Being black in Africa

I have often been asked the question, “what’s it like being a black American in Côte d’Ivoire?” so I figured I would address this here.

Sometimes it’s like this:

In a taxi on the way to a Saturday morning yoga class with two (white) American friends, the driver kept referring to me as his “sister” to back him up in a discussion about how Ivoirian women prefer girl children. Exasperated on my behalf, my friend said, “She’s not your ‘sister.’ She’s from America like us!” The taxi driver expressed shock and then excitement; he turned around and asked if he could shake my hand. “I’ve never met a Black American before! I see them on TV, but never before in real life!” He proceeded to chuckle and shake his head in astonishment the whole rest of the trip.

Or it’s more often like this:

Taxi driver: “is she [referring to me, even though I am in the car] American like you?”

Friend: “Yes. But, you can ask her yourself”

Taxi driver turns to me: “but really where are you from? Everybody knows where they come from… your ancestors are from which African country?”

Me, incensed: “Do I really need to explain the whole slave trade to you right now? They didn’t ask the Africans they took off the boat which country they were from and write it down. The slave traders didn’t care (I might have used more colorful French here, I was in a bad mood)”

Taxi driver: “I guess that makes sense…Well I heard Michael Jackson traced his heritage back to Guinea. So you could be from there too.” (Guess which country the taxi driver was from… go figure)

I get it. I represent an anomaly for many here, because when they meet Americans, eight times out of ten (or higher) they are white (i.e. aid workers, embassy folks, etc). From first glance, I don’t particularly stand out – I have been told that I have Bété (Ivoirian ethnic group west-central part of the country, Gbagbo’s ethnic group) legs – though my accent to a good ear has English tones. When a taxi driver discovers this and I am alone, I lie and say I am from Ghana. Why? Because I don’t want to deal with people asking me to help them get a visa to the US (i.e. help us, my sister. We are both black you should help us, etc). Only once has this plan backfired when the taxi driver knew Ghana a little too well (Oh, what village are you from? What language do you speak? etc). If I am with some of my lighter skin (read, white) friends, I become even more noticeable because I am speaking English. I once had a dude chase us down the street because he was sooo interested in talking to the Black woman who spoke English. Saw the same dude less than an hour later when I was alone; he didn’t take special notice of me. 

I guess it is frustrating because I don’t want to be the exotic token. It’s true that I can answer, after being asked four times in the same conversation, really where are you from, my grandmother is from Cape Verde (though also born in America), which I do sometimes. They nod their heads and say ok, that makes sense (because me being from America doesn’t make sense…); But I am only a quarter Cape Verdean, don’t speak the language and minimally identify as such. I don’t want to diminish the rest of my history that is directly tied to the slave trade and American history, and yet I find myself sometimes having to do this. It’s equally frustrating when they say, “but no he or she [referring to a white colleague] is a real American.” My people have been in the US for longer than every one of my white Fulbright colleagues here, who are descendents from European immigrants that arrived in the late 1800s, early 1900s. From what my grandfather has researched, the Davis side can be traced back to at least the 1790s! Argh!

On the other hand, it certainly has its advantages. The people I work with love to show me off as “Obama’s cousin” (though, they know good and well Obama and I have little to no chance of being related considering his background). I have embraced my “Bété”-ness, even adopting a Bété name: Ouzua (which now some colleagues only refer to me as). I blend in when I walk down the street… maybe they see me as different from Ivorian women, but for all they know I could be from some other West African country… in other words, I don’t usually get harassed for money or to make “new” friends any more than an Ivoirian would, compared to my white colleagues.

But the “discrimination” (maybe too strong of a word) doesn’t just apply to West Africans ignoring me or being intrigued by me. In Ghana, I have a memory of sitting in the cafeteria alone eating lunch one day. Some UCLA study abroad students (some of whom I had actually met earlier) came in. They saw another white study abroad student, and immediately went to sit with him. I sat there, appalled. I wanted to stand up and shout “hey, I am American too!”

