Joeshmail did not want to leave me at the airport. She
turned away hesitantly after making me promise to call and text her once I had
met up with the group and was headed to Legon. I nervously straddled my leopard
print suitcase trying to make contact with all my belongings as I sat in the
metal seats of the arrivals lobby. I was alone for about 30 minutes before I
got a call from Kwame, an SIT staff member who was already at the airport
waiting for this semester’s students to arrive. I was anxious. The car ride
from Labadi to the airport felt too short. Like a chapter closed too quickly,
its characters left underdeveloped and the reader trying to figure out what she’s
missed. This was the end of Ghana as I knew it. The end of taxi rides from
Labadi to Osu, of impromptu Ga lessons and girl talk with Joeshmail, of the
anonymity of being alone, dark skinned and beautiful in a place where both dark
skin and beauty are in surplus. Those first two weeks I was nobody’s “Obruni”
or “Brofonyo.” I was a sister, a daughter, just another woman walking the
streets of Labadi. My tongue sullied this sense of oneness. My accent and
failure to understand when spoken to in the language of the area made eyes open
wide and taxi prices increase. Most days I could not be fooled. “Daabi,” I’d
say before haggling for the correct prices. Other days I couldn’t be bothered,
excepting this ‘obruni tax’ as the easiest way to get where I was going.
But as I scanned the airport crowd for members of my group I
was suddenly aware of how different things would be. Once they all arrived, I realized
my calculations had been incorrect. There were 15 of us, but I was pleasantly
surprised by an additional Black woman and a White man. I smiled and greeted them. Comedically apologizing for my obnoxious over
coordination, I had worn a Cheetah print dress which matched my suitcase, backpack,
and travel pillow. I did not plan on meeting the group in full on cheetah girl
attire but as a friend of my said when I texted him about the predicament “at
least a brought my whole self to the table…no surprises.” As we boarded the
tros-tros a white voice croned in excitement, “we should all go back with
dreadlocks!” White laughter ensued. This jovial comment triggered in me a sort
of “fight or flight” response. I murmed something like, “seriously?” Then fell
silent. I wish I would have had the wit and energy for a proper comeback. These
were the people I would be studying and traveling with for the next 4 months
and I immediately questioned my decision to sign up for this program.
Orientation flew by awkwardly. The forced smiles and feigned
interest in each other’s lives. I have always found small talk to be unnecessary,
but that seemed to be the chosen way to communicate amongst the group. The only
place that felt safe was my hotel room. My roommate, who I now affectionately
refer to as Queen Mother Marquita, filled the room with Chicago-bred southernisms.
We shared stories about our lives, about being progressive black women on our
small liberal arts universities, about what brought us to Ghana and how happy
we were to be experiencing this together. The next day Rashida joined in our bonding
session and the “Black Girls Abroad Society” was born. In my hotel room, underneath
a gorgeous portrait of Naomi Campbell, we created a safe space to release all
that had been hiding behind our smiles.
It pained us to here the white voices cry about the heat,
lack of toilet paper, and other things that made them “appreciate all that they
had at home.” For us this trip was more than that. This was to be a semester of
self-discovery and socio-political analysis. We weren’t here to gain a new
appreciation for our privilege and the ignorance of our peers was unnerving. In
the classroom I was quiet to avoid confrontation. Our “Life in Ghana” check-ins were full of
trivial overstatements and accounts of naivety. At the Kunta Kinte Highlife
Club I was quiet and sober, laughing periodically at offbeat angular dancing.
In the taxi home I found myself in an argument that I thought I was avoiding. One
of my classmates had grown defensive to everything I said and seemed to be trying
to reject the idea that her city, the murder capital of America, was
socio-economically segregated. Her resistance to the reality of her hometown
did not surprise me, but the vigor with which she contradicted points I never
made was hilariously pitiful. At the beach I was treated by African men as some
sort of key to unlocking the white pussy that surrounded me. It pained me to
see how low these beautiful mahogany skinned men would stoop for the sexual attention
of white women. It hurt even more that the presence of white women somehow
superseded my sexuality.
Uncomfortable is the best word I can use to describe how I’ve
felt this first week. I found some solace in phone calls home and daily
meetings with the BGAS, but being in a program that so blatantly caters to
white Americans has caused a great deal of mental frustration and it is just
the beginning. It wouldn’t be fair to say that all the white folks in this
class are unbearable. The more one-one encounters I’ve had the more depth I’ve
discovered.
Our first assignment was a mission statement, to discuss
what we expect for ourselves and for the group. I wrote mine on the second
night of orientation:
This semester
I am committing myself to being open to experience. To ensure and maintain a
cohesive group I will be clear, open and honest about my perspective, needs and
boundaries. This being my third trip to Ghana I feel like a pre-teen who feels
both confident about her understanding of the world and overtly aware of all
she has yet to learn. I see this semester with SIT Ghana as an opportunity to
add knowledge and depth to my relationship with the country. I will take full
advantage of every opportunity to learn and/or try something new along with
sharing the things that come quickly to me and not being afraid to ask for the
help of my peers.
I
am expecting that as a group we approach our time in Ghana open and honest with
a keen since of awareness to the ways identity (with specific consideration
given to Americaness, Whiteness & Blackness) impact how are seen and
approached as we travel. I expect a safe space where concerns can be discussed
frankly and maturely without gossip, anxiety or anger. I expect to be approached
directly if someone takes offense to anything I say/do and I expect my feelings
to be respected when I approach others. Overall, I think positive energy will
be one of the most important things that holds us together as a group. I know I
personally don’t take well to complaining or insensitivity so I hope that as a
group we can commit to really thinking about the things we say/do before we
act. This journey is very important and personal to me (as I am sure it is for
my peers), and I will not tolerate anything that intrudes upon my peace. I
expect that we hold each other accountable while simultaneously giving each
other the space to follow our own spiritual, mental & emotional paths
through this beautiful country.
