The Mother Load: Making Sense of Minority, Misconceptions, and My Future
Final musings on my experience in Ghana
Now that I've been home for more than a week, I've had some
time to reflect on my semester in Ghana.
Despite the "reverse culture shock" that my study
abroad advisors warned me about before I left, I got used to home pretty
quickly. I embraced the cooler temperatures, as well as the non-metric system.
I took a hot shower and remembered I didn't have to bargain when buying a
t-shirt. And much to my mom's surprise, I even remembered how to drive!
The one difference I really felt when I got home was a complete
sense of ease in my environment. That sense is what I miss about home when I
travel. I can walk in Annapolis and know exactly where to find a cup of coffee
or public park, and where not to walk at night. By the end of my stay in Ghana,
I could hop on a tro-tro and go wherever I wanted. I had learned to talk down
taxi prices and how to find the good fruit at the market. But I never felt
completely comfortable, and I've been trying to figure out why.
What I've realized is that before Ghana, I did not know how
it felt to be a minority.
Being a white, middle-class American, I had never
experienced minority status before. From the moment I got off the plane and
stepped into the long immigration queue, I knew I stood out. Imagine walking
down the street in New York carrying a goat. People would stare at you with
interest and curiosity. That's what I felt like--at the market, walking down
the street, at the beach, even sometimes in class--just about everywhere.
I got used to the stares. In fact, I found that most
Ghanaians I met were eager to meet international students. They were friendly
and inviting, and I made close friends that I'll have for the rest of my life.
However, there were times when standing out unsettled me. At
the art market, people would grab me to get me to look at their shop. Taxi
drivers tried to overcharge me because I was white, a sign to them that I was
rich. Times like these made me wish that I could just blend in with the crowd
as I do in the U.S.
I asked myself, is it different being a minority in the
U.S.? My time in Ghana taught me it is. Although Ghana and the U.S. are
connected in history through the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, Ghana has not experienced
the same history of racial intolerance and Civil Rights movements that have shaped
the U.S. I would never say that I now understand what it feels like to be a
minority in the U.S. Although my white skin caused some Ghanaians to stare at
me or try to cheat me, I was never barred from a job, nor subjected to racist
comments. If anything, being a minority in Ghana showed me how privileged
whites are in the rest of the world. I just wish more Americans could be as
curious, open, and kind as I saw Ghanaians to be toward those who look and
speak a little differently than they do.
Something else my experience as an outsider taught me was
about misconceptions. I remember when my friends were leaving to study abroad
in London and Amsterdam. People would tell them, "You're so lucky" or
"Have fun!" When I told people I was spending five months in Ghana,
some would say things like, "Good for you," as though I were going to
Ghana for some noble reason. I try not to read too much into these differences,
but I can't help noticing that people thought of my trip as a volunteer mission.
Last week, I chatted with a friend's grandmother about
living in Ghana. She asked, "Weren't you scared?" We in the U.S. have
a skewed perception of Africa. Our ideas have even been reinforced by the media,
with its preponderance of stories about disease and violent coups. Rarely do we
hear stories about high-achieving African students or strong African women with
seats in government. At the same time, I also found that Ghanaians I met had
skewed perceptions of the U.S. When a Ghanaian professor mentioned that he
didn't want to go to the U.S. for fear of drive-by shootings, I felt the need
to clear up a major misconception.
I didn't go to Ghana with the intent of saving orphans or
changing traditions. I went because I was interested in Ghanaian culture and
history. In hindsight, I would have liked to volunteer in Ghana. There were
organizations like the orphanage that could have used my help. I learned a long
time ago that the world is an unfair place. It doesn't seem right that some
people have three houses while others have none. It's only natural to want to
help, but there are different ways of doing this. I've been trying to find
which way is right for me.
At the University of Ghana, I studied the arts: drumming,
dance, and theatre. I had fantastic professors and talented students in my
classes. Instead of a large, mirrored, air-conditioned studio at the University
of Maryland, my classes were held mostly outside or in small rooms with tiled
floors. But this didn't change the enthusiasm or motivation of students. What I
realized was that the performing arts can happen anywhere--on a sidewalk, a
soccer field, or in a village. So why can't the arts be used to help people? I
think they have the power to develop communities, and I would like to be part
of this.
I remember my first week in Ghana. I was hot, exhausted, and
I was craving a good burger. I still couldn't believe I was in Africa. Why was
I there? What did my presence there do for anyone? Do for me? As soon as I
stopped worrying about these questions and started getting involved in theatre
and traveling, I began learning. I saw children begging and learned about
privilege. I saw people pay off policemen and learned about corruption. I
crammed into tro-tros and learned about compassion. I went weeks without
running water in my hostel and learned about resilience. I wish more Americans could
travel to Africa, but I know this would be difficult. So for now I'll have to
share my experiences the best way I can, through my writing and through the
arts.
Nante yie! (walk well)
Kokrobite beach
Last week in Ghana
