Is it time to go home?
By Ama Asante
Potatoes don't repel me anymore. To be quite honest, I even like them now, having discovered myriad ways of cooking them; on the mashed version, however, I have drawn the line. I refuse absolutely to eat mashed potatoesI have even learnt to eat fish and chips. As the advertisement used to say about Campari, it takes some getting used to but once over that little hurdle, you are hooked for life. So possibly I am hooked now on fish and chips. That is to an Englishman what Kenkey and Fried fish is to the Gas in Ghana.
Potatoes don't repel me anymore. To be quite honest, I even like them now, I have discovered myriad ways of cooking them; on the mashed version, however, I have drawn the line. I refuse absolutely to eat it, a person has got to reserve a modicum of self identity respect? I cannot understand mashed potatoes and I am old enough to know when I am beaten.
I now sing the praises of fresh milk, having been reared solely on tinned evaporated milk. To start with, I couldn't adjust to fresh milk, it wasn't that I did not know the nutritional value of the fresh version, my taste buds for a long time simply rebelled against it. But I have learnt after endless inquisitive supermarket check-out girls had wanted to know how many cats I keep to justify a dozen tins of evaporated milk. The crunch came when I offered a cup of tea to my neighbour and she was almost sick - "what on earth did you put in the tea, it tastes most peculiar!" the old lady said. I explained about the milk. She looked at me most strangely, nodded her head in a most understanding way and I knew that there went the chance of my retaining the interest of an honest Englishwoman who had tried so hard not to show any prejudices.
I take the Tube (Underground, Subway) for granted and would be lost without it. I grumble like the natives when I wait for more than five minutes for a bus to arrive. I give no indication whatsoever that in my own country. public transportation exists only in name.
I actually talk about the weather and tell people "what a lovely day without the slightest embarrassment. I carry an umbrella as part of my dress code and I wear as many sweaters as my body can carry during the cold months. It still fascinates me when the trees shed their leaves and the branches are completely bare. I still have to remind myself after all these years that a bare tree does not mean a dead tree. I have learnt to appreciate the beauty in the long nights and overcast skies. Even the cold weather which used to depress me I have learnt to conquer. There is some joy in four clearly defined seasons in a year, even though the expenditure involved in maintaining at least two different sets of wardrobes still riles me. I have seen, though, the joys that must come with changing clothes according to the time of year. Why should a person be restricted to short-sleeved cotton dresses throughout the year?
But then, try as I do, I seem to be losing the battle with the children. Am I betraying my culture because my children are unwilling to experiment with drinking soup with their fingers?
When the sun does arrive, I am almost as ecstatic as the natives. I have an opportunity to wear my traditional cloth which spectacle still turns heads. I take the telephone for granted and when a letter sent by first class mail is not delivered by the first mail the next morning, I am ready to write to the Member of Parliament. I give no thought whatsoever to the fact that a letter posted in Kumasi to Accra might take three weeks to get there.
But the children. Try as I do, I seem to be losing the battle with them. You cannot live in this country and not get involved in the 'colour' problem.
From the first day they speak or the first day at school, the question of "Black and White' assumes monstrous proportions. It is impossible to bring up a child simply as a human being. I remember growing up and never having to contend with being either Black, Green or Pink. I was Ghanaian and that was it. Yes, there were other people in the world of different skin pigmentation but it never disturbed the equilibrium of my growing up years. Is the ability to drink soup with your fingers a cultural identity point? Am I betraying my culture because the children are unwilling to experiment with drinking soup with their fingers? Since I don't have to go to the river to fetch water, am I bringing up my child wrong because they cannot balance a bucket of water on their heads as self-respecting Ghanaian children do?
Whatever is going to happen when my daughter grows unable to pound 'fufu' through no fault of hers since the 'fufu' we eat over here is made from powder and entails no pounding. What will become of my son who at 10 does not know and cannot tell the various calls of birds and has never handled a catapult?
Where is the line between laziness and the use of technology to take the tedium out of living? We take our clothes to the launderette here. Many poor homes have washing machines here. Should my children learn to wash bedsheets with their hands if I’m intending that they live in Ghana one day?
The story was often told of the Ghanaian bride whose husband sent her back to her parents because she did not know how or at least could no manage satisfactorily to make 'ground nut soup' - the grinding and pounding and sieving part of Ghanaian cooking is all eliminated here by the use of blenders and other gadgets. Will my daughter be deemed a bad cook because she would not want to go through the pounding and beating?
In Ghana everybody that is older than you is 'auntie' or 'uncle' or el brother or grandma or grandpa, even those that are no relations. That is how I was brought up and thus I have tried to bring up the children here. They came back from school sometime ago totally devastated and quite definite they will never take my word again on any subject. They had been and called a teacher 'Uncle Edward' and the entire school had not been able to stop laughing at them.
Should I tell them that items like milk and sugar are considered 'unessential commodities' in Ghana and the people have gone to jail for wanting to buy more than their allotted two tins?
Should I concentrate on teaching them the past glories of Ghana? Past glories? Which past? Should I impart to them my fears and anger and frustrations about the current state of Ghana? How do I explain to them about military rule or about corruption in government?
How should they (or I, for that matter) react to posters of hungry Ghanaian children on the doors of the local local Oxfam shop? Should they rush in to volunteer their services or to donate their pocket money to the efforts of Oxfam or should they let it drop quite casually that they come from Botswana. Should they get into fights at school to defend the good name of Ghana when somebody suggests that there are executions and starvations in the country regularly?
Should I concentrate on teaching them the past glories of Ghana? Past glories? Which past? Should I impart to them my fears and anger and frustrations about the current state of Ghana? How do I explain to them about military rule or about corruption in government?
Once upon a time, people who came 'abroad' from Ghana and completed their courses successfully could hope to expect a reasonable standard of living when they get back home. I am not expecting anything spectacular, my husband does not want to become a managing director when he gets home. We just want to be average Ghanaians. It looks however as though there are no average Ghanaians anymore.
The Ghanaian values that I have been trying valiantly to teach my children here seem to have been disgraced in the 'ongoing revolution.' The respect for elders which was implicit in all things, has gone and been replaced with open abuse and condemnation of the elderly people.
Young people are able to disgrace old people and call them names. Flight- Lieutenant Rawlings says he is now trying to establish a true identity for the Ghanaian and is setting up new institutions. What am I then teaching my children? Should I wait until the 'new Ghana' has been fashioned out and then decide? Supposing I do not fancy the 'new values', then where shall my children end?
The more I think about it, the more I think I should go back home and make sure Ghana remains or returns to the country of my youth and of my dreams.
Is there any reason why a half-Scot should have more claim to Ghana than I, a full-blooded Ghanaian? Obviously if Mr Rawlings had an Akan mother, his claim to 'Ghanaian hood' might be justified seeing that the Akans inherit matrilineally but since his mother is supposed to be an Ewe and they only have patrilineal inheritance, he can only be a Scot.
Why should I leave my country then to him to fashion out new values for me?
It is time to go home.
