The orchestra played the most melodic tunes. The talent was evident, enchanting voices piped with the instruments, so beautifully. The high tones drew the congregation in.
There were interludes when the autobiography was read by a popular local actor, selected purposely for his baritone voice. That set the scene. The elderly man wrote his life story when he was eighty. Planned every bit of his funeral, to the last beat. He passed at age eighty-five.
It was my dear classmate’s father’s funeral. In Ghana we wear black for funerals, this time the family requested black and red. Most locals have the blouse- kaba and a long skirt- slit, we wear for funerals.
It was a packed Saturday, I knew I had to make a quick turnaround in order to attend my dear friend’s sixtieth birthday luncheon.
After the funeral, I quickly changed into my white dress and got to venue number two on time. The accepted colour for such events is white. On entering the garden, I was met with a sea of white outfits.
Color in my culture is very symbolic, I could not have worn the first outfit to the second event.
GIFTS 
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