MRes Dissertation in Social Anthropology

Ancestral Voices: An Ethnographic Exploration of Traditional African Spirituality as Practiced in the United Kingdom.

Abstract

This thesis examined the importance of traditional African spirituality among people of African descent born and or raised within contemporary British society. The focus on African spiritual practices proved to be of paramount importance to the participants. The negative experiences for people of African Caribbean descent in Britain, was shown to have played a major role in the decision of the participants to initiate the reclamation process of their African heritage. For the participants of direct African descent, the desire to embrace their own concepts of spirituality was an innate desire that was never totally extinguished by Christian missionaries or colonial domination. The historical demonisation of African spirituality by Christian missionaries and anthropologists has had a long-lasting effect, as demonstrated by the intense levels of stigma still associated with African spirituality globally. Participants demonstrated a desire to embrace African spirituality and cultures despite the stigma associated with it. None of the participants could condone the use of the popular anthropological term of ‘ancestor worship’ to describe any of their practices. When discussing their ancestors, participants speak of a desire to revere or venerate their deceased family members.

[Government restrictions imposed by the outbreak of COVID-19 have hampered this ethnographical research project. As such, all discussions took place online. Further research into this subject is deemed to be entirely necessary once the restrictions have been lifted].

Introduction

“You know what, there is that moment when you realise that, oh my god this is real…. being able to work with your ancestors could be an incredibly effective life tool.”

These are the words of Wangeci, 52 of Trinidadian heritage and born in Britain. She is currently living in America and practices both Yoruba and Tibetan forms of spirituality with her husband and two children. She made this statement during one of our online conversations. During the research for this project, it soon became clear to me that sentiments such as this would be echoed by all the participants taking part. Even as a ‘mild’ practitioner myself, I am still amazed that descendants of Africans[1] who were subjected to the brutal regime of chattel slavery for many generations, seek to reclaim a culture and heritage thought to have been lost. The systematic brutality of this unique type of slavery would result in a mass knowledge-loss of identity, heritage and culture that is still in effect today (DeGruy, 2005). Whilst there are many individuals of African Caribbean descent who believe they have lost out on their cultural birthright, only a few choose to resolve this loss in the manner demonstrated by those taking part in this project. For example, in the Caribbean very few individuals would openly acknowledge the use of any African based spiritual utilities, regardless of its benevolent use, due to the immense levels of stigma attached to what is referred to as ‘Obeah’. In fact the use of such spiritual tools were outlawed whilst under British colonial rule, and indeed still are in Jamaica (Boaz, 2017; Handler and Bilby, 2001).

The purpose of this ethnographic study is to explore the practice of traditional African spirituality amongst contemporary people of African descent here in Britain. Initially this research aimed to focus on participants with a similar cultural background to myself, second generation African Caribbean. However, it soon became clear that this research would also need to encompass Africans with direct kinship links to the continent too. This decision was taken due to a combination of limited time restraints for research, and the government restrictions placed on social events due to COVID-19. Such spiritual practices are of course commonplace with many people on the African continent, and indeed within the Americas and the Caribbean (Fadeke-Castor, 2017). However, it is remarkable that individuals who are unaware of any immediate ties of kinship with the African continent not only identify as African people, but also undertake rituals and practices that are products of African cultures. The kind of practices that are highlighted within this research will focus on what each participant refers to as ancestral veneration or reverence. This type of ancestral veneration invariably involves some form of communion with their ancestors. However, for some participants the interaction they have with other forms of spiritual beings is also of great importance to them as Africans.

For the participants, the legality of citizenship to an African state does not determine their identity as an African person. Individuals such as these, determine their right to an African identity based on their ancestral and cultural heritage, what they consider to be their birth right. The fact that this can now be quantified thanks to the recent scientific advances in genealogy simply corroborates their decisions (Batai and Kittles, 2013; Benn Torres, Kittles and Stone, 2007; Brodwin, 2002). The participants of African Caribbean descent all spoke of the stigma they faced from family and friends once they made the decision to embrace spiritual practices based upon African concepts and ideologies. The African participants would also face this type of stigma for embracing their own spiritual traditions according to their cultures.

The initial stage of this paper will focus on whom or what ancestors are. Spiritual practices related to the veneration of deceased members of one’s kin by descent groups, have been an integral aspect of human cultures from time immemorial. It continues to play an important role in many contemporary societies around the globe (Steadman, 1996). These spiritual beings, that were described as forms of natural energy by several participants, were mistakenly referred to as gods by the earliest missionaries and anthropologists, no doubt due to linguistic complications around translation. Not all the participants practiced the same form of African spirituality, and yet they do all seem to demonstrate a uniformity. An analysis of the universality of African spirituality on the African continent, and therefore the participants, will be discussed at this point. This will be followed by a discussion of Castor’s (2017) work on what she refers to as Spiritual Citizenship, in relation to the concepts of citizenship, culture and identity. All Participants were either born or raised in Britain, and yet several have definitive plans to ‘return’ to an African country to ‘reconnect’ with the continent, it’s culture and her people. The ethnographic work of Castor (2017) amongst the African Caribbean people of Trinidad and Tobago, highlighted what she refers to as “transnational spiritual networks” (Castor, 2017). She goes on to speak of a “spiritual citizenship” which has provided African Caribbean people within Trinidad and Tobago, the ability to inform their sense of “community, (…) nation, and the transnational”. Castor goes on to define spiritual citizenship as “the rights and responsibilities of belonging to community, informed by spiritual epistemologies, that is, not limited to the national but also inclusive of the diasporic, global, and transnational” (Castor, 2017).

A significant portion of the paper will discuss the experience of African Caribbean people within Britain from a historical context. This will begin with an analysis of the term African Caribbean to explain the use of this title, particularly for participants who have no immediate connections with Africa. The kind of experiences that have led to the creation of many community based political organisations, from the early twentieth century up until contemporary times, will then be discussed (Adi, 2019). Such community organisations were all developed with the singular aim of providing members of the community with the ability to create “a form of critical engagement and performance rooted in the African diaspora and the black radical tradition” (Castor, (2017, p. 6). These organisations were highlighted by several participants as a significant influence on their lives. The effect of Pan Africanism within Britain will also be discussed as an important motivating force for the choice of lifestyle chosen by the participants. People of African descent such as myself and the participants have long sought to navigate the multitude of obstacles based on ethnic discrimination in British society. Such attempts often result in the formation of community organisations as a way to counteract and dismantle these negative aspects of British society (Adi, 2019).

The demonisation of African spirituality within the contemporary societies of Africa the Caribbean and globally will be analysed. The lived experience of practising African spirituality within contemporary Britain will be discussed at this point. Primarily, this will be based on the data collected from those that took part in this project. The use of the term ‘ancestor worship’ will then be tackled, as, without fail, each participant dismissed the use of the term worship in relation to ancestors. Though this terminology is still employed within anthropology to describe these activities, I will not be using the term ‘ancestor worship’ to describe the reverence and veneration shown by the participants towards the deceased members of their family (Kopytoff, 1971). This will be followed by a description of the methodological process used for this project and then concluding remarks and suggestions for further research.

Locating myself as an Anthropologist

As a post graduate academic accustomed to viewing aspects of life from an inherently African perspective, it did not take long for me to realise that anthropology, as it is practiced, is clearly done so from a European perspective. I would suggest that this, in and of itself, is not wrong, after all we are in Europe, naturally most scholarly works should be by Europeans (when in Rome?). The challenge I would face with this project would be ‘writing against the grain’, almost as if I were writing for a decolonising project of anthropology (Harrison, 1997). Consequently, much of my referenced work is from scholars that did not appear in any of our reading lists, or our library. These are well established and highly regarded academics with decades of expertise in subject matters pertinent to people of African descent, both on the continent and within the diaspora. Nevertheless, anthropology has changed considerably from its earlier shameful colonial activities, with new generations breathing life into to it as a field of discipline (Kuper, 2015). For people of African descent based in the diaspora, it is our African American cousins who seem to be leading the charge in acknowledging that which is generally not acknowledged in this amazing discipline (Harrison, 1997; Harrison, Johnson-Simon and Williams, 2018).

