Over the weekend, I was invited to a naming ceremony for an adorable one-year-old whose dad I work with, and it made me think of culture, and tradition.

So, the dad is Ghanaian, and the mom is Belizean, and half the reason I wanted to go was because I’d never been to a child-naming ceremony before. I had done a couple of baptisms, but was curious as to what the pageantry of the baby-naming was like.

The child was a year old, and already had a name, but this made it official. From what I could ascertain, in Ghana, the first name you are given is dependent on what day you were born. You rock with that until your first birthday, when your parents throw a party and announce what your whole name is.

What was really interesting to me was the line of demarcation between the religious and the spiritual. Most of the ceremony was Christian in nature, with Bible verses and the use of water as a cleansing agent. But after that was done, some elders pulled the parents away to invoke the calling of ancestors to protect and guide the child. Both emphasized the welcoming of a new life into a family; reminders to be mindful of those who have gone before and those here to help and support. There were introductions of godparents. Acknowledgements of friends who had made the trip to witness the ceremony.

Got me to think about Christianity in Africa and the pull away from spiritual traditions. Thinking about all the love there for this little boy who was zooming around the room, followed closely by a bevy of aunts. Thinking about what makes family, and the hope that things will get better for the children coming up now.

And thinking about how we had to leave after the ceremony, and I didn’t get any jollof rice. Dammit.