albino

As I've mentioned. I get a lot of attention here. I can often tell the kind of mood I'm in by my responses to the sudden calls of children - sometimes a smile, sometimes a wave, sometimes a few words of Twi, sometimes they're ignored. If I'm not in the mood to expend energy on a response, usually the children are purturbed, and scream (Oboroni!) with increased volume.

They're not saying Oboroni (white man) just to call their friends. As far as the average rural Ghanaian (at least the one who chooses to talk to interact with me) is concerned, this is my name. So much so, that it's not unusual for a young Ghanaian to translate literally when they address me in english: "White man, good afternoon." Thus, when a child calls Oboroni and I don't respond, they call louder -- that's what you do when someone doesn't hear you calling their name. While I'm occasionally subject to partially comprehensible purportedly enlightened discourses on the nature of race, development, and what I think about black people (I'm listening, not speaking, mind you), it's clear that the folks here are far more concerned with color than the average American urbanite.

This is reasonable. We see people of different races all the time. So, regardless of what we think of them, their presence isn't surprising. Here, of course, the case is different - their exposure to non-african races is at best a bit of television, and perhaps occasional glimpses of foreigners. So it's not really fair to compare my reaction to various races to that of the Ghanaian's. The context is wholly different.

Then it hit me - their reaction to me would be more comparable to my (or the average American's) reaction to an Albino - a distinctive appearance which we may know exists, but with which we have little or no experience. This insight may well have something to do with my recent enjoyement of the Hip Hop artist Brother Ali (an albino rapper of african american descent - check him out). Regardless, I was doing pretty well with this explanatory scheme.

And then yesterday, in Manso Nkwanta (remember?), I saw him: the town Albino. What the hell?! Seriously, they have an albino! I only saw him or her from a distance -- probably 8 or 10 years old, unmistakable complexion and shock white hair.

And no one seemed to be staring. Now they have no excuse.

My next home-made T-shirt will read: My name is not Oboroni. Maybe in Twi on the back.