Obruni

On Saturday, I decided to go on a self-guided walking tour of the town, to see more of it and get a sense of how things were laid out. First, I walked from Osu to the National Museum in Adabraka. I’m not usually a museum person, but planned it this way because I still don’t know many people and had no plans, it was something educational to do, and I assumed I couldn’t just walk continually.

There was a group of school children, about 10 years old, going through the museum. When they got to the exhibit on slavery, I lingered. A friendly teacher saw me and came over to ask if I was enjoying myself. I said, yes, the museum was nice and I was interested to see how slavery was taught to the children. He said something like “this is what your people did to us,” but not in a mean way at all, and invited me to join the class. I didn’t want to be a disturbance, some of the children had already said hello to me and I thought it best to keep to the edge. The lead teacher asked the children what famous blacks they knew from outside of Ghana. Rinaldo was the first, followed by a few I didn’t hear/didn’t recognize. The teacher who had spoken to me offered Mike Tyson. The lead teacher than said that these people were not “pure white,” that they had come from here. He said slavery was when people were kidnapped and made to work, without being paid. That was about the extent of the lesson, but the kids looked though the exhibit briefly, before exiting through a mock “Point of No Return.”

I read that a male slave was worth 300 cowries (1000 cowries = 1 shilling at the time); a woman slave worth 400. An ox worth 500 and a sheep 150.

An exhibit of a shipwrecked slave ship explained the system. Trade goods from Europe (muskets, gun powder, brandy and textiles) would come to Africa; Slaves, ivory and gold would be transported from Africa to the Caribbean; colonial goods like sugar, rum, cotton, and mahogany would be carried from the Caribbean back to Europe. This system allowed the ship to be full of goods on each leg and maximize profits. A sign noted that this was one of the first forms of globalization.

When I’m walking down the street, I’ll hear people calling “Obruni,” the word for a white person. It’s said to make me look, to greet me, to beckon me over to buy something. It’s not said with hate, but I wonder how could they not hate whites? After hundreds of years of slavery, then colonialism…

I don’t feel collective guilt for the slave trade, just like I don’t feel responsible for Bush’s misguided war; but at the same time, I wonder if I should. It is hard for me to imagine black leaders would assist the Europeans to enslave their brothers and even harder to comprehend that there are still some forms of slavery going on today (children soldiers, for example).

I don’t notice the color of the Africans so much as my own. They’re all the same; it’s me that sticks out. I think about color when I see my own pale, pale arms. Or when I see the Ghanaian Parliament on TV—all black. The newscasters—all black.

People in many countries I’ve visited have asked me how they would be treated if they came to America; until they hear your accent, I tell them, they probably wouldn’t know you weren’t American. Me, they can tell right away, especially here. When people say hello to me on the street, I waver. Should I say hello and be friendly? Or will this person start to follow me? Want my phone number? Be a nuisance? I tend to say hello, but occasionally don’t (usually when it’s a man, especially at night).

Last night at dinner, I was sitting alone. At the table next to me were two men and three women. One man saw me look at my mobile phone and asked if I was calling him. He pulled his chair up to my table and began chatting while I ate. It was nice to talk to someone, but I couldn’t help but think of ulterior motives. He wanted my number—but he had children my own age. Sketchy. In the end I said I didn’t like giving my number out; he decided I should become friends with his daughter and gave me her number instead. That I’m okay with. As his friends got up to leave, I spoke with the pregnant woman, asking her when she was due. Then I was invited to their house sometime, which was just at the junction. The invitation came in the form of, when do you want to come? Rather than the American “come at this specific time” invite. I suppose I’ll wander by sometime this week.