Ghana, must go

I'm reading a new novel by Taiye Selasi, Ghana Must Go. How you read the title is up to you however. Ghana, must go. Ghana must go. Ghana.... must.... go.... ?
                                         

She wrote a meaningful piece on how she arrived at self-awareness by her travels in western Africa.

Folks ask me, how was Ghana? Do you ever see yourself living there? 

Yes, I do.

Like Selasi put in her article, being in Ghana allowed me to create an experience of my own. Not the experiences of my parents but one embarked by me, learned by myself. Living, working, being in Ghana allowed me to have my own version of home which came so naturally, quite immediate upon my arrival there. I believe, because, I already decided that I was going to take myself along on that trip. I was going  to be the quirky, corny, passionate, loving Mabel I was in the States; who I am in VA was going to be the same person in Ghana, just with a change of scenery. I made up in my mind that I was going to treat the trip as if I was truly going home. Not a visit, not a excursion, home.

What I think is hard for most American bred Africans is facing the question of who am I? when embarking on such a journey. Who are we when we return home? How much of our selves are we taking back? Are we selective in how we portray ourselves on African soil? Do we return as the prodigal daughter, the visitor, the criticizer, the outsider? 

I feel, to make the most out of your experience, you need to bring all of your self when you go back home. Don't be partial. As you laugh, listen, work, visit, learn in the States, be that when you return home. I notice people complain about going back to Ghana because they couldn't wear their natural hair without getting the stares, couldn't stand the sun, couldn't take pictures they way they wanted to, their family wouldn't let them explore the way they desired. Was scared of the water, mosquitoes, family curses. Couldn't handle the traffic, the backwards way of thinking, the slowness. 

Shut up.

And just be. Go home and enjoy being home. Stop looking from the outside, as a creator of your experiences. Try being the creation of your surroundings and enjoy it. It will be home to you as well.

Hair Deeds

This was a draft in my vault that I decided to finally post after reading the responses from a recent post on BGLH. I originally wrote this post in May 2012.

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It's taking A LOT for me to write this.... Long post for those who care!

I have been natural for approximately 6 years. As a child and eventually an adolescent, I always had problems with my hair and used braids as a coverup for something I didn't know how to handle. The summer before college, I decided to give up the perm and keep my hair braided which became my unknown transition to becoming natural. That didn't solve my hair issues, not that I expected it to. I just didn't want to deal with it. Once my perm grew out and I amassed a head full of kinky coils, I started to look into how to maintain natural hair. And since I love to research anyway, I gained a lot of knowledge. As a result, I spent countless dollars on hair products and had more errors than trials but I've stuck it out. I'm still natural, but after all this time... I've got little to show for it.

My hair is fine, wispy, and very fragile and needs much tender care to see results. However, my hair is still unique and lovely to me. I love it because I have it. After all the trauma I've put it through, it's still there! Funny thing is, I'm the natural hair queen! I have converted many a friend to the natural side. I have aided in the upkeep and advice of natural hair to many people. I know EVERYTHING to know about natural hair and I promote it on the regular.

Upon coming to Ghana, I had a plan. I thought it was really great because I had 10 months to really promote a change. I had an abundance of time and the warm weather was supposed to be conducive to the health of my hair. But yeah, I never kept up with my planned regimen of deep conditioner treatments and moisturizing. I protected my hair under my usual braids  because it's hard to resist the cheap hair braiding here:) The first day I met my principal, I wore my hair in it's natural form. It was in a cute puff and I liked it! But he kept staring at it as if it were to be a problem. You know that look, the "what are you going to do with it?" look.Then when I went to visit family in Kumasi, they kept saying that an araba like me should keep my hair neat as I am a foreigner and I should look like one. Let's not forget my mom calling me from the States from time to time to ask me, "have you done your hair? Please don't embarass me ooo... You know Kumasifuo..."  I think it puzzles people that a "fine girl" like me wants to wear my hair "like that". "You have money, don't you?" (these are true comments!). When I was leaving Nigeria, during my departure process the customs officer looked over my passport then looked at me and asked, "What were you doing in Nigeria?" I answered that I there to visit my boyfriend and family. He then glanced at my (bit old but still!) kinky twists and asked, "So your boyfriend couldn't pay for you to do your hair?"

The thing is that, adult women with natural hair is very common here, especially in Accra (where things are more modern anyway). I see young women in my age group proudly wearing their natural hair at whatever length and style. I see adult women with their hair in natural twists all the time. Granted, most of these adult women are market sellers; I only note women my age with natural to be from the local university. I assume many people here consider natural hair to be for those who cannot afford to do their hair or just want to be "rasta". It's usually school girls that are subjected to wear their hair short and unpermed. You can tell who is about to finish high school because their natural hair is a little fuller, as if getting ready to be permed or braided upon graduating. I've chatted with so many young girls who are itching to grow their hair out, perm it, weave, braid it, what have you.

I just hope I can get to the point where I can let go of my dependency on braids and really learn how to treat my natural curls. I just feel that being an American and having natural hair makes me stand out all the more. I don't know how I feel about the attention. And I am afraid that I am more concerned of what they think as beautiful and therefore, I'm giving in to their standards by covering up what I think I am supposed to be proud of. My hair.

