Obruni!

Race is a funny thing. We are all aware of it. We all enjoy privileges or experience adversity because of the color of our skin, though we are often unaware of it. In the United States, people make great efforts to look as if they are unaware of race. Example: As I type this out, I’m considering each and every word very carefully to make sure I’m saying what I want but trying not to offend. On a recent vacation, Wonder Boy and I had a different experience.

When Wonder Boy and I landed in Ghana 2 weeks ago, I was very aware of the color of my skin, which was sickly pale compared to the ebony complexion of nearly everyone around me. (Two weeks in hundred degree weather helped make it at least a nice golden brown.) I wasn’t aware of it because of any discrimination. We were often the only white people we would see all day. Only white people on a bus. Only white people in a hotel or restauraunt. Only white people in a town. (Bigger towns were more diverse, but we were still clearly in the minority.) Perhaps because of our blatant other-ness, people seemed perfectly willing to approach us. And thank goodness because we needed their help to navigate through new towns. People were happy to show us where and how to get bus tickets, how to work our way through the emergency room waiting lines and how to find different places. Despite feeling a little condescended to on occasion, these interactions didn’t make me feel different or inferior. (Maybe a little inferior… mostly dumb.)

Enter the part of the population measuring under 3.5 feet. Everywhere we went kids gawked. In Accra, the capital of Ghana, tiny children looked at us with pure terror in their eyes, like “Who are those pale people and what are they going to do with me?!?” In most other towns, they was open staring at us. If we acknowledged the staring with a smile or wave, it produced shy giggles, smiles and delight in the children. In some towns, like Cape Coast, kids would go out of their way to brush past us in crowds. They would reach out and touch our arms or even water bottles. I was asked for many high fives. I felt like a celebrity.

Stares weren’t the only ways kids got our attention. We would be walking down the street and hear,”Obruni! Obruni!” That means white person. Sometimes they would just yell, “White person!” It was never meant offensively and we didn’t take it that way. It was mostly funny. I can’t imagine that playing out well here in the states. At all.

At one bus station in Tamale, Wonder Boy and I were sitting waiting to board as people around us were talking in the local Twi. Suddenly one of the bus station workers yelled our way, “Obruni! Here.” We hopped to attention and walked his way. He pointed to the bus, indicating we should load our luggage, which we did. Then he waved us back to our seat. Can you picture someone here yelling, “White person! Here!” And then gesturing to get you to do something?

That one incident at the bus station aside, I miss standing out the way I did. I’ve been home four days now and no kid has run up and touched my arm just for the novelty of it. I’m sure I’ve been stared at, but not in any flattering way. I’ve inspired no awe. It’s sort of sad really. And now I am back to pretending I don’t notice the color of people’s skin, when we all know I do. That we all do. And it’s absolutely okay.