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PRIMA Volume 2, Issue 1

A Question Leads to a Journey: The Thought Process Behind a Fulbright Grant

By Dr. Nancy Fairley

“It is not easy to admit, but I love this land, I feel such a deep connection with it. Unfortunately, it is not the case with the people.” (Carla: December 2000)

“We want too, too much from them. Let's just try to see Ghanaians as human beings, no better and no less than other people. Unfortunately, that is not possible for some of our African Americans in town.” (Ms. Miller, July 2001)

Why do some repatriates embrace Ghanaians and others are so alienated they find them objectionable? How can they love the land but not the people who inhabit it? Almost twenty years of living New York taught me that immigrants often have a love-hate relationship with their adopted country. While immigrants are derisive of some American customs and values, they fiercely defend others. The patriotism expressed by citizens, when the country is not threatened, tends to pale in relation to that found among exiled immigrants. After six months in the coastal city of Cape Coast, it became apparent to me that for certain members of the Diaspora community the love hate relationship with Ghana had gone askew. Where had the love gone? Why had they become so estranged from Ghanaians?

Most Diaspora Africans had repatriated to Ghana because of the devastating effects of institutionalized racism on their daily lives; thus, many considered themselves to be political exiles. In interviews recounting their decision to leave the United States, Diaspora Africans clearly romanticized Ghana, portraying it as the motherland. What caused some to become what I refer to as the content repatriates (CR) and others to become the disgruntled repatriates (DR)?

Were the negative perceptions of Ghanaians held by the DR group derived solely from the difficulties they faced during the period of acclimation? Prior to learning about the social and cultural norms of Cape Coast all foreigners tend to have unpleasant encounters with Ghanaians. As an Anthropologist, I never indicated to the DR group that I found many of their comments and reactions to Ghanaians misguided and unjustified. As I listened to statements such as “they will never understand time,” “they are always trying to cheat us,” or “only the villagers practice true African traditions,” I was reminded of recent research on Western Africanist discourse. Had the DR group's responses to life in Ghana been colored by Western derived Africanist discourse? Although African Americans did not share a role in the creation of Western Africanist discourse, they can propagate it. Gruesser (1990) demonstrates that travel literature by major Afro‑American literary figures, from the 1950s to the 1980s, is embedded with the binary opposition, image projection and evolutionary language characteristic of Western Africanist discourse. Because the Africans did not live up to their expectations, their romanticized views were replaced by disillusionment. However, a major difference between these literary figures and these disgruntled repatriates is that the latter had chosen to make Ghana their home.

I must admit that for political reasons I am weary of an explanation that stresses Western hegemony–that the DR group's views on Ghanaians have been shaped by Western Africanist discourse. If that is the case, how do I explain the CR repatriates who have a balanced view of Ghanaians? Are they simply kinder people or were they exposed to a different Africanist discourse, one created by African Americans? If a distinctive Africanist discourse exists among African Americans, how do I discern it? Had I been exposed to a distinctive Africanist discourse in the segregated community where I had been born and raised?

Prior to attending college in 1968, I had not read books about Africa. I knew pertinent geographical information but I did not know about the cultural traditions of African peoples. Raised in the south during the 1950s and 60s, I learned about Africa mostly from stories and conversations I had heard in an all black community. Did this verbal lore constitute a type of Africanist discourse? Over the next few days I made an effort to recall stories or conversations I had heard about Africa during my childhood in Robeson County, North Carolina. This task was not problematic because during interviews or social interactions with repatriates, it was not unusual for them to ask about my personal experiences. Even if they did not ask me to recall my past, their stories often triggered my memories. Below I recount five experiences that I consider influential in the development of my early views on Africa. While I have listed them in chronological order I did not recall them in this manner.