Whilst I recognise that my location is both inside a British “system of power by citizenship and geography and yet outside these same systems by the marginality of” both my ethnicity and political perspective, my conversion to the field of anthropology has been a gratifying one (Castor, 2017, p. 14). Of course, there are issues with anthropology that I do find problematic. Of great concern to me is the issue of how the interpretation of the ‘other’ is, and indeed must be, influenced by the perspective of the anthropologist. Invariably this is a perspective that may differ from those who are being studied. For this project it was essential that I remain as objective as possible, however my perspective would be undoubtedly emic in nature. These are individuals with which I share many commonalities, therefore my location as an anthropologist would need to find a place that was ‘betwixt and between’ as an insider and an outsider (Castor, 2017). For this project, I am a native anthropologist, and as such the paper will focus on the non-western perspective of the participants, without the, often dismissive reinterpretation of local cosmologies into those more palatable to individuals accustomed to the European perspective (Harrison, Johnson-Simon and Williams, 2018; Jones, 1970).

Literature Review

The Ancestors
Acknowledging the existence of ones deceased kin, was at one time practiced universally within human societies and cultures on the continents of Africa, the Americas, Asia, Australia and the European peninsular (Elder, 1988; Eliade, 1989; Hu, 2016; Kenny, 2004; Kenyata, 1965; Laidoner, 2015; Lau, 2020). The forms of veneration and reverence shown by each participant to their ancestors is an ancient human phenomenon, that still plays an important role in many contemporary societies (Beatty, 1999; Chua, 2009; Hirsch and Rollason, 2019; Hu, 2016; Press, 2006). Fortes and Dieterlen have provided us with, one of many, anthropological definitions of how ancestors have been perceived by human societies: “An ancestor is a named, dead forbear who has living descendants of a designated genealogical class representing his continued structural relevance” (Fortes and Dieterlen, 1964, p. 122). Whilst this definition is notably concise, it accurately summarises what an ancestor is for most societies.

The reverence afforded to the deceased has played a crucial role within the societies and cultures of many humans, across the globe. Kenyatta (1965) ably demonstrates this veneration among his own people, the Agīkūyū of East Africa. He provides us with an emic description of why the elders who become the ancestors, are revered in this manner:

“In religious ceremonies, and in political and social gatherings, the elders hold supreme authority. The custom of the people demands that the elder should be given his due respect and honours, not only when he is present, but when he is absent.” (ibid, p. 254)

Kenyatta provides us with other examples of the authority wielded by elders. When a young man wishes to conduct an important feast or ceremony, he could not contemplate this without his father or another elder to represent the father. This elder is then afforded the same level of respect and authority of the young man’s father. To demonstrate the type of respect afforded to both elders and ancestors when some misdeed has been committed by the young man against an elder, specific acts of forgiveness are undertaken. A ceremonial feast is performed, involving the provision of livestock and traditionally brewed honey beer (Njohi ya ooke). To demonstrate the significance of both the living and deceased elders, the offerings made during this special ceremonial feast is also directed at ancestors (Ngoma) from whom the father is a direct descendant of. Kenyatta goes on to describe the protocol for this ceremony:

“On receiving these gifts, the father, before partaking of the feast, sprinkles on the ground a hornful of the beer to quench the thirst of the ancestral spirits and at the same time to appease them. He then blesses the son and declares that, in agreement with the ancestral spirits, he has forgiven him.” (Kenyatta, 1965, p. 254)

Amongst the Agīkūyū the elders are afforded this respect in recognition of the support they provide to the community, with advice based on invaluable lived experience. It is the elders who are the ones that provide a crucial sense of harmony between the living and the departed. This form of communion with their ancestors is considered to be a natural aspect of life for the Agīkūyū, as “it brings back to him the memory and glory of his forefathers” (Kenyatta, 1965, p. 255). The aforementioned levels of respect and adoration afforded to the living and deceased elders are, of course, not exclusive to the Agīkūyū of East Africa.

The Universality of Ancestral Veneration

This section of the paper discusses the universal nature of ancestral veneration, I felt this was an important observation as the participants demonstrated many similar concepts. Among the Yorùbá of West Africa, prayers and offerings to their ancestors (Egungun), are submitted in deference to family members who are now deceased (Idowu, 1970). Similarly For the Agīkūyū of East Africa, their ancestors (Ngoma) are deceased family members (Kinoti, 2010). For the Chinese of Northern Asia, ancestors (zu xian) are referring to deceased family members (Hu, 2016). To the pre-Christian Scandinavian Nordic nations of Europe, reverence of ancestors (álfar) and significant progenitors were also an integral part of religious practices (Laidoner, 2015). Amongst the contemporary Diné of America, their ancestors serve as a constant reminder of their Navajo identity (Lee, 2006). In each of the preceding examples, ancestors are believed to have the ability to influence the lives and activities of the living, much like the elders do within a community.

The research conducted by Swanson (1960) also identifies numerous similarities among fifty different human societies. This research is used as a starting point for Steadman, Palmer and Tilley (2016) as they seek to identify the universal nature of ancestral veneration around the globe. Swanson’s research would identify that sixteen of the fifty groups studied did not conduct ancestral veneration.

This list was comprised of the following (in alphabetical order): These were: the Azande of Central Africa; the Aztec of Central America; the Blackfoot of North America; the Cuna of South America; the Iban of Indonesia; the Lengua of South America; the Lepcha of Central Asia; the Nez Perces of North America; the Pomo of North America; the Romans of Europe; the Samoyed of Arctic Asia; the Shoshoni of North America; the Todas of India; the Trumai of South America; the Winnebago of South America; and the Yurok of North America (Steadman, 1996) (Steadman, Palmer and Tilley, 2016). However, Steadman, Palmer and Tilley suggest Swanson’s conclusions are incorrect. They argue that Swanson dismissed these societies because he was unable to identify the word for ancestor in each society. They then suggest that dismissing words that identify supernatural beings should also be included, as they invariably refer to the ghosts of family members, which is, of course, an ancestor (Steadman, Palmer and Tilley, 2016, pp. 65–70)

Nevertheless, anthropologists have continued to focus on the minutiae that differentiates the cultural practices of African people, thus overlooking the numerous similarities shared by each traditional culture. Steadman suggests, “in the anthropological study of indigenous religions, a focus on differences has caused an apparently universal aspect of religion to be overlooked: ancestors influence the living and/or are influenced by the living” (Steadman, 1996, p. 64). There are numerous examples within anthropology where the ubiquitous role of ancestors is obscured. Steadman (1996) demonstrates this when he highlights Lee's (1984) religious interpretation of the !Kung people of Namibia. Lee highlights the standard African cosmology that begins with a god of creation followed by lesser gods. Then he makes reference to "a host of minor animal spirits", Lee follows this by stating that the primary actors in the spiritual life of the !Kung are their ancestors (Lee, 1984: 103).

The participant Akinyele went to great lengths to explain the universality of African spiritual philosophies. He provided me with several examples. For example, the creation story of the Kôngo people, as described in their ancient Bukôngo spiritual cosmology, which speaks of the beginning as an empty void populated by active energetic forces. These energies then interacted to create an implosion leading to the beginnings of our universe (Luyaluka, 2015). He goes on to provide another example of this cosmology from the Dogon people of West Africa, hoping to highlight the universality of such cosmologies throughout the continent:

“When the creative being AMMA replicates or creates the universe by replicating itself. So, if AMMA only replicates itself then obviously by extension who are we. So again, when we trace our oldest ancestral line the oldest ancestor will be AMMA.”

And again, with the Akan people of West Africa, he states:

We find a similar concept in the Akan system, where NYAAMI creates one thing and from that one thing is all things, so again we have this similar idea (…) the idea of cell creation throughout the universe (…)

While these participants unknowingly share many common attributes with each other, only Akintunde and Foluke know each other. I am aware that all the participants are focussed on the religious theologies of West African cultures.

