The White Man/Blofono/Obruni Effect

I am a white man. Have been as long as I remember. Up until four months ago it hasn't been anything to get excited over. Of course I knew that I possessed the skin tone that had routinely subjugated  all other skin tones throughout the course of history. This had left me with a sense of...guilty entitlement? I'm not sure exactly what to call it. Louis CK does a poignant bit on it. His modus operandi is revealing embarrassing truths about being a white, middle aged, socially awkward, egocentric man. I can safely say that I will be able to relate to all of that at some point in life. I'm also compelled to agree with most of what he says in the link above. White people have had a monopoly on being the dominant race for most of history and despite what Louis CK says about the future, I'm inclined to believe that will continue or that it will all at least balance out. Maybe there will be an apocalypse and the Nepalese will be the only race whose home was not completely flooded and they will by reason of being the only ones left become the dominant race for the brief and lonely remaining history. But probably not.

I have always thought it would be cool to be black. When I think about it, though, I realize I can't really come up with many substantial reasons. It would be kind of sweet to be a "brother." And I assume I would be better at basketball than I am now. Not that's saying much. Affirmative action is still a thing. But besides that I can't imagine many ways I would necessarily enjoy it when compared to being white.  I also come from a rather racially homogenous town. I lived next to the perhaps the only black man in Bethlehem and never gave much thought to his experience surrounded by conservative white people.

Being white in Africa, though, is a totally different animal. As you can imagine, I am in the minority. That was the extent of the information I could safely rely on concerning race relations in Africa before coming here. My perception of race relations has changed rather drastically. In the last fifty years a big push among the progressives, or whatever they're called, has been to claim that they do not see "skin color." Or some such bullshit. For most of my life I spent as little time as possible concerning myself with that type of thing and was content to superficially agree with it and be on my way. 

In Ghana, everyone sees skin color. As a white man, I stand out like the sun. I cannot go anywhere, do anything, or be present in any sense without everyone I'm attempting, or not, to interact with see my skin color and adjust their response to me accordingly. 

Typical Scenario: I walk into a neighbors house to say hi, not expecting to stay long. The father, or eldest male, or mother, or whoever is senior will yell at a small boy and he will come running up for a chair for me. If the chair is, in their eyes, less than satisfactory, they will go to great lengths, to give me the best chair they have to offer. Including waking up and kick a pregnant woman off a bench. (I still feel bad about that one.) Any objections I have are routinely ignored. Once they have gone to that trouble I sit down. And typically we will have a 15-20 second conversation before my knowledge of Krobo is exhausted. We will then sit for a couple of minutes in silence, make awkward facial expressions whenever we, god forbid, make eye contact. At this point I will have worked up the courage to leave and I will parse together a few words in Krobo which I hope gives me a polite excuse for leaving. 

This is standard. A quick aside: Any implication of it being awkward is from my perspective only. I have had no indication that Ghanaians find the type of interaction related above to be awkward. They are very content sitting and not talking. In fact a popular recreational past time here is sitting. I've tried it but never can catch my second wind and usually fold and end up walking around aimlessly. Or hiding in my room.

As a blofono (white man in Krobo; In Twi, the predominant language in Ghana, I am called obruni) I am apparently entitled to preferential treatment in all things, not just seating. Whenever we chop (eat) together, I always given the choicest cuts of meat. Whenever I get in a tro (van, used for public transportation) they will often kick someone out of the front seat for me. When I go to the bank, rather than waiting in the hour long line a security guard will escort me to the main desk, bypassing the thirty Ghanaians waiting. This is typical apparently, as no one I have just cut makes a sound and smiles broadly at me if I glance at them apologetically. 

I do not mean at all to attribute the generosity and pampering I receive solely to my skin color. Ghanaians are an incredibly generous and kind people to begin with. Anywhere I go I see people going out of their way for complete strangers. One of the biggest cultural faux pas, besides using your left hand to eat or your right hand to wipe, is being a less than adequate host. Anytime you are eating in home and anyone walks by, and I mean anyone, the standard greeting is come and eat. It is understood that unless you are both of equal standing (eg both adult men) and close friends or family the offer is declined but I still find it fascinating the level to which they will go out of their way to play the gracious host. 

My skin color merely causes these cultural traits to be exacerbated. The other apparent effect that my pallor has is as a magnet for children. I think it might have something to do with an ingrained ability to smell the sweat of a blofono, but regardless, all children under the age of fifteen can sense my presence as I walk by at a distance of a kilometer. Does not matter if I am in a tro or they are in their house. I hear their shrill cry: "Blo-FO-nooo," and I know all is lost. They will not stop yelling at me until I have turned and waved to each of them in turn. This requires extraordinary effort as there are typically upwards of four thousand of them trailing me at any one time. Until recently I believed my only sanctuary was in my house but the little girl who lives next door just found out that if she repeatedly knocks on the door while the blofono is napping he will come out angrily and yell something that sounds like, "GOWAY!" This is possibly the most enjoyable thing in the history of past times and she conveniently comes home from school at 1pm, just when the blofono is trying to take a nap.

There is really nothing that can accurately convey the experience of being a white man in Ghana. It is the closest thing to being a celebrity or sports star that I have experienced so far. The one sad fact is that my distaste for the attention has forced me to put a close on my dreams of being a soccer star. I'll find my next calling hopefully while in Ghana. It is the least they could do after crushing my last one. 

I hope this blogpost was relatively coherent. I've realized that the design scheme for this blog has been rather monotone and that it could use some freshening up. Suggestions would be welcome.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this post do not represent the views of the Peace Corps.  They only represent those of the author.