Shit just got real.

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I never finished the post but I guess to summarize and to interject my perspective about it all, now that I am back in the States and was recently reminded of these events through Chizzy's post. Frankly, as Ghanaians, we have a long way to go when it comes to acceptance. I have a long way to go as well. We have a long way to go when it comes to self-acceptance, awareness, and overall, education. I do hope that Africans in the Diaspora will work to demystify the myth that beauty resides in long flowing Brazilians, oversized shoppers, and long, painted talons--- especially when they visit home. A lot of this miseducation comes from the mainstream beauty and possibly, colonial influence. So natural Ghana girls, when you're going home, be prepared for the backlash, whether aggressive or private concern. But if you're going to rock the fro, rock it proudly, boldly, and with confidence. Their concern is probably marvel at your audacity to truly being yourself.

Open Letter

I have brilliant, open-minded friends. I am so lucky to have such inquisitive, passionate, woman as girlfriends. I am blessed. My dear friend Nana penned an letter to our close circle and I wanted to share it with you all, with her permission of course. It's a discussion that we have frequently in our private conversations but I am sure it's a discussion that is being had more and more with our young-African counterparts. Let's keep talking.

                                             _______________________________________

Every African child either an immigrant themselves or a child of an  immigrant remembers the college application process. For some of us that entailed our parents telling us where to apply and consequently what to major in. If it wasn't a science or a major that promised a lucrative career we were discouraged or in more harsher homes banned from partaking in in them. 

From a young age, I showed brilliance in every area of my school work, therefore my African parents purposed in their minds that I must be a medical doctor. This was met without much protest from me, as I was an exceptional science and mathematics student, and did express an interest in medicine. Deeper than the conversation about what you could major in, was the conversation surrounding what you could NOT major in. The list is vast and pretty much includes anything in the arts, in my house what topped the list of "no no's" was Africana/ African/ African American Studies.

Now this morning I ask why? Why was the thought of a degree in a history of my people met with so much disapproval? And to be frank it wasn't my parents who disapproved, indeed my parents were (are) only interested in having a doctor for a daughter, but it was older cousins who had influence on me who disapproved with fervor. Needless to say, one of such cousins majored in sociology, but refused in fact was disgusted at the idea of a degree in learning about her own people. 

I have been trying to answer this question in my head this morning and the only conclusion I can come to is that Africans or many Africans still do not see our experiences, and our stories, and really ourselves  as important, as worthy of existing beyond what a European majority has created. 

Last night I had the distinguished pleasure of experiencing Ntozake Shange once more in my life. As a tribute, some students at Barnard performed her work and in one poem she speaks of being ashamed of her big long natural hair as a child. She closed that piece of work by admitting that she was ashamed of herself because she had let other people's bigotry affect how she saw herself. 

I feel like I have been living this big massive lie, that was manufactured and bred into me without choice. Like I have been existing, but not really existing, living as a ghost of my self almost. A shell without a real identity. How much of what I think I know of myself is really me, really based on the experiences of my fore- fathers and how much of it is based on the experiences that have come out of trying to assimilate or become more like what "they" say I need to be.  

Don't laugh, but...Who I'm I? Not the "Who I'm I?" in that I am lost kind of help me find my way kinda way. But, who I'm I in relation to this continuum of great African voices and forces that are gone and are yet to come? 

So...I have se out on a journey, a journey of kick some ass, and learn about yourself dammit! In a few weeks I will be traveling to Ghana to celebrate my Granny's 90th. I plan on doing some talking to begin some type of ethnographic project. Now, I am not an anthropologist and this would take me years decades even, but I feel a responsibility to those who are coming after me to produce narratives for them. Not for Oprah or so the world would take notice, but for the ones yet to come. 

I am telling you all, because you are my partners in ridiculousness and undertakings such as this, and would love your insights, thoughts,suggestions and encouragement. If there are any resources you can point me to let me know. 

I love you all with the love of the Lord.

Sincerely,

Nana Konamah 

You are giving me life!

I usually wonder who reads this blog and at times I neglect it because it seems as if I'm talking to myself in the dark:) But I've gotten a bunch of comments from you recently and it's kind of creepy at how I can get your picture and post it here, but I just wanted to officially dedicate a post to you and say you are giving this blog life! Thanks for all of your comments, as cute and little as they may be. Thanks Amma Mama! (My namesake;) And that HAIR! Girl....

~ Ama Kyei

Pep Talk

Take the road less traveled. Watch Space Jam. Cry, then dance.

Time to Stalk

I missed Chimamanda when she did her first U.S. book tour at Mason; that was for "Yellow Sun". I missed her when she did her book tour for "That Thing" in D.C.. I will NOT miss her when she tours for Americanah.

Trust.

New Year, I'm Happy

I have God.

I am beautiful too.

I have love.

I learned in 2012 that I should use my tongue to say good things, not allow my thoughts to run my mind, and that I am able to receive and give love to all those around me. I pray that God keeps me in perfect peace in 2013 and that He prepares my being for all that in which he has in store for me.

Happy New Year.