It Doesn't Matter if you're Black or White! (c) Michael Jackson because you'll still be White in Tamale

This blog was written on July 6th, 2009

Last Wednesday I was riding on the back of Kadiri's motorbike in the streets of Tamale headed to the Youth Forum for drumming lessons. We pulled into the petro station finding a short line of folks waiting to fill up. Customary greetings filled the air. I join in to practice the little bit of the language I’d picked up so far. "Antiree (Ahn-tee-ray) = good afternoon." The woman on the motorbike ahead of us smiles and replies "Naaa" as the child tied to her back examines my face.

Our motorbike rolls forward to the pump, the attendant tops off the fuel tank, and cedis are exchanged. As we rolled off, another young man pulled up to the pump to get fuel. A flurry of Dagbani from the woman's mouth drew my attention. I didn't know what was said but I could tell that she wasn't happy about something.

Me: "What's going on, Kadiri?"

Kadiri's: "She told the young man that pulled up that he should wait his turn. She only let them go because of the 'white man'."

Me: [confused look]

Kadiri: "She was talking about you Khalfani"

Now, let me take this moment to make something very clear. I look in the mirror every morning as part of my daily routine. I brush my teeth, wash my face, brush the sleep from my eyes, notice newly developing pimples and account for the single red hair on the right side of my beard reminding me that I'm my mother's child. But I have never ever ever in my twenty-five years and seven months woke up and said, "hey man you're looking pretty white today!"

In the racial system of the Western world, I am Black, African-American, New Afrikan, etc. In Tamale, I can't blend in and I was prepared for that. I was even prepared to be identified as an American. I was even ready for the little kids to look at me funny (they do but then they scream “heelllooooo!!!!”). But this whole white man thing is something else. Cats are riding bike on motorbikes screaming "What's up Silminga?!!!" risking life and limb to get a glimpse at the stranger.

So I’ve been investigating to get a better understanding of the local perspective of Black Americans. The Dagombas use the word "Sil-min-ga" but the connotation varies depending on who you ask. Hassan, a younger friend we've met here, says that it simply means 'foreigner' and all non-Ghanaian folks are tossed in that category. Fair enough. So I asked another friend for her perspective. "It's your skin, your accent, we know you are not from here." Damn! “Ok, so is there a word for Black folks, people of African descent in the United States?” Nope. I asked some more people and the majority of responses came back in support of the woman at the petro station: Silminga = white man.

I'm trying to understand why no distinction is made to describe different groups of people outside of the Dagomba communities. And why is the most common connotation 'white man'? What qualities/roles/characteristics are attributed to this label among the people of Tamale? I wish I had some deep insightful message to explain it but I’m still a bit confused myself. I'll keep digging.

On another note, will President Obama be considered a Silminga when he arrives in Accra on Friday?

Adendum 7/8/09: I was reading a story from Time magazine in May 2009 about efforts to find Joseph Kony, the leader of the Lord's Rebellion Army in Uganda. The swahili term for "white man," muzungu was used to describe the Guatemalans defeated by LRA.

Guy Love

Before I left for Tamale, Ghana, I was told that it might happen. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it though. The flash of a Cheshire grin exhuming coolness (the kind equipped to mask fear or hesitancy in the face of a challenge or imminent danger) was my only response to my Ghanaian brother's forewarning. I spoke with some (female) friends (in America) about it and they applauded the openness that accompanied my ambivalence towards it. “Well at least you haven’t taken a stance against it…that says a lot about you…” Umm, yeah but it doesn’t make me feel any easier about it.

It = holding hands (heretofore abbreviated as HH)
a common act of friendship between men in Tamale, Ghana.

In American culture, extreme acts of manliness do not include handholding with other men. Physical expressions of male-to-male non-aggressive behavior are allowed in limited contexts – father/son relationships, athletic championships (its okay, even expected, to weep like a child when you win the Super Bowl), and in extreme cases, the death of a relative. In fact, holding hands with members of the opposite sex in public spaces is often regarded as a chore. But I’m not in America anymore. According to my Ghanaian hosts, homosexuality is not openly practiced in Tamale. However, behaviors Americans stereotypically ascribed to homosexuals do occur in my new environment.

HH Encounter #1: We were greeted by a small contingent of Dagbani folks representing Sister Cities in Tamale. Upon our arrival in northern Ghana Saturday morning, the notion of guy love took was initiated. An elder member of the delegation reached for my hand to shake it and welcome me to Tamale. In a sudden act of discreet precision, the handshake morphed into him guiding me by the hand towards the rest of the group. The manly man inside of me released his hand and grabbed hold of my cool. I was on hand guard patrol for the rest of the day but I wasn’t prepared for my next encounter.

HH Encounter #2: During my time here, I have made friends with a Dagbani man of my age. We have grown to be fast friends and share a lot of interests. One day walking through the Zo-Simli Naa Palace, we were joking about some things as men often do. We slapped hands (a ritual that appears to be a universal sign of male peers) after a good laugh and it happened again. The Dagbani men are swift in their execution! I found myself walking with my friend hand in hand for paces through the palace. It doesn’t last long like a nice walk in the park or anything, but it’s lengthy enough to recognize that this XY chromosome carrier has my hand.

I’ve given a lot of thought to the cultural significance of the act. Male friends of all ages can be found walking hand in hand with little regard for any misinterpretation of their relationship. It is an act of friendship. I’m still debating on where to draw the line or whether a line needs to be drawn at all in this regard. If I am to call this man my friend, do I reject his hand when he reaches for mine? While the story unfolds, I’ll leave you with this memorable moment from Scrubs the musical. Time for some jolof rice!

