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4 In Service to the King: Dagbamba Fiddling in Ghana The gondze are a special clan that are second to none because you must be schooled from infancy. You just don’t get up and pick it up. One is gifted from the source of the gondze. Because in misery or in times of need, gondze music can advise you on how to improve your life. —Salisu Mahama Gondze, 1994 The Dagbamba fiddle, or gondze, is a court instrument that is considered to be the most beloved of the king (Ya Naa) of Dagbon,1 a small but politically important kingdom in northern Ghana. Performed by professionals who belong to the same family or clan, Dagbamba fiddlers are highly valued and have a high social status because the instrument they perform symbolizes political authority. Thus, the history of fiddling is widely known by the musicians and others in the community. In many parts of Sudanic West Africa, ambiguity surrounds the music profession. On the one hand, many nonmusicians regard professional musicians (oftentimes called griots) as social outcasts who live on the margins of society because of what they do and represent. On the other hand, community members consider musicians “to be the respected keepers of the heritages of families, clans, and societies” (Hale 1998:193). The situation among fiddlers in Dagbon is unique because such ambivalence does not exist. The Gondze in Performance I left for my first field research trip to northern Ghana on January 13, 1973, hoping to document a Dagbamba festival called Tsimsi Tsugu. Held in Yendi, the traditional capital of Dagbon, Tsimsi Tsugu not only commemorates the Muslim Great Feast, it reveals how the Dagbamba, who are nominal Muslims ,have uniquely combined Islam with indigenous cultural practices.In 1973, the celebration was scheduled to take place over three days from January 15 through January 17.2 I was fortunate that Salisu Mahama, a master Dagbamba fiddler with whom I took lessons at the Institute of African Studies (IAS) at the University of Ghana (see introduction), and M. D. Sulley, a Dagbani language teacher and researcher at IAS—both of whom were born and raised in Dagbon—agreed to become involved in the research. Not only would they accompany me, they would serve as my hosts. We traveled separately, and I flew to Tamale, the commercial capital of Dag- 170 Fiddling in West Africa bon, some 404 miles north of Accra. There I met Sulley, who had come by bus. While waiting for my plane to arrive, Sulley met some friends, government officials , who offered to drive us to the local transport station for the trip by van to Yendi. The weather in northern Ghana was cool and very dry. The harmattan season was at its peak, and the air was choked with dust. This was markedly different from the high humidity, high temperatures, and clear skies I had experienced in southern Ghana. Our sixty-mile trip to Yendi took nearly three hours, allowing me to view the northern landscape and housing, as well as to observe farming practices. Situated some distance from the main road were compounds consisting of three or four round structures made from wattle and daub with grass-thatched roofs. In most cases, six-foot-high walls, also of wattle and daub, encircled the compounds. Between them were expanses of two or three miles of open land where farming was carried out. Sulley explained that the primary food crops in northern Ghana were yams, maize, rice, millet, guinea corn, ground nuts (peanuts), and grain. During this time of the year, however, most farmers started brush fires on their lands, the traditional method for fertilizing the earth. By the time we reached Yendi, it was dusk. Fortunately, three or four young men recognized Sulley when he got out of the van at the transport station. Because his late father had been a leader of the warrior clan (a socio-occupational group called waluna or wulana, literally “chief spear bearer and senior adviser” to the Ya Naa), the townspeople greeted Sulley with great respect. Following the elaborate greetings, we walked to Sulley’s family home, a few yards from the transport station, with the men carrying our bags on their heads. When we arrived , everyone in the compound was excited—children jumping up and down, turning around, and yelling at the top of their voices. First, Sulley introduced me to his mother, a small woman who appeared to be in her sixties or seventies. After...

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