It could have been any nightclub or wedding hall \u2014 except for the T-shirts, posters and CDs bearing the photo of an elegant older woman. The raucous party was, in fact, a funeral for Gertrude Manye Ikol, a 65-year-old nurse from Ghana who had died two months earlier. A few blocks away, guests spilled out of an even more boisterous memorial.
The Irish may be known for their spirited wakes, but Ghanaians have perfected the over-the-top funeral. And in New York City, these parties anchor the social calendar of the fast-growing community of immigrants from that West African nation.<\/p>\n
Held nearly every weekend in church auditoriums and social halls across the city, they are all-night affairs with open bars and window-rattling music. While the families are raising money to cover funeral expenses, teams of flourishing entrepreneurs \u2014 disc jockeys, photographers, videographers, bartenders and security guards \u2014 keep it all humming while turning a tidy profit.<\/p>\n
There may or may not be a body present, or a clergyman. The beliefs expressed may be evangelical Christian, Roman Catholic or secular. The deceased may have died in New York or in Africa, a few days or a few months earlier. But the funerals all serve the same ends \u2014 as festive fund-raisers for bereaved families and as midnight reunions for Ghanaian nurses, students, scientists and cabdrivers looking to dance off the grind of immigrant life in New York.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo us it\u2019s a celebration, but to an American they see it as a place of sadness,\u201d Manny Tamakloe, 27, an aircraft mechanic, shouted over the music as he sipped a Guinness at Mrs. Ikol\u2019s funeral. \u201cIf you\u2019re Ghanaian and you come here, you\u2019ll see 10 or 12 people you know and they\u2019ll introduce you to somebody. And before you know it, you know everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy go to the bar,\u201d he asked, \u201cwhen you can come here and get it for free?\u201d<\/p>\n
Weddings, christenings and birthdays are all celebrated heartily in Ghanaian circles, but few match the scale and decibel level of the memorial service. When Kojo Ampah, 34, finds himself without weekend plans, he phones his wide circle of fellow expatriates to ask, \u201cHey, is there any funeral?\u201d<\/p>\n
Generally come-one-come-all, the memorials have become larger and more frequent in recent years as New York City\u2019s Ghanaian population has grown and become more settled, community leaders say. The latest census estimates show that there are about 21,000 Ghanaians in the city, mostly in the Bronx, up from 14,000 in 2005.<\/p>\n
The parties are fervently anticipated, promoted weeks in advance with online advertisements \u2014 \u201cSave this day,\u201d one said, \u201cas I celebrate the life of my mother\u201d \u2014 or with stacks of glossy fliers that pile up at African restaurants and groceries. The fliers often resemble theater playbills, with photos of the grieving family and friends, known as the \u201cchief mourners,\u201d as well as credits for the M.C. and technical staff.<\/p>\n
A well-attended funeral carries great social prestige \u2014 and the bigger the party, the better. On a Friday night when Mr. Tamakloe had already been to two, he described the arrangements for a stranger\u2019s coming memorial in the Bronx.<\/p>\n
\u201cEverybody\u2019s saying this is going to be the hottest funeral of the year,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Henry Boateng, an engineer, has spent months planning a funeral this Saturday for his father, Albert Ernest Boateng, who died in July in Ghana. At least 300 people will show up, he predicted.<\/p>\n
The parties are a direct import from Ghana, where funerals are world-renowned for their size and extravagance. Coffins there sometimes resemble Mardi Gras floats; an athlete\u2019s might be shaped like a soccer ball, a fisherman\u2019s, like a canoe.<\/p>\n
In Ghana, \u201cthe most significant cost you\u2019re going to incur in your life is not going to be your wedding \u2014 it\u2019s going to be your funeral,\u201d said Brian Larkin, a Barnard College anthropology professor who studies West African culture.<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople get caught up in a competitive display,\u201d he continued.
As in Ghana, funeral guests in New York need not know the deceased or even the family. But they are expected to pay respects to the bereaved, cut loose on the dance floor and donate $50 to $100 \u2014 though many do not pay \u2014 to help fly the body back to Africa or cover other costs. A big party can raise thousands of dollars.<\/p>\n
Indeed, the funerals are the hub of a buzzing economy. Henry Ayensu, who owns a printing company called Cre8ive House in the Bronx, said he had printed fliers for 12 Ghanaian funerals in the past two months, many more than usual.<\/p>\n
Photographers are crucial. Six worked Mrs. Ikol\u2019s funeral on March 4, and each brought a laptop, a color printer and an assistant. They snapped photos of partygoers, then printed them on the spot and sold them for $10 to $20 apiece.<\/p>\n
The funerals have become such money makers that the pretexts for them are sometimes a bit thin, Mr. Ampah said. A New Yorker, for example, might hold a party for a cousin\u2019s niece\u2019s husband who died in Ghana, even if the two had never met and few of the proceeds are intended for the family back home.<\/p>\n
Mr. Ampah said a taxi driver he knew made $6,000 on such an event. \u201cPeople won\u2019t begrudge him because people are happy to come show support and have fun,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The funerals usually begin around 10 p.m. with religious blessings, ceremonies and speeches in English and Twi, a Ghanaian language. By midnight, the dancing has started. By 2 a.m., the funeral-crashers have arrived, and the party is in full swing.<\/p>\n
Outside Mrs. Ikol\u2019s funeral, held in a church hall near Tremont Avenue in the Bronx, late arrivals stood by their cars, changing from puffy jackets and jeans into traditional toga-style wraps of red and black, the colors of mourning. A half-dozen private security guards flanked the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cBy the time they leave, it\u2019s 5 a.m. \u2014 always,\u201d said Carlos Rozano, a guard who has worked more than a dozen Ghanaian funerals.
Inside, the M.C. praised Mrs. Ikol as a devout Catholic and a loyal friend, his voice amplified by a 15-foot tower of speakers. The music began, and by 2 a.m. the room throbbed with the sounds of highlife, a Ghanaian blend of jazz, brass-band songs and African rhythms. A video camera captured the scene, which was projected onto a giant screen above the stage.<\/p>\n
Francis Insaidoo, a biochemist who recently moved to New York, said funerals reminded him that he belongs to a community. \u201cIt feels like you\u2019re not alone,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
He did not know Mrs. Ikol, he said, but his roommate did. The roommate, swigging a beer, acknowledged with a shrug that actually, no, he did not know her either.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou come for a party,\u201d Mr. Insaidoo said.<\/p>\n
Credit: New York Times<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
See the rest here: <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
At 2 a.m. on a Saturday in the Bronx, the dance floor was packed, the drinks were flowing and a knot of young women with stylish haircuts and towering heels had just arrived at the door, ready to plunge into the fray. It could have been any nightclub or wedding hall \u2014 except for the T-shirts, posters and CDs bearing the photo of an elegant older woman. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-381904","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-business"},"yoast_head":"\n