Spiritual Citizenship

When Wanjiru, 42 of Jamaican Heritage and born in Britain, spoke of her desire to ‘connect with a spiritual system, based on our own cultures, on my heritage … I mean for goodness sake, why on earth shouldn’t we?’ I was immediately reminded of Castor’s (2017) theory of the “spiritual citizenship”. For Castor, a spiritual citizenship “is about the power of the sacred to inform new ways of belonging to community, the nation, and the transnational” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). In her monograph of the same title, she seeks to “engage the critical knowledge systems and ritual practices of African-based religions in the African diaspora” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). Similarities can immediately be drawn with the experiences of African Caribbean people in Britain, who have sought to reconnect with their African heritage, not just through the political prism of Pan-African ideologies, but through the rituals and practices of the sacred. By spiritual citizenship Castor (2017) is speaking of the “the rights and responsibilities of belonging to community” that are governed by “spiritual epistemologies” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). These communities are by no means limited to the local or national, but embrace the diasporic, global, and transnational.

My participants can all be classified as members of what Castor (2017) describes as a “transnational spiritual network” (Castor, 2017, p. 6), in as much as they are all British citizens living as members of a British society, and yet they all engage with a wider “diasporic horizon” (Castor, 2017, p. 6) that allows them to interact with individuals who are beyond the local. Akinyele, 43 of West African Asante heritage and raised in Britain and his wife Wanjiru, have established significant links with scholars, academics and members of the priesthood, in Africa, the Americas and the Caribbean. This in turn, has allowed them to create online educational initiatives aimed at others wishing to learn the ways of traditional African spirituality through the African diaspora. Likewise, Wangeci and her husband Adeniyin, 65 of African American heritage and born in America, have also demonstrated their membership of the transnational spiritual network, with the establishment of spiritual links with other likeminded individuals in West Africa, the Caribbean and South Asia. Abiodun, 62, of Jamaican heritage has completed his priesthood training into the Akan culture of West Africa. He has now also established strong familial connections through marriage with a traditional Akan priestess, with plans to establish his home and business “on the motherland” with his new wife. Although these plans are on hold as he is currently supporting and caring for his mother of 87 years, here in Britain. Throughout my conversations with the participants, there was a clear desire to liberate themselves through a process of decolonisation based upon non-western cosmological systems of thought and transnational spiritual networks “that are embedded in a dynamic mixture of the historical, imagined, and contemporary” African practices of traditional cultures (Castor, 2017, p. 6).

The British Experience

In order to fully understand the adoption of African religions within Britain as a force for “liberation and decolonization” (Castor, 2017, p. 28), one must place the British experience of African and African Caribbean people within a historical context. In Britain, the experience for people of African descent has been one of constant acrimony for at least three hundred years (Hall, 1997). Hall identifies three unique periods in British history that contributed to the negative stereotypes that we are still confronted with in contemporary Britain. These stereotypes of African men and women usually fall into the category of: being hyper-sexualised; aggressive in nature; being prone to crime; less inteliigent than the European and the Asian; very capable at running and jumping; and talented musicians and dancers. As a result of the colonial period of the British Empire, such stereotypes now exist globally. (Hall, 1997, pp. 226–257). Hall suggests these kind of sterotypes began in the sixteenth century within British society (Hall, 1997, p. 239).

The work of one of Europes leading sixteenth century scientists, Dr Carl Von Linné, was instrumental in the establishment of these ideologies. Following his phenomenal and groundbreaking work of placing both the animal and plant kngdom into specific categories, he would attempt to do the same with humanity. Whereas defining the majority of humanity into four basic ethnic groups was not in itself problematic, associating clearly biased character traits to each group was, and has, proven to be:

“Homo Americanus as reddish, choleric, contented, and regulated by custom; Homo Europeaus as white, fickle, sanguine, blue-eyed, gentle and governed by laws; Homo Asiaticus as sallow, grave, dignified, avaricious and ruled by opinions; and Homer Afer as black, phlegmatic, cunning, lazy, lustful, careless and governed by caprice.” (Cited in Haller, 1996, p. 4).

These ethnic definitions for the traits, character, intelligence and behaviour of humans would go on to become an integral aspect of subsequent attempts at the scientific classification of humanity (Haller, 1996). The traits divined by Linné as scientific fact, became the defacto characterisation of the African within the scientific community and British society.

Hall (1997) goes on to suggest the second period took place during the phase of European colonisation, when the African continent, its resources and her people resulted in the ‘scramble for Africa’ by militarily superior European invasion forces (Gavin and Betley, 1973). Hall then posits that the third period began with the large scale migration of African and African Caribbean people from the continent and the islands (Hall, 1997, pp. 226–257). Throughout these periods of time, the scientific fields of Anthropology, Phrenology, Anatomy and Psychology have proven to be instrumental in the degradation of non-European people within British society. This was achieved by promoting European ideologies, achievements and cosmologies as superior to all others. In many cases this would literally mean that mere theories would simply be presented as scientific fact based upon an imagined ‘evidence’ (Leary, 2005).

An African Caribbean Identity

The most recent government sanctioned reports suggest the concern experienced by individuals of African descent within British society, particularly so for those of African Caribbean descent, is still justifiable (Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities, 2021; Cumming-Bruce, 2021; Lammy, 2017). Individuals identified as African Caribbean, can be described as people of African descent whose recent family lineage can be placed within the Caribbean. The participants that fall into this category would be considered second generation African-Caribbean, as their immediate familial ties are via their parents, who migrated to post-war Britain less than a century ago from the Caribbean islands as part of the Windrush Generation (Adi, 2019; Rollock et al., 2011).

As the descendants of the Africans who were subjected to horrific forms of slavery within the Caribbean, these descent groups have been subjected to mass knowledge-loss of their own culture, heritage, historical achievements and crucially an identity based on these elements (Bennett, 1966; Franklin, 1974; Law, 2003; DeGruy, 2010; Elgersman, 2013; Jalata, 2013; Petley, 2018; Spencer & Perlow, 2018). Whereas most of humanity is generally identified according to a geographical locale, nationality and ethnicity, this is not the case for the African Caribbean descent groups. The wide range of titles used to identify these descent groups is testament to their loss of identity. For example, in Britain these have ranged from Blackamoore, Nigger, Negro, Coloured, Black, Afro-Caribbean, African Caribbean and now Black-British. Even though both Nigger and Negro simply mean black, individuals who are comfortable being identified with the colour black would be deeply offended to be called by any of these older titles. To add to the confused state of affairs, many of the younger generation, in a bid to imitate their African American cousins, are now comfortable using the term Nigga (Boakye, 2019; Pilgrim and Middleton, 2001).

The participant Wangeci speaks of the significance of her African heritage. She states that eventually she reached a point when “I knew I would have to change my name”. The name she now has, was presented to her in a dream. Remarkably, she would be told by her grandmother that their original family name was the same one mentioned in this dream. The grandmother went on to inform her that their family were originally members of the Igbo people of West Africa. Wangeci marks this discovery of her family name as another important milestone in her life. Within West African societies, names are extremely important, often serving to reflect the cosmologies of a people. Fasiku (2006) explains, “A name, according to most cultural heritages, depicts the nature and life of a corporate personality, body or organisation; the focus and outlook of a personality, body or organisation, to a great extent, are influenced by the name of he or she who carries it” (Fasiku, 2006, p. 52). However, due to the harsh realities of slavery within the Caribbean, the use of their own family names were outlawed, with brutal consequences for any who persisted in using their own name. Acknowledging one’s own ethnicity, culture and related identity could result in torture or death for enslaved Africans (Brown, 2003). Naturally, over time African Caribbeans would grow to despise many aspects of their African heritage and identity as a necessary means of survival. Today, many people within the Caribbean still maintain a stigma towards anything that could be identified as an African identity or ethnicity (Regis, 2006)

There are some individuals, I include myself, who prefer to be identified as either African or African Caribbean. I would be extremely uncomfortable, indeed offended, with any other title. However, at a recent family gathering celebrating a cousin’s engagement, I was asked by one of my young second cousins why I preferred to be called African Caribbean. I explained to her that it is the most logical title for Africans who have never lived on the African continent and yet are clearly of African heritage. We may even retain small elements of an African culture without even realising it (Elder, 1988). While I was explaining my position, I was pleased to see that she seemed to be in complete agreement. She then excitedly advised me, that she had for some time no longer been happy with being identified as Black-British, as she did not feel it represented who she is. Recent events within British society especially against African Caribbean men was most troubling to her. She made reference to the recent event where young African Caribbean footballers playing for the England football team, were subjected to a great deal of online abuse for failing to score goals on a penalty shootout (McVeigh and Hall, 2021). She explained, how this had been a growing concern for her, especially based on some rather negative situations experienced by her young son, of 11. As a result, she had taken the decision to obtain a Jamaican citizenship based on the heritage of her grandparents. She is also planning to go a step further and undertake a DNA test to determine if her original African heritage is predominantly Yoruba. Several Yoruba people have suggested this to her as a distinct possibility based on her physical appearance alone. Her experiences speak to the concerns felt by a growing number of African descent groups globally on the concepts of ethnicity, identity and culture, as a direct consequence of mass-knowledge loss (Chua, 2009; Leary, 2005). However, these ‘contemporary’ concerns faced by people of African descent, have in fact been the primary focus of many community-based Pan-African organisations based in Britain for well over a century.

