own eyes, they said, but had learned about him from their mothers. They explained that they had painted this design on their walls because “our mothers were doing it and we saw that it was good” (interview, January 28, 2014). The shared celebration of this local figure recalls historical and ongoing connections among the communities of northern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso. Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat) is another common design in Sirigu that, like Akun Nyana nii, evokes stories about and preserves memories of specific individuals, families, and connections. This design comprises stacked horizontal parallel lines of red, black, and white arches and is typically painted at the bottom edge of the wall (see figure 3.23). In the past, this design was typically identified as wama or wanzagesi, referring to overturned calabash bowls. Apuntuguna Aberinga, for instance, recalled her mother painting this design at her childhood home in Tuuŋɔ, where it was known as wanzaka (interview, October 11, 2013). Apuntuguna had brought the memory of this design with her to Sirigu, where the same motif continued to be painted but had come to be known as Amizia zuvaka, demonstrating both continuity and change. The name Amizia zuvaka, meaning Amizia’s hat, derived from stories about two of the community’s households: Akawi’ire and Amizia. These two households were ancestrally connected. Amizia was the son of Akawi’ire and had grown up in the Akawi’ire household. As an adult, Amizia had left his father’s house to build his own compound nearby (interview, Ferreol Anaba Amizia, September 20, 2013). Members of these two households shared their stories of the Amizia zuvaka design’s history. At Akawi’ire Yire, Theresa

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credited Magdalene, Akawi’ire’s wife, with creating the design. Amizia, Theresa explained, was the son of Akawi’ire, the original yidaana (male head of the household). After reaching adulthood, Amizia built his own house just down the road. One day, Amizia came around while the household women were painting the walls. Amizia was wearing a hat that was shaped like the design. He asked Magdalene what they were doing, and she said they were making a hat. When he asked her the name of the hat, she said Amizia zuvaka, Amizia’s hat (interview, February 28, 2013). Another version of the story holds that when Amizia asked Magdalene what she was doing, she replied, “I am making a hat for that bald head of yours” (Haverkort 2007, 13). Ferreol Anaba Amizia, a member of the Amizia household, added his version of the story. As Ferreol explained, when Amizia approached the women, he was wearing a Hausa hat decorated with rows of repeating arches. The women saw the hat and thought the designs were nice, so they put them on the wall (interview, September 20, 2013). Ferreol illustrated his story as he spoke by holding up a white cap with rows of repeated black arches. An example of this design could be seen, for instance, at Akayu’urɛ Yire, here rendered as a series of repeated multi-lined red, black, and white arches extending across the bottom of the wall. Ayampɔka described this design as a memorial. Amizia, she explained, used to wear a particular type of zuvaka (hat). As he grew old, Sirigu’s artists: “decided to put his headwear on the wall, so that when [people] see it, they will say ‘what is this?’ and we will say ‘Amizia zuvaka.’” In this way, she said, Amizia would be remembered (interview, March 14, 2013). Both the Akun Nyana nii and Amizia zuvaka designs evoke histories of movement and migration and ongoing connections among families and communities. CONCLUSION The examples discussed in this chapter demonstrate the diversity and dynamism of bambɔlse in terms of form and meaning. Design forms and interpretations vary among communities, households, individuals, and even different moments in time. Names, forms, and meanings of designs are not fixed or governed by any central authority. Instead, forms and styles vary according to artistic training, experience, perspective, and preference. Interpretations similarly vary among both artists and viewers; this is illustrated, for instance, by the zaaleŋa (netted rope bag) design, with its multiple variations and differing interpretations. Although this design is among the most fundamental in the bambɔlse repertoire, it is not fixed in its form or meaning. The same is true for wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces), another of the most common

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designs. Although both designs are linked with fundamental ideas of tradition, identity, and ideal womanhood, explanations of their specific meanings vary according to the perspective of each artist and viewer. Embarking on my research, I hoped to gain an understanding of bambɔlse designs, names, and meanings that went beyond the interpretations that other researchers had recorded. Throughout my research, I grappled with the inconsistencies and contradictions I encountered when speaking with artists and watching them work. I expected to find complexity, but I envisioned resolving details, inconsistencies, and contradictions to gain a deeper understanding. I was particularly concerned with understanding divergent interpretations for seemingly similar designs, so I asked the artists I worked with for help. In Sirigu, Agombire Atampugre and Rita Kasise offered their explanations for the inconsistent and contradictory information I received from artists about design names and meanings. First, they said, individuals vary in their levels of knowledge and their styles of communication. As they put it, “some people know better than others.” Most women, Atampugre said, “don’t care to learn the names and the meanings [and] . . . just learn how to make the designs. And when they make the design, and you ask of the design, they will give you a different name and a different meaning” (interview, February 1, 2014). She explained that, furthermore, those who do not know “will give different information because they don’t want to say that they don’t know” (interview, October 12, 2013). Varying knowledge and communication styles result in inconsistencies among individuals and within groups. Even if a group of artists is consulting together and offering their interpretations, Rita and Atampugre explained, “you see that you are getting different information from different women” (interview, February 1, 2014). Ultimately, they placed the onus on me to reconcile the divergent details, inconsistencies, and contradictions to form my own conclusions. As they put it, “you will now judge based on the explanations everybody gives to you . . . weigh them, compare them, and then see which is giving you the right information and which is just giving you a false information” (interview, February 1, 2014). Keeping this advice in mind, I came to see bambɔlse as a complex and dynamic tradition that resists straightforward interpretation and reflects the ever-changing and evolving nature of culture. My experience of bambɔlse led me to conclude that designs are not intended to function as a codified visual language but rather to serve as inspirations for recollecting and recounting memories; this is especially true today in the context of rapid cultural change (Nooter Roberts and Roberts 1996). Through my observations of and numerous conversations with artists, I saw their adaptability and ability to shift artistic materials, modes, and methods according to changes in the social and cultural landscape. In the cases of communities

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such as Zuarungu-Moshi and Bongo, where wall painting practices have declined, women embraced the opportunity to demonstrate their artistic skills. They created their compositions to educate local audiences about aspects of their environment, culture, traditions, and values. In Sirigu, where bambɔlse has been revitalized, artists also used their paintings as educational sites, in this case translating designs for both local and foreign audiences of tourists and researchers (see chapter 6). I was one of these researchers, coming to bambɔlse as an outsider with ideas and expectations. My own experiences and perspectives shaped my understanding of the designs. It is clear to me that, both now and in the past, wall paintings have the capacity to function as sites for storytelling and meaning-making, where culture is constantly created and reimagined by artists and their audiences. NOTES 1. The women explained that the cows are joined together with a wooden piece that is attached with chains to the plow (interview, March 7, 2014). As they put it, “we use the chains to hook the wood that is in the middle so that it will link to the plower so that when the cows are now moving, it will then pull the plower and it will till the ground” (interview, March 7, 2014). 2. Those used for serving water are called kowane (or kowanɛ) and those used for serving food are called sagwane (or sagewanɛ) (Anyelom 1995, 38). Abisibɔba also referred to these two types as red and white calabashes, calling them sawama and kowane (interview, February 15, 2014). 3. Smith reported that most triangular and diamond-shaped motifs were known as wanzagesi, or broken calabash pieces (1979, 144). Anyelom found that wanzagesi designs were often painted in a strip at the upper border of the wall (1995, 37). 4. Smith reported, “Zanlenga, calabash net, is a term that identifies various simple or interwoven ‘X’ motifs” (1979, 145–46). 5. Zaalenki’isika (or zaanki’isika) is an embellished version of the zaaleŋa design that the artists “make . . . deep.” This version comprises multi-lined black, red, and white Xs (group interview, January 20, 2014). Atampugre mentioned zaantulema, but did not explain or identify any examples. 6. Anyelom reported that zaaleŋa was rendered in “two forms: zaale-nyanga and zaalen-daa.” He identified zaale-nyanga as the female version of the design and zaalen-daa as the male version (1990, 33–35, plates 12–14). 7. Smith reported that this motif was common in the Zuarungu area during the 1970s, at the time of his research (1979, 150). Courtney-Clarke included in her 1990 book an image of a wall in Kandiga (a community neighboring Sirigu) featuring a relief figure of a yidaana (head of the household) with his curved walking stick, or dogolongo (1990, 116–17). Anyelom’s 1995 report included a similar pairing of a yidaana and his walking stick, or dogonna (23).

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 8. Gurɛ refers to holding (i.e., to hold on to something); nu’usi refers to arms and hands (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 62, 119). Aguurinu’usi, therefore, refers to holding hands. School here refers to official government or Catholic schools. Anyelom identified this design as agure-nuusi (hand clasp), and listed alternative names such as gure-bogro (hold shoulders), anyoge-nuusi (hand shake), sukul-koma (school children), and ti-kaa-daa (let’s tour the market hand in hand).   9. The term waafɔ was often used in referring to pythons even though it is defined in the Gurenɛ-English Dictionary as a small, harmless snake (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 181–82). 10. Various versions of this basic story are told in multiple communities, including Bongo. 11. The baŋa motif specifically represents the agama lizard. The genus Agama includes at least seventeen species of lizards found in West Africa, including Ghana. “Lizards of the genus Agama Daudin are among the most common reptiles in West Africa. They are abundant everywhere in towns and villages. In rural areas, they are common from some [of] the most arid areas of the Sahelo-Saharian region to the Guinea rainforest” (Mediannikov, Trape, and Trape 2012, 115). 12. Anyelom also wrote that the lizard, which he referred to by the term bandoo, represents a proverb that says, “the lizard needs to hide for the intensification of the red colouration of its head.” He interprets this as “a person needs to run his affairs under confidential cover if he expects to achieve the desired results” (1995, 26). 13. Wall geckos are a group of nocturnal lizards belonging to the Gekkonidae family, which includes about seventy-five genera and hundreds of species. The term kasurega, or wall gecko, likely refers to the species Hemidactylus brookii. This species is common in the savannah zones of West Africa and is considered a household pest (Ekomwereren 2014, 1–5). 14. “Toxic secretions from the skins of some [lizard] species could be harmful to humans.” Specifically, “wall geckos . . . are thought to carry diseases which they may transfer to sleeping humans at night, even though there is no scientific evidence for this” (Gbogbo, Attuquayefio, and Krobea-Asante 2007, 1). 15. Bawa explained that deer were in the area (interview, July 28, 2012). Monica translated “wild bush animal’s knee” as tɔgɔ nadwoona (interview, February 21, 2014). Anyelom included this design, which he called togo-naga (deer’s legs), in his list of Sirigu motifs and explained that it was adopted from the Kassena. He cited this as evidence of the cultural and technological diffusion that has resulted from historical exchange and traditional marriage practices (1995, 50). Courtney-Clarke included a photograph of a round room in Navrongo-Saboro painted with a similar vertical zigzagging pattern, which she also identified as togo-naga, or deer legs (1990, 39). The design in Courtney-Clarke’s photograph is all but identical to that painted on Kaduah’s wall. According to Anyelom, he traveled with Courtney-Clarke as one of her research assistants, which may have played a role in the similarities between the identification of designs in their reports (personal communication, Anaba Anyelom, September 4, 2013). 16. Gyiranini combines the word for lion, gigenɛ, and eyes, nini.

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17. As Job and Oliver explained, lions are no longer common in the area of Asabea Yire. As Job said, “I have never seen a lion here.” Today, lions can only be found “in the bush,” meaning forested areas “not just nearby.” As Oliver put it, “as of now, unless you go to the bush, you can’t see [lions] around” (interview, February 14, 2013). 18. As Rattray and Westermann explained, “the reason why they take away a woman’s kumpio after her death is because her soul is living inside during her life, and when she dies is still living there until they have finished the funeral custom, after which it departs to ‘its going place’” (1932, 167). 19. DeCarbo and Smith reported that there were few weavers living in Navrongo, all of whom were recent immigrants, and four weavers—three Mossi and one Kusasi—in Zuarungu (1977, 99; 1982, 39). 20. Smith, for instance, described this design as consisting of “vertical or sometimes diagonal white stripes divided by broad black lines” (1979, 142). 21. Relating this design specifically to the high cost of cloth, Anyelom wrote, “it is therefore not surprising that women should derive psychological satisfaction through expressing their admiration for these cloths by using them as motifs for mural decoration” (1995, 40–41). 22. Smith, for instance, wrote that saba represented “the widespread triangular amulet that contains a magical substance in the non-Islamic world and a segment of the Koran in Islamic areas,” which may be attached to a smock or war shirt (1979, 144). 23. As Adjei reported, “some of the weapons are adorned with totems and charms. During the dance it is a regular feature to find one clan trying to test the spiritual potency of the other. This can take the form of performers spitting fire, or cutting or piercing themselves with the weapons” (2016, 46). 24. This is my interpretation, based on the similarity of this gesture to a similar motion typically made by women when exclaiming paŋa boi!, “strength is here.”

Chapter 5‌‌

Artistry Today Decline

As has been clear from the earlier discussions, bambɔlse is in many ways declining. I argue that such declines are due to various social, economic, environmental, and cultural factors. This chapter explores how these factors have impacted women’s lives and artistic practices, focusing specifically on bambɔlse. In the next chapter, I explore how women’s artistry has persisted and even resurged in some cases, despite these difficulties. As we have seen in preceding chapters, in the rural communities of the Upper East Region, most houses today are built from balls or bricks of local tɔnɔ (coarse sand). Those who can afford it increasingly turn to cement block construction. Rectangular rooms and metal roofs have all but entirely replaced round rooms with thatched and earthen roofs. Open windows and grass-covered doorways have also largely given way to wooden shutters and doors. Walls are commonly plastered with coal tar and cement and sometimes surfaced with commercial paint. Changes in architectural and artistic practices can be attributed to several factors relating to changes in materials and supplies, lifestyles, circumstances, and preferences. A decline in traditional wall painting practices has accompanied the increased popularity of cement block houses and commercial paint. Children in rural areas are increasingly attending school, going on to higher education, and finding employment outside their communities.1 The area has also faced challenges related to underdevelopment, poverty, and environmental degradation. These factors have limited the availability of money to fund wall painting projects and the artists to complete them.

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CHANGE: MATERIALS AND METHODS Many attribute the decline of traditional architectural embellishment to the introduction of “modern” materials. As Mariama Alhassan explained, “in the olden days, they didn’t have coal tar, so they used traditional materials” like cow dung to make plaster (interview, January 21, 2013). Over time—at least the last several decades—coal tar, cement, and commercial paint have become widely available across the area. Many households have embraced these new materials and have ceased to adorn their walls with painted designs. There are several reasons for this. Households have found the new materials to be quicker and easier. For instance, adding coal tar and cement to plaster eliminates the need for additional primer, paint, and varnish layers; this saves women several steps in the plastering process. As Ayampɔka Nyaaba put it, “the introduction of the coal tar came and spoiled everything. The moment we use the coal tar, it is okay, we are relaxed . . . and when it is raining, we don’t feel panicked that the rain will wash away everything” (interview, January 22, 2013). As Apɛgemɛ Ayameŋa and Baba Nyaaba put it, in the olden days, there “was no other means than the bambɔlse.” Options were limited. Women would plaster the walls with cow dung and decorate them with bambɔlse to make them more attractive. But, they said, “the system has changed . . . bambɔlse is no more valuable, and it is difficult to do.” Ayameŋa and Baba felt that the introduction of coal tar and cement had made things easier (interview, September 12, 2013). Many have found the new materials quicker, easier, and more durable, meaning that walls do not need to be resurfaced as frequently. Selina Nyaaba, for her part, described traditional plastering and painting methods as “time-consuming and difficult for us to take care of it all the time.” She compared this to plastering with coal tar, saying, “you just use the coal tar, and it will be there forever.” Modern women, she said, “now take the coal tar as the quickest and easiest means of plastering” (interview, January 22, 2013). Ayameŋa and Baba said of plastering with traditional materials, “every year, every blessed year, you have to change it, you have to replaster, else it will fall” (interview, September 12, 2013). Their household had found the coal tar plaster more durable, saying it “lasts long, almost ten to fifteen years.” As they put it, “[when] this procedure is easy and lasting, then it is better we use that one” (interview, September 12, 2013). It has also become increasingly difficult to obtain traditional plastering and painting materials. In the past, women gathered their materials from the environment, often traveling long distances to do so. Today, few women have the time for such lengthy excursions. As Ayeyu’urɛ Agurigɔ explained, “in the olden days, sometimes people go to dig [the materials] themselves, but now they don’t get them to dig. They buy them. So if you don’t have the money,



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where are you going to get the money to go buy them?” The kugpeele and kugesabela, she said, are now scarce and difficult to obtain, while the coal tar is available in the market (interview, January 21, 2013). WOMEN AND THE ECONOMY Women’s roles in the economy have shifted over time. In the past, while men officially controlled household resources, women contributed to family income through their artistic production and activities in the market. Traditionally, the yidaana (male head of the household) managed the household’s resources. Millet, the primary staple crop across the area, was grown solely on men’s farms. House owners were responsible for filling their granaries with millet from each year’s harvest and distributing it to the women of their households, who used it to cook their families’ meals throughout the year (Whitehead 1984, 101–04). While millet was considered a communal family resource and was not sold, men and women earned additional income by selling cash crops, such as rice, peanuts, cotton, kenaf, vegetables, and livestock. Women also earned income by selling domestic items, such as baskets and pots, in the market (Whitehead 1984, 102–03). Such income was significant for women, who were typically expected to purchase ingredients for their families’ meals—salt, fat, vegetables, and dried fish powder—using money earned through their market sales (Whitehead 1984, 104). The market, therefore, played a crucial role in women’s successfully fulfilling their roles as mothers, wives, and pɔgemenkesi (honorable women). While lifestyles have changed over time, this traditional division of roles and responsibilities is still standard in the rural communities of northern Ghana. In the market, women are the primary purveyors of foodstuffs, household goods, toiletries, pots, calabashes, and baskets. Men also sell leather items, bows, and quivers. Blacksmiths have stalls selling tools, jewelry (e.g., bracelets and bangles), and knives. At the Sirigu market, women sell products such as rice, cornmeal, spices, balls of dawa dawa (locust bean tree leaves) used for seasoning, dried fish, okra, tomatoes, and garden eggs (a.k.a. African eggplant or Solanum aethiopicum). They display and sell their wares on colorful woven plastic mats, at wooden tables placed to the side of the road, and in a designated market space behind the roadside stalls. Throughout Ghana’s northern regions and extending into Burkina Faso, markets operate on a rotational basis, providing artists with opportunities to sell their products in multiple communities. Every town has its market day, although some markets are larger than others. Markets are not governed by the calendar, but rather occur every three days, rotating among the area’s towns

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in an established sequence. Bolgatanga and Navrongo, for instance, are two of the largest towns in the region, separated by about eighteen miles along the paved Accra-Burkina Faso highway. They are part of a market cycle that moves from Bolgatanga to Navrongo, then continues north to the next town, shifting daily. For instance, if Bolgatanga’s market day falls on a Monday, Navrongo’s market will be on Tuesday, followed by the next town’s market on Wednesday; this will then repeat, with Bolgatanga on Thursday, Navrongo on Friday, and the next town on Saturday. Traders often carry their goods to multiple markets in a week, traveling up to twenty miles each way. They may travel by foot, bicycle, motorbike, or occasionally by car or trotro (bus). This rotating system allows traders and customers to visit multiple markets each week; this is important for women artists because it expands their opportunities to sell baskets, pots, and other goods within and beyond their communities. CHANGING LIFESTYLES: EDUCATION, MIGRATION, AND EMPLOYMENT Over the last several decades, trends in education and employment have impacted women’s lives and artistic practices in various ways. In the past, young girls were primarily educated within their homes, where they learned about local beliefs, traditions, and languages. The women in their households trained them to cook, clean, plaster and paint their walls, mold pots, and weave baskets. Women were not generally taught to read and write. Today, this can be seen in the literacy rates among older generations of women in the rural communities of the Upper East Region. According to recent statistics, only about 1 to 5 percent of women between the ages of sixty and ninety-nine are literate (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, table 7.2). These statistics were borne out in my research. Among the middle-aged and older women I worked with, most spoke little to no English, could not write, and had not received formal education. However, they all spoke one or more Indigenous languages, had received extensive informal training, and were typically skilled in farming, domestic management, and artistic production. Today, younger generations of girls and women in the Upper East Region are increasingly attending school and going on to higher education. As of 2010, approximately 45 percent of the female population in the rural communities of the region had attended or was currently attending school (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 70).2 As of 2021, almost 44 percent of girls and women, ages six years and older, were literate (Ghana Statistical Service 2022, figure 4.4). I observed clear generational differences in literacy and language fluency during my research. Members of the younger generations were much more likely



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to be literate and fluent in both English and one or more local languages, suggesting the impact of formal education in the area’s rural communities. Labor migration—the movement to other areas to seek employment opportunities—has long impacted household dynamics, gender roles, and women’s lives in the rural communities of northern Ghana. Labor migration began as early as the 1920s when the British colonial government turned to the Northern Territories as a labor reserve for agriculture and mining in southern Ghana. This trend increased in the 1970s, when commercial-scale rice production was introduced in the Northern Region (Whitehead 1984, 98). For much of the twentieth century, young men migrated seasonally (and long-term) from north to south, searching for employment opportunities, draining northern Ghana of much-needed human resources. Today, Ghana’s younger generations migrate for a variety of reasons. Many are unwilling to stay in their rural communities and work in the agricultural industry after graduating due to the large pay gap between agricultural jobs and urban, white-collar employment. Many are also attracted to the wealth displayed by friends and family members who return from urban areas to their rural homes. Many young people not only desire but also need the income they seek in urban areas to support their rural families (Anarfi et al. 2003). There are also social motivations for migration. Many young people move from rural to urban areas to free themselves from the expectations and restrictions of traditional family systems; this is especially true for young women (Ghana Statistical Service 2022, 25–28; Kunfaa 1999, 36). National trends toward urbanization have contributed to increased migration—especially among the youth—out of the Upper East Region and into the country’s major population centers. In 2010, the urban population of Ghana rose above the 50 percent mark for the first time. By 2021, the urban population had increased to almost 57 percent (Ghana Statistical Service 2022, figure 1.4). The rise in Ghana’s urban population has come at a cost to rural areas, including the rural communities of northern Ghana. The “2010 Regional Analytical Report” revealed that the Upper East Region had experienced a net loss of 267,692 residents, with 328,990 migrating out and only 61,298 migrating in. In other words, the region was “losing population at a very high rate” (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 103). Movement between rural and urban areas has only been made more accessible over the years with improvements in roads and new forms of transportation. Men’s migration from rural to urban areas impacts women’s lives positively and negatively. A man’s departure from his household typically encumbers the women (and children) who remain with additional farming duties and an increased need to generate income outside the house. Especially in households facing significant poverty and food insecurity, women engage in various supplementary income generation strategies to satisfy the needs of their children

