In The Spirit of Intimacy, from the Dagara teacher Sobonfu Somé, the writer describes how she at the age of sixteen became the bride of an unknown man who was staying abroad (Somé 1997, p70-74). They came from the same village, Dano in Burkina Faso, and Somé knew his family but hadn’t met their son. He had been studying oversees and the elderly in the village saw in her a suitable wife for him, since they shared the same life purpose. She hesitated, not wanting to leave behind her home and not knowing what awaits her in the outside world. Because none of her relatives could advise her, she turned to her grandmother who had recently passed away. After spending some time around her grandmother’s grave, she received the message that she shouldn’t worry and that all will be alright. The next day Somé went back to the elderly and said ‘yes’ to the marriage. It turned out to be a good decision. In her book she explains how she finally met her husband and the kind of rituals they performed in order to be in tune with each other. The couple became teachers of the Dagara traditions abroad.
Consulting ancestors is a common practice in many indigenous cultures around the world. Just like the Dagara, traditionalists believe that the short and long distance relatives who have died, become spiritual guardians to the people and communities they leave behind. It is not necessary to personally have known those foremothers and forefathers, as long as they are part of the previous generations, people can connect to them (Somé 1997, p15-16). In the afterlife they become one with Spirit, the life force that runs through every element on earth. They can have their own way of expression through elements in nature such as a river, a tree or a stone. Beside that, they can come through totem animals that function as the symbol of the African tribe. The totem becomes the tribe’s identity. Because of this, every person from this tribe will share a special kinship with that particular totem animal (Somé 1998, p261) (Emeagwali & Shizha eds. p68). For example the elephant, the monkey, the python and the eland can be totems.
There are many different ways to consult the spirit of an ancestor. It can be done through prayer, meditation and the use of certain artefacts. The couple Somé mentions in their writings several rituals the Dagara people do to align with their foremothers and forefathers (Somé 1998, p87-89). For instance, through simple gestures as pouring water on the ground or by sitting in circles of ash on the compound. Another way to communicate with the spiritual realm is through an ancestral altar, located in a room or at the front yard of the clan’s chief. The chief has the responsibility to observe and safeguard the ancestral laws. Keeping the connection alive with late relatives is of great importance to indigenous tribes. It keeps the people in these communities safe, healthy and strong. Somé compares ancestral rituals to food for the body, only this one is food to their souls (Somé 1998, p160-161). It helps the mind of the traditionalist to stay sound and clear. That is why it is necessary to commune with spiritual guardians regularly. Certain issues cannot be resolved by words alone, especially emotional pain needs something else. Ancestral rituals can release the body and mind from tension. Or complex problems within communities are being addressed by inviting their spirits in their midst and have members of the community actively involved in these performances.
These rituals have more meaning than being merely a form of ancestral worshipping. Scholars Emeagwali & Shizha explain that the very survival of African communities depends on their communication with their foremothers and forefathers (Emeagwali & Shizha eds. p70-71). They turn to their spirits for wisdom, prosperity and healing. They instruct them how to live in their lands, produce food and co-exist with the creatures in nature. There is a strong connection between the soil and the ancestors, they cannot be separated or disregarded. It’s their burial ground, their spirits reside in the soil. No wonder a country like Burkina Faso is called ‘Land of the Ancestors’ in its official languages, Moóre and Dyula. Beside tangible examples, indigenous people can also commune with their ancestors through their dreams. Sleeping time is seen as an opportunity for the divine spirit of God and deceased relatives, to give directions.
When the European colonisers came to Africa (in the 14th-18th century) to exploit the land and the people, they successfully disconnected the enslaved ones from their ancestral roots. By trafficking them, shipping them away from their sacred lands to unknown territories and stripping them off entirely from their identity, culture and customs. That’s how they were able to break their souls, control their minds and abuse their bodies. Any form of indigenous cultural expression was forbidden and labeled as idol worshipping. The Western and European religious practices became and remained the dominant cultural expression in the former colonies. However, nowadays in these societies, the practice of honouring ancestors are hidden in plain sight. They have been embedded in the cultural heritage, education and language of these countries. For instance, in my country of birth, the Netherlands, heroes of the past like Anne Frank, Vincent Van Gogh and Erasmus, are still being celebrated every year. Institutions have been named after them, school children learn about them and their achievements are known abroad.
