By Milly Gamlen
When I first came to Ghana I was so excited. I felt like even though my heritage is Nigerian, I would still feel somewhat closer to it by being on the right continent and only a few countries away. Too a degree I was right, but not in all the ways I hoped for
Whilst I have felt welcomed and safe in Ghana, I also realized early on that my racial identity isn’t something that needs to be discussed. If asked, I accepted that my Indian side and my English citizenship should be where the conversation ends. That my Nigerian side doesn’t need to be brought up unless I am asked.
I was talking with someone a few days ago about going out late at night and the topic of kidnapping was raised. I was told that the rates have gone up and when I asked why that was she just responded with one word, “Nigerians.” As someone who is Nigerian but who hasn’t ever had a connection to that side of her family, I was confused and asked for context. She then explained to me, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, that Nigerian people come to Ghana for the democracy this country offers and with them they bring their customs.
Sounds simple and normal enough, until she explained what she thought those customs were.
She went on to tell me how these customs are murdering and mutilating young women to then harvest their body parts for different rituals and sell them. That this is just what Nigerian people do. There was a certain tone in her voice that reminded me of how racists in America describe people of color as uncivilized, and it made my skin crawl. Like being reminded of a bad memory.
Maybe there are certain aspects of rituals in certain areas of Nigeria that include body parts, but it was the generalization that got to me. It was the feeling that I could not disagree with because this was something this woman viewed as a fact about all Nigerians and not something she was willing to change her mind on. I won’t lie, a part of me felt as though I had to hide something about myself in a way I haven’t felt since my childhood. I felt ashamed and I hated it.
I wanted to look at her and tell her how dangerous her generalizations were. How she was operating under flawed logic and should really change her perspective. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to be lumped in with a group of people she viewed as so predatory. That is what I was ashamed of—myself. I hated the feeling of not standing up for myself on account of fear, and it is not something I want to feel again.
It makes me feel weak, like I am ashamed of my familial history and ancestry, which could not be further from the truth. I am proud of it, of all the different places my family comes from, and how it all came together to make me.
Growing up in England, I saw Indian people be viewed as the “other” that is ridiculed and seen as less than. I had to work twice as hard to be viewed as the exception to that rule. Then I moved to America and had to work twice as hard to be the exception on account of being Black. When I came here, I thought that maybe this would be my time, my space to be viewed as equal. I hoped that my only hurdle would be being pale. I never thought that the part of me that is from this continent would make me feel so separated.
Not all conversations about Nigerians have been so hostile, and I don’t want it to sound like I am generalizing about all Ghanaians. I have had conversations where I’ve felt celebrated for returning to Africa, even if I am not in the country my family comes from. I’ve been told that Nigerian people are welcome here and there are a lot of similarities between the two cultures, but there’s just been a few too many comments in passing that have made me feel othered in a way I never expected.