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and aging family members (Takyi, Okoku-Asare, and Anin 2014, 109). At the same time, the absence of the yidaana (male head of the household) can empower the deodaana (senior woman of the household), who often serves as a landlord and takes control of the household in the absence of her husband. Although male headship of households continues to be the norm in many communities, there has been a remarkable increase in female-headed homes. These circumstances can burden and benefit women: increased workload, production, and responsibility can come with economic independence and power (Takyi, Okoku-Asare, and Anin 2014, 103; Tripp 1992, 255). Women are also increasingly engaging in labor migration. Sometimes women migrate with their husbands, traveling to urban areas for varying amounts of time. In other cases, women migrate independently to seek education and employment in urban areas; this is particularly true of young, unmarried women, who have recently benefited from increased social acceptance of female independence and mobility. During the first decades of the twenty-first century, migration rates for girls and women rivaled and, at some points, rose above migration rates among their male counterparts (Latoff et al. 2018, 1183–84). For rural women who leave their homes to seek educational and employment opportunities, migration has come to be “a means to gain (temporary) independence from patriarchal structures at home and create new possibilities of achieving social status” (Ungruhe 2010, 260). Increased migration among women has gone hand in hand with a rise in women’s employment outside the home. In the Upper East Region, as of 2021, approximately 35 percent of women were professionally employed, with occupations such as managers, clerical support, service, and sales workers; this was up from only 17 percent in 2010, indicating an upward trajectory in professional employment for women.3 The majority of women in the Upper East Region, approximately 60 percent, were employed in the agricultural, forestry, fisheries, craft, and trade sectors as of 2021. In addition to agricultural activities, women often engaged in income-generating activities outside the home, such as petty trading—selling agricultural goods and imported products in small quantities—dressing hair, processing shea, cooking food, breaking stones, and fetching water for sale. In the past, women’s labor was primarily focused on the domestic realm, but this has shifted over time (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, table 7.13; 2022, table 5.7; Takyi, Okoku-Asare, and Anin 2014, 109). While trends in education, literacy, migration, and employment are in many ways positive for the female population of Ghana’s Upper East Region, they have also contributed to the decline of traditional artistry, especially bambɔlse. For instance, as young girls increasingly leave home to attend school, they cannot receive such training from their mothers. For example, Ayeyu’urɛ Agurigɔ’s children had all gone to school and had therefore not



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been in the house to learn about bambɔlse. As she put it, “none of my children are in the house . . . [so] how will they know how to do it? Everyone is in school” (interview, January 21, 2013). Changes in women’s employment have also increasingly taken them out of their households and limited the time they can spend in the home. For many women, the demands of modern life leave little time for traditional domestic duties, including artistry. As Asaadarɛ Nyaaba and Ayampɔka Nyaaba put it, “the nature of bambɔlse, it is not just easy to make.” It is hard work. “When you go and ask people to help you, they want speedy work, and the bambɔlse takes time.” People no longer want to spend the extra time it takes to plaster and paint using Indigenous materials. They are busy, “you cannot ask them to come and do the bambɔlse when they are in a hurry to go and do things” (interview, September 9, 2013). Women’s increased participation in labor migration has likewise impacted their engagement with artistry. Whether traveling with their husbands or independently, migration takes women away from their rural homes, often for extended periods. Traveling between rural and urban homes makes many women feel rootless and unstable, discouraging them from maintaining and embellishing their rural homes; this was true for a young woman named Alice Aeŋepaɛ, a member of the Aeŋepaɛ household in Sirigu. Alice had been born in Buŋɔ and recalled the women in her natal home painting their walls; however, she moved to Bolgatanga as a child and grew up in a house where the women did not paint. She had, therefore, not learned to do wall paintings during her youth. After marrying and moving to Aeŋepaɛ Yire in Sirigu, Alice began learning about bambɔlse from the women in her husband’s household. Her artistic education was interrupted when she moved to Accra with her husband. Alice moved back to Sirigu after staying in Accra for eight years but had not continued her training since her return. She explained, “when I came, and the room was built for me, I requested that they do [bambɔlse] on the wall, but after that is done, I left for a long time. So I want to learn, but I am not just stable” (interview, October 1, 2013). At Apila Yire in Zuarungu-Moshi, Akurigo Apelebire had a similar story. She had watched her mothers paint the walls during her youth. After marrying, she had continued to learn about bambɔlse from the women in her husband’s household, but she had not yet painted the walls of her room. The house’s walls featured only faint traces of the bambɔlse designs that were once painted on the walls. The lack of bambɔlse on Akurigo’s walls—and in the house as a whole—was attributed at least partly to the household’s instability. Akurigo’s husband and children had traveled to Accra, leaving her alone in her room. The landlord, Atibila Apila, explained that too many members of the household were “not stable, they are not in the house. If they were to stay here and build

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their rooms, they would put the bambɔlse there. But they are not here—they keep coming and going” (interview, September 11, 2013). For both Alice Aeŋepaɛ and Akurigo Apelebire—and others like them—migration resulted in feelings of instability, which interrupted artistic training and production. Economic and environmental challenges have also contributed to changes in lives and traditions over the last several decades. Despite their activities in local markets and recent gains in education and employment, many women in rural northern Ghana face significant financial challenges. According to a 2012 UN report, the Upper East is one of the two regions in Ghana most impacted by extreme poverty. By 2006, the incidence of poverty in the region had reached seventy percent, with sixty-four percent experiencing extreme poverty (UN Food and Agriculture Organization 2012, 6, 16). Historical underdevelopment has left the area with limited industry, insufficient infrastructure, and a shortage of adequately paying jobs. The impact of these circumstances can be seen in the financial struggles of individual households. Such problems are exacerbated by changing weather patterns, increasing incidences of drought, and declining crop yields. Deforestation is a contributing factor. Over the last several decades, a significant portion of the forest area has been converted for agricultural use. Trees are also harvested for daily use, construction, and artistic production. Both pottery production and basket-weaving, for instance, involve the collection of firewood. And it seems clear that deforestation is a critical factor in climate change (Derbile 2010, 14–16). Inconsistent rainfall impacts crop yields and household economies and hinders efforts to continue Indigenous artistic and architectural traditions. For example, irregular rainfall has led to the declining availability of local grasses, forcing basket weavers to purchase their materials from the market. Most households have switched from thatched roofs and grass doors to metal roofs and wooden doors, perhaps due to a desire for increased durability and shifts in the availability of grasses. Traditional architectural processes, including building, plastering, and painting, require large amounts of water. Water shortages, therefore, encourage households to adopt alternative methods and modes of construction and architectural adornment. These examples offer a glimpse into the various economic and environmental factors contributing to changes in architectural and artistic practices. CHANGE: TASTE AND PREFERENCE Increased movement between rural and urban areas has resulted in a declining appreciation for traditional architecture and arts among people—especially the youth—in the Upper East Region. The modern architectural styles of



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urban centers have long been associated with wealth and prestige, and such associations have been enhanced by increasingly frequent travel to cities. Over time, more rural families have abandoned traditional architectural and artistic materials, methods, products, and styles in favor of modern-style cement-block homes painted with commercial oils and furnished with store-bought items. In many rural households, women plaster the walls with coal tar and cement but no longer paint them with designs; those who can afford the cost hire outside help to build and surface the walls. Trends toward modern materials and architectural styles often reflect generational shifts in household control; this could be seen, for instance, at Awaho Yire. Awabire Awaho (Bozin), as the yidaana (male head of the household), chose to surface the walls with commercial paint rather than having them painted with bambɔlse designs. In former times, Bozin explained, “the bambɔlse . . . was meant to beautify the area . . . [but now] I . . . prefer this paint rather than the bambɔlse, so that is why I used this paint, something that will also look nice and attractive.” Bozin felt that bambɔlse designs were appropriate only for compounds built in the Indigenous style, while commercial paint was most appropriate for cement block houses. As he put it, “bambɔlse was meant to attract people and to beautify the area, and I also feel that [commercial paint] can make the area beautiful and attractive” (interview, January 28, 2013). His decision to surface the walls of Awaho Yire with commercial paint was not due to a lack of interest in beautifying the compound space. For Bozin, it was a matter of choosing the embellishment style that he felt was best suited to the modern style of architecture he preferred. Many households have shifted away from the traditional and toward the modern materials and methods for fear of being seen as “old fashioned”; this reflects broader social trends and pressures. As Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba (Joe) explained, many see traditional architecture and embellishment “to be primitive.” Older men and women might still have designs in their rooms, but “we, the upcoming ones see those things to be not modern.” For instance, when Joe’s mother, Asaadarɛ Nyaaba, told him that she wanted to paint the walls of their section with bambɔlse designs, he refused her. If she were to paint the walls with bambɔlse, he explained, “my colleagues [would] hoot at me . . . I prefer the [commercial] paint.” He then bought emulsion and oil paints to cover his walls (interview, January 21, 2013). Rose Yaaro told a similar story. In her earlier years, Rose had worked as a small-scale trader, selling foodstuffs. She had painted the walls of the room in which she prepared and sold her products with bambɔlse designs. Over time, the paintings faded, the room was repurposed, and the walls were replastered with coal tar. When her son took over the room, he surfaced the walls with commercial paint, saying, “people are no more interested in bambɔlse” (interview, January 22, 2013).

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Many elderly artists felt that the decline in bambɔlse could be attributed to general changes in materials and preferences and to the specific attitudes and preferences of younger women. Azuurɛma Anontebesum, for instance, recalled, “we used to go far away and fetch [materials].” She would “get up early dawn and go to . . . a mountain over there. . . . By the time you come [back], it will be [late morning].” Women today, she said, “will not go there and come early.” They “are not interested in doing that hard, tedious work.” Instead, “when the wall is built, they say ‘go and buy cement, go and buy coal tar,’ so that is why [bambɔlse] is dying off” (interview, February 12, 2013). Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, for her part, believed the younger generation of women to be both lazy and demanding. She recalled her younger days, when “our husbands built [a room] . . . it was left to the woman to see that it was plastered, so we did it voluntarily, asking colleagues to come and help and the next day, the other person too would call, and we would go and help her.” Today’s young women, she said, “are just relaxed and don’t do anything” (interview, January 21, 2013). Many young wives “feel it is the duty of the man to do all those things.” In such cases, the yidaana will typically “get the masons to do everything,” meaning that they will surface the walls with modern materials (interview, January 21, 2013). According to Asadaarɛ, those young wives who still plaster the walls of their compounds are also more demanding than was typical in the past. She recalled that in her earlier years, she would tell her husband that she was going to plaster a room, and he would give her the millet she would need to make tuo zafi—the traditional fare offered to women during their work. Today’s young wives, she said, are no longer satisfied with tuo zafi. They demand food and drink such as rice, pito (local beer), akpeteshie (local gin), kola nuts, and tobacco, raising the cost of labor. Nothing will be done if a man cannot afford to supply these things (interview, January 21, 2013). Similar sentiments were shared by many of the other women with whom I spoke, suggesting a shared perspective among the older women in rural northern Ghana today. Changing materials, methods, preferences, and expectations comes with higher costs and financial hardships for some households. Many families feel pressured to adopt modern materials and techniques, regardless of their financial capacity. For instance, approximately three to four bags of cement are needed to plaster a large room. At the cost of twenty-three Ghanaian cedis per bag, such a project would cost sixty-nine to ninety-two cedis in total, the equivalent of about thirty-two to forty-two US dollars.4 This is a large amount of money for many of the families in the area. As Baba Nyaaba put it, “it is not everybody who can afford to buy cement and coal tar” (interview, September 12, 2013). Such pressures lead many who cannot afford modern materials to “strain their stomachs,” giving up other necessities to purchase coal tar and cement (interview, September 12, 2013). They “force themselves



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to buy [the modern materials] because they think if they . . . use the cow dung, it will be a mockery to them” (interview, September 12, 2013). Hiring outside help for building and surfacing walls also comes with an additional cost. Many households feel pressured to “imitate others, especially those who are well-to-do.” Young wives, for instance, might see other women’s husbands hiring outside help and expect their husbands to do the same, “forgetting that people are not equal.” As Asadaarɛ Nyaaba put it, “the other man has got something [money] to do it, and he has done it; your husband hasn’t got anything, and you want your husband to do it” (interview, January 21, 2013). Even for those who still prefer traditional plastering and painting methods, the associated costs—materials, labor, refreshments—are not always affordable; this could be seen, for instance, at Ayɛyu’urɛ Agurigɔ’s house. Here, the only remaining bambɔlse was on the interior walls of a small room. The remaining walls of the compound had not been painted due to limitations in both physical and financial capacity. Although Ayɛyu’urɛ’s husband loved bambɔlse, he could not afford to pay for the required materials and refreshments. Ayɛyu’urɛ explained, “it is not just one person’s activity. You alone cannot do it. And if you invite people, you have to feed them and give them drinks. Even if it is just you alone, you cannot just work all day without taking food.” The financial strength, she said, was not there. “That is why I have not yet done it” (interview, January 21, 2013). Such circumstances result in a loss of employment for elderly artists. As Ayampɔka Nyaaba said, “if people still patronized [bambɔlse],” she said “we would still do it. I would also take it as my duty and would also earn something” (interview, January 22, 2013). By this she likely meant the food and drink that she would receive while working. As the younger generation takes over, the older generation is losing their strength and ability to keep bambɔlse alive. As Asadaarɛ Nyaaba put it, “those who were interested in these bambɔlse are no more there. . . . And those of them who are still alive are not strong enough” (interview, January 21, 2013). Ayampɔka Nyaaba likewise said, “people are no longer interested in [bambɔlse], and those who are [still] interested are aged, they are not strong enough” to do it. Although she and her colleagues had demonstrated at Wegunaba Yire that they retained sufficient strength to complete a plastering and painting project, she was likely referring more generally to their physical and financial capacities (see chapter 3). The youth “will not do it, so it is dying off slowly” (interview, January 22, 2013). As Azuurɛma Anontebesum put it, “the youth are now dominating,” and they have turned away from bambɔlse in favor of cement, coal tar, and commercial paint. Architectural embellishment, she explained, is a matter of personal choice, so “if they build a room for me . . . I can decide to make [bambɔlse].” Although she might

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still choose to paint bambɔlse in her room, the youth are “making people no longer patronize it” (interview, February 12, 2013). As Azo’uue Awaho put it, “it is the youth that now controls these things, and they prefer the new materials. The old women are not strong enough to force the youth to patronize the bambɔlse; the youth are in charge” (interview, February 5, 2013). Abugerɛ Ayɛba’asɛ likewise said of her household, “the children don’t want [bambɔlse].” Over time, older portions of her home had been demolished and replaced by newer structures, the walls of which were surfaced with coal tar and cement. “We like this kind of painting,” she said, “and we sometimes even invite a mason to come and do the plastering.” Accepting this change, she concluded: “as we invite the mason to come and do the plastering, should we get up and scratch it off and do the bambɔlse? No, we can’t do it” (February 12, 2013). Selina Nyaaba said, “the youth today prefer the [commercial] paint.” Even if you “waste your time” doing the bambɔlse, “after doing it the youth will come with their paint, so it means you haven’t done anything. You have wasted your time and energy.” Not having the energy to go against their will, elderly artists have come to “tow in line” with their children. As she put it, “we just take it as an opportunity to relax and live and allow the youth to go with their modern style of plastering” (interview, January 22, 2013). TRADITION AND CHANGE: PERSPECTIVES Attitudes toward the decline of bambɔlse varied among elderly women artists. Some accepted, embraced, or were unconcerned with shifts in materials, methods, and preferences. Mariama Alhassan, for her part, had come to see the traditional methods of plastering and painting as “inferior and tedious . . . because everyone can just go in for the coal tar and do it” (interview, January 21, 2013). Rose Yaaro went so far as to doubt that bambɔlse was an essential element of traditional culture. The purpose of bambɔlse, she said, had once been to “beautify the wall and to attract people.” But “nowadays,” she said, “people are lazy. They don’t want to do [bambɔlse].” They only buy coal tar and plaster. If bambɔlse was indeed part of the Indigenous culture, she said, “we would not have abandoned it” (January 22, 2013). As Azo’uue Awaho put it, bambɔlse “was our Indigenous culture, but the White man introduced new materials, so we have thrown away the Indigenous culture because the new ways are cheaper and easier for us” (interview, February 5, 2013). Grace Anaba, for her part, felt that “all the types of paints—modern and traditional—are . . . good. The youth now prefer the modern types, but they all beautify the place.” She used to have bambɔlse in her room, but her family



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was building a new house. They planned to plaster the new building with coal tar and she did not intend to paint its walls with bambɔlse (interview, February 5, 2013). Be’endiŋeya Adugebiire likewise embraced the replacement of bambɔlse with commercial paint. She said, “the new types of paint are nice, just like the old designs. My mothers . . . used the bambɔlse to make their houses look nice, but now we have the emulsion paint.” Along with the other members of her household, she had come to appreciate this new type of paint and to see bambɔlse as inferior; but she still felt it was “nice for a woman to put bambɔlse in her room.” Although she was no longer “strong enough to do the bambɔlse,” she said, “I still admire it” (interview, February 5, 2013). While some elderly artists accepted the decline of bambɔlse, many still expressed ongoing appreciation for this tradition. Ayampɔka Nyaaba, for instance, continued to value bambɔlse as part of her culture. She said, “once it has been adopted . . . it is part of our traditional culture” (interview, January 22, 2013). Rose Yaaro, for her part, wished she could paint her room with bambɔlse designs. “When I have my own room,” she said, “then I will design it there so that people [can] come and say . . . ‘ah, there is someone here too who knows how to do it’” (interview, January 22, 2013). Azo’uue Awaho described bambɔlse as “an ancient type of plastering” that, in the olden days, women “were doing . . . to make our walls beautiful and [to] attract people.” She said if there were still bambɔlse in her house, “you would look around and admire it” (interview, February 5, 2013). Some elderly artists expressed mixed feelings of resignation and nostalgia when reflecting on generational change and artistic decline. Abugerɛ Ayɛba’asɛ wished she could still do bambɔlse. “If they built a room for me,” she said, “I would go in and make the bambɔlse . . . but something that does not belong to me, I cannot do it.” She and her elderly colleagues, she explained, “prefer the bambɔlse, but we are not many, so how can we do [it]?” If it is “our rooms, we can still do it; we will not just throw away the traditional culture.” She believed it would be good if people still patronized the bambɔlse. Still, she did not hold out hope that she and her colleagues could “compel the youth to develop [an] interest in it” (interview, February 12, 2013). As Azuurɛma Anontebesum put it, “the youth are now dominating, and the aged are dying off.” And “as time goes on, if we all die, then no one will be doing it anymore. Because . . . the youth are not learning it.” Even so, she said, “as we are still alive . . . it is good for us to do [bambɔlse] because it’s part of our culture” (interview, February 5, 2013). Some elderly artists held out hope that the younger generation would come to appreciate bambɔlse if they were given a chance. Ayɛyu’urɛ Agurigɔ, for her part, felt that if she and her colleagues were able to paint and the young people “saw that it’s good, they would like it” (interview, January 21, 2013).

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And their hopes were not entirely unfounded. Appreciation and nostalgia could still be found in households where modern materials and methods had replaced traditional artistry. Alebezi’ire Awabire and Atampɔgebire Akolgo, the two young wives at Awaho Yire, both expressed appreciation for bambɔlse. Although Abelezi’ire had not learned to plaster and paint as a child, after moving to Zuarungu-Moshi, she “saw people doing it and also learned to do it.” She said of bambɔlse, “when those designs have been put into your room, anyone who comes in will admire . . . so it’s very nice.” Her husband had chosen to surface the walls of their rooms with commercial paint, but if it had been up to her, she said, “I would have preferred the bambɔlse” (interview, September 4, 2013). Atampɔgebire had seen her grandmother doing the paintings as a child, but she had not taken an interest in it. After moving to her husband’s household in Zuarungu-Moshi, she had seen women in the area plastering and painting their walls and had become “serious in learning it.” She had gained an appreciation for this traditional art form and hoped to one day teach her children how to do it (interview, September 4, 2013). At Wegunaba Yire, Ayameŋa Agambire, Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba (Joe), and Baba Nyaaba had turned away from bambɔlse in their own home, but they still expressed appreciation for this traditional art form. Ayameŋa, the yidaana (male head of the household), spoke of bambɔlse with nostalgia and pride, saying, “this is the Indigenous culture.” In the olden days, he explained, women plastered and painted the walls of their homes “to make [them] beautiful and to attract people. . . . And those who were able to do it perfectly, then they called those women pogemenkesi.” Bambɔlse, he said, “is very very good. Especially when there is a visitor, and we send him into that room, and it looks attractive and very beautiful. It entertains him” (interview, September 12, 2013). Joe recalled his mothers decorating their walls with bambɔlse when he was a child. They had painted designs, he said, that recalled “what their forefathers were doing, the things they were using, how they were living their lives. To me, I think the bambɔlse is very very nice. It tells us the history of our great grandfathers. . . . To me, it’s good.” The men of Wegunaba Yire lamented the decline of bambɔlse, blaming the influence of Western culture, the introduction of modern materials, and changes in taste among the youth. As Baba put it, “cement and coal tar have taken over.” If “I had the power,” Joe said, “I would advise that we should go back . . . and pick our culture back . . . live like our great grandfathers were living.” But, he said, “we are losing our culture” (interview, September 4, 2013).



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CONCLUSION The preceding discussion has illustrated some of the social, economic, environmental, and cultural factors contributing to changes in architecture and artistry among the rural communities of northeastern Ghana. The emphasis has been on decline. Accounts from various individuals, including men and women from older and younger generations, have demonstrated the array of attitudes toward and perspectives on changes to and declines in architectural and artistic traditions. Some embraced, accepted, or were unconcerned with shifts in materials and methods, many expressed ongoing appreciation and nostalgia for traditional artistry, and some held mixed feelings. And some were hopeful about the future of traditional artistry. The next chapter speaks to the hopes of this final group with a discussion of artistic preservation and revitalization. NOTES 1. The 2021 census reported that 57 percent of women in the Upper East Region attended school or had previously attended. This reveals an increase from the 2010 census, which reported only 48.1 percent (Ghana Statistical Service 2022, table 5.1; 2013, tables 7.7 and 7.9). 2. In this context, school attendance is defined as “regular attendance at an education institution or programme for organised learning.” Literacy is defined as “the ability to read and write with understanding in any language” (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, 22). 3. In 2010, 79 percent of women in the Upper East Region were employed in the agriculture, forestry, fisheries, craft, and trade sectors, while 21 percent of women were employed in professional occupations (Ghana Statistical Service 2013, table 7.13). 4. This dollar amount is based on the exchange rate of 0.46136 GHS (Ghanaian cedis) to US dollars on September 12, 2013.

