conversations in ghana pt 2

+ Sophie and I are sitting beneath a pristine white awning outside one of those beautifully ornate Ghanaian homes – it’s large, white, with Spanish tiling, and unique sloping angles that I’ve only ever seen in this country. Our friend Uncle Ray is celebrating the one-year anniversary of his dad’s death and he’s invited us. The men in his family wear flowing white robes that hang to their feet. Later, they will change into matching t-shirts that feature a silkscreened photo of their sweetly smiling father, above the words “MY DAD.” People have been drinking and eating all afternoon. As people begin packing up the tables and chairs, we linger with Uncle Ray, his business partner, his almost-wife and brother drinking wine as the sun dips below the palm trees lining the driveway. The discussion shifts into a dissection of George W. Bush’s recent visit to the country, during which the soon to be ex-president pledged $17 million to fight malaria. Most Ghanaians I know are highly scornful about this, particularly as there were murmurings about the installing one of Bush’s Africa-based military babies, AFRICOM, in Ghana. And of course, there’s always oil – three major discoveries in Ghana in the past year or so – making the country, in the words of President Kufuor, an “African tiger.” Uncle Ray’s business partner begins railing and everyone joins in.

“Do we want to be sucked dry for oil?” someone says. “Do we want to be like Angola? Why the hell did he come now? Why does he choose to care now? The foreigners only care when something’s in it for them. No offense-” as the two foreigners at the table squirm and squirm and squirm.

+ Earlier in the day, a young man at the party tugged my sleeve. “What do you think of Ghana?” he asked. “Honestly.” This is always a difficult question and as a foreigner, you can expect to be asked it several times a week, especially after you've logged more than a few months here. As a guest of his country, I am reticient to say anything other than “It’s nice.” However, that feels idiotic. And most people would prefer an honest response. I look at him. “I wish people would be on time more often,” I say.

The young man claps. “That’s the problem,” he says. “We’re too laid back. We’re not getting anything accomplished. We complain and complain, but yet we can’t even tell someone we’re going to be there at 9 instead of 8. How can we make sure people are fed and have clean water when we can’t even be on time?”

"But there is a flip side," I say. "In Canada some people are completely anal retentive. People work and work and walk down the streets to their jobs and don't even smile at each other. People have invented a disease called "executive burnout" because we work too much. People are not enjoying their families."

"But still," the young man says. "You have jobs."
He looks at me and laughs.

“What’s wrong with us?” he asks.

I reach for my beer. I smile. I can't answer.