I’ve been in Ghana almost four weeks, traveling through Accra by Trotro, practicing the use of “Me Pacho” regularly in conversations, and trying to escape this unbearable heat Ghanian’s call “winter.”
I’m an American. The youngest of three daughters. A traveler, with a story of my own.
I am many things, but to Ghana, I’m a stranger. A female Obroni. No nationality, no distinct personality; however, based on my white complexion, I’m an instant curiosity.
Being white in Ghana makes me a racial minority. It is the first time in my life I have been part of a minority race, attracting a level of attention I’m not used to.
Being the spectacle to hundreds of Ghanian eyes each day wears on my confidence and comfortability. To be honest, I wish people wouldn’t stare. I wish people wouldn’t whistle at me or call me by the color of my skin.
Yet, I have to be understanding. I came to Ghana to connect with a culture completely different than my own. The flip-side of my romanticized mission is discomfort.
I also have to combat my hypocrisy. As people stare at me from a place of curiosity, I look at them the same way. My eyes are fixed, not just at an individual, but an entire country.
Curiosity is instinctual. Whether American or Ghanaian.