Chapter 6‌‌

Artistry Today Adaptation and Resurgence

Despite the many factors that have eroded artistic traditions over the past decades, bambɔlse persists and, in some places, has even resurged. Given the many challenges female artists face in continuing their artistic practices, this is, in some ways, surprising. I argue here that this resurgence is due to a combination of factors, including cultural tourism and economic development projects, as well as women’s agency and commitment to continuing artistic practices that they value. CULTURAL TOURISM Significant efforts have also been made to address poverty in the Upper East Region through tourism. Tourism is an important industry in Ghana. In 2019, over a million tourists visited Ghana, rising to 1,130,307 from 932,579 in 2016. These tourists came from countries around the world, including the United States, Nigeria, the United Kingdom, China, Germany, South Africa, the Netherlands, Canada, France, and Côte d’Ivoire (Ghana Tourism Authority 2019, figure 2.0). Ghana has worked to build its tourism industry and, as part of this, has developed a number of cultural and historical ecotourism sites aimed at generating income and preserving heritage. Ecotourism, naturebased or educational tourism designed to promote ecological, socio-cultural, and economic sustainability, has been particularly highlighted as a strategy for promoting development while stemming the tide of rural poverty (Ghana Statistical Service 2017; Manu and Kuuder 2012, 97–98; Weaver and Lawton 2007, 1170). Cultural tourism has been significant for the craft industry, as cultural tourism sites highlight traditional culture, including the arts, as their core attraction. Cultural tourism sites aim to develop impoverished communities by generating new jobs and, typically, by financing infrastructure in the 167

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surrounding areas (Sampson 2007). The rise of cultural tourism has led to the expansion of markets and an increase in income-generating opportunities for artists in northeastern Ghana. In recent decades, the Ghana Tourism Authority, Ghanaian tourism companies, local and international non-governmental organizations (NGOs), and micro-finance institutions have joined in developing multiple cultural tourism sites in the Upper East Region to attract tourists interested in experiencing authentic traditional cultures. For instance, companies such as the Ghana-based company Jolinaiko Eco Tours offer tours to remote communities where they are invited to experience a “rustic” lifestyle with no running water or electricity, relaxing and enjoying the beautiful scenery without all the conveniences considered indispensable in the visitor’s home country. For instance, the community of Karimenga was developed as an ecotourism site in partnership with the Dutch organization Meet Africa. Guests are invited to stay in the centrally located guesthouse, the Green House, where they can experience the local way of living. Appealing to tourists’ desire for an authentic experience, the small round earthen guestrooms and large circular central meeting area, all covered with grass roofs, mimic the design of a traditional compound.1 As with Fair Trade craft products, promotional materials for such ventures emphasize authenticity and community empowerment, promising “an experience that is genuine and brings people from different worlds together,” while also benefiting rural communities (MARVEL 2007). Cultural tourism has been a significant factor in artistic resurgence. The Upper East Region’s most successful cultural tourism site is the Sirigu Women’s Organisation of Pottery and Art (SWOPA), where trends in development, tourism, craft production, and women’s empowerment converge in the locally created and controlled organization. SWOPA’s website invites tourists to “experience the silence of the night, the moon and stars unaffected by artificial lights, and listen to the wakening calls of the birds and the women fetching water.” (SWOPA n.d.). Sirigu is a remote community located about ten miles off the main highway down a partially paved road, and transportation is often challenging. Despite this, SWOPA receives a steady stream of visitors from all over the world. Upon arrival, visitors are welcomed by vibrant paintings covering the SWOPA compound’s walls. Once inside, tourists can learn more about these paintings by reading the organization’s booklet, entitled “Wall to Wall,” which can be purchased in the gift shop. Many come only for the day, visiting the art gallery, participating in workshops, taking tours, and tasting the local food. Some stay overnight at the organization’s guesthouse. Women in Sirigu founded SWOPA to improve their financial circumstances by reviving and leveraging their traditional arts as a source of income (SWOPA n.d.). SWOPA has particularly focused on local women’s social



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and economic empowerment, giving them a collective voice and greater societal power. The key player in this story is Melanie Kasise, who was born in Sirigu in the 1940s. Her mother paid her school fees with the money she earned from making pottery, starting Kasise on the path to becoming the first woman in the community to receive higher education. After studying education in Ghana and Israel, she pursued a career in education and politics (interview, August 2, 2012). Among other accomplishments, Kasise was the first manager of the Catholic Education Unit in the Upper East Region and the first female Presiding Member of the Kassena-Nankana District Assembly (Akapule 2016). Throughout her career and after retirement, she established herself as a prominent figure and powerful culture broker in the Upper East Region and beyond. Growing up, Kasise appreciated the beauty of her mothers’ wall paintings. Over the decades, she noticed an increase in the popularity of cement block houses painted with commercial pigments and an accompanying decline in traditional wall painting practices. At the same time, she saw the women of Sirigu struggling financially due to the factors mentioned earlier—environmental degradation, decreased crop yields, and labor migration—as well as patriarchal power structures. After her retirement at sixty, Kasise dedicated herself to supporting the women of Sirigu by forming SWOPA, an organization through which they could generate income from their artistic traditions. During the organization’s early years, Kasise served as its director. The position has since changed hands twice and is now held by Bridget Kasise, Melanie Kasise’s niece. Kasise has described the organization as “providing a rare and unique opportunity for women to come together to share problems, strengthen social ties, and solidly modify power in the family” (Jalulah 2007). Members of SWOPA work together to preserve and develop their artistic skills. At SWOPA, traditional arts—including bambɔlse, pottery, and basketry—are highlighted as tourist attractions. The SWOPA compound stands along the road to Sirigu at the entrance to the community. The compound walls are entirely covered with vibrant red, black, and white bambɔlse compositions that include geometric motifs, human and animal figures, and narrative and anecdotal scenes. Some paintings depict SWOPA artists and their activities—women molding pots, painting canvases, and bringing baskets to sell, and visitors arriving and departing with products purchased in the gallery—effectively serving as advertisements for visitors. The compound’s outer walls enclose a small visitors’ gazebo, administrative offices, an art gallery, a workshop, a kitchen, a dining area, and a guesthouse. The large dormitory has a flat roof where guests can dine or sleep during the hot season (see figure 4.2). Most buildings are roofed with exposed metal, while some are covered with grass, giving them the appearance of authenticity while reducing the need for repairs. The compound’s buildings are wired with electricity and equipped

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with ceiling fans and lights. The overall design combines elements of traditional architecture and artistry with modern convenience, appealing to visitors’ desire for authenticity and comfort. Visitors to SWOPA are encouraged to learn about local artistry through pottery-making, basket-weaving, and canvas painting workshops and to experience the community through Home Tours. For a small fee, visitors are led on a walk-through town by a SWOPA tour guide, who takes them to a selection of houses and other buildings, particularly highlighting those with painted walls, while telling them about local culture and artistry. Thanks in large part to the efforts by SWOPA and its members to continue local traditions of architectural embellishment, Sirigu features more painted buildings than any other community in the Upper East Region. SWOPA has done much to preserve traditional artistry and support local artists (Manu and Kuuder 2012, 8). The organization, for instance, provides its members with a consistent market for their products. In the past, artists relied solely on customers’ fluctuating demands at local and regional markets; now, they can sell their products to SWOPA for a set price, which provides them with a more stable source of supplementary income and encourages continued production. Abisibɔba Nyaaba, for instance, felt that SWOPA was benefiting her as an artist. “As I am doing this pottery work, she explained, “when I am finished, I can send it [to SWOPA], and they will buy it in bulk.” She preferred this to the uncertainty of selling her pottery at the market (interview, March 14, 2013). Organization members also report social benefits. As one member shared, “it helps me a lot. I can earn some money for the whole family. I also put some on a bank account.” Many reported that their work had earned them greater respect not only from the community in general but within their households and specifically from their husbands. One woman said, “a lot of people respect me because I am an artist” (Haverkort 2005, 19).2 SWOPA has been widely recognized by the tourism industry, media, and local and international communities for its contribution to ecotourism, development, artistic revival, and women’s empowerment. The Ghanaian Chronicle, for instance, celebrated SWOPA as having “revived a tradition of wall painting, pottery and basket weaving that had existed in Northern Ghana for hundreds of years” (Boateng 2006). In Sirigu, interest and admiration from outside audiences have long encouraged households to continue embellishing their walls with bambɔlse; this was true, for instance, at Atoeyu’urɛ Yire, where the landlord, Atanga, recalled, “I was a child when the White men started coming here to observe these paintings and take pictures when my mothers were doing it.” This experience encouraged his ongoing attitude toward bambɔlse. He continued to sponsor paintings in his compound, supporting with money for supplies, food, and drink whenever the women in his



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household wanted to paint their walls. As he put it: “if you have the money and you know what is good, then it is better that you do the bambɔlse” (interview, October 3, 2013). In the last several decades, SWOPA has played a critical role in encouraging and supporting the continuation of traditional artistry. As Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ, one of SWOPA’s founding artists and an active member, explained, she and her colleagues created the organization because bambɔlse “is part of our culture and we don’t want our culture to die . . . [so] we established SWOPA to keep our culture alive” (interview, March 14, 2013). For instance, the organization supports local painting efforts by contributing labor and materials such as coal tar and pigments. As Apuntuguna Aberinga reported, “SWOPA gives us coal tar and . . . materials like the gare.” While coal tar is only given to members, she said, “even if you are not a member of SWOPA and you request for [gare], they give it to you” (interview, October 11, 2013). The organization also guides its members by sharing strategies for embellishing their walls to attract onlookers. Apuntuguna, for instance, had learned from SWOPA which bambɔlse designs that, when placed on outer walls, “look very bright, beautiful, and [attractive to] people” (interview, October 11, 2013). Unlike in communities where changes in materials have led to a decline in traditional artistry, Sirigu artists have integrated traditional and modern materials and methods. In the olden days, Abisibɔba Nyaaba said, women used the bole and cow dung to plaster, but “that one it doesn’t last. When you do it, then the next year it means you have to do it again.” Since the introduction of cement and coal tar, she explained, “we have abandoned the cow dung.” In Sirigu, she said, they now use coal tar or cement to plaster, then use Indigenous materials to make the designs (interview, March 14, 2013). Similarly, Asokipala Aberiŋa explained that “in the olden days they used the cow dung and the zigmɔrligo [reddish-brown pigment] and the kugpeele [white pigment] to do [bambɔlse].” But “when you use the local materials to put up the designs, it doesn’t last long.” That is why, she said, “we have now modernized it by using the [acrylic] paint [to] . . . make the [bambɔlse] last long.” She saw this as a “bit of a deviation from the culture,” but said, “modernization has taken over, so we have to accept it” (interview, September 25, 2013). At Akundiilɛ Yire, most of the walls were painted with designs, some rendered with Indigenous materials and some with commercial paint. As with other households, SWOPA supported plastering and painting projects at Akundiilɛ Yire by providing coal tar and pigments. The family purchased the remaining materials, including the commercial paint (interview, Apuntuguna Aberinga, October 11, 2013). Perhaps the most striking room in the house was a denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) that stood in a courtyard at

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the center of the compound. This large, multi-lobed room had belonged to Atingeson, the late wife of the deceased landlord. Apuntuguna, Faustina, Aniah, Atampugre, and their colleagues from SWOPA had painted the denya’aŋa about one year earlier, after Atingeson’s death. As Apuntuguna explained, “we wanted to make the wall look beautiful because people would be coming for the funeral” (interview, Apuntuguna Aberinga, October 11, 2013). They coated the denya’aŋa walls with coal tar plaster, then rendered the designs using acrylic paint. They chose to use commercial paint rather than Indigenous materials for practical and aesthetic reasons. As Apuntuguna explained, “we were in a hurry.” They did not have time to complete the lengthy processes of using Indigenous materials, such as scratching off the old designs and preparing the pigments. With the acrylic paint, she said, “you can just take the brush and start.” They had also opted to use acrylic paint because they knew it would make the old, faded walls of the denya’aŋa look “bright and shiny” (interview, October 11, 2013). Those who live in houses included in the organization’s Home Tours— including Akayu’urɛ Yire, Adopa-Duŋɔ Yire, and Aburipoore Yire—are especially incentivized to paint their walls. The painted walls of these three compounds, all located across the road from the SWOPA compound, are key points of attraction on the SWOPA Home Tour. For a small fee, visitors are led through these three houses while tour guides explain the significance of the designs painted on the walls. Attitudes about SWOPA varied among those included in the itinerary of the Home Tours. For Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ, attention from tourists was a source of pride. The walls of Akayu’urɛ Yire were adorned with paintings, although some had faded over time. Over the years, even before the founding of SWOPA, the bambɔlse on the compound’s walls had attracted the attention of tourists. The painted denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room) at Akayu’urɛ Yire was even featured on the cover of the 2007 Bradt Travel Guide for Ghana (Briggs 2007). According to Ayampɔka, the household had agreed to be included on the Home Tour because “a house without visitors is regarded as a bad house.” Even in the rainy season, she said, when the “compound is not all that nice, they still . . . visit us, so it makes us happy that ours is one of the houses that is involved.” Admiration from visitors, she believed, “makes the community and the people of Sirigu popular and praised.” Ayampɔka was unaware of the household receiving compensation for their part in the tours, but she felt “happy and proud that we have some visitors because it gives a name to the house” (interview, March 14, 2013). At Adopa-Duŋɔ Yire, Abisibɔba Nyaaba credited SWOPA with enabling her household to paint the compound walls by supplying her family with materials and assistance. Specifically, the organization provided them with coal tar for plastering, assisted them in grinding pigments, and may have



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even contributed some food for the artists. “If it had been our own strength,” she said, “we wouldn’t have plastered all round. We would have been able to plaster . . . only one or two [walls]” (interview, March 14, 2013). The result was that many of the rooms in the compound had been adorned with vibrant red, black, and white designs; this included a large, prominent wall along the side of the house that visitors could be seen from a distance as they approached. As with Ayampɔka, Abisibɔba was unaware of any monetary compensation from SWOPA for the household’s involvement with the Home Tours. Such financial transactions, she explained, were handled by the yidaana (male head of the household). She said, “whatever is given to him—be it one cedi, two cedis—I don’t know [about it]. . . . I am not the right person to have a fair knowledge about this, [so] I cannot say much about it.” This example reflects the traditional division of responsibilities within the household. While the yidaana was the primary point of contact for financial transactions with SWOPA, Abisibɔba was fully aware of the organization’s support related to her household duties (interview, March 14, 2013). Abisibɔba could also speak with authority about her personal experience of the Home Tours. She said of her encounters with tourists in her home, “they don’t say anything to us. They only go around and take pictures, after which they [leave].” In a culture that places considerable importance on proper greetings to acknowledge and show respect, Abisibɔba’s account of tourists’ behavior can be understood as a subtle indictment. However, while she seemed ambivalent about her household’s involvement in the Home Tours, Abisibɔba felt that, overall, SWOPA was helping to support local artists and preserve Sirigu’s cultural traditions (interview, March 14, 2013). The walls of Aubipoore Yire were covered with vibrant wall paintings. As with Adopa-Duŋɔ Yire, wall painting efforts at Abuipoore Yire were supported by SWOPA. For the painting project that took place during my visit, the organization contributed by helping to obtain and prepare pigments such as gare, kugesabela, and kugpeele. Despite this support, the attitude of Apoore—the Aburipoore Yire yidaana (male head of the household)—was not entirely favorable toward SWOPA and the Home Tours. Apoore felt that the organization did not adequately compensate the family for their involvement in these tours. As the yidaana, Apoore was the primary point of contact for financial transactions with SWOPA, giving him direct knowledge of the compensation received from the organization. As he put it, the amount given to the household by SWOPA was “not fair, not enough to really help us.” And, as with Abisibɔba, Apoore did not seem to appreciate the behavior of tourists visiting his home. He said visitors “never greet properly when they come for tours. They just come to the house and start taking pictures” (interview, March 11, 2013).

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Apoore felt that, in general, the situation had been more favorable to individual households and artists before the founding of SWOPA. In the past, he said, “wall paintings were done individually for the purpose of beautifying the walls.” Tourists would arrive in the community, visit compounds, admire the artistry within each on an individual level, and sometimes even thank the households with contributions. And, while SWOPA was attracting visitors to the community, these tourists seemed to appreciate local artistry on a more general level and no longer admired the houses individually. While SWOPA claimed to contribute to local development, Apoore did not feel he benefited from the organization’s developmental efforts (interview, March 11, 2013). Apoore offered a unique perspective on local artistic traditions. He fulfilled his traditional duties as the yidaana while also engaging in creative activities traditionally considered the purview of women. As discussed previously, Apoore had been trained in all areas of women’s artistry: pottery, basketry, bambɔlse, and canvas painting. He considered himself to be an expert artist (see chapter 2). He had also been involved with SWOPA during the early years of its development and even helped to paint the organization’s compound walls. As a member of SWOPA, he sold his pottery and canvas paintings through the organization. However, Apoore had left SWOPA due primarily to financial concerns, specifically his dissatisfaction with SWOPA’s system for dividing profits. When an artwork was sold through the organization, Apoore explained, the money was divided into three, with two parts going to SWOPA and one part to the artist (interview, January 29, 2014). He was not satisfied with this arrangement. Before the arrival of SWOPA, he recalled, tourists would visit his house, “see pottery or baskets in the house, would want to buy them, and would negotiate a price right there.” The ability to negotiate prices directly, he said, was better for artists. “Now with SWOPA,” he said, prices for pottery and basketry are “not always good,” resulting in lower profits for artists. In general, Apoore would have preferred a return to the past before the formation of SWOPA (interview, March 11, 2013). Apoore was not alone in his dissatisfaction with SWOPA but he seemed to be in the minority.3 While some of Sirigu’s artists had stepped away from the organization, the majority seemed to feel that SWOPA was benefiting them both individually and as a community. SWOPA has been an important driver of artistic innovation in Sirigu. Since the organization’s founding, Sirigu’s artists have adapted their traditional culture and artistry to the tourist market, exploiting international demand for projects and products that promote sustainable development, community empowerment, and cultural preservation. The organization’s art gallery offers items such as colorful pi’ɔ and Bolga baskets, woven trays, rattles, and fans, as well as canvas paintings and batik cloth featuring bambɔlse designs.



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Sirigu is particularly known for its pottery, and the art gallery offers a range of ceramic items, including traditional forms and newly developed variations such as flowerpots decorated with bambɔlse designs painted in bright red, black, and white acrylic. Traditional domestic pottery is often incised with designs similar to those painted on compound walls, making the flowerpots an extension of earlier artistic practices. Historically, Sirigu artistry was known only to those in the area, restricting the potential for broader recognition and profit. SWOPA members’ adaptation of their Indigenous artistry for the international tourist market has allowed them to improve their economic circumstances and to spread knowledge of and appreciation for bambɔlse beyond their community; this includes Ghanaian scholars and international artists and scholars, who have long been attracted to Sirigu for its traditional artistry and, more recently, for the innovative work of its artists. Canvas paintings have been a particularly significant development, as they allow artists to translate their traditional bambɔlse into a form that can be collected and easily transported by tourists back to their homes. As Abisibɔba Nyaaba put it, instead of foreigners coming to look at their painted houses, taking pictures, and leaving, the artists “thought it wise that we should do the canvas painting so that when someone comes, [they] can buy those canvas paintings as a material thing and then send it back. So with that, we bought the tana [cloth], and we started making the canvas painting” (interview, January 16, 2014). Apuntuguna Aberinga similarly explained, “the canvas painting is something that, if someone is far and cannot get the wall, then . . . they can use it to replace.” For her, the canvas painting was helping Sirigu artists “to portray the . . . culture” and share bambɔlse with audiences outside the community (interview, October 11, 2013). SWOPA artists have developed their innovative products with support from various organizations and individuals. In the early 2000s, the Dutch development organization ICCO paid for two Dutch artists, Corrie Haverkort and July Leesberg, to hold a series of workshops at SWOPA (Haverkort 2005; 2007; Woets 2014, 17). The series focused on transferring Sirigu’s traditional bambɔlse designs to canvas surfaces; this involved experimenting with materials, styles, and colors. In 2009, Accra-based Ghanaian artist Fatric Bewong initiated and funded a ten-day workshop in Sirigu because she wanted to get out of the studio and into the community where she could engage with women artists.4 She worked with SWOPA’s artists one on one, learning about their daily lives, listening to their stories, and developing a solid rapport. She encouraged the artists to experiment with new materials and to expand their palette beyond the traditional black, red, and white (interview, August 24, 2013).

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Sirigu’s artists have benefited from their participation in workshops and interactions with artists from other areas. In 2006, artists involved with the Ghanaian organization Art in Aktion held a workshop entitled “Art in Dailies— from Everyday Culture to Art” in Sirigu. Artists from various African and European countries—Nigeria, Cameroon, Senegal, Togo, the Netherlands, Germany, and Norway—visited Sirigu with the goals of exchanging ideas with rural artists and interrogating the boundaries of “art” and “craft” (Art in Aktion 2009; Woets 2011, 247–48). SWOPA member Asokipaala Aberinga was among the artists who participated in the Art in Aktion workshop. Through this experience, she explored new ideas and experimented with new materials and techniques (interview, September 25, 2013). Asokipaala also participated in the international SaNsA International Artists’ Workshop. Initiated by Ghanaian artist Atta Kwami, SaNsA aimed to transverse cultural boundaries and instigate dialog (Woets 2019, 7; Triangle Network n.d.). As with the Art in Aktion workshop, this experience allowed her to work with and learn from artists from other parts of the world. She explained that these workshops broadened her knowledge, for instance, in terms of “how to relate to others, how to produce other materials or put up certain things I wouldn’t have known. And it is through the workshop that I got those ideas.” Through workshops like Art in Aktion and SaNsA, Asokipaala made friends with “different different people” and expanded her artistic knowledge. Back in Sirigu, Asokipaala worked to pass along her newfound skills by helping other local artists—especially the older generation—to improve their canvas paintings. She taught them, for instance, how to draw images and combine colors to create pleasing compositions (interview, September 25, 2013). Beyond these workshops, SWOPA members have practiced and refined their artistic skills and techniques with support from local art educators, including Faustina Ayambire, Mark Kasise, Soyiri, and Asokipaala Aberinga. Faustina was a particularly influential force within SWOPA and through her work outside the organization. Apuntuguna Aberinga said, “it is Faustina who taught us everything.” The artists have also taught each other, following established systems of training with “experts” passing along their knowledge to “learners” (see chapter 3). As Apuntuguna put it, the artists themselves “know more than others. So when Faustina is not there, we try to assist others who do not know so that they will also do the right thing” (interview, October 11, 2013). Through training, workshops, and ongoing practice with both local and outside artists and educators, SWOPA members have expanded their artistic repertoires, developed new products, and generated new sources of income. I could see the results of this work most clearly in the SWOPA art gallery, where I, along with other visitors, could purchase local artworks as reminders of our time in Sirigu. During my visits to SWOPA, the gallery offered an



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array of artworks, ranging from the “traditional,” meaning those most familiar to local audiences, to the more innovative products designed with foreign audiences in mind. The variety of products for sale in the SWOPA art gallery offered tourists a sense of tradition and authenticity while accommodating their various needs and desires. Shelves at the gallery’s center displayed pottery vessels in various forms and sizes, including bowls and pots with lids, candle holders, vases, and figural sculptures. Pottery vessels were formed and decorated in a variety of styles, some with smooth, dark, and shining surfaces, others with painted, incised, and relief designs. Most of these were molded, painted, and fired using local materials and techniques; some were painted with acrylic imported into the area and purchased from the market. A table to the side of the gallery was covered with baskets, including the square-bottomed pi’ɔ baskets and the bulbous, round-bottomed Bolga baskets, as well as woven trays, rattles, and fans. Some of these products, such as the pi’ɔ baskets, had been made by Sirigu artists, while others, like the Bolga baskets, were likely made by artists from other rural communities in the area and purchased from Bolgatanga (personal communication, Bridget Kasise, n.d.). Some of the basketry items were woven with a subdued palette of tan and browns from stalks that were left undyed and colored using materials derived from the local environment (Smith 1979, 79). Other baskets featured alternating bands of bright colors, including magenta, yellow, blue, and green, woven in patterns like stripes and zigzags. The vibrant hues were produced using commercial dyes purchased from local markets. The basketry items were decorated with striped, zigzagging, checkerboard, and triangular patterns. Walls to the side of the gallery displayed cloth bags, batik cloth, and canvas paintings featuring various combinations of figural imagery, bambɔlse designs, and adinkra motifs from the Akan culture of southern Ghana. The variation of forms and styles in the SWOPA gallery reflected not only the organization’s influence but also long-held artistic traditions of adapting and updating products to meet the needs and desires of new markets and audiences. As early as the 1970s (and likely earlier), artists across the area produced various items—pots, baskets, woven bags, hats, rattles, fans—both for domestic use and sale in the market. Potters made vessels for the home, funerary rituals, and sale in the market. Weavers produced the more traditional square-bottomed pi’ɔ baskets primarily for domestic use, while they made the round-bottomed Bolga baskets mainly for trade at local and regional markets. Both potters and weavers adapted their products according to their intended functions, audiences, and artistic preferences. Potters often decorated their products, including those intended for the market, with painted and incised designs. Weavers typically decorated baskets for domestic use with subdued palettes and designs, while those intended for sale were decorated