In short, living in and travelling around West Africa has made me think about my identity as a black, African-American, woman. I would like to learn more about other African-Americans’ experiences here, and maybe one day I will write a book. In the meantime, I try not to get too annoyed when asked where I come from. I try to feel out whether the taxi driver (because nine times out of ten, they are the most interested) is going to ask me for a) more money, b) a visa, or c) if I know Beyoncé; or if he is just going to have a nice chat with me about how cool my country is. That’s when I decide to claim my American-ness or pretend to be from someplace else. 

Autumn in Ghana: Tales from the North

Saturday the 18th of November: We arrive at the STC bus station a little before 8 for the bus to Tamale that is supposed to depart at 9. Of course, we don’t leave until 1pm. It was the “ordinary” bus, which means no A/C, no loud Nigerian movies (more on this later), and the dreaded middle seats. These are seats rigged in the aisle that have backs that are permanently reclining and are mighty uncomfortable for a 12 hour bus ride. And lucky us, two of our four seats were middle seats. We tried to rotate, but someone always got screwed with the middle seats. I was really uncomfortable because I was having some sort of allergy/sinus attack and was sneezing/blowing my nose the entire trip. We stopped four times: once about 2 hours outside of Kumasi at a very nice rest stop with a restaurant and nice clean toilets, once in Kumasi with okay toilets, once in Sunyani (I didn’t get off the bus, but it looked nice), and one last stop in Techiman. The toilets in Tamale were the worst I have yet to see in Ghana, and that’s saying a lot, I think.
First and foremost, it was Freezing on the bus once the sun went down. I tried my best to bundle up, but its hard to do when all you have is t-shirts and a skirt. We arrived in Tamale at 2am. It was too late to get a hotel room, since the bus to Mole left at 4, but too early for the bus. So, we found some nice benches and slept until the bus arrived.
Sunday the 19th of November: It was a bumpy ride to Mole, but we were so exhausted we didn’t care. It was a long dirt road that ran through the savannah. Actually, I felt like I was in East Africa or some other country other than Ghana, haha. It just felt so different! We stopped in Larabanga, which is where the oldest Mosque in Ghana is located. Twin brothers run this hotel in town and they gave us a tour of the village and mosque and took us to a place where we could eat some rice and eggs. We also met the chief of the village which was cool. From here we took a taxi (which was a big hassle; the brothers wanted us to take bicycles or motobikes with them, but there was discrepancies about prices and whether or not we were getting ripped off or not) to the actual park. We sat out on the look out which is right above the two main watering holes in the park and saw elephants bathing and a ton of deer like animals as well. It was really relaxing. The hotel was nice, 70,000 per person per night, which is the most I have paid for a hotel here, but it was nice with our own bathroom and a fan and a pool. Unfortunately, I learned that the age old rhyme “sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite” was something you should actually wish for. Our beds for filled with bed bugs so we were all covered with tiny red bumps that itched like no other for a few days after the stay. At least the beds were comfortable, right? What was weird was the temperature change. It was extremely hot during the day, yes, but at night it got really cold. There were a ton of warthogs that wondered around over the park and many times they would appear out of nowhere in front of our room in the dark and scare the crap out of me.
Monday the 20th of November: We got up at 6:00am for the guided tour of the park. We hiked down the hill to the water hole, didn’t see any elephants, hiked some more, saw some monkeys and antelope type animals, no elephants, saw a ton of army ants making a highway of sorts, but still no elephants. We hiked for two hours and the guide was disappointed about elephants. As we started to climb back up, we saw two elephants in the bush. We rushed down to take pictures of them, so we were really close, which was cool (of course, my batteries picked this time to die, and I stupidly didn’t bring any extras). We went back to the room and slept, during the hot middle of the day hours, then chilled that evening.
Tuesday the 21st of November: Woke up at 3:30am to catch the 4am bus out of Mole back to Tamale. Tamale was a very dusty town, but it wasn’t too bad. I did notice a lot of beggars, but that is probably just a trait of big cities anyway. From Tamale we took a metro bus to Bolgatanga (four hours) which is in the Upper East Region. Bolga, as it is fondly called, was different from Tamale. It was drier, number one, and I could feel my skin dry up and my throat and nose become parched. That is a big change from the extreme humidity that plagues us here in Accra. Second, it wasn’t as hot and it actually felt a little bit like fall. Leaves were even falling from the trees, so it felt only appropriate we were celebrating Thanksgiving up north.