As grades four through eight filed into the auditorium to watch a film made by missionaries I was excited because those who collected money from my church never brought pictures. Instead, they gave emotional speeches about the need for financial support so that they could bring Christianity to the poor African pagans. The film opened with African men and women dancing in an enclosed in a circle, gyrating their hips in ways familiar to us all. However, as the film advanced these pupils realized the strangeness of these people's language, clothes and ritual. Most responded by giggling and the stunned pupils gasped in disbelief. The contagiousness of laughter is hard to resist for a fourth grader, but I did not give in. For I remembered my Father's reaction when he had heard my sister and me making fun of Africans featured in a National Geographic magazine: “Y'all stop laughing at those people, you laughing at yourself, cause all of us come from Africa.” As I fought the urge to join the ranks of the gigglers, the film suddenly stopped and the lights were turned on. Losing the anonymity afforded by darkness, the laughter subsided and all eyes followed the principal as he walked across the stage. Posing his towering frame in the center of the stage, the principal removed his glasses, swiped them with his handkerchief, and returned them to his face. Clearing his throat, the principal declared, “Girls and Boys, you sit here laughing at our poor African brethrens. You should pity them not laugh at them. Now, we will begin the film again and if any of you laugh expect to be punished.” The film resumed and two hundred plus pupils were as well behaved as the shabbily dressed children in the film. We watched in silence as men slaughtered a cow, women became possessed, and drummers sweated profusely.

It was in the middle of winter when we began the unit on slavery and the civil war. I knew that the slaves were our ancestors but I did not feel as connected to them as did my mother, whose grandparents had been slaves. After our teacher finished the lecture on the infamous TransAtlantic triangle trade she asked if there were any questions. The most mischievous boy in the fifth grade raised his hand and asked who had sold the slaves to the white merchants. The teacher walked over to the window, momentarily stared out at the leafless trees, and replied, “The whites bought the slaves from African traders; the Africans sold each other to the white man.” “You mean white people didn't steal us,” queried Herbert. “That is correct,” said the teacher, as she turned to face the class. I was stunned by her comments because I had never heard that before. Perhaps overcome by feelings of anger and sadness, not a single one of us asked why the Africans had sold each other.

Every fall, my father would take a day off from the cotton mill in order to coordinate and supervise the men who slaughtered our hogs. On that brisk November morning in 1962, I was excited because it was first time I had been chosen to assist the adults. I stood close to the men, eavesdropping on their conversation as I waited to refill or collect their empty coffee cups. Old man John chuckled and lowered his voice as he explained why the Black man “gotta to know how to steal.” He claimed that if his money ran out before receiving his next `government check’ he just went uptown and helped himself at Mr. Charlie's store. “Negro, don't you know you are too old to steal from that man's store. You'd die from that hard work on the chain gang,” exclaimed Mr. Howard. “That might be true,” said my Father, “but Old Man John won't have died from hunger.” The three men laughed and my Father continued, “Listen here, ain't nobody a bigger thief than the white man, he stole the Indian's land, stole us from Africa, made us slaves, and to this day won't pay us decent wages for a hard day of work. Listen here, God ain't made a Negro, no where in this here world, that can steal more than a cracker.” Roaring with laughter, the men began to sharpen the knives that were to be used for scraping the hair off the slaughtered hogs.

I always looked forward to tenth grade American History class because our teacher interjected his personal experiences into the lessons. One day he explained to us three reasons why he was glad that he had served his country during WWII. First, he appreciated the praise given to Black soldiers for their war efforts. Second, he had met French women who were surprised that he did not have a tail like a monkey. Third, he had the opportunity to meet real Africans.

My twelfth grade English teacher was a Spelman graduate who had lived most of her adult life in Philadelphia. She had returned to the South because her husband, an Episcopal priest, had been assigned a congregation in a nearby town. The kids considered her the coolest teacher in our high school because she often discussed political events that other teachers ignored. Upon learning that our classmate's brother had been killed in Vietnam she told us she prayed nightly that none of the boys in our class would have to go to war. Lowering her voice she confided, “There are too many ugly things happening in this war. Imagine white soldiers cutting off the ears of the Viet Cong and keeping them as souvenirs. Now these are the people who try to convince us that Africans are savages.” 

An analysis of the Africanist discourse recalled from my childhood included incidents of binary opposition and image projection. In the first life story, my Father, the principal and missionaries made it clear to me that Africa was a part of our collective identity as black Americans. However, both the missionaries and the principal indicated that Christianized African Americans were of a higher status than the poor and pagan African. By chastising me for making fun of Africans, my Father taught me that I must respect them even if I did not understand them. Even children recognize that one has sympathy for folk of equal status, but pity folks of lower status. Most of my life stories listed above indicate that I learned positive views of Africans from these experiences. My favorite high school teacher had challenged whites notions about African savagery. My Father’s indictment of white men suggested that they had built their world by stealing from others. My fifth grade teacher's comments about Africans having sold their own people to the whites were balanced by the views of adults who insisted that whites had stolen our ancestors. My history teacher's enthusiasm about meeting a real African instilled racial pride in me. I did not know at that time that this concept of a ‘real African’ was commonly employed in reference to continental Africans. Almost twenty years later my Father used the exact phrase when he invited friends to meet a Malian who visited our home. Each time my Father invited someone to meet the Malian he announced, “He's a real African.” This phrase had been positive when my history teacher employed it in 1966 and it had not changed when my Father used it in the early 1980s.

