DISPATCHES FROM THE (M)OTHERLAND...I HAVE NEVER FELT SO WHITE IN MY TAN SKIN.

How has my first trip to Ghana been so far?  NEVER have i felt so (self) conscious and conspicuous about the color of my skin as i do here in Africa. And that there, my friends, is a BOLD statement.

I reaally don't know how to explain it, except to say...I am *obruni* here, which, loosely translated means *white man* but technically means *deceiver*.  And it's not a good feeling in a country where the *white man* raped your land and stole everything, including its people.  (Technically, the people were *bought* and *sold*, but i will save that discussion for another blog - the one where i visit the castle in Cape Coast, aka. Slave Coast where enslaved ppl. were emprisoned before the middle passage.)

Today at a multi-family funeral for 10 families from the Akan tribe, not only was i looked at, stared at, gawked at and laughed at (by the 20-something "too cool for school" contingency), but i swear, i was also scowled and cussed at as we were leaving the funeral.  I wasn't certain the first time, so i looked again at the woman - and she did it AGAIN - looked straight at me, right into my eyes and cussed me.

So you can imagine my utter PANIC when the chief of one of the clans took my hand and led me out to dance and represent a particular family's deceased member, in front of several hundred well-dressed Ghanaians.  Mind you, i wasn't the chief's FIRST choice for a dancing partner.  No, my friends, that honor would go to my lovely traveling companion Karma, an American from North Carolina who is several shades DARKER than me, with newly budding dreadlocks (you can see her in the video below).  But - she seemed to have even deeper-seated anxiety issues than me, insofar as dancing in front of strangers in a strange land, as she looked at him with fear, bordering on horror, and shook her head back and forth, declining the chief's invitation.  At which time he set his eyes on me.

Well - I knew right then and there, even though dancing in front of other ppl, especially black ppl, especially, especially a group of black ppl. steeped in a culture where DANCE is LIFE was the LAST THING I EVER WANTED TO DO, I was not going to let my people down!  And by *my people*, i mean all of us light-skinned, ambiguous-looking, mixed heritage folks with lifelong identity crises, borne from a society that wants to put everyone in nice neat box of categorization/classification, but it's not so easy with mixed heritage folks - black, white, which are you?  What do you claim?  Answers, we need answers ppl!!!

No  my friends, i wasn't going to refuse the chief and let down and entire *race* of black/white ppl.  So i took his hands - mine sweaty as usual (i have hyperhidrosis so this is a regular thing for me, but the water works were in FULL FORCE in this 85 degree, sticky humid heat) and allowed myself to be lead out onto the dance floor.  Awkward at first, out of step with the chief, I could feel the hot eyes and judgement of hundreds of Ghanaians on my back, i gave myself a quick pep talk:

"Maureen,  you can DO THIS!  You dance beautifully at every drum circle in Oakland, every weekend you are out there dancing your multi-ethnic a$$ off!  Pull it together Maureen, P-U-L-L  I-T  T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R!!! STAT! You hear me?!? I said STAT!!!

And i did.  I did pull it together.  And - for a brief 30 seconds, my step was in step with his step.  Moving with the beat of the music.  And when he gracefully changed up his step, so did i - not nearly as gracefully, but i did.  And the entire time, making sure to smile, because I am far more attractive when I smile.

And just like that, as soon as i was really getting my stride...it was over.  He was thanking me, and leading me off the floor.  And after the dance, the group I was with was required to stay up in front of the crowd of hundreds of curious and confused Ghanaians (well she's definitely not BLACK...but she's not quite WHITE either...what IS SHE???) as my Ghanaian guide - and poet - recited one of this poems in honor of the deceased.  And after several more nerve-wracking minutes - time enough for another Ghanaian (this one a fellow who had had way too much to drink) to greet me with an embrace around my body that ended up with a quick squeeze of my right breast, we were lead back to our seats in the audience.

And that was how my first full day in Mother Africa went.