From Bolga we took a metro bus to Zebilla (one hour, stood up the entire time). When we got to Zebilla it was market day, so we went in search of fresh bread, vegetables, and other necessities for the next three days (market is every three days up there). Unfortunately, we couldn’t get any eggs (apparently in the dry season guinea fowl and chickens don’t lay eggs…what kind of crap is that??) They speak Kusal in Zebilla, so we picked up a couple of words, such as hello (tima tima). Maura, who is the reason we went to Zebilla, is doing research on well water and ground water and soil (she is doing geology research on a Fulbright). We stayed in the former MPs house with his neice, Emilia who is a seamstress, and another graduate who is working on a clinic in Zebilla, Katie. The former MP wasn’t there, of course. It was a really nice house with running water, electricity, an oven, and a t.v.
One way I could tell we were not in a large city was the reaction villagers had towards me. First, they asked me where I was from. When I said the US they asked why I wasn’t white, or how I was black. In fact, they were really confused most of the time (“So…she is African?” “No, American, African American.” “But she’s black?” or “If you are American, why are you black?”). Then they asked me why I was fat. I am not sure how to answer that one. I have started taking it as a compliment…haha.
Of course, because I am a dork, I talked politics with the people in the house. Haruna, who helps Maura out by giving her rides to her wells on the motorbike, believes that NDC will win the presidential election in 2008 and change the constitution so that Rawlings will be president for life. He contends that President Kufour has done nothing for the North; only helping out the rich south. ( I am not going to bore you with my extreme interest in Ghanaian politics, but I just want to note here that the North and the Volta region vote as a block for NDC, Rawlings’ party. It is really interesting, because the parties have no platform difference; they are just divided along ethnic lines. AND if you didn’t know, Rawlings was a military dictator for 18 years who killed a lot of people, but was charismatic, held democratic elections in 1992 and stepped down after serving two terms which is admirable, I guess, and he also did a number of good things for the country…its one of those, which is worse type questions.) Also, to keep along the politics line, I went to Parliament the week that we left to go up north, which was really cool, especially because we got to see the budget for 2007 (as in the budget for the entire country) as proposed by the party in power. NPP, the majority, were all shouting and excited whereas the minority, NDC, was sitting quietly on the other side of the room. The minority leader called the budget a “monotonous soliloquy.”
Back to Zebilla.
Wednesday the 22nd of November: We got up and headed to Tongo, one of the villages where Maura is monitoring wells. It is interesting…there is a reservoir, where a dam stopped a small stream to make a small pond that people use for washing. The reservoir affects the ground water which is used to provide water in wells. During the wet season, the wells are full, but soon the wells will dry up. Maura is trying to look at whether the wells near reservoirs have water longer and also looking at the type of soil that is around the wells. Water access is really politicized; chiefs will request a borehole (a covered well with a pump, which is more hygienic and safer than an open well) in their village, but will want it built right by their house. A mechanic in town has been monopolizing the equipment to fix wells and has charged ridiculous prices to fix it with old equipment. He actually accused Maura of tampering the boreholes and she had to go in front of the district assembly to tell them she is not there to do harm.
The best part of Tongo was the four hour donkey cart ride. All of us, four, couldn’t fit on motorbikes, so we hired a donkey cart, which traveled at the same pace as us walking, but was fun nonetheless. The funniest part was the stares we got from the villagers (imagine, a bunch of obrunis on the back of a donkey cart which is supposed to not have human cargo…).
Thursday the 23rd of November: we bought two guinea fowl…which one of the guys in the house had to kill and pluck (yuck). We roasted them in the oven, mashed potatoes (they were purple and really sweet), roasted some vegetables, and had fanta for Thanksgiving dinner. We had no bake cheesecake for dinner. It was cool. The people in the house called it the “food holiday.”
Friday the 24th of November: Karen and I headed back to Bolga around 12:00pm. We boarded the OA bus, which was much nicer than STC, right on time at 2:00 and left around 3pm. When we got to Tamale, we switched buses, and this is when the Nigerian movies started. The first movie was about a woman who was in a love affair with what appeared to be an 8 year old boy. The Ghanaians loved it; it was a comedy that kind of made fun of African American “thugs”, but really made the little boy the hero. After this came one about a girl who treats her mother and sister as a slave (I fell asleep during this one). Around 2am we started watching Terminator. The bus was, no joke, 30 degrees. The A/C was on full blast. My teeth were chattering. We were wrapped up in sheets, it was so cold. We got to Accra at 6, took a tro-tro to campus, I went to sleep for a few hours, and then started studying for my finals.
Finals: As of now I have completed two out of three “papers.” The first one, conflicts in Africa, wasn’t bad at all, just a lot if writing and a lot of information. I was a little worried about the second one, African Literature, but it wasn’t too bad. Two and a half hours to answer 2 or 3 questions that are extremely broad and I hate to write so it was not fun. I am glad they are over with, though.
Sorry about the length of this blog, I tried to keep it short. I have three weeks left in Ghana…and a ton of stuff to do!