Pan Africanism in Britain

It was made clear by most participants that Pan-African organisations had played a pivotal role in the direction their lives would take. Of the six participants, three would highlight the influence of specific Pan-African organisations that had clearly led them to their current position as advocates for African spiritual practices. Discussing his first spiritual experience, Akintunde, 55 of West African Urhobo heritage and raised in Britain, mentions the renowned bookstore, Headstart Books. This bookstore was very well known amongst anyone who considered themselves to be ‘conscious’ of who they are, their history and the current plight facing African people globally. It started life as the Headstart Education and Leisure Programme, in 1971, which was created by the Black Liberation Front (BLF) as a community hub offering legal advice and secular education for African Caribbean children, who were experiencing a deeply discriminatory school system (Coard, 2021). I recall many visits to this bookstore, once I began to look for information that would either legitimize or disprove the historical statements that were being promoted in nineties hip hop, by groups such as BDP, X-Clan, Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest and others. At this time, such groups served as a “social justice pedagogy” for young people the world over (Aldridge, 2005; Rashid, 2016)

The BLF proved to be one of the most influential Pan-African organisations within Britain. However, it was not until the BLF attended the 6th Pan-African Congress in Dar es Salam, Tanzania, that the then members of the BLF would go on to found the Pan African Congress Movement (PACM), with branches in London, Nottingham, Wolverhampton, Bristol, Birmingham and Manchester. It was during the attendance of the Pan-African Congress, that founders of the PACM began to see the need for an “African expression rooted in African cultural values and traditions” (Steven, 2019, p. 145). To the founders of the PACM, the primary cause for the form of African oppression experienced by people of African descent in Britain, was due to racism. To that end, there was a newly felt desire to embrace expressions of African culture, by embracing “African cultural values” (Steven, 2019, p. 146). The outcome of this would result in the creation of an annual event called African Liberation Day (ALD). ALD is held on the 25th of May in order to “celebrate the struggles for the total liberation of Africa and Africans, especially the continent’s liberation from all forms of colonial and neo-colonial rule” (Steven, 2019, p. 146). The PACM would go on to influence many of the current leaders of Pan-African organisations within the UK.

The PACM provided a ‘cultural’ knowledge base for many of the participants involved in this project, as they began their journey towards reclaiming an identity based on their African heritage and the means to discover African spirituality (Steven, 2019). Clear similarities can be made with the African Caribbean people of Trinidad and Tobago, as highlighted by Castor. “In the quest for non-European knowledge systems, values, and beliefs, many turned to African religions, both those at home and those from the African continent” (2017, p.6). However, the transition from the colonial indoctrination of Christianity to the liberatory nature of African spirituality invariably comes with a high price.

The Stigmatisation of African Spirituality

Within Africa, the Caribbean and the Americas, there is significant animosity directed against people of African descent who practice African forms of spirituality. This is considered by some to be a direct result of the evangelical attempts of Christian missionaries to demonise all forms of African spirituality, as a means to civilise a ‘primitive’ people through commerce as well as spiritual salvation (Dierksheide, 2006; Endfield and Nash, 2002). From Livingstone in the nineteenth century to contemporary Christians of today, there are countless examples of methods used to denigrate African spiritual cosmologies and their associated practices (Lugira, 2009; Tugume, 2015). Today, many Africans with direct and immediate ties to the continent still actively shun the ritualistic practices under discussion within this study, as well as people of African descent within the Caribbean and the Americas. I would suggest that this makes the activities of both African and African Caribbean people taking part in such cultural practices even more astounding. Especially when one considers the steps taken to remove such activities from the memory of their Caribbean ancestors (Law, 2003). Alas, there has been a distinct lack of UK based research into this phenomenon unique to people of African descent, resulting in an intellectual and literary gap.

For people of African and African Caribbean descent to practice any form of African Spirituality in contemporary Britain should be recognised as a rare phenomenon, due to the ongoing stigma attached to it in both the Caribbean and Africa itself (Barima, 2016; Boaz, 2017; Castor, 2017; Middleton and Winter, 2013; Niehaus, 2013). Not only do the “numerous distorted images that can be observed in post-colonial, modern Africa” provide non-Africans with an outdated image of the continent’s one billion inhabitants, but it also informs people of African descent oftentimes resulting in negative narratives about their own heritage (Adekoya, 2013; Akbar, 2004, p. 61; Hall, 1997). One of the overriding factors in the demonisation of African spirituality has been the historical countenance of it by both Christian missionaries and anthropologists. (Allen and Jobson, 2016; Dierksheide, 2006; Endfield and Nash, 2002; Lepratti and Wall, 2020; Tugume, 2015, p. 194). For the missionaries conducting both economic and evangelical missions in Africa, their inability to understand the fundamental concepts of African spirituality must have proven to be uniquely problematic. Tugume (2015) reminds us that "the missionaries who operated in Buganda were, by and large, predisposed to consider themselves as bearers, not only of a superior religion but a superior culture, the two being inseparably intertwined" (Tugume, 2015, p. 195) There are also the linguistic challenges that anthropologists and missionaries would have encountered. They would be faced with the problem of translating what are essentially alien phenomenological aspects of existence into a European language that does not cater to such ideologies.

Whilst in conversation with one participant, I was reminded of the linguistic challenges I have faced when engaged in conversations of a distinctly esoteric nature in either Nigeria, South Africa or Kenya. For example, there are no English words for Orìsà. It is problematic trying to explain what an Orìsà is or what they do, and yet these ‘energies’ are fundamental to the indigenous religions of the Yoruba, the Zulu and the Agīkūyū. Explaining his own interpretation of the ancestors, Foluke, 56 of West African Yoruba heritage and raised in Britain, described them as ‘eternal dimension builders’ that are responsible for the creation of opportunity:

'Within the Yoruba culture, they say it is Õya that gives breath, and they say Ògŭn is the one that creates the pathway. So, they're what we call dimension builders, and they are eternal. In every dimension, pathways are created in every dimension there is breath. And not only that, they go through all the dimensions, so it's not just a physical reality, it's much much more (...)'

I use this excerpt from Foluke to describe the kind of linguistic difficulties that would have been faced by early missionaries confronted with the indigenous beliefs of African spirituality. It is not altogether surprising that what Foluke refers to as ‘eternal dimension builders’ would eventually be translated as gods. Of course, this would prove to be problematic for English speakers, as that same word is used to describe the monotheistic creator of all things in existence, who would certainly not be described as a ‘dimension builder’, by any practitioner of African spirituality (Adofo, 2016; Idowu, 1994). None of our participants used the word god to describe the Orìsà. As European missionaries needed to rely upon the translation of individuals who had not only acquired a new foreign language, but also a new religion which demanded the abandonment of their own indigenous beliefs, there must have been a great deal that was ‘lost in translation’ (Phillips, 1960). Explaining that which was alien and pagan to the missionaries, would of course invariably result in a 'closest approximation' being used to evangelise and convert (Diouf, 2014; Tugume, 2015, p. 193).

The Living Traditions of African Spirituality

Most of the participants demonstrate their membership of the ‘transnational network’ identified by Castor (2017), by their clear attempts to establish a “spiritual citizenship, rooted in the African diaspora” (Castor, 2017, p. 5). I am inclined to agree with Castor’s analysis of this ‘spiritual citizenship’ as being grounded to the concept of the African diaspora, whilst being intimately tied to the ideologies of African liberation and recognised as a “supranational, containing and encompassing the national while also focused on a diasporic horizon” (2017, p. 12). For Johnson (2007) the African diaspora is more than the dispersal of indigenous persons from their homeland, he suggests that they are “social identifications based on shared memory bridges linking a lived space and a left-behind place” (2007, p. 48). As such, these diasporic transnational flows, act as “performative communities invested in creating, negotiating, and traversing “bridges” between space and place” (Castor, 2017, p. 10). Each of the participants seem to identify with the idea of establishing a connection between their current location and the African continent, and in the process shifting the frame of the African culture from that which is unfamiliar to something that is an everyday occurrence.

Whilst in conversation, Wangeci would recollect a dream that she recognised as a call to either acknowledge or dismiss her African heritage. This was clearly an emotional experience, that spoke to her sense of ethnicity, cultural heritage and how she would begin to identify herself. She recalled the feelings of being overwhelmed with emotion that could still bring her to tears:

‘When I went to SOAS [School of Oriental and African Studies], I had a very powerful dream. I think it was at the end of my very first year there. And I had a dream when I was on a train, and I sort of remember this dream because it was the defining dream of my life. I was on this train, and there was all these people going to work, you know, like going to Oxford Street or whatever, and everyone was looking very smart and everything, then suddenly these African women came on with these babies, and they had holes in their clothes, and I remember feeling really ashamed and looking away, cause they looked so different and they had holes in their clothes, and my mum and my brother were there, and then this person on the train said to me, “You’re going to have to make a choice, the next stop is Africa are you going to get off there?”. In the dream I was in this huge dilemma, like, do I continue or do I stop in Africa. Then suddenly the train stopped and the person driving the train said, “We have now arrived at Africa, all passengers to board on or board off.” And I was like … [shocked face] and then suddenly I found myself … I took a deep breath, I knew I’d have to leave everything behind, and this is before I knew right, I wasn’t conscious, I wasn’t into anything at that time. And, I got up and I stopped off at Africa, and I remember stepping off into pure white sands, and these little kids came to greet me, but they were speaking in a different language, and I didn’t know what they were speaking but we understood each other, and they took me by the hand and suddenly I was standing on top of this sandhill, and there were these women, I could only see their back, now I know they were dressed in a sort of hijab thing, but it was more like very traditional looking, and they were dressed in dark blue. They turned around and they were like jet black, it was blue black, and I remember them stretching their arms out to me … all of them turned and stretched their arms out to me and I floated down the hill to them, literally floated down into their arms and they formed this circle around me … I just want to cry even now, it’s so clear in my head still … they formed this circle around me … it’s just bringing up tears suddenly … so, they formed this circle around me and they started crying down onto my head and said, “Welcome home”.’

For Wangeci, this dream was clearly a message that she felt she could not ignore. For her this was how she would bridge the gap between “space and place” (Castor, 2017, p. 10), and establish a link between community and identity so as to tackle the dispersal endured by her ancestral families. More importantly, it would go on to provide her with invaluable information about her African lineage as a member of the Igbo nation in West Africa. She would mention how this provided her with a “truly deep sense of belonging that I had never experienced before … certainly not through Christianity, or by being called a Brit for that matter”. She stated that this was something that had always been conspicuously missing with just a legal citizenship of Britain. Most of the participants provided me with similar experiences that proved to be instrumental in the establishment of traditional African spiritual practices in their lives. In this sense, UK based African and African Caribbean people, are engaging with “the critical knowledge systems and ritual practices of African based religions” as members of the African diaspora (Castor, 2017, p. 6).

For Abiodun, 65 and of Jamaican heritage, his introduction to the ‘living traditions’ of Africa and his own ‘spiritual pathway’, would begin with his progression though the ideologies of Pan-Africanism. Abiodun’s journey to initiated priesthood of a traditional African religion would also take him along the path of a ‘spiritual citizenship’, allowing him to locate “layers of belonging, and a multiplicity of communities with their attendant roles and responsibilities” (Castor, 2017, p. 6), as he discusses:

"Once I became culturally aware, was erm Dr Femi Biko was teaching a Black Studies at the time in Peckham and soon after a collective of us got together with him and he structured a Saturday school I was also part of a Pan-African group called APAS, this was the Association for Pan-African Studies and Initiatives (…). Outside of that, I was under the tutelage of Dr Femi Biko, just as Robin Walker was. I was also teaching African world studies in the community, as well as branching into the hieroglyphics Medu Neter side as well, so a lot of my time was really taken up devoted to the community side of things, as well as being a father.

I started to make enquiries into African spirituality after going through Dr Biko’s study program, for me that was one of the missing components, to .. OK I understand this all historically, politically and culturally (...) OK, sooo where is the religion, where are our temples, where are our priests and priestesses ... where are they. And that’s where we hit a wall with Pan-Africanism. Fortunately, Dr Biko was able to invite a Babalawo from Nigeria. He came over and that was my first encounter with a priest and also into the living traditions. Obviously, we are reading books on Kemet and the like which are more ancient, but in terms of practitional, that was my first connection. I then went on to be given a naming ceremony, both Kemetic and Yoruba, so I became […..] is my Yoruba name, and [….] was the Kemetic name given to me as well, this name means 'one who makes the vital force of the creator live'. Sadly Chief [the Babalawo] passed away, however I was fortunate to be introduced to another Babalawo, Chief [….]. In fact, I assisted with a wedding ceremony for a work colleague of mine, which was officiated over by Chief [….]

I would say the door opened for me spiritually, well it began in 2005 really, I bumped into someone I hadn't seen in 7 to 8 years. So, I asked where he had been. He tells me he had been travelling, to America and Ghana on what he described as a 'spiritual path', and he was now just about to graduate as an initiated priest. I explained to him that I had been trying to find out more and try and get my foot in the door, so he asked me to write down reasons explaining why I was pursuing that path, and he would give it to his teacher when he went back to Ghana, so I did that and sent it with him, via email. and late 2005 he went out, and then I got an email from him, asking if I could come to Ghana. So, with the help of Dr Biko and another brother called [….], they helped with the finances, cause I wasn't geared up to travel. So, I flew to Ghana January 2006 and thought I was going to meet an elder, sit down and ask a thousand questions and try to understand what is African religion or Spirituality. In fact, the night I arrived, I was brought to the elder’s house. The following night I was brought back, and I did spend some time speaking with him, but he was up in age at the time, he was around ninety years old, so for the first couple of days I wasn't staying where he was, I was staying with the grandson, but then I would be brought back to the house to spend some time. We ate together we talked, when he had time to, because literally people were outside in his compound on a regular basis, every day, so it was when he had time that we could talk, so anyway, we did. I think it was on the third or fourth day, that I needed to come to the house urgently. We both went to the house, and there were more elders waiting. No one said anything, so I asked the grandson what was going on, but he didn't know because he was with me. So, we arrived and then I was told that I need to buy a fowl, bottle of gin and we were going to the shrine to ask permission, so I was like 'ask permission, what for, what’s going on?' They basically said, that the elder was consulting while I was away, and they need to seek permission for my training to begin, which was a total surprise, as I really was not expecting that. So, we bought two fowls and a drink, we danced at the shrine and the elders shrine, where they sought permission. Permission was granted through the fowls and I was told I had to go back and pack my stuff as my training was to begin straight away."