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with elaborate, brightly colored designs to “make them look good,” thereby increasing their value and attracting buyers by enhancing their aesthetic impact (Smith 1978b, 79–81). Today, artists continue to employ similar strategies in adapting their products to meet the needs and desires of both local and foreign audiences. The selection of products in the SWOPA gallery was carefully curated to satisfy the demands of tourists for elements of authenticity, novelty, and convenience. Some of the products closely resembled those used and sold in local homes and markets, while others were modified versions of their more traditional counterparts, adapted to meet the needs and desires of tourist audiences in terms of both form and function. For instance, satisfying desires for traditional artistry, patterned pi’ɔ and Bolga baskets, pots, and bowls with plain, glossy, incised, and painted surfaces resembled those used in rural homes throughout the area. Perhaps the most potent symbol of authenticity was a stacked set of painted and burnished kaleŋa, lamolga, and pilego pots set alongside the shelves, calling to mind the traditional space of a woman’s denya’aŋa (traditional woman’s room). On the novel end of the spectrum were flowerpots decorated with bold, eye-catching acrylic painted bambɔlse designs, combining elements of local pottery and painting traditions to create something new. While these were not part of local tradition, they inserted a piece of innovation into the array of products. Cloth bags, canvas paintings, and batik cloth also blended traditional elements with new forms and materials. Canvas paintings featured a variety of acrylic-painted figural imagery, objects, and scenes set against backdrops of bambɔlse and occasional adinkra designs. Cloth bags were painted with acrylic bambɔlse, while batik cloth was stamped and dyed with a combination of bambɔlse and adinkra designs. Bambɔlse motifs served as reminders of Sirigu wall paintings, while adinkra symbols were more broadly associated with ideas of Ghanaian identity and tradition. These products thus provided foreign tourists with specific visual reminders of their time in Sirigu while also evoking memories of their visit to Ghana more generally. Many of the products were designed to satisfy demands for authenticity, novelty, functionality, and portability; this included, for instance, smaller pottery items, such as vases and candle holders, which could be easily wrapped, tucked into suitcases, and safely transported. Once back in customers’ homes, such products could serve as functional items and symbols of Indigenous culture. Cloth bags painted with bambɔlse designs evoked local culture while also serving the practical function of providing additional storage space for traveling tourists. Basketry products were not only based on tradition but were also sturdy and flexible, making them perfect for squeezing into suitcases; these were ideal souvenirs, combining elements of attractiveness and functionality, adding decoration and storage space to tourists’ homes. Batik cloth could be



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folded into suitcases, then used to make items such as curtains, pillowcases, or quilts. Such products were not intended for local use but rather were designed to suit the needs and wants of foreign customers. SWOPA has also contributed to the revival and spread of knowledge about local cultural and artistic traditions—within the area and beyond. For instance, SWOPA has received developmental and promotional support from the German development organization Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit, which worked with the organization to improve general operations and marketing strategies. One of SWOPA’s Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit advisers worked with an independent researcher from the United States to design a small limited-run brochure advertising SWOPA’s tourism offerings. SWOPA has also been assisted by their Dutch supporters in spreading knowledge about Sirigu’s artistry. The workshop series led by Haverkort and Leesberg was organized in conjunction with a series of exhibitions featuring Sirigu canvas paintings in the Netherlands and the creation of a booklet entitled “Wall to Wall” (Haverkort 2007). The booklet, created to accompany the exhibition series, presents information about Sirigu lifestyles, traditions, and artistry for outside audiences. Copies were also sold in the SWOPA art gallery and used to educate visiting tourists, making this booklet a critical vehicle for spreading information. Similar information can be found on SWOPA’s website, which provides a wealth of information on the local community, the operations of SWOPA, and the history and importance of Sirigu’s Indigenous arts. The website particularly highlights bambɔlse, which it describes as a “very unique expression of the cultural identity of Sirigu” (SWOPA n.d.). With support from and through collaboration with outside parties, SWOPA has honed its products for tourist consumption and expanded recognition of Sirigu’s artistic traditions to an international audience. By doing so, the organization also encourages the expansion of tourism, which further helps to support traditional artists and their work. SWOPA is not alone in its efforts to preserve and revitalize artistry in northern Ghana. Over the last several decades, national and local government institutions, NGOs, and concerned individuals have turned toward craft production to address some of the Upper East Region’s economic challenges (Ministry of Tourism 2012). For instance, Daniel Syme, former Upper East Regional Minister, in discussing development strategies and how to harness the region’s potential at a workshop on investment promotion in Ghana, specifically cited crafts, including straw baskets, leather, and smock weaving, as potential avenues for development (The Ghanaian Chronicle 2013). Over the last several decades, several initiatives have been aimed at providing Upper East Region artisans with training and education in production and marketing. For instance, the Centre for National Culture (CNC), an agency

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of Ghana’s Ministry of Tourism, Culture & Creative Arts, focuses on the arts to improve local economies and, to this end, regularly provides training for artisans in communities throughout the region (interview, Anaba Anyelom, September 4, 2013). The Accra-based NGO Aid to Artisans Ghana has also held several workshops in the region, focusing particularly on teaching artisans how to maximize the marketability of their products. Aid to Artisans Ghana worked with SWOPA, for instance, helping the organization to develop products such as canvas paintings and painted flowerpots (interview, Francisca, July 24, 2012). Bolga baskets have been a particular target of craft-oriented development initiatives. For instance, the Bolgatanga Basket Weavers Cooperative Club, founded in 1995, has played a considerable role in addressing poverty through craft production. As of 2010, the Bolgatanga Basket Weavers Cooperative Club worked with over a thousand weavers, mainly women, in the rural communities surrounding Bolgatanga, marketed their products to local and international consumers, and provided them with support in the form of capital and training (Ayuure 2016; Ghana News Agency April 1, 2010). This cooperative’s sales volume was suggested by the giant piles of brightly colored baskets stacked against the outer walls of their building in Bolgatanga. Baskets woven by local women were also purchased and sold by other vendors along the city’s streets and at the Bolgatanga Craft Village, located on the grounds of the CNC. The Accra-based company CraftPro has also made considerable efforts to establish craft production centers and provide Upper East Region artisans with financial support and training to enter the basket-weaving industry. As of 2012, they had partnered with the National Youth Employment Programme and the Ghana Youth Employment and Entrepreneurial Development Agency to undertake programs and special initiatives. For instance, in one six-month basket-weaving program, they provided two thousand participants, most women, with technical training, entrepreneurial skills development, and support through micro-credit loans. CraftPro further supported participants by purchasing their products at market rates. The company’s director, Henry Kangah, proclaimed his goal was to train ten thousand youths in the region to create sustainable jobs and financially support basket weavers. The National Youth Employment Programme director, Kopanamo James Kojo, named this project a possible means to reduce regional poverty. Likewise, Deputy Upper East Regional Minister Lucy Awuni endorsed the project to empower the youth, especially women, with technical and vocational skills (Myjoyonline 2012). The presence of such programs could be seen in the small structures labeled as CraftPro Basket Weaving Training Centres located along the roads throughout the area. The efforts of these organizations and initiatives have



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resulted in a robust local and tourist market for baskets and have expanded recognition and appreciation for the area’s Indigenous craft traditions. The impacts of these efforts have also extended beyond Ghana’s borders, significantly enhancing the market reach of craft producers. Bolga baskets can now be purchased from companies and stores all over the globe, thanks largely to the growth of “Fair Trade.” The website Mybolgabaskets.com, for instance, emphasizes the company’s dedication to working with Fair Trade organizations to support impoverished rural women and their families and appeals to consumers’ desire for authentic African products. Visitors to the website are immediately greeted by images of women sitting together in the grass under a tree and weaving their baskets. Customers can choose from thumbnail photographs of Bolga baskets in various sizes and colors, all certified as genuine products made by Ghanaian women. Such strategies can also be seen in the marketing of Bolga baskets in physical stores, such as health food markets and gift shops across the United States. The internationally marketed baskets come with labels tailored to meet Fair Trade customers’ desire for unique, authentic products that promote the well-being and empowerment of artists in developing countries.5 Whether sold in physical stores or through online merchandisers, baskets are often accompanied by information about production processes and cultural significance, appealing to the international demand for authentic handmade products made by Indigenous producers, assuring customers that they are making ethical purchases. While conditions of poverty persist in the rural communities of Ghana’s Upper East Region, such trends contribute to women’s empowerment by providing new sources of income and motivations for the continuation of their artistic traditions. URBAN ARTISTRY While Sirigu’s artists focused most of their efforts within the community, their work extended beyond the border of their small, rural town. As we have already seen, Sirigu artists were ready and willing to accept wall painting commissions from wherever they came and could adapt their rural training to various settings and circumstances (see chapter 3). They have demonstrated this through multiple painting projects in Bolgatanga, Accra, and other urban areas. In 2004, several of Sirigu’s artists were invited to Accra by a manager at the luxurious Golden Tulip Hotel in Accra to share their Indigenous artistry with hotel guests.6 Using commercial paint, they adorned the wall alongside the hotel’s poolside bar with their distinctively bold red, black, and white designs. The completion of the painting was followed by exhibitions of Sirigu

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canvas paintings in Ghana and the Netherlands (Woets 2014, 10). The project was extensively covered by the local press and has been written about in multiple scholarly publications.7 This was an important moment for bringing Sirigu’s artistry to the attention of urban audiences. Also, in the early 2000s, Sirigu artists painted the walls of Tietaar, a restaurant in Bolgatanga. The exterior and interior walls were boldly decorated with red, black, and white zigzagging, striped, diamond, arch, and oval designs. The restaurant’s owner, Lydia Miller, was born in Navrongo and spent much of her upbringing in the area. Although she had not learned to paint, she recalled the paintings from her childhood home. She appreciated the local painting tradition, considering it “more beautiful than ordinary paint.” She had also noticed that the paintings were no longer “much seen,” which further prompted her to promote this local tradition. The paintings, she said, were also good for business because they attracted tourists, who liked to stop and take pictures. She hired artists from Sirigu for the job because she had a personal connection with Melanie Kasise and wanted to promote the efforts of SWOPA. The original paintings had been completed by artists from Sirigu, who rendered the designs using traditional materials. They were later refreshed by a house painter named Ibrahim, who traced over the designs with commercial paint (interview, February 23, 2013). In 2013, the women of SWOPA took an opportunity to paint a mural at Alliance Franҫaise, an NGO in Accra. The leaders of SWOPA applied to and won a mural competition on the theme of dance. At the time, Alliance Franҫaise was holding a mural competition every three to four months, inviting artists to propose a mural. Each competition was based on a theme, and once the winner was selected, the painting of the mural was timed to coincide with other cultural events related to the chosen theme. Bridget, SWOPA’s director, and Cornelia Schepers, the organization’s development adviser, worked with Faustina Ayambire, Sirigu artist and SWOPA art teacher, to plan the project. The dance theme was particularly appropriate for artists who traditionally sing and dance while working (see chapter 3). Two of Sirigu’s most accomplished artists, Agombire Atampugre and Apuntuguna Aberinga, traveled by bus to Accra. These middle-aged artists were joined by two younger colleagues, Faustina Ayambire and Rafael Cobbina, both of whom were attending Ghanatta College of Arts and Design in Accra. The multi-generation group of artists completed a large mural extending across a wall next to the organization’s outdoor amphitheater. The group completed the project in approximately one week. The composition featured common elements of Sirigu artistry: cows, pythons, lizards, crocodile, and fish set against a backdrop of wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) and zaaleŋa (netted rope bag), with strips of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle) and Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat) running along the upper and lower



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Figure 6.1.  This is the final mural with images of a cow, pythons, lizards, turtle, fowl, fish, traditional grass-roofed compound houses, drummers, dancers, and basket weavers set against a backdrop of wanzagesi (broken calabash pieces) zaaleŋa (netted rope bag), with strips of Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle) and Amizia zuvaka (Amizia’s hat) running along the upper and lower borders of the wall. Alliance Française, Accra, November 8, 2013. Photograph by Brittany Sheldon.

borders of the wall. These motifs and designs, which could also be seen on compound walls throughout Sirigu, evoked a sense of this community’s traditional artistry. Scenes of everyday life, including basket-weaving, were placed within a series of square panels along the wall. A traditional compound house with rounded rooms, painted walls, and thatched and earthen roofs stood at the center of the composition. Nearby, groups of drummers and dancers recalled the mural’s proposed theme and evoked festive occasions. Scenes of artistry, architecture, ceremony, and festivity brought ideas of traditional cultural practices in rural northern Ghana to mind. The painting was rendered in a red, black, and white palette, with selectively added tints and shades lending a sense of volume to certain figures and forms. While the palette was traditional, the modulation of values added a modern twist to the mural. The artists drew from their training to create a mural that blended modern elements with the traditional subject matter and style for which Sirigu’s artists have come to be known.

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The completed painting was unveiled at a ceremony in late October 2013. A long black cloth covering was slowly removed, dramatically revealing the mural illuminated by bright spotlights. Faustina, Apuntuguna, and Atampugre, all decked out in tailored dresses, posed for photographs against the backdrop of their painting. Faustina introduced the mural with a short speech. She later expanded on this with a more extended presentation, discussing the mural project, the artists, and Sirigu’s artistry. An exhibition at Alliance Franҫaise also accompanied the mural project. Products made by SWOPA artists—pots, baskets, canvas paintings, and batik cloth—were displayed and sold in the organization’s onsite exhibition space. These products were the same as those in the SWOPA art gallery, and they similarly reflected Sirigu artists’ savvy blending of traditional and novel elements in creating their products for new markets and outside audiences. In general, the Alliance Franҫaise project allowed Sirigu’s artists to introduce urban audiences to the traditional practices and contemporary innovations of artists in rural northern Ghana. WOMEN’S GROUPS, EMPOWERMENT, AND ARTISTRY Another government-sponsored initiative that has impacted women in general—and female artists in particular—is the development of women’s groups, which can now be found in communities throughout the region. Women have always lived and worked collaboratively, supporting one another in farming duties and household work, such as plastering and painting; this has become even more important over time as labor migration and education trends have decreased the amount of time available for women to engage in artistic production and increased their need for mutual support (Rainer 1992, 120). The formation of official groups, which bolster traditional systems of collaborative production, has been one way women have responded to such circumstances. Over the last several decades, the government has encouraged women to form official groups. Such efforts were initiated in 1983 by former first lady Dr. Nana Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings with the formation of her NGO, the 31st December Women’s Movement. In an interview, Agyeman-Rawlings stated that the movement’s objectives were “to see to the development of women totally: economically, socially, politically, and culturally”; she argued that by joining together in groups, women could affect real change in their communities (Novicki 1995, 52). Evidence of the first lady’s call can still be seen in rural communities such as Zuarungu-Moshi, Bongo, Sumbrungu, and Sirigu, where the women artists I worked with had all formed official groups. It is typical for each community section to have its own women’s group. These groups are registered



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with their local CNC offices and, in some cases, are called upon to provide entertainment in the form of singing and dancing at local funerals, festivals, and events. They elect leaders and meet regularly to discuss upcoming events and matters of concern. Group members help each other with their various economic activities, share resources, provide training, and collaborate on large orders for trade items. The women I worked with in Zuarungu-Moshi were members of the Ate’eletaaba group, which had approximately forty members at the time of my visit. They worked together to process and sell shea nuts, groundnuts, and rice and helped each other perform funeral duties. Women in Bongo’s Wegurigo section belonged to the Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba group, which had forty-two members. Members wove baskets, hats, or cloth; sewed smocks; made malt for brewing pito (local beer); and worked on their farms. They helped each other in various ways: sharing equipment to aid in completing tasks, teaching each other new skills, and assisting each other with farming. As for plastering, they told me, “we all live in rooms, and all of our rooms need to be plastered,” so they called on each other whenever plastering was needed. They were also skilled in drumming, dancing, and singing and were hired to provide entertainment at various cultural events. Group members paid dues, met regularly, and lived by a shared set of rules and values. The group generally focused on cooperation, unity, and progress. Members of Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba credited the group with bringing them together and giving them a sense of empowerment and agency. They told me that before if I had come to ask them about wall painting, they would have “just sat in our rooms and . . . called our husbands to come and meet you, but it is the formation of the group that brought us out, and we are now meeting you here today.” And their involvement in the group had also given them “a say in any developmental activities or any social issues” (interview, September 2, 2013). Working together helped them accomplish their work and, more importantly, gave them a sense of power and control in their lives. The sense of empowerment among members of Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba was likely enhanced by the prominent role of the group’s leader, Mariama Alhassan, who also served as the ohemaa, or queen mother, for Bongo’s Wegurigo section.8 Derived from the Akan culture of southern Ghana, the ohemaa traditionally works in partnership with the king and is considered the principal custodian of ancestral heritage.9 In recent decades, queen mothers have been installed by chiefs in communities throughout the country. A queen mother’s role is, among other things, to help the sub-chiefs to settle disputes, especially issues concerning women, and take part in decision-making on development issues (Ghana News Agency September 14, 2010; April 26, 2012). In Bongo, for instance, multiple queen mothers were installed, one for each section and one for the community. Mariama Alhassan, for her part,

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handled issues in the Adaboorobiisi electoral area (interview, September 2, 2013). Such government-sponsored efforts have contributed to women’s empowerment throughout the region. As with other communities in the area, there was a women’s group for each section of Sirigu. At Akozulo Yire, for instance, Akake Nsoh was the leader of Asuŋɛtaaba group. In this role, she was responsible for gathering the members of her group for various projects and activities. For instance, she called her group members to weave mats, mold pots, create canvas paintings, and welcome visitors arriving in the community (interview, September 26, 2013). In Sirigu, SWOPA could be seen as a prominent women’s group supporting local artists while also working to revive interest in and knowledge of traditional artistry among members of the organization and the community as a whole. Ramatu Aeŋepaɛ and Asokipala Aberiŋa, for instance, learned about the history of bambɔlse from their colleagues at SWOPA. Asokipala explained that, before the organization’s establishment, women in Sirigu had not been interested in learning about the history of bambɔlse. As tourists, students, and scholars began visiting the community and asking about the history of its artistic traditions, the women came to realize that “‘eh, it is a serious thing,’ so we also tried to study back the history . . . [so we could] tell them” (interview, September 25, 2013). Apuntuguna Aberinga, one of Sirigu’s most accomplished artists, likewise felt that SWOPA encouraged the continuation of Sirigu’s artistic traditions. Although she had arrived in Sirigu as an expert in plastering and painting, she was “learning more about bambɔlse” through her work with SWOPA (interview, October 11, 2013). In Sirigu, circumstances and incentives combined to motivate the continuation of traditional artistry. Apuntuguna compared artistic practices in Sirigu with those of other communities in the area, particularly highlighting artists’ lifestyles and priorities. Women in other communities, she explained, spent more time in the markets, selling products to generate income for their households. “When you get [these communities],” she said, “you will not get the women in the houses.” They did not have time for traditional artistry. “So that is why they are not doing it” (interview, October 11, 2013). In other words, Apuntuguna believed that women in other communities were not painting their walls because they were occupied with income-generating activities that took them away from their homes and domestic duties. Contrasting this, Apuntuguna explained that women in Sirigu “don’t travel [and] who don’t engage much in petty trading.”10 Rather, they “stay in the house.” Here she emphasized Sirigu women’s stability and dedication to their households and community. As Apuntuguna put it, women in Sirigu “want to be housewives and keep their houses and their surroundings clean”; this included the daily tasks of cooking, cleaning, and tending to children, as well as weaving baskets, molding pots, plastering, and painting walls. Rather than



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spending all of their time in the markets, women in Sirigu prioritized their domestic roles and duties as wives, mothers, and artists. Women in Sirigu, she said, still went to the market, but it was “rare . . . not every day”; only when they finished molding a pot or weaving a basket did they take it to the market to sell (interview, October 11, 2013). Her words revealed an intense pride in her role as a pɔgeminka, a woman worthy of respect. For her—as with many other women in Sirigu—this designation required an ongoing commitment to her traditional responsibilities as a wife and mother and a continued dedication to artistry. While Apuntuguna’s statement held some truth regarding shifting lifestyles, gender roles, and artistic practices, it was not true that women in other communities had abandoned their creative practices. Instead, women throughout the area were responding to various incentives that motivated them to engage in certain activities and neglect others. For instance, specific social and financial factors incentivized women in many communities to continue and revive their traditional basket-weaving practices. An example of this could be seen in Sumbrungu, where basket-weaving practices were thriving. The women with whom I spoke in this community were all basket weavers. As they said, “Sumbrungu is a weaving place” (interview, September 3, 2013). As I interviewed them, they sat on the compound floor with their materials and equipment, weaving as we talked. In their women’s group, Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba, members worked together, sharing supplies and dividing large orders among group members while supporting and learning from one another. The name, Apa’alɛtaaba, which combined pa’alɛ, to teach and taaba, together, evoked the group’s efforts to collaborate and teach one another through their work. Involvement in this group offered women a support system and encouraged them to engage in artistic production. Working as a group, they wove baskets for domestic use and sale. It was typical for weavers throughout the area to sell their baskets at local markets and to various buyers, including regional traders and export companies. Orders were often placed through go-betweens, who worked with groups of weavers to negotiate parameters for timing, quality, colors, designs, and sizes (Ayuure 2016, 56). Members of Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba explained the process of working together to complete a large order. If a customer ordered one hundred baskets in a specific color, the buyer would often contribute the dye and firewood for boiling water during the dyeing process. The weavers used brightly colored powdered dyes that were imported from Nigeria. They wove their baskets using dried sɔgu grass, which was imported from the Asante and Brong-Ahafo Regions in southern Ghana. The grasses and the dyes were sold in local markets and distributed through wholesalers. Each woman was responsible for preparing her own fibers for weaving, and they joined together in dyeing their fibers collectively. Sometimes they worked as

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a group to experiment with dye combinations to create novel colors. After preparing their weaving materials, they divided the work and completed the order. The weavers were paid for their work based on the number of baskets they produced. A ready market and demand for their work was a significant incentive for women in Sumbrungu and other communities to continue weaving their baskets (interview, September 5, 2013; Ayuure 2016, 55–56; Asmah, Koomson, and Amin-Patel 2016, 19). In Sumbrungu—as with other communities in the area—women maintained and revived their artistic practices due to support from their colleagues and development initiatives that offered them new markets for their products. Similar factors motivated Sirigu artists to continue their artistic traditions. As with women’s groups in other communities, SWOPA provided women with a support network. Organization members worked together, shared knowledge, and encouraged and challenged one another to continue their artistic practices. An amiable spirit of competition—a sort of peer pressure— seemed to be a key motivator for Sirigu artists. Apuntuguna, for instance, described her experience of challenging and being challenged by her colleagues to continue the tradition of bambɔlse. She explained, “as I have [painted] my room, I throw a challenge to the other women.” She also felt motivated by the work of others, saying, “[if] I have seen that you have made your room . . . [it makes me think] this lady has made her room beautiful, why can’t I also make my room beautiful?” (interview, October 11, 2013). Her words conveyed a spirit of social pressure that motivated Apuntuguna and her colleagues to continue their artistic practices. Sirigu artists were also incentivized by demand for their products and praise for their work. Artists in Sirigu, as with artists throughout the area, had long produced and sold items such as pots, baskets, fans, bags, smocks, leather products, and carved calabashes in local markets to generate income (Smith 1978b, 78). In the last several decades, Sirigu artists continued to sell their products in the market and gained access to new markets and audiences thanks to the development of SWOPA. As mentioned earlier, the organization’s arrival in the community contributed to artists’ financial stability and encouraged the continuation of their artistic practices. SWOPA brought new attention to Sirigu’s artistry from audiences within Ghana and beyond. Artists received respect and admiration from visitors, including Ghanaian and foreign tourists and researchers (like me), which bolstered their pride and motivated them to continue creating art. Recall, for instance, the attitudes of Atanga at Atoeyu’urɛ Yire and Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ at Akayu’urɛ Yire, who spoke of the pride they felt when visitors praised the community’s artistry. Agombire Atampugre explained that she continued to paint her walls with bambɔlse designs because “I have seen that it attracts people. So many people come down to have a look at it and then to ask of it.”