Cultural Exchanges

So this weekend was interesting but pretty low key. On saturday I went with two of the Norweigan girls to this hair salon where they met a woman last weekend who invited them to a festival. At the hair salon I taught the Nords a little bit about black hair ("why do you need to put so much product in there??" "Does it hurt to get it straightened??") They have been having a hard time finding someone to just cut their hair without putting grease in it (haha). So we met the lady, who turned out to be the daughter of a former Ga king. The Ga is the largest ethnic group in Accra. anywho, we went to her house and sat in a living room on a couch and sipped pineapple coconut juice and watched a thai, indian, and ghanaian films. then she brought us a sampling of what would be served later that night for dinner...some sort of palmnut soup with fish. This is when I figured out why I don't like Ghanaian food...it is very bland but at the same time very spicy. There is no flavor really, just spicy burnt mouth. Then we went down to the party and sat and watched funny dancing and got hit on by old men and young boys alike. It was a strange and interesting experience. I think that the Nords got invited because they are white, and they were most certainly a novelty at the party (people kept coming over to them, surrounding them while they danced etc). It is a weird experience, because I feel like I am not Ghanaian but I am not white, so I am not really paid attention to.
Sunday, I went down to my friend Tasha's room (rasta chick with cool dredlocks) and met her Ghanaian roommate. she said that she would cook for us, so I was totally down with some free food. Then she preceded to ask me a lot of questions about America. First, she said she was very surprised that we were dark skinned like her. She thought, based on movies and music videos, that all black women in America were light skinned. She was also suprised we had similar hairstyles as Ghanaians, and that we weren't "crazy" (which I think has to do with style of dress) and that we are very suprising to Ghanaians because we don't look like the stereotypical black female. I then proceeded to explain to her why light skinnedness is looked upon as better than black skinnedness in the states. She and her Ghanaian friend said I was beautiful (good for my big head, eh?). The food that she made was the best I have had since I have been here. She made some fried plantains (i wanted to start crying they were so good), a dish with a ton of veggies, tuna and pasta and chickpeas in a tomato sauce. I wanted to jump for joy, it was so tasty.
Last thing, I am at my internship now. I started today, but they haven't really given me any work. I am picking up where this girl left off on a project called "Ghana at 50." Ghana's 50th anniversary is next march, so CDD (Center for Democratic Development) is sponsoring a conference to discuss how far Ghana has come in regards to poltical, social and human development. I think my job will be to fundraise with international agencies and research possible topics for the conference. It seems pretty exciting, but like I said I haven't started or been assigned anything. I am just happy to have quick internet. This weekend we are thinking about traveling to the Volta Lake which should be fun (its on my top three list of places to visit while I am here, so i am looking forward to it).
P.s. classes were supposed to start on monday. No, they haven't. But its all good, I don't want to go to class anyway.