It is Friday evening and we go out to Oasis, a restaurant close to the beach. We heard that there is a drumming performance at 8 pm. Some drums are already standing on the stage but we can‘t see anybody who could play them. Ghanaian time runs differently. Half an hour later, a group arrives. They form a circle, holding hands, pray together and prepare for the performance. Some put on blue shirts, some very short violet shorts. All of them wear the same necklaces. Then the drumming starts. They drum and sing, sometimes scream like birds. Two men and two women in the violet clothes begin to dance, stamping, shaking what their mothers gave them. I wonder how anyone can move their bodies in such a way. Now and then the drumming rises to an apparent final climax but it goes on and on. The dancers leave the stage, we see them resting behind the drummers, discussing who is going to do the next dance and then they come on the stage again. Their bodies become darker with sweat. Their dances tell stories, men in canoes meet, women go to the market, men ask women to dance. A short break and the second part begins. Gymnastics, acrobatics, I am not sure how to call it. They flip over, perform somersaults in quick succession, jump on each other‘s shoulders, stand on each other‘s heads. Their bodies are glistening in the dim light. I can see every single muscle. They are beautiful, I can‘t stop looking at them. A final pyramid and then the performance is over. The dancers and drummers change back to their normal clothes and look like everybody else again. Who could tell now what they can do. Again they come together and pray before one after the other, they leave.
