By Skylar DeBose

Obroni. An Akan word that quickly became familiar to my friends and me. Obroni means foreigner, often referring to a white person. 

Although I identify as Black, I have been called Obroni by strangers, merchants, and coworkers. I am, however, a foreigner. Despite my ancestral roots in Africa, this is my first time on the continent. As a Black American, my understanding of African culture before this trip was limited. 

As I’ve been called Obroni time and time again, my relationship with the word has changed. Initially, I was offended by it. I thought it was rude that even people who knew my name would refer to me as something that automatically placed me as an outsider. Now, I am no longer offended by the nickname. The meaning of the word does apply to me. I am, indeed, a foreigner. 

For a long time, my relationship with Blackness has been complicated. My parents have always assured my sisters and me that Blackness is beautiful and something to be proud of. However, outside the walls of my home, I’ve often been made to feel the opposite. My white peers told me, “You don’t act Black enough.” Classmates teased me for a pass to say the n-word. When catching feelings for a boy, I questioned whether he was attracted to Black girls. All of these encounters, and more, placed me as an outsider. When called Obroni, once again, I was seen as out of place in a place I was meant to belong. 

Despite being called a foreigner, my time in Ghana has transformed my relationship with Blackness through pride and admiration. This place and its people have welcomed me with open arms while accepting our differences. Through food, music, history, fashion, sports, education, and language, my love for Ghana has grown every day. Through conversations driven by empathy, I’ve come to understand Ghanaians as they’ve come to understand a Black American.  

I can’t help but feel a bit ashamed of my American identity. I’ve come to a place 7,000 miles away from home that has welcomed me without hesitation. Yet I come from a place that has constantly disrespected, undervalued, and oppressed Africa and Africans. I come from a place whose president demonizes people of color and turns its back on immigrants. 

I feel an ounce of discomfort and pain when my fellow Obronis and me are put on a pedestal for simply being in proximity to whiteness and America. White supremacy has made them feel that we are better than—superior. This same supremacist idea has made me feel less than in my home country. Although my life experience may greatly differ from a Ghanaian, we grapple with the same evil. 

I may be an Obroni, but I will never let that disconnect me from my ancestral roots in Africa.