Hair styles and Palm Sunday

My bosom friend Kofi Kokotako once told me that a person’s haircut portrays his character. I disagreed with him and said a person’s character portrays his haircut. All in all, we agreed between us that a presidential aspirant whose haircut is excessively punk cannot win even a unit committee election, much more a castle-bound one.

One thing I hated as a kid was getting my hair barbered because I never had the style I wanted. Usually, it was my father who was the tormentor-in-chief, and he chose the kind of design that would suit the shape and nature of my head and that of my elder brother Christian, whose name is more civilised than mine.

When we were through, we looked quite different from the other kids. I didn’t know where my Pop learnt that kind of style but I realised it was very colonial in form and outlook, and I became sad when the girls giggled at my design.

Actually, it was something resembling a half-bow with a line cut through at about 38 degrees to the perpendicular. After the ordeal we looked half like the resident catechist and half like a fierce Regimental Sergeant-Major.

When I told my daddy that I had had enough of the ancient cut and wanted an Afro or at least a Tokyo Joe, he quickly explained that Tokyo Joe was for ruffians and that his style was tailor-made for aspiring doctors, lawyers, engineers and great states-men. He didn’t mention journalists though.

So I went and told the giggling girls that my hairdo was a magical one that was going to transform me into a doctor whether they liked it or not. I added that their brothers who had modern haircuts invariably were going to be labourers and tangas (town council). They laughed at me even the more.

They referred me to the conservancy labourer not far away who always wore my kind of cut and asked me why he wasn’t wearing a white gown with a stethoscope hanging from his neck, if that kind of haircut was indeed miracle-performing!

My Dad was quite scrupulous and dished us the haircut in its hardest form just before Palm Sunday. It helped boost our religious conviction and the Holy Spirit almost descended and settled on our wonderful heads.

At Sunday school one Palm Sunday, the lady teacher asked me to stand so that she could admire my hairdo. I was quite flattered and happy that I was the centre of attraction on a great occasion like Palm Sunday. So I quickly stood up and turned round like a model for all to see and envy my design.

It was when the teacher asked me whether my daddy was a policeman that I lost heart. At the mention of policeman, everybody started laughing and I concluded that the teacher wasn’t admiring my head after all. All she wanted to do was to predict my daddy’s occupation using my head as a determinant. I wasn’t pleased with the attempt.

Today whenever it is getting to Palm Sunday I remember the incident. And actually I have always enjoyed Palm Sunday because deep within me, I’m a very religious person and I believe that once God will judge us by the purity of our hearts and not the bottles of beer we quaff, I shall also be in heaven together with Korkorti.

Now if you observe properly, you’d realise it is those who are not believers who celebrate Easter to the fullest. They understand the real meaning of Palm Sunday because they equate it to the birthday of palm wine. They actually mourn the death of Christ and rejoice at his resurrection using palm in the form of wine.

Palm Sunday is best marked in the rural areas where palm wine is always available from dawn to dusk and vice versa. Normally, people start Palm Sunday at exactly 4.15 am when the freshly-tapped wine starts arriving. But you have to begin slowly otherwise you’d be in coma before the sun rises.

Easter is due again and this time as usual, the action is right in the countryside. Kwahu is going to shake, Tapa Abotoase will somersault and Peki would explode. All over the world, these three Sikaman towns are ranked as places where Easter is best celebrated with a hangover assured.

People from Britain, Germany and Holland come down either to Obo Kwahu or Avetile Peki to celebrate Easter. They never miss it. It is a yearly ritual. They save towards the occasion.

So during the celebrations, people from all over the country also converge on these places and the celebrants compare haircuts and note carefully those who have grown lean and those who are neither growing lean or growing fat.

In fact, people assess their fellow human beings to ascertain whether they are becoming prosperous or are chewing grass. News is also brought from all over the globe and those from Germany (Jaaamani) are the loudest. The way they talk, you would never know they are cleaning the whiteman’s toilet to make some dough. You’ll think they are Managing Directors of a multinational corporation in Dusseldorf. Such is life.

It is during church service on Easter Sunday that the been-tos and the locals alike display whatever they have under their sleeves. The gentlemen are often resplendent in suits and black shining pairs of shoes, and the way they walk can be a clue as to where they are sojourning. With seamen for instance, it can be quite psychedelic. It is a real sight to behold especially if they hail from Kromanti, Moree or Abandze.

With the ladies, the spectacle is breathtaking. It is unbelievable! You can’t comprehend it using the human senses. You have to employ spiritual means. The kaba styles are of different kinds, styles, colour and combination of colours. Some of the styles are complemented with wings and when the lady wearing it is hurrying to “chapel” you’ll think she is actually airborne. She is practically a human vulture.

Then comes the picnic sessions which are normally well-attended by gate crashers, mental patients and political strategists who are also well versed with what is going on between Kwame Pianim and kukrudu. So they brief their listeners and prophesy the outcome of court cases and election results. In exchange, they are well-fed, well-boozed and all.

But things do not happen only during the day time. At night, the devil usually takes over. Friendships are entered into, old girlfriends are re-baptised and there is love and romance.

By Easter Monday, marriages are broken, new marriages contracted, girlfriends are jilted and pregnancies are on the way awaiting abortion. Every year it happens, and this year it is going to happen again. The death and resurrection of the Lord will really be marked in both righteous and evil ways.

Perhaps, this is not how Judas intended it to be celebrated. Judas was the architect of the Holy Friday coup d’état against the Son of Man.

This article was first published on Saturday March 30, 1996.

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