Art Worlds in Ghana

With Kochoko, my friend Zip, and Saskia outside the Office.

Saskia and I were leaning against the wooden fence outside the Office one Friday night. She looked over to the benches and said, “Hey, I think that’s the guy from the Mobile Boys. In Jesse’s video, you know?”

“Oh my God, we have to say hi to him!” I had read about him in African Masculinities, I had discussed him in class. And he was right here in front of me in Ghana.

“No, no,” Saskia said.

“Come on.” I slid off the fence and pulled her arm. She followed. We went up to him and said, “Hey, are you from the Mobile Boys?” He said he was, and invited us to sit down with him. His name was Kochoko. We talked with him about hip life, Jesse’s video, and life in Accra. Turns out it’s a lot harder to be a hip life artist than you’d realize. It’s hard to get a record label, hard to trust other people, and very hard to make money. Most people don’t have computers and even fewer have Internet, so it’s not like they download songs off iTunes. The albums they buy are bootlegged, and no one buys concert tickets.

Kochoko was telling us about a concert on TV the had to do the next night for free, just to promote himself and get the word out about his upcoming album. Before we knew it, he had asked us to dance with him on TV. The next night we were onstage at TV Africa. We had no idea what we were doing – I mean no idea – but the audience didn’t notice. They were excited just to see us dancing.

“Obruni, dance!” called a lady in the front row of the audience. They smiled and clapped along with us.

At the end of the show, one of the announcers said, “I don’t know what was up with those white girls or what they were doing here. Do you think they even understood the words? But that was great, can we give them a hand?”

We got together at the one TV in the hostel to watch a rerun Monday morning of our debut. That's Saskia filming...and me on the screen...

My flight was delayed multiple times (I got to watch Picture This with Ashley Tisdale while I waited in the airport), but I am finally home safe and have been for a few days.

Sorry I’ve been so so terrible at updating this. Much belated blog posts to come soon. For now, here are a couple pictures of me with some of the kids from the play.

Andrews, Justice ("my husband"), Patricia, Diana, and Albert

Vic, Diana, Slim, James, Jennifer, Daniel, and that's David's head poking up at the bottom

It’s hard to believe it’s over. I’ve been amazed by my shower, sturdy buildings, organized streets that don’t smell like the sewers, and a clear subway system with a map and labeled stops. I miss Ghana though — music playing in the street, brightly painted houses, eating banku and stew with my hands, women selling pineapple off their heads, men with FanMilk carts of ice cream in plastic sachets, and stores with names like “Sure In Him Bakery” and “Blessed Spot.” I’m adjusting to people not staring at me, asking for my number, or calling out, “You are welcome,” or “Obruni, come!”

I’m happy to be home, but I miss my Ghanaian friends and family, and there’s so much more I wish I could do. And the prices, I miss the prices now I’m back in New York City. Yesterday I stopped by an upscale soda fountain near the Met museum. A milkshake cost $8.50, and I promptly left. You can get a whole meal off the street for 2 cedis in Ghana (about $1.50).

I just spoke to Kofi on the phone; he gave me a call to see how I was (my friend from the village/Gladys’s grandson who took care around the house). It was hard to understand him on the phone, but he said he misses me and can’t concentrate since I’ve left.

Last I saw him, he was wanted by the police for dating a girl who is 16 (he’s 23), except that he’s not actually dating her, they’re just friends, and her parents don’t know what they’re talking about. He couldn’t walk on the main road though because he might get arrested, so he had to come from behind the house. Oh, Kofi.

That evening, Gladys and I waited for Kofi to make his way through the brushes. When he arrived, he laid down on the bench across from us and rested his head on his hands. I saw that he was wearing two of my slim black hair bands on his wrists. They must have fallen out of my suitcase, and he’d found them in the room after I left for Accra. “But Kofi,” I said, “you don’t have any hair to tie with them.” He just looked at me and smiled.

Saturday, June 12

Okay, now I know why I barely got one “obruni” in Accra before. It was because the whole time, I was with Kelvin and Lexis.

I went out in Accra by myself for the first time today, and I got a million obrunis. I also got my first marriage proposal (I was told I’d get a ton), although I suppose it wasn’t a proposal exactly. The man just said, “I am going to marry you. How do you feel about that?”

I was supposed to meet up with Naa, another Haverford student, but I never heard from her. It turned out she’d been locked out of her house without her phone. Anyway, I decided to go out on my own, and Kelvin gave me directions.

I went all over Accra: to the National Museum; Makola Market; and Osu, a district with restaurants, shopping, and clubs.

The museum was small but interesting. It had an upstairs and a downstairs that were maybe the size of two rooms at the Brooklyn Museum, and I was the only visitor. There were some interesting artifacts and photographs, and a lot about the first Ghanaian President, Kwame Nkrumah. Sadly, I think I was most excited by the bathroom, which had a mirror. There are never mirrors here, not in bathrooms or anywhere. I know it sounds vain, but I’ve missed them. I was so excited I didn’t mind that the toilet didn’t flush.

Afterwards, I headed to Makola. I managed to get through the market without getting haggled into anything, though I’m looking forward to going back later and bargaining. I bought some coconut juice on the street to sustain me through the tro-tro to Osu. I drank it straight from the rough brown shell.

