Causing a stir

A finger timidly reached out to poke my leg…. Another small hand stretched up to brush my own. Someone else gripped my wrist….. and then the swarm. Hands everywhere. As the crowd descended, I actually found myself having to pick some up off the ground - whether they were there intentionally or not (some opted to touch my feet), I'll never know, but it certainly wasn't an ideal hang out spot for them. Children back to back, jostling one another to get closer to the obroni, touch her to see if she was real. You’d think I was a unicorn.

When a coworker asked if I’d be interested in riding along on a trip to the Eastern Region (next over from Greater Accra), I was all for getting away from my laptop, out of the office, and taking a look at the country outside of the Accra region. I had no idea I was about to become a sensation.

Before this afternoon, of course, I’ve been gawked at, occasionally ogled… and I say “of course” not out of some delusion as to my own personal appeal, but merely due to my skin pigment (which I, of course, cannot take credit for); it makes you a creature of intrigue here in equatorial Africa. Something of an oddity…… which, when it comes to the blunt openness and thoughtlessness of children (a universally endearing trait, wouldn’t you say?), translates into something to be manhandled.

At our first stop, I regret to admit that virtually every child was reprimanded due to my presence, which inspired them to spread the news of an obroni like wildfire as they craned to get a good look at me through the classroom window. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, who waited innocently in the shade outside, the director was quizzing Franklin, my coworker, as to whether or not I was his wife. As I quickly learned, this was only the beginning…. Subsequent visits resulted in more craning and gawking (from children and adults alike), the aforementioned manhandling escapade, and several directors and principals requesting that Franklin leave “his obroni” there with them. The director of the manhandlers, for instance, picked his way through the outskirts of the crowd around me and, in his best ringmaster tone, asked “You like the obroni?!” receiving a unanimous and repeated “Yeeesss!” in response. Thus, as we left his office, he suavely followed up the now-typical “leave the obroni” comment by noting that both he and the children liked me, so I really ought to stay.

The fun continued from the car, as well, as stares, flirtatious smiles and waves, fruitless shouts, and one bold instance of picture taking continued the obroni fever. Indeed, it is true that Ghanaians are friendly…. And, if you’re a white woman in Ghana, you may come to the conclusion that Ghanaian men in particular come across as rather too friendly, all somehow without crossing from entertaining to just plain creepy (though it’s a thin line at times). My presence has been requested for tomorrow’s venture to the Western Region, and I’m sincerely intrigued… we shall see if I am to join or not.

In any case, all of the above has only enhanced something already brewing in my mind – I was torn between entertained/flattered and sincerely bothered… bothered not because I felt at all in danger (thank you, Franklin, for declining their half-joking requests), but by the very fact that I caused such a sensation.

As we waited in the lobby of one school, children giddily slipped through to sneak a look at the obroni – a fact that I was totally unaware of until Franklin called my attention to it. This, naturally, inspired a new conversation: would it be like that in the US, he asked? If, say, a black person were to walk into a school as I had just done? Try responding to that one.

I’m sure everyone would answer differently. My own answer, however, was along these lines: there are relatively few places in the United States that remain completely untouched by diversity of some sort, so it wouldn’t be quite so outlandish. In the most urban of areas, like DC, racial diversity was something I truly didn’t even note; it’s a fact of life. The general trend, however, seems to be this: Ghanaians are much, much more open about noting race than “politically correct” obsessed Americans; this noting of race, however, does not translate into racism. Rather, as I answered this afternoon, I can’t help but specify that, though Ghanaians may blatantly gawk and stare, it is not in an offensive way (“obroni” is, in fact, more of a term of endearment). In the US, however, quite honestly, a noting of race is usually done offensively – it is doubtful that it will be openly commented on or acknowledged, but that in no way certifies that all Americans are more pleasantly at home with racial diversity; for some, it merely entails a sort of festering racism, unfortunate as it is. Perhaps others see it differently…. From my own experience, however, that was the most logical and accurate response I could offer.

Racism, sadly, seems to be universal – there are pockets of it wherever you go. Open acknowledgement of the differences of race, however, must not be confused as racism. This obroni, at least, views the two as separate. If anything, my skin pigment has caused people to be more impressed with or interested in me than otherwise – another troublesome thought. While in the US one hears cries of “reverse racism” (a term which is innately impossible, as it implies that there is a correct direction for which racism to take, but for current purposes, you understand my meaning), as I stood in a Ghanaian primary school today, surrounded by awed children and overly friendly men with ulterior motives, another coworker, Evelyn, uttered one phrase in passing that nearly knocked me off my feet – “The black man looks up to the white man.” Did she really just…? Indeed.

While it was something she, of course, did not maintain, and did note merely in passing, it was a disturbingly true take on the perspectives with which some have viewed me since my arrival. Some may be interested but see no real difference (the ideal), others (though generally unconsciously done) have made me want to shrink into the shadows, and still others (and this group outweighs the previous) make me want to protest. Make me want to shake people into their senses and say “No! Why am I seeing colonial remnants?! You have and will see much more of life than myself; you have made your way through a harder existence than I’ve ever had to experience. You deserve to sit in the damn chair, not me! I should be making you dinner! Stop acting like I’m special or above you! It doesn’t matter that I’m a guest, and it doesn’t matter that my skin is lighter than your own – you deserve it more than I do. If we are not equals, it is because you are above me. Home court advantage.”

Children, of course, have generally shown this troubling sense of awed fascination more than adults, who are, quite logically, disillusioned by the fact that I am lighter skinned. On their part, however, the amount of humility and patience often displayed, frankly, is both awe-inspiring and sickening. Sickening to be on the receiving end of a hierarchical and somewhat servile culture, and sickening to note how much more they deserve and how little others appreciate what they already enjoy (or fail to enjoy) in life.

Of course there is plenty more to be said, but it’s rainy season and Ghanaian thunder and lightning truly beats all. I’ve also babbled/ranted long enough, I’m sure. Thus we have a blog post with one theme alone. Still, it’s a theme that has occupied innumerable minds, debates, books, conflicts, etc etc etc, so you’ll have to forgive me for devoting a moderately lengthy blog post to the matter. More to come, no doubt. This is one obroni who never stops thinking.

*As you may have guessed, photography was not exactly fitting for this afternoon, thus the continued lack of pictures. They will come. Patience, you know…. patience. Greater things to occupy our minds at the moment, no?