My family has not celebrated the birth of a new child in 25 years. Upon the announcement of my cousin’s arrival earthside, the family gathers in the living room of Prampram house - the home my late grandfather built. It hasn’t changed much since I was a child myself.

We move outside into the courtyard. My grandmother - the matriarch - sits on a plastic white chair and performs the customary rites of a traditional Dangme naming ceremony, baby in her lap. She gives our new family member a taste of water - a signifier of good, and nme daa, a fermented corn beverage - a signifier of evil. Baby must know the difference between the two.

My eldest uncle pours a libation of Schnapps - pronouncing blessings on the new baby and the family.

Back indoors, the okyeame, tells us why we are gathered here today, and asks my uncle - her father to tell us her name. All in attendance are required to symbolically take a sip of Schnapps, give a small money offering and repeat her name - to share the news about her birth with others.

Baby N's father lifts a Christian song of praise, we pray and the okyeame thanks us for our presence.

My grandmother quietly moves to her bedroom, Baby N still in her arms. She’s held onto her since the beginning of the ceremony. She sits, places my cousin safely on the bed, and sifts through her collection of glass beads. She finds what she’s looking for and gently wraps it around N’s tiny wrist - securing the glass bead bracelet she made with multiple knots.

In the early hours of a Tuesday in September 2023, we welcome, hold, adorn and celebrate our newest family member.