After a month and some here, the days have certainly started to blend together. This morning, I was determined to at least get one quality interview here in Koforidua. After breakfast and preparing some laundry, I decided I’d take the long rout to town and walk. About half an hour into my stroll, I decided to ask a storeowner about the water he sold. Among the three brands were Ascension, StayCool, and Standard. The last two were more national brands and were produced elseware; however, Ascension water was produced not too far from where the storeowner’s shop was. Conveniently enough, a friend of his was passing by, and the storeowner spoke some Twi to him and told me to follow (I caught Brofuand Ansom meaning Englishman and Water). The man was dressed in all black, and when I inquired where he was going, he told me he was heading to a funeral at the Ascension church.
Once we entered the church grounds, he pointed to a building and told me to inquire inside. Interestingly enough, the church decided to open up community housing, drill boreholes for water, and start a business selling water. An elderly man with a name at least 8 syllables long showed me around to visit the boreholes, filtration site, packaging plant, and agreed to an interview. Apparently after all the costs are met, the Ascension water profits go to the Ascension church, and the plant was funded as an investment. Very cool
After my visit, I walked for another hour outside town to the bead market, only to find it empty. I was told that the bead market moved outside town to a permanent location open every day; what I was not told was that “open every day” does not mean “staffed with sellers” everyday. Saaa!
After another hour of walking, I made it to lunch with Keith and the gang. It began to pour (finally) so I stayed long after lunch was over until mid afternoon. While walking back to Partners May, it began to rain again, and I had to settle for a taxi (almost made it to town and back without the aid of a motor vehicle!)
While walking alone today, I began to think about how I’ve assimilated into this culture far better than I had in past trips and compared to fellow white people and travelers. As I’m sure I’ve said in the past, it’s all too common to walk down the street anywhere in Ghana and be called white. White Man, Obruni, Yevoo, Nansway have become my adopted names. I used to get pretty annoyed with the whole name calling, literally racist terms. I even tried to buy a shirt that simply read “My name is NOT Obruni” this time, just for fun.
In my interactions with Ghanaians, I always get a kick out of surprising everyone – men, women, and children – by returning the greeting “good/fine morning” with a “Wu so ma achi, a/oura. Ete sen?” (good morning to you also madam/sir, how are you?) Jaws drop with astonishment. Some follow up with a “Ay! Wu te Twi?” to which I reply “Anne, menti Twi kakra kakra!” (Do you speak Twi? – Yes, I speak small small!)
I wear pants when it’s hot, use my right hand to give money and receive food in the same motion when two hands would be far more convenient, and I never ask When are we going to get there?
By most counts, I am doing a pretty good job being a Ghanaian – something that most people who come here don’t do. It’s so easy to visit a new place, retain one’s culture, and treat every irregular encounter with disproval or disgust. It takes time and dedication to study another culture, to study the language structure, cultural norms, and present oneself as something other than just another tourist.
So, the name calling of Obruni or any other white person derogatory term is often justified. Whites come and go, remaining in a cultural bubble and disobeying norms, languages, and daily lifestyles. I’ve come to try to bridge the gap, and although I could never assimilate completely into the culture, I’ve done the best job I can, and I think it shows.
When people call me Obruni now, I often say Oh, Menye Obruni. Meye Obbibini! This translates to “I’m no white guy, I’m an African.” Of course, the response is always shock, laughter, and a lot more heckling. Is the elation and amazement rooted in the surprise of a white guy speaking Twi? Or is it the fact that I just called myself an African when I surely don’t look it. I don’t think it matters; I’ve proven that not all Obrunis are the same – some aren’t Obrunis at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment