The Great Oburoni Debate

A recent letter in the “Daily Graphic”, from an American volunteer in Ghana fed up with being hailed by one and all as “oburoni (white man)” and asking for an end to such behaviour, produced a predictable pair of responses. There was a letter from a hospitable Ghanaian who felt that maybe the practice was inappropriate and probably should stop. A second response, from a British lady, married to a Ghanaian, thought that the American was being completely unreasonable. She pointed out that Ghanaians are amongst the most hospitable people on the planet, there was nothing insulting in the action and that, frankly, the correspondent should “...go and get yourself a life and while you’re at it, take a chill pill.”

I veer more towards the second view. I am less impressed when I am addressed as ‘oburoni’ by an adult, but children, the usual instigators; clearly get great pleasure from it. Why should I deny them this? It will be odd to be back in the UK and find that I am not being verbally bombarded from all directions, often with no obvious sign of the source of the voice. There are, however, one or two peripheral practices which do need attention. Firstly, I strongly believe that the child his- or herself should decide whether to engage with an oburoni, however briefly. I provide the following illustration.

I was in a tro between Legon and Madina on Saturday afternoon. I was in the corner of the back row. The lady immediately beside me was holding her toddler son. The boy had eyed me up and down and then quickly averted his gaze by looking down at the floor. I took this as the sign that he was not happy to have a white man in quite such close proximity and made no attempt to connect with him either with a smile or wave. Some mothers realise what is going on and turn their children away from this nightmare inducing sight. This mother had other ideas. She wanted her son to interact with the oburoni now sharing the seat with her. She turned the boy directly towards me and whispered ‘oburoni’ to him encouragingly. With no alternative to looking at me, he looked more and more distressed and soon began to bawl, disturbing an otherwise peaceful tro-full of passengers. Fortunately we then reached my stop. As I stood in the road and the tro pulled off, I could clearly hear the now hysterical crying above the Madina traffic. From the back window the child’s mother, apparently oblivious to the turn of events, smiled and waved at me. I hope the boy will eventually overcome this traumatic event.