I attend the University of Oregon in the United States, working towards an undergraduate degree in journalism. The school has run a study abroad trip called“Media in Ghana” for over 30 years, and when I saw the flyer for it, I knew I’d go.
Once I was enrolled, my classmates and I learned basic phrases like “mapaacho” and “medaase,” diluted by our poor American pronunciation. As we got closer to our arrival to Accra, our Ghanaian professor shared a word that he claimed we would hear often: “Obroni.”
We laughed at the translation being “white person,” because out of the nine of us, I’m the only one. We decided “foreigner” was a better-suited translation.
After a week in Accra, I underestimated the title of obroni. I come from the United States, where it is usual to see people of all ethnicities and races, and I have had the privilege of never having to consider how people treat me based on such. Here, my pale skin sticks out and draws curious eyes from those around—it gives me a new perspective on what my African American friends experience back home.
Luckily, the curious eyes are always followed by a wave and a warm smile. I have found that everyone here is very friendly, and I admire the way every interaction is a conversation. It makes me realize Americans don’t check up on each other as much as they should.
I enjoy meeting new people, but the handshake is daunting. I have been practicing the snap to the best of my ability, but Ghanaians have told me I’m still not relaxed enough to get it down.
When I visited a local primary school, the children laughed as I struggled with the handshake. They tried their hardest to teach me, but we settled for high fives and hugs.
The school blew me away. There were kids aged from three to twelve-years-old, and they greeted my classmates and I with incredible songs, poetry and dance—they somehow wrangled me into joining them.
Many students seemed to have questions about my unusually straight, ginger hair. One student brought us to tears with her poem, “life is an onion; you have to go through the layers even if they make you cry. Life is a gift, live it. Life is an opportunity, take it,” she said.
I admired their endless enthusiasm and love, which is reflected throughout the country. The enthusiasm is especially noticeable in markets, where bargaining is a skill I do not possess. The art markets I’ve visited are teeming with incredible artisans that are itching to sell their craft, from woodwork to colorful dresses.
I bought a bracelet with my name woven into it—a seemingly signature piece that every obroni must own. I was easily convinced to purchase bangle bracelets made of cow horn and a comb to match them. The sellers are always compelling, promising me lower prices, so I’ve had to practice saying “dabidabi.”
Besides the marvelous people, I’ve enjoyed the nature of Ghana. One of the first things I noticed was the birds. The commonly-spotted pied crows are much bigger compared to American crows. Pied crows also have a white chest, while American crows are completely black. Pigeons are a regular sight throughout the world, but I was amused to see how the pigeons here have similar coloration to the dusty red roads throughout Ghana.
The roads were different from what I am used to, the interstate highway system throughout the United States is elaborate and fully paved, so the journey from Accra to Cape Coast was a new experience for me. The five hour drive was impressively bumpy, and the rules of the road are unbeknownst to me. My bus driver hastily swerved around slower traffic with confidence and was generous with his horn—both things that would have likely resulted in dangerous road rage in America.
After a week, my main takeaway is that the kindhearted culture of Ghanaians contributes to the idea that everyone is a brother or a sister, which transcends race and ethnicity.
By Liz Mitchell
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