We Call it Home.....

WE ARE AFRICA!  We are black, white, brown and mixed. We are rich, poor and middle-class. We are not all sick! We are not all emaciated!  We are inundated with a dearth of bold leadership, diseases and hunger whilst being oppressed and maligned by systems and the powers that be. Yet, we are the future! You may read this with the subtlest of concurrence or with sheer cynicism, but though I may not live to see it, like MLK, I have a dream, that not only are we rising, that someday, my kids or their kids, would rewrite this piece, not futuristically but in the now!

I am not propounding unrealistic goals, but I see the hunger and thirst for success in the face of the African youth! I see the desire for change and that is the catalyst for change!  The societal nuances that characterize the African society are varied. People who were raised here or with African values, because mind you; it doesn’t take living in Africa to be African, would attest to this. Like my cousins in London remarked: “these outskirts is London, once you close that door, this is Ghana”! Our societal values bother on family, unity, love, faith and maybe sometimes to a fault, community. My mission here today is rather mundane, to let you in on some maybe funny, startling or infuriating societal happenings in the motherland.

Let’s start off with one of the means of public transportation in the motherland. A fancy term has been coined for it, “Trotro”. Unless you choose to live in a 5-star hotel or try to set up your own Beverly Hills in Ghana, something, some foreigners try to do whilst they live there which not only fascinates me but irks me in the same breath, you will have to sit in a trotro to discover that a 30 minute ride can either change your life for the better or the worse. You may adopt a rich and famous life in the motherland by resorting to boarding taxis, but you should at least try to discover this life of the ordinary African. Once you struggle to get in one, the stench from the conductor, affectionately called “mate” could reawaken your nasal senses to such a degree that your day’s frustrations would immediately lose its significance (not all of them though!). The “mate” whose sole role is to collect the fare from the passengers can sometimes fraternize with passengers to an extent that if you are like me, who sometimes felt her mannerism did not meet the definition of the term; “layman" even though considering the fact that my frugality which dictated my hostility to taxis with the silly excuse that it wasn’t safe qualified me as a “laywoman", these mates could come across to you as the most crude people on the surface of the earth. When someone sits next to you, 7 out of 10 times, they would start a random conversation with you. The topic comes in various hues; politics, religion, personal matters. The latter you might wonder why, but this one is tricky. This fellow trotro-boarder can begin telling you stories that may seem to the person on the next row that you both came from the same woman’s womb! It gets even weirder when they start the conversation and begin a lamentation. It's as if in that moment, you were their hero; that somehow, by letting you know what they have been through, your very ability to listen even though they may have lost you the moment their minds conceptualized this idea of sudden acquintance by virtue of having a shared commonality of the very lack of financial resources to buy a car and hence resorting to public transport, you could be the panacea to their exalted problems. 

Should you not empathize with their situation, you would be perceived rude. Nobody cares what you have been through during the day! This is a societal burden, which you have been given the august presence of aiding a fainting heart. Being African, you cannot be too busy to help a fellow African! We all sign a ‘continental treaty' every year in Addis Ababa to help each other, especially when we manage to escape our beloved home to the diaspora! That is barbaric and no being educated doesn’t excuse you either! At worst, the lay-man expects that your degree has the answer to his/her problems. And oh may I add, the women take it to a whole new level. Should you encounter a woman who starts the conversation with; "hmm,hmm" you can be sure her grievances would either be about a cheating husband or an insubordinate child! If its your first time in Africa, get off  at the next stop! You would have to agree with her on everything or else, you are her husbands ally! 

Restaurants are too regal for certain foods! Even if they have earned a Ph.D from Harvard or Cambridge, eating waakye in a restaurant is an anomaly. We like our local foods not only local by preparation, but by their site of sale! Like one of my bosses recounted in the past and don’t cringe because you are always served with cheesy smiles from waiters who do it half-of-the time for good tips, the best waakyes are those sold by the gutters! See, people with double masters, queue to get the best waakye and don’t worry, they will be back next week even after a bad bout of stomach upset! Paradoxic? I guess...

We are religious; maybe overly religious! On Sundays, I am sure the angels in heaven responsible for attending to the saints prayers are about 100,000 times more in African churches than those in Western countries. See, with all that is plaguing us, you can’t blame us for having 6 services in a day! Don’t look surprised! After all, God said he never slumbers nor sleeps! If christians in the West would give him a “resting period”, not us! We will call him till his schedule for the day is over! 

We may be poor, but not when you attend our funerals and weddings! Don’t get it twisted, we came to mourn, but to eat as well. Occasionally I would get confused as to what exactly the dancing was about; dancing with the ghost of the departed person to usher them to the other side or just seizing the opportunity to have a good time? You can be sure that even if we are in debt, we do not leave these important ceremonies with any mark less than a touch of gold! Whether that gold was bought, stolen or borrowed.

I type this piece with a smirk on my face. A smirk modeled by a dual sense of longing for what has been left behind and an anticipation of the unfamiliar grounds I am yet to tread. Isn’t it funny? How you appreciate the things you once had better when they are gone?

Then again, Africa would always be home!

See you next month!

Conceived Misconceptions

There is a global-social strata. On this strata and believe it or don’t but it exists, being African places you at the base of the pyramid. Whether you live in a 6-bedroom house in Egypt or you drive a 4x4 wheel drive in Ghana, who cares? To the rest of the world, your everyday living is synonymous to the hungry child from ‘Africa’ who is in almost every commercial on Aid in Western TV commercials.

To everyone else, as long as you reside in that continent, you must be hungry! And when you arrive in the West, possibly, you didn’t board a plane to get here. I do wonder how people think we get here though…oh i get it! Voodoo!
We probably chant all night and by the next morning, without passports or visas, we find ourselves 24hours-or-more away from the beloved and yet mysterious continent!

I thought ignorance was bliss but certainly, such overt and obvious admission of cluelessness, sometimes baffles me and other times, robes me in an ambassadorial garment, ready to educate my foreign comrades on the ‘Dark continent of Africa’, at least for the most part, that is what they know!

I realized I didn’t have to explain anymore! Being African and a passionate one at that, I am always tempted to launch into a “that-is-not-what-it -is-sessions”!  But who am I, to dissuade that woman at church who once reminded her teenage daughter one Sunday that I was from Africa and yet spoke “such good English” that, yes I have been learning English from kindergarten! Not only would her daughter begin to doubt all her mother may have told her about Africa, which would  certainly make her out to be a liar, but it would also mean that CNN and BBC her most trusted TV channels for world news were equally a bunch of ‘people' putting out false knowledge.

 No, I would take the high road and smile upon hearing her admission of my flawless expression in the Queen’s language in the country Columbus discovered and walk away. At least after singing some songs of worship from Australia, I would not feel that bad when I notice people wonder where I learned these songs. At least, they don't ask! But the incredulous look on their faces is enough to construct in plain language  exactly what their thought processes are that instant.

Till next time, I will be walking along and telling you about the adventures of a nomadic African!