Ghana Day 10 - 032212 - White in Africa

Ghana Day 10 032212 White in Africa

Yesterday we spoke of the difference in pace between Western and Ghanaian culture. Today, I'd like to explore a second issue, being white in a black country. As I'm sure many dark skinned people feel in a white culture, there is no way to hide skin color. To my knowledge, only Michael Jackson has even tried to attempt this, and imho, something went terribly wrong with that process.

We are strangers here, and we stand out from everyone else. Our skin is fair and burns easily. Our hair is fine and sometimes long. And we have sometimes have fine hair on our arms and legs that is unfamiliar. Without even addressing any issues of racial bias, we just look different.

On a very simple level, the unfamiliar is interesting, and people are just plain inquisitive. Whites in Ghana are called “Obruni”, which I think literally means foreigner, but carries the implication of “one who does not look normal like us”. I was told, prior to our arrival, that we would hear the word, I assumed in quieted conversations as we passed by. Instead, people more or less point and yell “Obruni” at us. The school children in our local neighborhood, make a kind of nursery-rhyme chant out of “O – broon – ee, Oh - broon -ee” and over time, we've come to offer them a high-five to appease them as we break down thhe barrier of differences. This can sometimes mean an endless stream of 30 or 40 such interactions as shyer friends come out into the road from their homes as we pass. We are weird and different and of great interest, and sometimes I feel like ET walking down the street. Nothing threatening, but certainly warranting attention.

At our orphanage, where we have had the chance to build familiarity and extended family, the kids just love stroking our long hair, and gently running their hands over and over the hair on my arm, like a blind person exploring a new object. Similarly, we've found that cutting African hair is a process quite different from our Western long locks. One woman at a public transportation tro-tro station was wandering and loudly polling anyone who would listen, “Does anyone know a stylish who cuts Western hair?'

There is a ironic double (or maybe triple) standard at work here, and I'll do my best to try to unravel it. It is based on a few premises, that result in a confusing collision of gestures and values.

The first is that Ghanaians are inherently culturalyl friendly and welcoming. This was one of the decision points for us deciding to visit this country over several other choices. In Ghana, if you have something, you help someone who doesn't. It seems that many, especially in the lower income groups, do not integrate savings into their aspirations. Their income and situation largely forces them to live for the short term, hand to mouth, and day to day. If they should receive the blessing of short term resources, they are likely to share it with others in need, believing that in some future time of need, someone will aid them. I spoke earlier about the cultural need to acknowledge each other and to greet. This is a land that values human interaction and that is filled with general good will towards others.

The second point is less positive. As with any people, physical differences can be interpreted as threatening, and there is some timidity and puzzlement with confronting the new and unknown. I suppose, like viewing one's first solar eclipse or snowstorm, no amount of reading or intellectual understanding can prepare one for the actual experience. There is a word in the language for us white folk, but it doesn't begin to cover the nuances of meeting one in the flesh. Our eyes are not brown, our skin is fair, our hair is fine and long, and we walk around in a stupor trying to understand the rules of a different culture, bumping into norms like a person navigating an unfamiliar room in the dark, with consequences that range from clumsy to downright inadvertently offensive.

There is a also history of white people arriving here from Europe for the past 400 or so years, and exploiting West Africans, and that promotes a sense of historical mistrust. This is a land rich in spices, cocoa and gold, as well as a brisk trade in human slaves for over a century. There is pretty much no limit to the lengths that European nations have gone to in the quest to achieve dominance over thhe resources of this region. Much of it is brutal and wholly historically embarrassing to a person like me who has been unwittingly saddled with being an ambassador of whiteness in a land of black skinned people.

Finally, there is is a definite, knee-jerk association with white people being rich and stupid silly with handling their money. The Ghanaian economy, like many in rural America, just operates at a lower, simpler level than that of the large city. I can get far greater value in services and housing and goods for my money in my hometown of East Hampton, CT than my son can in the middle of New York City. Similarly, visiting Westerners don't have a clue initially just how much value their dollars can buy in this simpler economy, so otherwise smart people make blatantly stupid buying decisions. Many marketplace goods are offered at about 500% over their anticipated sales value. Negotiating is culturally expected and accepted. Most Westerners are not used to offering 10 cents on the dollar, and in the resultant clash, end up paying laughable amounts for items without blinking. And so, the “myth” of wealthy white skinned people is driven one story deeper into the West African culture.

As an example, we just purchased 5 dozen eggs for about $8 in the local market, 18 pineapples for $4, a 20 mile taxi ride for $2, a custom made dress for $19, and the work of a mason with two assistants for a full 8 hour day in the hot sun for about $50. Bottled water is 13 cents a liter, you can rent a 1500 sq ft house for a few hundred dollars a month, and a clean hotel room with A/C at a resort for $50. Of course, some things are expensive. My wife, Penny, aptly commented as we drove past a roadside electronics store, “Now I know where all the tube TVs ended up!” Computers and furniture (wood is scarce) and appliances are costly. Fuel is around $8 a gallon. Time is cheap however, and this abundance of seemingly inexpensive labor and lack of money turns everyone into a handyman.

Back to the main point. Outsiders from expensive Western cities are foolhardy with their money. The culture is inherently welcoming, but white skinned people carry a historical legacy of suspect behavior. The net result produces a confusing Ghanaian response. Elder people are warm in their greetings, but can turn cold quickly when a Westerner makes and unintentional offensive gesture, perhaps using their left (unclean) hand in greeting. Street-smart Ghanaiains exploit white tourists by opening with warm greetings, only to disarm people long enough to steal their wallets and watches. Similarly, young local men will go to nearly any length to get the name and phone and address of a white coed. We are traveling with a beautiful 18 year old young woman who is a testosterone magnet. She is constantly getting pulled and touched and approached and invited, as though she is a celebrity making her way through a sea of fans.

The bottom line is that it is confusing being white here. Once we've met people, all is well. People are people, and at our core, regardless of skin color, we are all interested in the same things – family, health, hopes and dreams. For the reasons listed above, though, it seems that the average Ghanaian in commerce, feels like they are walking past a lost opportunity not to overcharge a white person. I think that there is a decision-point, that usually goes sour, when interacting with a white person in a business transaction. It is kind of like that morality tug of war when you find a hundred dollar bill on the ground and quickly realize that the person ahead of you at the airport dropped it. There is the greedy impulse of some kind of windfall profit, tempered by the higher conscious act of doing the right thing.

This situation happened to me at JFK airport in New York, when an Asian gentleman a half dozen steps ahead of me pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and unknowingly ejected a flurry of US currency on the the terminal floor behind him. I stopped him and helped him gather it up and get on his way. Somehow, I'm longing for that same higher urge to prevail in the Ghanaian market place with vendors when I shop. I'm still waiting.