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Addressing me, she said, “as you are here, we have raised the name of Sirigu and women in general. You have made us proud.” In other words, interest from foreign visitors—including me—was a source of pride for the women of Sirigu. As Atampugre put it, “the women are proud that we are women of Sirigu, that we are able to do something that attracts many people” (interview, October 12, 2013). SWOPA has played a critical role in the maintenance and revival of bambɔlse. As we have seen, the organization frequently supported plastering and painting projects in Sirigu by providing materials and assistance. It seemed clear that the lack of such support for painting projects in other communities was a significant factor causing the decline of bambɔlse. As Apuntuguna put it, “others too, they do not have the money to buy materials to do [bambɔlse] . . . and if they don’t have the money and they are not strong enough to go to where they dig them, they cannot have the materials” (interview, October 11, 2013); this recalls the difficulty of finding zigmͻrligo (reddish-brown pigment) for the plastering and painting projects in Bongo and Zuarungu-Moshi (see chapter 3). The challenge of obtaining materials combined with declining demand for bambɔlse and increased demand for products such as shea butter and baskets led women in these communities to shift their efforts away from wall painting and toward other income-generating activities. Sumbrungu offers an example of artistic change resulting from shifting incentives. When I visited this community, wall painting had declined due to the increasing difficulty of obtaining materials and declining tourist attention. In earlier years, tourists regularly came from Bolgatanga to visit the community, tour the houses, and view the women’s paintings. A sign placed alongside the road advertised Sumbrungu as a bambɔlse-viewing destination. At one of Sumbrungu’s houses, Anaba-Dongo Yire, women created a guest room with painted walls to accommodate visiting tourists. A woman named Ellie Schimelman even invited a group of women from Sumbrungu to complete a painting project at her non-profit organization, Cross Cultural Collaborative, Inc., located near Accra (interview, February 14, 2013; personal communication, Ellie Schimelman, March 24, 2014). Women in Sumbrungu explained that bambɔlse was part of their tradition, something “we decided to do ourselves; it was not someone who asked us to do it”; even so, they were proud of the admiration they received from tourists (group interview, February 14, 2013). The artists had completed the paintings at Asabea Yire and Anaba-Dongo Yire about five to seven years before my visit and had not painted any walls since. They explained that it was difficult to get the materials, as it required traveling “very, very far,” whether to gather them from the earth or purchase them from the markets in Sirigu or Bolgatanga (interview, September 5,

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2013). At the same time, interest from tourists in Sumbrungu’s wall paintings had declined while demand for baskets had increased. Responding to this combination of factors, Sumbrungu’s artists shifted their efforts away from bambɔlse and toward basket-weaving. As we have seen, women’s lifestyles and artistic practices have changed in the rural communities of northeastern Ghana. Artists throughout the area are responding to various incentives that motivate them to engage in certain activities and neglect others. Some women stay in their homes and continue to weave baskets and mold pots, while others pursue higher education and take jobs outside their homes. Plastic, rubber, and metal products have replaced locally made baskets and pots in many homes. Women in Sirigu continue to paint their walls with bambɔlse designs, motivated by social and financial incentives. In other communities, it is increasingly common for households to replace traditional plaster and paint with coal tar, cement, and commercial materials. Despite these changes, traditional artistry continues to be considered an essential part of Indigenous culture. People recall childhood memories of the women in their household painting bambɔlse designs on their walls with a keen sense of nostalgia. Many who no longer paint their walls continue to value bambɔlse as part of their cultural heritage. CONCLUSION Today, while bambɔlse has declined, traditional artistry continues to exist in both practice and memory. Many older women artists see bambɔlse as connecting them with the past, their mothers, grandmothers, and ancestors. They continue to see their artistic knowledge and ability as essential to their identities as women. Even those who have abandoned bambɔlse for modern architectural styles, materials, and methods continue to look upon traditional artistry with fondness and nostalgia. Traditional practices remain a fundamental part of individual and collective cultural identity. NOTES 1. When I visited the community, I was led on a tour by a local high school student named Jacob, who showed me his family’s house, the chief’s palace, a small library, and a mango tree farm.  2. Participants in the 2005 canvas painting workshop with Haverkort and Leesberg were interviewed about how SWOPA impacted their lives and financial circumstances.



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  3. See Rhoda Woets (2014) for a more extensive discussion of SWOPA’s history, development, and interpersonal dynamics among staff and members.   4. Bewong had been born in the Western Region, had lived in Bolgatanga, and had received her art training from the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (interview, August 24, 2013).   5. I purchased Bolgatanga baskets in Bloomington, Indiana, and Arcata, California. Labels on these baskets inform consumers that these are “Fair Trade baskets for any use and any décor. Every basket is hand-woven in village co-ops in Ghana, West Africa. Your basket purchase helps provide healthcare and school supplies in support of the weavers, their families, and their villages.” The labels additionally promise that “each basket is a one-of-a-kind treasure,” “promoting culture and sustainable living,” “providing hope to entire villages,” and promising that they are “weaving Hope, Healthcare and Education.” Labels include the company’s name, email address, and phone number, giving customers a sense of personal connection and accountability.  6. Woets wrote in her 2014 dissertation: “the women had been invited by the Dutch manager of the hotel” (428). Thom Sheriff, the general manager of the Golden Tulip Hotel at the time of the project, said “the project was initiated by one Dutch person and supported by me” (personal communication, August 28, 2013).   7. See, for instance, Cassiman’s 2011 book chapter “The Commodification and Touristification of Architectural Pride: An Example from Northern Ghana” (203) and Rhoda Woets’ 2014 African Arts article “This Is What Makes Sirigu Unique: Authenticating Canvas and Wall Paintings in (Inter)national Circuits of Value and Meaning” (10).   8. The title of ohemaa is also known as puanaba in the Upper West Region and Pognaa in the Northern Region (Odame 2014, 384).   9. The position of ohemaa is rooted in the Akan matrilineal system. Among the Akan, the ohemaa is regarded as the mother not only of the king but also of the community or state. It has even been argued that “originally it was the Queen Mother who was the overall leader of the community or state but delegated a male member of the lineage to act as chief” (Odotei 2006, 85–86). 10. Petty trading can be defined as selling agricultural goods (e.g., rice, corn, horticultural goods, dairy products) and imported products (e.g., second-hand clothes) in small quantities (Addai, Ng’ombe, and Lu 2023, 85).

Appendix Interview List

ZEKO (BURKINA FASO) Zeko Chief Yire: “So Majeste Naba Belemzi’ire” (Zeko chief), Sia Sɔ Salam, and Karihu Nyɔka Mumumi, interview, February 6, 2014 BUŊƆ (BURKINA FASO) Abaa Yire: Awinɛ Azogaam, Anugi Ayɔlegɔ, Sia Ataŋa, and Azuurɛ, interview and house tour, January 28, 2014 GƐLIŊƆ (BURKINA FASO) Alumbɛ Yire: Api’irama Apuuri (or Mary Madelen) and Adeebɔba Apiyire, interviews, January 28, 2014 NAVRONGO (GHANA) Pagase (or Farase) Yire, Fa’athra Yire, and Chogobe Yire, house tours and interviews, July 28, 2012 Richmond Seyiri, interview and Navrongo Museum tour, January 25, 2013 Nasara Yire: Kaduah Tɛɛdewe, interview and house tour, January 26, 2013 Clever Avio, interview, March 2, 2013 John Awinɛ Ziŋɛ, interview, March 2, 2013 Mary Coughlan, interview, March 2013 193

194

Appendix

Monsignor C. Sarko and Father Charles Akaboti, Our Lady of Seven Sorrows Catholic Mission, meeting, February 15, 2013 Kazigo chief, interview, February 17, 2014 Our Lady of Seven Sorrows Minor Basilica: Agombire Atampugre and Richmond Seyire (Navrongo Museum guide) interview and tour, February 19, 2014 Dampaare Yire: Veronica Ayekɔ, interview, February 21, 2014 GUMONGO (GHANA) Akanpule Yire: Ayetibo Anannuure, interview and house tour, January 25, 2013 Azunyɔrɛ Yire: Abisizina, Apodɔleba Asuŋɔ, and Janet Abuo, interviews and house tour, January 30, 2014 BONGO (GHANA) Chief Yire: Bongo paramount chief, interview and house tour, September 3, 2013 Moro’s House: Zeliya Ibrahim, Ahamidu, Memunatu Saibu, and Salamatu Hamidu, interview and house tour, September 7, 2013 Wegunaba Yire: introductory group interview with approximately fifteen women, July 23, 2012; Ayeyu’urɛ Agurigo, interview, January 21, 2013; Mariama Alhassan, interview, January 21, 2013; Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, interview, January 21, 2013; Selina Nyaaba, interview, January 22, 2013; Rose Yaaro (or Ayampɔka Rose Yaaro), interview, January 22, 2013; Ayampɔka Nyaaba, interview, January 22, 2013; Mariama Alhassan, Selina Nyaaba, Monica Awaaba, Rose Yaaro, Azagesiboba Tadaana, Ayampɔka Nyaaba, and Asaadaarɛ Nyaaba, interview, January 29, 2013; Mariama Alhassan, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, Akasugeri Abere, Rose Yaaro, Agampɔka Nyaaba, Azogesibɔba Atadaana, and Aduana Aduma, plastering and painting demonstration and follow-up interview, March 12 and 18, 2013; Mariama Alhassan, Azogesibɔba Atadaana, Rose Yaaro, Asaadaarɛ, Nyaaba, Ayampɔka Nyaaba, and Selina Nyaaba, interview, September 2, 2013; Ayameŋa Agambire, Ayampɔka Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ Nyaaba, Baba Nyaaba, Ama Nyaaba, and Mbabila Joseph Nyaaba, interviews and house tours, September 9 and 12, 2013; Mariama Alhassan, Asaadaarɛ Nyaaba, and Selina Nyaaba, interview, February 12, 2014

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ZUARUNGU-MOSHI (GHANA) Apila Yire: Atiŋama Apelege, Akurigo Apelebire, Asapɔka Apoɛɛra, and Atibila Apila, interviews and house tours, February 20 and September 11, 2013 Awaho Yire: Awabire Awaho (Bozin) and Azo’uue Awaho, interviews and house tour, January 28, 2013; Azo’uue Awaho, interview, February 5, 2013; Be’endiŋeya Adugebiire, interview, February 5, 2013; Grace Anaba, interview, February 5, 2013; Azuurɛma Anontebesum, interview, February 12, 2013; Abugerɛ Ayɛba’asɛ, interview, February 12, 2013; Azo’uue Awaho, Azuurɛma Anontebesum, Abugerɛ Ayeba’asɛ, Atanga Agebiire, Ayandoo, Abɔlega, Asampana Aburgerɛbunɔ, Asoomaalɛ Abisa, Asakeboba Amokaasebila, Asapɔka Apoɛɛra, Abugerɛbuŋɔ Ayeŋa, Azupɔka Adiŋbuurɔ, Akunsaaŋa Adagelege, Atiŋama Apelega, Abe’emdiŋa, Ayɛra Azɛɛsi, Alebezi’ire Anoabiire, and Abɛriŋa Aka’asiga, plastering and painting demonstration and follow-up interview, March 7 and 19, 2013; Azo’uue Awaho and Be’endiŋeya Adugebiire, interview, February 11, 2014 SUMBRUNGU (GHANA) Asabea (or Anabasabea) Yire and Anabo-Dongo Yire: Laadi Akunvɔni, Asakesina Ako’ombunɔ, Abelumbisɛ Atiŋa, Alahire Akunvoni, Ayenɔŋɔ Ayu’urɛbunɔ, and Atalem Oliver, interviews and house tours, February 14, 2013, and March 7, 2014 Samuel Ade-Am, interviews, Sumbrungu and Navrongo, February 19, 2013, and February 22, 2014 SIRIGU (GHANA) Aburipoore Yire: Agombire Atampugre Agombire and six of her colleagues, pottery firing, March 6, 2013; Agombire Atampugre, Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ, Afia Atɔgewinu, Nyaama Apɛlegeya, Atɔgeboba Akambilum, Atɔgepuurum Azorko Apusunɛ, Apolala Akaba, Maa Adjoa, Atigɛnii Agɔmbire, Adɔŋɔ Atanga Atosakɛ, Ataibunɔ Aobere, Akoŋeya’ane Prosper Aburepoorum, Aburipoore Samson Abiiro, Adɔŋɔ Kennedy, Aburipoore Beatrice Akolpaka, and Agombire Elias Aburipoore, plastering and painting, March 9 and 15, 2013; Agombire Elias Aburipoore, Aburipoore Asaase, Aburipoore Beatrice Akolpoka, and Agombire

196

Appendix

Atampugre, interview, March 11, 2013; Agombire Atampugre, basket-weaving observation, September 19, 2013; Agombire Atampugre, interview, October 12, 2013; Agombire Elias Aburipoore and Agombire Atampugre, interviews and house tour, January 29, 2014; Agombire Elias Aburipoore, Aburipoore Asaase, and Agombire Atampugre, pottery demonstration, February 4–5, 2014 Adopa-Duŋɔ Yire: Abisibɔba Nyaaba, interview and house tour, March 14, 2013 Aeŋepaɛ Yire: Dina Aeŋepaɛ, Alice Aeŋɛpaɛ, Asokepa’ala Aeŋɛpaɛ, Ramatu Aeŋɛpaɛ, and Albert Atingane, interviews and house tours, October 1 and 7, 2013 Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire: Evylem and Adɔgemaalɛ Akamɔyu’urɛ, interviews and house tour, February 26, 2013 Akawi’ire Yire: Theresa Kasise, Rita Kasise, and Ennett, interviews, February 28, 2013, and January 11, 2014 Akayu’urɛ Yire: Ayampɔka Akayu’urɛ, interview, March 14, 2013 Akozulo Yire: Faustina Ayambire, Akake Nsoh, and colleagues, plastering and painting workshop, July 26–27, 2012; Akake Nsoh, interview, September 26, 2013 Akundiilɛ Yire: Apuntuguna Aberinga, interview and house tour, October 11, 2013 Akɔra Yire (Sirigu chief’s House): Anyɔka Adumbire Akɔra (or Naba Adumbire Akɔra or Na’am Lebedeem Sakuga Maalitiŋa), Aiŋɛbisɛ Adumbire Akɔra, and Aniah Akura, interviews, February 5 and September 21, 2013 Amizia Yire: Ferreol Anaba Amizia, Grace Azipa’ala Amizia, Francis Aeŋɛwani, and Jacqueline Kadua, interview and house tour, September 20, 2013 Apusunɛ Yire: Atɔgepuurum Azorko Apusunɛ, interview and house tour, September 19, 2013 Atoeyu’urɛ Yire: Apiirɛ Aberinga, interview and house tour, October 4, 2013 Atole-Yaaba (or Ayeletole-Yaaba) Yire: Akurigo Akolego, interview and house tour, March 5, 2013; Akurigo Akolego, Adabaŋɛ Aduŋɔnɛriba, and Ͻdɛt Martin, interviews and house tour, October 5, 2013 Ayeliba Yire: Asokipala Aberiŋa, interviews and house tours, September 25, 2013, and January 25, 2013 Azangeo-Kurigo Yire: Apɔgya’aŋa Akurigo, Lydia Akurigo, and Akurigo Marinna, interviews and house tours, July 23, 2012, and October 10, 2013 SWOPA (Sirigu): Francisca, interview, July 24, 2012; Faustina Ayambire, interview and SWOPA compound tour, July 24, 2012; Melanie Kasise,

Appendix

197

interviews, conversations, and wall painting demonstration, Sirigu and Bolgatanga, August 2013–March 2014; Aburipoore Ferreol Aguyire, home tour, interviews, and conversations, July 2012–March 2014; Mark Kasise, interview, March 1, 2013; Aweere Aduko, interview, October 11, 2013; Agombire Atampugre, Apuntuguna Aberinga, Rita Kasise, Francisca, Asokipala Aberiŋa, and Aweere Aduko, interview, January 8, 2014; Agombire Atampugre, Apuntuguna Aberinga, Rita Kasise, Francisca, and Abisibɔba Nyaaba, interview, January 16, 2014; Agombire Atampugre, Rita Kasise, Aburipoore Asaase, Abisibɔba Nyaaba, Aniah, and Atɔgepuurum Azorko Apusunɛ, interview, January 20, 2014; Agombire Atampugre and Rita Kasise, group interview. February 1, 2014; Agombire Atampugre, interview, February 5, 2014; Apuntuguna Aberinga, interview, February 8, 2014; Abisibɔba Nyaaba, interview, February 15, 2014 Asakibeem, Joseph, Afrikids, interview, February 28, 2013 Father Siegfried Elbert, email interview, Sirigu and Germany, March 2013 Father Sylvanus, Martyrs of Uganda Catholic Mission, interview, October 9, 2013 Father Paul Kapochina, interviews, February 27, 2013, and January 13, 2014 Cornelia Schepers, Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit, meetings and conversations, Sirigu and Bolgatanga, September 2013– March 2014 BOLTAGATANGA Kombat Fuzzy, Upper East Regional Centre for National Culture, meeting, January 23, 2013 Father Roger Abotiyu’urɛ, Sacred Heart Catholic Mission, February 7, 2013 Father Moses, Sacred Heart Catholic Mission, February 18, 2013 Malik Moro, No Food for Lazy Man Craft, interview, February 19, 2013 Rex S.A. Asanga, Trias Ghana, interview, February 21, 2013 Lydia Miller, Tietaar Restaurant, interview, February 23, 2013 Adombire, Joy, Root Art Gallery, interview, February 28, 2013 Soyiri, interviews, Bolgatanga, January 23, February 11, and October 16, 2013 Rolland Wemegah, Department of Industrial Art, Bolgatanga Polytechnic, October 15, 2013 Anaba Anyelom, Upper East Regional Centre for National Culture, interview, September 4, 2013

198

Appendix

Felix Fredrick Amenga-Etego, Centre for Child Development (Next Generation Home), interviews, October 18 and September 6, 2013 Lydia Ajono, meetings and conversations, January 2013–March 2014 Ishmael, Alhaji Hakeem and John Adams, Upper East Regional Ghana Tourism Authority, interviews and meetings, March 2013–March 2014 Mahmoud Malik Saako, Upper East Regional Museum, meetings and conversations, January 2013–March 2014 ACCRA Frances Ademola, Loom Gallery, interview, August 22, 2013 Kati Torda, Sun Trade Beads, interview, August 22, 2013 Fatric Bewong, interview, August 24, 2013 Ato Anna and Sergio Clottey (Attukwei), Foundation for Contemporary Art, meeting, August 26, 2013 Audrey Destandau, Alliance Française, meeting, August 28, 2013 Carolyn Everlove Tetteh (or Nana Acesi Nicina VIII), Art in Aktion, interview, October 26, 2013 Akosua Adomako Ampofo, Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, interview, November 1, 2013 Kwami Amoah Labi, Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, interview, November 6, 2013 Akoi-Jackson, Bernard, interview, November 17, 2013 Akwele Suma Glory and Kofi Dawson, interviews, November 17, 2013 Kofi Setordji, Nubuke Foundation, interviews, August 27, 2013, and November 2013 KUMASI R.T. Ackam, Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), interview, November 28, 2013 Mariama Ross, KNUST, individual interview, November 28, 2013 Emmanuel Antwi, Department of Painting and Sculpture, KNUST, interview, December 5, 2013 Eric Appau Asante, Department of General Art Studies, KNUST, interview, December 5, 2013 Abraham Ekow Asmah, Department of Integrated Rural Arts and Industries, KNUST, interview, December 5, 2013

Appendix

199

OTHER Abubakari Saeed, Tamale Centre for National Culture, interviews, Tamale, December 13 and 17, 2013 Avea Nsoh, University of Education Winneba, interviews and conversations, Bolgatanga, Bongo, Winneba, email, June 2012–present

Glossary

Abayeti: “Gossip” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 1). Akpeteshie: A potent “local gin” distilled from fermented palm wine or sugar cane juice (Akyeampong 1996, 215). Am: Organic varnish sprinkled on to completed wall paintings to protect them from the elements. It is typically made by boiling ingredients such as locust bean pods (Acacia nilotica), dawa dawa (Parkia clappertonnia), the branches of the Sia tree and the bark of the ampou’a tree (Wemegah 2009, 88). ‌‌‌Baarɛ (ba, pl.): “Granary, a tall mud structure built within the compound to store grain” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 6). Baarɛ (ba, pl.): “Arrow” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 6). Bagekaabera (bagakaabereba, pl.): “The one who takes on the duty of sacrificing to the gods; an observer or follower of traditional religion” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 7). Bagerɛ: “Shrine to a god. A round mud structure in or in front of the compound, to receive sacrifices” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 7). Bakolego (bakolo, pl.): “A Soothsayer’s shrine. A tall conical clay structure, plastered, with a hole at the base for the spirit. A soothsayer’s shrine must be installed with suitable rituals by another soothsayer, usually from the house of the maternal uncle” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 8). Bambara bean: Vigna subterranean, known commonly as “Bambara bean” or “Bambara groundnut,” is a plant of the legume family that develops underground fruit (Encyclopedia Britannica Online). This is a common crop grown by subsistence farmers in West Africa. Bambͻlse or bɔrenbɔresi: “Traditional designs, [usually] black and white, painted on walls by women” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 22).