While little mention was made of Africans during my childhood, I had grown up in a family that insisted that we respect them. My parents forbade the use of terms that denigrated black people. My seven siblings and I were aware that some folks employed terms such as monkey, sambo, or jungle bunny that shed a negative light on Africans. In fact, we risked punishment if we used such disparaging terms in reference to any black folks. It is important to understand that adults in my community generally shaped their children's views of Black folks by pointing out the shortcomings of whites. When we were told that whites were greedy or cruel the adults used real life incidents to support their allegations. Most importantly we were taught that whites were unrelenting in their efforts ‘to keep black people down.’

Once I began to learn of African cultural traditions I realized that numerous customs and beliefs found in my rural southern community were of African origins. If ever reference was made to the origins of these customs and beliefs the adults indicated that they were ‘things from slavery’ or the ‘ole timey ways.’ My Mother often entertained us with stories about the ‘ole timey ways.’ Some of our favorite stories were about her grandparents. One story we especially enjoyed was about our miserly great‑grandmother. According to my Mother, her maternal grandmother had insisted that her only daughter pay the deceased father's funeral expenses. Everyone knew that this grandmother was thrifty and that she could easily afford to pay for the funeral. My mother's parents suffered tremendously during the three years it took to pay off our great-grandfather's funeral expenses. She often explained with a chuckle, “Stingy old grandma told Mama, `He's your father, not mine. If you don't bury him he won't get buried.’” My Mother generally ended the story by explaining that this was the ‘ole timey way’ and assured us that our Father had an insurance policy which would cover his funeral expenses.

Many years later, while studying African kin groups I realized the significance of this story about my great-grandmother refusing to pay her husband's funeral expenses. In many African societies, children are responsible for the burial of their parents. My great-grandmother had been a small girl when the slaves were emancipated and according to my Mother she did all kinds of ‘ole timey things.’ Making adult children responsible for the burial of their parents may have been an African retention.

During my youth, expressions such as ‘ole timey ways’ and ‘slavery days’ were euphemisms for those things Africans. While my parents rejected some of those customs, such as making the children responsible for their parent's funeral expenses, there were others that they honored and taught us. For instance, my Mother's reaction to my three month old daughter when she saw her for the first time was, “Thank God this baby is an old soul, her life won't be so hard.” Throughout my life I had heard comments about newborn babies who were ‘old souls.’ Not until my daughter was designated as one did I realize this belief echoed African beliefs in reincarnation.

As a result of studying Anthropology and conducting fieldwork in Africa, I came to the realization, that I had inadvertently learned of Africa when exposed to ‘things from slavery’ or the ‘ole timey ways.’ Most importantly, my cognitive orientation had been influenced by African values. The combination of cognitive orientation, which included African values and a verbal lore that portrayed Africans positively, prepared me for my journeys to Africa. In the 1970s, when I began to visit various parts of the continent, many aspects of African societies felt familiar. And those customs and beliefs that I could not understand did not provoke criticism or alienation on my part. Fortunately, as I discarded my romanticized views of Africa, I replaced them with ones that were realistic.

If I had not had experiences that challenged and or contested Western paradigms, it would have been far more difficult for me to reject Western Africanist discourse. Gruesser (1990) demonstrates that even though African Americans' experiences with racism have alerted them to the dangers of Africanist discourse, they do not necessarily find it easy to transcend this dehumanizing discourse. What are the greater social implications, if indeed my ability to circumvent some aspects of Western Africanist discourse was related to having come of age in a community that incorporated African values into their cognitive orientation, and created a distinctive discourse on Africa? Would an investigation into the backgrounds of the content repatriates reveal similarities between their experiences and mine? Would an investigation into the backgrounds of the disgruntled repatriates reveal that their perceptions of Africa had not been shaped by an African cognitive orientation and or a distinct Africanist discourse?

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