Day 1 in Accra

We've finally arrived in Ghana after spending almost an entire day in the Bluegrass Airport behind rain delays and thirteen hours of travel between NJ, London and Accra. It was raining last night when our flight landed signaling the presence of the rainy season. I had this sense that I'm somewhere familiar when I stepped off the plane. For my Trinidad & Tobago crew, think about our arrival at UWI's campus the first night - yeah that's the feeling.

We took advantage of the fact that our bodies are still ahead of Ghanaian time by waking up early this morning for breakfast and a walk around the Wangara Hotel area in Accra. Banana trees, pedestrians, mating frogs (seriously), taxis, and school kids carrying adult-sized bookbags filled the streets. The taxis are aggressive but the people are friendly. A young man working in the hotel spoke very highly of America during a brief chat following our hour long trek. He expressed his hope to "be there one day!" In my mind, I recalled thinking the same thing about my trip to the continent. hmmm...

Today, we will be traveling through Accra to see a few of the sights. Our flight to Tamale leaves Saturday so we have some time to see the sights. Eric, our guide in Accra, will be taking us to Cape Coast and to the Kwame Nkrumah home. Hopefully, we can extend the plan to include the Du Bois home and burial site and a visit to the Slave dungeons to walk back through the door of no return. For those that may need more info on the significance of this locale, see the movie Sankofa and this web site. Millions of Africans entering into the Atlantic Slave system ventured through these mis-named 'castles' on their way to the Americas. To walk back through the door of no return has been touted by friends who have visited the coasts dungeons as a spiritual rebirth.

I'll be getting my SIM card today with my local number. If you want to call, send me a message and I'll send you the number. You can keep up with my activity via Twitter by following CKHerm_Ghana. Wherever I go, I'm trying to bring my people with me!

Homecoming aka Coming(home) - quickwrite

In two days , I will be headed to the airport to begin a life-changing journey to Ghana as an intern for the Sister Cities of Louisville Tamale program. I've been dreaming of this opportunity since my younger days. Reading Langston Hughes speak of rivers, Nikki's Ego Trip and Malcolm's pilgrimage to Mecca via the African continent let me know there was something else out there for African Americans and particularly this young boy from Kansas City.

People keep asking me if I'm ready for this trip. my short answer is a hesitant "yes." My bags aren't packed or anything and I still have to hit up Wally World for a few hard to find items. However, I've spent the last five years of my life (at Georgia State and the University of Louisville) studying people of African descent around the world. This knowledge base will enhance my experience and sensitivity to my surroundings but I don't think there's an experience that can prepare me psychologically or emotionally to return to a home that I've only heard stories about. Like many African Americans that express an affinity towards the African continent, my view of the African continent is deeply informed by romanticized notions of Africa as the Motherland. As much as I read about her history, culture, and life in contemporary times, I've held on to the rose tinted shades. I look at Africa in the way a boy looks at his mother; looking beyond her imperfections, he remains in awe and amazement of her beauty, power, and grace.

Everyone I've spoken with about the trip who has been to the continent in their life speaks of their experience as life-changing. I've traveled a great deal in the past few years to different parts of the US and the Caribbean. I don't think anything has prepared me for it though. For that I am excited. the feeling reminds me of a passage from Michael Datcher's book in which he recalls seeing his biological mother for the first time. It's like seeing your reflection in a familiar stranger...

New Wale ft Lady Gaga "Chillin"

Came across the new single from Wale's upcoming debut "Attention: Deficit." As expected, Wale rips it. The Lady Gaga feature is a nice touch in my opinion. Keeps the tone of the song real bouncy on the hook. I'm looking forward to the album. If you haven't heard of Wale, check the Mixtape About Nothing that dropped last year. Peace famo!

Charles Hamilton gets rocked

The lesson: keep ya business out of the streets and don't front on the ladies, fellas.

Solja Boy Tell 'Em! where ya Mama at?

In a collage of past-present video-clips, Solja Boy gives us a glimpse of what it took to arrive at his current place in US popular culture. The cars, clothes, cribs, hit records, plush four-post bed and even his own cereal tells us that he has indeed come a long way. But something just doesn't seem right to me; something's missing.

Where is his family?

I mean, dude is a big time pop icon right now but he's still a minor as far as I know and kids normally have parents right? I know this is just a music video but the absence of anything resembling a family taps into a larger narrative permeating the construction of Black life in popular media.

In 1965, the United States Department of Labor commissioned New York State Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan to conduct a study exploring the dysfunctionality of the Black family in America. The product of this study, commonly known as the Moynihan Report, severely influenced the public image of Black Families in the United States. In short, the report states that Black families are dysfunctional because Black mothers have assumed the head of the household thereby and emasculating Black men who would occupy that role in the US model of the family system. Additionally, Black mothers are unable to take care of their children because they are working to fulfill he economic roles as a provider. The children (because there is always more than one!) grows up in the streets without any guidance and cannot became a productive member of society. This is the dominant narrative of Black families in the late twentieth century. Back to the video.

The Black and white portion of the video is his old life, his rise to fame, the grind. the color portion of the video is the new life post-Superman-that-hoe-dom (peep the flying cape moment when he puts his robe on and leaps into the next room). The material life has changed significantly with the cars, glow in the dark XBox 360 and the jewels. Outside his homeboy playing GTA with him, no one else is present in Solja Boy's life: No mama, no daddy, no sister, no g-ma, or anyone else. it's just him and he's making it...on his own.

Is there a causal correlation? I don't know. But the promotion of this isolated experience of material prosperity may be sending the wrong message to 106 & Park-ers who eat this narrative up 4 or 5 times a week. Is it real? Could this really be his life?

Solja Boy, when you get done "countin' dis monay!" could you please tell us where your family is?

yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh aaaaawwwwwwwwwww