The Irish may be known for their spirited wakes, but Ghanaians have perfected the over-the-top funeral. And in New York City, these parties anchor the social calendar of the fastgrowing community of immigrants from that West African nation.

Held nearly every weekend , they are all-night affairs with open bars and window-rattling music. While the families raise money to cover funeral expenses, disc jockeys, photographers, bartenders and security guards are turning a tidy profit.

There may or may not be a body present, or a clergyman. The deceased may have died in New York or in Africa, a few days or a few months earlier. But the funerals all serve the same ends: as festive fund-raisers for bereaved families and as a way for Ghanaians to dance off the grind of immigrant life.

“To us it’s a celebration,” Manny Tamakloe, 27, an aircraft mechanic, shouted recently over the music at the funeral of Gertrude Manye Ikol, a 65-year-old nurse. “If you’re Ghanaian and you come here, you’ll see 10 or 12 people you know and they’ll introduce you to somebody. And before you know it, you know everybody.”

“Why go to the bar,” he asked, “when you can come here and get it for free?” Few Ghanaian celebrations match the scale and decibel level of the memorial service. When Kojo Ampah, 34, is without weekend plans, he phones fellow expatriates to ask, “Hey, is there any funeral?”

The memorials have become larger and more frequent as New York City’s Ghanaian population has grown. The latest census estimates show that there are about 21,000 Ghanaians in the city, mostly in the Bronx, up from 14,000 in 2005.

The parties are fervently anticipated, promoted for weeks online or with fliers at African businesses. The fliers feature photos of the grieving family and friends, known as the “chief mourners,” and credits for the master of ceremonies and technical staff.

A well-attended funeral carries great social prestige. On a Friday night when Mr. Tamakloe had already been to two, he discussed a stranger’s coming memorial. “Everybody’s saying this is going to be the hottest funeral of the year,” he said.

Henry Boateng, an engineer, spent months planning a funeral for his father, who died in July . He was expecting 300 guests.

Funerals are extravagan t in Ghana. Coffins can resemble Mardi Gras floats; an athlete’s may be shaped like a soccer ball, a fisherman’s, like a canoe.

In Ghana, “the most significant cost you’re going to incur in your life is not going to be your wedding ? it’s going to be your funeral,” said Brian Larkin, an anthropology professor at Barnard College in New York.

As in Ghana, funeral guests in New York need not know the deceased or even the family. But they are expected to donate $50 to $100 - though many do not - to help cover costs. A big party can raise thousands of dollars.

The funerals are the hub of a buzzing economy. Henry Ayensu, who owns a printing company in the Bronx, said he had printed fliers for 12 Ghanaian funerals in the past two months, many more than usual.

Six photographers worked Mrs. Ikol’s funeral, . They sold photos of partygoers for $10 to $20.

The funerals are such money makers that the justifications for them are sometimes a bit shaky, Mr. Ampah said. A New Yorker might hold a party for a cousin’s niece’s husband , even if the two had never met and few of the proceeds go to the family.

Mr. Ampah said a taxi driver he knew made $6,000 on such an event. “People won’t begrudge him because people are happy to come show support and have fun,” he said.

Funerals usually begin around 10 p.m. with blessings, ceremonies and speeches. By midnight, the dancing has started. By 2 a.m., the party is in full swing.

Outside Mrs. Ikol’s funeral, late arrivals changed into traditional wraps of red and black, the colors of mourning.

Inside, the master of ceremonies praised Mrs. Ikol. The room throbbed with highlife, a Ghanaian blend of jazz, brass-band and African rhythms.

Francis Insaidoo, a biochemist who recently moved to New York, said of the funeral, “It feels like you’re not alone.”

He did not know Mrs. Ikol, but his roommate did. But the roommate confessed that he did not know her either. “You come for a party,” Mr. Insaidoo said.


By SAM DOLNICK