Describe a family event you remember well

I'd like to describe the naming ceremony of my niece, in Ghana we call it outdooring. It is when a new baby is brought outside for the first time and the family give the baby its name officially. My sister had her first baby, a girl, and so we did this ceremony at my parents' house in Accra.

It happened about three years ago, in March. Traditionally it is on the eighth day after the birth, and it start very early, around five in the morning, because the baby should see the sunrise.

Many people were there, maybe forty. My grandparents came from Kumasi, all my aunties were there, and my uncle travelled from London specially, which was big surprise for us. Also there was a pastor and some neighbours.

I remember it very well because of one special moment. My grandfather, who is the oldest in the family, put a little drop of water and then a drop of gin on the baby's tongue, it means she should know the difference between truth and lies. When he announced her name, Akosua, everybody shouted and clapped. After that my sister gave me the baby to hold, and it was the first time I hold a newborn. She was so small and light. I was very nervous but also very proudly, and I think that moment I really felt that I am an uncle.

The family event I remember best is my niece's outdooring, which is the Ghanaian naming ceremony. A newborn is kept indoors for the first week, and then on the eighth day the family brings the baby out, formally gives her a name and welcomes her into the family. My older sister had just had her first child, so we held it at my parents' place in Accra.

It was about three years ago, in March. These ceremonies traditionally start at dawn, so by half past five the courtyard was already full of plastic chairs and people in their best cloth, yawning but excited.

There must have been forty people there. My grandparents had driven down from Kumasi the day before, all my aunties turned up in matching outfits, and my uncle flew in from London without telling anyone, which nearly made my mother cry before the ceremony had even started.

The reason it's stayed with me is a moment near the end. My grandfather, as the eldest, dipped his finger first in water and then in gin and touched it to the baby's tongue, telling her that her yes should be yes and her no should be no. Then he called out her name, Akosua, and the whole courtyard cheered. A few minutes later my sister handed her to me. I'd never held a baby that young before, and I was terrified of dropping her, but she just grabbed my finger and went back to sleep. I suppose that's when it sank in that I was an uncle, and that I'd have a part in her life.

The one that comes to mind is my niece's outdooring, the naming ceremony we hold in Ghana when a baby is a week old. The idea is that a newborn stays inside for the first seven days, and on the eighth she's brought out into the world, given her name in front of the family and, in a sense, officially becomes one of us.

It was three years ago this March, at my parents' house in Accra. Outdoorings start at first light, so I'd barely slept, and by the time the sun came up the courtyard was packed with relatives in their finest kente and plates of food were already circulating.

It felt as though half the family tree had shown up. My grandparents had made the long drive down from Kumasi, my aunties arrived in a cloud of perfume and opinions, and my uncle, who lives in London, appeared at the gate unannounced, which reduced my mother to tears before anything had actually happened.

What fixed it in my memory, though, was the ceremony itself. My grandfather, as head of the family, dipped a finger in water and then in gin and touched each to the baby's tongue, telling her to let her yes be yes and her no be no. Then he announced her name, Akosua, and the place erupted. Shortly afterwards my sister placed her in my arms. I'd never held anything so tiny, and I was holding my breath in case I dropped her, but she curled her hand around my thumb and dozed off. It's a cliché, I know, but in that moment being an uncle stopped being a title and became a responsibility.