AfricaResource: The Place for Africa on the Net

This engaging interview with Carolyn Kumah's mother and her friends was recorded on October 9, 1999. The interview details their upbringing in Ghana, motherhood, and life. It interview features Mrs. Tina Kumah, Mr. Thomas Mensah, and Mrs. Christie Bonsu.

It did not take me long to realize that while I was seeing more blacks in a given place than I had seen on a regular basis in six years, I was still alienated from those I thought of most often as "my people." We did not seem to share the same culture, the same way of understanding ourselves. On their part, there was a great deal of suspicion of me, of my motives, and intentions, which may have stemmed largely from the fact that I was teaching at a school that rarely hired black faculty and that--despite being a "public" institution--was seen by those outside the academic community as white. Many would confess to me later that they had questioned my "credentials" as a black man even to have been employed by such an institution.

Somehow, I did not feel, nor was I made to feel, out of place. Although all eyes seemed to be focused on me, I did not feel stared at, so much as I felt like the family member at the reunion that no one knew existed. When Mbaye told me I was the first black person from the diaspora many of the villagers had ever encountered, I felt special in a way I may never be able to explain. I can say people wanted to know more about life for American-born African people. I realized, then, that as African-Americans, we are a new and distinct people within the larger African family; a new "tribe," if you will. Like the Akan in Ghana, this African-American tribe is replete with its own subgroupings. I realized that our story is a unique African story that must finally be told.

Each of the eight Daughters of Zion followed in speech on the revelation of Rastafari. After our depressing descent into the dungeons and condemned cells at Cape Coast and Elmina Castles the previous day, my spirit truly needed groundation in African spiritual earth. Now, well into the service, additional signs that the ancestors were guiding my sojourn continued to appear. Standing next to Bro. Ankrah, I looked up only to see Nigerian reggae singer, Ras Kimono, getting out of a car. We had met three weeks earlier in Lagos. I had not been able to see him before I left, and, now, here he was in Ghana. I was stunned, yet, not really surprised. Similar, seemingly coincidental, occurrences in Nigeria had already convinced me of the reality of the guiding hands of the ancestors in my travels. As Ras Kimono approached, I could hear my mentor, Chief Fela Sowande, whispering, "The world is truly a village," in my inner ear.

There is something about being in the South Carolina low country that has always moved me. For a long time, I could not say what that very definite something was: I could not name it. I just knew that whenever I visited the low country, it spoke to me from the trees. It did not speak to me; rather, I could hear it speaking, could hear voices wind whispering through the leaves. It is always in the rustling of the trees. Over the years, I have come to know it as the speech of African ancestors who are restless in their eternal sleep. During my early visits south, however, I knew it only as an undefined, yet, persistent inner feeling. I remember that first bus ride.

As an African-American, I knew about alien ideas. It had not been my desire or my intention, but, I found myself becoming an unofficial ambassador for the African-American people. Everywhere I traveled in Nigeria, people wanted to know more about our experience living in the USA. It was hard dispelling the notion that all African-Americans are rich; although in relative terms, it became readily apparent that as Americans of African descent, we are privileged. We have access to resources that are simply unknown to peoples of African descent living in other parts of the world. Yet, it was also evident that our people are experiencing the same struggle no matter where we are situated. Contrary to popular myth, in Nigeria I found that Africans in Africa are concerned about their scattered cousins living outside the continent. I was continually asked to tell my people on the "other side" to come "home." I left Nigeria secure in my own sense of myself as an African.

Look for like-minded people, anywhere, everywhere. There are lots of people around who think the way you do, just looking for the right contacts, the right person, or the right project to come along. The Internet is a treasure trove when it comes to connecting with people who share your ideals although it may not be that effective at delivering. I have several projects going on at once-trying to setup a website to provide African students with internships in Africa, putting up a resource site for Nigerian organizations abroad, etc.

Our governments make noise about diversifying our exports but that usually means finding other raw materials/crops. Our exports are virtually unchanged from the colonial days. We sell raw goods to the world and buy them back as finished, value-added products. We continue to be consumers of manufactured goods, services and technology. Almost no major meeting of African leaders occurs without someone pontificating on "bridging the digital divide". What exactly does this mean in the African context? How well do the policies of the various countries really support their stated aims?

I am all for being realistic and weighing the risks and consequences of any line of action, but I am just so sick of hearing that. It seems to have become our excuse for why things work the way they do or why they don't work the way they should. Granted Nigeria is a terrifying prospect for anyone trying to do anything but we do ourselves a great disservice with our pessimism.