Accra, GHANA - It is sunny and hot here in Accra. Ghana is starting to heat up for the warmest months of the year: January, February and March. As I walk back from classes in a skirt, tank top and flip-flops on the red Ghanaian earth, I realize I will only spend another two months here. Then, it is back to Boston, where the feeling of being cold will re-enter my body. I have had six months of summer, so coming back to snow in January with a 24 hour flight as my only fall will be grueling.
I arrived in Ghana on Aug. 1. I was a stranger in a strange land where people speak unknown languages, eat unusual food without chewing, and students go to bed as early as 10 p.m. I was overtaken by the usual fears of a person abroad: worrying about not fitting in, making new friends and understanding the social norms. But what I found it hardest to adapt to wasn't any of these things.
First, there is heat. It clings to you from late in the morning until the evening hours, making you take pleasure in the cold showers provided by the International Students Hostel where we stay. This heat gives me a sense of holiday. Then, we wake up to reality when we have to walk, sweating, to class.
There is also the issue of food. I think my stomach was fearful of what I put in it as first. I have always been fond of eating good meals, and suddenly, I have absolutely no clue what is put in front of me. There are dishes that I have never heard the names of before with spices, fruits and bush-meat. Nobody can really explain what the latter is, and those who try ... well, you wish you hadn't listened to them once they are done. But it sure tastes good! Trying is the key to anything here. Getting over my need to always be in control of what's going on around me was a true challenge. Sometimes, you just don't know what's going on, and, well, it's OK.
Of course, people here are very different. Coming from a predominantly white middle-class background, to a country where I am the minority race, is hard. But this, to some extent, is why I came here. I read that when whites first came to Ghana, people thought that they had burnt their skin off because of boiling water, thus changing colors. In most large cities, people are used to Americans, and we are not a novelty.
A couple of weeks ago a group of us went to the Volta Region near the Togo border, along the world's largest man made lake: the Volta. There, in a small rural town, we were greeted with enthusiasm and curiosity. Children pinched us to see if our "coloring" would come off, stroked our hair, and poked inquisitively at our flesh.
I had never experienced anything like this. How sheltered I am at home! When I think back on old experiences where I felt like an outsider, I laugh at my old self. Nothing comes close to this.
But people don't only touch you to feel the different color; they also call you by it. There is a word used to refer to white people: obruni. Although in politically-correct America no one could get away it, hearing the word is an everyday occurrence here. At first, most of us didn't know how to react: is it an insult, joke or normal reference? Why do you call me by something so obvious, if not to mock me? For a few weeks, there was uneasiness. Then we learned to accept this word as a common appellation. We use it now to refer to ourselves, but it was at first frustrating. How do you explain to someone who has lived in a culture where you must be treated as equals, that here, you will be called by those differences? Is it better to hush these dissimilarities or should we openly claim them?
These short paragraphs only explain some of the questions I ask myself everyday. Would I have gotten this kind of knowledge anywhere else? I don't think so. Going to a country where I am so different, and everyday having to feel this difference so strongly makes me take pride in who I am. I have to fend for myself at times, go against stereotypes, reaffirm where I come from and what that means. Am I an ambassador of the obruni culture here? I wouldn't go that far, but I am an alien in this land. And sometimes, I need to know that to feel independent.
Samantha Roussouliere is a junior majoring in English. She is currently on the Tufts-in-Ghana program.