In Osu, I managed to shake off the street vendors who were attacking me. I tried my first Ghanaian ice cream at the downstairs in Frankie’s hotel – vanilla cake gelato. I went upstairs to use the bathroom and they had a mirror too! And liquid soap. What an exciting day. I ambled out with my ice cream in hand, and the US-UK match was just starting. There was a huge crowd gathered around a screen in the street. I sat myself on the curb and made friends with the kids next to me.

I didn’t get lost the whole day until it was time to go home. I was standing on the corner waiting for a tro-tro or shared taxi, but none of them were going in my direction. Everyone at the outdoor café wanted to talk to me, but no one wanted to tell me I was on the wrong side of the street.

When I finally got a tro-tro, I took it too far and missed my stop. Ugh. Kelvin and Lexis came to pick me up in the car, and I got home in one piece.

It had been a long and adventurous day. A good day in Accra.

A prep session with group leaders of the Environmentalism Day/beach clean-up I'm organizing for Friday.

Wednesday, June 16

7:15 am

Wake up. Say good morning to Gladys, the nice grandma I’m staying with. Say hi to Kofi, her grandson who helps out around the house. He will probably insist on filling my water bottle or giving me some sliced fruit (washed and peeled, don’t worry Mom or CPGC).

8 am

Breakfast at Headmaster Samuel’s, made by his lovely wife Euphemia. Maybe an omelet and tea bread. Maybe oatmeal and bread with that French cheese that comes in packets and has a cow on the packaging.

8:30 am

School: Presby JHS (Junior High School)

8:45 am

Teach my first class, probably creative arts at the primary school. Remind the kids to look at what they’re drawing, not just draw what they think they see. Look at the million pictures kids are waving in my face and get excited by how excited they are.

9:45 am

Sit and read in the teachers’ office until they give me something to do. Make small talk with the other teachers. Hear about what they wish they could do and all the setbacks at the school. Wait out the rain, cause it’s probably raining.

10:30 am

Teach creative writing maybe, or lead a French learning game. If it’s the former, help the kids come up with a story they would enjoy writing about. If it’s the latter, the game will probably involve drawing or charades, and me speaking very slowly in both French and English because they have trouble with both.

11:15 am

Sit in on Mr. Isaac’s French class, or possibly Mr. Fred’s ICT (Information Computing Technology, or something like that). Find it interesting but maybe zone out a little.

12 pm

Sit in the office and read for a bit.

12:45 pm

Head to lunch at Euphemia’s. Maybe fufu and chicken stew, maybe banku and fish stew (various doughy grain dishes made of combinations of maize, plantain, and cassava).

1:45 pm

Work on Theatre Spectacular, the play JHS is putting on in collaboration with the Junior Art Club. Go through lines a bit, then lead tongue twisters and exercises to loosen the kids up. Direct blocking and acting and help prompt lines.

3 pm

Head home. Try not to get my legs covered in red dirt from the road.

3:45 pm

Go for a run on the road along the beach. Wave at the people who stare at me. Wave extra at the kids screaming out “Obruni” and running after me. (Seriously, it’s like having my own marathon cheering section).

5 pm

Shower and do laundry (by hand! the bane of my existence).

7 pm

Dinner at Euphemia’s. Maybe watermelon and fried rice or stew. Maybe this thing I just ate that I think is called obolo (spelling?). It’s a sweet, pale doughy crescent made of maize, and you can eat it along with scoops of a tiny tiny fried fish they get from the river here.

8 pm

Go to the internet café or watch an African movie at Euphemia’s. Last week I saw the Nigerian film “Buy Me a Rose.” I found the elevator music that accompanied the raucous pool party scene especially amusing.

9:15 pm

Sit and talk with Gladys and Kofi, read, write in my journal. Maybe I’ll show them my pictures of my friends and family from home. Kofi will have some serious trouble picking out which one is me in pictures with my friends. First he’ll think I’m Emma, then Izzy, then Lizzy, and in another one Jamie. We all look the same to him.

11:15 pm

Bed.

Sunday, June 6

This is Daniella, the first person to call me “Obruni,” with me and her brother, Jofta.

Obruni means white person, and I was told I’d be called it all the time – just walking down the street, people would call out, “Hey, Obruni!” It’s a friendly form of greeting, not threatening or derogatory, and people shouldn’t take offense.

Yet my whole time in Ghana so far, I hadn’t gotten a single “obruni,” until today at lunch.

We were sitting down for rice balls in the outdoor streetfront section of Jalynda’s, a local restaurant, when a little girl came up to me. She tapped my elbow and said, “Are you obruni?”

“Yes,” I laughed, excited to finally be called it.

The girl paused, looked at me, and took my sunglasses off my head. She tried them on, then slid them back over my ears and said, “I want you to do something.”

“Okay, what?”

“Just do something.”

She told me her name was Daniella, and she brought over her brother Jofta. “Look, Dad, it’s obruni!” she called out to the next table.

Jofta proceeded to try on Kelvin’s sunglasses, and Daniella had mine back at that point, so the two ran around the tables in our sunglasses. They had a field day with my camera too (don’t worry, Mom, I didn’t let her hold it by herself), but then they had to go.

As they drove away, they waved from the backseat of their dad’s van. I waved back.