The preservation of cultural heritage is not seen as ancestral worship in the Western mind. For Westerners it is not a religion and certainly not a ritual. But, if we indeed believe that European ancestors reside in the soil of the places where they were buried, then we see that a lot of attention and resources do flow towards the most prominent figures in these places. That is how Westerners make an active connection with the ancestral spirits of their country and cultures. They may see it as an intellectual exercise in preserving their history and an expression of appreciation for their cultural legacy. That doesn’t take away the fact that significant people of their past (and their doings) are being given great meaning and value for the current and future generations.
A great example is when former Dutch prime minister Jan-Peter Balkenende exclaimed in the middle of a debate in parliament: “Let’s rejoice together! Let’s be optimistic! Let’s say: the Netherlands can do it again! That VOC-mentality, passing by the borders with our eyes, dynamic!” (Balkenende 2006) With ‘VOC-mentality’ he meant the mentality of the Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie, VOC) that actively traded, plundered and went to war overseas for at least two hundred years. Some critics rapped him over the knuckles for this comment in which he disregarded the many atrocities that came along with the VOC expeditions. For instance, the VOC-sailers were prominent slave traders in the colonisation of African countries.
Now, where does that leave us as African descendants from the Caribbean? Our European forefathers despised us and our African foremothers were not allowed to hold on to their ancestral ties. Their believe system ridiculed indigenous practices and made the religion of the white men superior. Therefore the connection with our ancestors is a troubled and damaged one. Therapist Menakem talks in his book My Grandmother’s Hands how black and white ancestors have subconsciously passed on traumas from generations to generations. The only way to know this is to listen to the fear in our bodies. Because our bodies can only live in the now and has become the ‘home of intense survival energy’ (Menakem 2017, xv).
The understanding around the complex topic of intergenerational trauma is growing. That makes the time ripe for us in the African diaspora to restore our connection with not only our black but also our white ancestors. It is a restoration that has to take place on many different levels; body, mind and soul. We don’t only need to know the truth about what happened in the past to our foremothers and forefathers. We also need to listen to the unspoken words of their spirits that reside in our bodies. Although much of our indigenous knowledge and practices got lost during the colonial years, some of the old habits stayed with us. For instance, within the Afro-Caribbean cultures we still believe in the influence of God’s spirit, our ancestors and the spiritual realm.
Moreover, we can express these believes in very mundane ways without much religious context. For example, in the Surinamese household I grew up in, when we were physically (or emotionally) not well, we occasionally did ritual baths, sometimes even with a healing blue stone or holy water. My mother would be praying and calling upon the Holy Spirit. She also bathed me the morning of my departure to Ghana for the first time. I still remember how strongly my spirit responded to her blessings. Nowadays, bathing is still an important part of my daily spiritual practice in where I cleanse and rejuvenate myself with sanctified water. It is a silent way of communing with our known and unknown ancestors. My sister does it more direct by occasionally asking the spirit of our late father for strength and guidance. She can see him in her dreams and it was no surprise to us when her daughter was born on his birthday.
These ‘home practices’ may not have the weight the Dagara rituals in Burkina Faso or the cultural legacy of the Netherlands have, but they have much meaning to us as post-colonial orphans without a land or culture to call our own. We stand on the shoulders of ancestors whose bones have been broken. And I would like to believe that through the lives we live and the values we uphold, we make amends for them and for ourselves. Indeed our foremothers and forefathers answer back, as subtle as we have approached them, with personal blessings and guidance.
Bibliography
Balkenende, Jan-Peter in Dutch parliament (2006)
Emeagwali, Gloria and Edward Shizha (Eds.) (2016) African Indigenous Knowledge and the Sciences. Journeys into the past and present. Rotterdam, Sense Publishers: 70-71
Menakem, Resmaa (2017) My Grandmother’s Hands. Racialised Trauma and the pathway to mending our Hearts and Bodies. Las Vegas, Central Recovery Press: xv
Somé, Malidoma Patrice (1998) The Healing Wisdom of Africa. Finding life purpose through nature, ritual and community. New York, Penguin Putnam Inc.: 87-89, 160-161, 261
Somé, Sobonfu (1997) The Spirit of Intimacy. Ancient African teachings in the ways of relationships. New York, Berkeley Hills Books: 15-16, 70-74
This paper was written by Liesbeth Tjon-A-Meeuw in the class of Africana Development Studies (2025) from Anton De Kom University (SU), Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (GH) and Broos Institute (NL).
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