Here again, this African Caribbean who was born and raised as a British citizen demonstrates a thirst for “non-European knowledge systems, values and beliefs” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). Explaining what life was like for him before he became “culturally aware”, was what he described as a standard life where he was working regular office hours, raising a young family of two daughters with his wife, going “down the pub” and playing football on weekends semi-professionally. The primary difference between the African Caribbean people living in the Caribbean and those raised here in Britain, is their concept of nationalism and citizenship. Those born and bred in Trinidad have an “entanglement of belonging” with their country (Castor, 2017, p. 6). This is a nation where the African populace were until very recently in the majority, this is now shared equally with the Indian Caribbeans, with a small minority of Indigenous Caribbean, Chinese, European and those of dual heritage. There is a tangible commitment to the nation of Trinidad and Tobago for many of the African Caribbeans here. Here we have a nation that is doing well economically with a large middle class, brought on by the discovery and implementation of their oil industry. There are many aspects of life that are distinctly African Caribbean in nature. This is a life that these African Caribbeans have fought for and developed since their emancipation from enslavement, then colonialism and then the state sponsored persecution of those pursuing African liberation and the freedom to practice African spirituality (Castor, 2017, pp. 25–54). There is a marked difference for the African Caribbean raised in Britain. They live in a society where they are one of the minority groups. They live in a society that routinely demeans all aspects of being African, unless they are entertaining or involved in sport (Adekoya, 2013; Hall, 1997; Rollock et al., 2011). As a minority group within the UK, there is a reliance on others to speak for you, a task which is routinely conducted by those who expect the adoption of Britishness in British citizens in order to ‘fit in’ to the social norms of life in Britain (Rollock et al., 2011). Clearly this is not something experienced by people of African descent as citizens of a Caribbean country.

The Africans on the continent experienced hardships that were markedly different from the techniques employed to maintain order of the enslaved Africans on Caribbean plantations (Williams, 2018). The severity employed to combat the constant uprisings for freedom within the Caribbean, were without doubt extreme (Leary, 2005; Schwartz, 2010). However, Africans on the continent were also subject to brutal colonial regimes, including the kind of treatment that one only usually hears about in conjunction with the death camps of the former Nazi regime of Germany (Elkins, 2005; Hochschild, 1999). The Agīkūyū were not only subject to torture and executions in concentration camps, but the very fabric of their stable social and culture structures were also subjected to an almost complete dismantling process. In East Africa, my Gīkūyū wife recently informed me that nowadays ancestors (Ngoma) are now equated to evil spirits and are to be avoided at all costs (Williams, 2018). On my last trip to Kenya, I wanted to visit a traditional priest (Mondo Mogo) for a divination reading. While we were waiting in the local bus (Matatu), I began to ask a question about the Mondo Mogo we were going to visit, when my wife frantically hushed me. She explained that people do not talk in the open about visiting traditional priests anymore, as such practices are now considered to be evil. This is a familiar story on the entire continent of Africa, as a result of the wholesale demonisation of African cultural practices by Christian missionaries, sanctioned by colonial governments (Rodney, 2018; Williams, 2018).

Two of the three African born participants highlighted a singularly unique perspective pertaining to nationality and identity, one which is markedly different to other participants. Both Akintunde and Foluke appeared not to recognise themselves as being ‘African’ (they both used air quotes during our conversations). When asked how he would identify the form of African spirituality he practiced, he stated:

"Honestly, I'm very much pushing people to tell them that you are an individual first, your first culture is your understanding of yourself, and then you live within a time of where you abide by certain rules. So, you would perceive the rules of your environment, so people could argue that is your culture if they localise where you live and the behaviour of that group. Essentially, as someone who practices or one involved in people referred to as ‘African’ or what have you, whilst you understand the limitation of the story that you’re in, and you appreciate that you are the consciousness working through the machine that is the body, having an experience living through a story in a specific dimension, and you know that you are the consciousness you are not the body, you are not the story. Once you appreciate then that consciousness has the capacity to travel to other places other dimensions other stories, so the totality of that you is expanding way [emphasis] beyond the limitations of someone’s idea of the concept of a culture. So again, I’m one who, in the understanding that we have, are able to travel to past lives just like that, so we go back to versions of ourselves and realise form the versions of ourselves we have come with the task to reconcile, with how and what we was in the past ... in past lives. So, therefore who are you? Where do you start? Do you start at this current story, or at the beginning of your consciousness? So, I can tie you to a culture, label you by a culture and instead of assassinating you I assassinate the culture.

I asked Akintunde to explain his use of air quotes when someone is referred to as an African. He replied:

“You see this is how far you travel within yourself. I say my parents, came from a place known as Africa, but the land didn’t bring them into existence, mother just happened to be there and her parent happened to be there when they brought her into the world. At no time did the woman wade through the ground to open it up so the child could come through. So, when someone asks where you are from, they are talking of the location by which your parents allowed you to come into this world. So therefore, are you defining people by the location, or their origin, where they came from? They obviously didn't come from Africa. They just came into the world in Africa. So, when you go deeper back into your consciousness you start to find that no, you are not African, you are not English you are not none of these things because you were born here you did not originate here"

So, for Akintunde the idea of identity is not necessarily bound to his own physical experience, as a West African. For him the ‘soul/mind’ that he considers to be ancient, is what and who a person really is. Foluke expressed views on who the ancestors are that I had only heard previously from Akintunde. This is not too surprising as they both underwent a course of study on ‘African’ spirituality via the Ancestral Essence initiative. This organisation does not focus specifically on traditional African concepts of spirituality, although it is certainly inferred (Ancestral Essence, 2021a). This was borne out by Foluke when he was asked if he practiced African spirituality:

"I embrace it the way I embrace my life erm, its erm ... I don’t embrace as if I’m studying ... erm it’s taken a long time it’s been a drip, drip, drip, drip .. um .. it continues to change, to evolve. Maybe now it is evolving more rapidly. I'm not a practitioner in the sense that I'm a Babalawo (chief priest), I'm not a practitioner in the sense that erm, I will do it to evangelise and think like that, no no, no, I'm not any of those. There is a lot of… in the last two to three years there has been a lot of studying. So, I studied with Ancestral Essence, I've studied with another person, who is more into Ifà. Actually, I’m not into Ifà but I’m more into the Orìsà. Olódumarè [GOD] and the Orìsà̀. I've explored far and wide. I've explored some texts like Wande Abimbola’s text. There are a couple of people that have written books, I can’t remember their names, but I continue to read different books from different sources. And I continue to do that, although I prefer to do so from sources based on the traditional Yoruba method of storytelling."

Foluke goes on to explain that his primary source of reading is focused on the Ifà religion of the Yoruba people of West Africa. He appreciates the work of a South American writer, who specialises in the older philosophies of Ifà, while focussing on the Orìsà. When asked how he chose to commune with his ancestors, he replied:

"Ah so, hmm that’s a big one. That’s an interesting one. My ancestors are not my lineage ... yeah, my ancestors are not my lineage. I'm not doing it that way. my ancestors are Olódumarè and all the Orìsà because it is from there that I am. So, they are my ancestors, they are the ones that have evolved me from my lineage, and evolved me forward, so I am ... I'm not my body, it's much more than that. So, an ancestor in my view is that which is eternal and will always be. And so, if it's my council then, that is my council.

As a student of Ancestral Essence Foluke was taught to commune with his ancestors as a ‘council of elders’. This literally means being able to sit down at a table and commune with them at that table. I asked him to clarify that he did not view his forebearers as his ancestors:

I started there. I started doing that ... so when I started studying with [Ancestral Essence], I think I had a mental image [of my ancestors], and that’s where I went, so it was a mind thing. But then other things were coming in, so one of the things that I got, that I'm not my physical being, so if I was to step outside of my time dimension, it cannot be done inside this body. [Ancestral Essence] was very clear about that. So, he would give us exercises to do, so that we wouldn’t go there. So, then [laugh] why am I going to my dad because if I’m going to my dad and my dad’s dad, I'm going back into a physical body, and a physical and mental experience, so my thing was … it’s bigger than this. So, yes they are my Egungun [ancestors] as we say in Yoruba, we are all a collective ..[laugh] but … er, if it comes to council it’s err it’s err [laugh], I mean there’s wisdom, I’m not saying there’s not, but I'm saying that the dimension builders are the ones that will go 'OK, you know what, if you want to do this thing, we will give you the keys'.

