nomadic in april

Identity Dilemma

american, oboruni, african-american, black american, jamaican, rastah!, half-caste, mulatto, mixed race? I've heard it all.

I'm most often referred to as oboruni, which means white person. After four weeks of constant sun, I have the darkest tan I've ever had in my life. But here, I'm white. I've seen Ghanaians of all complexions. Even before I speak, I'm still different. I feel like an alien as people stare at me everywhere I go. Men yell "Rastah!" Children yell "Oboruni" and women stare and look me up and down. Frustrated and confused by this, I asked other African Americans living here as well as Ghanaians what it all means.

In one taxi ride, my rib to rib mate asked my nationality. I said "African American" He asked "Who is African? Your mother?" I said "No, my family came from here long ago." I said this with the asumption that everyone here knows about the slave trade from West Africa to the Americas. He knodded, but then looked confused. "You are African American?" he repeated it twice. Since he had knodded, I didn't understand his question. Then I realized to him, unless my mother of father was born in Africa, I was just American.

It's becoming clearer that being oboruni or american is a muddy mixture of class, race and complexion. It means that I come from a place where "they" all want to go. The place from which most of their popular music and movies come. Where images that they aspire to are made. Where life is lovely and easy.

It's times like these that I wish I were a vocalist or musician. Music seems the only way to adquately express this confusing experience. The song would be a mixture of Nina Simone's moodiness and Miles Davis' formless meandering. It would be a blend of "Sometimes I feel like a motherless child/ a long way from home" and my all time favorite, "Summertime and the living is easy/ fish are jumping and the cotton is high/ your daddy's rich and your ma is good looking/ so hush little baby, don't you cry."

Bittersweet.

My second week in Ghana I met an amazing woman for whom I have much respect. Much respect! Seestah Imahkus Okofu is an African American who moved back to Africa 15 years ago with her husband Nana Okofu. Together they run One Africa, a guest lodge that includes six individual chalets located on beautiful oceanfront property, a restarurant and a small museum. I planned to stay for a couple of days but stayed for a week instead. I love the ocean! The warm Atlantic Ocean!

I had just arrived in Cape Coast and Elmina. After checking into a scary hotel, I walked down to the coast, sat crying in a restaurant, wishing I could go home. After eating red red (black eyed peas with a palm oil and tomato sauce and fried plantain) I pulled myself together and headed back to the hotel. I decided I couldn't stay there. Even if they didn't give my money back I was leaving. They refunded my money.

My friend Shiree, back in Oakland, had given me instructions to find friends of hers in Cape Coast. She said go to One Africa and they will help you find my friends. A taxi dropped me off at One Africa and we tried to reach them by phone. We couldn't reach them so I decided I was going to stay there no matter the price. It was the equivalent of $31 a night. My whole daily budget! At this point I didn't care. I would rather go without eating, just to feel safe.

This turned out to be the right decision. The whole One Africa family took good care of me while I was there. The first night I sat in my chalet vomiting red red. I heard a knock at the door and there was Seestah Imahkus to check on me and to bring me some tea and herbs to settle my stomach.

We would later have many conversations about her return to Africa and her extensive travels around the world, alone. She listened to my frustrations and told me about two books she has written, "Returning Home Ain't Easy, But it Sure is a Blessing" and "Points to Ponder."

After returning to the chalet each day, I'd go outside to the oceanside table and join the ever present group of people for dinner and discussion. They'd ask me about my day and offer interpretations and encouragement in response to my daily frustrations.

I met several great people during my stay. Some, traveller's like me, passing through. Others, permanent residents of Ghana. My week at One Africa kept me in Ghana. I felt much stronger as a result of my stay.

The day before I left to head back to Accra, I confronted an employee at an internet cafe. When I went to the counter to pay my bill, his coworker asked who the bill was for. He said "Aewekj kd kojklj oboruni alkalkjf" and pointed at me. I said in English "I'm not white." He said "You're not? You're Black?" I said "Yes. I am Black." He said "But your color is so different." He apologized and extended his hand in sincerity. I'm still confused by this exchange. Mostly because Black American culture is prevalent everywhere I've been so far. Music, music videos, fashion, movies, all things popular. Some of the good, but mostly the bad. (I would later make a complaint to an internet cafe manager about offensive unedited music they were blasting over the sound system. Does the meaning not translate? No one else seemed to care, women and other foreigners included.)

I see I have much more to learn about what it means to be seen as an oburoni african american something or other.

check out this commentary on oboruni:
click here