201

202

Glossary

Baŋa (basi, pl.): “Agama lizard” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 10). The Agama is a common type of lizard in Africa, typically inhabiting rocky desert areas (Encyclopedia Britannica Online). Baŋɛ: “Know; recognize, identify” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 10). Ben-ɔrega (ben-ɔresi, pl.): “A clay bowl for grinding bean leaves” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 13). Bɛresi: According to Azubire Job Apobelum, the fiber from bɛresi, or kenaf, plants used to weave together the square-bottomed baskets known as pi’ɔ. These plants, he said, are harvested and their outer layers peeled off to reveal the white inner fiber that may also be dried to give it a brown color (email communication, Azubire Job Apobelum, August 31, 2015). Bi’a (bi’isi, pl.): “Ladle, traditionally a small calabash with a handle, also a modern metal spoon with a deep bowl” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 15). Binɛ (bina, pl.): “Tribal mark, cut from the nose across the cheek” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 17). Bitumen: “Originally, a kind of mineral pitch found in Palestine and Babylon, used as mortar, etc. The same as asphalt, mineral pitch, Jew’s pitch, Bitumen judaicum” (Oxford English Dictionary Online). Boi: “Be present, be there, be somewhere, be at a place” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 19). Bole: “Smooth sand used for plastering walls” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 19). Wemegah (2009) referred to bole as loam that is “collected and mixed with cow dung and sometimes smooth sand, for plastering walls prior to mural decoration” (88). Bondibega (bondibesi, pl.): “Young male donkey.” The general term for a male donkey is bondɔɔ (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 19). Booseŋo (booseno, pl.): “A type of snake, the African or rock python” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 20). According to Job, this type of snake is similar to the python, which is not common in savannah regions (personal communication, January 18, 2022). Bɔ’ɔ (bɔ’ɔrɔ, pl.): “Room” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 22). Bɔpaka (bɔpaka, pl.): “Porch, a small room attached to the entrance of a room” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 22). Bunsɛla (bunsɛleduma, pl.): “Kind of snake” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 26). Buŋtͻ: A type of plant with leaves that are used as a binder in making indigenous paints. According to Bourgès (2006), the red paint is mixed with

Glossary

203

decoction produced from the leaves of a local plant known as soro, which is the Kassem word for this plant (160). Describing plastering and painting processes in the Burkina community of Pô, about one hundred miles south of Ouagadougou, Rainer (1992) wrote “the preparatory plaster and the laterite, the ground coat for the decorative painting, are mixed with cow dung soaked in water and strained . . . with the addition of bulvaka leaves, which are also macerated in water and strained before using, to give a viscous liquid binder. The black employed in the decorated surfaces is composed of black earth taken from a river bed nearby, dried and crushed . . . and mixed with the same bulvaka leaf binder” (127). These descriptions suggest that this is the same plant as that which is identified in Gurenɛ-speaking areas as buŋtɔ. According to Job, the buŋtɔ plant has small white or yellow flowers that don’t attract insects and it bears some kind of fruit (personal communication, February 15, 2015). Based on its appearance and specific properties, it seems most likely that this plant is Corchorus capsularis, known as “white jute.” It could also be Corchorus olitorius, a “leafy mucilaginous vegetable” commonly known as Jew’s mallow, jute mallow, krinkin, tossa jute, or bush okra (PROTA4U n.d.). Both of these plants are grown in Ghana (Abbey et al. 2006). ‌‌‌Coal tar: “A form of tar produced by distilling bituminous coal, used as a sealant and preservative and in antiseptic skin preparations, and as a source of organic chemicals” (Oxford English Dictionary Online). ‌‌‌Da’ambɔ’ɔ (da’ambɔ’ɔrɔ, pl.): “A room built for cooking in, kitchen.” Such a room is also known as a da’aŋa (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 29; 2007b, 21). Dafeere: “Pillow” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 30). Dansika (dansigesi, pl.): “A sleeveless smock (Bolga)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 30). See also zantika. Dawa dawa: The local name for the African locust bean tree (Parkia biglobosa or Parkia clappertonnia), the pods of which are used in making the varnish that coats completed wall paintings (Wemegah 2009, 88). Denya’aŋa (deya’asi, pl.): “A round room with a flat roof, built attached to a small room (sadaa) that must be entered through it. Every traditional compound has just one of these, used by the most senior woman. This is also where corpses are laid before burial” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 32). Deodaana (deodaanduma, pl.): “The senior woman in a compound or household; any woman who owns her own compound, heads a compound” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 33).

204

Glossary

Detine (or detina or detima, pl.): “Hut” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 33). Dinlɔŋɔ: “An instrument used in the yongo dance, consisting of a curved metal plate with a handle, held in one hand and struck with metal rings (fine) worn on both thumbs” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 36). Doore (dɔa, pl.): “Club, cudgel, walking stick. Usu. Made of wood used as a weapon, or by shepherds to drive animals” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 37). Dɔregɔ: “The traditional ladder, made of a large branch with steps cut into it” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 38). Dɔvia (dɔviisi, pl.): “Leaf of the dawa dawa tree” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 39). Du’a (du’usi, pl.): “A small pot for storing pito; a small pot of pito” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 39). Dulego (dulo, pl.): “A large black bird, the hornbill” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 40). Dukɔ: “Pot for cooking or for storage of food stuffs” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 40). Dunduo (dunduuro, pl.): “A snake, the hoodless cobra” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 40). According to Job, this type of snake is black and red (personal communication, January 17, 2022). ‌‌‌Ԑbega (ɛbesi, pl.): “Nile crocodile” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 42). ‌‌‌Fugɔbega: “Cover cloth, cloth worn over one shoulder in the southern style, especially by men” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 48). Fuo (futo, pl.): “Garment, dress, shirt, gown; any article of clothing.” Variant: fuugo (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 48). The term fugu is a common alternative term for the dansika or zantika, referring to the local smock made of strip-woven cloth. ‌‌‌Ga’arɛ: “Lie down, take a prone position in order to sleep” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 50). Ganka (gansi, pl.): “Locally woven cotton cloth strips, with wide black and narrow white stripes. Used for making smocks” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 52). Gaŋɛ: “Exceed, be more than something” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 52).

Glossary

205

Gare: Red gravel used to make paint. According to Bourgès (2006), “the red is composed of hematite and kaolinite” (161). According to Wemegah (2009), gare is a red oxide stone that could be picked directly from the Sirigu community, especially at locations where there is high deposit of laterite,1 or could be purchased from the local market (86). Geo (geero, pl.): “Sickle, curved metal tool for cutting grass” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 54). I also heard the term gɔregɔ (or guregɔ) used for sickle (interview, Sumbrungu, March 7, 2014). Gɛkaserɛ (gɛkasa, pl.): “Unripe fruit of the ebony tree” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 55). Gigenɛ (gigema, pl.): “Lion” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 55). There is a design in some communities called gyirannini or giginnini, which means “lion’s eyes,” combing gigenɛ with nini, meaning “eyes.” Giinya (giisi, pl.): “A tree, the West African ebony, swamp ebony, monkey guava, persimmon. The fruits are eaten. The bark is used for treating diarrhea and toothache, and for improving breast milk. The wood is used for rafters and for fuel. Diospyros mespiliformis” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 56). Gɔleŋa: “Curved; not straightforward, not trustworthy, untrustworthy” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 59). Gɔsegɔ (gɔserɔ, pl.): “Flat roof, plastered roof” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 60). Gulega (gulesi, pl.): “Design, pattern” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 60). Gulego (gulo, pl.): “A type of two-headed cylindrical drum. Made of wood or metal and covered with cowhide stretched over each end” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 60–61). Gumatia (gumatiisi, pl.): “Chameleon” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 61). Gungɔŋɔ: String used to weave together sides of the pi’ɔ type basket (Agombire Atampugre, Sirigu, September 19, 2013). Gurɛ (guti, imperf; gurega, ger): “hold, hold on to, be holding [something]” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 62) ‌‌‌Isega (isi, pl.): “A type of antelope” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 65).

206

Glossary

‌‌‌Kaleŋa (kalesi, pl.): “A pot, kept in the ‘denya’aŋa’ by the senior woman of the house, containing important traditionally valued items” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 69–70). Kampia (kampiisi, pl.): “Kind of snake, puff adder” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 70). Kanɛ: “spear” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 71). Kania (kanɛɛsi, pl.): “Lantern” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 71). Kansaŋesi: African locust bean tree, Parkia biglobosa. In my experience, this term is used interchangeably with the term dawa dawa. Kasurega (kasuresi, pl.): “A small lizard, the gecko” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 73). Katɛ: “Big, large, important.” A big house, for instance, may be called a yikatɛ (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 73). Kɛa: “Malt prepared from millet or maize and used for brewing pito” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 75). Kɛ’ɛma (kɛ’ɛnduma, pl.): “A physically strong person; someone with power or authority” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 75). Kiima: “Older person according to birth; older brother, older sister; senior, preceding, of higher status; older; senior.” The term pɔgekiima is used by younger wives to refer to senior wives within a household (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 77). Kinka’asi: “A device consisting of pieces of calabash with holes bored in the centre and threaded on a stick, used by girls for playing a game” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 78). Kinka (kinkarɛ, sing.): “Guinea corn stalks” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 78). According to Azubire Job Apobelum, the term for guinea corn stalks is mitisi (or mitesi) (email communication, Azubire Job Apobelum, August 31, 2015). Kinka’asi (kinka’aŋa, sing.): “Straw from elephant grass, used for weaving hats” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 78). Kinkɛleŋa (kinkɛlesi, pl.): “Ululation.” Kelom is the verb, meaning to “make a peculiar kind of loud noise in the mouth as a way of praising” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 75–79). Kisegɛ: “Make an incision, cut a small mark on the body, especially the cheek. Done for medical-spiritual purposes” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 80).

Glossary

207

Kɔbegɔ (kɔberɔ, pl.): “War axe; a weapon with a curved metal blade and a short handle, carried in the hand by men while performing the war dance” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 62). Kɔka (kɔgesi, pl.): “A serrated mud ledge built around the wall inside the ‘denya’aŋa,’ to support pots for storage” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 83). The most common word I encountered during my research for this type of shelf was ki’imaneŋa. Kɔlegɔ (kɔlɔ, pl.): “Guitar; a traditional stringed musical instrument” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 83). Kɔma (pl.): “Children, offspring of a human being” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 83). Kɔɔreŋɔ (kɔɔrenɔ, pl.): “Grass door, door made from woven grass” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 84). Kugesabela: Black gravel used for making paint. According to Bourgès, the black pigment is “poorly crystallized iron oxide and kaolinite” (Bourgès 20062, 161). According to Wemegah (2009), the black pigment is obtained from special ponds found in Burkina Faso and is sold in balls. Prior to use, kugesabela gravel is pulverized and mixed with water and cow dung (86). According to Rainer (1992), in Pô, “the black employed in the decorated surfaces is composed of black earth taken from a river bed nearby, dried and crushed . . . and mixed with the same bulvaka leaf binder” (127). Kugpeele: White stones used in wall painting. According to Wemegah (2009), kugupela is limestone “imported from Telewongo (or Yelewongo), a town along the Burkina Faso border and also sold in the Sirigu market. [Kugupela stones] are used directly on the wall by rubbing it on the desired areas of the mural” (86). Rainer (1992) wrote that “white is talc,3 or soapstone, a natural hydrous magnesium silicate, used in its raw form: a soft smooth friable stone which powders to form thin, laminar particles”4 (Rainer 1992, 127). According to Bourgès (2006), the “white is talc, aluminum, silicium, and magnesium” (171). Kuka (kugesi, pl.): “Anything made to be sat on or to put things on: chair, stool, table” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 86). Kulekatenɛ (kulekatema, pl.): “Elephant grass” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 87). According to Azubire Job Apobelum, elephant grass, which he identified as kinka’asi, is used for the main structure of the pi’ɔ type of baskets, along with guinea corn, which he referred to as mitisi (personal communication, August 31, 2015). Kuleŋa (kulesi, pl.): “Door” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 87).

208

Glossary

Kumpi’o (kumpi’iro, pl.): “A large hollow calabash with a narrow mouth, used for storing flour” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 87). Kunkure (kunkɔa, pl.): “Wooden hoe handle” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 88). Kurefoote (kurefɔɔra, pl.): “Metal brazier, coal pot” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 89). Kuuŋɔ: “Many, great numbers, usu. of people” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 90). Kuure (kɔa, pl.): “Hoe” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 90). Kuurɛ (kɔa, pl.): “Funeral” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 90). Kuyoore (kuyɔa, pl.): “A drinking pot, given by a deceased woman’s husband’s family to two or three people from her parents’ family, together with a fowl, to symbolize the funeral. The pot is broken by the woan’s family members on their way home, the fowl is slaughtered and the blood spilled on the broken pieces with some feathers of the bid put on it” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 91). ‌‌‌Laalɛ: “Raise mounds, build mounds for planting (v); mound for planting (n)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a). Laa (laasi, pl.): “Bowl, dish” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 91). Lapia (lapɛɛsi, pl.): “An earthenware bowl, with the top wider than the base” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 93). Lasugelega: “A small clay bowl used for soup. Usually placed under the tz (tuo zafi, thick porridge) bowl for carrying” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 93). Lebere (lɛba, pl.): “Men’s loincloth. This consists of a triangular cloth wrapped through the legs and around the waist by men. It was commonly worn in the old days, but is used today to dress a corpse for burial” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 94). Loko: “Quiver” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 98). Loore (lɔa, pl.): “Lorry, vehicle” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 98). Luŋa (lusi, pl.): “An hour-glass shaped, double-headed drum, played worn on a strap over the shoulder. The lusi ensemble consists of at least 1 high and 1 lower pitched drum, and often additional drums in the middle range. A full ensemble includes whistles (wiisi) and sometimes a ratter (sin-yagerɛ).” See also lundaa (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 100). Lundaa (lundaasi, pl.): “The smaller, higher pitched drum of the lusi ensemble” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 100).

Glossary

209

‌‌‌Mi’a (mi’isi, pl.): “Rope, cord” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 104). Mɔlegɔ: “Red” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 107). Mɔnɛ (mɔna, pl.): “A kind of snake, Brown Water Snake” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 107). According to Job, this type of snake is both dangerous and edible (personal communication, January 17, 2022). Muɔ (muurɔ, pl.): “Grass, weeds” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 109). Certain types of grasses are used in basket-making, and variations on this term were given to me by local artisans and experts. Azubire Job Apobelum said that a type of grass called miisi, which is grown in the bush or used to form a barrier between farms, is used in making larger pi’ɔ type baskets and for weaving sunɔ, sleeping mats (email communication, August 31, 2015; personal communication, September 19, 2013). Muunɛ: “Full, holding the maximum possible quantity; whole, complete” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 109). ‌‌‌Naafɔ (nii, pl.): “Cow, bull, cattle of either sex” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 110). Na’ambeto: “Fresh cow dung” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 110). Wemegah (2009) refers to cow dung, nambeto, in his list of materials used in household construction: “cow dung (nambeto) or donkey dung (bagabisigo) are collected, soaked and mixed with loam or clay for flooring and plastering (74). Naba: “Chief.” Na’am means “chieftaincy” or “affluence” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 110–11). Nayiga: “Thief” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 114). Niɛ: “Become bright, brighten” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 116). Nifo (nini, pl.): “Eye, the organ for seeing” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 116). Niirɛ (nɛa, pl.): “Nether grindstone, a large flat granite stone on which grain is ground. Two such stones, one for coarse grinding and one for smooth, are fitted onto a large cylindrical mud base.” A niirɛ boko is a hole behind the grindstone, positioned away from the grinder, to receive the flour as it is ground (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 116). Nͻkͻberͻ: Fowl feather paint brushes. Nɔɔrɛ (nɔa, pl.): “Mouth” or “entrance” or “edge, of a tool or a sharp object” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 119). Ŋmarebila (ŋmarebɛa or ŋmarebibesi, pl.): “Star” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 127).

210

Glossary

Nua (nuusi, pl.): “Domestic fowl, chicken.” This is the common name for fowl. Niila (niito, pl.) and nͻbila are also used for “small fowl, chicken.” The term niila is more commonly used in Sirigu, while nͻbila is more common in Zuarungu-Moshi (personal communication, Job, January 11, 2022). Nu’o (nu’usi, pl.): “Arm, including the hand; hand, arm below the wrist” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 119). ‌‌‌Paka: “Shed, erected for shade (See: pa’a or puŋa)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 131). Paŋa: “Strength; power; durability” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 131). There is a common expression, “paŋa boi,” which means “strength is here.” Peŋo (peno, pl.): “Any hand-held fan” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 133). Pɛɛfɔ (pɛɛma, pl.): “Arrow, arrowhead” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 134). Pɛɛlega: “White” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 134). Pɛteŋa: “A bird, the cattle egret, great white egret” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 135). Pilego (pilo, pl.): “A small pot with ventilation holes and a cover, used in a funeral ritual for a woman” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 136). Pi’ɔ (pitɔ, pl.): “A conical basket woven from coloured straws, on a square base” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 136). Pito: A malt-based beverage (beer) made from sorghum or millet, popular throughout northern Ghana. Pɔgeminka (pɔgemenkesi, pl.)5: A woman who loves herself and is worthy of respect. Anyelom (1995) defined pogmenka as “literally, a real woman, a dainty or refined woman” and the related term, pogmengre, as “daintiness, or refinement in a woman” (3). Pɔgetezaara (pɔgetezaaraduma, pl.): “Unladylike, unwomanly woman” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 139). Pugela (pugeto, pl.): “A girl, from babyhood to about eighteen” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 140). Pumpɔregɔ: “Multi-coloured”; funpɔregɔ: “multi-coloured cloth” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 141). Punyɔŋɔ (punyɔnɔ, pl.): “A very large type of crocodile” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 142).

Glossary

211

‌‌‌Sa’abega (sa’abesi, pl.): Broken piece of calabash specially carved to be used for shaping and smoothing pots (pottery demonstration, Agombire Elias Aburipoore [Apoore], Aburipoore Asaase, and Agombire Atampugre, February 4, 2014). Saana (saanduma, pl.): “Visitor, stranger, guest” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 144). Saanvaanɛ (saanvaama, pl.): “A plant used for weaving baskets. The stem is split into two before use” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 144). Other spellings for this type of plant include sa’anvane and sanvaane, with the plurals sa’anvaama and sanvaama. In English, this plant is known as jute mallow and its scientific name is Corchorus olitorius (email communication, Dr. Avea Nsoh, February 21, 2022). Sabelega (sabelesi, pl.): “Black” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 145). Saberɛ (saba, pl.): “Good luck charm, talisman, usually woven of leather; A type of decorative design woven into straw hats” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 145). Sakua (sakuusi, pl.): “Domestic cat” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 147). Sampaga (sampagesi, pl.): “A supporting device made of ropes, hung in a traditional woman’s room for storage of mats and straws” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 148–9). Sankaanɛ: “A wild edible plant. The leaves are used in soup, the stalks in basket weaving” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 149). Sasega (sasi, pl.): “A small smooth stone, used to smoothe plastered walls or floors (Nankani)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 150). Sɛla: “Something, anything, what” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 152). Sia (siisi, pl.): “A tall tree. The wood is resistant to termites and used for beams or rafters” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 152). Sia (siisi, pl.): “Waist” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 152). Siganɛ: “Belt” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 153). Solemitiŋa (solemitisi, pl.): “White man’s land; foreign land, any inhabited place outside Africa (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 156). The term solemia (solembiisi, pl.) refers to a foreign person. Sore (sɔa, pl.): “Way, road, footpath; journey; permission” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 157). Sɔ: “Biological father; father’s brother, paternal uncle; any elderly man; a deity, the spirit of one’s father. A symbol eg. Hoe, axe is set up on a mud platform as a shrine to represent one’s father’s spirit for sacrifice” (Dakubu,

212

Glossary

Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 157). The household shrine dedicated to the yidaana’s (house owner’s) father is also often referred to as msɔ (my father). Sͻͻ (sɔɔrɔ, pl.): “Broom” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 158). This word refers to the local type of broom, made of dried grasses tied together in a bundle. Sukuu: “School” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 160). Suŋa: “Nice, good-looking, neat,” or beautiful (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 161). La ani suŋa means “it is good.” Suŋɔ (sunɔ, pl.): “Mat, sleeping mat, made of savannah bamboo (see: mia)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 161). According to Job, these mats are woven from mi’isi, dried grasses or weeds (see also mia and muɔ). Surega (suresi, pl.): “Vent, an opening on a plastered roof that allows air into the room” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 161). ‌‌‌Taaba (pl.): “Colleagues, contemporaries; each other, indicating a reciprocal action” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 162). Tafɔ (tiini, pl.): “Bow, for shooting” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 164). Takɛ (takeri, imperfect; takerɛ, gerund): “Plaster, e.g., a wall” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 164). The expression “takerɛ bole” refers specifically to plastering a wall with bole sand. Takole (takɔla, pl.): “Window with a frame” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 164). Tanɛ (tana or tama, pl.): “A length of imported cloth; a strip of locally woven cloth; scrap of local cloth” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 165). Tanduŋa (tandusi, pl.): “Pestle” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 165). Tankone (tankɔma, pl.): “A large water bird with long legs and neck, gray heron” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 165). Tanwugera (tanwugereba, pl.): “Weaver, one who weaves traditional cloth for making smocks” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 165. Tesunkɔ (tesuntɔ, pl.): “Head pad, for carrying loads on the head” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 166). Tindaana (tindaanduma, pl.): “Land priest, traditional spiritual leader of a community who offers sacrifice to the shrine(s). He also has overall responsibility over the land. Usually the first settler of the land, usually male” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 169). Tintia (tintiisi, pl.): “Straight” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 169).

Glossary

213

Tintula: “In a wrong position, wrongly positioned” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 170). Tintɔnɔ (or tɔnɔ or tintͻŋͻ, sing.): “Earth, soil, sand. The singular form (tintɔŋɔ) refers to lumps of soil” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 170). Or “rich soil consisting of a mixture of sand and clay and decaying organic materials. It may be used entirely alone or together with clay in architectural construction” (Wemegah 2009, 74). Tugelum: “Build up, pile up, stack up” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 173). Tulege (or tulegeri or tulegere or tulegera): “Return, come back to a place; turn something to stand on its other end, up-end, reverse a condition, change a situation to its opposite” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 174). Tuo zafi (or tuo zaafi): commonly called TZ, it is the preferred carbohydratebased staple food of Ghana’s Upper East Region. It is made by mixing millet, sorghum (also known as “guinea corn”), corn, and/or cassava with water. The mixture is heated and stirred until it forms a thick porridge that is formed into large doughy balls and served with stew or soup (Ntim 2020). Tu’um: “Stumble” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 175). ‌‌‌Uwa: This is the term Wemegah (2009) uses this term for a type of perforated pot used for slowly smoking meat (103–04). ‌‌‌Valeŋa (valesi, pl.): “A waist band made of the stalk of elephant grass twisted into a rope, worn by women. It was a precious property for an older generation of women. Not used today, but when a woman dies it is put on her for burial; name of a game; also, the bands made of millet or elephant grass stalks used in the games. Played especially by shepherds” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 178). Visega (visi, pl.): “A kind of grass, that is difficult to uproot” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 179). Vɔnɛŋa (vɔnɛsi, pl.): “A cotton cloth worn by women on a waist band, to cover the private parts” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 180). ‌‌‌Waafɔ: “A small, harmless snake, the Spotted Blind Snake” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 181–82). In my research, the term waafɔ (or wahɔ) was often used to mean python. Wanε (wama, pl.): “Any calabash” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 183).