The concept of Olódumarè (GOD) being the ancestor is a concept that was explained by Akinyele, during a previous conversation. Akinyele explained, that in the African theologies of the Asante, Bukôngo, Yoruba and Zulu, to name but a few, the supreme creative force is considered to be the first ancestor. This is because that initial creative force (GOD) is responsible for the creation of all life, and as the soul/consciousness of humans is ancient, they were created by that same creative force. As with Akintunde, Foluke’s perspective of ancestral reverence is based on the methodologies promoted by Ancestral Essence. As such he recognises humans as spiritual beings first and foremost. The spirit is an ancient entity that is reincarnated once the physical body expires. Both Akintunde and Foluke speak of the ability to tune into their past lives using the techniques taught by Ancestral Essence. In one of the blog entries for the site, the founder and instructor Edison Agbaje, writes:

“I am without a date of #origin. My body's presence has been measured by clock time.

When you can observe a thing, the object of your #observation is not you. We are a collection of thoughts, using our internal contemplation voice to describe the reality we are experiencing. That part of us, that draws down our inspiration, that comes from our soul mind via our pineal gland, is actually ageless. It can download understandings previously concluded from previous visits to this dimension.” (Ancestral Essence, 2021b).

Much like African Spiritual religions, the concept of life after death as reincarnation is recognised throughout the continent of Africa (Adofo, 2016; Fortes, 1975; Kopytoff, 1971; Laidoner, 2015; Lugira, 2009; Steadman, 1996; Steadman, Palmer and Tilley, 2016). For example, amongst the Yoruba of West Africa, if a child is born shortly after the loss of a parent or grandparent, according to the sex of the child they are named as either Babatunde (father/grandfather has returned) or Iyatunde (mother/grandmother has returned) (Agbonile, 2013).

We Revere and Venerate we do not ‘Worship’

Whilst anthropologists tend to refer to the reverence afforded to ancestors as ‘ancestor worship’, each participant suggested this definition is wholly inaccurate. Akintunde, stated, with a certain amount of incredulity:

“No, it is not! Our ancestors don’t expect us to worship them! I mean come on, how many people want their children to worship them? Wouldn't you prefer for your child to come together and work with you?”

Akintunde’s experience of communion with his ancestors differs markedly from all other participants, being conducted in a manner that is quite singular. Akintunde advises me that his method of communion is enacted directly with his ancestors.

“In our tradition and understanding, there comes a point where, as you learn to speak with your ancestors, or the voices that you have within you, the good voices the ones that give you advice, the ones that you lament afterwards and say, 'if i'd just followed what I’d heard in my head', ya know, those voices. We get to the point where we can define them, put them in a space where all the other voices disappear. Now, we also as we go forward create what we call a council. So, there is something we do, where we can create within ourselves a space where we can walk into a room sit at a table, and all our ancestors will sit around this table."

Akintunde’s description of the voices “that you have within you” remind me of what is commonly referred to as intuition. Within the field of psychology, many definitions have been proposed to describe the phenomena of intuition (Epstein, 2010; Evans, 2010; Hogarth, 2010). One such definition is provided by Hogarth (2010) where he suggests “the essence of intuition or intuitive responses is that they are reached with little apparent effort, and typically without conscious awareness (…)”(ibid, p. 340).

In his monograph Facing Mount Kenya, Kenyatta (1965) advises us of the reason for ancestral reverence amongst his own people, the Agīkūyū of Kenya:

Members of the family will partake in ancestral reverence to simply afford the soul of their elders, the same level of respect they would if the ancestor were still alive. Without fail each of the participants would reiterate similar sentiments. The idea of worshiping a deceased member of their family is inconceivable. We refer again to Kenyatta’s (1965) monograph on the Agīkūyū. As the son of a traditional Gīkūyū priest he was well placed to comment. We can be sure the use of the term worship, amongst the Agīkūyū is not correct, because in the Gīkūyū language there are two distinct words for prayer (gothaitahiya) and worship (goikia-mokoigoro), neither of which are used in relation to the ancestors. Worship is reserved for Ngai, (the Gīkūyū name for the creator of all things in existence), and for whom Mount Kere-Nyaga (Mount Kenya) is one of several abodes (Kenyatta, 1965, p. 255).

For Akinyele, the use of the term ‘ancestor worship’ by Christian Missionaries was quite intentional.

“We now realise this was a term used by European missionaries to undermine the spiritual practices of African people, (…). There are documented letters from missionaries clearly stating that the African people already believe in the concept of a supreme deity.”

Akinyele mentioned the now infamous letter of King Leopold II to Catholic missionaries operating in what was at the time known as the Congo Free State. The king acknowledges that Africans are well aware of a supreme creative energy, as well as having a sound understanding of ethics and morality (Starr, 2016). When missionaries suggested the African people they met had no concept of a supreme being, it gave credence to missionary objectives to save souls and civilise a primitive people. "The missionaries who operated in Buganda were, by and large, predisposed to consider themselves as bearers, not only of a superior religion but a superior culture, the two being inseparably intertwined" (Tugume, 2015, p. 195) Missionaries would go on to establish schools and hospitals, while simultaneously evangelizing. Whilst many were well-meaning, they did not understand the cosmology of the African cultures they encountered. It was their mission “to bring Christianity to a continent they believed to have no true religion.” As such it would be necessary to erase “African religious practices” which they regarded as “superstition and ignorance” (Lugira, 2009). As such, it has been suggested that one of the overriding factors in the demonisation of African spirituality in the nineteenth century is the countenance of it by both Christian missionaries and anthropologists. (Tugume, 2015, p. 194) Their inability to understand these concepts of African spirituality may have proven to be beyond their comprehension. Which would of course invariably result in a 'closest approximation' being used to evangelise and convert. (Tugume, 2015, p. 193)

While conducting anthropological research among the Sūkū people of Central Africa, Kopytoff (1971) advocated the theory that the level of reverence shown to ancestors by their living descent groups is based upon the importance elders play within society. Kopytoff would conclude that for the Sūkū, the level of reverence shown to their ancestors was intrinsically related to that level of respect shown to the eldership. He would go on to suggest that, as the heads of patrilocal family structures, the elders are called upon to undertake resolutions for jural, spiritual, political and economic issues faced by their families. The level of respect shown to the elders by the Sūkū continues even after their death (Kopytoff, 1971, p. 130).

All participants state they have a shared kinship with their ancestors. Much like Kenyatta (1965) of East Africa, our participants also pointed out the desire to revere and venerate their deceased kin. Akinyele, suggests the importance of our ancestors is a matter of descent pointing to the very beginning of our known universe:

‘Why we see our ancestors as so important, (…) when you really think about it, you have two sets of parents, they have another two set of parents and they came from another two sets of parent, and even if we were to trace this back in a linear trajectory to quote unquote ‘the beginning of time’, that would mean that the original source, (…) our very oldest ancestor is what we call refer to as God itself in English, this concept that explains the source of all creation’

Methodology

The Research
For a period of over four centuries, Africans were subjected to forced migration in the form of a brutal chattel slavery system within the Americas and Caribbean Islands. This system would result in mass knowledge-loss of heritage, culture and identity for generations to come (Jalata, 2013). Whilst most Africans still reside on the African continent, the descendants of those Africans who were subjected to the horrors of chattel slavery are now interspersed around the globe with little to no knowledge of their African genealogy or kinship. This phenomenon is particularly prevalent in countries where they are the minority, and feel they are involved in an ongoing struggle against the dominant hegemony, as well as countries formally colonised and converted to Christianity. The African people that remained on the continent, were also exposed to the horrors of the colonial empire builders (Elkins, 2005; Hochschild, 1999). As a result of the enforced historical and cultural detachment, most African people have been subjected to mass-knowledge loss of their own cultures and heritage. As such, there are some who have chosen to adopt the practice of traditional African religions and rituals, in an effort to reclaim a sense of identity based upon a perceived genealogy (Adofo, 2016).

