As I spoke with the tailor at Volta Hall (the most prestigious women’s dormitory on campus… and where some of my best friends from the UC system live), I gave her the cloth I bought at Makola Market and explained that I wanted some clothes that make me look more like a local and less like a silly foreigner. She giggled. Theo turned to me and smiled, “there’s one problem with that… and it has less to do with your clothes and more to do with the color of your skin.” I chuckled – sometimes things are so obvious that they become easy to forget.
I just got back from a short excursion to Cape Coast, the previous capital of the Gold Coast (what Ghana was called before it was Ghana) before Accra and the site of initial European (Portuguese) interaction with the locals in the late 1400’s. We were able to see both the Cape Coast Castle (British) and Elmina Castle (Portuguese then Dutch), which were used as defendable outposts to trade goods between the locals and the foreigners. In the 1500’s, however, these goods became predominantly human and where my footsteps treaded today… some six million Africans were held captive and shuttled across the ocean as slaves (that, of course, did not count those that did not make the trip from the hinterlands to the castle nor those that passed away before boarding the ships). As we walked through the dungeons, the feeling that came over me was nearly identical to the one I felt when walking through Dachau (the first Nazi concentration camp) more than a year ago when I visited Germany. The pain, the human atrocities, in both locations were so apparent and so vast. So I did here what I did there… cloak myself in a demeanor that is quiet, stern, and somewhat numb… I guess that’s just how I deal with it. I was hoping though, that using today as an inspiration, I could begin the never-ending conversation about my encounter with race relations living in Ghana.
As Ghana went on to win a very close game against Tunisia in overtime today, I celebrated along with everyone at a local bar on campus named Time Out. In the midst of all the cheering, one Ghanaian - whom I’ve never met before - came up and high-fived me, only to follow it up with, “you look like them.” At first, I just smiled and nodded like I always do when I have no idea what people are saying to me… but then it hit me. Oh, themmmmm! I look like the Tunisian soccer players: the ones who got non-stop booed the whole game, and who started playing rough and almost got into a fist fight with one of Ghana’s star players near the end of the game. Honestly, I’m not nearly tan enough to look Tunisian… but its true that they look much more Middle Eastern (maybe close to Turkish) than Ghanaian black. Well, what exactly am I supposed to say to that? The guy walked past me and was gone, so not much left to say, but what was I supposed to think?
Here in Ghana, one of the first words we learned in Asante Twi (the lingua franca here and the native tongue of nearly half of the population) was Obruni. Obruni essentially means “white person,” and has been leveled at me from every direction as I walk in downtown Accra (rarely on campus). Yeah, Ghanaians aren’t ones for political correctness (neither is much of the world, definitely not Israel for example). Before coming, we were told that Obruni just meant foreigner, and there is some truth to that because even if you weren’t white (as in your descent heralds from Latin America, Asia, or even Africa) you were considered Obruni if you weren’t a local. On the other hand, this isn’t the whole picture either. Our Education Abroad Program director, Auntie Rose, lived most of her life as an African-American in the United States but after nearly a decade here in Ghana… nobody would dare call her Obruni (even though her accent is totally American). Aisha, one of the African-American students on the trip, was confronted by a taxi driver for not speaking the local language – she was black, and therefore a local, so it bewildered the driver how she could call herself Obruni. I can never truly be a local here because even though Obruni might not mean “white man,” even though I’ve been referred to as such in English to my face in attempt to coax me toward a street stand’s product, it does seem to mean non-African (and this is usually judged through immediate social relations by skin color, so therefore non-black, even though I know “blackness” is judged differently depending on cultural context around the world).
But this is why I came here. I wanted to seek to understand what it means to be a marked minority (marked because I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to, unlike being Jewish… my skin is the mark that gives it away). On the other hand, I also realize that its quite different to be treated as an outsider when one actually is one – hey, I’m just visiting for a semester after all, right? It’s quite different to be treated as an outsider when one is a citizen of a nation, when one has lived for years in an area, when one’s life has been intermeshed with the locale in a way that cries out for respect. This I cannot quite grasp here, but I’m taking new steps toward it every day and that’s good enough for me. Yes, although I forget it at times, sometimes I really feel out of place here, alien even, like I don’t belong in the room I’m in for example. I hope to think more about that feeling and connect it to relatable circumstances back home. I also wonder how that will change when I am more in tune with the local culture, the norms, and especially the language… will I be able to demand the respect of a local or will I still remain Obruni? What is the difference in race relations in the urban city (like Accra) and the rural village (which I have yet to visit)? All these questions, and more (feel free to ask some of your own for me to reflect on), are hopefully going to make their way into upcoming blog posts… so stay tuned!
Many (if not all) places have their definition of local and foreign. For example, in France it cannot be based on the skin color (there are both black and white locals), so there it is based on the language: if you speak French you are local, if you try to speak French somehow, you are semi-local, if you don't speak French, you are foreign. The question is how locals treat foreigners. In France you will be the last to get the meal in the restaurant and routing directions received on the street could be "slightly" off. In Japan locals will try to help you as much as possible, such as walking with you to the place you are looking for, even if it is in the opposite direction from where they were originally going. In some places foreigner would be a target for cheating, stealing, even abduction, to make some profit out of you. For instance, in China taxi driver would take you in circles to make more money on the meter.
ReplyDeleteI would say that it is more important to understand how every place treats foreigners, not just ways to place you in one of these buckets.
I'll for sure have a post about how I have been treated as a foreigner to continue this string of posts about race and social membership... for now (with the exception of the stray comments left and right, I'm usually given much more privilege than the average person and a great deal of kindness and willingness to help - everyone here always asks what I think about Ghana so far and wants me to leave with a really positive experience).
ReplyDeleteI do think its INCREDIBLY more complicated though, this was meant just as an intro. I think even in countries that have many different skin colors of "locals," there are differences in social status and sense of political membership based on visible markings. For example, being a person of more fair complexion in the United States is advantageous and beneficial for political/economic opportunities and accomplishments... does that make some "more citizens" than others? I guess that depends on what you attribute the cause of that advantage to, but that's another conversation all together. On the other hand, being "more white" as you walk through parts of East Los Angeles (where the lingua franca is often Spanish or Spanglish) might be disadvantageous... so perhaps there are different sorts of political associations that are not just national that we can become "foreigners" or "locals" in.
Anywho, just complicating the picture so its not just placing people in buckets (that does sound kinda silly), will reflect more on Ghana in the next one of these posts.
Or perhaps all of that is just a vast oversimplification... that's usually how I feel.
ReplyDeleteCreating buckets, sorting all people into these buckets and then creating some sort of hierarchy between buckets definitely exists. I can add to my previous examples some special status (at least in people minds) of Moscow inhabitants as opposed to the rest of Russia (capital with "developed" culture vs. others), or casts in India, or just city vs. suburbs in some places, educated vs. uneducated. It is kind of cast system by itself, but sometimes it is more complex, because there is no universal hierarchy. As you said, you could be a lower cast when you walk through Hispanic or black neighborhood, and vice versa. Your role of "local" vs. "foreign" changes in this scenario depending on the geographical location even within the same country or even city.
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ReplyDeleteMy friend had a cool poster with two pictures:
ReplyDeletea picture on the left side depicted a flock of black sheep and one lonely white sheep;
a picture on the right side depicted a flock of white sheep and
one lonely black sheep.
I thought it shows that feeling an outsider is universal and can can happen to anybody.
The interesting question is why some groups of people are more open and accepting than others? Is it a skill that can be learned or is it based on positive experience or is it based on expectation of something in return?