214

Glossary

Wanzaka (wanzagesi, pl.): “A used or broken calabash, used for odd jobs.” Also wanzɔkɔ (wanzɔgerɔ, pl.), “any broken old calabash, used for collecting things” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 183). Wanzagesi: Broken piece of calabash. Welese: “Separate, sort, divide into kinds . . . Variant: yelese (Bolga)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 183). Wia (wiisi, pl.): “Wooden flute, whistle. Variant: yia (Booni, Nankani)” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 184). Winɛ (variant, yinɛ): “Sun; Supreme God, in traditional and Roman Catholic usage. Traditionally not given any physical form; a personal deity or god. Usually takes the form of a small pot with a bangle, place on a flat roof” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 183). Woo: “All, every” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 185). Wɔbezifo (wɔbezim, pl.): “A large kind of python, boa constrictor” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 185). Women in Sumbrungu used the word wɔbekimɔ for python (interview, September 5, 2013). Woko (wogero, pl.): “Tall, long” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 185). Wugɛ: “Weave” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a). Wuurɛ: “Formal announcement and commencement of a funeral” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 186). ‌‌‌Yagebɛ: “Mould clay, make a pot” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 187). Yelebibesi: “Slanderous speech, back-biting” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 189). Yibega (yibesi, pl.): “Younger sister or brother” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 191). Yidaana (yidaanduma, pl.): “Householder, head of a household,” typically the most senior man of the household (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 191). Yire (yɛa, pl.): “House, dwelling, building, compound of small buildings; household, family, either nuclear (a man, his wife or wives and their children) or extended” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 192). Yoore (yɔa, pl.): “A pot with a narrow neck, used to store water for drinking” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 193). Yͻgerͻ: Clay for making pots.

Glossary

215

Yɔgeseeem: Grog made from broken pieces of pottery, ground or pounded into a powder, sieved, and combined with clay to prevent cracks and fissures resulting from excessive shrinking during firing. Yuka (yugesi, pl.): “Fishing net” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 195). Yu’uŋɔ: “Night” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 196). ‌‌‌Zaaleŋa (zaalesi, pl.): “A woman’s collection of calabashes in a zaalega; a long net of woven fibre, hung in a woman’s room for storing calabashes” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 196). Zankaŋa (zankasi, pl.): “A kind of snake; spitting cobra, black cobra” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 199). According to Job, this type of snake is very dangerous (personal communication, January 17, 2022). Zantika (zantigesi, pl.): “Sleeveless smock” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 199). See also Dansika. Zanyɔrɛ (zanyɔa, pl.): “The cleared area in front of a compound. Men sit to converse within this area” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 199). Ze: “Stand, be in an erect, upright position”; ze’ele: “set an object down, stand something” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 199). Zigi: “Gravel. Used in plastering floors, to make them harder” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 201). Zigmͻrligo6: Reddish-brown gravel used for making primer that is applied to walls and slip used on the walls of pots. According to Bourgès (2006), it is “a preparatory layer of earth applied to the relief . . . composed of a ferruginous earth with some clay minerals (kaolinite) and organic fibers. The layer includes angular grains of sand . . . which indicates that some of the material may have been intentionally crushed. The orange color of the earth was identified as hematite. The fibers serve to increase the tensile strength and reduce cracking of the material. The clay provide a sticky texture that both allows engraving of the drawings and increases the cohesion and stability of the preparatory layer” (160–61). Zinzira (or zinzite): “Fruits of the zinzirega tree. The fruits are soaked in water and used for tanning leather and for decorating newly fired pottery.” The zinzirega tree is “a black tree, a kind of acacia. Acacia scorpioides” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 202). Zom: “Flour, of any grain”; zom ko’om is “a mixture of water, shea butter, pepper and millet (or corn) flour. The water is drunk and what is left is eaten.” Zom ko’om is used in making sacrifices, among other things (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 203).

216

Glossary

Zuvaka (zuvagesi, pl.): “A brimless hat, made of traditional cloth” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 207). Zuwanɛ (zuwama, pl.): “Skull, brain case” (Dakubu, Atintono, and Nsoh 2007a, 207). Azubire Job Apobelum used this term to refer to the horned and cowrie encrusted helmet used in the traditional war dance (Sirigu, group interview, January 20, 2014). NOTES 1. Citing a personal communication with A. Akanvolle, October 3, 2008. 2. Kaolinite, n: a general term for those porcelain clays, found in masses of minute crystalline scales, of which kaolin is the typical variety (Oxford English Dictionary Online). 3. Here Rainer notes that X-ray diffraction conducted by Dr. Giacomo Chiari found the white to be pure talc. 4. Here she cites Rutherford J. Gettens and George L. Stout. 1966. Painting Materials: A Short Encyclopedia. New York: Dover, 160. 5. This word is not included in the Gurenɛ dictionary, so the definition is an approximation of what I was told by various women. My spelling of the plural is based on my understanding of the pronunciation. 6. Job spelled this zigmͻlego in the PDF drawing key, but he usually spelled it zigmͻrligo.

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Index

Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba women group, in Bongo, 17, 67, 185–86 Aberinga, Apuntuguna, 112, 182; on artistic practices, 186–87; on bambͻlse and pɔgeminka link, 30; on bambͻlse history, 25; on coal tar use, 76; Kasise, M., home painting project by, 110–11; on modern materials use, 171 Aberiŋa, Asokipa’ala, 186; on pɔgeminka and bambͻlse importance, 38; on zaaleŋa, 48 Abimbeere women group, canvas painting focus of, 57 Aburipoore, Agombire Elias “Apoore,” 174; as Aburipoore Yire yidaana, 58; on coal tar use, 77; gender and artistic practice criticism, 59 Aburipoore, Akanvole, 60; as Aburipoore Yire deodaana, 58 Aburipoore, Ferreol Aguyire “Ferreol,” 19, 58, 84; on Amizia’s hat, 146; on ɛbega/ɛbesi reverence, 135; on paint processing, 88–89; room painting for, 106, 109; as SWOPA tour guide, 60, 110 Aburipoore Yire compound, in Sirigu, 58–61, 172, 173–74; am use at,

72, 110, 111; baobab design at, 134; bole collection by donkey cart at, 74; coal tar use at, 77; ɛbega/ ɛbesi design at, 133; nii motifs at, 133; painted exterior walls of, 104; painting process in, 99, 102–3; physical description of, 60; singing at, 109–10; SWOPA assistance in kugesabela and gare processing, 88–89; wanzagesi design at, 106, 108, 109; weather as factor plastering and painting in, 69; wɔbezifo design symbolism at, 134; younger women role in, 71; zaaleŋa design at, 125– 26, 129 Adopa-Duŋɔ Yire, 131, 172–73 Adugebiire, Be’endiŋeya, 2, 38 Aeŋepaɛ, Ramatu, 29, 186; on wanzagesi designs, 123–24; on zaaleŋa designs, 126 Aeŋepaɛ Yire, wanzagesi designs at, 123–24 African Art and Agency in the Workshop (Kasfir and Förster), 11 African artists, anonymizing of, 10 African Canvas (Courtney-Clarke), 17 Agambire, Ayameŋa, 68; as Wegunaba Yire yidaana, 53 225

226

Index

Agurigɔ, Ayɛyu’urɛ: bambɔlse definition by, 2; on difficulty obtaining traditional materials, 152–53 Aid to Artisans Ghana, 16, 180 Akambɔyu’urɛ, Evylem, 46, 119 Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire, yidaana portrait at, 119–20 Akawi’ire Yire: tana design at, 140; zaaleŋa design at, 125–26, 129 Akayu’urɛ, Ayampɔka, 82; painting by, 101, 101–2 Akayu’urɛ Yire, 131, 172; lusi and lundaasi designs at, 142–43; nii motifs at, 133 Akolgo, Atampɔgebire, 50, 52 Akozulo Yire compound, in Sirigu, 54, 186; author wall painting workshop with Ayambire at, 67; bambͻlse designs at, 57; bambͻlse ever-shifting nature in, 57; expert paint process in, 99, 102; geometric and animal motifs in, 58; Nsoh, Akalaɛ, as yidaana of, 57; physical description of, 56–57; plaster mixing process at, 78; project timing in, 69, 102; wall keying process, 79 Akundiilɛ Yire, SWOPA plastering and painting projects support for, 171–72 Akun Nyana nii (Akun Nyana’s cattle), 47, 100, 100–102, 101, 104, 105, 143–46, 183 Akura, Aniah, 112; Kasise, M., home painting project by, 110–11 Akuta, Ayɛriga, 65 Alhassan, Mariama: Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba plastering and painting project of, 67, 185–86; bambͻlse description by, 32–33; on modern materials, 152; Wegunanba Yire plastering and painting project of, 67–68 Alliance Franҫaise mural painting, in Accra, 182–84, 183 Alumbɛ Yire, 16 am (organic varnish), 77; Aburipoore Yire use of, 72, 110, 111; application

of, 116n27; Awaho Yire use of, 72, 95; ingredients in, 72; Job on, 114n6; preparation of, 71, 71–72 Amizia zuvaka (brimless hat), 106, 109, 112–13, 143, 145–46, 182, 183 amulet. See saba Anaba-Dongo Yire, 15, 189 ancestral mother, in bambͻlse history, 27–29 Anontebesum, Azuurɛma, 31; on bambͻlse declining interest, 161–62; on laziness, 160 Anyelom, Anaba, 14, 21n1, 115n18; bambɔlse definition by, 1; on incised lines decline, 90, 116n26 Apelebire, Akurigo, 157–58 Apila Yire, Apelebire on household instability in, 157–58 Apiyire, Adeebͻba, 28 Apobelum, Azubire Job “Job,” 15, 39n2; on am, 114n6; as assistant to author, 18–19; on Awaho Yire collaborative painting system, 93; Bongo travel to, 53; on denya’aŋa modernization, 49; on flat earthen roofs maintenance, 56; on lions, 150n17; on metal roof longer lifespan, 56; zigmͻrligo purchase by, 84 Apobelum, Cecilia, 18 Apoore. See Aburipoore, Agombire Elias application: of am, 116n27; of cement and hand, 114n7; of kugpeele, 115n20, 116n28; painting implements for, 89–90; of plaster and hand, 80, 81; Rainer on plaster, 115n10; of zigmͻrligo, 84, 85, 86, 115n16 Apusunɛ, Atɔgepuurum “Azorko,” Aburipoore Yire painting by, 105–8 Apuuri, Api’irama, 28 architecture: changes in practices of, 151, 158–59; Courtney-Clarke photographs of, 13; of Indigenous people, 12–13; Joe on primitive

Index

perception of traditional, 159; tɔnɔ soil for earthen, 1, 43 Architecture in Northern Ghana (Prussin), 12 Art in Aktion workshop, at SWOPA, 176 artistic decline, in Ghana, 151, 165; of bambͻlse, 21, 39, 156–57, 162, 190; from changing lifestyles, 21, 154–58; education influence on, 154–55, 165nn1–1; employment influence on, 156–58, 165n3; environmental challenges and, 158; from materials and methods change, 152–53; migration influence on, 155–57; perspectives on tradition and change, 162–64; from taste and preference change, 158–62; from women roles in economy, 153–54 artistic interpretations, 5, 6 artistic practices study, of author: Aberinga and Apuntuguna on, 186–87; author personal background in, 14–16; field research on, 14–16; individual identities shaped by, 4, 38; literature review and contributions on, 10–14; positionality in study of, 9–10; preferences in, 21; study methods, 16–19; study missing details and discrepancies, 19–20; theoretical framework for, 4–9 artistic processes: building in, 64–66, 66, 151; collaboration in, 4, 63–64, 92–95; painting in, 20, 89–92; paint preparation in, 86–89; plastering in, 20, 68–83; preliminary planning and arrangements in, 67–68, 110–13, 112; social hierarchy in, 4, 63–64; zigmͻrligo as primer, 83–86, 93, 95. See also painting process artistic resurgence, in Ghana, 21, 167–90 artistry: adaptation and resurgence of, 21, 167–90; Ayambire exceptional, 57; continuity and change in, 3–4;

227

DeCarbo and Smith on, 13; identity and, 4, 38 Asabea Yire, 15, 189; rural area designs at, 118; tana designs at, 141; traditional house design representation, 118–19 Asuŋɛtaaba women group, 57 Asuŋɔ, Apodɔleba, 27 Atampugre, Agombire, 26, 182; artistic training of, 58–59; bambͻlse designs of, 188–89; on design inconsistent information, 147; on hand application of cement plaster, 114n7; Kasise, M., home painting project by, 110–11; on nii design, 132–33; as painting expert, 104–5; pottery studio of, 60; on pɔgeminka, 30–31; on wanzagesi design, 124, 125; on zaaleŋa gendered versions, 128–29 Ate’eletaaba women group, in Zuarungu-Moshi, 18, 68, 185 ateyesia design, 35 Atiŋa, Amaalebɔba, 27–28 Atoeyu’urɛ Yire, bambͻlse positive attitude in, 170–71 Atole-Yaaba Yire: ɛbega/ɛbesi (crocodile) design at, 135–36; lusi and lundaasi designs at, 142; wanzagesi designs as, 123–24 Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba women group, in Sumbrungu, 18; basket weaving practices in, 187–88 authenticity, 7; concept of, 14; Drewal, H., on, 14; promotion of, 168; SWOPA products with elements of, 170, 178 Awabire, Alebezi’ire, 50, 52 Awaho, Akolgo, 50 Awaho, Awabire “Bozin,” 50, 51; commercial paint preference of, 159 Awaho, Azo’uue, 27–28; on bambɔlse, 2; on ceremonial calabash bowl, 38; as deodaana of Awaho Yire, 50 Awaho Yire compound, in ZuarunguMoshi, 49, 53; am use of, 72, 95;

228

Index

cement and commercial paint use in, 50, 84; challenges to project at, 75; children holding hands design at, 136–37; collaborative painting decisions at, 92–95; cow dung collection at, 75; denya’aŋa room at, 52; doore design at, 130–31; household member occupations in, 50–51; Job on collaborative painting system of, 93; musical instrument designs at, 143; painted wall motifs on, 94; physical description of, 50; plastering and painting project at, 68; project timing in, 69; proper behavior design depiction at, 121; room dedicated to deceased Awaho yidaana in, 52; tana designs at, 141; Traditionalists and Christians in, 50, 52; women artistic training and abilities described, 51; wɔbezifo and ɛbega/ɛbesi motifs at, 93 Ayambire, Faustina, 18, 182; Akozulo Yire wall painting workshop of, 67; exceptional artistry ability of, 57; holding bole and tɔnɔ, 65; painting by, 102; as SWOPA member, 57; wall keying process, 80 Azo’uue women group, 68 bambͻlse (traditional designs): Alhassan description of, 32–33; Anontebesum and Nyaaba, Ayampɔka, declining interest in, 161; Apoore training in, 59; baobab tree pod ashes for, 30, 40n8; child-bearing years prohibition for, 71; decline of, 21, 39, 156–57, 162, 190; familial, social, commercial connections in, 11; financial hardship of current, 161; for meaning through social interaction, 5; Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ, experience with, 54–55; personal, familial, cultural pride of, 2; SWOPA role in maintenance and revival of, 189; varied definitions of, 1–2, 21n1

bambͻlse designs: ateyesia motifs, 35, 35; at Akozulo Yire, 57, 58; of Atampugre, 188–89; of baobab tree, 30, 40n8, 47, 134; doviisi motif, 34, 34–36; food preparation motifs, 33–34; meanings of, 20; selection of, 89–90; women daily lives and, 33–38; zaaleŋa as original, 126 bambͻlse history, 20; ancestral mother and, 27–29; artistry and identity, 4, 38; Cardinall on, 39n3; ethnic and linguistic background in, 23–24, 39nn3–5; Navrongo origination of, 25–26; origins association with materials sources, 26; pɔgeminka and, 30–33; tradition emergence, 24–25; women daily lives and bambͻlse designs, 33–38; Zeko origin of, 26, 40n7 baŋa (lizard), 1, 101, 101, 137, 149nn11–12 baobab tree, 47; Aburipoore Yire design of, 134; pod ashes for bambͻlse, 30, 40n8 basket and basketry, 30; Apoore training in, 59; Bolga round-bottomed, 2, 180–81; Cardinall on art of, 22n5; Sumbrungu practices of weaving, 187–88; in SWOPA art gallery, 177–78 black gravel. See kugesabela black paint, from kugesabela stone, 86, 88, 88–89, 116n22 bole (smooth sand), 1, 72–73, 77–78, 113; Ayambire holding of, 65; with cow dung for plaster, 54–55, 69, 171; Nyaaba, Abisibɔba on collection of, 70, 74; Wegunaba Yire gathering of, 74–75 Bolgatanga: basket, 2, 180–81; painting process in, 99–114 Bolgatanga Basket Weavers Cooperative Club, 180 Bongo, 6, 15, 16–17; Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba women group in, 18,

Index

67, 185–86; incised lines use in, 92; Job and author travel to, 53; painting process in, 92–99; traditional and modern elements use in, 7; zigmͻrligo red paint preference in, 86 borehole, 74–75, 114n5 bɔpaka (workshop), 46, 62n7 brush, 85; from feathers, 91, 97; naara millet stalk as, 90, 95; painting implements variety, 89–90; use of commercial, 101, 101, 103 building construction, in artistic processes: modern changes to, 151; tɔnɔ with water for wet-wall technique, 64–66, 66; yidaana role in, 64 bunsɛla (kind of snake), 34, 35, 137. See also wɔbezifo buŋtɔ plant, 116n21; Atampugre on pigment abundance in, 26; black paint processing with kugesabela and, 86, 88, 88–89 Burkina Faso: bambɔlse origination in, 25; field research in, 9, 15–16; Rainer on plastering and painting process in, 73; traditional artistry in, 23 calabash bowl, 38, 47, 48, 49, 121–22, 148n2. See also wanzagesi calabash bowl for women valuables. See kumpio canvas painting, 57, 59, 175, 178 Cardinall, Alan Wolsey, 12, 25; on bambͻlse history, 39n3; on basketry art, 22n5; on ɛbega/ɛbesi symbolism, 134 cattle. See nii (or naafɔ) cement: Awaho Yire use of, 50; with coal tar for modern wall, 44; drawbacks for use of, 78; Kasise, R., and Atampugre on hand application of, 114n7; as plaster ingredient, 78; Rainer on, 78

229

cement blocks, 44, 50, 53, 55–56, 66, 79, 151 Centre for National Culture (CNC), 179–80, 184–85 children, plastering materials gathered by, 69–70 children holding hands design. See sukuu kɔma nyɔgenu’usi Christianity, 45, 50, 52 clan divisions, in Ghana, 41–42, 61n2 CNC. See Centre for National Culture coal tar, 54; Aberinga on use of, 76; Apoore on use of, 77; bambͻlse designs painted from, 44, 55; DeCarbo on use of, 76; durability of, 152; Nsoh, Avea, on use of, 76; Nyaaba, Ayampɔka, on, 152; use in plastering, 76, 151; in Wegunaba Yire, 56 Cobbina, Rafael, 182 collaboration, in artistic traditions, 4, 63–64, 92–95 commercial brush, 101, 101, 103 commercial paint, 44, 151; Aburipoore Yire use of, 60; Awaho, Awabire “Bozin” preference for, 159; Awaho Yire use of, 50, 84; urban areas use of, 55–56; on Wegunaba Yire walls, 54–55 community organization, Ghana: clan divisions in, 41–42, 61n2; compound named for founders, 42–43; as primarily rural, 41 compound, 41; construction and organization, 43–49; cooperative parenting in, 45–46; multisection for family members, 45. See also Aburipoore Yire compound, in Sirigu; Akozulo Yire compound, in Sirigu; Awaho Yire compound, in Zuarungu-Moshi; denya’aŋa; Wegunaba Yire compound, in Bongo; specific compound

230

Index

Courtney-Clarke, Margaret, 13, 17; on doore design, 148n7; on incised lines on painted walls, 90 cow. See nii (or naafɔ) cow dung, for plastering, 30–31, 78–79, 85, 114n4, 116n22, 152, 171; Awaho Yire collection of, 75; bole and, 54–55, 69, 171; children collection of, 69, 70; water-resistant properties of, 73 co-wives, 45–46, 62n6 CraftPro, 180–81 crocodile. See ɛbega/ɛbesi (crocodile) designs cultural tourism, 169–81; artistic resurgence from, 168; Ghana development of sites for, 168; Jolinaiko Eco Tours, Meet Africa for, 168; market expansion from, 167–68 culture, 132, 136; change in Indigenous, 162–64; ever-changing nature of, 147–48; saba and, 141; social interactions manifestation of, 9; women influence on, 3 daily lives, 3; bambͻlse design and women, 33–38; designs of, 117–19 dansigesi or zantigesi (smocks): cultural heritage and, 140; saba and, 142; tana and, 139 dawa dawa (locust bean tree), 115n18; doviisi motif representing, 34, 34–36, 37; ingredients in am, 72; Nankani men and women face scarification designs of, 35 DeCarbo, Edward, 13, 25; on coal tar use, 76; on denya’aŋa, 48; on zaaleŋa, 48, 62n8 denya’aŋa (round room with flat roof), 47; of Aburipoore, Akanvole, 60; of Aburipoore Yire, 61; Awaho Yire room for, 52; DeCarbo on, 48; deodaana use of, 46; Job on modernization of, 49; ki’imaneŋa shelf in, 47–48; niirɛ stone shelf in,

46–47; Wegunaba Yire demolishing of, 56; zaaleŋa and wanzagesi common designs in, 48, 129–30 deodaana (senior woman in household): Aburipoore, Akanvole as, 58, 60; of Awaho Yire, 50, 60; denya’aŋa use by, 46; role of, 43, 120; zaaleŋa importance to, 48–49 designs, 148; Atampugre and Kasise, R., on inconsistent information for, 147; of daily lives, 117–19; of local environment, 132–39; of memories, histories, connections, 143–46; of relationships, 130–32, 136–37, 149n8; of roles, duties, and proper behavior, 36, 36–38, 119–21; tangɔleŋa, 105, 107, 108; of traditional ceremonies and festivities, 139–43; of women lives and identities, 121–30. See also bambͻlse designs; specific design doore (walking stick) design, 130–31, 148n7 doviisi (leaf of dawa dawa tree) motif, 34; in bambͻlse design, 34–36, 37 Drewal, Henry John, 8, 14 Drewal, Margaret Thompson, 9 earth, soil, sand. See tɔnɔ (or tintɔnɔ) earthen bricks, for modern walls, 43–44, 66 ɛbega/ɛbesi (crocodile) designs, 1, 75, 98, 113; at Aburipoore Yire, 133; Awaho Yire motif use of, 93; Cardinall on symbolism of, 134; Ferreol on reverence for, 135; as relief image, 82; SWOPA on cultural importance of, 135–36; various image meanings of, 136; at Wegunaba Yire, 132 economy, women impact on artistry decline and, 153–54 education, artistic decline impacted by, 154–55, 165nn1–2