Selection process

I had originally planned to conduct this research with members of the Pan-African spiritualist organisation Ausar Auset, who believe they are practicing the authentic spiritual practices of the ancient Kemitic (Egyptian) culture of Northeast Africa. This would have been ideal, as a sizable number of members based here in the UK are of African Caribbean descent, which is where I wished to focus my research. However, the UK representative of the organisation felt that he could no longer condone the project to his members on behalf of the organisation, and so the current project was born. Under normal circumstances, I would have expected to meet likeminded African Caribbean practitioners at one of the well-established community events arranged by organisations such as Ancestral Voices, Ancestral Essence, or the Alkebulan Revivalist Movement, or even the more politically oriented Pan African Congress Movement. These are all organisations, that I have spent time with in the past, and as such I am very familiar with many of the people involved with them. As it is, contacts were established online via the founders of Ancestral Voices, and Ancestral Essence, both of whom I’ve known for some years. The primary focus for both organisations is to provide individuals with the necessary knowledge and tools to practice traditional spiritual methods of communion with one’s ancestors. The methodologies promoted by Ancestral Voices, are African in nature, whereas those used by Ancestral Essence appear to be a mixture of both African and Asian.

Research Methods

Due to the social restrictions implemented by the UK government in response to the Corona Virus-19 (COVID-19) global pandemic, the research will be restricted to online conversations. All participants were contacted and confirmed their willingness to undertake research online. Of course, this is not ideal for ethnographic research, especially when conducting ethnographic research of individuals whose practice of African spirituality involves altars, prayers, ritual and sacrifice. Despite this, I have determined the overall methodological approach should be a combination of qualitative and semi-structured interview, due to the current social restrictions. Using these methods of qualitative research invariably result in a rich conduit for the collection of data (Ritchie, J., Lewis, j., McNaughton Nicholls, C., Ormston, R., 2014).

Conclusion

This study set out to determine the motivation for people of African descent to abandon the religion of Christianity, for traditional forms of African spirituality. Such actions are of particular significance due to the demonisation of African spirituality. As such, people of African descent face tremendous stigma from members of their own family and communities. A complete analysis of African spirituality would clearly be beyond the scope of this project. As such, the focus of this project was on the veneration of ancestors by the participants. To begin with, this study sought to determine, whom, or indeed what, the ancestors are. There has been a considerable amount of anthropological research conducted into this subject. It was determined that the ancestors can be the spirits of deceased members of a family, as well as famous progenitors. The universality of ancestral veneration was demonstrated by highlighting the many cultures and societies around the globe that would undertake ancestral veneration as an integral aspect of their society.

Due to the lack of UK based research conducted on African spirituality, Castors (2017) research into the development of African spirituality as practised by the African Caribbean’s of Trinidad and Tobago was referred to as a primary literary source. Castor highlights the concept of what she would refer to as Spiritual Citizenship, to demonstrate the “the power of the sacred to inform new ways of belonging to community, the nation, and the transnational” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). Her work in Trinidad demonstrated clear similarities to people of African Caribbean descent in Britain, as they would also seek to “engage the critical knowledge systems and ritual practices of African-based religions in the African diaspora” (Castor, 2017, p. 6). Castor’s ‘transnational spiritual networks’ spoke of the desire of Africans in Britain to attempt to ‘reconnect’ with what they considered to be out of reach or forever lost.

A significant portion of the paper discussed the historical experiences of African Caribbean people within Britain. This was necessary to answer the primary question of why individuals who would have been raised in Christian households, would knowingly choose to adopt spiritual practices that are still demonised in contemporary times. The first step was to discuss the subject of identity. This focussed on individuals of African Caribbean descent. Each of these participants recognised and acknowledged the use of the title African Caribbean. An example was given of a family member who had not come across the title, but immediately appreciated it for herself and others. One of the participants spoke of the significance to her of changing her English name to an African one. Such actions speak to the desire to adopt the practices of African spirituality.

The significance of Pan-Africanism to the development and eventual acceptance of African diasporic religions was demonstrated in this section of the paper. There have been far too many cases of prejudice and discrimination against people of African descent in Britain. To combat some of the harsher realities of life in Britain, community organisations were created. Pan-African organisations would focus on the acceptance of African cultures and ideologies. Several participants noted how these organisations would invariably lead them to ask for more. One participant stated that once he understood the political and historical aspects of Africa, he realised there was much missing. This was African spirituality.

The level of stigma attached to African spirituality was then discussed. The demonisation of African cultures and religions were clearly the work of the early Christian missionaries and anthropologists operating within Africa. Unfortunately, this has had long lasting effects resulting in the current stigmatisation of African culture, not only in the Caribbean but also on the African continent itself.

Most participants can be classified as members of what is described as a ‘transnational spiritual network’, in as much as they are all British citizens raised in a British society by parents clearly influenced by Christian doctrine. In spite of this they express an ardent desire to engage with a wider “diasporic horizon” (Castor, 2017, p. 6) allowing them to interact with individuals who are beyond the local. They identified ‘spiritual’ events in their lives as being instrumental in contributing to the direction their lives would take. They spoke of their clear attempts to establish a “spiritual citizenship, rooted in the African diaspora” (Castor, 2017, p. 5). Abiodun spoke of his marriage to a Ghanaian priestess, his own initiation into the priesthood of the Akan culture and his plans to emigrate to Ghana to start a new life. Having made transnational connections in Africa, Asia and the Caribbean, Wangeci and her husband are now preparing to investigate East Africa as a potential home. Akinyele and his wife Wanjiru, continue to make similar moves throughout West Africa, as they focus on the establishment of stronger ties to the continent. Two of the participants differed markedly from the others, as far as establishing a desire to reconnect with African cultures. Akintunde and Foluke, both spoke of a detachment from culture and identity which tied them to a specific geographical location. While they both acknowledge they were born in Africa, they focus on the tenet of African spirituality that speaks of the reincarnation of the spirit. Therefore, they are from the spiritual realm but born in Africa. As such, they harbour no plans or desires to reconnect with their place of birth.

The use of the term ‘ancestor worship’ was an issue of contention for each participant. They are all practitioners of traditional African spirituality, and yet none of them could condone the use of this term to either explain or identify what they do. They all made it clear that to suggest they worship deceased members of their family was clearly inaccurate. Each participant spoke of the veneration or reverence shown to their ancestors as a sign of deep respect. However, whilst Akintunde, Akinyele and Foluke all identified the ‘original ancestor’ as the spiritual force responsible for the creation of the universe, they were able to clearly identify members of their deceased family from this creative source. Of note was Foluke, who acknowledges his Yoruba lineage, but chose to commune with the Orìsà as they are the ones who make things happen.

Concluding Remarks and Suggestions

Conducting this ethnographic study of African spirituality amongst contemporary people of African descent, was always going to be problematic during a global pandemic. As a religion, African spirituality is replete with rituals, ceremonies and sacred objects. The restrictions that were put into place by the UK government, to try and contain and reduce the level of infections throughout England, made a truly in-depth analysis impossible. While the online conversations did produce a significant amount of data, it was very disappointing not being able to undertake my first major project ‘in the field’. The subject of British citizens of African Descent who are no longer comfortable in Britain; and no longer satisfied with religious systems that do not speak to them from within the spectrum of a culture they can identify with, is worthy of detailed study.

Social media platforms such as TikTok and YouTube, are replete with individuals of African descent who are beginning to question the logic of remaining in societies that still seem uncomfortable with them. They see a ‘return’ to Africa as an opportunity to live in a society where they are no longer identified as the colour black and its associative negative connotations. For many such individuals, to finally be recognised as men and women first and foremost has proven to be a deeply moving, and unexpectedly emotional, sense of profound relief. The participants I was able to work with represented a small selection of such individuals, limited to the London area. I believe further original research in this field should be conducted throughout the United Kingdom, to highlight the deep concerns experienced by people of African descents on issues of cultural identity, mass knowledge-loss and belonging as citizens within a British society. Cities with denser African Caribbean communities, such as Birmingham and Manchester, would be ideal locations to conduct this research. I have been made aware of the levels of acrimony experienced by such individuals in these communities, and so detailed ethnographic analysis could be quite illuminating. It is my intention to undertake further post-doctoral research into the lives of African and African Caribbean people who are making the decision to embrace their African heritage, whilst simultaneously living their lives as productive members of a British society. This project has served as an excellent launchpad for such research.

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[1] To differentiate between Africans with direct familial ties to the African continent, and the descendants of Africans associated with the Caribbean islands, I will use the term African-Caribbean to refer to the latter