Dear Diaspora,
When I was in my third year at
University and school was out for the holidays, I decided I would visit
my aunt and uncle in London. It was summer, but you couldn’t tell
because the weather was all miserable and confused like maybe the sun
had lost its memory and had forgotten to be hot. They picked me up from
the airport, and on the drive home they tried to manage my expectations,
saying, “Our flat is not what you’re used to, it’s small but we make it
work.” I was ok with that.
After about two hours on the road we got
to their flat in Peckham, and they helped me carry my suitcase inside.
They didn’t lie, it was a tiny, tiny place and it felt even more cramped
because apart from the fact that they had three kids, it looked like
they had tried to fit all the world’s belongings into it. I got settled
into my new room for the next 3 months and then went to find my cousins
(Hehe. I say “find” as if it was a palace with many rooms and I had to
wander about for hours trying to figure out where they were. In reality,
I took maybe 3 steps and I was back in the living room).
During the course of my holiday, I
quickly learned that life in London, for my aunt, uncle and their kids,
wasn’t rosy. It was work, work, school and busy, busy. It was easy for
me to sympathise with them; they had to deal with weather that couldn’t
decide between rain and sunshine and work and school routines that
didn’t allow for much leisure time.
Life is like that for a lot of you
Ghanaians in the diaspora, but it’s as though when you land at Kotoka,
there’s something in the air there that gives you amnesia and makes you
forget who you really are. Here’s where my rant begins, and mind you, I
have taken the liberty to speak on behalf of all Ghanaians living in
Ghana.
First of all, you make a huge fuss about
the weather as if you expected any different. The sun was blazing hot
in the 25 years you lived here before you left, and it’s blazing hot
now. Besides, every time we speak to you on the phone, you complain
about the bitter cold and how you can’t wait to come to Ghana and have
the sun on your back. Well, now you have it, so shut up and enjoy it
like you said you wanted to.
Secondly, you can fold that feigned air
of superiority and stuff it back in your suitcase. We know you live in a
matchbox, but you have the audacity to turn up your nose at everything,
including the poverty you see on the streets -- the hawkers that are
still hawking and the beggars by the roadside who are still begging.
You talk big when you see people, like
you’re playing the role of a hotel magnate in a big Hollywood movie. You
paint a picture of a luxurious life, like it’s a bed of roses and every
day is a holiday, but we know the truth o, we know. What’s annoying is
that after making people think you eat and poop money, you get upset and
complain when they ask, “d3n na wodi br33 y3n?” and expect you to be
Santa Claus, all laden with gifts.
You have solutions to all our political
problems, and you usually bestow your wisdom on us while you sit in your
London or American flat. You tell us everything that’s wrong with
Ghana, like we’re blind people and you’re the walking stick we need to
get to the bathroom. You tell us, “Fight for our rights!”, “Don’t settle
for mediocrity!”
This reminds me of a recent occurrence
on Twitter, just before the #OccupyFlagstaffHouse demonstration was to
happen, when a certain someone (name withheld), who wasn’t in Ghana at
the time, was trying to rally people to join in. He was laughed at and
insulted, which is, typically, what we do to you when you try to tell us
how we can fix our country. If you’re so concerned, move back home and
fix it yourself.
Speaking of home, do you realize how
silly we think you sound when you say, “back at home,” like London is
your hometown and you and the Prime Minister have tea and biscuits every
Tuesday at 2 P.M. “Back at home,” like you don’t come from Abetifi,
Kwahu in the eastern region of Ghana. And another thing, what is, “you
Ghanaians”? You’re racist now? You say it like your nationality is a
cheap suit that you took off and decided never to wear again.
The way you dress when you’re here is
funny (this is mostly for the women), piling on the beads and the
African print wraps that have no business being paired with that flower
print dress and those dirty sneakers. Your British accent comes and
goes; it comes when you’re talking to people you’re trying to impress,
but when you go to Makola and you’re bargaining for cloth, it magically
disappears.
You manage to weave, “meti abrokyire o”
into every conversation you have. Isn’t it exhausting? Next time you’re
coming down, why not just get a badge made that says that on it and pin
it to your forehead?
Last thing, the legal tender of Ghana is
the Cedi, in case you’ve forgotten. Not the Pound or the Dollar or the
Euro, so quit asking, “How much is that in Pounds?” as if we don’t have
any forex bureaus, or you don’t have the sense to know to change money
before going shopping or to eat at a restaurant.
We love you Ghanaians in the diaspora,
we really do. If for nothing at all, for the humour we derive from your
antics. But you seem to forget who you are and where you come from. You
expect magic, that when you come down everything that’s wrong with Ghana
should already be fixed. Things aren’t perfect here, but it’s home, so
quit with your nagging.
Yours forever,
Ghanaians living in Ghana