Index

employment, artistic decline impacted by, 156–58, 165n3 emulsion paint, 56, 159 environmental challenges, artistic decline and, 158 ethnic and linguistic background, in bambͻlse history, 23–24, 39nn3–5 exogamous marriage practices, in Ghana, 42 expert. See miniba exterior walls: Aburipoore Yire painted, 104; bambɔlse for several years on, 1; Nsoh, Akake, room painted, 100, 100 feathers, brush from, 91, 97 Ferreol. See Aburipoore, Ferreol Aguyire field research, 14–19 food preparation motifs, in bambͻlse design, 33–34 Förster, Till, 11 funeral. See kɔa gare (red gravel), 26, 27; Greenwald on, 115n19; paint processing of, 88–89; red paint from, 86 gender, 4; Apoore and artistic practice criticism, 59; male artist training, 22n6; wanzagesi categories for, 124; for zaaleŋa designs, 124–25, 127–29, 148n6; zaandaa categories for, 94, 104, 105–6, 109, 124–28, 148n6. See also women Ghana: artistic decline, 21, 151–65; artistic resurgence in, 21, 167–90; cultural tourism sites development, 168; household organization in, 42, 43, 120, 153; primarily rural communities in, 41; social systems and community connections in, 20; traditional artistry in, 23; women financial challenges in, 158 Ghana Tourism Authority, 168

231

Ghana Youth Employment and Entrepreneurial Development Agency, 180 gigenɛ (lion) design, 138, 149nn16–17 God’s Power Weaving Center women group, 53 Golden Tulip Hotel, Sirigu artists Indigenous artistry at, 181–82 Greenwald, Allison: on bambͻlse, 21n3; on gare stones, 115n19 group. See women group Groupe Bogolan Kasobane, 12, 22n6 hand-molded balls, for wet-wall construction, 64–66, 65 Haverkort, Corrie, 175, 179, 190n2 His Grace the Chief Belem Zi’ire. See Sa Majeste Naba Belem Zi’ire Home Tours, by SWOPA, 170, 172–73 hour-glass drums. See lusi and lundaasi household organization, Ghana: deodaana senior woman role in, 43, 120; exogamous marriage practices in, 42; yidaana man of household role in, 42, 43, 120, 153 house tours: in Bongo Wegunaba Yire compound, 53–56; community and household organization, 41–43; compound construction and organization, 43–49; in Sirigu Aburipoore Yire compound, 58–61; in Sirigu Akozulo Yire compound, 54–58; in Zuarungu-Moshi Awaho Yire compound, 49–53 identity: artistry and, 4, 38; women lives and designs for, 121–30 incised lines, in painted walls, 116n25; Awaho Yire and Akozulo Yire on tools for, 91; in Bongo and Sirigu, 92; Courtney-Clark on, 90; decline in, 90, 116n26 Indigenous people: architecture of, 12–13; change in culture of, 162–64;

232

Index

past description of, 8; pigments of, 60 Job. See Apobelum, Azubire Job Joe. See Nyaaba, Mbabila Joseph Jolinaiko Eco Tours, 168 Kasfir, Sidney Littlefield, 10, 11 Kasise, Bridget, 19, 169, 182 Kasise, Melanie, 18, 19, 182; motifs used in home painting project, 112, 112; painting project at home of, 67, 110–13, 112; as SWOPA key player, 169 Kasise, Rita: on design inconsistent information, 147; on hand application of cement plaster, 114n7; Kasise, M., painting project and, 112–13; on pɔgeminka, 30; on relief image, 82; on tana design, 140; on zaaleŋa gendered versions, 128–29 kasuresi (wall geckos), 137–38, 149nn13–14 keying process, for wall, 79, 80 ki’imaneŋa shelf, 47–48, 49, 129–30 kind of snake. See bunsɛla kɔa (funeral), 68, 139, 142, 143 kugesabela (black gravel), 26, 40n8, 97, 116n22; black paint from buŋtɔ and, 86, 88, 88–89; difficulty to obtain, 153; Nsoh, Akake, grinding of, 29 kugpeele (white gravel), 26, 28, 35; difficulty to obtain, 153; no need for processing, 87–88, 115n17; Norman on application of, 115n20; white paint from, 86–87, 115n20, 116n28 kumpi’o (calabash for women valuables), Rattray and Westermann on, 48, 62n9, 150n18 labor migration, of women, 155–57 leaf of dawa dawa tree. See doviisi Leesberg, July, 175, 179, 190n2 lifestyles, artistic decline from changing, 21, 154–58

lion. See gigenɛ literature review/contributions, 11–14 lizard. See baŋa local environment designs: animal motifs in relief, 132, 149n15; of baŋa, 1, 101, 101, 137, 149nn11–12; of bunsɛla and waafɔ, 34, 35, 40n10, 47, 113, 133–34, 137, 149n9; of ɛbega/ɛbesi, 1, 75, 82, 93, 98, 113, 132–36; educational focus of, 132; of gigenɛ, 138, 149nn16–17; of kasuresi, 137–38, 149nn13–14; of nii, 1, 44, 47, 82, 100–101, 101, 105, 132–33, 148n1; of wɔbezifo, 36, 36–37, 40n10, 47, 82, 93, 112, 133 locust bean tree. See dawa dawa lusi and lundaasi (hour-glass drums) designs, 142–43 male artist training, 22n6 male householder. See yidaana market, 7, 14; for Bolga baskets, 180– 81; cultural tourism expansion of, 167–68; rotational operation of, 153– 54; sale of pigments, 87; SWOPA provision of member products for, 170; women product sales in, 153 materials, modern: Aberinga on use of, 171; Alhassan on, 152; artistic decline from change to, 152–53; Nyaaba, S., on difficulty of traditional, 152; rural areas and expense of, 55–56; trends toward, 159 Meet Africa, 168 memories, histories, connections designs: of Akun Nyana nii, 47, 100, 100–102, 101, 104, 105, 143–46, 183; of Amizia zuvaka, 106, 109, 112–13, 143, 145–46, 182, 183 metal roofs, 151; in Awaho Yire compound, 44; Job on longer lifespan of, 56; in Wegunaba Yire compound, 53, 56

Index

migration: artistic decline impacted by, 155–57; bambͻlse influenced by, 26 millet stalk. See naara miniba (expert), 102, 108, 116n23; Atampugre, Agombire, as painting, 104–5; Nsoh, Akake, as plastering, painting, pottery-making, 57; plaster thickness gauged by, 81; Sirigu led painting process by, 99 modern: Bongo use of elements of, 7; building construction changes to, 151; Job on denya’aŋa modernization, 49; tradition compared to, 9; walls, 43–44, 66. See also materials, modern mɔtana. See tana mural: Alliance Franҫaise mural in Accra, 182–84, 183; Cardinall on, 25; Ndebele, 11 musical instrument designs, 143 naara (millet stalk), as brush, 90, 95 Nankani people, 23; dawa dawa scarification designs, 35 narrative scene: at Asabea Yire, 36; bambͻlse past lack of, 36; of man and wɔbezifo, 36, 36–37; at SWOPA compound, 120; at Wegunaba Yire, 120–21; on women household roles, 37–38 National Youth Employment Programme, 180 Navrongo, 15–16; bambɔlse origination and, 25–26 Ndebele murals, 11 netted rope bag. See zaaleŋa nii (or naafɔ) (cow, cattle), 1, 44, 47, 100–101, 101, 105, 148n1; at Aburipoore Yire, 133; at Akayu’urɛ Yire, 133; Atampugre on, 132–33; as relief image, 82. See also Akun Nyana nii niirɛ (stone shelf), in denya’aŋa, 46–47

233

Norman, Corine, 13, 115n12; bambɔlse definition by, 2; on kugpeele stones, 115n20 Nsoh, Akake: as Asuŋɛtaaba women group leader, 57; black kugesabela stone grinding, 29; as plastering, painting, pottery-making expert, 57; plaster mixing process of, 78; room painted exterior wall for, 100, 100; as SWOPA member, 57; wall keying process, 80 Nsoh, Akalaɛ, as Akozulo yidaana, 57 Nsoh, Avea, as author mentor, 15, 16, 18, 49, 53 Nyaaba, Abisibɔba: artistic training of, 70; on bole collection, 70, 74; on cement and coal tar use, 171; plaster training of, 81–82; on zaaleŋa design, 126–27 Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ, 53, 67–68, 89; bambɔlse definition by, 2; on children collection of cow dung, 70; on pɔgeminka household surroundings, 38; wall painting of room of, 123; on wall patches, 79; on young women laziness, 160 Nyaaba, Ayampɔka, 53, 67–68; on bambͻlse declining interest, 161–62; on bambͻlse history, 26; as painting expert, 104, 108; plaster and paint knowledge of, 54–55; pɔgeminka description by, 31–32 Nyaaba, Mbabila Joseph “Joe,” 53; on primitive perception of traditional architecture, 159 Nyaaba, Selina: on bambɔlse history, 25; pɔgeminka description by, 32 organic varnish. See am Paga Crocodile Pond, tourism destination of, 135 paint: commercial, 44, 50, 54–56, 60, 84, 151, 159; emulsion, 56, 159; Ferreol on processing of, 88–89;

234

Index

Nyaaba, Ayampɔka, knowledge of, 54; preparation of, 86–89 painting: in artistic process, 20, 89–92; Cardinall description of, 25; decline in traditional, 151; design selection, 89–90; implements for application of, 89–90; Nsoh, Akake, as expert in, 57; project at Kasise, M., home, 67, 110–13, 112; of room of Ferreol, 106, 109; Smith on design decision, 89; traditions of, 10–11; Wemegah on experts for, 116n23; women together for, 35 painting process: in Aburipoore Yire, 99, 102–3; in Bolgatanga and Sirigu, 99–114; in Bongo, 92–99; Rainer on Burkina Faso, 73; rural areas compared to urban areas, 113–14 paka shelter, of yidaana, 50 pigment: gravel used for, 26–27; market sale of, 87; processing of, 86, 87–89, 88. See also gare; kugesabela; kugpeele planning and arrangements, in artistic processes, 67–68, 110–13, 112 plaster: Akozulo Yire mixing process for, 78; cement as ingredient for, 78; cow dung and bole for, 54–55, 69; deterioration prevention from, 1; expert gauging of thickness of, 81; hand application of, 80, 81; Nsoh, Akake, mixing process of, 78; Nyaaba, Abisibɔba training for, 81–82; Rainer on application of, 115n10; Rainer on ashes mixed into, 114n4; sasega stone to smooth surface of, 82, 83, 106, 107, 108, 116n24; smoothing of, 82, 83; traditional ingredients for, 73–74 plastering, 63–68, 82–114; in artistic processes, 20, 68–83; children use for material gathering and preparation, 69–70; early morning preparation of, 76; Nsoh, Akake, as expert in, 57; Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ,

knowledge of, 54–55; Nyaaba, Ayampɔka, knowledge of, 54; preparations for, 69–70; relief images for, 82; social and cultural factors for date of, 68; time factor for completion of, 69, 115n11; water as ingredient for, 74; weather as factor for, 68–69. See also coal tar positionality, of artistic practice, 9–10 pottery: of Apoore, 59; Atampugre studio for, 60; designs on, 2; Nsoh, Akake, as expert in, 57; in Sirigu, 21n4; in SWOPA art gallery, 177–78; wanzagesi design on, 124 pɔgeminka (woman worthy of respect), 32–33, 187; Aberiŋa on bambͻlse importance to, 38; artistic change for, 39; Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ on household surroundings of, 38; wall plastering, painting, pottery and basket-weaving of, 30 primer, zigmͻrligo as, 83–86, 93, 95 Prussin, Labelle, 12 puddled-mud construction. See wet-wall technique, in building construction python. See wɔbezifo Rainer, Leslie: on ashes mixed into plaster, 114n4; on Burkina Faso plastering and painting process, 73; on cement plaster, 78 Rattray, Robert S., 12; on clan divisions, 61n2; on kumpi’o, 48, 62n9, 150n18; on tana design, 140; on zaaleŋa, 48 reddish-brown gravel. See zigmͻrligo red gravel. See gare red paint, from zigmͻrligo or gare, 86 relationship designs: at Akayu’urɛ Yire of husband and wife, 131; children holding hands design, 131–32, 136– 37, 149n8; of doore, 130–31, 148n7 relief images for plastering, of nii, wɔbezifo, and ɛbega/ɛbesi, 82 roles, duties, and proper behavior designs: Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire yidaana

Index

portrait, 119–20; Awaho Yire depiction of, 121; narrative scenes for, 36, 36–38, 120–21 roofs: Job on flat earthen maintenance difficulty, 56; metal, 44, 53, 56, 151. See also denya’aŋa round room with flat roof. See denya’aŋa rural areas: design references to, 117–18; factory-produced clothing in, 141; Ghana primary, 41; modern materials expense and, 55–56; 2010 census on, 61n1; urban areas painting processes compared to, 113–14; wet-wall construction method in, 66; women population in, 62n5; women wall painting traditions, 15 saba (amulet) design, 141–42; Smith on, 150n22 Sa Majeste Naba Belem Zi’ire (His Grace the Chief Belem Zi’ire), 16 sasega (and sasi) (small smooth stone), 105; Atampugre and, 59; Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ, on smoothing plaster by, 83; to smooth plaster surface, 82, 83, 106, 107, 108, 116n24; zigmͻrligo primer coat and, 86 Schepers, Cornelia, 182 senior woman in household. See deodaana Sirigu, 15, 16; artistic tradition revitalization in, 7; bambͻlse design codified by shared ideas and goals, 6; gare red paint preference in, 86; incised lines use in, 92; painting process in, 99–114; pottery in, 21n4; tana design in, 140; wanzagesi designs in, 123 Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art (SWOPA), 17, 19; Aburipoore Yire initiation and funding of artistic process, 67; art gallery at, 176–77; art gallery

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for products of authenticity, 178; Art in Aktion workshop at, 176; bambͻlse maintenance and revival role of, 189; cultural tourism and, 168–81; desire for authenticity of, 170; developmental and promotional support for, 179; on ɛbega/ɛbesi cultural importance, 135–36; Ferreol as tour guide for, 60, 110; on gendered versions of zaaleŋa, 127; Haverkort and Leesberg workshops at, 175, 179, 190n2; Home Tours by, 170, 172–73; Kasise, M., as key player in, 169; market for member products by, 170; materials contribution from, 171; narrative figures and scenes of, 120; Nsoh, Akake, and Ayambire as members of, 57; pigment purchase by, 87; pottery and baskets in art gallery of, 177–78; social benefits of, 170; support network of, 188; tourism focus of, 110; traditional artistry support by, 171; “Wall to Wall” booklet of, 127, 168, 179; zaaleŋa designs on compound of, 128–29 small harmless snake. See waafɔ small smooth stone. See sasega (and sasi) Smith, Fred, 13, 21n2, 49; bambɔlse definition by, 1; bambɔlse history and, 25–26; on doore design, 148n7; on painting design decision, 89; on saba amulet, 150n22; on tana, 140; on wanzagesi, 148n3; on zaaleŋa, 148n4 smocks. See dansigesi or zantigesi smooth or smoothing, 112; of plaster with sasega stone, 82, 83, 106, 107, 108, 116n24 smooth sand. See bole social hierarchy, in artistic process, 4, 63–64 social interaction, 5, 9

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Index

social systems and community connections, in Ghana, 20 song and dance designs, 142, 150n23 stone shelf. See niirɛ strip-woven cloth. See tana sukuu kɔma nyɔgenu’usi (children holding hands) design, 131–32, 136–37, 149n8 Sumbrungu, 6, 15, 17; Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba women group in, 18; python terms in, 40n10 SWOPA. See Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art

162–64; terminology description of, 8–9; zigmͻrligo primer use as, 84 traditional ceremonies and festivities designs: kɔa, 68, 139, 142, 143; lusi and lundaasi designs, 142–43; musical instruments designs, 143; saba motif and, 141–42; of song and dance, 142, 150n23; of tana, 139–41, 150n21 traditional design. See bambͻlse traditional house designs, at Asabea Yire, 118–19 Traditionalists, at Awaho Yire, 50, 52

takɛ or takerɛ bole (to plaster), 72–73 tana (strip-woven cloth), 150n21; kɔa and, 139; tradition and change association with, 141–42; wealth and prestige link with, 140–41 tangɔleŋa design, 105, 107, 108 taste and preference changes, artistic decline impacted by, 158, 162; Anontebesum and Nyaaba, Asadaarɛ, on young women laziness and, 160; financial hardships impact on, 160– 61; modern materials preference, 159 temperatures, regulation of, 1, 83 “This Is What Makes Sirigu Unique” (Woets), 13–14 Tietaar restaurant, Sirigu artists Indigenous artistry at, 182 time, as plastering factor, 69, 115n11 tourism: cultural, 167–81; Ferreol as SWOPA tour guide for, 60, 110; Paga Crocodile Pond and, 135; SWOPA focus on, 110; Woets on, 13–14 tɔnɔ (or tintɔnɔ) (earth, soil, sand): Akozulo Yire walls of, 56–57; balls formed from, 64–66, 65; soil for earthen architecture, 1, 43; Wegunaba Yire walls of, 54 tradition: bambͻlse art form and, 6; collaboration in, 4, 63–64, 92–95; Drewal, H., on, 8; modern compared to, 9; perspectives on change and,

urban areas: cement block construction, 55–56, 66; commercial paint use in, 55–56; migration to, 155–57; rural areas painting process compared to, 113–14; 2010 census on, 61n1 urban artistry: Alliance Franҫaise mural in Accra, 182–84, 183; at Golden Tulip Hotel, 181–82; at Tietaar restaurant, 182 waafɔ (small harmless snake) design, 40n10, 47, 113, 133–34, 149n9. See also wɔbezifo walking stick. See doore wall: bambɔlse design on exterior and interior, 1; cement and coal tar use for modern, 44, 54; formed from tɔnɔ, 1, 43, 54, 56–57, 64–66, 66; keying process for, 79, 80; from modern rectangular earthen bricks, 43–44, 66; preparation of, 79; temperature regulation by thick mud, 1; Wegunaba Yire crumbling, 54 wall geckos. See kasuresi “Wall to Wall” booklet, of SWOPA, 127, 168, 179 wanzagesi (or wanzaka) (broken calabash pieces) design, 146–47; at Aburipoore Yire, 106, 108, 109; Aeŋepaɛ, R., on, 123–24; Atampugre on, 124, 125; common denya’aŋa

Index

design of, 48, 129–30; daily activities use of, 122; gendered categories for, 124; at Kasise, M., house, 112; Smith on, 148n3; variations of, 123–24; on walls, pots and baskets, 122 war dances, at kɔa, 143 water: as essential plastering ingredient, 74; -resistant properties of cow dung, 73 weather, as plastering factor, 68–69 Wegunaba Yire compound, in Bongo, 55–56; Alhassan plastering and painting project at, 67–68; bole gathering and, 74–75; cement plaster use at, 78; children holding hands design at, 132; ɛbega/ɛbesi motif at, 132; God’s Power Weaving Center women group at, 53; household members of, 53; Joe interview arrangements in, 53; motif selections at, 95–96, 96; narrative scene at, 120–21; painting over outlines at, 97–98; physical description of, 53; project timing in, 69; wall construction in, 54; yidaana and deodaana roles in, 120; zigmͻrligo primer application at, 84 Wemegah, Rolland, 14, 21n1; on bambͻlse, 21n3; on painting experts, 116n23 Westermann, D., 12; on clan divisions, 61n2; on kumpi’o, 48, 62n9, 150n18; on tana design, 140; on zaaleŋa, 48 wet-wall technique, in building construction, 64–66, 66 white gravel. See kugpeele white paint, from kugpeele stone, 86; application of, 115n20, 116n28; as waterproof, 87 Woets, Rhoda, 13–14 woman worthy of respect. See pɔgeminka women: artistic decline impacted by economy and, 153–54; Awaho Yire artistic training and abilities, 51;

237

compound interior space focus for, 46; culture influenced by, 3; daily lives and bambͻlse designs of, 33–38; female-headed households and, 156; financial challenges in Ghana, 158; increased education impact on artistic decline, 154–55, 165nn1–2; labor migration of, 155–57; market sales by, 153; rural population of, 62n5; zaaleŋa importance to, 48, 126 women groups: Abasɛyu’ure Suŋɛ Taaba in Bongo, 18, 67, 185–86; Abimbeere group, 57; Asuŋɛtaaba, 57; Ate’eletaaba in Zuarungu-Moshi, 18, 68, 185; Atoobiisi Apa’alɛtaaba in Sumbrungu, 18, 187–88; Azo’uue, 68; empowerment and artistry of, 184–90; God’s Power Weaving Center in Wegunaba Yire, 53. See also Sirigu Women’s Organisation for Pottery and Art women lives and identities designs: of calabash bowls, 121–22; of wanzagesi, 106, 108, 109, 112, 121–25, 146–47, 148n3; of zaaleŋa, 47, 48–49, 62n8, 105, 109, 121–30, 146–47, 148n4, 148n6 workshop. See bɔpaka wɔbezifo (python) design, 47, 133; Awaho Yire motif use of, 93; Kasise, M., home design of, 112; narrative scene of man and, 36, 36–37; as relief image, 82; Sumbrungu terms for, 40n10 Yaaro, Rose: artistic training of, 70; on bambͻlse old-fashioned perception, 159; pɔgeminka description by, 32 yidaana (male householder), 89; Akambɔyu’urɛ Yire portrait design of, 119–20; Apoore as, 58; Awaho Yire dedication room for, 52; building construction role of, 64; household organization and role of,

238

Index

42, 43, 120, 153; paka shelter of, 50; Wegunaba Yire Agambire as, 53 zaaleŋa (netted rope bag), 47, 105, 109, 121, 146–47; Aberiŋa on, 48; at Akawi’ire Yire and, Aburipoore Yire, 125–26, 129; calabash collection in, 48; DeCarbo on, 48, 62n8; in denya’aŋa, 48, 129–30; deodaana importance of, 48–49; gendered designs for, 124–25, 127–29, 148n6; importance to women, 48, 126; Kasise, R., and Atampugre on, 128– 29; multiple versions of, 126–27, 127; as original bambͻlse design, 126; Rattray and Westermann on, 48; Smith on, 148n4 zaandaa (male version of zaaleŋa), 94, 104, 105–6, 109, 124–28, 148n6

Zeko, 16; bambͻlse origin in, 26, 40n7 zigmͻrligo (reddish-brown gravel), 26, 27, 54, 61; application of, 84, 85, 86, 115n16; challenge to acquire, 84; declining use of, 83–84; Job purchase of, 84; paint processing of, 88; preparation of, 85, 115n14; as primer, 83–86, 93, 95; red paint from, 86; temperature regulation by, 83 Zuarungu-Moshi, 6, 15, 16–17; Ate’eletaaba women group in, 18; painting process in, 92–99; Smith and, 49; traditional materials and techniques use in, 6–7; zigmͻrligo preparation at, 85; zigmͻrligo red paint preference in, 86. See also Awaho Yire compound zuvaka. See Amizia zuvaka

About the Author

Dr. Brittany Sheldon is currently working as a lecturer at Cal Poly Humboldt in the Art + Film Department, where she teaches courses in art history. She received her bachelor’s degree (2007) in the history of art and visual culture at the University of California. She received her master’s (2009) and doctoral (2016) degrees in art history and African studies at Indiana University in Bloomington. Her research highlights women’s artistry, including wall painting, pottery-making, and basket-weaving, in the rural communities of northeastern Ghana and southern Burkina Faso. She has presented on this topic at numerous African Studies Association and Arts Council of the African Studies Association conferences and published an article entitled “Indigenous Expertise: African Women’s Artistry Connecting Across Time and Space” in Africa Review (2016). Through her research, presentations, and projects, Dr. Sheldon explores the lives and work of Indigenous women artists, asking questions about their experience, ideas, knowledge, and expertise.

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