Unbalanced Impressions

A number of hustlers, hawkers, hasslers, and touts exist in Ghana.  I seem to attract many of these people for a variety of reasons: I live in Accra, the biggest city; I am a white foreigner, which seems to stand out more than a non-white foreigner; I am young, which seems to make me more approachable or likely to be befriended than someone older; and I am a male, which seems to be less intimidating to the younger men (though not the older ones).  The worst place for touts in Accra is a strip nicknamed, ‘Oxford Street’.  Oxford Street is the most tourist-focused area in the city with a high density of popular hotels, restaurants, and bars.  The problem with touts on Oxford Street, as opposed to the myriad of other souvenir sellers in Ghana, is that they do not take rejection well.  I’ve been called a ‘white pig’ and ‘slave master’ on a few occasions, I was once grabbed violently by the arm and threatened on another, and countless times I’ve been sworn at, either for rejecting someone’s offer to buy something, or ignoring the Obruni (white) cat-calls that emanate from so many streets stalls.  When I walk down Oxford Street I begin to hate Ghana, and worse, I find my generalizing about Ghanaians.  These recent incidents have had me thinking about the unfortunate and disproportionate power of bad encounters.

I use the example of walking through a door.  How many times a day do you hold the door for someone else, or perhaps lean back with your arm to make sure it stays open while the other person walks through?  How many times a day does a person do it for you?  It becomes reflexive after a while, holding the door for someone, or smiling and thanking them for doing the same for you.  Now imagine how you feel the odd time that someone lets the door slam in your face.  Imagine how you feel when someone makes no effort or doesn’t even look back as the door imprints itself on your nose.  This doesn’t happen often.  However, when it does happen, I personally find myself forgetting the history of all the previous ins and outs where someone had politely held the door for me.  Suddenly all I can think about is that time, and the lingering impression of that rude and thoughtless person overpowers the rest.   

            I use this example in reference to Ghana because I think it’s really just an extension of the same situation.  The majority of people that I’ve met in Ghana have been very friendly.  Not only that, but I can assume that the overwhelming majority of people that I have not met are also friendly.  It’s safe to assume that I pass by great people every day who say nothing, just like in any other country in the world, but it’s the lousy people who are disproportionately more likely to approach me.   So despite all of the terrific people I meet every day, and the assumption that I’m also not meeting equally lovely people, I often find myself consumed with the unbalanced impression that the touts leave.

             Some of it has to do with the kind of comments that are made.  I’ve been insulted in Canada before, but being called a ‘racist’ and ‘slave master’ for ignoring the hawkers on Oxford Street is at times a little more than I can bear.  Initially I took the strategy of trying to rationalize with the touts.  I thought about what societal factors had perhaps led to who they are, and if in any way, it not justified, but made more understandable their actions.  Then I began thinking that it is entirely useless to rationalize with them, and that I should accept that some people in this world are simply irrational; moreover, some people are just plain lousy.

While I don’t think that it excuses those most abrasive and violent of people, any understanding of this seems incomplete without taking into account environmental factors.  Ghana is a poor but stable country, and thus has become an popular destination for many first timers to Africa, voluntourism companies, development workers, and exchange students alike.  This influx of foreigners, particularly in Accra, has created a showcase for the inequality between the local population and the far wealthier outsiders.  As meager as my monthly VSO allowance is, it is still far more than the average Ghanaian will earn over the same period.  It's the same for almost all foreigners, and where there is this wealth, there is an opportunity for local people to capitalize on it.  So the poorest of the poor beg, and many others sell souvenirs and trinkets, and most interact with foreigners very politely, accepting a person’s decision not to buy or not to give with typical understanding.  But on Oxford Street, many of the sellers take someone’s decision not to buy from them personally, and with much anger and resentment. 

I suppose it’s a way to vent their frustration for their situation, and I could never understand what it must be like to be as desperate and poor as so many here are.  However, the unfortunate part of the hawkers’ actions is that it not only hurts their business (beyond off-the-boat-tourists I know few people that would buy from them), but also the businesses of those kind and genuine people who work day and night on Oxford Street hoping for the odd sale.  But what it should not hurt, and what I had let it hurt for a few weeks in April, was my impression of the Ghanaian people.  A handful of abrasive and racist men on Oxford Street do not speak for Ghana anymore than drunken nationalists in a New Jersey hockey rink speak for the United States.  I think I had forgotten this for a few weeks.  Bad encounters may have a disproportionate ability to cloud an otherwise pleasant day, but they are certainly not representative of the Ghanaian experience.