So far my posts have been pretty upbeat. Not that this one is a downbeat, but I am having a bit of a moment. I never wanted to divorce my American culture in moving to Ghana. I value being American, even with all of its challenges. And, it's become a bit of an emotional tug of war as I navigate changing friendships and such as people deal with my move in their own way. I totally plan to be in D.C./Virginia with my mama, nieces, and siblings twice a year [cuz we know they ain't coming to me---yes, I'm throwing shade...If you know them, nudge them to read this post;)]. My work, my clients are all based in the U.S. My best friends, future godparents to my children, are on the other side of the Atlantic. And if the pandemic showed us anything, it's that we didn't see each other much for a year but we could still remain connected. In fact, I reconnected with a few people and it's been nice.
But some people (luckily they are the minority) still see this move as a goodbye and cut me out completely or weaned how often we talk. And I'm not gonna lie, it's a bit painful. Don't worry. I am working through it and my dear Kwame is such a silly, mindful, and kind distraction. I am just giving context for this post.
At the same time, I haven't been exactly embraced in Ghana. Most people are nice. But in a lot of ways I feel...freezed out! Thanks Seattle for preparing me well 😉. So anyway, I feel like I am in limbo...adjusting from what life was in the U.S. to what life is in Ghana, which oddly enough is some crazy combination of both spaces.
So in processing some of that, I started to think a lot about being Black, American, and living in Ghana. I don't know that I had expectations. [Side note: Having visited before I definitely recognized cultural differences and challenges. My advisor-mama asked me what I thought I'd miss the most and I said convenience and now that I am here, it's definitely convenience. Nothing is readily accessible and available. I am learning patience in a whole new way!] So, yeah, no real expectations, but I didn't expect to have so many realizations about how African AMERICAN I am--and I never use that to describe myself. I say I am Black or if I am outside the U.S. I say I am American. But here, I really feel African AMERICAN and it's taking some getting used to.
Kwame and I have had quite a few conversations about African perceptions of America. He, and many many other Africans, will watch the news and see things like the murder of George Floyd but still aspire to the American aesthetic and way of life. That's mind boggling, but that in and of itself is not the problem for me. The problem for me is they, just like most white Americans, don’t understand the burden of the trauma and the challenge of being African American.
Example. One day we were talking about Trump's assessment of Africa as shit hole countries. Kwame‘s argument was "we are shit hole countries." My counter argument was, you, Kwame the African can say that. He, the wealthy, privileged white man, cannot. Even me, I don't have the right to say it. After a lot of back and forth and the near impossibility of letting him talk (I was fired up!), he came around. Ok ok, I came around some too. Whatever!
Trump's wealth and privilege are built on the backs of African Americans. It's infuriating to hear him say the place we originate from and were stolen from to make his wealth and privilege possible is a shit hole.
It is also true that there are a lot of challenges in Africa. A lot. And I 100% see most of them, not all, tied to the rippling, resulting impact of colonization. So it's tough for me to hear Ghanaians in their beautiful sonorous accents lament, "oh the Black man!" and shake their heads in disbelief. Or to hear them aspire to Western life and ideals. In some ways, they have the privilege of seeing the white Western world through rose colored lenses and without memory of the horrific history. Do they acknowledge the horrid truth of slavery? Yes. And, they can brush it off. They do not have to live with the generational consequences that I, as an African descendent having grown up in America, have inherited.
Now, don't get me wrong. I recognize I have some privilege as well. But I have both earned and am hyper aware of my privilege (which brings its own challenges). And unlike Trump, whose probably never been here (this is 100% an assumption!), I am here working hard to contribute to the progress of this great country rather than call it a shit hole from the throne up in my ivory tower. And, I also can’t brush it off in the way many Africans do from a place of...shall we call it...blind bondage? In America...James Baldwin said it best...I am African without memory and American without (racial) privilege. I have gotten to live in both places and to be honest, neither one truly feels like “home”...a place where i can just be. I guess in Africa, I am American, with privilege, and still African without memory and that is a tough pill to swallow.
So I guess I wrote all of that to say, this is a moment of shifting identity. Who I was as a friend, employee, family member, American, Black, and human is going through a change. Unlike other seasons of shift, I can see it as it happens. It very interesting. And writing is helping me ride the wave. So thanks for reading :)