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